Opaque Seas of Transcience
Chapter 1
Heidrich walked briskly down the hall, his feet echoing metallic notes between the polished steel walls. He wasn’t in any particular hurry, though his quick pace said other wise. He figured it was the many years spent living in this bustling city, running to and fro in the almost oppressive crowds, every single person he had ever met always in some kind of urgent hurry. He mentally berated himself for missing this opportunity and slowed to an even walk. The appointment was still a good thirty minutes away, it made no sense to run. Heidrich was determined to glean a small portent of unhurried peace before the appointment.
Something on the side of his head started beeping, a soft, insistent sound, and with a resigned sigh Heidrich stopped. He wanted peace before the appointment, not company, remote or not. A glowing blue icon blinked in the upper corner of his HUD, and only after a failed attempt at ignoring it did Heidrich access it with a distracted thought.
A distinctly mechanical face appeared, seen only by Heidrich on his HUD, as he perched on the edge of a decorative plant container.
“You on your way?”
“Yes. There’s still thirty minutes ‘till they start.” Heidrich was mildly surprised by the barely imperceptible tinge of worry in his voice. Upwards of fifty people had spoken to him, alerted him to the danger, sugar-coated it with the benefits. He knew exactly what was going to happen and exactly how they were going to do it, down to the micron. And yet that vague feeling of dread remained imbedded in the back of his mind like some sort of fat tick. If Heidrich had a stomach he was sure he’d feel nauseous with doubt.
His impromptu caller detected his unease, iris contacting in the fashion of sentimental worry.
“It’s alright, Heidrich. Everything’s accounted for. The probability of an accident happening is a one in a trillion chance.” Though full of mock understanding Heidrich caught, subtle as they were, the undercurrents of uncaring greed flowing from his caller’s synthetic voice. He did not care, he did not see Heidrich as a person. Merely as an object, a test subject. Heidrich’s cranial vents flared slightly in annoyance. Who was this man to pretend, however badly, that he had the slightest inkling of comprehension?
“Damnit, Gallegher. You know they make those statistics up on the spot.” Gallegher merely laughed in response. If anything it made Heidrich feel worse.
“Calm down, calm down. Worry is a natural response. If I were in your position I’d be scared too.” Heidrich snorted. Gallegher wouldn’t be caught dead in this position without the knowledge that the tests had gone well. Gallegher didn’t catch his hatred and kept talking.
“Just remember after the procedure you won’t be bothered by such petty thoughts. You’ll be the first, the greatest. In essence, you will be a god. Keep that in your mind and you’ll be fine.” Heidrich reluctantly agreed, and after the customary goodbyes found himself once again alone in the hallway. The peace he had been feeling only moments before was gone, in its place a deep ache. Gods? He snorted again. What a load of crock that was. Gallegher was full of baloney. Yet something deep in Heidrich liked the prospect, and no matter how out there it seemed, he wanted the procedure to succeed.
Bright light filtered down through the skylights, bouncing off the steel walls and echoing visual notes all around. It made Heidrich feel as if this were all a dream, yet for the unreality of it all he still felt that sinking sensation, as if something bad were just waiting to happen. At the end of the hallway the facility shone. Strangely, though there were skylights everywhere, no light shone on the facility. He stood again with the tired creaking of decades old rusted joints in need of replacing and headed for the facility.
~*~
“Put your head up, Mr. Coutoure…there…” Heidrich felt the curious pressure of the probe enter the port in the back of his head as one might feel their fingernails being cut; with a sort of disjointed awareness. Men in white coats milled about him as he waited on the table. Though clothing was redundant anymore, some professions demanded it as a sort of tradition. Police wore their blue uniforms, city workers strode around in bright orange and yellow, and doctors and scientists were garbed in long white coats. It just seemed natural. Heidrich himself wore nothing, but with his titanium body there was nothing to see.
Something pinched in the back of his head, not so much pain as sensation. He winced uncomfortably.
“We’re just getting you ready, Mr. Coutoure. Only a few more minutes.” The nurse who spoke to him had a soft, lilting voice, curiously marred by the intervention of her synthetic voice box, that none the less evoked in Heidrich images of fields strewn with wild flowers swaying gently in the breeze. It occurred to Heidrich how strange it was that, even hidden behind these expressionless shields manufactured in some far off factory, one’s gender, even demeanour, managed to shine through. For a second he felt proud of his humanity. They can box it all they want but a human is still a human.
He winced as that pinch came again. He realized they were wiring him up, connecting him to the machine that would eventually suck out his consciousness, his essence, his soul, and plop it into the jumble of wires they called a brain. That feeling of dread returned. Why did he sign up for this?
“Will…” he trailed off. The question had come spontaneously to his synthesizer and without warning. The nurse turned to look at him quizzically. A light plume of mist escaped unnoticed from her cranial vents. Heidrich mustered up what little of his voice remained.
“Will…will it…hurt…?” He half expected the nurse to burst into laughter at the absurdity of his question. Pain? There hadn’t been any pain here for decades, maybe centuries. Pain had vanished along with flesh and blood bodies a long time ago, that simple, primal sensation now nothing more than a distant memory. But the nurse looked at him, a look in her single camera eye that Heidrich couldn’t quite make out, and laid a hand on his arm.
“No, Heidrich. It will not hurt.” And the doctor flipped on the machine, and Heidrich was slowly falling backwards, away from the annoying limitations of the human brain, the only organic thing left in his steel body, the only thing keeping the human race from immortality, and on towards a future he could only begin to understand. The nurse watched as he lost consciousness, and in a single millisecond timeframe before he was gone Heidrich knew what that emotion was, for he had felt it too. It was so simple and yet so removed from his existence: sadness.
~*~
Heidrich awoke to the same room, the same doctors, and the same nurse. And yet something was missing from the landscape of his mind, something crucial that he had felt all along, but only realized it was there when it was gone. Strangely he couldn’t grasp what it was, only knew that it was gone. He looked around at the circle of faces surrounding him.
“Did it work?” he asked. One of the doctor’s nodded eagerly, his dorsal smokestacks raised in giddy excitement. Strangely Heidrich didn’t feel his excitement, though he knew he should. It was something forlorn to him, something he had forgotten. The excited doctor pointed to the computer screen by Heidrich’s head.
“You’re one hundred percent machine, Mr. Coutoure,” he babbled excitedly. “With your consciousness transferred to the nanomachine brain, you no longer have any biological nuisances to stall your life. You are, suffice it to say, immortal.” The procedure was a success. Heidrich was the first true machine man, able to live and keep living until he so chose to end it. He should have felt happiness, but he didn’t. In the absence of joy he should have felt sorrow, but he didn’t. His thoughts were crystal clear against a background of clean, sterile white, and he felt a sort of disconnected discontent. Not exactly an emotion, more of a fabricated feeling.
“Immortality,” he whispered. Was this the reality of being immortal, no more a man than a machine incapable of the emotions he had taken for granted fro so many long decades? The doctors had been right. The scientists had been right. The petty thoughts of an organic brain no longer bothered him, but what good was living forever, if he had nothing anymore to live for? In their quest for immortality they forgot the one thing that made them who they were: humanity.
Heidrich wanted to cry and shout and rage. He wanted to flip the table then huddle in a corner and cry. Instead he got up and walked out of the room like the robot he was.
Something on the side of his head started beeping, a soft, insistent sound, and with a resigned sigh Heidrich stopped. He wanted peace before the appointment, not company, remote or not. A glowing blue icon blinked in the upper corner of his HUD, and only after a failed attempt at ignoring it did Heidrich access it with a distracted thought.
A distinctly mechanical face appeared, seen only by Heidrich on his HUD, as he perched on the edge of a decorative plant container.
“You on your way?”
“Yes. There’s still thirty minutes ‘till they start.” Heidrich was mildly surprised by the barely imperceptible tinge of worry in his voice. Upwards of fifty people had spoken to him, alerted him to the danger, sugar-coated it with the benefits. He knew exactly what was going to happen and exactly how they were going to do it, down to the micron. And yet that vague feeling of dread remained imbedded in the back of his mind like some sort of fat tick. If Heidrich had a stomach he was sure he’d feel nauseous with doubt.
His impromptu caller detected his unease, iris contacting in the fashion of sentimental worry.
“It’s alright, Heidrich. Everything’s accounted for. The probability of an accident happening is a one in a trillion chance.” Though full of mock understanding Heidrich caught, subtle as they were, the undercurrents of uncaring greed flowing from his caller’s synthetic voice. He did not care, he did not see Heidrich as a person. Merely as an object, a test subject. Heidrich’s cranial vents flared slightly in annoyance. Who was this man to pretend, however badly, that he had the slightest inkling of comprehension?
“Damnit, Gallegher. You know they make those statistics up on the spot.” Gallegher merely laughed in response. If anything it made Heidrich feel worse.
“Calm down, calm down. Worry is a natural response. If I were in your position I’d be scared too.” Heidrich snorted. Gallegher wouldn’t be caught dead in this position without the knowledge that the tests had gone well. Gallegher didn’t catch his hatred and kept talking.
“Just remember after the procedure you won’t be bothered by such petty thoughts. You’ll be the first, the greatest. In essence, you will be a god. Keep that in your mind and you’ll be fine.” Heidrich reluctantly agreed, and after the customary goodbyes found himself once again alone in the hallway. The peace he had been feeling only moments before was gone, in its place a deep ache. Gods? He snorted again. What a load of crock that was. Gallegher was full of baloney. Yet something deep in Heidrich liked the prospect, and no matter how out there it seemed, he wanted the procedure to succeed.
Bright light filtered down through the skylights, bouncing off the steel walls and echoing visual notes all around. It made Heidrich feel as if this were all a dream, yet for the unreality of it all he still felt that sinking sensation, as if something bad were just waiting to happen. At the end of the hallway the facility shone. Strangely, though there were skylights everywhere, no light shone on the facility. He stood again with the tired creaking of decades old rusted joints in need of replacing and headed for the facility.
~*~
“Put your head up, Mr. Coutoure…there…” Heidrich felt the curious pressure of the probe enter the port in the back of his head as one might feel their fingernails being cut; with a sort of disjointed awareness. Men in white coats milled about him as he waited on the table. Though clothing was redundant anymore, some professions demanded it as a sort of tradition. Police wore their blue uniforms, city workers strode around in bright orange and yellow, and doctors and scientists were garbed in long white coats. It just seemed natural. Heidrich himself wore nothing, but with his titanium body there was nothing to see.
Something pinched in the back of his head, not so much pain as sensation. He winced uncomfortably.
“We’re just getting you ready, Mr. Coutoure. Only a few more minutes.” The nurse who spoke to him had a soft, lilting voice, curiously marred by the intervention of her synthetic voice box, that none the less evoked in Heidrich images of fields strewn with wild flowers swaying gently in the breeze. It occurred to Heidrich how strange it was that, even hidden behind these expressionless shields manufactured in some far off factory, one’s gender, even demeanour, managed to shine through. For a second he felt proud of his humanity. They can box it all they want but a human is still a human.
He winced as that pinch came again. He realized they were wiring him up, connecting him to the machine that would eventually suck out his consciousness, his essence, his soul, and plop it into the jumble of wires they called a brain. That feeling of dread returned. Why did he sign up for this?
“Will…” he trailed off. The question had come spontaneously to his synthesizer and without warning. The nurse turned to look at him quizzically. A light plume of mist escaped unnoticed from her cranial vents. Heidrich mustered up what little of his voice remained.
“Will…will it…hurt…?” He half expected the nurse to burst into laughter at the absurdity of his question. Pain? There hadn’t been any pain here for decades, maybe centuries. Pain had vanished along with flesh and blood bodies a long time ago, that simple, primal sensation now nothing more than a distant memory. But the nurse looked at him, a look in her single camera eye that Heidrich couldn’t quite make out, and laid a hand on his arm.
“No, Heidrich. It will not hurt.” And the doctor flipped on the machine, and Heidrich was slowly falling backwards, away from the annoying limitations of the human brain, the only organic thing left in his steel body, the only thing keeping the human race from immortality, and on towards a future he could only begin to understand. The nurse watched as he lost consciousness, and in a single millisecond timeframe before he was gone Heidrich knew what that emotion was, for he had felt it too. It was so simple and yet so removed from his existence: sadness.
~*~
Heidrich awoke to the same room, the same doctors, and the same nurse. And yet something was missing from the landscape of his mind, something crucial that he had felt all along, but only realized it was there when it was gone. Strangely he couldn’t grasp what it was, only knew that it was gone. He looked around at the circle of faces surrounding him.
“Did it work?” he asked. One of the doctor’s nodded eagerly, his dorsal smokestacks raised in giddy excitement. Strangely Heidrich didn’t feel his excitement, though he knew he should. It was something forlorn to him, something he had forgotten. The excited doctor pointed to the computer screen by Heidrich’s head.
“You’re one hundred percent machine, Mr. Coutoure,” he babbled excitedly. “With your consciousness transferred to the nanomachine brain, you no longer have any biological nuisances to stall your life. You are, suffice it to say, immortal.” The procedure was a success. Heidrich was the first true machine man, able to live and keep living until he so chose to end it. He should have felt happiness, but he didn’t. In the absence of joy he should have felt sorrow, but he didn’t. His thoughts were crystal clear against a background of clean, sterile white, and he felt a sort of disconnected discontent. Not exactly an emotion, more of a fabricated feeling.
“Immortality,” he whispered. Was this the reality of being immortal, no more a man than a machine incapable of the emotions he had taken for granted fro so many long decades? The doctors had been right. The scientists had been right. The petty thoughts of an organic brain no longer bothered him, but what good was living forever, if he had nothing anymore to live for? In their quest for immortality they forgot the one thing that made them who they were: humanity.
Heidrich wanted to cry and shout and rage. He wanted to flip the table then huddle in a corner and cry. Instead he got up and walked out of the room like the robot he was.