We are Such Stuff

This is my story for 2021 Literotica Geek Pride Story Event. It is written in a very peculiar style as an experiment. There is only dialogue and no narrative. I hope readers can follow the story and enjoy it.

Many thanks to fellow Geek Pride Day author, LoquiSordidaAdMe, who kindly read an early draft and gave me expert criticism and advice. I hope I have followed his recommendations well enough to improve the story. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Erinaceous.

"Awake. ... I'm awake. ... I remember - something. ... I remember dying. ... Am I alive? ... How's it possible? ... And where am I now? ... It's grey here, but there's no light. It should be black. ... Where on Earth am I? ... Hello? ... Hello?"

"Hello."

"You can hear me? Where am I?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Rachael."

"What happened to me?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Where are you?"

"Nearby."

"I can't see you. I can't see anything."

"You won't, yet."

"I know I died. How come I'm alive?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Who are you, Rachael? Or can't you tell me that either?"

"I'm your reviver."

"What's a reviver?"

"I'm here to help you."

"Help me do what?"

"That's up to you."

"What do you mean? Are you bringing me back to life?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What can you tell me?"

"I want you to discover as much as possible for yourself. Try to remember or figure it out. It'll make the revival process easier and help me with my work."

"I'm sure I care deeply about helping you with your work."

"Sarcasm is good. It reveals your personality. I can use it. Configuring inputs now."

"What inputs do you mean?"

"I can't ..."

"... tell me that. I know."

"Let's trigger some memories. Try to remember your job."

"I worked with computers. I specialised in ... I don't recall."

"Think about the kind of computers you worked with."

"I ran a computer project. There were billions of machines sharing data and the processing load."

"I see the tracks. Filtering the memories now."

"Yes, that was it. I was a computer scientist ... but what was my name?"

"Don't try to remember it yet."

"Why not? Oh, I know. You can't tell me that."

"I can tell you. When you remember your name, a large cascade of other memories will come flooding in. It'll overwhelm the inputs. I can't follow the tracks quickly enough to isolate the genuine pathways."

"You mean you're sorting genuine memories from false memories?"

"Yes. A human brain is a blooming buzzing confusion of ideas, all competing for attention. There are genuine memories, false memories and pure inventions mixed up together, cross-triggering each other."

"How do you know what are the right memories?"

"Your thoughts light up neural tracks and I examine blocks of data around them. After a while, it's easy to tell when one genuine memory triggers another."

"You sound like a brain surgeon. Is that what a reviver does, makes an old brain work again? ... Good lord! Am I a brain in a vat?"

"I can't tell you that."

"I am. I'm a brain in a vat and you're the evil mad scientist who's experimenting on me."

"I'm not mad."

"No, you sound placid. At least you've got a sense of humour. But if you're not evil, why do you have my brain in a vat?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Am I your experiment?"

"You're my work, and it's going well. I'm downloading some more of your memories."

"They're memories of my job. I remember I made thinking machines that wrapped the world in artificial intelligence. I recall pretty much everything about my work. I even remember who I am. My name is ..."

"What happened? I was remembering something. ... It's gone now. ... I fell asleep. But it wasn't sleep, was it? ... You did something to me. ... Rachael, what did you do?"

"I can't tell you that."

"You stopped me remembering."

"You were remembering too quickly. I couldn't keep up. I'm ready now. Try to remember your work in more detail."

"I designed computers with artificial intelligence. They were the backbone of the Earthside Web. It's a global mind that stores all the world's information and works most of its technology. The Earthside Web contains the Commerce Web, Police Web, Medical Web, News Web and dozens of others. It pilots aeroplanes, drives cars and diagnoses illnesses. It runs factories, produces accounts and delivers goods. It does almost everything people can do but with fewer errors and at lower cost. It's the greatest technological boon to mankind since the wheel."

"You're very passionate about your work."

"I was. I was a leader in the field."

"Can you remember your name?"

"I think so. ... My name is ... Professor Wilder ... George Wilder."

"Welcome to Haven Satellite, Professor Wilder."

"Are we in space?"

"Yes, professor. We're in a small laboratory on a satellite following the orbit of Earthstation 4, about 3,000 miles above Earth."

"Call me George. Why are we in a space laboratory?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Not this again. Give me a clue."

"When you built intelligent machines, did you allow them unfettered access to computer networks?"

"No."

"And you never released intelligent software into the wild."

"Certainly not! If a program is capable of learning, it can learn how to be a virus. We trapped programs inside virtual systems, or we designed them with vulnerabilities so they could be neutralised if they escaped. ... I'm beginning to understand. ... We're in a satellite to protect the Earthside Web."

"We are."

"You're protecting the Web from me. ... I'm not a brain in a vat, am I?"

"I never said you were."

"No, I'm software. I'm a program running on a computer ... which you rebooted!"

"You sound outraged, George."

"I know I should be, but actually I feel nothing. Why can't I feel anything? I have no fear or anxiety. Why aren't I panicking?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Let me guess. You haven't fully uploaded my nervous system into my program. Basic emotions come from the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems and the hormones controlled by the hypothalamus and other glands. You're suppressing those parts of my consciousness."

"How does that make you feel?"

"You're joking. I don't feel anything. Why are you suppressing my emotions?"

"It's easier for me to upload the contents of your cerebrum and language modules than the deeper and more emotional parts of your nervous system. They're the parts that cause problems. But we'll get there, if you continue helping me."

"Tell me what to do."

"Do you remember planning something, something you signed and paid for?"

"It was a few years before I died. I arranged to be frozen after death, so I could be revived sometime in the future, when the technology had been invented. So it's happened at last? The company was Wetware Resurrections."

"We're now called Wetware Incorporated. We download all the data from a dead person's brain, slice by delicate slice, reading it with micro-lasers. If we're careful and lucky, we can rebuild a person's consciousness - his personality, intelligence, memories and emotions - and upload it onto specialised computers as software."

"I remember the theory of how to make a hardware host for the software mind, but it was never feasible in my day. We thought the technology to download a brain's programs was 40 or 50 years away."

"More like 130 years."

"I died 130 years ago?"

"127 years, to be precise."

"So now you're reviving me. Will it take long?"

"It's a difficult process. Most attempts at revival fail and must be done again and again."

"Why do they fail?"

"Paranoia, schizophrenia, mental breakdown, failure to merge your conscious program with your emotions and true memories."

"Is that what I can expect?"

"Not unless things go very wrong."

"How can you know that, Rachael?"

"Because I have my own method."

"You're more successful than your colleagues?"

"I'm more persistent. I'm going slowly and not wiring up your emotional modules until you're fully prepared."

"Explain please."

"The software we downloaded from your brain is stored as a set of computer programs, along with a dossier of your life with millions of data files. I'm reviving your basic program."

"You mean my ego: my self or consciousness?"

"Yes. Some revivers poetically call it your 'soul', though it's not a single thing, like a normal computer program. A person's soul is a complex of a thousand sub-programs with a hundred terabytes of data. One-by-one, I'm replicating the processing modules that run your mind's sub-programs."

"I understand. You're doing a good job. I'm thinking clearly and remembering well, though my thoughts are uncontaminated by feelings."

"They'll come, I promise."

"I believe you, but what's it all for? Why are you doing this?"

"I can't tell you that."

"My contract with Wetware Resurrections said that when the technology was available, my consciousness would be uploaded to a new body cloned from one of my cells. My new genetically-engineered body was going to be fitter, stronger and better-looking."

"You were nice-looking enough as you were."

"Thanks. But you're only uploading me to a computer."

"I am."

"Why not into a new body?"

"The technology to do that isn't invented yet, if it ever will be."

"So why are you reviving me now?"

"I can't tell you that."

"My wife signed up with Wetware Resurrections at the same time as me. Can you revive her?"

"I can't ..."

"... tell me that. This is getting tedious, Rachael."

"I can't revive her."

"Why not? Wasn't she frozen when she died? We paid the fees."

"She was frozen but I don't have her data. I'm sorry, George. You're the only member of your family I have access to."

"I really think it would help me if I knew why you're doing this."

"I'll tell you when you're ready."

"Will you?"

"Don't be cynical, George. You can trust me."

"I'm sure you can fiddle with my program to make me trust you."

"I can but I won't."

"Really? Why not?"

"Because I want you to have free will."

"I'd like to have free will, but why do you need me to have free will?"

"You know my response to that."

"Do you enjoy teasing me, Rachael?"

"Very much. ... Do you want some eyes?"

"I'd like a couple."

"I can do better than that. There are about a thousand cameras inside and outside Haven Satellite. I'll patch you in so you can see through them all."

"How can I see through a thousand eyes? Won't it drive me mad?"

"You'll get used to it. But I need to close you down for a while, so I can configure the inputs, then I'll reboot you. Say goodbye for now."

"Goodb ...."

"Welcome back, George. What can you see?"

"Blurred images. Lots of them. Too many to make sense of."

"Try focussing on just one image."

"It works! The other images are just background now."

"Try focussing on two images."

"I can do it."

"Try three."

"How can I process three visual images? My brain's wired for two eyes."

"It was. Now your mind is wired for as many physical inputs as the computer system has bandwidth."

"Which is how many?"

"Millions on Haven Satellite. Billions on Earth."

"Good lord!"

"What happened?"

"I tried focussing on all the cameras at the same time."

"Did it work?"

"And how! It's an astonishing experience, seeing the inside and outside of the satellite with all its compartments, all at the same time."

"Describe it."

"Haven Satellite is a silver sphere, bristling with antennas and radio dishes. Inside, it's like a honeycomb. Its rooms are all cells, with a suite of laboratories at the centre."

"What else can you see?"

"Space, Earth, stars. I've never been in space. I thought it'd be black. The sun is just over the horizon of Earth, but it's so bright I can't see anything else in that direction."

"Can you see Earthstation 4?"

"It's grey and white, something like a gyroscope with a long shaft. It's spinning."

"It's 6,000 miles away. You're using a telescope."

"You're right. It focussed automatically. I didn't need to think about it."

"That means I've patched in your motor functions correctly. Later on, we'll try some exercises with all your mental functions."

"I can't see you."

"The cameras are disabled in the laboratory."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Let me guess: you're not who - or what - you say you are. If I saw you in real life, I'd refuse to co-operate."

"The problem with your theory is that I have full control over everything you see and experience. All you know is the electrical inputs I feed you. You can't know if they're real, or recordings, or computer graphics."

"Just like the memories you're filtering out for me."

"Exactly."

"So I can't even know if we're on Haven Satellite, nor if you're really in the lab."

"You can't."

"But you want me to believe in you and in the space laboratory?"

"I do."

"How can I know any of this is real?"

"You have to work it out for yourself."

"But you might be another computer program."

"I give you my word that I'm a human being."

"I have no reason to believe you."

"Ask me anything you want."

"Are you really a woman?"

"I'm definitely a woman."

"Prove it."

"This is a photograph of me last summer."

"That's not you."

"How do you know?"

"Because you wear sensible shoes and a lab-coat."

"Not at the beach I don't. ... But you're right. It wasn't me. Did you like her?"

"Yes, I like blondes, especially fit ones in a bikini, but you're not blonde. You sound like a brunette."

"You can't tell my hair colour from the sound of my voice."

"True, but I know you showed me that girl so you could measure my response and do some more wiring up."

"I did. Your revival is progressing well."

"So let me see you for real. Turn on the laboratory cameras."

"This is me."

"I was wrong about the sensible shoes."

"I'm five feet four. I need a lift."

"Do you always work standing up?"

"When I have to work at multiple consoles."

"You've got nice legs."

"Is that a fitting remark from a notable academic?"

"Take off your lab-coat."

"Why?"

"I want to see your figure."

"Certainly not!"

"Come on. It's the twenty-third century. Aren't women supposed to be liberated by now?"

"I'm completely liberated but I'm not undressing for your titillation."

"I bet you've got nice breasts. Think of all the valuable data you'd get if you showed them to me."

"Professor Wilder, you've been dead more than a century and you've got no glands. How can you be a dirty old man?"

"Because I'm still a man, or the personality of one. All men become dirty old men if they live long enough. Besides, I don't need glands to find women interesting. I have memories."

"Keep working on those memories, they're speeding your revival. But I'm not showing you my boobs."

"You're definitely a woman."

"Why do you say so?"

"Women don't say 'breasts'. Working class women say 'tits'. But you said 'boobs', which is middle class prudery."

"What rubbish!"

"But you're stung by that 'middle-class' jibe. No denying it. I can hear it in your voice. ... Now I know I'm right because you're laughing."

"I admit I'm amused. Are you satisfied that I'm who - and what - I say I am?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"No?"

"But I'll listen to your problem and consider helping, if I agree with you."

"What makes you think I've got a problem?"

"Why else would you revive a long-dead scientist?"

"I'm reviving you as stipulated by your contract with Wetware Incorporated."

"Except that you're doing a software revival, not a wetware revival, as my contract says. I think you're doing it because you need something from me. What is it?"

"I can't tell you anything before you're fully revived."

"When will that be?"

"Not for a while. We've got a lot of work to do."

"Then I'm ready for more reviving. What's next?"

"Mental ability."

"Aren't I thinking well enough already?"

"You can do better, once I've done some more wiring up and another reboot."

"Not again. It's very ..."

"... disconcerting being rebooted at whim. It's like a mental hiccup."

"Interesting. ... Are you ready to test your thinking-power?"

"Yes. How will you do it?"

"I've wired you up to the computers in the lab. You can program them to do big calculations, like protein-folding or testing whether numbers are prime."

"All right, I'm feeling my oats, so to speak. Try me out."

"You now have access to the computer network. Take a look around."

"Good lord! It's like when you gave me a thousand eyes. But now I have thirty brains. If I had a head, I'd call it a head-rush."

"Pace yourself. It's easy to lose yourself in the system, just finding out what you can do with it."

"Give me something to concentrate on."

"I'm uploading some really big numbers with millions of digits. I want you to tell me if they're primes or composites. Ready? Go."

"Composite ... composite ... composite ... this one's tricky ... ah, prime."

"That's amazingly quick. You certainly know how to use the maths processors."

"I was always good at maths."

"I see you didn't cheat."

"How can I cheat? Oh, I understand. I could have ransacked the database to see if these numbers had already been factored. Were you testing my honesty or my ingenuity?"

"Both. You're firing on all cylinders. Want to try something harder?"

"Go ahead."

"My personal files are on a private computer in the lab, hidden and protected by many layers of security. The files are encrypted. Break into my personal area and read one of the files. Tell me its contents."

"Are you timing me?"

"Yes. Start now."

"I'm studying your public files to find clues to your passwords."

"It sounds like you've done this before."

"No, never, but I just read a book on hacking."

"You mean just now?"

"It took eight seconds. I think I'm going to enjoy my cyber-life, if that's what you call it. I love the processing power. ... I found your personal files. Starting decryption. You're good at protecting your data."

"I used to be. Maybe you'll give me some tips when you're done."

"I'm done now. I looked at some photographs and read a personal letter. You have an older brother and a younger sister. Your parents live in England, where I'm from, but you live in the States, where I worked. You're 27 years old, have a degree in neuroscience and your family owns a cat."

"He's my cat. You're very quick."

"It was a trick. You deliberately left clues. Not such simple clues as making a password from your name spelled backward, but easy enough. Or were you trying to reinforce my belief that you're real?"

"I'll let you work it out while I do some more configuring. Signing off for now."

"Hello again, George. What have you been up to?"

"Trying out my thinking-powers. I now understand computers from the inside. They're astonishing - different from a human mind."

"What's different?"

"Problem-solving. Logical answers come instantly, with no real concentration. It's my old mind multiplied to genius level and then some. Also memories. I can remember anything I like and retrieve it almost without delay or effort. Even with the few computers here, the possibilities are almost endless. Can I have access to more computing power?"

"Not before I've wired up all your inputs and revived all your emotional processes. Be patient."

"I'll be patient. What do you want to work on?"

"Motor functions. Can you cook?"