Human (16 page)

"Yeah, actually I have. I think you're going to be pretty shocked. Is this the best time to discuss that though?"

"How did you find the time to do the research?" Smith answered with a question of his own.

"Believe it or not, remember that stripper you met at the Moviestar Topless?  You hired her to babysit me?"

"Kitty?" Smith asked, drawing the name out of his now-infallible memory.

"Katherine O'Malley," Takahashi corrected. "Yeah, believe it or not she practically pulled this whole thing together herself. I think you're going to be pleasantly surprised. I actually had some time to start doing some real digging; and like I said, you're not going to believe what I found out. The first guy was pretty easy. 'Kovaretsky' is Sergei Kovaretsky. He was the Politburo's Secretary of Defense when the Soviet Union collapsed. Now, he's either a businessman or a politician or a mobster, depending on who you ask."

"Sounds like an interesting guy," Smith interjected.

Takahashi continued. "Anyway, he's a rich and dangerous guy. We know that. Probably not as dangerous as the second guy on your list, though. This, Vakhrusheva fellow was former KGB, very high up. Might still work for the Russian government or military, very mysterious character. Rumor has it that he is also on Kovaretsky's payroll."

"The muscle, I'm guessing," Smith mused.

Takahashi nodded agreement, "Now the most interesting of this triumvirate is your Ashkot. Now Ashkot is probably Yuri Ashkot who was a former general in the Soviet military who was the head honcho in charge of a good chunk of their nuclear arsenal. No bomb got built, moved, aimed, tested or anything without his nod. And that's when we get into some real serious mythology. Supposedly there were three secret codes built into every nuclear launch facility constructed under his command. One code was provided to the Secretary General, the other was provided to the Secretary of Defense, Kovaretsky, and the third, "Code Number 3" was known only to this guy Ashkot. In other words, the Soviets could not launch a nuclear warhead without his say-so. Sort of the ultimate fail safe. Again, unconfirmed, but apparently that's a big part of why there have been no nuclear attacks by terrorists or rogue nations. Even though a lot of missiles and other hardware got out on the black market, almost nothing can be launched without Code 3."

"Wow. That's crazy."  Smith said recognizing the scale of his understatement. For the first time ever he felt glad to be locked away in a box with no face to show his expression or subtlety of voice to betray the fact that he was already familiar with "Kodeks nom tri": Code Number 3.

"Get's crazier, pal," Takahashi continued. "Apparently, about five years ago, Ashkot disappears. Literally disappears. Off the Radar. Destination unknown, in the wind, now you see him, now you don't. Hiding? Dead? Kidnaped? Abducted by aliens?  No one knows. This guy is potentially the most powerful man on earth. He has the key to unlock a huge, HUGE, nuclear arsenal. These loonies that might have obtained a black-market nuclear weapon from the former Soviet Union would pay billions--maybe trillions--to get the information that's in this guy's head, and he's...," Takahashi put his hands together at the fingertips and pulled them apart quickly, "...poof!"

"Any idea what that might have to do with me?"  Smith asked even though he already suspected that Ashkot was alive, at least in part, and living within him, giving him dreams of Russia and feeding him names.

"I've got no idea Elly, but I do know these are dangerous people we are talking about."

"Well, I guess that's really all I need to know. Forget about it for now. We've got my funeral to attend to."

Takahashi got up to leave, but Smith spoke again, "Oh, and Sammy, not a word about this conversation to anyone at all."

"''Nuf said," Takahashi replied comfortingly.

Julian listened intently as the Reverend went through the religious part of the service, pausing often to make reflections and share some stories from the Bible. Julian enjoyed the Reverend's words. He had attended many funeral services and, so far, this one had been quite nice. The Reverend had given him some food for thought. Nice words. Maybe, he thought, they just seemed extra nice because he was in such a good mood now. He glanced back at Kitty again and she gave him a little wave. Late arrivers were still trickling in and she was handing out the programs and pointing them to their seats as they did so.

The Reverend introduced a Ms. Myra Shiltz as Mr. Smith's longtime personal assistant and close friend. Julian took a few notes. Wonderful boss, caring person, great sense of humor. SmithCorp succession, who will be in charge, shareholder's don't have to worry. Charity work, scholarship fund in Smith's name, blah, blah, blah. That's funny, Julian noted, she's not crying.

The Reverend came back and announced a change in the lineup, Dr. William Bayron was unable to be here so Smith's private nurse, Hermelinda Posada, would  speak next.

Hermelinda explained the course of Smith's disease, how the shafts that the nerves go through had started to harden making it increasingly difficult for his brain to communicate with the rest of his body. Julian took notes in shorthand: very painful disease, loss of body control, muscle's waste away, eventually, the nerves in the brain don't work. Smith put up a brave fight, invested heavily and dedicated much of SmithCorp to the advancement of a cure, contributed to the research. Julian stopped listening and writing notes when it occurred to him that this speaker wasn't crying either.  He took a look around the room.

Where are the tears, he wondered, did they all hate this guy? 

Julian underlined and put a question mark next to the word brave. Is that the right word?  Brave is when you have a choice and choose to face a fear. This guy didn't have a choice. He got sick. That sucks, but it doesn't make him brave.

Brave was putting your life on the line for ideals higher than yourself, even if those ideals were wrong. Brave was willing to die for a belief, for loyalty, for love. Getting sick is unfortunate, but it isn't brave.

Julian had seen brave. He knew brave. He had been in Korea at the end of the war. How does Mr. Smith's suffering even compare to the bravery of a man who, in the moments before his death looked fearlessly into his assassin's eyes and said, "you can kill me, you are only killing one man. I am ready to die for my country."

He left his musings and returned to taking notes when the Reverend introduced the lawyer. Japanese lawyer, he noted. That's weird. Okay, close personal friend for over fifty years. They were blood brothers when they were kids and did everything and saw everything together. Loved him, wonderful guy, all the right charities, supported the schools, the arts, contributed to this and that, crazy sense of humor, incredibly human blah blah blah. Julian thought he was going to fall asleep. He glanced at Kitty again. She smiled and waved. He felt a slight arousal. Just a little, but undeniable all the same.  The last time he was in this building, his article ran next to an ad for penis enlargement. He quickly turned his attention back to the dais.  Weird, he thought, even Smith's best friend doesn't seem too choked up about his death.

"Without further ado," the Asian lawyer told the audience, "I would like to introduce the next speaker, Elly Smith."  The light's dimmed and a screen was lowered over the makeshift stage.

Please, Julian thought, don't let this be another  now-that-I'm-dead, self-aggrandizing montage narrated by the dead guy himself. Julian crossed his eyes and sighed, then realized he was among the friends and family, not the usual crowd of journalists. He genuinely hoped nobody had noticed.

The screen lit up, but not with some cheap title like, ‘The Life and Times of Elijah Smith.' Rather it lit up with what appeared to be the simple, green wavy lines of an oscilloscope. A voice came forth from speakers on either side of the screen. It was not an entirely human voice. Julian wasn't sure if the voice was computer generated. If it was it was definitely the best computer generated voice he had ever heard. But it definitely wasn't completely human either. It seemed to have some warmth and depth, but it was missing something in timbre.

"Hi, everyone, thanks for coming," the voice said, "I'm Elly Smith and I'd like you to know that you've all been had. I'm not dead."

Julian sat up in his seat and a nervous chuckle went up from the audience. Maybe this could be interesting yet, Julian thought. Smith was known as a great jokester.

"Calm down, calm down. There's more to tell. I didn't bring you all here to waste your time. Hi Herme, I see you there by the stage. Hi, Ellen,"  He said in a gentle voice to the baby on Hermelinda's lap.

"Okay, I guess we should tell these people, what do you think, kid?"

"I think they should know, Hon."  Hermelinda responded from the audience.

"So you didn't ruin the surprise?"  Smith asked.

"Nope. I didn't ruin any of the surprises, Elly."  She replied.

"Good. Okay folks, the first surprise is that earlier today, Hermelinda and I were married in a civil ceremony. She isn't just my nurse, she is also my wife. We have a beautiful child together named Ellen."  Hermelinda turned in her seat and waved to the gathering with a broad grin on her face.

"The second surprise is that my body did die and was buried two weeks ago at the Heritage Cemetery out on 73, but I am still very much alive."

Julian felt a creepiness, like a cold, wet hand touching his back. It made him shiver. The voice. The warmth and depth of it now just seemed eerie and dark.

The voice carried on, "Dr. Bayron was supposed to be here to answer some of the more technical questions about how I am still alive even though my body has died, but he has apparently become indisposed. So I'm going to give you the 25 cent version and do my best to answer a few questions. And even though I would think that the revelation of human immortality would itself be worth the trip down to the SmithCorp Building on short notice, we have also prepared a beautiful buffet luncheon for you after the presentation."

Immortality, Julian thought, who the fuck would want to be immortal. Lunch, however, is something I could go for.

"Dr. Bayron and I have been working on this idea for more than a decade," Smith continued. "Bayron had postulated when he was still a graduate student at Harvard that because a human brain is comprised of a discreet number of elements, in theory all of those elements could be modeled by software. Bayron compared his idea to an accident reconstruction video. By programming in all of the known properties of a particular material, it is possible to predict exactly how that material will react in certain conditions. The more accurately the properties are known the more accurately the model will emulate reality. If the model is completely accurate, then the outcome will be completely real.

"Dr. Bayron hypothesized that by modeling every cell, every neuron, every chemical, every single discreet piece of the human mind, he could create a model of that mind which would function exactly like the original. By recreating every single property of every single piece of the brain, the reconstructed brain would be just as real as the original.

"Well, it took a long, long time and we did it piece by piece, but we did it. Each piece of my brain-- every synapse, every nerve cell-- was modeled, one at a time. We filled exabyte after exabyte of digital media with perfect, digitally rendered, representations of my brain. As my brain began shutting down, each piece of my brain that shut down was replaced with the model. A little piece here, a little piece there. The first part to go was memory. I could still think and solve problems, but my memory was starting to fade. So we replaced that part of my brain responsible for memory with the model that Dr. Bayron made and wired it into my brain. And, to no one's greater surprise then my own, it actually worked. Every few weeks, as my brain died, we replaced the dying part with its model, until finally there was nothing left of my biological brain. At that point, we disconnected the body and sent if for burial, but I have remained very, very much alive. I was awake when the very last cord was cut between my biological mind and my new prosthetic mind. Had my eyes not been watching the activity monitors as it happened, I would never have believed it happened at all.

"All right, I'll take a few questions now."

Almost every hand in the room went up.

Takahashi went to the lectern and spoke into the microphone. "One at a time, one at a time. Calm down and we'll call you one at a time."

A reporter from the back was waving his arm wildly. Smith acknowledged him as the guy in the green jacket. He asked, "How does it feel to die?"

Smith answered, "I don't know, and I probably never will know." Smith had anticipated this question and knew he would tell this lie. He knew what it felt to die, it just wasn't his own death he felt. It was that of Yuri Ashkot.

"So there was never a long tunnel or a bright light or anything?"

"No, nothing. I was even awake during all of the surgeries and there was never a point at which I felt any change in my consciousness. Trust me, I am still alive."

Another reporter asked, "How many copies of there are you then?"

Smith lied again, though he had not anticipated this question, "a few," he said.

"Are each of the copies separate people then?"

Smith had thought about this before and answered quickly, "As each copy would amass different experiences and environmental factors, they could obviously become two different people, much like twins have distinguishable personalities. However, I don't think splitting myself into multiple people is a particularly convenient thing to do, so I do not intend to the let copies grow apart. Next question, Red necktie, pink shirt guy."