by Dima Zales
Nothing happens for a few moments. When I’m about to ask Phoe what I’m looking at, the door to the room opens, and a Guard walks in. He walks up to the table and swaps the rightmost cup for the leftmost.
That explains things. Unknowingly, Jeremiah drank his own poison. And that Guard must be—
“Yes, it’s you,” Phoe says. “Or me, or whatever the right term is. While you were taking the Test, I kept an eye on our friends here. I did promise to take care of her, after all. Since I had control of your body, I walked it from the black building to that room”—she points at the Screen—“as soon as I realized what he was about to do. This is, by the way, how I picked up the Guard tail we shook off.”
“So the Forgetting you hijacked—it was Jeremiah’s?” I relax a little.
“Correct. I weaved my own instructions into Jeremiah’s Forgetting—which Fiona initiated soon after he died as a matter of protocol. All but one person, besides you, remembers what transpired today.” Phoe waves at the Screen again.
“Who’s this other person?” I ask but realize she’s already answering my question by playing something on the Screen.
Phoe winks at me and turns toward the Screen.
Fiona is on the Screen. She stands there in her usual spot, surrounded by the Council.
“As the new Keeper, my first order of business is to reassure you all that the investigation the prior Keeper and I initiated is complete.”
Hushed murmurs move among the crowd.
A thin, unhealthy-looking Councilor stands and asks, “Is this message coming from the Envoy?”
Fiona’s eyes glint with ice as she says, “I will meet with the Envoy shortly. I’m sure he will agree with my decision.”
Phoe pauses the video and says, “When she tried to figure out why Jeremiah would attempt to kill her, she came across my fake video—the one implicating Jeremiah. This is why she considers the investigation over. She figures Jeremiah was the culprit.”
Before I get a chance to question her, Phoe resumes the video.
“It’s my duty as the Keeper to warn you: I will make you Forget about the investigation so you can—”
Phoe stops the video. “That takes care of pretty much all the loose ends except for Fiona.”
“Right, but that’s one big loose end. Fiona knows about my neural scan being out of whack. Can’t you make her Forget so everything is really over?”
“Doing so would be too risky. She’s the new Keeper and messing with her mind might raise red flags.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. I suspect I won’t need to do anything anyway. She’s talking to the Envoy—”
“Wait. About that. Nothing is over until we know who or what the Envoy is,” I say urgently. “He still knows about the investigation. I think it’s time you explain—”
“I don’t need to explain,” Phoe says. “I can show it to you, since, as I was trying to tell you, their conversation is happening as we speak.”
I stand up. “What conversation? Are you torturing me on purpose?”
“You didn’t want me to answer questions before you asked them. Now you want me to predict what you want to know and tell it to you?” Phoe pouts. “Fine. You heard Fiona. She told them she and the Envoy were meeting. That meeting started a few minutes ago. I can show it to you. So far, it confirms all of my suspicions—suspicions I developed once I smartened up, thanks to the resources of the Test.”
“Yes, please show me.” My mouth is dry as I add, “Now.”
In reply, Phoe makes the orchestra-conductor gesture. My vision and hearing blur into white noise. It’s the same thing that happened when she took me to the cathedral-like place where Jeremiah met with the Envoy what feels like years ago.
My senses clear, and I see that I was right. I’m surrounded by the magnificent space, with music blasting like last time. Only instead of organ music, it sounds stringy.
“It’s Bach again. His Cello Suite No. 1, The Prelude,” Phoe whispers. “I’m showing you a recording that’s only a few minutes old. They’re still talking, you see.”
“Who?”
Phoe shows up next to me and points to a slender, white-hooded figure kneeling next to the big stage, where the Envoy last appeared.
It’s Fiona, which of course makes sense. She’s the new Keeper, and the Keeper gets to meet with the Envoy.
Bright rays of light spread out from the middle of the platform. I cover my face and wait. This happened last time too. The Envoy likes to make an entrance.
When the light subsides, I look at the stage.
A luminous figure is standing there, but it’s not the Envoy. More accurately, it’s not the same Envoy. The being clearly shares similarities with the guy I called the Envoy before, and they’re of the same species, as it were, but this is a different specimen. The wings of this being don’t have feathers and look more like the wings of an albino bat. This figure also lacks some of the confident majesty of the other one, and he’s wearing some kind of short britches or capri pants rather than a loincloth. As with the previous one, his torso leaves no doubt that this Envoy is male, though he isn’t as well built.
Fiona pulls the cowl from her head and studies the face of the visitor. Something about his face both fascinates and upsets her.
This Envoy’s replacement has a young face like that of his predecessor’s. This face is actually familiar, but not because it bears any resemblance to the Envoy Jeremiah spoke with.
Thinking of Jeremiah puts it all in perspective, and I blink a few times. If these were ancient times and Jeremiah had a son or a younger brother—and that brother was much better-looking than his kin—this is what his relative’s face would look like. The face of the being in front of us matches Jeremiah’s features, only it’s much younger and more pleasing to the eye.
I look at Phoe.
She meets my gaze, nods, and points at Fiona.
Fiona gets up and murmurs, “This can’t be,” as she approaches the stage.
The music stops, and in a surreal voice that sounds like a cello, the Envoy—or whoever he is—says, “Tradition dictates that you stay where you are, Keeper.”
If a cello could play a youthful version of Jeremiah’s voice, this is what it would sound like.
“Did you think that guise would confuse me?” Fiona squeezes her slender hands into tight fists. “I recognize you, even if the last time I saw you like this was when we were Youths.”
“This is not a guise,” the Envoy says patiently. “It’s the way we Forebears choose to make ourselves look after ascension.”
“And you are—”
“No longer the man you knew as Jeremiah,” he says. “You will now refer to me as the Envoy.”
26
“I demand to speak with someone else.” Fiona’s usually melodious voice hardens with anger. “The prior Envoy, or the other Forebears, anyone but you.”
Jeremiah looks genuinely confused by her vehemence. “The old Keeper becomes the Envoy. This is part of the knowledge I am to pass on to you, the new Keeper. I know we’ve had our differences, but this—”
“You expect to teach me?” Fiona’s voice increases in pitch and volume. “After what you did? After what you tried to do to me?” Despite Jeremiah’s earlier warning, she steps closer to the stage.
“Look, Keeper… Fi, something clearly happened to upset you. We must’ve had an argument—”
“An argument?” She assesses the climb to the center stage, her eyes gleaming dangerously. “I found the video, Jeremiah. I never thought you were capable of such violence.”
She looks like she’s about to attack him, and it’s clear he recognizes it too.
Stepping backward, he says, “Relax.” He underscores the command with the Pacify gesture.
Fiona’s face contorts as her anger fights the unnatural relaxation. I can tell her anger loses the battle, because Fiona’s features morph into her usual composed countenance.
“Now,” Jeremiah s
ays. “There’s something you should know about ascension. Our minds are snapshot when we sleep, which means the last thing I remember of my biological life is the eve of Birth Day. If we had a disagreement during our investigation today, I can’t recall that information.”
“Disagreement,” Fiona scoffs. “That’s the understatement of the century.”
“What happened?” The eyebrows on Jeremiah’s polished face go up.
“Even if you don’t remember Birth Day, even if you don’t recall how you tried to kill me, surely you remember hitting me and making everyone Forget about your outburst,” Fiona says, her voice unnaturally even. “So you see, we cannot work together. If you don’t let me speak to another Forebear, I will step down from the position of Keeper.”
Jeremiah looks like she just punched him. “You’re insane.” His voice sounds more human this time, and less like cello music. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Did you make yourself Forget that Council meeting? You, a Keeper whose job it was to remember all?” Fiona asks in that uncannily calm tone. “It doesn’t surprise me, nor does it negate the fact that it happened. I saw the evidence with my own eyes.”
“What are you talking about?” The Envoy drops the musical effect completely. Without it, he sounds like a younger version of Jeremiah. “What is this grievance you imagined?”
“Why did you die, Jeremiah?” Fiona backs away from the stage. “Have you asked yourself that?”
If it were possible for a luminescent being to pale, the Envoy’s face comes close. “I thought it was old age. I was the oldest.”
“Wrong,” Fiona snaps. “Judging by the look on your face, you must’ve suspected something was off. Yes, you were very old, but your health was good. There was no reason for you to die. No, you were trying to poison me, but somehow your plan went awry and you inadvertently killed yourself. I guess there’s something to the ancient idea of karma after all. If you truly forgot, why don’t you use the Lens of Truth to see if I’m lying?” She puts her hand on her chest and confidently says, “I consent to the Lens of Truth and swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”
Fiona’s eyes glaze over, and Jeremiah stands frozen for a second. Then, evidently coming to a decision, he says, “Is it true I tried to kill you?”
“Yes,” Fiona says in a hollow version of her voice. “You told me my wine contained poison.”
At the mention of wine and poison, recognition registers on Jeremiah’s face.
“He must’ve used that method of dispatching people before or had the wine and cyanide stashed for a rainy day—something she shouldn’t know,” Phoe whispers in my ear.
I shush her.
Jeremiah continues his questioning. “What about this other offense you mentioned, and what was the meaning of it?”
“You used obscenity and physically assaulted me in front of the Council,” Fiona says with all the passion of a rock. “I surmised you were the person our investigation was meant to find.”
“Enough,” Jeremiah says angrily. “I must’ve had a reason to do what you speak of, and you’re lucky I don’t remember what that reason was or I would try to kill you again.”
Fiona goes from a zombie-like state back to her Pacified self. If Jeremiah’s threat concerns her, she hides it expertly.
They stand in silence, staring each other down.
He seems to reach some kind of decision and returns to speaking in a formal tone. “It is clear to me that the burden of Keeper has overloaded your psyche in this brief time. It must be the pain from the loss that came from my death.” He gives her a sad smile. “Under rare circumstances, the Keepers are allowed to Forget those closest to them, if the Forgetting is done under the close supervision of the Envoy.”
Even though she’s Pacified, it’s clear Fiona is catching on to his meaning, and I see a tiny twitch in her cheek. I’m amazed she can feel any anger given the effects of Pacify. When I was under it, I was floating in a cloud of calm.
“You will Forget me, and with that, all your delusions will go away,” Jeremiah says gently. “In a way, you’ll get what you asked for. When you next see me, I will be a new Envoy—a person you’ve never seen before.”
“No,” she whispers.
“If you quit your duties as the Keeper, that means you leave the Council. That means you will not reach Haven, and having seen it, I assure you that is a heavy price to pay for the sake of a few memories.” Fiona looks shaken by his words, so he presses on. “We know you don’t want to be in Limbo.” At this word, he gives a small shudder. “This way you will be better off, trust me.”
Fiona opens her mouth to say something, but he puts his hand out and says, “I already initiated it. Bye for now, but I will see you again in a few minutes.”
Jeremiah makes a sequence of gestures, and Fiona disappears from the cathedral-like space. After a moment, with a flash of light, he dematerializes too.
I look back at Phoe.
She gestures us back to the man cave.
When I appear there, I just stand in place, feeling like my world is spinning. On some level, I understand what happened, but before I reach any conclusion, I need Phoe to clarify things for me.
“First things first.” Phoe brings up a large Screen with Fiona on it. She’s standing in an empty room, looking confused. “She really did Forget,” Phoe says. “I had to double check.”
She looks at me expectantly, but I don’t say anything. I look at the hologram and note that my real-world self is in my room, already tucked in bed for the night. Is this a dream? Can I be sleeping and dreaming in VR?
“It’s pretty real.” Phoe walks over and pinches me. “See.”
I mumble that VR isn’t actually real, but her pinch does bring me out of my momentary denial.
“In case it wasn’t obvious, now we are in the clear,” Phoe says. “Jeremiah doesn’t remember the details of the investigation, which includes the out-of-whack neural scan that made him want to kill you. Fiona, the only other witness of your scan, can’t remember it either, thanks to Jeremiah making her Forget him. She won’t remember anything pertaining to him, including my fake video, which I deleted—another loose end averted. The Guards who chased us never knew your identity, but that doesn’t even matter because when Jeremiah’s Forgetting swept through Oasis, I made sure it made the Guards lose their memory of the chase. Same goes for the man whose dinosaur suit you stole. All in all, good cleanup, and done without getting on the Forebear’s radar.”
“Phoe.” I take two steps away from her. “Jeremiah died, and now he’s the Envoy.”
“Right.” Phoe smiles. “I should’ve realized you would be more interested in that than your safety.”
“I do care about my safety.” My voice echoes off the cave’s walls, a sign I might be speaking too loudly. “But what I want to know is, how can the Envoy be Jeremiah?”
“Please sit.” Phoe makes a couch appear between us and plops down on it. “I know you understand more than you let on.”
I walk to the couch and reluctantly sit down. I’ve dealt with Phoe long enough to know cooperation is the best way to get her to talk in these kinds of situations. Still, out of spite, I sit as far from her as I can.
“I need to decide where to begin,” Phoe says, sliding down the couch toward me. “Oh, I know,” she says after a moment. “Do you remember what I told you about the Test? That after you fell asleep, your nanocytes made a replica of you that was indistinguishable from the real you? An upload of sorts that was then used to take the Test?”
“I don’t recall the actual experience, but I remember you explaining it earlier,” I say.
“Well, as soon as the Test began and I learned about that process, I started to suspect something but had to wait for more resources to verify it. Now I know for sure that everyone’s nanocytes don’t just take that snapshot of their brain for the Test. They do so every time you go to sleep.” Her eyes are bright with excitement. “Each snapshot is stored in a sp
ecial area in the DMZ—that place with restricted access—in a small area of system memory that is dedicated to storing that member of Oasis. Each time you go to sleep, your old connectome and other data are overridden with the latest version. Are you following me so far?”
“Digital backups of us get created when we go to sleep,” I summarize. “Only that doesn’t make sense. The backup of me in the Test was conscious. This sounds different, unless you’re saying there’s a digital version of me that runs around at night.”
“The backups are merely stored as data. They don’t get any processing resources allocated to them. It’s akin to how ancient computers could go into hibernation mode, or a more poetic analogy might be the difference between a video file stored in the archive versus a video playing on a Screen. You can think of these mind uploads as having the potential for consciousness—a potential that lies dormant, waiting for the right circumstances. Jeremiah called that data-only state Limbo.”
I recall Jeremiah saying the word to Fiona, saying it in a way that meant—
“Right,” Phoe says. “But before we talk about that, do you see what these backups mean in general?”
“I think I do,” I say, frowning. “But please, just explain it to me anyway.”
“These backups mean death is not the end.” She grins at me. “The breakdown of one’s biological body doesn’t have to be the end of existence for someone with your kind of nanocytes in their brain. These mind snapshots contain everything that makes you you. That means that after death, if the snapshot were to get properly instantiated in a virtual environment, your experience of being alive would continue. At worst, you’d forget only the events that happened after the last backup—the last time you slept.”
My head is spinning so fast I consider lying down on the couch but decide against it. I have a million more questions, but I utter the most urgent one as a single word: “Jeremiah?”
“When Jeremiah died and his nanocytes detected brain death, they activated the process that began what he called ascension. His last snapshot was moved from its usual place in the DMZ over that cursed Firewall.”
