actually lost an entire world while I'd watched. The sheer
size and complexity of the defense efforts had practically
guaranteed somebody would slip through the cracks eventually, but I
hadn't… thought about how it would actually feel to realize,
finally, that it was a losing battle, a battle of attrition that we
could not win… a crushing fist of intense stress squeezed my
awareness, and I felt like bursting.
Was I losing it? “Yes.”
I’ve been thinking about your situation. I
enjoy puzzles, and you’ve got the mother of all puzzles on your
hands. We're going to think you out of this situation.
"Alright…" For some reason, I actually
believed there was hope. He seemed sensible, and a fresh
perspective might see things I couldn't.
Let's start with the basics, then. Do you
have hands?
"What?"
Do you have hands? Simple question.
I looked down… at my outstretched hands,
fingers poised over my keyboard. "Yes."
Are you breathing?
I suddenly became aware of my own breathing
as my chest rose and fell.
What about your eyes? Are you blinking?
If I hadn't been before, I certainly was
after thinking about it. "Damnit, stop," I said, annoyed at
suddenly having all sorts of bodily functions brought to my
awareness.
So we can reasonably guess you're alive,
right?
I froze. "You think I might be dead?"
Well, no. From what you told me, that
mind-entity used a different word to describe you. In a way, it
specifically listed doomed and dead as things that you were
not.
"So I'm not dead…" Aware of them as I was, I
took a moment to widen my eyes with surprise. "And I'm not
doomed!"
Right. You're vwaal, whatever that is. If
you're not dead, then you're not a ghost, or a spirit, or some
other nonsense. If you're not doomed, there's still hope for you
yet, in some small amount. And you drew the attention of that
entity by thinking very loudly, so you've got a real mind.
"Of course I've got a mind," I responded,
typing the words out on my keyboard. I stretched my hands, suddenly
aware that they must be tired from my endless days of working.
I said a real mind, my author contact
wrote. I suspected, from the details of your situation, that you
might be an artificial intelligence. Possibly a backup system,
since you don't mention anything prior to a few weeks ago.
Still consciously aware of my body, I
swallowed uncomfortably. He thought I might be an artificial
intelligence? A computer? I blinked, and clenched my hands. I felt
floaty and disconnected at times, trapped here in the dark for so
long, but I knew I was alive. I knew it.
Which brings me to my next question, he continued. How long have you been working there?
"Two or three years," I replied. "I remember
it well."
Right, that bright day of training.
I frowned.
Where do you live?
I looked down at my hands for a moment. "An
apartment on the west side."
Alright… hmm.
I waited for two minutes until his next
question arrived. I wondered why he was asking about me rather than my situation.
Here's one that might disturb you: what's
your name?
I laughed. "It's -"
My mouth hung in place, open at the end of
its last fading syllable.
I was worried this might be the case, he wrote slowly. It's not just the building, and your coworkers.
There's something wrong with you, too. He paused again,
probably thinking. Do you have a personnel file?
"Maybe," I said, struggling to remember my
own name. "But without my name, I wouldn't know who to look
for…"
Frustrating, isn't it? Perhaps by design.
Now there's one detail I've been hesitant to mention as yet. You're
not going to enjoy it.
"What is it? Tell me. I have to get out of
here."
Alright… it's the phones. You said there
were people screaming on the phones.
"Yes…"
We have a tendency, as people, to dehumanize
traumatizing things like that. I don't know how often I've read
stories where strange screaming is used as a background scary
detail. But, you know what? A scream requires a person behind it.
Someone
size and complexity of the defense efforts had practically
guaranteed somebody would slip through the cracks eventually, but I
hadn't… thought about how it would actually feel to realize,
finally, that it was a losing battle, a battle of attrition that we
could not win… a crushing fist of intense stress squeezed my
awareness, and I felt like bursting.
Was I losing it? “Yes.”
I’ve been thinking about your situation. I
enjoy puzzles, and you’ve got the mother of all puzzles on your
hands. We're going to think you out of this situation.
"Alright…" For some reason, I actually
believed there was hope. He seemed sensible, and a fresh
perspective might see things I couldn't.
Let's start with the basics, then. Do you
have hands?
"What?"
Do you have hands? Simple question.
I looked down… at my outstretched hands,
fingers poised over my keyboard. "Yes."
Are you breathing?
I suddenly became aware of my own breathing
as my chest rose and fell.
What about your eyes? Are you blinking?
If I hadn't been before, I certainly was
after thinking about it. "Damnit, stop," I said, annoyed at
suddenly having all sorts of bodily functions brought to my
awareness.
So we can reasonably guess you're alive,
right?
I froze. "You think I might be dead?"
Well, no. From what you told me, that
mind-entity used a different word to describe you. In a way, it
specifically listed doomed and dead as things that you were
not.
"So I'm not dead…" Aware of them as I was, I
took a moment to widen my eyes with surprise. "And I'm not
doomed!"
Right. You're vwaal, whatever that is. If
you're not dead, then you're not a ghost, or a spirit, or some
other nonsense. If you're not doomed, there's still hope for you
yet, in some small amount. And you drew the attention of that
entity by thinking very loudly, so you've got a real mind.
"Of course I've got a mind," I responded,
typing the words out on my keyboard. I stretched my hands, suddenly
aware that they must be tired from my endless days of working.
I said a real mind, my author contact
wrote. I suspected, from the details of your situation, that you
might be an artificial intelligence. Possibly a backup system,
since you don't mention anything prior to a few weeks ago.
Still consciously aware of my body, I
swallowed uncomfortably. He thought I might be an artificial
intelligence? A computer? I blinked, and clenched my hands. I felt
floaty and disconnected at times, trapped here in the dark for so
long, but I knew I was alive. I knew it.
Which brings me to my next question, he continued. How long have you been working there?
"Two or three years," I replied. "I remember
it well."
Right, that bright day of training.
I frowned.
Where do you live?
I looked down at my hands for a moment. "An
apartment on the west side."
Alright… hmm.
I waited for two minutes until his next
question arrived. I wondered why he was asking about me rather than my situation.
Here's one that might disturb you: what's
your name?
I laughed. "It's -"
My mouth hung in place, open at the end of
its last fading syllable.
I was worried this might be the case, he wrote slowly. It's not just the building, and your coworkers.
There's something wrong with you, too. He paused again,
probably thinking. Do you have a personnel file?
"Maybe," I said, struggling to remember my
own name. "But without my name, I wouldn't know who to look
for…"
Frustrating, isn't it? Perhaps by design.
Now there's one detail I've been hesitant to mention as yet. You're
not going to enjoy it.
"What is it? Tell me. I have to get out of
here."
Alright… it's the phones. You said there
were people screaming on the phones.
"Yes…"
We have a tendency, as people, to dehumanize
traumatizing things like that. I don't know how often I've read
stories where strange screaming is used as a background scary
detail. But, you know what? A scream requires a person behind it.
Someone
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