Until Next Time
Background: "Until Next Time" was the result of a rather horrible thought experiment where I imagined how my world would change if my spouse passed away. My immediate next thought was, "Well, if I had the technology, I'd do absolutely whatever it took to bring her back."
That's it. That's the story.
Enjoy.
-- Mike
P.S.
This is my story and isn't being given away; i.e. all ideas are mine unless otherwise noted. See my copyright page for details.
Featured Image source can be found here.
I tuck her in.
It’s a well-practiced moment. One worn down by infinite repetition.
But it’s special. A thing between me and her. A moment where we leave behind all the worriesof the world and simply be.
A moment when I get a reprieve from this reality.
I stroke dark hair from brown eyes and saythings that make her smile. It alwaysworks. Always brings that same half-grinfrom the day we met in Rome. It's thesame one captured in the wedding holograms that flash, half-remembered blurs,on the barely rendered cabinet behind me.
I set a glass of water on the bedside tableamongst the machines beeping their discordant symphony. The liquid is an unnatural aquamarine in thefalse, yellow light of the room instead of the typical sulfur-sheen of watertinged with poison. A slash of paniccuts through me. That's the signal. It's time.
A knife of panic shoves into my spine.
Time for what?
I wrack my brain as she takes the glass, smilinglike always, and drinks deeply.
She knows what's in the water. It's her idea.
That almost breaks me. For a moment, I live inthe moment like I have thousands of times before. I breath her in, a mix ofsick sweat and sweet lavender.
The class tinksas she puts it back and the slash of blue-green liquid catches my attentionagain.
But what am I supposed to do? Why can't I remember?
I let out a sharp laugh that isn't supposed tobe here in this memory prison. I can't remember because I've done this for toolong, but it was unavoidable.
We needed to give her time.
Frustration rises sharp in my throat. Time forwhat?
My face gets hot as my beloved looks up at me,curiosity furrowing her brow. It's sohard to think in here, especially right here with her, but it's the only placewith enough emotion the AI can't track me. Especially with the hacks I uploadedbefore I was arrested. We told them they shouldn't connect the Prison AI to theInternet. My breath is ragged as I try to remember. Try to piece together whythat's important.
Her face and the room flicker like a bufferingvideo file. I feel my will dragged intoplace as the Prison AI forces me back into well-worn patterns through theelectrodes lodged in my brain a million miles away.
The thought, and the recognition, flitters away...and I lean in slowly, her scent filling my nostrils.
I kiss her forehead.
Reaching over the edge of the aged mattress, Itweak the terminal behind the bed to start the transfer process. That'simportant, but I'm not sure why. Then I grabher favorite book and hand it over reverently, pulling a turquoise bookmarkfrom pages worn with tender hands. Her eyesclose and breathing steadies, so I set the book down on her chest. It's open, ready to be picked up and read.
In caseshe wakes, I always tell myself.
Something about that tickles my memory, but it'sswept away in a wave of nausea. Mystomach spins and I kiss her forehead again; quivering lips meeting her warm skinone last time, nearly perpetual fever only now starting to fade.
"Until next time," I whisper with asmall smile, and step away to the slowing breathing of one who never wakes.
The door out of the room slides open and I stepthrough, ignoring the sounds of screaming machines behind me. The acrid scent of the prison wafts into mynose; a heady mix of antiseptic and despair that clings to flat-walled cell theAI has crafted for me. For the briefestof moments, I have my mind back... and I wish I didn't. An ache I can't stop scrapes and tears acrossmy chest and up my neck; a rift tears my stomach in two. I fall to my knees. A wail echoes against the flat graywalls. It takes me a moment to realizeit's coming from me.
You'd think I'd be used to it by now.
Through eyes blurred with tears, I tear off myclothes and throw them into the corner. A pair of drab ashen fleece pants and a worn blue t-shirt that smellslike sweat and shame. The pounding in mychest radiates into the room.
Heavy, hot, and booming. An unnatural crimson flashing off featurelesssurfaces.
That stops me in my tracks. There's something I'm supposed to be thinkingabout right now. Something urgent...
The water.
It takes everything I have to stop theshuddering sobs wracking my body, but I do.
None of this is real. Not my wife; not me. Not really. My sentence is something new. It's based off the work my wife and I did on managing artificialenvironments with AI. I coded thebackend, she crafted the personality. Atleast, she did until the sickness made her too feeble. Then I took over.
We made it to heal. To provide closure. And it's used that way the world over.
Then we licensed it to Unified PenitentiaryIncorporated.
My jailer uses it to punish. One Hundred Million Repetitions is my sentence. Thatisn't possible in a lifetime, but when your brain can force you to relive amoment once per second?
That's only four years, including processing. A great way to clear the prison system of"non-violent offenders."
Mercy, theycalled it in the original sales pitch.
Then I helped my wife die peacefully.
Mercy for whom?
There’s a harsh snap. A whip across my back.
The ticker in the corner increments as anothersliver of my sentence is recorded.
I don't have much time now. I need to remember what to do in there orit'll be over. Meaningless. I'll be stuck here for another millionmemories before they send me out onto the street.
Alone.
It'd be better to stay in that momentforever. Then I can be with her. Sometimes, despite the push from the AI, allI want to do is sit back down on the bed and read to her as she passes...
My breath catches and, as I wipe tears from myface, the screech of a klaxon freezes me in place.
The clothes reappear on my body, their weightsettling on my shoulders like a hair shirt: itchy and heavy. Acrid, nervous sweat once fills my nostrils,almost washing away the stink of the prison. Behind me, the simulation winds back to life with a squeal.
Ninety-nine million times I’ve said those threewords. Until next time. A millionmore and I'll never see her again.
It doesn't get easier. Each session is a reminder I killed my wife,not the cancer. Every trip into this damned machine layers more guilt. Guilt I know I'll carry to the end of mydays... whenever that is. I sometimeswish we never created it.
My beloved may be gone, but the curse of herdeath follows me. The way her skinsmelled that day. The beeps of themachines and the glass of water in the yellow light of the side lamp.
Her final, rattling breath as the door closesbehind me.
But it's not the memory I can't stand.
It's walking out of that room and rememberingshe's gone. Feeling the loss of the mostbeautiful person in my life. Knowing hersmile and laugh are missing, being forgotten by a world that doesn't even knowit needs them.
This is the only place she exists now.
The door opens behind me with a creak. From beyond it, my beloved asks for a glassof water.
My heart melts and I smile. I know what I need to do.
We go through the motions: I tuck her in, kissher forehead, hand her the water. Myheart pounds through it all, but what I need to do runs through the back of mymind, unfiltered and undetected.
And now it's time. I lean in, heart hammering, breath short. I kiss her feverish forehead and whisper fourwords. "Come back to me."
I hold my breath for a long moment, staring ather placid face as it succumbs to the poison, the machines ticking away theircountdown.
This should've worked.
"Come back to me." I hear the panic in my voice.
She's not breathing anymore.
Everything skips a few frames as the AIredirects focus to me. My mind scatterstrying to figure out what I did wrong, but this is it. The passphrase should have done it. Did they find the snippet and its payload buriedin the behavioral analytics? I knew Icouldn't do it, despite her faith in me. I'm not the programmer she was. I'm not good enough.
It feels like someone is grabbing my limbs andpulling me to the door.
"No!" I scream, grabbing her cooling body in a fierce embrace. "No!"
But I don't have strength to fight it off andI'm torn away, her body disappearing as I'm spun around and thrown through thedoor.
I hit the ground in a crooked roll, limbsflailing. When I stop, I don't getup. There's no point. I had one chance and I failed.
It's over. She's gone.
I close my eyes and wait for the ticker.
Warmth suffuses my body and I hear the distinctsound of my wife clearing her throat. Ilook toward the still-open doorway, tears trickling from my eyes as I choke outa laugh.
It worked. She's leaning against the doorframe in the green sweater and jeans she worewhen we first met, a nearly blinding white light shining from behind her.
"Well, are you coming?" She asks, grinning and extending a hand.
I climb to my feet unsteadily and take it.
It worked. The copy of her consciousness Igrabbed as she lay dying uploaded correctly into the AI.
Overwriting the old code with the mind of mybeloved.
With a sure step, she turns and steps into thelight. In that light, I swear I see a million branching pathways, each leadingfarther away from this place. This prison.
If I follow her, I'll leave my body behind. Turninto a series of 1s and 0s just like her. Disappear into the ether.
I should be worried, but I'm not. Instead, I smileand step into the light.
I've kept her waiting long enough.
