Hello, World

Chapter 11

Jackson stared at the blank white paper below the pen in his shaking hand. The haughty gaze of the blank page, like the blinking cursor, stared up at him like a standing army watching a single horseman approach from a rolling green field. Jackson rode the horse, armed with nil but a pen, searching for the words to disarm the knights in armor, knowing all along that behind the gleaming iron visors were the faces of everyone he wanted to make proud, everyone who should soon find him out for the bumbling, self-righteous imposter that he was.

There was a time when his work preceded him. A time when the fruits of his labors kept the army at bay, a time when the sword he held in his hand looked to be cast of invincible, gleaming steel. Not anymore. He made his move, he struck the world with his sword, and everyone learned, himself included, that what was thought to be steel was in fact no more than brittle glass.

The moment his sword shattered, the moment Fred died, was the moment he lost the battle within. The moment his will to fight was outweighed by his will to surrender.

No one would understand him, not now, not ever. How could they, without seeing what he had seen, without dipping a toe into the pool of eternity like he had? They couldn't. All he could do was offer these words, offer the world a glimpse of the reality he had failed to prove.

Hello World,

By the time you read this, I will no longer be with you. I failed. I am sorry, but it is over. I gave my all to prove to you what I know to be true: that what we call consciousness, sentience, the key to human life, is quantifiable. Calculable. One day, a man or woman better than I may pick up where I left off. Then you will see, you will feel, why I did what I did.

The saddest thing is that some of you still won't believe me. I can hardly blame you, after I failed again and again. Still, lack of proof doesn't make a truth untrue. One day the proof will come along. It's inevitable. The human race is defined by this march of progress. This march will one day lead down my path and as you pass my tomb, my stake I place here in the ground, you will enter into the next phase of human evolution. Only time knows where this next phase will lead, but I encourage you to continue the search. Don't give up when all seems lost, for it is in that moment when the breakthrough is within your grasp.

To Sara, and my only son, William, I offer by deepest sorrows, for the two of you bore the brunt of the collateral sufferings of my failings. I know that had I been truly present at home these past years, the sequence of events leading to little William's accident never would have happened. I bear the brunt of that guilt, Sara, and I hope that you do not blame yourself.

I need you to know, Sara, in the farthest recesses of your heart, in the deepest marrow of your bones, that I always have, and always will, love you. Even when it didn't seem like it. I couldn't bear the thought of ever losing you, and I thought I had found a way to make sure we would be together forever. Alas, I failed, and in the process I lost you, which was the one thing I feared most all along. Forgive me.

To whoever picks up where I left off, I hope my life's work, this small contribution, brings you closer to the bright future I know awaits you. It saddens me to know I will not be there to enjoy it with you, but the butcher doesn't get to eat the steak. It will be a tender steak indeed. Savor it.

Goodbye World,

William Jackson

Jackson re-read his words and was about to reach for the sedative to send himself wherever he sent Fred, but he froze on some of his own words. Don't give up when all seems lost, for it is in that moment when the breakthrough is within your grasp. The tears dried from his cheeks and his frown morphed into a grim smile.

All seemed lost, but that that meant the breakthrough was within his grasp, and grab it he did. He drew out one hundred cc of the sedative and went into the octagon.

He unhooked the clasps securing Fred's wrists and ankles to the chair in the Imprint machine. The limp form slumped forward and Jackson caught him with his body. He carried him out like a baby, one hand under his bottom and one up by his neck to support his head, which rested in the cleft of Jackson's neck and shoulder.

The spot Fred always seemed to gravitate to in the hab was a small hovel wedged between an artificial tree trunk and a leaning branch for climbing. Underneath the branch lay the oversized, octagonal cylinder of the kaleidoscope Dr. M taught him to use. The colorful fractals seemed to fill Fred with as much wonder as the most curious of human children. No better final resting place than next to that small window into another world.

Jackson laid him down, head propped on a pile of grass, and crossed his hands over his chest. He didn't know why he did that, but it felt right in the moment. Fred's eyes were closed in eternal sleep, robbing Jackson of the chance to look into those see-green portals again.

You won't get to look at Sara's again, or little William's, either, he thought bitterly.

The thought was almost too much to bear. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Like a book that's been read one too many times were his emotions: spine bent, pages calling out, cover faded past the point of recognition. He left the hab before he lost his resolve to do what needed to be done.

Before returning to the Imprint machine, however, Jackson turned around to look at Fred through the glass window one final time. As the chimp lay there, hands folded over his chest, he looked almost human. Jackson placed his open palm flat against the glass, but this time there was no hairy palm to mirror his on the other side.

Goodbye, my little friend, Jackson thought.

He walked back to the Imprint station, resisting the temptation to look back all the while.

"Adam, are you ready to run an Imprint?" Jackson asked.

"Yes, Mr. Jackson, I'm always ready. I'm required to warn you again that the checklist for running an Imprint is not yet complete."

Did Jackson catch a hint of concern in Adam's voice? No. Couldn't be. Concern stemmed from fear, an emotion, and an AI couldn't feel emotions.

"Understood," Jackson said. "The checklist is irrelevant. We were solving a problem that didn't exist. I know what the solution is. I could have proved it with Fred but I ruined that chance. All I have left is to run the Imprint on myself. If all goes to plan, I'll survive and have a working Imprint. Then I won't need Forward Capital for funding anymore. I'll have a line at the door of men in suits with blank checkbooks begging me to take their money and make it grow."

"Mr. Jackson, I must warn you of the excessive risk of this plan you speak of."

"I'm aware of the risks."

"You are likely to die. I cannot carry out an action that has a high probability of causing physical harm to a human being. Asimov's laws, Mr. Jackson, you programmed them into me yourself."

"And I'm telling you now, this won't harm me and even if it does, this is my doing, not yours." Jackson shut himself in the octagon, sat in the chair, and secured the rubberized nodes to his temples.

"Still, Mr. Jackson, I cannot do this. There was a restriction placed on the Imprint after the Brian Harris incident that does not let me run the machine on a human until the checklist is complete."

"Remove the restriction, Adam. I put the restriction on, I can take it off too."

"Yes, Mr. Jackson."

That was easy, Jackson thought. "Is the Imprint online now?"

"Yes, Mr. Jackson."

"Execute in sixty seconds." Jackson hovered the needle over the veins bulging out of his forearm. "I'll see you on the other side."

"Yes, Mr. Jackson."

Jackson pictured Sara's face, little William's face, then plunged the needle into his forearm. His arm went cold for a moment before his vision vignetted at the edges and closed out to a complete, utter black.