Human

by Robert Berke

  Where are the tears, he wondered, did they all hate this guy?

  Julian underlined and put a question mark next to the word brave. Is that the right word? Brave is when you have a choice and choose to face a fear. This guy didn't have a choice. He got sick. That sucks, but it doesn't make him brave.

  Brave was putting your life on the line for ideals higher than yourself, even if those ideals were wrong. Brave was willing to die for a belief, for loyalty, for love. Getting sick is unfortunate, but it isn't brave.

  Julian had seen brave. He knew brave. He had been in Korea at the end of the war. How does Mr. Smith's suffering even compare to the bravery of a man who, in the moments before his death looked fearlessly into his assassin's eyes and said, "you can kill me, you are only killing one man. I am ready to die for my country."

  He left his musings and returned to taking notes when the Reverend introduced the lawyer. Japanese lawyer, he noted. That's weird. Okay, close personal friend for over fifty years. They were blood brothers when they were kids and did everything and saw everything together. Loved him, wonderful guy, all the right charities, supported the schools, the arts, contributed to this and that, crazy sense of humor, incredibly human blah blah blah. Julian thought he was going to fall asleep. He glanced at Kitty again. She smiled and waved. He felt a slight arousal. Just a little, but undeniable all the same. The last time he was in this building, his article ran next to an ad for penis enlargement. He quickly turned his attention back to the dais. Weird, he thought, even Smith's best friend doesn't seem too choked up about his death.

  "Without further ado," the Asian lawyer told the audience, "I would like to introduce the next speaker, Elly Smith." The light's dimmed and a screen was lowered over the makeshift stage.

  Please, Julian thought, don't let this be another now-that-I'm-dead, self-aggrandizing montage narrated by the dead guy himself. Julian crossed his eyes and sighed, then realized he was among the friends and family, not the usual crowd of journalists. He genuinely hoped nobody had noticed.

  The screen lit up, but not with some cheap title like, ‘The Life and Times of Elijah Smith.' Rather it lit up with what appeared to be the simple, green wavy lines of an oscilloscope. A voice came forth from speakers on either side of the screen. It was not an entirely human voice. Julian wasn't sure if the voice was computer generated. If it was it was definitely the best computer generated voice he had ever heard. But it definitely wasn't completely human either. It seemed to have some warmth and depth, but it was missing something in timbre.

  "Hi, everyone, thanks for coming," the voice said, "I'm Elly Smith and I'd like you to know that you've all been had. I'm not dead."

  Julian sat up in his seat and a nervous chuckle went up from the audience. Maybe this could be interesting yet, Julian thought. Smith was known as a great jokester.

  "Calm down, calm down. There's more to tell. I didn't bring you all here to waste your time. Hi Herme, I see you there by the stage. Hi, Ellen," He said in a gentle voice to the baby on Hermelinda's lap.

  "Okay, I guess we should tell these people, what do you think, kid?"

  "I think they should know, Hon." Hermelinda responded from the audience.

  "So you didn't ruin the surprise?" Smith asked.

  "Nope. I didn't ruin any of the surprises, Elly." She replied.

  "Good. Okay folks, the first surprise is that earlier today, Hermelinda and I were married in a civil ceremony. She isn't just my nurse, she is also my wife. We have a beautiful child together named Ellen." Hermelinda turned in her seat and waved to the gathering with a broad grin on her face.

  "The second surprise is that my body did die and was buried two weeks ago at the Heritage Cemetery out on 73, but I am still very much alive."

  Julian felt a creepiness, like a cold, wet hand touching his back. It made him shiver. The voice. The warmth and depth of it now just seemed eerie and dark.

  The voice carried on, "Dr. Bayron was supposed to be here to answer some of the more technical questions about how I am still alive even though my body has died, but he has apparently become indisposed. So I'm going to give you the 25 cent version and do my best to answer a few questions. And even though I would think that the revelation of human immortality would itself be worth the trip down to the SmithCorp Building on short notice, we have also prepared a beautiful buffet luncheon for you after the presentation."

  Immortality, Julian thought, who the fuck would want to be immortal. Lunch, however, is something I could go for.

  "Dr. Bayron and I have been working on this idea for more than a decade," Smith continued. "Bayron had postulated when he was still a graduate student at Harvard that because a human brain is comprised of a discreet number of elements, in theory all of those elements could be modeled by software. Bayron compared his idea to an accident reconstruction video. By programming in all of the known properties of a particular material, it is possible to predict exactly how that material will react in certain conditions. The more accurately the properties are known the more accurately the model will emulate reality. If the model is completely accurate, then the outcome will be completely real.

  "Dr. Bayron hypothesized that by modeling every cell, every neuron, every chemical, every single discreet piece of the human mind, he could create a model of that mind which would function exactly like the original. By recreating every single property of every single piece of the brain, the reconstructed brain would be just as real as the original.

  "Well, it took a long, long time and we did it piece by piece, but we did it. Each piece of my brain-- every synapse, every nerve cell-- was modeled, one at a time. We filled exabyte after exabyte of digital media with perfect, digitally rendered, representations of my brain. As my brain began shutting down, each piece of my brain that shut down was replaced with the model. A little piece here, a little piece there. The first part to go was memory. I could still think and solve problems, but my memory was starting to fade. So we replaced that part of my brain responsible for memory with the model that Dr. Bayron made and wired it into my brain. And, to no one's greater surprise then my own, it actually worked. Every few weeks, as my brain died, we replaced the dying part with its model, until finally there was nothing left of my biological brain. At that point, we disconnected the body and sent if for burial, but I have remained very, very much alive. I was awake when the very last cord was cut between my biological mind and my new prosthetic mind. Had my eyes not been watching the activity monitors as it happened, I would never have believed it happened at all.

  "All right, I'll take a few questions now."

  Almost every hand in the room went up.

  Takahashi went to the lectern and spoke into the microphone. "One at a time, one at a time. Calm down and we'll call you one at a time."

  A reporter from the back was waving his arm wildly. Smith acknowledged him as the guy in the green jacket. He asked, "How does it feel to die?"

  Smith answered, "I don't know, and I probably never will know." Smith had anticipated this question and knew he would tell this lie. He knew what it felt to die, it just wasn't his own death he felt. It was that of Yuri Ashkot.

  "So there was never a long tunnel or a bright light or anything?"

  "No, nothing. I was even awake during all of the surgeries and there was never a point at which I felt any change in my consciousness. Trust me, I am still alive."

  Another reporter asked, "How many copies of there are you then?"

  Smith lied again, though he had not anticipated this question, "a few," he said.

  "Are each of the copies separate people then?"

  Smith had thought about this before and answered quickly, "As each copy would amass different experiences and environmental factors, they could obviously become two different people, much like twins have distinguishable personalities. However, I don't think splitting myself into multiple people is a particularly convenient thing to do, so I do not intend to the let copies grow apart. Next question, Red necktie, pink
shirt guy."

  "Mr. Smith, could the same technology be used to bring say, Einstein, back to life since his brain was preserved? By the way, its salmon, not pink."

  A series of "ha's came out of the speakers. The laugh's still didn't sound quite right, but they got the idea across, "Young man, in my day we called that pink. And yes, I would say theoretically, if a brain has been properly preserved, it should be possible to bring it back to life with this technology. Maybe Walt Disney would be a better example since his entire head was cryogenically frozen. The chemicals preserving Einstein's brain could have corrupted some of the more subtle structures. The best subject, of course, like me, would be a live one."

  I should probably ask a question, Julian thought to himself, this is pretty important stuff. I want to see that luncheon, but I know I should ask something. He hadn't asked a question at a press conference in probably 20 years. He raised his hand and hoped he didn't embarrass himself.

  Smith acknowledged Julian, as "old man, up in front."

  "Julian Waterstone, Schenectady Gazette. Sir, I understand that you're still alive, but are you still human?"

  The question silenced the room and the wavy lines on the screen above the stage went straight and stayed that way for a difficult moment. Smith was not stuck for an answer, he was stuck for a simple answer. Julian looked toward the door to see if Kitty was still there. She wasn't. He'd hoped she had heard his question. He wondered where she had gone.

  "Still human?" Smith repeated. "That's really the question, isn't it? I'd be lying if I said I hadn't given that question a lot of thought." Smith confessed to the crowd. "I know that I am still a person. I am still sentient and self-aware, still bound by rights and duties, still cognizant of past, present, and future. The law has never ascribed flesh and blood to the concept of personhood either. Hell, SmithCorp is a person under the law. Human, on the other hand, really relates to a taxonomical classification, Homo Sapiens and taxonomy relate to biological classifications. Clearly I am no longer biological. I'm alive, but not organic. I'll have to leave it to men smarter than myself to decide whether I'm still human though. The description I like is trans-human. Still human, but just in a different state of being. Techno-Sapiens, maybe?"

  Julian nodded as Smith continued taking questions. It certainly was food for thought.

  Out in the parking lot of the SmithCorp Building, a crowd was forming. Some of the reporters and maybe some of the other guests as well had called or messaged the news of Smith's appearance at his own memorial service and the miracle of his transformation. Reporters, photographers, newsvans, and various curious onlookers were beginning to crowd the parking lot.

  When uninvited people first started arriving and were trying to get in, one of the security guards came up and told Kitty what was going on. She didn't want to disturb the proceedings, so she went down to see for herself what was going on. "Keep them out." She instructed the guard. "This is a private event and they have no right to be here."

  She went back inside the SmithCorp Building and instructed the desk guard to lock the front door. Kitty called the police and told them what was happening. She had to make a decision and she hoped she had made the right one. She then went up to try to find Myra or Mr. Takahashi to tell them what was happening. She found Myra and told her what was happening downstairs. Myra said she did the right thing and that the police would handle it. She told her to come to the luncheon and make herself a plate.

  Kitty walked into the room where the luncheon had been prepared for the attendees of the memorial-service-which-was-really-a-press-conference. It hurt her for a moment to see how the beautiful spread of coldcuts, condiments and desserts had been destroyed by the press and other guests. It hurt her worse to see the crumbs and soda stains on the tasteful linen tablecloths she had picked out. She had struggled so hard to get the right ones and she was sure that nobody had noticed. If they had they wouldn't have put their coffee cups down on them. Then she realized that it was a good thing. People were eating, they liked the food. They were sitting and talking, so that satisfied her that they liked the atmosphere she had made.

  Kitty saw Julian sitting alone with a partially eaten bagel in front of him. She took a bagel and a cup of coffee from the buffet and sat down next to him. "Do you want some company, mister?" She said to him, using the exact same words she had learned to say in order to sell lapdances at the bar. She didn't know his name, but she knew when she looked in his eyes that he was the saddest man she had ever met and there were many sad men at the Moviestar Topless.

  "I would like that very much, Miss." He said, answering that question in the affirmative for the first time ever. "I didn't recognize you when I first came in."

  "They call me Kitty," she said, extending a hand, "my real name is Katherine, though. But I seem to be stuck with Kitty now."

  Julian shook her hand gently. "Julian Waterstone," he answered. "They call me Julie."

  She reached over and brushed some bagel crumbs off of his shirt but instantly realized that doing so made him uncomfortable. "Isn't this beautiful," she said, showing off her black satin pantsuit. "They've really been treating me nice here," she said.

  "Are you working for SmithCorp now?" Julian asked with genuine curiosity.

  Kitty smiled and thought for a moment. "I'm not sure," she said. "I think I work for that guy." She pointed to Sam Takahashi. Julian had seen Sam before at the club. "He hired me to give a lapdance to a little laptop computer. The computer turned out to be Mr. Smith and, well, somehow, here I am, with all kinds of important people, a $600 haircut, and people calling me Ms. O'Malley instead of Kitty." She picked a little at her bagel.

  "This is quite a group to be involved with, Kitty," Julian said feeling fatherly, "it looks like you've been given a real opportunity here."

  "I'm glad you're here though, Julie. I kind of feel like a phony. I better get back and see if Mr. Takahashi needs anything."

  Julian smiled. He knew that she really was glad that he was there. This wasn't a lapdance booth and she wasn't working for tips. "Take my card," Julian said, "if you ever need anything."

  She took the card and put it in her pocket. "I don't have any cards of my own, but this is Mr. Takahashi's card," she said as she rose. "I wrote my name on it."

  As Kitty walked away, Julian looked down at the card. Across the top, handwritten in curly stylized letters, was the name, Katherine O'Malley.

  "Eliza Doolittle, more like," Julian said to himself. He let his eyes watch her ass as she crossed the floor. Good for her, he thought. Some people are blessed. I wish I was dead.

  Cruz called Gonzales and asked to meet with him immediately. He had been watching the wires for any news out of SmithCorp ever since they had identified it as being the source of the three names they had intercepted. Today, being the day of the press conference, he had been keeping especially close watch. When Cruz got to the Brandywine Diner, Gonzales was already there and seated in a booth. Cruz pulled a paper out of his breast pocket. It was a report filed by a reporter from the Schenectady Gazette regarding the Smith Memorial service which had concluded only hours before. As Cruz adjusted himself in the booth, Gonzales perused the clipping. Cruz had highlighted what he thought was the most important part which was about two-thirds of the way down in the text. "Smith suggested that, in theory, the same technology could be used to bring the dead back to life if their brains have been properly preserved."

  "SmithCorp," Gonzales whispered, "fucking SmithCorp. I'll be a son of a bitch. Kovaretsky wants to use this technology to get the code from Ashkot's brain. Jesus."

  Josey Cruz noticed Gonzales's hands again as they contracted around the clipping, the veins visible through his skin.

  "What stymies me, though," Cruz said, "is why would SmithCorp go public with this if they're conspiring to unleash an unregulated nuclear arsenal on the world!"

  "They wouldn't. Unless they didn't know..." Gonzales started before changing his mind. "But if they didn't know, then how d
id the names come up?"

  "They must have known." Josey said. "It's the first rule of criminal investigation: there are no coincidences."

  "True, " Gonzales agreed, "but there are accidents."

  Gonzales perused the article again. "Speaking of coincidences..." Gonzales chuckled, pointing to the article's byline, "I served with this guy in Korea."

  "Spook?" Cruz asked.

  "Nope, a journalist," Gonzales answered.

  Smith wasn't aware of the now-dissipating chaos that had descended on his parking lot hours ago. Hermelinda had left the luncheon and took the elevator to the executive floor so she and the baby could spend some private time with their husband and father.

  A conference room with a long table and three chairs on each side had been wired with a microphone, a camera, and a wall mounted monitor so that Smith could hold meetings there. Smith called it his office and he strongly preferred to see people there than in the lab. The fewer people in the lab, the better.

  Smith felt an awful lot of activity in his artificial mind. He couldn't sort out his thoughts at all. There was just a lot of activity. The fact that he felt a little confused actually made him feel good. It reminded him that he had not become a computer even though his mind was now hardware driven. It reminded him that life was not simply an equation to be calculated and empiricised. Even with the worlds most powerful computer equipment driving his mind, there remained the unquantifiable elements that kept him human.

  "Are you worried about Dr. Bayron?" Hermelinda asked.