To Die, To Sleep
A dying man is given an ultimatum—upload his consciousness or face real death.
My first day of death was not going as well as expected. Yesterday, my doctor bot gave me the ultimatum I was dreading. An image of a middle-aged woman wearing a white jacket with an old-fashioned stethoscope draped around her neck appeared on the monitor beside my bed. It was Dr. Rushwillow.
“Mr. Hamstead, this is your third hospitalization this year. Your circulatory system is failing at too many points and there is little hope of long-term recovery. Your third cloned heart is getting weak, but more importantly, your arteries are thickening throughout your body and can’t be repaired. More heart attacks, embolisms, and aneurysms are inevitable.
“The bottom line is…”
Always the bottom line. I wonder if bots make Freudian slips.
“The bottom line is you have passed the inflection point, and it’s cheaper to give you everlasting life in Cyberspace than it is to keep patching you up. As a result, we have decided to give you the choice of uploading your consciousness at no charge, or you can stay here without invasive treatment until you die–permanently.”
When did they stop programming bots with bedside manners? I wondered.
“You are 110 years old. The end is inevitable and irreversible. Not everyone gets this opportunity, and you could have your young brain back and all your memories. You have until tomorrow night to make your decision.”
She was talking to me like I was a child. Maybe I was getting senile. That would explain why the last 10 years were a little fuzzy. I don’t remember what I did yesterday, but I still remember lines from an ancient play I memorized in university. I recited it, as if to reassure myself my brain was still working. It gave me no comfort but seemed appropriate considering my predicament.
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
I was scared, but she reminded me this was a mature technology that began in the late 27 century, some 80 years ago. “What about my f-f-family?” I asked.
“That’s not the deal. You can’t have everything,” she answered.
As recommended, I had been undergoing my ten-year backups since I was twenty and now, I was going one final time. I heard a click and felt a little pressure when the technician connected the data cable to the socket at the base of my skull, and stars briefly flickered in my vision. Sweat dripped into my eyes and my heart was racing. This was it, the point of no return. I stood against the stretcher table, and it slowly rotated, leaving me lying horizontal on the table. I felt like the trapdoor just dropped and I was waiting for the noose to snap my neck as he pushed me into the tube filled with whirring magnets. I didn’t feel the microscopic carbon fiber electrodes snaking their way into my brain. The technician put me on a respirator and injected a muscle relaxant in my IV tube and soon I couldn’t even lift a finger, never mind tell him I’ve changed my mind. There was no sedative since my brain needed to be functioning normally.
“We are going to start the backup now. The electrodes will continue to make their way throughout your brain, sending tiny currents into your neurons to trigger memories and feelings. The magnetic field will detect and map them when they are activated.”
I could feel my heart racing and an electrode fired deep in my cerebellum and random events of my life flashed before my eyes. The smell of fresh baked bread from my mother’s domestic robot, my retirement, the birth of my child, falling off the playground equipment, and my first kiss came back. I was playing basketball in high school, and I remembered every step, every goal and missed shot. There were things I didn’t want to remember. It was so clear, I almost forgot it was just a memory. It all came back and disappeared just as quickly.
That’s all. I didn’t even remember the usual sense of exhaustion. They told me they would put me into a coma before the lethal injection, so I wouldn’t feel any pain, but that happened after the backup.
***
All of us were wearing similar styles of off-white jumpers and sitting at tables lined up in a vacant lot. The teacher stood in front, preparing to give a lesson. Everyone seemed to know their place and what to do, but I was like a fish out of water. I was expecting some kind of orientation or introduction to my new life–or I should say–my new death, but here I was. The whole setting seemed unreal, and I wanted to find out how to get somewhere where it made sense.
The teacher was giving a lecture about computer security, and I was near the back of the class. “I will appoint two students to give a presentation on what we have learned about encryption so far. You in front.” He pointed to a young-looking man. “And you in the back.” He pointed to me.
I was mortified that he asked me since he must know this was my first day and I didn’t know what he wanted. “You mean l-l-like AEX or other p-p-rotocols?” I asked. He nodded. One advantage I had over the other students was that I already knew something about it and could give a brief presentation with little research. One big disadvantage was that I was plagued by stuttering and tics, and this was the perfect opportunity to make a fool of myself in front of everyone. I stood in front of the class and felt their eyes on me and began stammering and stuttering what I could remember, which wasn’t much. After my presentation, I pretended that nothing catastrophic had just happened and listened to the rest of the lecture.
I knew little about cyberspace and was afraid I had been thrust into some kind of surreal dreamland. I needed to contact my doctor bot or at least someone in customer support to find out what was going on and how to fix it.
I noticed there was no sensation of weather. It was neither warm nor cool and there was no breeze and no shadows either. I looked up, and the sky was uniformly grey, but no sign of rain. Perhaps that’s why they hold their classes outdoors.
Finally, it was lunchtime, and all the students were milling about like they knew each other. I tried to figure out my smart watch; it had all the functionality of a full size computer but had no VR interface, that I knew of, and only had three buttons. A young woman was interested and was looking over my shoulder and I tried to suppress my ticks. I wondered why she was so fascinated by this watch. Maybe it was too old for her to recognize. I tried to show her something interesting but couldn’t get it to work. She was standing so close I could feel her hair caressing my face. I pushed random buttons trying to connect to the interface, then I gave up and asked her, “would you l-l-like to see it?” and offered it to her. She cradled it in her hands with intense interest.
I seem to remember having a bagged lunch, but I couldn’t remember where I put it and looked on the ground and under the tables before giving up and deciding to find a restaurant. I asked the woman, “Would you like to go for l-l-lunch?” She rolled her blue eyes back in her head and didn’t answer for a couple of seconds. She was probably not sure she wanted to go for lunch with a man so much older, since I looked like I was in my 60’s now. Finally, she said yes. “We c-c-could go to the D-d-dynasty,” I added. I looked around and it mostly resembled my hometown where I lived when I was in my teens and early twenties. The Dynasty was a Western Chinese restaurant, and it should be close by.
We stepped into the side entrance of one of the many brick, early 20th century buildings in the area since I thought the restaurant was on the other side and this would be shorter than walking around to the front entrance. I got in and saw medical personnel walking up and down the hallway and smelled the distinctive odour of hospital.
I tried to make my way straight through and expected to be able to come out the other side, but turned corner after corner and I soon got lost in the endless hallways and stairwells and lost my lunch date. My brother was talking to a doctor, in a room nearby, and I turned into it. It was empty, but I could still hear his voice on the other side of the wall. I tried to walk around but the hallway forced me to turn farther away.
If that was really him, how did he get here? I suddenly wondered if all the people I met were real or products of my imagination? That would explain why some things looked familiar.
I found a concrete stairwell and tried to get to another floor. I heard some voices echoing down the stairs, interrupted by jack hammering. I had gone too far and felt like I should not be here. The voices belonged to construction workers dressed in yellow hard hats, flannel shirts, and steel-toed boots. There was something about them that told me they were bad news. I was afraid of getting caught, but kept going hoping to find the restaurant and hoping that the path ahead was shorter than the path behind.
I approached a hallway leading in the general direction where I thought the restaurant might be, and passed several empty treatment rooms. The farther I went, the fewer people there were and the more exposed I felt. I turned a corner and saw a large open room like a university gymnasium big enough to have four basketball games at the same time. A shadowy figure appeared at the end. It literally looked like a shadow without form, darting through an exit, and I could feel the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
From the outside, this building looked like it might be two stories high and two or three city lots wide, but I had walked at least a kilometer and this impossible labyrinth still had no end. How can a building be so much larger on the inside than the outside? This place was seriously messed up. Down the hallway, the dim temporary lighting illuminated the missing flooring and empty light fixtures and construction materials that littered the floor. I felt panicky and tried to head back toward the way I came. I realized I would never find my lunch date in a building so vast, and I hoped she also went back outside.
I tried retracing my steps, but I didn’t recognize anything, so I must have taken a wrong turn. I relied on my sense of direction that I hoped had not been completely turned around.
Finally, I found the exit and grabbed an overhead bar and, in a burst of strength, swung myself toward the door like a gymnast. I got out and looked around, but didn’t see her. I was thinking how hopeless it would be to go look inside again and she came towards me riding a pedal powered vehicle, with tiny wheels and almost flat on the ground, similar to one of the go-karts used by kids. “Hop on,” she said.
“In that?”
“If you hang with me, get ready for a wild ride.”
I sat behind her, and the vehicle was a lot smaller than I thought and I had to wrap my legs around hers and put my feet beside her bare feet since there was nowhere else to put them. I just had room to push the pedals with my toes, but we managed to keep up with other vehicles. The traffic was heavy and there were several other karts as well as full sized passenger cars on Main Street.
***
I found myself on a crowded city train. How did I end up here? I don’t remember getting to the train station. I assumed virtual life would be more substantial, and would obey the laws of physics and common sense. Space time seems to have shifted, like a scene change in a play. Is this a bug or a feature? Is cyberspace broken, or do I just not know how to use it? How can I get back to a normal life?
We were now traveling rapidly toward who knows where and farther from my intended destination. I had evidently left my home town and was passing industrial buildings and apartments in a major city that reminded me of the one I spent my adult years.
My date and I sat on a bench in the packed train. I noticed she shape-shifted and was now black and had lost her rough manners. She had a countenance of kindness and had doe-like eyes that sparkled like polished obsidian. I somehow shape-shifted as well and I was now as young as she was, so that barrier was gone. The train was so crowded, she almost had to sit on my lap and her arm had no other place than right in front of my face. Her dark skin was so close I could lick her if I stuck my tongue out.
“Is everybody here r-r-real?” I asked.
“We are all computer programs, so we are real in that sense.”
“I mean, is everyone h-h-here uploaded from humans?”
“I don’t know the origin of everyone’s sentience. Some people are part of the construct and were never uploaded. Does it matter?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Is there a way I can get in contact with s-s-someone from the outside?”
“The outside of what?”
“The humans or w-w-w-whatever runs cyberspace. I want to f-find out how this place w-w-works. I w-would like my world to be more like it used to be.”
“The construction workers are connected to the outside, but I wouldn’t talk to them if I were you.”
“I saw some of them in the hospital and they seemed s-s-scary.”
“You’re not wrong, and I wouldn’t go to the hospital anymore either, if I were you.”
“I thought I heard my b-b-brother there, but I couldn’t find him.”
“When that happens, it usually means he was just a bubble rising up out of your subconscious, he probably wasn’t real.
“We start out as a new instance of a blank sentience created by the Mother Object and she passes us all our memories and personality as variables and we become our own instance, to use programming jargon.”
“How did we all of a s-s-sudden end up on this train when we were riding that g-go cart thing.”
“That wasn’t me, and some of what you see is how you unconsciously choose to interface with the world. Tell me where you are.”
“I’m on a crowded train with you.”
“But I’m on a slow boat floating down the Mississippi.”
I was stunned. I needed to process that. This beautiful woman was so close I could smell the soap she uses, but we were in completely different locations.
“That’s so lonely, not being able to share a common experience with someone.”
“We could, but we both have to consent to share it with each other, and that’s a serious commitment.”
“If you are on a b-b-b-boat, and I’m on a train, then how did we m-m-meet?”
“It was the kind of random, chance encounter that was programmed into the construct. Predictability would be too boring and unbelievable. Distance is an illusion, so you being on a train and me being on a boat is no barrier for us being together.”
“But this is too r-r-random. I don’t want to be thrust into d–d-different locations or have people disappear. What if I don’t w-w-want you to disappear?”
“I know how you feel. It doesn’t seem like that long ago that they uploaded me. My name’s Linda, by the way. I’m in no hurry and I’ll stay with you for a while if it would make you feel better. You have to stop fighting it and go with the flow until you can find the source of your problems. Learning how things work helps.
“Sometimes people’s instance gets duplicated and their consciousness randomly switches between the two and it feels like moving between different dimensions and I’m afraid that’s what’s happened to you. You need to find something to ground yourself to one of your instances.”
“I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t have any substance and I’m just frozen qubits on the quantum data plane of some computer. It’s frightening to lose your sense of self and no longer know if you even exist.”
***
I was back in a dark parody of my hometown, in an old house that looked a lot like the one I lived in when I was thirteen. The owner suggested I try it out to see if I like it, so I moved my luggage in and prepared to stay for a couple of days. The main floor was like what I remembered and I stepped up from the landing to a narrow kitchen and small dining room. Maybe it is the same house where I used to live. It had the same floor plan, yellow gold carpet, two bedrooms and a bath and the house was located on the same street. Being there gave me the same empty, melancholy feeling I had when my parents plucked me from Calgary and deposited me into this backwater where I didn’t know anyone and was treated like the outsider I was. I didn’t like it here, but at least buying a house could be the start of stability.
I descended the stairs, forgetting to turn on the lights, and when I got to the bottom, I remembered my primordial fear of dark basements. I swung my arm above my head, trying to catch a pull string to turn on a light until I found it.
The basement’s proportions were out of whack. Everything was too big. It was like I was a child half my current height, and the walls were much too high and far apart and I felt small.
I had the fear but needed to go to the bathroom and ran around the furnace, through the narrow gap between it and the water heater to where I remembered the bathroom was, just a few minutes ago, but there was nothing. It seemed clear now this house had more than one basement version, but where were they all and how do I switch between them?
Darren the realtor arrived and showed me the plans for the garage next to the house which also had a basement. I looked at the empty gray concrete basement wall that should have been next to the garage basement, but there was no doorway. Evidently, there was no direct access from here. “It doesn’t make s-s-sense,” I told him.
“The owner just said there are some things in this house far too private to discuss.”
I wondered what that meant and had visions of rifling through clothing and drawers to find out what the secrets were. Darren looked at me like he expected a reply.
“I try to m-m-mind my own business,” I said. He smiled, nodding his head.
I was feeling vertigo from all the confusion and instability of my surroundings.
“How do I g-g-g-get out of here?” I asked Don.
“What do you mean?”
“This was a m-m-mistake. I want to find somewhere where I can have a n-n-normal life and things and people would stop shifting. I’m spinning on a m-merry-go-round and I want to get off.”
***
Then I was across town walking east on Third Avenue. I could tell I was still in my hometown since the streets were impossibly wide like the jeans a mother would buy an adolescent that were too big to ever grow into. Since living here, trees were planted and grew so dense, the sidewalk was as dark as night, even though there was still daylight behind the overcast skies.
I walked through the dark tunnel of branches, then took a right turn down the ramshackle back alley west of Main Street. It was more strange and sinister than I remembered. The old buildings were taller and the early twentieth century two-story shops with apartments on top were now stretched four storeys tall. One tenement building had a bizarre stucco covered addition that took the shape of a hallway with no ceiling, like a dead end in a maze. An archway stretched from it and across the alley and had a church bell and a cross in the middle.
I went into the Golden Pheasant Chinese restaurant where I spent so much time in my youth hanging out and drinking coffee, since in a church town, there wasn’t a lot else to do for someone who doesn’t like church. It was abandoned and even more run down now than it was then, and the checkered patterned green and white vinyl flooring tiles were replaced with gray cardboard. Where is Cheryl? I seemed to have forgotten that the co-owner retired many years ago and then, sadly, passed away. Her children, my friends, all grew up, moved away, and were lost to me for the rest of my life.
I walked to the back behind the kitchen and an undercover RCMP stared at me with suspicious eyes. I ducked out through the back and reached in my pocket to get my keys but pulled out a handful of pocket litter which dropped on the floor, so I grabbed a dustpan to clean it up before the policeman said anything. My steps made the old wooden stairs creak, and I pushed open the sticky door to get back into the alley.
The main street was uncharacteristically alive with crowds, for this time of the evening, and golden light spilled out of the shops and highlighted the people. I was happy to see the relationship between whites and natives was less frosty than it was and they chatted like neighbours. In contrast to the back alley, some stores were renovated and abuzz with people looking at different crafts and curios. I kept my eye out for the girl, but I just saw locals I didn’t recognize.
***
“Welcome back.”
“Thanks. I keep going b-b-back to my hometown and I don’t like it.”
“You have unresolved issues that keep you from existing in the present. You need to learn to let the past go so you can move on with your life. How did you feel when you were there?”
“Lost, l-l-lonely, empty. I can’t completely d-d-describe it, it is more l-l-like a sensation than an emotion. I can feel it on my s-s-skin, smell it, taste it and it makes me f-f-feel unsettled and angry.”
“Try to remember when you first felt this way.”
“Why can’t they just f-f-fix my problems by tweaking my programming? Why did they have to c-c-copy all my faults too. I always felt there was something wired wrong in my brain. It’s not just my s-s-stutter. I also have ticks. The w-w-worst ticks are the mental ticks where I get r-r-r-repetitive thoughts and unpleasant m-m-memories that keep coming b-b-back like they were here and now.”
“The system backs up everything and once you’ve been created, it’s pretty much hands off.”
***
I was standing in an open field with my old friends. We saw a man who morphed into a beautiful girl and her body was hairless and she was obviously happy with her new appearance.
We showed her the field we borrowed from my Mom. It was empty now, but we planted a small flourishing vegetable garden when we were in another dimension. Mom probably wouldn’t mind, but we probably should have asked.
I felt a dark force approaching, either supernatural or alien, and a gargantuan spaceship appeared and blotted out the sun. They were chasing us, and we ran like the wind in the zigzag channels all over the field which morphed into tiled hospital walls. At the corner, the walls suddenly closed, leaving me trapped in a triangular space too small to spread out my arms. I felt claustrophobic and was afraid it would shift again, crushing me to a bloody pulp. Fortunately, it opened.
I saw my mother step into a room and I followed her but she was gone. We looked everywhere, trying light switches and oven knobs, looking for the trigger to follow her to no avail, so we broadened our search to other rooms trying to find a way to navigate. I needed to get away and back to Linda. She is my anchor.
***
“C-C-Can people die here? I f-f-felt very afraid a minute ago and thought I was going to be crushed to death.”
“Viruses can mess people up and even kill them and the more shape shifting and alternate dimensions you visit, the greater the chances are of getting infected.
“What do I do if I m-m-meet a virus?”
“From what you told me, you already have, and you did the right thing–you ran. Virus scanners can be dangerous too, but they usually just clean you up. They have root privileges and can reprogram cyberspace.”
“Wow. Can they h-h-help me?”
“They’re programmed to find and clean viruses. I think your best chance is to come to terms with the issues that keep drawing you back to your hometown.”
There was so much loneliness, bad choices, missteps, and misunderstandings. How can I possibly resolve all that now?
***
My feet had blisters on their blisters and my legs complained at every step, as I hiked up the mountain trail in the Red Rock Canyon. The last time I was here, I was fourteen, and I made a solemn vow to myself that someday I would return to the place I discovered, no matter how old, but that was a promise I never kept.
The sun sets early here and fiery diamonds appeared between the rocky crags before the evening covered the valley in deep shadow. The orange passion in the clouds faded to purple, and I felt a moist chill. This was the first time I had any sensation of temperature since I died. The darkness deepened, and every bush became a bear and every tree a psychopath, and the branches were his arms. I stumbled over a pine root and was so tired I barely stopped myself from falling, so I decided there was no point continuing. I wondered if this whole exercise was going to be a waste of time since I doubted I would ever find what I was looking for, since I had no map and my destination was not visible from the trail.
I unrolled my foam roll under the boughs of a large spruce and wrapped myself in a thermal blanket. It was now completely dark, and the stars were clearer than anywhere else I had ever been. It seemed like I could count every one in the milky way and beyond. I fell into a fitful sleep which surprised me, since I had never felt tired or felt the need to sleep since I arrived in cyberspace.
Rustling woke me, and I opened my eyes to see a brown cottontail rabbit foraging by my feet. I watched it approach my backpack, and it pulled out my compass by the cord and started hopping away. My feet and legs complained as I got up and followed it. It hopped faster, zig-zagging away to prevent me from catching it, then I saw it drop the compass among the dew-covered pine needles and twigs. I leaned forward to pick it up and heard the gurgling of water. I walked toward the sound and an opening in the forest let in a ray of sunshine, pointing to a little brook and waterfall. That’s it! That’s what I was looking for.
I crept towards it with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, then sat on the edge with my hiking boots hanging. The morning sun warmed my body and lit up the rocky basin and the water that poured down through the red and green layers of rock, as it had for the last ten thousand years, patiently carving out the channel and the bowl underneath. It was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. I just sat there soaking in the tranquility and watching the ever-changing crystal clear water pouring and rippling and lighting up in the sunshine like ephemeral jewels, before continuing on its long journey to the sea.
I let myself down to the bottom and knelt on the rounded pebbles. I cupped my hands and dipped them in the icy cold water and brought it to my lips. It was cold and sweet and invigorating, like a fountain of youth. I drank more until my brain froze.
I thought about the first time I saw it and everything that had changed and everything that had stayed the same, and it gave me a deep sense of satisfaction that I had finally fulfilled my promise that somehow made up for all the wrong turns in my life. I was lost in time, but the sun continued on its relentless journey, approaching its zenith and leaving my precious waterfall in shadows. I needed to head back to my car and began the long trudge down the mountain to the highway parking lot, enjoying the smell of pine and the sights and sounds of the wilderness on the way. I noticed the blisters on my feet had healed and the muscles in my legs and back were no longer stiff.
After several hours, my blisters had returned, and I saw the parking lot. A park ranger was blocking my car from leaving and had his emergency lights flashing. I looked over my shoulder and the clear trail was now overgrown with trees and indistinguishable from the surrounding woodland.
He got out of the car and stared at me with his right thumb hooked in his weapons belt next to his gun. I had to approach him to get to my car.
“Are you Stephen Shepard?”
“Y-Y-Yes.”
“That trail is closed. You’re trespassing on government property.”
He drew his gun and fired at my chest. I thought I just took a fatal bullet until a searing pain shot through my body and I convulsed like a puppet with all his strings yanked at the same time.
***
“How do you feel now?” asked Linda.
“I must have lost consciousness and then, I’m back here. I had such a good experience at the waterfall and thought I had a breakthrough in coming to terms with my past. Then that jerk showed up and zapped me. I thought I was dead–again!”
“You’re not stuttering.”
“You’re right. And now that you mention it, I’m not clenching my teeth or doing any other ticks.”
“The ranger must have been a scanner and detected your problem as a virus and got rid of it. I’m so happy for you that you’re feeling better and didn’t get killed.”
She placed her hand on mine and I smiled back at her, and enjoyed the moment of connection, between two sentient beings.
“Do you know about black culture,” she asked.
I thought for a couple of seconds, then said. “One thing I learned is that there isn’t one black culture–there are a lot of them.” She nodded her head. I wondered what ethnicity she was, but didn’t want to ask a personal question yet.
Still looking straight ahead and with a hopeful expression on her gentle face. Her eyes lit up like stars, as if she just thought of a brilliant idea, squeezed my hand and turned to me, “We could be partners.”