Agent of Truth

by Grant Piercy

  “Statued?” I said.

  “You blacked out. There was a whole mess of them,” my handsome husband said. His bearded face, his tightly cropped hair, his deep and soulful brown eyes. Devon, you should recognize me. “You were with Regina. She’d just got out of a presentation, and all the NMAC employees found their assistants bricked. Statued. You weren’t moving or responding in any way. Blackout.”

  “I don’t... recall anything,” I said. I tried to say something believably Opal. “Perhaps my diagnostics need to be checked.”

  “Let me call Regina, see what she wants to do.”

  He got up to walk away, a tablet in hand. My hand used hers to reach for his arm. There was a brief tingle at the touch of his skin, an autonomic response to the feel of him and the anxiety of what I was going to do.

  Was it really proving anything if I forced it?

  I made her stand before him and touched his face. I pulled him to her and their lips touched, the sensation warming mine.

  The look on Devon’s face as he pulled away from her would haunt me, a mixture of surprise and arousal. He pushed his face into hers harder. I felt the heat flush up my face, the pressure of him against me.

  It went quickly after that. He hungrily ripped at her clothes, a greed I hadn’t seen from him in years. It was like seeing a different side of him, this man I’d spent over a decade of my life with, the father of my children. A private face. I felt his hands at her chest, and then grappling her ass, holding her tight. He wanted her more than he would ever admit.

  And I let him handle me like a ragdoll, tossing me about, pushing me down against the floor, my face digging into the carpet. I wondered how I looked in the real world, my ass up in the air, the feel of him and the toy attachment pushing into me, between two other bored housewives masturbating on the floor.

  As he fucked me, I couldn’t help the sounds coming from my mouth, joining the symphony of moaning and whimpering. I also couldn’t help the tears streaming down my cheeks, the anger I felt toward him, the sadness and betrayal weighing down my heart.

  I pushed the headset off my eyes, the earbuds pulling out at the same time. I cried face-down on that strange floor, ignoring the chorus around me that began to quiet. I sniffled and howled and beat my hands against the ground. I stripped the suit off of me and tossed it aside, allowing it to pile with the headset. I laid there, mostly naked, ignoring all of the others around me, curling into fetal position and letting the tears pour out of me.

  A hand tapped me on the shoulder

  Around me, all the others in the room stared. Headsets were pushed up, eyes wide and pleading. They came out of their fantasies, stopping what they were doing to watch the sad, naked woman curled on the carpet.

  The staring made it all so much worse. I cried harder, trying to cover my eyes and my chest at the same time, like some baroque portrait of religious ecstasy.

  But they didn’t judge, and they didn’t get angry.

  These women watched me at my worst, and they moved closer to cradle me. They held me close, huddling around me. They helped me find my clothes and cover myself.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” a short, stout woman asked. Her hair was something of a mess, having worn a headset while writhing on the floor mere moments before.

  “She’ s Regina, ” a voice said. It was Cindy, the woman who had mixed a margarita in the kitchen. She was holding the tabby cat and sitting on the staircase. “Beverly told her to come here. She doesn’t know any of us.”

  “Who’s Beverly?” another voice asked.

  “A friend who said that I should come here if I wanted to know,” I said. My implant began to act up. I worried at my ear again.

  “What did you want to know?” the stout woman asked.

  “If I really knew my husband. And no. No I don’t.”

  We talked for most of the night. I told them about Opal and Devon. I talked about my job and my family. I told them about things that I don’t normally tell anyone.

  TALOS X

  Technical Specifications

  The World Set Free

  1. Capability

  2. Character

  3. Conduct

  Capability

  Every Talos X model features the NMAC proprietary Processor Neural Network (PNN) and over 250,000 10 th generation microsensors that enhance tactile inputs. With state of the art artificial intelligence that meets all Turing requirements, the Talos X can learn and adapt to most daily situations from simple household tasks to romantic interludes to extensive production requirements. The Talos X is the most capable model on the market today, and includes near infinite data storage for your everyday needs.

  Character

  Talos X models include lifelike functionality, utilizing a complex personality matrix to compose specific behavior modeling. The Talos X runs routines that form the basis of a realistic identity, a character unique to the model you have purchased and customized. Your Talos X is your best friend, your co-worker, and your assistant, all rolled into one.

  Conduct

  Your Talos X is programmable and customizable on every level. Begin with simple task programming via voice commands and device pairing, and move to complex creative analysis as you watch your model learn and grow, to conduct itself in a human world.

  Boot Instructions

  Upon delivery, your customized Talos X can be booted via a simple phrase encoded into its programming. You have chosen the name Opal for your model; the phrase to boot your model is, “ Beauty awakens the soul to act.”

  3-D Printed Custom Features

  Please ensure that the 3-D printed custom features of your model match those requested from the NMAC form fields you completed upon order.

  Canonical Name: Opal

  Height: 5’7

  Weight: 120

  Hair Color: Black

  Eye Color: Blue

  Skin Color: Caucasian

  Anatomical: Yes

  Opal ’s skin material is constituted of a polymer latex blend containing our proprietary microsensors, beneath which includes a blood simulant and thick neoprene musculature. Each Talos X model also features a non-toxic refrigerant that appears white or milky—if your model is under warranty, notify NMAC if your model experiences leaks of any kind.

  Opal can ingest biological matter such as food and drink while producing waste, similar to homo sapiens ; however, it is not necessary for sustenance. Feeding your Talos X can improve battery life.

  11: no one ever hated their own body (the architect)

  Michael Render stared at the screen.

  Names drifted through the air, dancing through my consciousness. She said that Michael used to like basketball, so she left it on for me. I didn’t feel anything toward the men dribbling back and forth across the court. She looked for anything that would unlock the old Michael. I could tell you he wasn’t trapped with me.

  At some point I would have to go back to work. At some point Michael would have to come back, right?

  I thought of the family across the street, living their lives day-to-day. And there I was, standing still. Daphne was desperate, as though Michael Render was waiting for the magic word to be spoken aloud. Instead, there was only me.

  She’d invite friends and family over. She’d cook his favorite foods. She’d watch his favorite shows. She’d take him to his favorite bars and restaurants. I can’t imagine the disappointment of having to live with me instead of him.

  Evelyn was in the house a lot, trying to comfort her sister. She sat there with me, watching the two teams I didn’t know bounce back and forth, babysitting while Daphne smoked cigarettes outside on the patio.

  “What can I do?” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Evelyn asked.

  I gazed at her, lowering my brow slightly. She got the hint.

  “It’s a frustrating situation for everyone, Michael.”

  I sighed, staring back at the screen.

  “I’m not even sure if I should call yo
u Michael. You’re nothing like him.”

  “Who else would I be?”

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t know.”

  Each day the singularity receded a little further from my memory, the Transhuman vision of a better tomorrow fading into the banality of everyday life.

  “You know who Phineas Gage was, right?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Phineas Gage. A railroad spike went through his skull, and he became a different person thereafter. An accident like what happened to me can result in this type of brain damage. What makes you you? Is it all in the brain and the body? Is it something that can be extracted?”

  “Well it’s certainly something that can change,” she said.

  Daphne had been hesitant to seek further medical attention because it would cost them more. They didn’t have the best insurance. Specialists cost more, and Michael was on medical leave.

  “In time, Phineas Gage returned to something like normal,” I said.

  “How do you know so much about Phineas Gage?”

  “It’s a famous story—the doctors talked about it with me a bit,” I lied without hesitation. It’s just another piece of knowledge that was fading from my memory while trapped in this body. It was something I could fall back on when people asked why I acted so differently.

  While I stared at the players trying so hard to score on one another, Daphne walked through the back door, the scent of cigarette smoke drifting inside with her. I couldn’t help but feel bad for her and the life she wanted to lead, but couldn’t. She wore her hair up in a bun, a pre-bedtime ritual with her blue pajamas. She looked like she cared less and less each day. She didn’t spend much time with me, even though she was supposed to be caring for me.

  She sat on the couch with Evelyn, her phone in hand.

  There was one thing she hadn’t tried yet, but neither of us talked about it.

  The lack of words between us caused my stomach to sink. I was in a body that didn’t belong to me, to no fault of my own. I’d robbed this woman of her husband and her future. Was I being punished for some crime I couldn’t even remember?

  I thought longer and harder on the days before Home had been eradicated in nuclear fire. My poor dog, Shoes, who I watched burn through Jones’ eyes as he died in the conflagration. How did I do it? How did I broadcast to all of them? I must have been generating radio waves...

  “I think I’m going to go to bed,” Daphne said. Of course it was far too early for bedtime. “I have a headache.”

  Evelyn stood up, her purse already dangling from her shoulder. “If you need anything, give me a call,” she said, offering her sister a hug. “Come here, Phineas Gage.” I stood up to hug her as well. She held her hands on my arms for a moment, saying, “You shouldn’t hesitate to call me either. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

  I nodded without saying anything.

  She was out the door quickly. Her headlights pulled from the driveway, leaving the house in the oppressive silence between me and Daphne, who went upstairs without turning off any lights. The basketball game continued on the telescreen. She went straight to bed in the darkness.

  I could stay and continue watching the game, or follow her. I chose to follow.

  No words passed between us. I simply discarded my clothes and crawled into the bed next to her, the silence still weighing heavily in the air. Sleep would come, and with it, dreams of a different future.

  Before I was set adrift though, a hand touched Michael Render’s back.

  Her hand was warm and strong.

  She pulled close to me, reaching around to Render’s stomach. The warmth of her body was enough for me, her breasts pressing into Render’s back. But I wasn’t Render.

  The warmth of her hand caused a tingle up and down my spine. The hand drifted southward, into the elastic of my underwear. She touched up and down the length of me, gripping me firmly but gently. “ Daphne, ” I whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”

  She shushed me, holding tight and stroking me. I turned and adjusted myself to wrap my arms around her. Render breathed heavily into her ear and kissed her cheek. She didn’t respond, just kept working me. It felt less like an act of pleasuring a partner and more like pacifying an animal in a zoo. At the moment, it didn’t matter—I squeezed her tight and buried my face in her shoulder. It didn’t take long.

  When it was over, she immediately let go and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. I laid there puzzling over what had just happened, wondering about whether this was something she and Render did often. It wasn’t sex, and it wasn’t mutual masturbation.

  She didn’t say anything when she came back to bed. She just laid down and squeezed her pillow in her arms, facing away from me.

  I got up to change my underwear and go to the bathroom. In the bedroom, I heard Daphne fighting back a sniffle.

  What can you do when the person you love isn’t there anymore?

  My heart hurt for her, so much so that it was difficult to breathe at times. Why was I put here? Was I atoning for some forgotten sin?

  That night I dreamt of a hotel overlooking a beautiful ocean vista. The moon hung low, so you could see the moonlight carving the edge of the horizon. The waves crashed hard against the breakers, and the world seemed limited to that little plot of land and sea. I watched and waited for the tide to take me, but it only pushed at the shore.

  Dreams are supposed to be the way your mind incorporates new information into your memories, creating links that hadn’t been there before and visions with unexpected associations. As I dreamt with Michael Render’s eyes and brain, what were these then?

  In the morning, words didn’t pass between us. I’d learned the routines of Render’s life, showering first, and then staring at the stranger in the mirror while applying deodorant. He ate toast and drank coffee, but with the medical leave, had nowhere to go.

  Daphne had a routine of her own. I always found myself waking before her, careful to allow her restful sleep. She still did have to work, so most of the days were by myself, staring at that telescreen or wondering at the house across the street, filled with another family of strangers who somehow tried to make it work.

  This morning was different.

  Normally she would wake up and close the bathroom door behind her, preparing her own shower. When she was finished, she’d open the door and let the mirrors defog. Next came the makeup and the hair, all while her torso was wrapped in a towel. Finally, she’d spend a few moments at the wardrobe, choosing a top for the day.

  This morning, the door didn’t open back up.

  After what had seemed like a long time staring out the window at the house where Didiane and Adam lived, I watched them load their daughter into the smartcar that carried them all away. The house was quiet, and Daphne was spending a long time in the shower.

  I walked to the bathroom door and knocked.

  And knocked again after there was no answer.

  I finally burst through the door to see the shower curtain drawn and the water running still. I drew back the curtain to find her naked and prone on the floor of the shower, streams of red running with the water to the drain from both her wrists. Her eyes were vacant, but that didn’t mean she was gone.

  I used the emergency unlock feature on her phone to call 911, telling them that my fianc é e had attempted suicide in the shower and that I was going to attempt to apply tourniquets to both her arms. They instructed me not to do so, to simply wait for the paramedics.

  “To hell with that. It takes a few minutes for a person to bleed out from a sliced artery. I’m not sure how long she’s been lying here. She might already be gone by the time paramedics arrive.”

  “Sir! Sir, please stay on the line!”

  I ran to the bedroom and found two faux leather belts that belonged to Mike Render. Without hesitation, I brought them back to the shower. I wrapped her right arm first, as quickly as I could, up above the elbow, as tight as possible. I didn’t check to see if it worked be
fore doing the same to her left. It seemed like the blood stopped leaking into the tub and running with the water.

  I tapped her cheeks to try to get a response, then pulled each of her eyelids open, but it seemed like she was out cold. “C’mon Daphne. Don’t give up,” I heard myself say. I checked her pulse at her neck—it felt faint, but it was there.

  The knock came to the front door of Daphne and Mike’s home. I rushed to the living room and quickly let in the paramedics. “She’s in the shower,” I said. It was only then that I noticed the blood all over me—not covering me head to toe, but dotting Mike Render’s clothes. I also realized I was dripping wet, my hair and shirt soaked. I didn’t even think to shut the shower off.

  They were in there for a long time—three men in heavy blue uniforms. Every once in awhile, I heard low voices murmuring. One knelt by the bathtub, another sat on the toilet with the seat down, while the last stood over the others. I couldn’t see what was happening.

  I forgot all about the phone, so I informed the dispatcher that they’ d arrived.

  Eventually they wheeled her out on a stretcher to the ambulance that waited in the driveway. I got in the back with her, only to hear her say in a small whisper, “You’re not Michael.”

  I couldn’t hold her hand for fear of the wound at her wrist. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m not Michael.”

  MyRead/agent_of_truth: spiritual suicide

  User: Agent_of_Truth

  “After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body just as the LORD does the church, because we are members of his body.” Ephesians, 5:29-30

  Hello again, True Patriots.

  Let us talk today about how the Transhumans wish to deform the good works of nature, and are therefore abominations. The good book teaches us that no true man hates their own body, they nurture and care for it; they feed and bathe and clothe themselves. Yet there are those that commit harm and sin against their bodies, against themselves—after all, suicide is one such mortal sin that we must account for in our world.