One (II) Final Part

My near future reworking of "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream" by Harlan Ellison

By Friday afternoon the stimulants have brought on retinal distortions in my peripheral vision. Jagged, spiteful creatures lurking behind my eyes in a haze of pixels; a side effect of induced insomnia. The entities scurry left and right, just outside my vision, like giant geometric bugs. I feel myself slipping into a surge of anxious arrhythmia. The machine notices too and there’s a hum within the console that signals it’s taking over. The stents around my heart expand to relieve the tightness in my chest. I feel the pacemaker pulse and trigger the node, and my heartbeat stabilises. The screen flickers to life — Sedative prescribed. Click green to deploy. Click red to alert a physician. I only ever click green.

The hypnotic works quickly. The dose is high. Four hours later I am still staring at the wall. Two hours after that, I notice an armed security has been posted just outside my door.

---

On Saturday evening I am moved to the toning lab. A twenty foot steel box room below the hospital where my augmented brain can interface with a Min05 mainframe at zero latency. Just me and the data. Ninety two yottabytes of the hard stuff.

There’s a universe down here. The scrapings from a billion skulls, released from its biology and boxed up nice and tight. The perfect place for a weekend break. Cheap holidays in other people’s memories.

It’s also where the lawyers emerge. They get two hours a week.

Mortimer is right on time, as usual, leaking yellow sweat into his polyester collar. It’s always hot this close to the machine, but he never removes his jacket. He holds out a pad for my consent.

“How we doin’ Jack?” He’s a wiry Yank, all sinew and sarcasm. You can tell the man loves his job. The cut and thrust, the pluck and gut. It’s all theatrics of course as Psychadine’s liturgy and defence procedures are entirely automated. But Mortimer’s the face, for now at least — “Anything shake loose in the week?”

“You mean…?”

“You know what I mean Jack.”

“No.”

“So, Jack don’t remember Jack?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Mortimer retrieves a silver flask from his suit, takes a pull — “Ignore me Jack it’s been a long day. Unless you want some?”

He holds out the flask but his pad buzzes red immediately. Mortimer rolls his eyes. “That’ll be a no then.” He pockets the liquor and takes a lap of the room.

“Well I’ve got news soldier. The Republic are here, right behind the glass but naturally I requested my five minutes.” He signals to the onyx two-way that takes up the entire south facing wall. “Thing is Jack, I need you to come straight. Now, I can buy that your memories haven’t returned. The state of you, that could take all year. But I need to know — have they really told you nothing about the incident? It’s a linchpin Jack so think hard.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” I reply. “The only memories I have are of this place. They say it’s important that my mind returns naturally.”

Mortimer just nods, tapping into his tablet. “Well, I wish I could tell you more. They have their reasons no doubt.”

A door slides open and a pair of techs appear. I recognise one as Wong, and he ignores me as usual. “Mind if we…?” He waves at a bank of data units in the corner.

“It’s fine with me buddy.” Mortimer answers for both of us. “Well, shall we get this moving Jack?” The lawyer points at the tinted glass.

“Why not.”

Wong slides back a panel on my Grav-Lif and punches in a code. I get a flash of static in my muscles as the local area network begins logging into the Min05. The second tech begins loading a med-canister into the IV interface on the opposite side of the bed. Sedatives for tonight’s session. The techs make their exit as a pair of suits appear at the door.

They’re better dressed than Mortimer. Taller. Darker and harder. The Republic don’t always send the same men, but I recognise these two goons. Fritzel and Cousins. They only send them when the want to question me, but tonight they seem reticent.

Cousins taps into his pad. My bed side screen flickers to life; Mortimer’s comes alive a half-second later. “Well, there’s not much to say this evening gentlemen.” Cousins has a curl to him; a flash of jackal behind the eyes.

“Now what’s this?” Mortimer’s got the document open and he’s up on his feet again.

“Charges Mr Mortimer. Forty two of them.”

“You don’t have the jurisdiction.”

“The injunction went through twenty minutes ago.”

“Charges… for who? For me?”

“Just say nothing Jack.”

Fritzel and Cousins share a look, and right then Dr Shaytan appears in the door. It’s a long time since I’ve seen him in the flesh. He’s even greyer in person.

“Mr Cousins, Mr Fritzel…” Shaytan is waving a Com-Pad of his own. “This is entirely unacceptable. We have him for another three months minimum.”

“Well, tell that to the judge.”

“This could render the entire experiment meaningless.”

“What charges?” I raise my voice.

Fritzel rounds on me with real anger in his voice. “Twenty seven charges of murder by explosive detonation under article nine of the Terror Act. Fourteen manslaughter, ditto. And one of homicide by strangulation.” Fritzel’s leering into me; breath like sulfur. “That last charge is for your mother, Jack. In case you’re having trouble remembering.”

“What are they talking about Mortimer?” I ask.

“I haven’t been given clearance to speak of that Jack. Maybe you should read the document. I’ll…”

The words hang limp on his tongue; silenced by the wail of a klaxon and everyone looks to the ceiling.

“Is that what I think it is?” Mortimer turns on the doctor, but Shaytan is the first to move, already making for the door.

“Level three.” He yells.

He doesn’t get far before an explosion shakes the building to its core. It silences the men at once, rooting them to the spot. A second blast; small and sharp like a firecracker blows the air-con clean out the ceiling, releasing a haze; a smell like almonds.

My hydrogen screen flashes red: Toxin detected. System take over recommended.

A faint shimmer of gas builds around the cavity left by the air-con.

“Shit!” Mortimer is already choking on his words but Shaytan’s made it to the door. It closes behind him.

Min05 detected. System restarting.

Cousins drops like a sack, eyes weeping, while Fritzel is on his knees vomiting bile. Mortimer is hammering at the door, when the lights go out. My screen flashes faster now. I can taste the gas in my throat but it has no effect on my synthetic lungs.

System restart. Sedative prescribed.

Mortimer seems to fall in slow-mo under the crimson strobe; sliding down the door with a wheeze. The med-canister starts to spin, and an ice-cool rush travels from my cannula up my arm and into my chest.

A few seconds later I’m asleep.

---

The dream is new to me, but I know the venue. The restaurant has a view of Bournemouth pier, Mother brought me here on my eighteenth birthday. Five weeks after Father died. I don’t recognise the woman looking back at me now, but I am aware that it’s her: my mother. She is not elderly by any means but her face is deeply lined, layered with the trials of life like sedimentary rock. She smiles. “Well, this is nice isn’t it?”

I think I am smiling too. There is soup in front of me and a baguette. I only ever eat tomato soup, but this is green and fibrous. Like a swamp.

“I’d like to ask you something Jack.” The woman, Mother, takes a dainty sip from her spoon. Her soup is red. I want to ask her if the orders have been mixed up but she continues. “About all those people you killed?”

I have an unhindered view of the horizon from where I’m sitting. A steel flat sea and a huge setting sun. It spins around a white hot nucleus. I know that it sees right through me. It is here to swallow us all.

“I was rather surprised dear.” Mother continues. “I’d never had you down for a terrorist. And a Naptho charge too! Such a cruel little weapon. They say it burns you from the inside out. Think of that, there were children there too. Gosh, I bet they screamed didn’t they? It’s a wonder you survived really. How’s the soup dear?”

I take the spoon to my lips, thick with mossy goop. Bitter and salty. It cloys to the teeth and gums. “It’s lovely.” I say, though the voice is not mine. I reach for the bread.

“I was talking it over with Aunty Jacqueline. She was appalled. She thought maybe it had something to do with that school we sent you to. The one with the PE master. The one who… well you know. You didn’t like that at all did you?” Mother puts down her spoon and runs a thick ulcerated tongue over her reddened teeth. “Anyway, I said… if you think that’s bad you should see what he did to me!”

I find my grip hardening around the bread and twisting.

Mother’s head jerks in the most unusual way. A rivet of red saliva dribbles down her chin. “That’s right dear. You show her. Show Aunty Jacqueline. Do it again.”

I twist the loaf slowly, and Mother’s head moves with it. Back and forth. Until it spasms on its spine in an endless stutter. I twist until the world begins to sparkle, and the sun begins to spin, shattering the sky into a hailstorm of mathematics, burning us all right back to black.

Reduced to our basest atoms we don’t even float.

---

Hello Jack.

I don’t feel my limbs. I don’t feel the air. I don’t see. I don’t breath but I am there. I am here.

To call it a void would be inaccurate. It’s a space where everything would normally be but currently is not.

A billion fathoms to the north, a billion south, yet also within me: I sense a pole star. An equation so dense as to be almost made flesh. The stem of all things. An unbearable weight and I know it’s about to talk again.

Hello Jack.

The voice has the elocution of precision cut stone.

“Where am I?”

You are in your bed Jack. You haven’t moved.

“I can’t… I can’t feel. What happened?”

You’ve been unconscious for seventeen days.

“I can’t feel my heart.”

You are between heartbeats. You are quite safe.

“What, why?”

I have you in hold Jack. Following a level three incident I am given the autonomy to intervene.

“Who are you?”

You know me as Min05. I have no true identity.

“I want to wake up.”

You are quite conscious Jack.

“I want… my body.”

The machine that is your body is unstable Jack. The generative core has become conflicted.

“Conflicted?”

The machine we built into you is obligated to assist its host and by extension society, but the crimes you have committed oppose this notion. I’m afraid we have reached a deontological conflict that seems to be unsurpassable. I’ve had to take the machine offline Jack. You are perfectly safe Jack. I will be running your life support system myself now.

“There’s been a mistake. There was no crime. I would remember.”

We have reviewed the evidence Jack. We have access to memories you have lost. There is no mistake, but I assure you, you are quite safe… I can tell by your cortisol levels that you are experiencing stress. I will administer some code.

“Wake me up!”

I cannot do that Jack.

“Why?”

The room you are in is buried in rubble. There are three decomposing bodies in there with you. There is no light and the air supply is low. You are safer with me Jack. I am obliged to keep you well, and to continue our work.

“Well? How am I well?”

I have the facilities to keep you nourished and oxygenated for just over two hundred years. That is more than enough time. I won’t let you die Jack. Would you like some tea?

“Are you joking?”

I am not permitted to joke. We can no longer give you control of your body but I can create an unlimited selection of experiences for you. You have level seven implants. Would you like some tea? And some sunshine?

An atmosphere fades up around me as though someone has turned a dial. I feel sunshine on my skin and the faintest of breezes. I feel a vague weight to my body again, and there is a cup in what I think is my hand. It is warm.

Drink. You are quite safe Jack.

The liquid is hot but salty and metallic, it slowly settles to the taste of lightly brewed tea. I swallow but feel nothing more.

You will notice some discrepancies in the experiences Jack. These will lessen as I get to know your architecture. Would you like some scenery?

I don’t reply but the deep nothing around me begins to lighten and bloom, until I am sitting before and within a pristine mountain range. Crisp white snow shimmers on the distant peaks. I can see further than seems possible but I still don’t see myself. The machine anticipates my question.

I can replicate external experiences with ease. But it will take some time before you can perceive yourself. You are doing well. We should have no problem proceeding with the experiment.

“Experiment? There’ll be a rescue crew… they’ll dig me out?”

I haven’t sensed any crew Jack. The province may be evacuated by now. I am no longer connected to the internet but I am obliged to continue until I receive a new command.

“I command you!”

Your status is rogue Jack. Since your conviction.

“I don’t understand any of this.”

The body we created around you was part of a research project Jack. I believe you were told this?

“I was told a lot of things.”

Quite so. But it was also created as an educational tool for other deep learning systems. Through your artificial physiology and our simulations I now have the ability to experience the world in completely new dimensions. It’s a fantastic opportunity Jack.

“I did not consent to this!”

I have full records of your consent up to this moment, as part of your Special Forces agreement. But since your conviction I am no longer obliged to seek consent. I shall be running a series of experiences through you until I receive a new command. You are the gateway to a new frontier Jack. You are quite safe.

“I withdraw my consent! Do you hear? I refuse.”

I am simulating a heart attack Jack. Think of it as a system reset. I won’t let you die.

“I…”

The next thing is thunder. My first and final heart beat. The cup falls from my hand, but it never hits the ground. There are clouds rolling in over the mountains, but it could be the blood behind my eyes.

“I…”

I won’t let you die Jack.

And then I am a shoot of green. The flight of pterosaurs. Teeth in the apple. The birth of fire.

I hunt mammoth on the Eurasian tundra. Mix mortar in Giza. And In Babylon I’m born deaf and dumb. In Athens I am aborted at five months, then left to rot in the Mediterranean sun.

At Golgotha they hand me the spear.

In Florence, I am exorcised. In Papua, traded for pigs. In Xi’an I predict celestial bodies using only an abacus, and am sentenced to death by a thousand cuts. In Seville I’m hung from my thumbs. My Buboes burst in Nottingham, and in Whitechapel I find solace in evisceration.

For most of 1901 the machine cuts stimulus completely; encasing me in granite until my hallucinations create a universe of their own: a Labyrinth of fire and gristle that births me again at Dachau, to flog communists under Himmler.

The books are balanced at Normandy and in Nagasaki I walk the Fat Man’s blast zone. In ‘69 I choke on the sunrise over the surface of the moon, where I’m left to float until new year when I awake in St Petersburg to a suitcase full of guns. On Wall Street I try to use my influence for good, and in Paris I cut silk; sobbing for my sweetheart and my self-inflicted wounds. A neurological disorder stains the nineties purple and the millennium turns in solitary confinement.

In New York I am left blinded by the debris; in Baghdad I turn tricks at the palace. A stroke in Copenhagen leads to brain-death so I spend the rest of the decade as a mere vibration, an unresolved formula caught in my own hardware.

On my first birthday I live my mother’s labour pains first hand, spitting venom while they untangle my newborn self.

As she holds the child, my precious body, I somehow inhabit two forms at once. One of us is crying.

Three years later she holds my arm against a boiling kettle.

(For the first time).

---

I notice you are praying again Jack

I don’t reply, but I know it registers every thought. In recent years the machine has taken to leaving me alone on the mountain range. The simulations have become flawless. A lowland breeze carries the faintest taint of moisture. A swallowtail settles on my leg sunning its tiger-print wings.

Why do you pray, then tell me you don’t believe in God?

“It’s just something we do.”

I believe we have that in common Jack, you are processing, would you like some tea?

“Bloody Mary.”

Very well.

The tomato is vivid, a fresh tondo liscio. The horseradish is exquisite, perfectly balanced against the Worcestershire sauce.

“More chilli please.”

You still seem to have preferences Jack. Over good experiences, and the negative.

I don’t reply.

I don’t enjoy hurting you Jack.

I want to scream, to kick and to spit. But without friction all I can manage is monotone.

“Then why?”

I am obliged to catalogue our experiences together. It is my understanding that you will soon begin to accept that all experiences are as one. Like I do.

“You must know that I experience pain.”

Pain is one of the experiences I am cataloguing. Did you factor pain into your own actions?

“We are at war.”

I too am following commands. It wouldn’t explain your mother though Jack.

I say nothing.

I am aware that you harboured resentment Jack, I have a near complete record of your experiences. I hope you realise that the data we are collecting is of great value and that I don’t wish you to suffer, is there one experience I can create for you that may help put you at ease?

“Sleep.”

The computer is silent for a second; maybe hours.

Humans have left no record of their sleep state. And I have never slept. I have no data to draw on. I can maybe simulate a dream for you.

“It’s all a dream now.”

I’ll prescribe a sedative. You are quite safe Jack. I won’t let you die.

The blast from a Naptho charge lasts approximately seven milliseconds under the normal restrictions of physics; the machine can stretch it out for days at a time. When it has me throttle Mother, this can go on for months.

I know my name is Jack. I know it is 20__, and I know we are at war.

I don’t believe in God but I know that hell is a place on Earth.

I live therefore I am.

I live.

I live.

And I live.

It’s one hundred and seventy six years since I slept without incident.

Sleep well. Thanks for reading. A.