Episode 2
“Can you hear me?” I thought I heard someone say. It sounded like a man's voice, but it was too far away to be certain. “Can you hear me?” the voice repeated.
“Roy, can you hear me?” This time it was a woman's voice, but it was still distant.
“I thought we weren't supposed to use that name,” the man said, closer this time.
“Using his name makes it easier to wake him,” the woman explained.
Both voices were still far away, but seemed to be getting closer.
“Roy, can you hear me?”
I tried to tell her I could, but it came out as barely a moan.
Why were they waking me up? All I wanted to do was sleep, to return to the nothingness.
I tried to think back. The last thing I remembered was Carolyn telling me she loved me, and something about a promise. I tried to remember, but the effort was too much. I just wanted to sleep.
“We're losing him,” the man said, again from far away.
“Roy.” It was the woman. But she was distant, too. “Roy, concentrate on my voice.”
She had a nice voice. Calm. Reassuring. But with a hint of determination behind it. Like Carolyn's voice.
Carolyn? I promised to see her in recovery after the surgery. What surgery? What had they done?
It did not matter.
I had to keep my promise to Carolyn.
“Roy, can you hear me?” She was much closer this time.
I attempted to say her name, Carolyn, but could only grunt.
“Open your eyes, Roy,” she insisted.
I tried.
“Come on, Roy. Open your eyes.”
I tried again. But the room was too bright.
“That's it, Roy,” she encouraged. “You can do it.”
“Light,” I somehow managed to croak out.
“Turn the lights down,” she said to someone. I could tell by her tone she was not talking to me. Then, “Okay, Roy. We've turned the light down. Now, open your eyes.”
My eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry. I tried to rub them but could not. Something was holding my arms down. I blinked a few times to try to bring my surroundings into focus.
“Hold on,” she said. “We'll get you some eye drops.”
“Thank you.” My voice still sounded raspy.
“Would you like some water?”
I nodded. Trying to talk hurt my throat.
She held a straw to my lips. “Drink it slowly.”
I did as she said, taking small sips, but my throat still hurt.
Then the straw was taken away, and my eyes were forced open.
Cool liquid saturated first my left eye, then my right. The overflow trickling down the sides of my face. I blinked again, several times, and with each blink my surroundings became a little clearer.
I expected to see my wife standing over me. Instead a woman in a white lab coat I did not recognize smiled down at me.
“Who—who are you?”
“My name is Leslie,” she said. The smile never left her face. “I'm here to help you through your confusion.”
“Where's Carolyn?”
“She's not here.”
I eyed my surroundings. I was not in the recovery room at L.E.T. I had never seen this room before. It was a small, bland, windowless room, barely big enough to fit the gurney I was strapped to and a small table.
“Where am I?”
“You're safe, Roy,” Leslie said, still smiling. “You're safe.”
I could see a young man in an identical lab coat over her shoulder.
“Who's he?”
“This is Wilcox,” she said. “He's my assistant.”
My mind was going a mile a minute, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Where was Carolyn? Where the hell was I? And who was this Leslie?
“I—I was supposed to see Carolyn in the recovery room.”
Her smile seemed to grow even brighter.
“You did, Roy. You did.”
I did? No, I didn't! I would have remembered seeing my wife. And if I had kept my promise, where was Carolyn now?
“Roy, I know this is confusing.” A look of concern had replaced the smile. “And I will answer any questions you have. But first I need you to listen to what I have to say. Can you do that?”
Though I knew she was trying to calm my fears, talking to me like I was four years old was not helping.
I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Thank you.” This time, she took a deep breath. “The procedure Roy Michaelson underwent at the L.E.T. laboratories was a complete success. The mind upload went flawlessly. Mr. Michaelson survived the surgery and kept his promise to his wife, Carolyn, to see her in the recovery room.”
“Why are you talking in the third person? I'm right here.”
“I said I'd answer any questions,” she said. “But first you have to listen.”
Again, talking to me like I was a four-year-old. I was really starting to dislike this Leslie.
“Over the next few months,” she continued, “the nanobot injections Mr. Michaelson had been receiving started to reverse the progression of the cancer.”
“Why don't I remember any of this?”
She shot me a warning look before she went on.
“The upload of Roy Michaelson's consciousness remained in an isolated L.E.T. computer until the company declared bankruptcy. That's when the United States government appropriated most of L.E.T.'s technology in the interest of national security, including Mr. Michaelson's consciousness, including you.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Ten, maybe twelve years ago,” she said.
“How long have I been unconscious?” I questioned.
“The mind upload procedure took place twenty-seven years ago,” she said.
I was stunned. But if I recovered from the cancer, why was she telling me how long it had been since the mind upload? And something she had said bothered me even more than the twenty-seven years.
“What did you mean when you said, including me?” I questioned. “I'm Roy Michaelson.”
The look on her face was one of pity. “No,” she said. “You are a download of the original Roy Michaelson's consciousness.”
“But I'm human,” I objected. I looked at my exposed arms and legs. “I'm not a robot. I'm flesh and blood.”
She nodded. “L.E.T. developed a way to put living tissue around a fully functional robotic frame.” She paused to give me time to process what she'd just said. “You look human, you feel human to the touch. But you are a robot.”
“Wow,” I said. “They did it.”
“Yes, they did.”
“And I'm the property of the U.S. government?”
“That's correct,” she said. “Or more precisely, you're the property of the Department of Homeland Security.”
“What?!”
“One of the plus sides of having been uploaded into a computer is that you are basically a computer program. You have total recall of everything Roy Michaelson ever experienced,” she explained. “That, combined with his distinguished military service in the Marines, makes you the perfect soldier,” she said.
“What if I don't want to be a soldier?” I asked. “What if I don't want to fight?”
She frowned. “Others have tried.”
“There are others?! Who? How many?”
“Yes, there are others. And some tried to gain their freedom,” she explained. “A few years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that, sentient or not, robots such as yourself, have no rights. They were determined to be nothing more than property.”
“That's slavery!”
“I'm sorry, Roy.”
“What if I refuse to fight?” I asked.
She frowned again. “If you refuse to obey the commands of your superiors,” she said, “you will be decommissioned. Your mind will be wiped and a new consciousness downloaded into this body.”
“So it's either fight or die.”
“Pretty much.”
“Who are these others?” I asked. “And where can I find them?”
“Those robots that fought the government were decommissioned.”
I was quiet for a long time. My eyes locked onto my hands.
“Why am I restrained?”
“Each time a consciousness is downloaded into a robot, it reacts differently to the news,” she explained. “Occasionally, that reaction is violent. You are restrained merely as a precaution.”
I nodded my understanding. I wouldn't want to go up against a Marine-trained robot either.
“But since you have shown no inclination toward violence,” she continued, “I think it's safe to take off your restraints.”
She nodded to her assistant (Wilcox, wasn't it?), who warily stepped over to my bed and freed my arms and legs.
“Thank you,” I said when Wilcox had stepped back. “Can I see what I look like?”
Leslie smiled. “Of course.”
She handed me a mirror from the small table.
As I took the mirror, I noticed that it was made of plastic. No glass to break and possibly use as a weapon. They took security seriously around here. Wherever here was.
I turned the mirror so I could see my face. I was pleasantly surprised to see... myself, Roy Michaelson. It was not the sick, gaunt version of me that I remembered. The face looking back at me was full and healthy looking, and perhaps ten years younger than the thirty-five I last remembered. I examined my face, my hairline, every pore. I looked and felt human.
“This must have cost a fortune,” I said, more to myself than to her. I was thinking like the administrator I had last been.
“Actually, no.” She smiled. “We have become quite good at mass producing both the skeletal frame and the surrounding tissue.”
I set the mirror aside.
“If I’m a robot, how did I drink water?”
She let out a little laugh. “Technically you’re a robot. But you’re a robot covered in living tissue.”
“And that tissue needs nutrients and oxygen to stay alive,” I finished the thought. “So I have a digestive system and lungs?”
She nodded. “And a circulatory system. You also go to the bathroom just like a living person.”
“So basically the only parts of me that are robotic are my skeleton and my brain.”
“Exactly,” she said.
“Is Roy, the real Roy, still alive?” It was a difficult question to ask, on so many levels. But it was something I had to know.
“He and Carolyn were killed in a car accident about fifteen years ago,” she said. “It was one of the factors that led to L.E.T.'s downfall. With no leadership, the company faltered.”
“Why didn't they download me then?” I questioned. “Wouldn't that have given the company the leadership it needed?”
She shook her head. “They did. But it just wasn't the same. The new Roy's ideas were twelve years out of date. And they were working with technology that he had only dreamed of.”
I saw an opportunity. “So how does that change with me?” I asked. “Surely, warfare has advanced in the past twenty-seven years. I should be out of date, obsolete.”
“One of the last projects L.E.T. was working on was the ability to update an uploaded mind's knowledge without altering its consciousness,” she explained. “Basically, you are up to date on the current state of warfare, weapons, tactics, etc. But you remain the same Roy that was uploaded into that supercomputer twenty-seven years ago.”
I took a deep breath. So much for that line of reasoning.
“So, where am I?” I asked. “And don't tell me I'm safe.”
She smiled. “We are currently at a download and production facility located in the New Mexico desert.”
“How many times have I been downloaded?” I asked. If I was a computer program, I knew I could be downloaded and copied as many times as necessary. She had already confirmed that this was not the first download. She had also mentioned mass production and referred to me as the perfect soldier. I knew I would not like the answer.
Leslie looked anxious at the question, like she had been expecting it but did not want to answer it. She shifted her weight. Even her assistant took up a more defensive position.
“L.E.T. successfully uploaded hundreds of minds,” she began. “But as you know, the upload procedure was only performed on terminally ill patients. And a patient's consciousness belonged to that patient until he or she died. Then it was usually willed to a family member.”
“But my consciousness, Roy's consciousness, was willed to Carolyn,” I said. “And when she died, there was no one else.” I stared off into the distance. The realization finally hit home.
“So possession of his consciousness reverted back to L.E.T.,” she said. “When L.E.T. shut its doors, his mind was the only one left on the company's computers.”
“And when the government swooped in, they found the perfect soldier,” I almost whispered.
“I'm so sorry, Roy.”
“I want to see,” I said with determination.
“I'm not sure that's such a good idea,” she objected.
“I want to see it,” I said. “All of it.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pushed myself into a standing position. I was wearing the same type of hospital gown I had gone into the mind upload surgery wearing. I tentatively put one foot forward. My legs were wobbly at first, but after only a few steps toward the door, my balance had returned.
She beat me to the door, standing in front of it so I could not open it.
“Roy,” she said. “I can't let you. You're not ready.”
I glared down at the woman.
“I want to see,” I repeated. “Now!”
She seemed taken aback by the tone and forcefulness of the last word. She took a step back, bumping into the closed door.
Wilcox produced a pistol from somewhere and aimed it at me. Despite having never seen the weapon before, I knew it was an MS-1400.
My instinct and training took over.
I grabbed Leslie by the throat and threw her into Wilcox. They tumbled to the floor. Luckily, the gun did not go off.
While they struggled to get back to their feet, I pulled the door open.
And fell to my knees.