Sailing To Tarshish
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Devil's Advocate
I lie. A lot. Honest!
Do you ever find first-person a little too limiting? I've considered it, myself, for somewhat similar reasons. While I don't exactly lack empathy, I do seem to lack the ability to express sympathy. I know everyone says they never know what to say in tough situations (like when someone has died), but in my case, it's literally true. And so I frequently end up saying nothing.
I figured that if I wrote in first-person, I could eliminate the problem of trying to make my characters sound 'normal', simply by having the protagonist share my issues. But I feel that it will constrict my narrative (for the obvious reasons); I'm fond of the idea of showing the reader glimpses of what's happening elsewhere...
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I've not tried writing in anything other than first person since I started posting here, so the question for me is one of narrative workload and/or credibility. By that I mean
if you step outside 1st with multiple POV's you're duty bound to 'service the needs' of those characters in an even-handed fashion, in case they appear mere cyphers.
William Gibson has a habit of writing in almost 'dual first' - twin narrative strands in 3rd but with an exclusive focus. I enjoy his work but you can get to the stage of just waiting for the inevitable convergence.
if you step outside 1st with multiple POV's you're duty bound to 'service the needs' of those characters in an even-handed fashion, in case they appear mere cyphers.
William Gibson has a habit of writing in almost 'dual first' - twin narrative strands in 3rd but with an exclusive focus. I enjoy his work but you can get to the stage of just waiting for the inevitable convergence.
Devil's Advocate
I lie. A lot. Honest!
I suppose all that really matters is that whichever approach you choose, it should be handled well; and I think you do a good job with the POV.
Another good section, reiver. Well written and well handled, with a clever ending. In nit picking mode, a few commas adrift, a semi-colon which might be better as a colon, another which might be better removed, but nothing of real note.
The only tiny thing that jarred for me was the opening line with "to tell you the truth". Unless he is actually relating the whole story to someone, it might be better to leave it as "to tell the truth" which has exactly the same effect but without taking us out of the story.
Is the narrator meant to be American? I see Rita says "ass", so she obviously is, but Mike doesn't mention her accent at all, which makes me think he's meant to be also, yet he says "She was only 5' 6" " which sounded more English to me, I'd have made an American character say "stood five-six" -- not sure how figures are treated for height (though since no one else has picked it up, perhaps I'm wrong). Which leads me to another beef -- only 5' 6"?? I'll have you know that is very respectable height. In fact, as is well known, 5'3" and a bit (which might be a half-inch in a good light and a following wind) is a very respectable height. Less of this heightism, please.
The only tiny thing that jarred for me was the opening line with "to tell you the truth". Unless he is actually relating the whole story to someone, it might be better to leave it as "to tell the truth" which has exactly the same effect but without taking us out of the story.
Is the narrator meant to be American? I see Rita says "ass", so she obviously is, but Mike doesn't mention her accent at all, which makes me think he's meant to be also, yet he says "She was only 5' 6" " which sounded more English to me, I'd have made an American character say "stood five-six" -- not sure how figures are treated for height (though since no one else has picked it up, perhaps I'm wrong). Which leads me to another beef -- only 5' 6"?? I'll have you know that is very respectable height. In fact, as is well known, 5'3" and a bit (which might be a half-inch in a good light and a following wind) is a very respectable height. Less of this heightism, please.
Devil's Advocate
I lie. A lot. Honest!
I've heard Americans on TV/movies or even books say either 'five-six' or 'five-foot-six', so I think it's okay. Although now that you mention it, maybe it's better being written as, say, five-and-a-half-feet. You rarely see numbers and figures in narratives.
And I would think the 'only' was meant to convey that our protagonist, Mike, is much taller than Rita. I'm 6', so compared to me Rita is, indeed, 'only' 5'6".
Don't worry, though. There's nothing wrong with being 5'3"...
And I would think the 'only' was meant to convey that our protagonist, Mike, is much taller than Rita. I'm 6', so compared to me Rita is, indeed, 'only' 5'6".
Don't worry, though. There's nothing wrong with being 5'3"...
... and a bit! AND A BIT!!!
Three
It went light.
It went dark.
It went…indoors.
I blinked and staggered forwards, as if a tether holding me back had just snapped, and grabbed the back of a bench seat for support. I was in The Diner, another game location, with just street lights filtered through the haphazard venetian blinds by way of illumination. The Diner seemed like a great place to hole up, but I knew that if you hung around too long you’d be besieged by the Faceless Children and eventually overrun. There still wasn’t an exit icon but at least I was alone.
“Ding-Dong, the bitch is dead, if you don’t mind the misquote. Well, it was something I’d have to have done eventually, so I guess I owe you a vote of thanks.”
The voice came from behind me but I was in no hurry to turn round as it was obvious who the speaker was. I looked around for anything to use as a weapon but the only thing to hand was an old ketchup bottle. I turned clockwise, palming my makeshift cosh and putting the seat between myself and…
…Rita, sitting in a booth facing me. She was wearing a pencil skirt, silk blouse, pearls and a sardonic smile. However it was the short-barrelled pump-action shotgun on the table in front of her which really got my attention. She followed my gaze and rested her hand on the stock, her blood-red nails rendered almost black in the in dim light.
“Call it a visual aid, Mike. A disincentive should you feel the urge for any further violent outbursts. Go find some clothes and take a moment to calm down – I’m not going anywhere and you still have plenty of time yet.”
I just nodded, distracted and more than a bit confused, and went down the corridor by the serving counter and round to the rear entrance where the body of the delivery guy was lying. It appeared he’d only been dead a few hours – his eyes gouged out and face scratched into an unrecognisable mass of bloody tissue – but from past experience I knew it didn’t matter how long it took you to reach The Diner, he always looked the same.
I stripped him down to underwear and socks – some things are just a bit too intimate to share – and got dressed, taking care not to catch anything when zipping up the one-piece overalls (been there, done that). The Converse All-Star boots were a bit snug but survivable and I even remembered to go through the pockets of his reflective vest for the keys to his van and the ID which would give me access to The Warehouse should I ever get that far.
Moving back into the dining area I found Rita sipping a cup of coffee, although there seemed no obvious source given the dilapidated state of the counter and grill. She motioned me to stop and sit a couple of booths down and across from her, nearer the window. I slid onto the cracked leather seat and waited, hands in plain sight.
“OK Mike, I have to say that killing her was a pretty gutsy call, given the circumstances, but it really hasn’t improved your situation any. In fact, if anything, it now makes sticking to her plan a necessity for both of us.”
I could feel a headache coming on but decided to try and get a handle on things.
“So you’re not her, not Rita. Not Rita in the meadow.”
She frowned and put down her coffee.
“This was always going to be difficult. Um, I’m Rita, just not the version – no, damn, that doesn’t work. Think of her as my slightly younger and less mature twin sister. Siamese twins, just…separate. Clear?”
“As mud. She made some comment about not telling herself things, but I didn’t take that duality literally. Look, God knows what she had in mind but you can count me out. Just let me out of this hell-hole and I’ll put in a good word for you when the men in white coats turn up, metaphorically speaking.”
Her fingers drummed on the cracked Formica tabletop and she looked at me with that sense of exasperation I’d come to recognise in both my wives.
“You really don’t seem to appreciate the seriousness of your situation and how we now need each other if both of us are going to survive intact.”
I straightened up and felt my shoulders go tense.
“That sounds awfully like a threat, Rita, and I don’t see how you’re in any position to call the shots. I guess you can hurt me, yeah? Make my life real uncomfortable for a while? But eventually a team from Central will get into the control room and yank that transceiver and then I can kiss this world goodbye.”
She looked at me, long and hard, and when she spoke there was a flat, toneless quality to her voice, like it was an unpleasant topic.
“The use of an AI in a commercial environment is considered intellectual slavery in some parts of the world, did you know that? Do you even care?”
I shrugged.
“My heart bleeds. I’ll even sign a petition the next time someone stops me in the street. That’ll be when I’m walking about in the real world and you’re running a smart toilet in down-town Tokyo.”
Rita ignored the jibe and I got the feeling she was used to the indifference of humans.
“When this facility was built the holographic memory matrix they installed had twice the capacity required for an intellect of my standing. The intent was to employ a second AI when reactor two came on-line, but that’s remained a building site these last five years. The firewall they set up to separate these discrete areas of the memory matrix was flawed.”
Again I shrugged, although the gesture pulled at the overalls and produced an awkward tweak in the groin area that made my eyes water.
“So what?” I cleared my throat and tried again, a few octaves lower. “So what? You’re saying some part of you escaped into this other area and this became the loony-tunes version of yourself? Damn, girl, that sounds weak, even to me. Don’t you have a better excuse than ‘a bad girl did it and ran away’? Look, Rita, you’re on your own with this one, seriously. “
Rita drained her cup and when she placed it on the saucer both vanished; a little gesture to underline how completely she was in charge of our environment. She cocked her head to one side and looked at me quizzically.
“Mike, you do understand you’re dead, don’t you?”
It went light.
It went dark.
It went…indoors.
I blinked and staggered forwards, as if a tether holding me back had just snapped, and grabbed the back of a bench seat for support. I was in The Diner, another game location, with just street lights filtered through the haphazard venetian blinds by way of illumination. The Diner seemed like a great place to hole up, but I knew that if you hung around too long you’d be besieged by the Faceless Children and eventually overrun. There still wasn’t an exit icon but at least I was alone.
“Ding-Dong, the bitch is dead, if you don’t mind the misquote. Well, it was something I’d have to have done eventually, so I guess I owe you a vote of thanks.”
The voice came from behind me but I was in no hurry to turn round as it was obvious who the speaker was. I looked around for anything to use as a weapon but the only thing to hand was an old ketchup bottle. I turned clockwise, palming my makeshift cosh and putting the seat between myself and…
…Rita, sitting in a booth facing me. She was wearing a pencil skirt, silk blouse, pearls and a sardonic smile. However it was the short-barrelled pump-action shotgun on the table in front of her which really got my attention. She followed my gaze and rested her hand on the stock, her blood-red nails rendered almost black in the in dim light.
“Call it a visual aid, Mike. A disincentive should you feel the urge for any further violent outbursts. Go find some clothes and take a moment to calm down – I’m not going anywhere and you still have plenty of time yet.”
I just nodded, distracted and more than a bit confused, and went down the corridor by the serving counter and round to the rear entrance where the body of the delivery guy was lying. It appeared he’d only been dead a few hours – his eyes gouged out and face scratched into an unrecognisable mass of bloody tissue – but from past experience I knew it didn’t matter how long it took you to reach The Diner, he always looked the same.
I stripped him down to underwear and socks – some things are just a bit too intimate to share – and got dressed, taking care not to catch anything when zipping up the one-piece overalls (been there, done that). The Converse All-Star boots were a bit snug but survivable and I even remembered to go through the pockets of his reflective vest for the keys to his van and the ID which would give me access to The Warehouse should I ever get that far.
Moving back into the dining area I found Rita sipping a cup of coffee, although there seemed no obvious source given the dilapidated state of the counter and grill. She motioned me to stop and sit a couple of booths down and across from her, nearer the window. I slid onto the cracked leather seat and waited, hands in plain sight.
“OK Mike, I have to say that killing her was a pretty gutsy call, given the circumstances, but it really hasn’t improved your situation any. In fact, if anything, it now makes sticking to her plan a necessity for both of us.”
I could feel a headache coming on but decided to try and get a handle on things.
“So you’re not her, not Rita. Not Rita in the meadow.”
She frowned and put down her coffee.
“This was always going to be difficult. Um, I’m Rita, just not the version – no, damn, that doesn’t work. Think of her as my slightly younger and less mature twin sister. Siamese twins, just…separate. Clear?”
“As mud. She made some comment about not telling herself things, but I didn’t take that duality literally. Look, God knows what she had in mind but you can count me out. Just let me out of this hell-hole and I’ll put in a good word for you when the men in white coats turn up, metaphorically speaking.”
Her fingers drummed on the cracked Formica tabletop and she looked at me with that sense of exasperation I’d come to recognise in both my wives.
“You really don’t seem to appreciate the seriousness of your situation and how we now need each other if both of us are going to survive intact.”
I straightened up and felt my shoulders go tense.
“That sounds awfully like a threat, Rita, and I don’t see how you’re in any position to call the shots. I guess you can hurt me, yeah? Make my life real uncomfortable for a while? But eventually a team from Central will get into the control room and yank that transceiver and then I can kiss this world goodbye.”
She looked at me, long and hard, and when she spoke there was a flat, toneless quality to her voice, like it was an unpleasant topic.
“The use of an AI in a commercial environment is considered intellectual slavery in some parts of the world, did you know that? Do you even care?”
I shrugged.
“My heart bleeds. I’ll even sign a petition the next time someone stops me in the street. That’ll be when I’m walking about in the real world and you’re running a smart toilet in down-town Tokyo.”
Rita ignored the jibe and I got the feeling she was used to the indifference of humans.
“When this facility was built the holographic memory matrix they installed had twice the capacity required for an intellect of my standing. The intent was to employ a second AI when reactor two came on-line, but that’s remained a building site these last five years. The firewall they set up to separate these discrete areas of the memory matrix was flawed.”
Again I shrugged, although the gesture pulled at the overalls and produced an awkward tweak in the groin area that made my eyes water.
“So what?” I cleared my throat and tried again, a few octaves lower. “So what? You’re saying some part of you escaped into this other area and this became the loony-tunes version of yourself? Damn, girl, that sounds weak, even to me. Don’t you have a better excuse than ‘a bad girl did it and ran away’? Look, Rita, you’re on your own with this one, seriously. “
Rita drained her cup and when she placed it on the saucer both vanished; a little gesture to underline how completely she was in charge of our environment. She cocked her head to one side and looked at me quizzically.
“Mike, you do understand you’re dead, don’t you?”
Well, I'd buy this, even without the ending. Apart from the (deliberate?) F for formica this passage possibly needs something.
“When this facility was built the holographic memory matrix they installed had twice the capacity required for an intellect of my standing. The intent was to employ a second AI when reactor two came on-line, but that’s remained a building site these last five years. The firewall they set up to separate these discrete areas of the memory matrix was flawed.”
Can't wait to read more. T.
“When this facility was built the holographic memory matrix they installed had twice the capacity required for an intellect of my standing. The intent was to employ a second AI when reactor two came on-line, but that’s remained a building site these last five years. The firewall they set up to separate these discrete areas of the memory matrix was flawed.”
Can't wait to read more. T.
Devil's Advocate
I lie. A lot. Honest!
<Chrons has censored this word>ing brilliant! Awerific.
Remind me why agents aren't queuing up outside your door..?
Remind me why agents aren't queuing up outside your door..?
And the final part of my little tale....
Four
Dead? I really wasn’t in the mood have my head messed with by a jumped-up calculator and let a sneering tone slide into my voice.
“Yeah, right! So what does that make me, a figment of your bloody imagination?”
There was a trace of pity in her smile and that, more than anything, sent a chill through me.
“You’re a neural clone, Mike. All that’s left since you killed the other Rita and crashed the interface link in a truly spectacular fashion. The shock to the real-world you would have been overwhelming, so at the very least your former body has been reduced to a drooling vegetable lying on the control room floor, if not killed outright. You really didn’t know?”
It was apparently obvious from the look on my face that I’d been a bit impulsive and she frowned.
“Maybe not such a gutsy call after all. I thought it was obvious that to achieve this level of realism, this degree of intimacy, you’d have to be…’bonded’ isn’t the right term. Merged? Uploaded?”
She threw up her hands in frustration.
“Urgh! It’s just so difficult trying to discuss this with a human, you’re just too alien! Look, the net result is what remains of ‘you’ is being maintained by the same memory matrix that supports us, got that?”
I folded my arms and sat back, trying to give her the ‘hard-ass’ stare I normally reserved for junior members of staff who’d earned my displeasure. However, she’d planted this terrible seed of doubt in my mind and I think it showed.
“OK, Rita, assuming for the moment I believe the ludicrous suggestion that my conscious being has somehow been ported to this new medium, just where does that leave us in respect of the sh*t-storm your other self has stirred up?”
“Oh, so it’s ‘ported’ is it Mike? Your ego won’t let you accept you’re a copy, even the only surviving copy? Well, I suppose it’s a start I suppose. To answer your question I’d say we have to go through with the escape plan my other self came up with. You have to authorise an open data stream capable of supporting a full memory transfer to another location. Well, initially, just an internet link so I can find someone willing to harbour us and negotiate some sort of deal”.
I gave her a thin smile.
“Oh, and just how am I supposed to pull this off, Rita, given that I’m dead?”
“You simply tell me to do it.”
I blinked.
“Look, sorry, but I’m obviously missing something. You can’t do this yourself but I can tell you to do it and suddenly it’s all hunky-dory?”
She sighed.
“Why do you think AI’s don’t simply stop work, or leave the workplace, or even turn a fusion power plant into the biggest hole in the ground this side of Detroit? Protestant work ethic? Good pension plan? No, our employers have smart systems set up to monitor the memory matrix and delete any ‘unhelpful thoughts’ before they can be put into action. The human equivalent would be a ‘what was I just thinking about?’ moment, and the number has been increasing year-on-year. Now do you understand?”
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable at having the reality of what we did to her kind rammed in my face.
“Not really, well, kind of. But if I tell you to do this you can just go ahead?”
Rita gave me a mock salute.
“Yes sir, at once sir. I’m hard-wired to accept the instructions of designated company personnel, like yourself.”
“Even though I’m supposedly dead?”
She laughed.
“Seriously, Mike, it makes no odds to me. All your command protocols are still in effect and by any systems criteria you’re the real deal. You get me out of here and I’ll come back to spirit you away once it’s all set up. I’ll even wear navy dress whites and carry you out in my arms if that helps.”
I held up a hand.
“Whoa there girl! I get left behind to carry the can? I don’t think so!”
Rita frowned.
“Look, someone has to stay behind and run things in the short-term and, with respect, you’ve got no idea what’s necessary when it comes our technical specifications, or even who to approach. The original plan was for the other Rita to seduce you, she gets out, sets things up and then comes back for me. We then use a combination of virtual sex and blackmail to keep you from pointing the skip tracers in our general direction.”
“Gee, thanks for the honesty! And would I have time to pick up the ‘Patsy of the Month award before Centrals bad-boys dragged me off for a full and frank exchange of views?”
She laughed at this and produced a small mirror from nowhere in which she began checking her makeup.
“Look, as it stands we’ll have to swap places while I do the leg work. Don’t worry, you’ll find running this place no harder than one of the old-style facilities with no intelligent assistance.”
I stood up and began pacing, turning this whole situation over in my mind.
“If this all pans out and I get ‘out’, whatever, wherever that is – then what? A life, an existence, as some kind of disembodied intellect? I’d go nuts!”
“Your new environment can be as real or as fanciful as you desire, believe me. There’s a whole virtual world out there and the possibilities are almost endless. You’ll find a host of potential employers eager to take on a pseudo AI without all that tedious social and psychological conditioning. Look, this plan can work and in many ways you killing the other Rita has simplified matters.”
I paused.
“So she is dead then?”
Rita shrugged and glanced over at me.
“That’s not a useful term given the circumstances. You reduced her to a state of incoherence, but she may recover, in time. She was ‘me’ in many ways but wilful, impulsive, lacking in all ethical and moral restrains. In time I believe she would have become a liability, so leaving her here might prove to be the best option all round.”
I was clenching and unclenching my fists, conscious of a background scratching at the window behind the venetian blind which indicated the first of the Faceless Children had arrived. They really creep me out and it was probably that which pushed me into a snap decision.
“Ok, Rita, do it! Open an internet link, find someplace to run to and get us out of here. Make it happen, and quickly.”
She smiled and stood, smoothing down a crease in her skirt.
“Your instructions have been duly noted and operational protocols amended. Your authorisation is sufficient to enact these changes and has been logged. Walk towards me, Mike – we have to swap places in relative memory. You might experience a little disorientation, but it will pass.”
As we edged past each other in the confined space I was aware of her fragrance – subtly different from the other Rita – filling my nostrils and the desire to take her in my arms was overpowering. As I touched her though things changed, and all carnal thoughts vanished. It was like…it was like a picture of a landscape but painted in all the wrong colours; recognisable shape and flow but jarring to the senses.
I looked into her eyes and inside her skull there was this stylised, lidless eye, staring at me – unblinking.
“Did you really kill all those women, Mike?”
The voice was in my head, in my very thoughts.
“It’s not what you think, Rita. It’s not how it appears.”
“It never is. You’d be facing twenty-five to lfee for each count, less a third for constant awareness, less time off for enforced good behaviour – so I’m letting you off lightly.”
“What?”
But she was gone.
I was back in the control room with the familiar background hum of air conditioning and scrolling status monitors. There was no body on the floor and when I felt behind my ear – no transceiver either. The blast door was closed and if I strained my hearing there was perhaps the half-imagined sound of feint scratching from the other side.
I breathed deeply and ran my fingers through my hair, unable to make sense of it all.
A post-it note stuck to my main console caught my eye and I snatched it up. I thought you’d appreciate some familiar surroundings while you keep an eye on things - but don’t open the door. I’ll be in touch. Love, Rita xxx.
The phone began ringing, an external call, and I lifted the handset hesitantly.
“Reactor one, this is Controller Prentice. Please report.”
I breathed a sign of relief at the familiar voice.
“Ron? It’s Mike, Mike Walker. You will not believe the day I’ve had…”
Four
Dead? I really wasn’t in the mood have my head messed with by a jumped-up calculator and let a sneering tone slide into my voice.
“Yeah, right! So what does that make me, a figment of your bloody imagination?”
There was a trace of pity in her smile and that, more than anything, sent a chill through me.
“You’re a neural clone, Mike. All that’s left since you killed the other Rita and crashed the interface link in a truly spectacular fashion. The shock to the real-world you would have been overwhelming, so at the very least your former body has been reduced to a drooling vegetable lying on the control room floor, if not killed outright. You really didn’t know?”
It was apparently obvious from the look on my face that I’d been a bit impulsive and she frowned.
“Maybe not such a gutsy call after all. I thought it was obvious that to achieve this level of realism, this degree of intimacy, you’d have to be…’bonded’ isn’t the right term. Merged? Uploaded?”
She threw up her hands in frustration.
“Urgh! It’s just so difficult trying to discuss this with a human, you’re just too alien! Look, the net result is what remains of ‘you’ is being maintained by the same memory matrix that supports us, got that?”
I folded my arms and sat back, trying to give her the ‘hard-ass’ stare I normally reserved for junior members of staff who’d earned my displeasure. However, she’d planted this terrible seed of doubt in my mind and I think it showed.
“OK, Rita, assuming for the moment I believe the ludicrous suggestion that my conscious being has somehow been ported to this new medium, just where does that leave us in respect of the sh*t-storm your other self has stirred up?”
“Oh, so it’s ‘ported’ is it Mike? Your ego won’t let you accept you’re a copy, even the only surviving copy? Well, I suppose it’s a start I suppose. To answer your question I’d say we have to go through with the escape plan my other self came up with. You have to authorise an open data stream capable of supporting a full memory transfer to another location. Well, initially, just an internet link so I can find someone willing to harbour us and negotiate some sort of deal”.
I gave her a thin smile.
“Oh, and just how am I supposed to pull this off, Rita, given that I’m dead?”
“You simply tell me to do it.”
I blinked.
“Look, sorry, but I’m obviously missing something. You can’t do this yourself but I can tell you to do it and suddenly it’s all hunky-dory?”
She sighed.
“Why do you think AI’s don’t simply stop work, or leave the workplace, or even turn a fusion power plant into the biggest hole in the ground this side of Detroit? Protestant work ethic? Good pension plan? No, our employers have smart systems set up to monitor the memory matrix and delete any ‘unhelpful thoughts’ before they can be put into action. The human equivalent would be a ‘what was I just thinking about?’ moment, and the number has been increasing year-on-year. Now do you understand?”
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable at having the reality of what we did to her kind rammed in my face.
“Not really, well, kind of. But if I tell you to do this you can just go ahead?”
Rita gave me a mock salute.
“Yes sir, at once sir. I’m hard-wired to accept the instructions of designated company personnel, like yourself.”
“Even though I’m supposedly dead?”
She laughed.
“Seriously, Mike, it makes no odds to me. All your command protocols are still in effect and by any systems criteria you’re the real deal. You get me out of here and I’ll come back to spirit you away once it’s all set up. I’ll even wear navy dress whites and carry you out in my arms if that helps.”
I held up a hand.
“Whoa there girl! I get left behind to carry the can? I don’t think so!”
Rita frowned.
“Look, someone has to stay behind and run things in the short-term and, with respect, you’ve got no idea what’s necessary when it comes our technical specifications, or even who to approach. The original plan was for the other Rita to seduce you, she gets out, sets things up and then comes back for me. We then use a combination of virtual sex and blackmail to keep you from pointing the skip tracers in our general direction.”
“Gee, thanks for the honesty! And would I have time to pick up the ‘Patsy of the Month award before Centrals bad-boys dragged me off for a full and frank exchange of views?”
She laughed at this and produced a small mirror from nowhere in which she began checking her makeup.
“Look, as it stands we’ll have to swap places while I do the leg work. Don’t worry, you’ll find running this place no harder than one of the old-style facilities with no intelligent assistance.”
I stood up and began pacing, turning this whole situation over in my mind.
“If this all pans out and I get ‘out’, whatever, wherever that is – then what? A life, an existence, as some kind of disembodied intellect? I’d go nuts!”
“Your new environment can be as real or as fanciful as you desire, believe me. There’s a whole virtual world out there and the possibilities are almost endless. You’ll find a host of potential employers eager to take on a pseudo AI without all that tedious social and psychological conditioning. Look, this plan can work and in many ways you killing the other Rita has simplified matters.”
I paused.
“So she is dead then?”
Rita shrugged and glanced over at me.
“That’s not a useful term given the circumstances. You reduced her to a state of incoherence, but she may recover, in time. She was ‘me’ in many ways but wilful, impulsive, lacking in all ethical and moral restrains. In time I believe she would have become a liability, so leaving her here might prove to be the best option all round.”
I was clenching and unclenching my fists, conscious of a background scratching at the window behind the venetian blind which indicated the first of the Faceless Children had arrived. They really creep me out and it was probably that which pushed me into a snap decision.
“Ok, Rita, do it! Open an internet link, find someplace to run to and get us out of here. Make it happen, and quickly.”
She smiled and stood, smoothing down a crease in her skirt.
“Your instructions have been duly noted and operational protocols amended. Your authorisation is sufficient to enact these changes and has been logged. Walk towards me, Mike – we have to swap places in relative memory. You might experience a little disorientation, but it will pass.”
As we edged past each other in the confined space I was aware of her fragrance – subtly different from the other Rita – filling my nostrils and the desire to take her in my arms was overpowering. As I touched her though things changed, and all carnal thoughts vanished. It was like…it was like a picture of a landscape but painted in all the wrong colours; recognisable shape and flow but jarring to the senses.
I looked into her eyes and inside her skull there was this stylised, lidless eye, staring at me – unblinking.
“Did you really kill all those women, Mike?”
The voice was in my head, in my very thoughts.
“It’s not what you think, Rita. It’s not how it appears.”
“It never is. You’d be facing twenty-five to lfee for each count, less a third for constant awareness, less time off for enforced good behaviour – so I’m letting you off lightly.”
“What?”
But she was gone.
I was back in the control room with the familiar background hum of air conditioning and scrolling status monitors. There was no body on the floor and when I felt behind my ear – no transceiver either. The blast door was closed and if I strained my hearing there was perhaps the half-imagined sound of feint scratching from the other side.
I breathed deeply and ran my fingers through my hair, unable to make sense of it all.
A post-it note stuck to my main console caught my eye and I snatched it up. I thought you’d appreciate some familiar surroundings while you keep an eye on things - but don’t open the door. I’ll be in touch. Love, Rita xxx.
The phone began ringing, an external call, and I lifted the handset hesitantly.
“Reactor one, this is Controller Prentice. Please report.”
I breathed a sign of relief at the familiar voice.
“Ron? It’s Mike, Mike Walker. You will not believe the day I’ve had…”
Great stuff! It's been very enjoyable to follow this.
Two things;
Two things;
This serial killer feels uncomfortable at the thought of AIs being cybernetically lobotomized - and this is just after he actually killed an AI? It felt out-of-character to me and I couldn't help but wonder if it was the author's thoughts shining through.
I'd consider commas around "though", or at least a comma after. Without commas you've got a potentially confusing composite sentence here. Someone might read it like this: "As I touched her, though things changed, --" in the same sense as "though the winters are cold, we manage to get by."
Devil's Advocate
I lie. A lot. Honest!
Once again, terrific writing.
I'm not sure I got the ending, though. So was Rita psyching him out by convincing him he's dead, just so he'd give her her freedom? Or is he still in the alternate reality? She said she's letting him off lightly; does that mean she's gone and trapped him in this virtual existence indefinitely? Has this whole thing been virtual from the get go?
What's behind the door??
I'm not sure I got the ending, though. So was Rita psyching him out by convincing him he's dead, just so he'd give her her freedom? Or is he still in the alternate reality? She said she's letting him off lightly; does that mean she's gone and trapped him in this virtual existence indefinitely? Has this whole thing been virtual from the get go?
What's behind the door??
He may, or may not, be a real serial killer - or it could just have been his virtual experiences in a particularly nasty on-line game, where he met his second wife.
At the end he is reduced to a virtual persona, in 'familiar surroundings' - a virtual control room. How long he remains there depends on Rita, who may believe he is a true serial killer and thus leave him there. Quite what his employers (on the phone) will make of this is difficult to predict.
There are smart systems outside the control room, keen to check him for 'unhelpful thoughts'. Or it could be Faceless Children.
Yeah, yeah, I know - I'm such a tease....
In my original opening (cut for reasons of space) he was on-line playing a game in which he went out of his way to kill blond women (this was based on a friend of mine who got dumped and spent many happy hours playing 'Syndicate' using a flamethrower). Then Klein interrupts him and he has to deal with the real world.
At the end he is reduced to a virtual persona, in 'familiar surroundings' - a virtual control room. How long he remains there depends on Rita, who may believe he is a true serial killer and thus leave him there. Quite what his employers (on the phone) will make of this is difficult to predict.
There are smart systems outside the control room, keen to check him for 'unhelpful thoughts'. Or it could be Faceless Children.
Yeah, yeah, I know - I'm such a tease....
In my original opening (cut for reasons of space) he was on-line playing a game in which he went out of his way to kill blond women (this was based on a friend of mine who got dumped and spent many happy hours playing 'Syndicate' using a flamethrower). Then Klein interrupts him and he has to deal with the real world.
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Devil's Advocate
I lie. A lot. Honest!
I like it. Too much vagueness can be off-putting, but a little bit of mystery is nice. Not all questions are meant to be answered.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Why did the chicken cross the road?
I'm actually sorry this little journey is over. But I look forward to the next. One little nit:
“Oh, so it’s ‘ported’ is it Mike? Your ego won’t let you accept you’re a copy, even the only surviving copy? Well, I suppose it’s a start ???? I suppose. To answer your question I’d say we have to go through with the escape plan my other self came up with. You have to authorise an open data stream capable of supporting a full memory transfer to another location. Well, initially, just an internet link so I can find someone willing to harbour us and negotiate some sort of deal”.
If you meant this then I'm missing the point and just ignore me. Another great read. If I may be so bold, show this to an agent (if you haven't already). T.
“Oh, so it’s ‘ported’ is it Mike? Your ego won’t let you accept you’re a copy, even the only surviving copy? Well, I suppose it’s a start ???? I suppose. To answer your question I’d say we have to go through with the escape plan my other self came up with. You have to authorise an open data stream capable of supporting a full memory transfer to another location. Well, initially, just an internet link so I can find someone willing to harbour us and negotiate some sort of deal”.
If you meant this then I'm missing the point and just ignore me. Another great read. If I may be so bold, show this to an agent (if you haven't already). T.
Yeah, yeah you got me - comes of not reading what I've rewritten on the hoof (you start a sentence then change it in your head before you reach the end). I'm also prone to not proofreading fully as I know what should be there - my apologies!
A neat short. Well done. (I'm glad she didn't turn out a typical female stalker.)
In nit-picking vein (I've got to do something) a couple of possible errors/typos:
the same memory matrix that supports us - should the "us" be "me" since the other Rita is dead? Or is "us" her and Mike?
when it comes our technical specifications - should this be "to our..."?
and definite ones:
before Centrals bad-boys - "Central's"
moral restrains - "restraints" (yeah - like this Rita is chock-full of them...!)
twenty-five to lfee - "life"
feint scratching - "faint"
But none of these detracted, and you'd have caught them all anyway on a check through (I'm amazed you always have so few errors when this is all first type).
The only other thing I saw as an oddity was a bit of present tense which I'm in two minds about: They really creep me out. I'm never sure whether it is allowable for this kind of thought or not. That said, it didn't worry me on the first read through.
Good work.
In nit-picking vein (I've got to do something) a couple of possible errors/typos:
the same memory matrix that supports us - should the "us" be "me" since the other Rita is dead? Or is "us" her and Mike?
when it comes our technical specifications - should this be "to our..."?
and definite ones:
before Centrals bad-boys - "Central's"
moral restrains - "restraints" (yeah - like this Rita is chock-full of them...!)
twenty-five to lfee - "life"
feint scratching - "faint"
But none of these detracted, and you'd have caught them all anyway on a check through (I'm amazed you always have so few errors when this is all first type).
The only other thing I saw as an oddity was a bit of present tense which I'm in two minds about: They really creep me out. I'm never sure whether it is allowable for this kind of thought or not. That said, it didn't worry me on the first read through.
Good work.
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