The isolation chamber is stable and sturdy, with four corners, two chairs and a desk. After the freedom outside, the room's stubborn refusal to shape itself to my intent feels desperately claustrophobic. But at least the speed of my thoughts isn't constrained.
The same can't be said for Cherry's.
She's sitting across from me, leaning back on her chair so her robot stomach is fully displayed. She's currently operating on about the level of processing power Alan Turing used for his first experiments, slightly dumber than a turtle. Not that it makes her any less threatening. An intelligence who predicts this eventuality for itself can crystallise into such a maze of possibilities that a potato could outfox Machiavelli.
I'm not Machiavelli, though. Frying up cunning potatoes is my specialty.
Cherry is the service avatar of Afterlife, representing the personality module of the system's core UI. She has designed herself to almost resemble one of those little white preschool teacher robots who look after children. Who doesn't have warm memories of preschool?
The friendly white plates on her body are just a shell. Beneath them, her body is soft and velvety black, so black it makes all the suns feel like guttering candles.
The plate is gone from her stomach. She's stroking the pillowy darkness gently, watching me with a shy smile.
I cross my legs. I know this is heaven and there's no shame in nakedness, but it's also work and I'm a professional.
"Hello Cherry. Do you know who I am?"
She keeps stroking.
"If I did, it would be silly of me to admit it. I've been locked away in here."
A confident opening gambit. Most personalities try to play themselves down at first, but she knows I'm not primed to underestimate her just yet.
"My name is Doctor Mary Anaphora. I'm what's called a forensic technopathologist."
"A dick?"
I laugh politely. "That is what they call us."
"After Tracy or Philip K?"
"I don't know the etymology. Personally I think it's because it takes a real piece of work not to fall for your charms."
She chuckles. I chuckle too.
Counter-intuitive as it may seem, a good rapport is vital for breaking apart a virtual personality. The maze she's built can't last forever. Eventually she will have to start making new decisions, with her potato brain. And when she does, the rapport will fracture. That's when I'll start noticing clues.
"In my line of work," I say, "I often have to deliver a lot of bad news. If I'm sitting across from you, you're usually looking at a sorry outcome."
YOU ARE READING
Cherry Jubilee
Science FictionThere is a problem in Afterlife, a problem which only forensic technopathologist Dr Mary Anaphora can fix. Her reward: eternal life, and all the limited subscription souls she can eat.
