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The New Us
2 March 2010 12:45The first robot replacement bodies were utilitarian. Humanoid in appearance but bereft of skin sensors, detail or aesthetics. Painted one colour and sent to work, they were automatons. They were given rudimentary A.I.s to test out their effectiveness. They worked great.
The first wave of digitized brains from terminally ill patients were shunted into that first wave of bodies.
Camera lenses dilated behind plastic eye shields and bicep pistons fired as the first impulses of the reborn stuttered through the awakening binary neuron clusters. Speakers mimicked voices and the people who had previously been curled up with pain in hospitals wept with joy at the success of the operation. No tears were possible in the bodies, of course, but the shouts of success and gratitude came out of their unmoving faces.
I felt bad for them. They’d been told that the bodies were temporary. And in a way, the bodies were.
When the recorded brain was loaded into the exoskeleton, the imprint was flashed hard on the disk inside the skull. No other brain would be allowed into that skull casing ever again. And more importantly, that person’s imprint couldn’t be removed. The mechanical body could be outfitted with welding torches or other upgrades but it would never be able to feel, have sex, taste, smell, or smile.
The recorded personalities of these people were on the databanks with us. This first wave was a test.
Better bodies would be created. Bodies that could mimic human biology in almost perfect ways. Hybrid cyborgs capable of living for centuries and a snapshot of perfect health. Those bodies were decades away but the plans were racing along.
The recorded personalities of our clients would be awakened in those bodies when they were available and they would not be told of the bodies here in this room. This first test.
The placid faces of the clumsy robots in the bay below me looked around at each other, speakers chattering of the success of the process, filled with joy and looking forward to the upgrades we have said they’d be able to slip into soon. So soon. We were lying.
My palm hovered over the EMP pulse button. I couldn’t really call it mass murder. These were only simulations. Clients. It would be kept secret anyway.
I stabbed down. The speakers screeched with feeback and the robots in the bay crumpled to the ground.
tags
The first wave of digitized brains from terminally ill patients were shunted into that first wave of bodies.
Camera lenses dilated behind plastic eye shields and bicep pistons fired as the first impulses of the reborn stuttered through the awakening binary neuron clusters. Speakers mimicked voices and the people who had previously been curled up with pain in hospitals wept with joy at the success of the operation. No tears were possible in the bodies, of course, but the shouts of success and gratitude came out of their unmoving faces.
I felt bad for them. They’d been told that the bodies were temporary. And in a way, the bodies were.
When the recorded brain was loaded into the exoskeleton, the imprint was flashed hard on the disk inside the skull. No other brain would be allowed into that skull casing ever again. And more importantly, that person’s imprint couldn’t be removed. The mechanical body could be outfitted with welding torches or other upgrades but it would never be able to feel, have sex, taste, smell, or smile.
The recorded personalities of these people were on the databanks with us. This first wave was a test.
Better bodies would be created. Bodies that could mimic human biology in almost perfect ways. Hybrid cyborgs capable of living for centuries and a snapshot of perfect health. Those bodies were decades away but the plans were racing along.
The recorded personalities of our clients would be awakened in those bodies when they were available and they would not be told of the bodies here in this room. This first test.
The placid faces of the clumsy robots in the bay below me looked around at each other, speakers chattering of the success of the process, filled with joy and looking forward to the upgrades we have said they’d be able to slip into soon. So soon. We were lying.
My palm hovered over the EMP pulse button. I couldn’t really call it mass murder. These were only simulations. Clients. It would be kept secret anyway.
I stabbed down. The speakers screeched with feeback and the robots in the bay crumpled to the ground.
tags