by Aaron Dennis
Losing Human
Copyright 2013 by Aaron Dennis
Published by www.storiesbydennis.com April 2013
Newest edition November 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
It was supposed to be sad
“I can’t believe that’s it. Growing up, granddad was always around….Guess I’ll just have to keep his memory alive, you know?” Greta cried. “Steven? Are you even listening to me?”
“Hm?”
Doctor Steven Heisler and his girlfriend of the past seven months, Greta, stood outside the funeral home. Appropriately, it was a dreary day—cold and windy. Greta’s red, teary eyes twitched in fury. Heisler, as usual, was a million, emotional miles away.
“I just lost my grandfather! What the Hell is wrong with you? You can’t even give me your attention?”
“Honey, I heard every word. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.”
“Gee, I don’t know, how about; it’ll be all right, I’m here for you. I love you,” she huffed.
He just looked at her with a staid expression. Greta was a beautiful woman even in mourning with her smile lines and button nose.
“Don’t you believe in God,” he asked.
“What? You know I do. So what?” she accused. “Is this your way of mocking my religious beliefs?”
“That isn’t it at all,” he clarified. “Your beliefs tell you this man has moved on to a better place, Heaven, and there, he rests in the glory of God. Why would you be sad about that?”
“Oh my God…I can’t even look at you right now, Steven. I mean, you really don’t get it, that I have a hole in my heart? My beloved grandfather, a man I, I, I can’t even comprehend a life without him. He’s gone. I’m sad, Steven, because I’m never going to see him again,” she explained in disbelief.
Again he just looked at her. An old couple approached during their exchange.
“Greta, honey,” her father called. “Why don’t you ride home with us?”
“Here,” she yelled, throwing a set of keys at Heisler. “Thanks, Dad.”
He didn’t catch the keys. They bounced off his black coat and jingled on hitting the concrete. Greta’s father glared at him. Heisler didn’t mind. They’re just acting out based on emotions…everyone does that.
He bent over, snatched the keys then made his way to the Ford Expedition. He climbed in, but waited a few minutes for the crowds to disperse. All these people, all of them, they’re only acting like they feel these particular ways. So what if her grandfather is dead? She didn’t act like this when she got the call, no she was ‘in shock’ then, days later, miraculously, she’s sad. Ridiculous.
Most everyone left. He turned the key then started the drive home. His phone rang about a mile down the road. Using the hands free device, he answered.
Project Human
“Dekker, what have you got,” Heisler asked from behind the wheel of his Expedition.
“Stevie, you won’t believe it! Come to the lab right away. It’s working. Can you believe it? It’s freaking working,” Dekker cheered.
Heisler smiled. His colleague, Charles Dekker, knew better than to call him Stevie, but Dekker never cared, especially when he was excited. His partner was ecstatic about the work in progress—uploading intelligences into a digital system.
“Alright, Dekker, I’m coming in. Keep your pants on,” Heisler replied then disconnected.
He took the next exit on the interstate, turned around, and headed towards MIT. For months, the team of programmers, neuroscientists, and roboticists worked in unison to complete Project Human. The first step, after the completion of a Mobile Robotic Construct, or MRC, was uploading brain waves from a cat into a mainframe. The second step, which had just been successful, was uploading a digital copy from the mainframe into the MRC.
Heisler arrived late in the afternoon at the University. He parked, ran inside, scanned in then proceeded to the lab. Inside, he saw his compatriot.
Doctor Dekker, the chunky Irishman and programmer of the team, was all smiles. Heisler walked past the myriads of robotic components he himself had designed and approached the robotic feline.
“Look!” Dekker said with wide eyes.
“I see it.”
“Oh, that’s it, huh? You see it. Dead inside as always…at least you’re consistent,” Dekker joked.
Heisler smiled. The cat walked around the room for a minute then it leapt awkwardly onto a steel table. It acted as though sniffing itself.
“It genuinely thinks it’s a cat.”
“Where are we on the ape?”
“What? Years, bud,” Dekker asserted, incredulously. “I don’t know why I thought you’d be impressed.”
“There’s nothing impressive. We knew, in time, this was going to work. Success was imminent,” Heisler stated. “Let’s keep monitoring the MRC’s activities. I want to know how it behaves with its new body. A cat is designed to survive. Even domesticated felines never relinquish the urge to hunt, mark their territory, and mate.”
“This was a neutered house cat. It isn’t going to want to mate…it won’t have any of its biological urges.”
“I am aware,” Heisler said. “Which is why I wonder what changes in behavior we’re going to see.”
“Boy, you know how to rain on a parade, don’t you?”
Heisler shrugged. They sat around, watching the cat move from one area to another. It was evident that the creature required time to adjust to its new balance, its new weight distribution. Constructed of Titanium, Copper, and Silicon, the MRC piddled around, seemingly uninterested in much of anything.
“See, it’s a house cat, Stevie.”
“Please, call me Heisler.”
“So, you are human. You get upset,” Dekker snipped. Heisler shot him a look of mild contempt and derision. “Why did you start this project if you’re not invested?”
“I am invested. I want to see the culmination of our work.”
“The Singularity,” Dekker said.
“Of course,” he replied. “What else is there? We’ve gone as far as we can with everything else. I’ve created all manner of prosthetics and replacement organs, but what’s the point?”
“What’s the point? What-what’s the point?!” Dekker interrupted. “We’re helping people who are sick. We’re, we’re, helping humans live longer, so they can accomplish more.”
“More what, Dekker?”
“More, more…I don’t know. Where would we be if DaVinci had artificial organs? If he lived to be like three hundred or something?”
“Right here. Time, Dekker, in time, which is relative and inconsequential, we’d get here, like we just did today. It’s time for something different, something…humanly inconceivable,” Heisler ranted.
Dekker rubbed his chunky cheeks. The occasional rambling of the roboticist was nothing new, but Dekker had been so excited that Heisler’s usual behavior was a pretty big downer.
“I don’t know…let’s change the subject while we wait for the others. How’s Greta?”
“She’s fine.”
“You guys have been together awhile now, right? She getting used to living with someone who’s never home,” Dekker pried.
“We’re not living together.”
“What? S
o you’re not going to marry this one either? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like companionship? Why do you even date?”
Heisler drifted away. Letting his attention meander from his compatriot, he observed the MRC. What’s the point? If we attain the Singularity, no one will have children, and the only point of children is the propagation of the human race, and the only point of that is to uncover new concepts…why am I in a relationship? I don’t plan on having children. Doubtful they’d ever pick up where I leave off anyway.
“Well?” Dekker demanded.
“Hm?”
“What are you doing with your life?”
“That’s a stupid question. I won’t dignify you with a response if you’re going to be like this,” Heisler retorted.
“You’re a dick, Stevie.”
“Alright. I’ll play. What are you doing with your life?”
“I got a wife and kids. I’m living the American dream…I, I…” he trailed off.
“See, you aren’t doing anything either unless you’re here. Like me, whether you like it or not, you’re working towards one goal. The culmination of which will lead us to a point in time where the concept of family is as derivative as the last superhero movie,” Heisler explained. “You’re only acting like you’re supposed to have a wife and kids. Me, I’m not acting. That’s all.”
“Whatever. I’m going out for a smoke.”
“See. There you go. You’re doing something anathema to raising a family. You act like you care about them, but then you go to poison yourself and work towards an early grave,” Heisler pointed out.
Dekker blinked, blindsided by the truth in the assertion. Then he said the same old thing everyone says when they’ve run up against a logical wall.
“Life is short. I’m not going to keep myself from enjoying the little things.”
“Well, Charlie, I’m only going to enjoy the big things, and when we attain the Singularity, I’m going to uncover the biggest thing. Truth.”
“Go home to Greta.”
Heisler watched his comrade exit before giving his attention to the MRC. “Ntch, ntch, ntch, ntch,” he clicked, calling the cat.
It approached then rubbed its head against Heisler’s calf.
“You don’t have any more scent glands,” he said. “Eventually, you’ll learn to accomplish more than any cat ever has…then we’ll know just how smart a cat really is.”
Over the next few weeks the MRC grew restless. With no need to carry out mundane rituals, like eating or pooping, it was relegated to the only need any awareness on planet Earth exhibited, the need to explore, to perceive, so the team of Doctors let it roam around the lab. The MRC, subsequently called Mittins as was its name prior to being a robot, became a crowd favorite. Naturally, it had a monumental business value; an immortal cat with no need for food, litter, shots, and even available to people with allergies.
Losing human
“Going back to the lab tonight?” Greta asked.
“Of course,” Heisler replied.
“I just don’t understand where this is going,” she complained.
“What do you mean? You knew when we met…what I do, how often I’m gone.”
“I know, I know, I guess I just thought…you know, we’d move in together, get married, have kids. I mean, why else do two people get together?”
“To experience life and share those experiences with one another. We don’t need kids for that or marriage.”
“You’re the stupidest smart person I’ve ever met, Steven!”
“That’s uncalled for,” Heisler said.
“No,” she bellowed, “it isn’t. I’m not a Robot-Doctor! I’m not experiencing anything with you. We barely even have sex anymore. Having a child together—someone to care for and raise—that’s experiencing something together.” He looked at her. She glared back. The situation was truly incomprehensible. “I think it’s over, Steven,” she mumbled.
A moment of staring into one another’s eyes persisted. His expression had not changed throughout the discussion. She was no longer mad, just utterly disappointed.
“You don’t even care that I’m leaving, do you? You don’t care that you’ve hurt my feelings or wasted over a year of my life?”
“I’m not sure what you want me to say here…I’ll miss you,” he answered.
“No, you won’t. You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself,” Greta said, tears welling up in her eyes.
She’s right. I’m not going to miss her. I’m just going to keep working. Maybe, this time I won’t look for someone else…after all, what’s the point?
The next few months consisted of running back and forth to the lab. The Neurobiologist, Doctor Jenkins, had obtained a new specimen, so Heisler worked furiously to perfect the next MRC. At the lab, Heisler, Jenkins, and Dekker, collaborated.
“Franklin’s a good ape. I think we’ve really got something. His intelligence and people skills are way off the charts,” Jenkins said.
He was a tall, thin African-American, with OCD. Dekker enjoyed touching Jenkins’ belongings to get a rise from him, but they were all business at the moment.
“What people skills,” Heisler posed.
“For starters, he can sign well over two hundred words,” Jenkins said.
“That doesn’t qualify,” Heisler interrupted.
“Hold on,” Jenkins continued. “Franklin’s polite. He signs please, and thank you, doesn’t interrupt people,” Jenkins said shooting a look of mock contempt to Heisler. “He interacts well with humans.”
“He’s got a leg up on you,” Dekker joked.
Heisler was not pleased.
“Look, Franklin’s good. He responds to orders, thinks before making decisions, and is happy to learn,” Jenkins explained.
“Happy to learn?” Heisler doubted.
“Yes. He enjoys it.”
“Happiness and enjoyment aren’t the same. He shows a willingness, that’s good, but I don’t think we can say he’s happy,” Heisler critiqued.
Jenkins rubbed his face vigorously while exhaling. “Heisler, I’ve been measuring his serotonin levels. He’s happy when he’s learning…more so than when he’s doing anything else, and that’s what we’re looking for, right?”
“Jenkins is right,” Dekker said. “We can’t ask for a better ape.”
“Apes are far more complex than cats. How do we know he won’t become aggressive after the change,” Heisler asked.
Jenkins stood to pace around. Then, he busied himself with aligning some of the robotics tools by length.
“Jenkins,” Dekker called.
Without deviating from his abnormality, he replied, “We don’t…but that’s something we’ll be able to decipher when we upload his awareness to the mainframe.”
“We saw indications of panic with Mittins,” Dekker added.
“So…what, if Franklin shows the same, we don’t move forward,” Heisler asked.
“Of course not!” Dekker answered.
“Maybe we should…I mean, do we want a specimen who doesn’t react from being disembodied,” Heisler argued.
Jenkins finally turned to address them, “That’s a good point. With his inquisitiveness, I doubt he won’t show some levels of stress or confusion. However, we can wait until he settles down before we move into the new MRC. How far along are you anyway?”
“The head and torso are complete, but I’m wondering about going a different way,” Heisler thought, aloud.
“How so,” Dekker pried.
Heisler looked off, though his face showed no sign of deliberation. Then, he stood and approached the window overlooking the parking lot.
“A real change,” he whispered. “A real change will provide us the data required to obtain the funding to move on to the final step. I want to create a body for which Franklin has no previous experience…I want to see what an ape can accomplish when provided a means to push past its standard limitations…I mean, that’s the ultimate goal—to strip humanit
y of its limitations.”
“We need to stick to the outlined procedures, Heisler,” Dekker suggested.
“No. No more standard procedures,” he objected.
“Heisler,” Jenkins squawked. “They’ll shut us down.”
“Listen,” he demanded. “I’m not talking about designing a gargantuan monstrosity. I just mean, we give him wheels, or, or, or…more arms, something to truly test our theories.”
Jenkins produced a cloth to wipe his seat down before sitting. “I’m listening.”
“You’re listening?” Dekker was incredulous.
“Let’s be honest, Charlie,” Jenkins said. “No one really wants us to create a superhuman robot with human flaws, but if we can prove that an ape can achieve great accomplishments, we’ll have statistical and irrevocable evidence that people will do the same when provided the opportunity.”
“Thank you,” Heisler said. “Can you secure a backup in the event that Franklin doesn’t turn out to be the ape we want?”
“I can start,” he sighed.
“Dekker, you onboard with this?”
He looked at both of his colleagues then shook his head in dismay. “What choice do I have?”
“Good,” Heisler purred. “I’ll get to work on something spectacular.”
The following months Franklin underwent rigorous, mental training, proving his intelligence was above average. Among some of the astonishing accomplishments was learning to clean other animal’s cages. Franklin was a veritable whirlwind of work, and all the while, his serotonin levels shot through the roof.
During Franklin’s training, and subsequent uploading of awareness, Heisler went to work on designing and building a new body, one more accommodating to their research. Late one night, in the engineering lab, he received a call on his cell phone. It was from his dad.
“Yes?”
“Steven….” his dad’s voice was ragged.
“…yes,” Heisler asked, again.
“Steven,” Heisler’s dad choked up. “Your mother passed.”
A moment of silence ensued. This is one of those times I’m supposed to act sad, right? “How did she go?”
“Oh, a stroke,” he cried. “I tried to call you when it happened, but I couldn’t get through. I, I need to see you, son.”
“I’m at the lab, Dad.”
“What’s wrong with you, boy? Don’t you care about anybody other than yourself?” his dad chastised in rage and mourning.
“I do, but I can’t get away.”
“I know…I’m sorry. I’m just so…so sad. I loved her so much, and you remind me of her. I thought maybe I could see you,” his dad apologized.
“I understand. I’ll see what I can do…hang in there,” Heisler replied then disconnected. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered then went to back to work.
He was incapable of understanding simple, emotional concepts such as the need for consoling. He didn’t understand that his dad was sad and that seeing his son was uplifting; a human necessity. Certainly, chemical reactions take place, but does everyone with a high production of adrenaline go off the deep end and kill someone? Ridiculous. So, he just kept plugging away at his project until a few nights later, when he got another call.
We all have friends
“Yes,” Heisler asked.
“You never called me back,” his dad accused.
“Apologies. I’ve been busy.”
“Good Lord, Son. Your mother’s dead. I’m all alone. I needed to see you,” his dad started. Before continuing, the old man cleared his throat. He didn’t want another argument. “Anyway, the funeral is here on the twenty ninth…you’re coming, right?”
Heisler had recently removed the wastefulness of going home and stayed in the lab. That night was no different. He looked at his new components before saying anything else.
“When’s the twenty ninth?”
“Next Friday.”
“Next Friday, we’re monitoring some of the long-term effects of our project. We uploaded a cat’s awareness into a robotic construct. I need to be present…I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Steven, you only have one mother. Take a sick day. Use bereavement leave…. If you don’t care enough to show then say it. Don’t give me the run around. You’re not the only smart one in the family…a family quickly dwindling.”
Heisler shook his head in disappointment. “I’ll see what I can do, Dad.”
“I love you, Steven.”
“I love you, too,” Heisler answered, but they were just words.
After all, love is only oxytocin. Heisler went back to work. It was days later, while sitting in discussion with the project team, that he received a text. It read: call me when you’re free.
The message came from Johnny, an old friend. Apart from the occasional visit to his parent’s place—visits, which had diminished to nothing in the recent years—he hadn’t seen his friend in a long time.
“Insofar as the recent data compilations exhibit, Franklin is still in a state of what I’d call shock, due to the erratic oscillations of alpha-waves, but he does seem to calm down when provided with a puzzle to solve or a new piece of information to study,” Jenkins explained.
“Recently, I’ve been uploading digital mazes for him to complete, and he’s done okay,” Dekker commented.
“Told you,” Jenkins beamed.
“I have to make a call,” Heisler said.
“Everything all right, bud,” Dekker asked.
“Yes, my mom died a little while ago, and my dad wants me at the funeral. Now, my friend Johnny is going to try to guilt me into going.”
“Guilt you? Do you need to be guilted,” Jenkins pried.
Heisler looked his team over. Colette, the Psychiatrist of the group, was also present.
“I…no. It’s just that the funeral is on Friday, and we’re supposed to be present to monitor the cat MRC.”
“Doctor Heisler,” Colette started.
“Are you going to analyze my behavior?” he snipped.
She was a mousy woman with glasses, who believed going by her first name made her more approachable. Heisler disagreed and thought it belittled her achievements.
“No, I’m not,” she huffed. “You’re a logical and goal oriented individual. It’s worked to your benefit so far. This funeral isn’t about you.”
“Who is it about? It’s not about my mother. She’s dead. Remember? She doesn’t know I’m there.”
She smirked before answering, “It’s about those who care about her, and who care about you. They want you there, so they can feel as though things are going to be better, even though someone they’ve loved for very long is no longer living.”
“I’m calling John now,” Heisler said and stepped out into the hall.
“Hey, Steven,” Johnny answered. “Sorry about your mother.”
“Thank you. Dad got a hold of you, huh?”
“Sharp as a tack, so, listen–”
“Hey, relax,” Heisler interjected. “I’m going to do whatever it takes. It’s been made abundantly clear to me that I need to be there.”
There was a pause followed by a breath. Then, a sigh of acceptance echoed.
“Good. I’ll keep an eye on your dad until your cousin comes in.”
“My cousin? Which one? Not Richard,” Heisler fretted.
“No, no, your dad said Michelle’s coming to stay with him for a little while.”
“Oh, that’ll be good for Dad. All right, listen, I have to go. Work,” Heisler replied then disconnected.
He looked at the phone for a second then down the hall. The baby blue walls, glinting windows, and exit signs held an odd fascination for a moment. Heisler thought about his mother.
She always had that bright smile, urging me forwards, like when she insisted I apply to MIT…like when I was accepted. That should have been the happiest day of my life, but it was just the beginning of something great, not a time to pat myself on the back. I also sho
uld have been happy when we secured funding for Project Human…but that, too, was just a different first step. Was my serotonin production not high enough? Ridiculous.
