Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts

The Unspoken

I didn't like the way the people at the other table in the tavern look at me. I frown back at them as they steal glances at me over their shoulders and feel my pulse rising. I get angry far too easily when I’ve had a few drinks. It’s a dangerous trait for a slave, but also one which more often than not convinced people that I’m not one.
I take another draft and glare into my mug, trying to ignore them. I can still feel their eyes upon me, and then I hear their footsteps and know I’ve made a mistake: I’ve given them a sign of weakness. I look up and see the three people from the table swaggering over me. I look them squarely in the eyes, but I’m too drunk to observe them closely. Whoever they are, from their robes I can tell they’re not nobles. I could fight them without getting into too much trouble.
"I've seen you before," one of them says. "You work for the blacksmith on Virton Square."
They’re onto me, I think. I clutch my mug in my fist and sneer at them, swaying a little from the drink.
Another one slams his palms on the table, bending over me.
“That’s a pretty big blacksmith you’re working for. From what I gather, he’s doing such good business that he lets all the crude work be done by…” He pauses, then articulates with a snarl, “slaves.”
I chuckle. I’m not in the mood for games. “Are you trying to belittle me?” I’m only half-acting, as I’ve never thought myself beneath anyone. “You’re not welcome here.” the third says. The other two closed in around him. “Where did you get this?” he says, as he picks up my purse from the table. “Stole it?” I have, of course: as a slave, I can’t own anything.
“Are you stealing it?” I say in a threatening tone. “Do you think you could beat me in a fight?” They seem no match for me, but they merely laugh.
The closest one raises his hand and bends it into a claw before my nose, where the air starts to glow between his fingers.
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Telepathic Therapy Log 1

As unemployment left most of humanity in a state of nihilism, existential therapy became one of the few sectors that was still growing. Even so, the therapists found that they did not have enough time to deal with the epidemic of suicidal depression, which could occupy only a few hours weekly of their time, but all hours of their subjects'. With many of their friends depressed as well, there was nowhere they could find reprieve in between sessions. With a chain reaction making suicide the number one cause of death in developed countries, they realised their problems needed their constant attention, forcing them to organise group therapies, which were just as effective. The irony was that the groups soon found that they didn't need a therapist at all, just anyone to talk to, so that now the therapists, too, were now out of a job, and became subjects of existential therapy as well.
We experimented with using telepathy during altered states as an accelerated form of group psychotherapy. This is the unedited translated log of our telepathic therapy sessions, with which we are hoping to convince you to follow our example. As the translation of perceptions into words isn't perfect, this log may be fragmentary, and a feat of imagination may be needed to fill in the gaps. Subjects have agreed to publish this information on condition of anonymity, so that each subject will be designated at most by a letter only; at times even these may be left out entirely for the sake of anonymity within the group itself. This is logged from the perspective of myself, the group's former therapist.
Log 2029•117•777,37
Nothing. A static of patterns rise from the nothing and sink back into it like waves, and I swim through them, trying not to drown. The patterns stick to me heavy like mud. I fight against the waves seeking for a shore, but even so they sweep me ashore. The sand is made of more static, my mind trying to find patterns where there is only sand. I try to look at it as it is, but it keeps shifting before my eyes. Then someone’s shadow comes over me, and when I look at him the patterns resolve into his broad face. He’s a former patient.
“Welcome with the rest of us, to the land of the lost. Now you’re one of us. We know this place, and now it’s time for us to show you the way. You looked down on us when we didn’t find our place in your world, but now the tides have turned, and you must find your way in ours.”
He gives me his hand. I take it and get up, and we look face to face. I don’t know the meaning of the look in his eyes: it speaks a language I don’t know.
“Look around you. What do you see?”
I look around. Shapes swim around me: buildings, mountains, giants, all kinds of things, all shifting into each other. But beneath it all the nothing.
“I see nothing… and everything.”
“The two are one. You need to become one with the nothing, like us. All arises from it, all descends into it. Come.”
I follow him onto the cliffs, and there in the valley beyond, at the end of a set of stairs, three slabs of stone form a portal, but there is nothing on the other side. He leads me towards it and says “When you step through to the other side, nothing will ever be the same.”
I look at him and see what he’s doing: it’s a hypnotic suggestion, but I can’t see what he’s trying to achieve. I don’t know if I trust him, but I don’t know what else to do, and I have nothing to lose. I walk through the portal, and nothing happens.
“You see? Nothing is still the same as before.”
“What was the point of that?”
“You were waiting for a resolution to your life. There never will be. What lies ahead of you is just more of the same kind of thing that came before, more life.”
I look ahead at the landscapes ahead of me. They’re shifting before my eyes like desert dunes in a time lapse, and at this thought the landscape turns into a sandstorm.
“Why is it shifting?”
“Because the future isn’t fixed, but you need to face it anyway.”
I swallow hard and walk into the sandstorm. I don’t know what I’ll find in the sandstorm or if it will even matter if it will bury everything anyway. I see images of people and places shift through the sand, but they all disappear when I move closer. I turn this way and that to chase the images until I lose track of where I am. I try to run back the way I came from, but only walk deeper and deeper into the sandstorm. When I realise I’ve lost my way and give myself up the storm, I get the feeling that I’m floating, and I’m not sure if I’m falling into quicksand or flying into a whirlwind.

Biohackers

We live in a warehouse in a ghost city in China. The industrial district is abandoned and no one else will rent it, so the owners don’t ask us too many questions what we’re using it for. They know it can’t be quite legal, but they wouldn’t dare to dream just how illegal what we’re doing is: we’re biohackers.
They always thought that we'd turn ourselves into machines, but instead we’re interfacing machines with our bodies to change every molecule in our bodies as if they were. These biocomputers are only allowed to be used by doctors, which is why we have one living with us, and if anyone asks, all the biohacks are done by her. She’d still have to go on the run, because most of her biohacks aren’t approved yet, but the rest of us would be there to cover her tracks.
There have been plenty of casualties in the biohacker community from our experiments, but the rest of us have made up for it by coming out of them with superhuman vitality. But as we pool data on all of our experiments, it keeps getting safer for more people to join us, and once started, they often keep trying new things until they go too far. While we have more than our share of addicts only looking to extract a high from their chemistry until they burn out, most of us just want to become better people. But in the nihilist era, none of us know what that really means, so we experiment, sometimes at random.
She picked us up from the cryonic vats, lost in a new world after having lost our old world. Some of us she sent back into the vats with some modifications, which she claims are to test if we’d adapt faster to the future with them, but I really believe she’s trying to seed different futures with her experiments. She wants to put her mark on the world, not just today but throughout its existence.
In one of those nearer futures, I woke up with my crew to find her still there, never having changed a thing. When she asked us how we were feeling after coming out of our stasis, for just a moment I thought she might have developed a sense of empathy, but I soon realised she was just evaluating the results of her latest experiments. Good, we’re improving — another step closer to her goal of creating a species of superhumans, at least, according to her. At first I never thought she could ever go wrong, as, after all, all she was doing was improving our every abilities — except for one, the ability to pause on the value of one’s abilities. I found this out the hard way one day when I felt urged to act on my abilities before I knew where it would lead. That’s when I decided to pull the plug. I removed all my upgrades and went back into stasis. Without my upgrades, it would take that much longer before I could come back out of it, but all I wanted was for her to not be there when I’d finally wake up again. But she was. And by then, she was backed by an entire movement of mutants, so keen on using the abilities she’d given them that they never questioned what they were for. That’s right, I used the m-word, and why shouldn’t I? It means one who has changed, and that’s what we were, weren’t we?
When I found that nothing would change, I reinstalled my mutations too, because by now life was no longer possible with them. Our bodies had become our new interface, and that’d be neat and all, weren’t it that those interfaces were becoming increasingly standardised until human identity became a product, and it became predictable what kind of abilities someone would have before one even asked: the same lists always kept coming back, and they weren’t for fun anymore, like back in those good old days when we were trying out new things beyond our old human limits: now it was all about competition, and the only thing anyone was focused on was to become the best at this or that sport. When it was so easy to get better at everything so fast, it seemed deceptively within reach to become the best, up to a point that it no longer even mattered what it was that one become the best at or what good it did to anyone.
It was only a matter of time before the disillusionment set in as being the best lost its thrill, and we became a species of superhuman slobs. Without a purpose, it didn’t matter how powerful we were. We could solve the hardest problems we could come up with, but never knew what for, other than because we could.

So I did the only thing I could do. I killed the doctor and cut the strings with which she upheld us. The marionettes came falling down and suddenly we remembered that to live is to experience life, together — so we stopped trying to prove something and just shared our experiences. It was the first time we used telepathy to build something up together instead of just trying to show off to each other.

The Neuronet 2: Adulthood

We are in limbo. Our habitat floats over the clouds while in between locations. Our habitat is an elliptoid greenhouse with a honeycomb of geodomes. Most of them are now vacant, and since our nanorobots can turn into our personal effects anywhere, we’ve stopped keeping track of which geodome is our own and just move from one to the other however we see fit. 
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We'll Build Temples on their Crater

Neurolog retrieved from criminal case record of Langfield Honts:
“World War 3 wasn’t fought with weapons of mass destruction. Both sides were wary of open war, knowing that if it came to that, everyone would lose: the enemy had to be incapacitated before they could be invaded, largely through cyberwarfare. This is how WW3 sent technology hurtling decades into futurity, but by the end of the war, it was in the hands of governments which had used the war as an excuse to turn away from democracy: neurohacking, one of the technologies used as a weapon in war, is now a means they use on their own citizens to “keep the peace” and forbid any thoughts suggestive of treason. It wasn’t much of a leap for the citizens, as the only reason their minds had stayed out of the enemy’s was because their governments had already occupied it. There is actually very little abuse of this, and any corrupt technician who does abuse it is quickly sentenced, but to keep from even thinking about committing a crime, people have to repress their every emotion, and this is not something the governments have overlooked: there’s already been talk about decreasing the range of emotions people are allowed to feel.
As in the 20th century, the first great war of the 21st only paved the way for the next, and this time, with the technocrats in power, it will be far more barbarous than even WWII.
Meanwhile, anarchist communes had sprung up during the war in remote areas all over the world, each trying to stay way as far as possible from a world that now seemed about to end with nuclear war. They often settled in places that were inhospitable, such as deserts, although hydroponics allowed us to survive nonetheless. But many of us had gotten quite used to the idea that the society we’d left behind would be gone, and that we would be able to return to recolonise the world with our own. Even now, it’s just a matter of time.
I, for one, can’t wait for those anachronisms to go extinct, and for us, Übermenschen, to replace them. We will build temples upon the craters that extinguished you dinosaurs. I will not wait. They’re already poised to destroy each other, and all it takes is one false alarm. But there are still people back there who are not like the rest, and I want to save them from their prison before I leave it burning behind them. And I know just how to separate the chaff from the wheat.
In the aftermath of WWII, psychologists tried to find out how a nation could have allowed the holocaust to happen. Ironically, most of them were already working with Nazi scientists for the US government to find out how to actually recreate such conformity (MK-ULTRA). Yet with all its extreme methods, they could not make their subjects do what other studies (Zimbardo, Milgram) made them do just by asking them: in the other room is another subject just like you — torture them. Most of them already went too far, in any democratic country… which means that in a despotic country, almost anyone could be convinced to take part in a holocaust.
For most people, this made it easier to be forgiving, but for me, it turned the entire human race into my enemy, and ever since I knew about this, I’ve been in hate with anyone until proven innocent. And I just know from that hatred I feel inside me that I would not have been like them, that it would turn me against my entire species before I’d submit to them. I will put the human race on trial, and all who are guilty will be condemned to death in the way that’s most fitting — by their own hand, through their own crime: obedience. It’s not their mass murder that I have any qualms with, but their mindlessness — and if it’s the mass murder of mindless zombies, is it really murder at all? They’ve lived long enough. I will merely put them out of their misery.
I’ve contacted the other anarchist communes and advised them that they may soon get a large number of new arrivals, possibly on the order of hundreds of thousands, and they’ll be ready. It’ll be more than enough to get humanity through a genetic bottleneck, and I’m sure there won’t be more. From my experience with people, there can’t be more than one out of every ten thousand who truly has a mind of their own. As for the rest — without a mind of their own, they will lose nothing.
I already used hacking to reach out to enough people to found this community. I just need to do it on a larger scale. I will spread a virus across the net that will infect their neurocoms to run a simulation in their sleep which they will then forget afterwards, so that no one will ever become aware that the virus exists. In the simulation, they will find themselves as the last guard left in a Nazi concentration camp just before the liberation, implanted with memories of a lifetime of indoctrination. The other guards have already entered the trains to flee from the Soviets, but the commander is left with them to give them one last order: douse the prisoner’s barracks in gasoline and set them on fire. If they refuse, the commander will hold them at gunpoint until they take the gasoline, at which point the commander holsters his weapon again. When the barracks are doused in gasoline, the commander will tell them that he has no matches, and that they will need to use their gun to spark the gasoline. A more thorough version of Milgram's experiment.
If they shoot the commander instead, they pass the test, and I’ll work with the other anarchist hackers to liberate their neurocoms from the government’s control. At this point, we’ll have reached the point of no return, because they’ll be quick to trace the disappearances back to us and the entire world will brand us as terrorists for “abducting” their citizens. On that day, I’ll be ready to plant a series of false alarms of a nuclear attack all over the world. It’ll be easy for each side to suspect the other of having recruited us, as the only people they could never target for mind control, to extract some of their citizens for intelligence. The disappearances will already have caused a panic, because the governments are used to having everything and everyone under their control. It won’t take much more to drive them over the edges. It will happen anyway: we just need to make sure it happens at a time and place when the rest of us are safe from it. What I’m doing is akin to the controlled explosion of a mine.
None of the others are supposed to know of this, because even I can see that this plan is insane. Perhaps I do not belong in the future world either. It’s only right if I turn myself in on the day of the nuclear war to go down with the rest of the world. I will have enough proof to show them that I was acting alone when I did the hack. Perhaps it’ll keep their spotlight off the others for just a little longer. They’d interrogate them anyway sooner or later, but it will be too late: a few hours is all it takes to give us a chance to restart the world.
Besides, it’ll be all too satisfying to see the old world end from the inside.”

Rebirth

When I wake up, I can't believe that I could have survived: I should've bled out in seconds, and when I saw the tunnel of light, I went all the way through to the other side. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to keep them from opening up to the world, but an impulse forces them to open.
When they do, I see a woman looking at me, and something about her face is familiar. She looks a little like Diane, but however long I've been in a coma, it couldn't be her. When I tried to resuscitate her, I only sent blood through her mouth when I pressed her chest. I remember the taste of the blood on her lips when I I tried to breathe life back into her. I remember the feeling of her cracked skull giving way beneath my trembling fingers as I tried to hold up her head.
For a long time, I hardly heard the cries of the infant looking on until I realized what she had died for. When I looked back at her covered in blood, I saw the fear in her eyes that would not recognize me, as if it was I who had killed her — and then it struck me that this was my doing. I'd told Diane I'd look after you that night, but as always, I kept putting it off to finish my work, something she'd never caught me doing. That's when the fire must've started. Then I remember.
When Diane was called, she came running from a few blocks away, but she must've barely made it to Sara's room when she began to faint, and went out on the balcony to catch her breath. When she realized how fast the fire was spreading, it was too late to go back inside, and when the fire burst through the window, the only way out was to jump. She'd have had a good chance of surviving the fall, hadn't she needed both her arms to hold Sara on her back. She hit the pavement head first. I listened to the paramedic without saying a word, because I'd already decided what to do. I went back to the laboratory, took a scalpel, and felt my neck for my carotid. As the blood spurt out over the samples, I reflected on how futile my life's work had been, the work for which I'd given up my family, with the excuse that it might help them someday. Then I remember the contract with the cryonics company, and I realize that what seemed like just hours must have been decades. All of a sudden I know who's standing before me.
"Sara?" She was just a year old when I died. Now she looks like a young adult, but for the streak of gray in her hair.
"Father." Her expression goes through a series of emotion. Through a long silence she stares me in the eyes as she seems unsure whether to smile or scowl, and finally she burst out laughing. She bends over to hold me.
"Right back to the very thing you wanted to run away from."
"I just couldn't face you every day knowing what I'd done."
"Perhaps I couldn't either, as I was the one who started the fire. Maybe it's for the best that you didn't raise me, or we'd have spent our lives feeling guilty for each other."
"You're welcome," I say. "How about Diane?"
"She's gone," she says. "But we uploaded part of her psyche, and we can download it into another body along with parts of others most similar to hers. In fact, since she's legally information dead, anyone can already download her on the neuronet. You could do so yourself if you're alright with becoming intergender, so that part of her would always live on inside you. There's also a few neuronauts who have already downloaded her along with similar psyches. They've been waiting for the chance to meet a man from the past. Would you like to meet them?"
I'm trying to settle my thoughts, but they can't find holdfast. They need Diane, the only thing that isn't unknown to them in this world.
"Can't you bring her back the way she was? I just want to make things right, the way they used to be."
"Ludwig," she says, calling me by my name rather than father, "It doesn't matter, not anymore. We could create billions more psyches right now if we needed to, so what difference does one more or less make? She's not even the best match for you that would turn up on the neuronet, and she won't remember anything from her past life, so how would she be different from anyone else?"
"Even if she'd no longer know me, I'd still know her."
"What about her? You're holding on to the only thing you know because you're afraid of the unknown. How do you think she would feel, if everything would be unknown to her? What even makes you think she'd love you back? She wouldn't like it that you tried to make her live that way. In the end she'd probably decide to download other psyches anyway, so sooner or later, you'll just have to accept that it will only be partly her. Soon enough you'll be a very different person too."
I say nothing. Sara stares out into space for a moment, and a few social networking profiles appear before me of people who signed up to be Diane's replacement, each with a description of the techniques they used to reconstruct her psyche as accurately as possible. Elsewhere in their profiles, there is a description of themselves.
"None of them seems anything like her."
"Of course not, that's not the point. Think of them as mediums. They can use hypnosis to become like her. They can also use nanorobots to take on her form."
"Alright, I'll give it a try. I want to know how much is left of her. But we need to talk first. How have you been?"
Sara laughs. "Ludwig, you don't have to pretend to have any more interest in me now than you had before. We've always been strangers, just like any other two random people. But that's alright."
That silences me for quite a while. "At least you don't call me Mr. Adler."
"Keep this up and I just might," she says with a grin.
"You have to admit you're being pretty familiar with me. Why are you even here?"
"Everyone's familiar with each other nowadays."
"Then why are you here?"
"I work here."
"Is that a coincidence? Your father goes into cryostasis and you go on to work at just that."
"Your being in cryostasis did make me wonder what it would be like to go through that. I thought you might still have been conscious, and it made me think really hard about what makes someone conscious. I became a psychologist, and when people started being revived, I really got into it. Everyone who's woken up here has some interesting story to tell about their last moments of consciousness."
"I remember I still felt guilty, as if the guilt would follow me for all eternity. When I moved into the light, I gave myself up to it entirely because I wanted to stop being me. It was the only way to get away from the guilt."
She looks at me empathetically. "Soon you won't be yourself anymore. We're all changed everything about ourselves. There's no other choice, because that's the only way we can still interact. That's why you and I really have nothing in common anymore. But we could transfer my 1-year old psyche into a clone, if you want."
"Perhaps Diane would want that."
"Why of course, because unlike her, I actually respect her. Anyone will treat her like a hero. I've told her she can come in."
All of a sudden I'm not so sure anymore. Now I'll have to face an even greater guilt, when I tell Diane that I've failed Sara once again.
"She knows," Sara says, seeing my doubt. "In fact we know each other. She's been revived sooner than you. There was no demand for you before that."
I still can't my head around the idea of Diane being part of someone else's mind.
"Why would anyone want to sign up for this?"
"They're neuronauts." She shrugs. I stare at her. "They want every experience. And part of the reason they're doing it is so that you might upload your own psyche to them as well."
A woman walks in through the wall, which disappears before her and reappears behind her. She and Sara hug.
"Ludwig, this is my friend Sylvia. We met when she came here to convince revivees to upload their near-death experiences. And you know who this is," she says to Sylvia.
"This is my husband," she says with a laugh.
"Could you just stop?"
"Wow, taking ourselves serious are we?" Sylvia says. "How quaint." It's such a strange feeling that they would deny our identity like that, as if we're all supposed to transition from one into another as if they were nothing but costumes.
"Didn't you say you gave yourself up to the light?" Sara says. "Try to remember that feeling." She comes over to me and lays her hands on my temples.
"Close your eyes and remember."
I try and do as she says, and my nanobots make it all come back to me as if I were experiencing it for the first time. The light becomes ever brighter as I come closer until I feel how it burns me away, and I become one with the light that shines from all there is. For a moment, I pass out, and at some point I hear a voice say "It is time."
When I open my eyes again, I see Diane is standing before me, hugging Sara.
"Diane?" I say, as soon as she lets go.
"Ludwig," she says, trying out my name, as if she's not sure of how it's pronounced.
"Do you remember me at all?"
"No," she says. I lower my eyes. She comes over to me and holds my hand and looks at me intently. I look back up at her. "But I feel like I know you somehow, as if you're part of me that was torn away and our edges still fit together." She interlocks her fingers with mine, but her eyes are sad. It feels just like her energy.
"We'll never have whatever we had before, but when I see at what all these people have together, becoming one and then several again, I don't know what to make of it. Perhaps we lost something that none of them will ever have, or perhaps what took us all those years really takes them only moments."
"No, don't let them get into your head."
For some reason, the way she says this feels the same way as when I saw the light, how I will keep falling into it even though I knew it will be my undoing. We hold each other close, and as we telepath, we seem to float away. Without our past, all that is left of us is our current, the pattern in which we each feel and think right now, and as our thoughts and feelings flow into each other, the patterns begin to combine into one. Now I recognise her, the energy in her that forms the basis of her being. I had so often seen it from afar, but never been able to touch it.
"Let's go outside," she says. She lays her hand on my shoulder and nudges me out of the bed. I'm moving ever so slowly as I try out my new body for the first time, but find that I feel more fit than I ever have before, and it feels like it takes no effort to stand at all, as if I could stand for hours and never get tired. I don't know where to go in this world, but Diana walks me through the wall, into the common room of the clinic.