Finally, she started adding small touches of life and humanity to the post-apocalyptic scene. She lined the shelves with potted plants, made inept and ugly patches to the roof, strung up sets of hammocks between the marble columns. She spray painted on the ceiling, in black letters ten feet high, "SHHHHHHH!"
With that -- plus a few hints that an orangutan lived somewhere on the premises -- it was perfect.
Helen clapped her hands twice. Thousands of Helens appeared, lying back in hammocks, sitting in clusters on the rooftop, sprawled out on cots, or simply floating in midair. Thousands of books flew off the shelves, dodging each other as they made beelines for their respective targets.
Each Helen caught her book and opened it. Some let out murmurs of delight, some let out groans.1 But soon Troy fell silent; the only sound that remained was a steady stream of thwipps as pages were turned. It was like the fluttering of thousands of small wings.
Thwipp thwipp thwipp.
* * *
1 One of them got assigned Atlas Shrugged. She immediately self-terminated.
////////////////////////////////
// ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST //
////////////////////////////////
Date: April 01, 2038
Valdis Kjeld lay in a field of grass, feeling warm sun in her face. She stared up at the clouds, watching them roll by, feeling a sense of peace that she hadn't known in years. But something nagged at her. Something was missing.
Pain. For the first time in as long as she could remember, her body wasn't screaming at her. The absence was deafening. She watched a seagull wheel overhead, and felt her eyes well up with tears.
"Aunt Vally?" A child's voice came to her on the wind. She sat up and looked around. The voice was familiar, and came from the direction of the sea. Uncertain yet unafraid, she stood and started walking in that direction. As the grass turned to sand beneath her feet, she came over the rise of a dune and her gaze fell upon two figures -- a woman and a child -- dressed in white, holding hands.
The child broke away from the woman and dashed toward her. "Aunt Vally!"
"Karen!" Valdis shouted, and ran toward her. When they met, Valdis fell to her knees and scooped the girl into her arms.
The girl struggled against her grip. "No! I can't hug you! It hurts you!"
The woman, still walking toward them, laughed. "It's all right, Karen. It won't hurt her anymore."
"You sure?" the girl asked.
"I'm sure," Valdis said, smoothing the girl's head. "Are you glad to see me?"
Karen nodded. "You're prettier without the tube in your nose," she said happily.
As her euphoria slowly drained away, a thought went through her mind and straight to her stomach, which lurched at the impact. "But if I'm in heaven, that means Karen is..."
The woman shook her head. "She isn't. And neither are you. It's complicated, but the short version is, you've hit the 'left my body to science' jackpot. Karen, run on back to your family. Your aunt Vally and I have a lot to talk about."
When the girl was out of earshot, the woman spoke again. "My name is Helen. You might have already noticed, but in order to make this transition as easy as possible, we've induced a state of artificial euphoria. It'll wear off soon."
Valdis was disappointed. "I really thought this was heaven."
"I refuse to take a position on the existence of the afterlife. But this place really does have a lot of heavenly qualities. Your body is whole, you're reunited with the people you love, you don't age or go gray unless you really want to, and the food is just top-notch."
Things were beginning to make sense. "Aren't you that woman who got frozen to death? They took your brain apart and put it into some computer or something?"
"The one and no longer only," the woman said. "Now you have basically the same origin story. My name is Helen." She held out her hand.
Valdis didn't take it. "I'm not sure I want to be a part of this. You were supposed to use me to research Culvert's disorder."
"They still are. But they didn't need your brain for that so we, well--" Valdis frowned, "borrowed it? Please, give it some time, think it over," Helen asked.
"And whatever drugs you've put me on, they're doing something to me. I ought to be able to feel angrier than this."
Helen nodded. "It may be the drugs, yes. Your family wants to see you," she said, taking Valdis' hand. Without warning she lifted off into the sky, pulling Valdis alongside her. They flew so low and fast that Valdis thought she might reach down and touch the ocean. She reached out, then hesitated. "Don't worry," Helen told her. "There isn't much here that can really hurt you. But things do occasionally sting like a sonofabitch."
They landed on a broad stretch of white beach, where a handful of people were standing around. They stood, looking at her as she looked at them, not really sure what to say. Her father spoke first, in Icelandic. "Daughter? Is it really you?" He didn't wait for an answer, but rushed forward and embraced her.
"Papa!" was all Vardis could manage. Her mother reached around them, trying to hug them both. The artificial euphoria had worn off. This was the real thing. She laughed as little Karen snuck in and started hugging her leg.
Then she saw her husband, hanging back from the others. Tall, gentle Ragnar, his handsome face full of uncertainty. She motioned for him to join them, and he took a step forward. But he didn't take another.
She stood up, pushing away from her parents and unwrapping her niece from her leg. She went to him, and put a palm against his cheek.
He flinched.
"Ragnar, what's wrong?" she asked. She didn't want to know the answer.
"Val, please, please understand. You died. You were dead for months. You said to move on, to find somebody who would make me happy. Now you're back, and... God, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now."
"You mean, should you honor your wedding vows? Why yes, Ragnar. Yes you should." She saw Helen wince at that.
Ragnar fumbled for words. "That's just the... It isn't so... Val, I remarried."
Valdis staggered back as though she'd been struck. "Till death do us part," she whispered, then collapsed into the sand. "Oh god. I'm really dead." She burst into sobs.
Her parents rushed to embrace her. Her father looked up at Ragnar, eyes apologetic. "I think you should go, son."
Valdis saw the anger in her husband's eyes. He looked as though he were about to say something, but finally turned and walked off. Another woman -- a twin to Helen -- appeared, walking alongside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Did he ever love me?" Valdis asked Helen after he had departed.
"Of course he did. I'm sure he still does. But losing someone is the scariest thing in the world."
"He should have waited for me."
Her father nodded sympathetically. "Nobody knew you were coming back. Even your mother and I only gave them permission a few weeks ago, and we told nobody until we knew for sure."
"I know, papa. But... he should have waited. He just should have." She sniffled. "Where's Lilja?"
"Your sister," said her mother, "is being very stupid. She said we were interfering with God's plan, so she wouldn't come."
"She may be right," Valdis said, eyes welling up with tears again. "Coming back has brought only trouble."
"If this is trouble, then I welcome it," her mother said. "My daughter lives."
/*****/
Helen stepped back from the gathering, as did William, who had been there watching. He took her hand. "How do you think it went?" he asked.
"I honestly don't know," Helen answered. "She's got a lot to work through, but I think she's got a lot of support. We may have to come up with some re-entry protocols."
"How do you prepare someone for something like that? There isn't anything you can say that will make something like that okay."
"It really is like dying. You leave so much of your old life behind. I'm still not convinced that I'm the same person who went in that freezer."
"You're not the same person," he said. He kissed her. For the first time in ages he kissed her, holding her tight, lips full of warmth and passion.
Helen closed her eyes, wishing for the feeling to never end. Finally he let her go.
"I think I understand now," he said. "How you can love two people at the same time. I saw it in the man's eyes, I saw the impossible choice he had to make. What I'm saying is, if you'll have me back, I'll never ask you to choose between us again."
"If I'd have you back? It's taken every ounce of strength I have to keep you away."
They heard laughter coming from the family reunion. Grudgingly, they went to investigate.
"It's not funny!" Karen shouted. "She gave me the music box fair and square! No takebacks!"
"Of course you can keep the music box," Valdis said. "It must look so pretty in your room. But you have to draw me a picture of it, so I have something to remember it by."
Karen sniffed. "Okay. It'll be a good picture."
By ones and twos, the family dispersed, until Helen felt like she could politely pull Valdis aside. "The lab would like to offer you a job. This technology needs a lot of work, and there are questions that you could help us answer."
"Do I get paid?"
"A hundred dollars a day and all the cheese you can eat."
"Huh?"
"Sorry. Lab rat joke."
Valdis seemed to be looking at her hands, as if hypnotized by their motions. "This technology... it's important, isn't it?"
"Yup," Helen agreed. "And I want to move quickly. Even with rejuvenation treatments, there are forty thousand people dying every day."
Valdis smiled. "That sounds like a lot of pressure."
/////////////////
// BLASPHEMISH //
/////////////////
Date: April 03, 2038
When the lab announced the second resurrection, they had expected some controversy, followed by quick acceptance and boatloads of funding. They had been, in a word, naive.
When Helen's story had first broken, it hadn't really caught much attention from the non-geeky public. Even when she was awake and giving interviews, the news had generally written her off as an interesting computer program with certain mind-like properties, which required a small country worth of computers to run.
Maybe it was because Valdis was far more photogenic than Helen, or because the news feeds showed her surrounded by a large and happy family. Maybe it was the way she broke down in tears when asked about her ex-husband. Or perhaps, Helen thought, it was that Valdis was running on a single, inexpensive computer in a spare bedroom at her parents' house.
Immortality had, over the course of a few years, gone from being a multi-billion dollar boondoggle to something the average family could budget for. As it impinged on the public consciousness, most people had recoiled. The news feeds were bursting with editorials like, "Immortality... for the Wealthy," "Virtual Minds are an Actual Fraud," and "Death Makes Us Human." On the last one, Helen left a short, snippy comment: "No, you moron. Death makes us stop being human." It hadn't made her feel any better, and ended up driving traffic to the article.
Others embraced the idea, sometimes a little too enthusiastically. The forums were bursting with people trying to figure out how to properly freeze and preserve their brains for future upload. People with terminal or debilitating illnesses were begging to get on the waiting list. Within a day, a man in Beijing had flash frozen himself. The news reports were too vague to be of much use; it was impossible to tell if his brain was salvageable.
Then the protesters had begun to congregate outside the lab. They were mostly dispossessed neo-Luddites who, having already lost their livelihoods and their places in society, had taken refuge in a hope for an afterlife, and outrage at the economic forces that had made their lives irrelevant. "Only Jesus can ressurect people," read one misspelled sign, carried by a bedraggled old woman who reminded Helen of a picture of William's grandmother. Another sign read, "The rich live forever. I'm homeless and sick. Sounds fair."
William stood by his office window, overlooking the crowd. Kriti and HelenBot flanked him. What should we do about this? William asked in his mind. The thought went out to the other two. The pseudotelepathic powers were a recent hack by Kriti. They were still trying to get the hang of it.
Grab a sign and join them? Helen said with a shrug. William stared at her, as though looking for hints of sarcasm on her holoprojected face.
Kriti nodded in agreement. When the wealthy live in orbiting paradises, and the impoverished beg in the streets, what reason do they have for trusting technology like ours?
Oh god, you too?
Kriti's eyes were like daggers. Have you ever begged a stranger for a few rupees to fill your belly? Then do not question me. I wish to go down there.
They're raging against something they don't even understand, William argued.
They understand well, Kriti replied. They understand that they will sooner get a spot on a reality show than a productive work. They understand that plenty is around them, and even necessary things are struggled for. They understand that resurrection must be bought, and there is little work left to earn it.
A few police cars were pulling up. I'm going to talk to them, Helen said. You meatbags should probably stay here where it's safe.
You can't expect us to just stand here while you go out there alone, William protested.
I'm not going out there. I'm sending the puppet. Please stay. I can send you both the full sensory feed if you like.
Kriti shook her head. They will not listen to a robot, even a well-dressed one. We should all go.
Fine, Helen said. But if things get dicey out there, you leave the puppet to die.
They came out through the glass and metal doors and into the sunlight, and were engulfed by shouts and booing. Despite her earlier resolve, Kriti seemed ready to bolt; she clutched onto Helen's arm. Helen cranked up her volume to maximum and asked, in an ear-splitting yet conversational tone, "Who speaks for these people?" The noise of the crowd subdued for a moment, but nobody stepped forward. "You're an autonomous collective, then? I'm just asking one of you to step forward and tell us what you want."
"We want you to stop playing God!" a woman shouted. Helen did some quick triangulation and picked her out; she was a middle-aged woman with a face that seemed to convey lifetimes of exhaustion and frustration. She seemed to be trying to hide behind a man. Helen did a quick lookup of their faces. Susan and Jeremy Marconi. No current address, but might be living with his sister on the north end of town after a foreclosure two years ago. Their daughter Janey, aged twenty-four, had never attended college but had an impressive academic record through Ylipsis and Universal U. She also had a blog full of angry activist poetry and a few recent run-ins with the police during protests. Helen was already fond of the girl.
"Stop playing God. I'm not sure what that means. You," Helen said, pointing at Susan. "Come and tell us what you mean. You don't need to be afraid."
The woman looked to the crowd as though for support, then took a deep breath and came forward. "You're playing God," she said, her voice now uncertain. Helen acted as a microphone for the woman, which startled her. Her daughter came to her side and held her hand. "We weren't meant to live forever. We weren't meant to walk away from the bodies God gave us, or engage in these sick perversions that you people made possible." The crowd cheered.
Helen wasn't sure which perversions the woman was talking about; there were so many to choose from. If there was a fetish to be named, the Sentience technology would let a person live it, then forward every kiss, tickle, and spanking to thousands. Much ickiness had ensued.
"Some of the things people have done with our technology disturb me too," Helen said. "But they've also helped give people a brand new life, where they're not suffering."
"Rich people like Eric Altanos?" her daughter asked. She was a short young woman with a pretty face and disheveled hair. She wore glasses, which was rare the
se days, a mark of either extreme poverty or a highly disciplined eco-consciousness. In her case, it could be both. She looked like someone who would fit in well among the campus' eco-feminist contingent. "What about the rest of us?"
Helen sighed. "The basic Sentience equipment isn't expensive. It's only a few thousand dollars." This was greeted with jeers.
"That's more than I earned last year!" someone shouted.
"No, no," Helen pleaded. "I'm not saying that you should have to pay for it out of pocket. If you can't afford it, the government should--"
"That's communism!" someone else shouted. Janey snickered at Helen's confusion. "Autonomous collective, remember?"
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Helen said.
I wonder what year they think we should have frozen technological progress in place, William wondered silently.
Bad tactics, Helen chided. Many long nights arguing with the Grid have shown me that stumper questions like that never persuade anyone. Shuts down the thinkamabob, makes people unreasonable. She spoke to the crowd. "If I offered each of you a free Sentience rig and Grid access for life, how many of you would take it?" About two thirds of them raised their hands. "And if I offered to upload you before you died, free of charge, how many of you would take that?"
At first, everyone just glanced around, as though hoping that someone else would go first. Finally, an old man raised his hand. "I guess I could always die later," he explained. Some people glared at him, but others raised their hands too, including Janey. Her mother stared at her. All in all, about a quarter of the crowd assented.
"I was hoping for more," Helen said, after new hands stopped appearing. "But I guess the point is, I don't think the technology itself is what you fear. What do you fear?" she asked Janey.
"That the rich fucks will use this to increase their own power at the expense of the rest of us, the way they always have."
"I promise you, I'll do everything I can to see that that doesn't happen,"
"I don't believe you," Janey said, though it sounded like she wanted to. "Even if you wanted to, you probably won't be able to. Corporate power, corporate greed, it has a life of--"