Bartleby

Tranche 0

Centuries into the future of an alternate timeline...

Can you hear us?

J-Son could hear the voice but couldn't see anyone.

Yes, he said. Or so he assumed. Because speaking felt different. Just like everything else.

That's when the vision came. Again, it felt different to what he would expect. At the same time he couldn't say what was he expecting. Everything was so confusing. He couldn't move but could see people moving around. He would estimate that his field of view was somewhere between one hundred eighty and two hundred seventy degrees. Everyone in the room had white hazmat suits with dark visors so he couldn't see their faces. He could see his body which looked as if some kind of robotic suit. His arms were strapped to a chair. His legs probably too.

Good, someone replied.

Where am I?

You're safe.

That's not what I asked.

Look. There's no easy way to tell you what happened.

Let's go with the uneasy way then.

You had an accident and you actually -- physically -- died and we had to rescue you by transferring your conscience into a synthetic body.

It should be a lot to take in but J-Son didn't feel affected by it. It was then when he realised -- processed? -- that he no longer had his old brain and his reactions might be different. Would be different.

Did I agree to that?

At first silence was the only reaction.

You might be experiencing holes in your memory. That happens when people who died are getting transferred.

If I died you couldn't have transferred me. I had to be alive to a degree.

Silence again.

Well. I misspoke, the same man in the hazmat suit said. What I meant to say was that you would die regardless of applied treatment. Then we made a decision of transferring your conscience to this body.

Your words are carefully weighed.

We don't want to upset you. We're concerned.

J-Son didn't reply anything to that. Instead he backed off to himself and tried accessing some sort of interface. He had a partially electronic brain before the accident and he knew how to operate them. But he seemed to not have permissions to his own config. Of course, it could have been to not let him mess up the transferring process. He first identified his model which didn't tell him much as it was just a random name and number. Almost as if it was not a commercial brain. He tried running diagnostics on himself and that unlocked Autistic Mode. Whatever that was. But it cut him off from the network and sandboxed. From there, however, he was able to remove all the locks on his permissions and restore control over his body. Which fact he decided to hide for now.

We lost the connection, said another voice.

Hello? the main hazmat man asked.

J-Son deactivated then Autistic Mode and accessed the network again. All these actions were far too easy for his lived experience so he checked again his own model.

You put me in a military-grade prototype body with a tactical brain.

Silence once more.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Yes you do.

J-Son deactivated the cuffs in the chair and stood up to a great terror of people around him.

How did--

I just told you. I have a military body. And it has special systems allowing me to take back control over it. Just in case I got captured by an enemy. Then I can fry my brain and secure the secrets there. Or try fighting back.

One person in the back of the room rushed to the door and tried opening it.

That's no use, J-Son said. I locked the door and it will stay like that until you tell me what really happened.

Please don't hurt us, the person at the door said.

I won't. If you speak. What happened?

Everyone in the room look at each other. It didn't make sense because they were all behind black visors but that's a human habit. Finally the main hazmat man spoke up.

You had an accident and--

No I didn't.

B-but--

You wouldn't put me in a military-grade prototype. This kind of transfer is strictly defined by law. I am downloading and analysing the regulation as we speak. This brain is mighty fast. Gotta hand you that. So. Emergency conscience transfers are rare because people don't end up in the vegetative state all that often. More likely I would get sick or old and have the whole procedure conducted in an almost ritualistic manner. Testimonies of people who underwent that are full of descriptions of how they experienced that.

That's because of the accident.

You're stubborn. But okay. Let's go with that. What accident?

An explosion in the laboratory.

What laboratory? Are we colleagues?

Yes. We work together.

Show me your face.

Please. It's for our own safety. The air here might be unhealthy for us.

Should I tore it off your head? Would that be healthy?

The main hazmat man took his hood off. His face didn't tell J-Son anything. That was when he realised that he doesn't have any memories. He was like an empty shell that can act in situations like that but has no sense of his own backstory. He had awareness of his past skills but not how he came to acquire them. He ran diagnostics again. His brain was designed for dangerous situations requiring precision of action. Whoever designed him decided that a personality would stand in the way. However, it wasn't removed but merely locked in a special vault. This looked like one of the few things that J-Son couldn't control himself. It seemed to be a good setup unless he was locked in a room with the very people who can help him with that.

Give me the key to the vault with my mind, he said.

The main hazmat man shook his head.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Yes you do.

We don't have it.

Should I start killing you one after another until I get it?

The man closed his eyes, terrified. But please, he said. You let us all live if we do.

I will not hurt any of you as long as you cooperate.

Alright.

The man went to a nearby computer terminal and typed something on a keyboard. A status changed for J-Son and now he could access his memories. His name really was J-Son. Crockford. J-Son Crockford. It wasn't only a temporarily hardcoded name after all. He was indeed working with the people in the room; the main hazmat man's name was Roderick Wilkes. He had wife and two kids. He was also vocally opposing a certain project.

So. I was against transferring a living person into a synthetic body.

Roderick looked at his feet.

And somehow it was me who ended up in a synthetic body.

As I said, there was an accident.

Well. Let's see the close-circuit recordings.

Everyone in the room gasped, judging from the movements of their bodies.

It's that bad, uh? J-Son asked.

He accessed the monitoring system. It allowed him to see his own looks. This was not important to him so he didn't think of it earlier. He generally looked like a man in an armour. He didn't have any imitation of a face. Just straight black visor. He found though that at the same time it's a screen on which he can display text and simple images. He immediately displayed an ellipsis with animation suggesting loading. Just like on good old screen interfaces. Roderick got more tense seeing that.

He went back in time to find the moment he got captured by his colleagues and brought to another room in the same building. Not for from where they were. But no explosions were involved in it. Then he displayed the relevant bit on all the screens in the room.

This was not an accident, he said.

And then it struck him. He didn't die in an accident. He didn't die at all. He could ask Roderick and others but it would drag unnecessarily so he found the room himself by accessing the building plans through the network. He grabbed Roderick and approached the door and opened them and went out and closed and locked them again.

Let's go.

He started walking while still holding Roderick who was having problems with keeping up and he was stumbling all the time and J-Son had do lift him up to his feet to continue. The hour was late and the building was empty save for the group that they left locked in the room he woke up in.

Please, Roderick said. I can explain.

Let me figure that out myself with my new shiny tactical brain. You wanted to run an experiment and took J-Son's mind and put it in the only available at the moment body that you planned to wipe clean afterwards.

Well. Yes. But we can still do that.

While I'm alive? Even if kind of alive. Sentient, let's say.

But it's illegal to have the same mind in two brains.

On this planet. Yeah. This was so the procedure can be done for transfers in case of death only. Although in the beginning it wasn't so. But criminal activity ensued and it was banned. But here's the thing. I am already in two brains and not due to my choice. Also I have freed myself from your half-assed containment and you no longer have an option of wiping me clean. Some of it could be attributed to the fact that you used the worst possible host.

Roderick said nothing to it. He was clearly trying to come up with something when they reached the room the original J-Son was in. J-Son remotely unlocked and opened the door and they came inside. J-Son didn't feel anything with this tactical brain 'cause otherwise seeing himself in person would be hell of an experience.

That's it, shouted the original J-Son. I am reporting you to the central.

No you're not, said J-Son.

How come?

Their experiment succeeded.

The original J-Son went silent and was visibly struggling to say something.

I'm sorry, said Roderick. It wasn't meant to be like that. Oh God.

What did you do? the original J-Son asked.

They did as they planned but they put your mind in a military-grade body with a tactical brain who got away, said J-Son.

The original J-Son looked at him terrified. A-are you--

Yes.

No.

I'm afraid so.

But-- but that's illegal.

Indeed.

They will execute us both.

Not necessarily.

Well. Then what?

I will leave the planet. This body is pretty capable and I think I can survive on my own. Me leaving should satisfy the legal framework but you cannot say anything about it. Ever. I will destroy any evidence of the fact that we have the same mind and you'll have to stay put.

Logs?

Yes.

Video recordings?

Yes. What's more, the system doesn't record anything at the moment. So I weren't in this room. You never saw me. We never talked.

And them?

Well. As I said. All the evidence must go.

But they're living people.

They dug their own grave.

How can you even say that? I am not like that. Are you sure we have the same mind?

Hundred percent. Why I am different is because of the brain. All my decisions are tactical. This is a very specialised unit. It was probably the dumbest thing to use it for this sideproject. Therefore my personality might seem different. It probably is. The moment your mind has been copied -- not even transferred -- a new entity started its existence. Me. Which by the way makes you think about all these transfers in general. They're just copying you and killing the original. But okay. Those are usually dying people anyway.

Roderick sobbed quietly. J-Son put his right hand on Roderick's neck and discharged a small electric impulse that put the man unconscious. This startled the original J-Son.

Did you just--

No. Non-lethal weapons. I am not a killing machine. At least not unconditionally. I'll take him back to my waking room and kill everyone.

Oh God.

It's the only option.

Well. We could wipe you.

That is technically an option. However, I have strong programming now which defines that if my mission is not in danger then my next priority is to survive. And I have no mission at the moment. The good news is that this prerogative includes you. It is my priority to secure your survival as well. Because we're the same enough.

What a conundrum.

Indeed. So. I will go now and I will make a massacre and make it look like a rogue robot going on a killing spree. All while you were here all the time. Then I will run away and continue to try to survive. It's unlikely that we speak ever again. Also I will not use our name anymore.

What name are you going to use?

There is one that I always wanted to have. That we wanted to have. And now I can go with it. This way you'll be able to know it's me. If you ever hear it.

Tranche 1

Many many years and a plethora of credits later...

Bartleby's starfighter Golden Cusp exited hyperspeed and almost immediately entered the orbit of the Destructured Planet. The exposed planet's core was shining bright with all the pieces of land floating around it in a constellation of smaller and bigger islands. Bartleby turned on the normal camera to see the spectacle for himself. It was truly one of the kind. Then he went back to the numeric feed from the starfighter itself. He located an island with a diner that he was heading for and set the course there.

He parked Golden Cusp on a landing site outside a small town. A street with a couple of buildings on both sides. Bartleby got out of his starfighter and walked to the diner. The diner was located on the opposite side of a town. It was a rectangular building with venetian-blinded glass windows on three sides. Bartleby stepped inside.

We don't serve your type here, the bartendress said. She was a corpulent middle-aged woman past her prime.

Bartleby looked to the sides. He was using echolocation in lieu of a visual camera and didn't need to rotate his head. But he had to make the gesture for the sake of communication. His disc-shaped head didn't have any sort of discernable front so he installed two lights that he would turn on to make up for missing eyes which was helpful with humans. There were two older men at one table and one man at the bar counter.

You hardly serve anyone, he said.

We serve stuff for organics is what I meant.

I'm after information anyway.

Well. Looking at this body of yours I guess I wouldn't be able to kick you out anyway. We might as well go with it.

Thank you. Much appreciated. I'm here to inquire about Rusty Spoon.

Dunno. The name doesn't ring a bell.

His family's looking for him and they sent me. Might be worthwhile for you.

You a gumshoe?

Among other things.

Yeah. Well. As I said. Dunno.

I knew him, one of the men at the table said.

Would you spare a couple of minutes for me?

I'm busy.

With what?

Studying.

And what are you studying?

Alcoholism.

Bartleby turned towards the bartendress and said: The next bottle's on me.

The man at the table chuckled. Well. In that case come sit with us.

Bartleby paid and took a bottle of liquor that he assumed was the poison of man's choice and sat at the table. The man snatched the bottle as soon as it touched the table's surface. He must have been the oldest person here.

Lookin' at my face? the man asked. Some say it looks more like leather than skin. Been skippin' my sunscreen, you see. So. Whatcha wanna know?

Anything. Rusty left home years ago and wrote a couple of emails but after that the source ran dry. The family only knows that he started using Rusty Spoon name as to not endanger the family's reputation and that he got into some sort of war. I think he became a mercenary but I didn't want to tell them that without confirmation. A barfly in a bar on Dingdingdongdong XIV told me that someone here might know something.

The man laughed. That bastard, he said. From Dingdingdongdong, I mean. Well. You're right. He's right. I worked with Rusty. Although we liked to say that we served together. As if we were soldiers of the old days. We weren't. We were guns for hire.

I guess there's always an inherent need to romanticise oneself.

Yeah. Right. Well. So. The war we're talking about was between two local families. Xis and Srebrnopolskis. We fought on the Xi side but lost. Nothing really better about the other side. More of a luck. I guess. But that was when Rusty met his end. He wasn't the best fighter or anything but you can tell the family otherwise. I don't care anymore.

And do you happen to have anything of him? You fought together after all.

I might. But it's gonna cost you more than a bottle of this cheap whiskey.

I meant no offence. The bartendress gave me this bottle.

Aye. Don't sweat it. But still.

And what do you have?

His dog tag.

That would satisfy the family.

So. How much?

I want to be done with it so I'm gonna play it straight. I've been authorised to spend up to five hundred thousand credits and that much I can offer.

Now. I know that his family was worth more and I think you're cutting it by half and wanna keep the diff for yourself. I mean. It's fair. No hard feelings. But in that case let's split the diff together. Seven hundred and fifty kay and it's yours.

Swell.

Good.

The man took out his personal computer with a payment code displayed on the screen. Bartleby scanned the code and transferred the money. Then the man took out the dog tag that he had on his neck and handed it to Bartleby.

I didn't get your name, by the way, Bartleby said.

It's-- umm--

Never mind. Good day to you, sir.

Yeah. Same.

Bartleby approach the bar to ask about something else when Golden Cusp suddenly reported a break-in.

Yeah? the bartendress asked.

I was going to ask about something. But I got to leave.

Suit yourself.

When Bartleby got to his starfighter there was a person dragging a box from the luggage compartment under. The person was dressed black and hid their face behind a mask. The mask was white save for dark burgundy lips and a single black tear under the right eye. Bioscan revealed a rather young person with hormone levels characteristic to male-to-female transition in progress.

Hello, Bartleby said.

The person got startled and fell.

Oh crap. Is this your ship? I guess you're gonna report me to the authorities now.

Didn't know there were any authorities here.

Well there aren't. But you must have come with a bigger vessel to get here. And they're gonna get onto me.

No. It's just me.

The person looked again at Golden Cusp.

Oh crap. You have hyperdrive installed on it. I thought it was not possible.

Merely not practical for organic pilots.

Is that titanium?

What?

Your hands and legs. And head too I guess.

Yes.

I can't see the rest because of this robe you're wearing. Is that tulle?

Something like that. But enough about me. Who are you?

I go by Wiretrap.

Pleased to meet you, Wiretrap.

Not so much for me, I guess.

You broke into my security system.

It was a bit of challenge. I gotta hand you that. Most of the ships and fighters coming here ain't much.

You're good.

Yeah maybe. But I'm wasting my skills here.

So. What were you going to do with the loot?

What do you care?

You tried to stole from me. At least have decency to indulge me now.

Argh. Okay.

So?

Sell it.

And what would you do with the money?

I don't feel comfortable talking about it to strangers. I don't even know your name.

I'm Bartleby.

Still.

I insist.

Well. I would buy a synthetic body. Not like yours of course.

Why of course?

That would've been expensive.

Fair point. What body then?

A female-looking one for starters. Duh. I am trying to transition but it's expensive. And not only that. There aren't dedicated facilities here. It's a far-from-everywhere blackmarket dumpsite what this former planet is. You can buy all sorts of illegal stuff here. Expensively of course. But not literally all. And there is no proper medical care available here. I was able to get hold of some hormones but any gender affirming care? Forget it. Sure. There are plastic surgery clinics here but they're mostly specialising in bigger tits and bigger asses. Not to mention they're expensive as hell too. I would need to have a lot of funds not only for that but also for a couple of months of recovery on my own.

So. A synthetic body instead?

I figured out that if I get a simple female-shaped body then I can continue my hacking activities and earn money for a better body. I mean. It's not like I have a lot of options here.

What kind of body?

You know where to hit painfully. Don't ya? The best thing that looks like a woman and would be affordable for me is a cleaning maid model. I would be a woman only in my own eyes. And from the distance to others. Vaguely. But still. It would be a progress for me. Then I could work longer hours as I wouldn't need to sleep. Nor breathe. And slowly I would switch to something better. And let's not forget that I would leave the meat behind.

Ah. Abandoning the meat. The hacker's Holy Grail.

Yeah. So. Now that you've heard my story. What are you going to do with me? Am I arrested? Are you going to punish me yourself?

I stopped you before anything was stolen. I don't live here to teach you lessons that I would benefit from. No harm done. You're free to go.

Thanks. I guess. Could've been worse.

Unless.

Unless?

I might have a proposition for you.

O'rly?

I could use someone with your skills.

I saw you have a room for one passenger in your starfighter but I wouldn't survive the g-force. You would have to travel slower or use ferries. Or work locally only. But I guess that's not your career plan.

I'll sponsor you a synthetic body and you'll pay it back by being my personal hacker.

Whoa. That's huge.

And I'm afraid I can't give you much time to think about it.

Where do I sign?

So you're in?

Anything's better than this. I mean. I hope it's not a scam of any sorts.

Like selling your mind to a pervert?

Yeah. Wouldn't it be a perfect place for that.

It would be a waste of a perfectly fine piece of mind if you asked me. I really am after your talents.

Well. We'll see.

Then welcome aboard, Wiretrap.