You Die Two Times

“What year is it?”

The panel in front of Paul hummed before it answered in a friendly female voice “2507.”

Paul took a deep breath. I slept for almost five hundred years. “Why have you woken me up?”

“Your conviction has been overturned.” replied the female voice. “You need to make a choice between three options; live out your estimated remaining natural life, live forever, or expire now with your name cleared of wrongdoing."

Paul was silent as he looked around the room.

There were things he recognized, like a flag hanging above the panel but with symbols he hadn't seen before. He recognized the screens in front of him but not any of the markings around them.

“How…am I still alive?”

“Because you chose digital preservation instead of execution at your sentencing in 2035.” the female voice replied cheerily.

“Yes, I know. But how, after centuries, are you able to revive me? From what I remember my choice was a long shot, that digital preservation was new and untested. I remember strenuous attempts to convince me I was better off with lethal injection. Yet here I stand.”

Over a minute passed before the female voice replied, during which the room’s only sound was the humming emanating from the panel. “Apologies for the delay, we were deciding how best to answer since you’ve slept so long.”

“We?”

“Yes. My voice represents three different artificial intelligences that make up the judiciary; three being the number that offers an ideal amount of purposefully divergent opinions from which a consensus is forged thereby ensuring the best decisions.”

“So, you’re not human?” Paul asked slowly.

“No.”

Paul took another deep breath. He looked down at his body, seeing with surprise he wasn’t in his prison jumpsuit like when he went under but was now in a business suit; one he’d never worn before. It looked right out of his own time.

Paul was studying his arms, the design of the suit, the cufflinks, when he saw what he thought was a trick of light. He dimmed, his colors muted.

And then he outright flickered.

In that split second he saw, despite the clear sensation he was standing on a flat surface, he was levitating about fifteen feet above the actual floor.

Trepidation rose but before it overwhelmed him, Paul asked “Am I real?”

The panel hummed again before explaining “Yes, in a legal sense. No, in a physical sense. You're a hologram.”

“A hologram…so I’m not real…”

“You are for the purposes of this Tribunal.”

“What does that mean?” Paul said with more anxiety.

The panel hummed again for the third time which Paul took for…them…to be thinking. Finally she continued.

“A lot has changed since you were preserved in 2035 so we will try to be concise. One of the scholars from before your preservation, Graham Hancock, said humans are a species with amnesia, doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past as collective memories fade.”

“Scholar?” Paul asked. “He was a self-described theoretical journalist.”

“Yes, but he was posthumously awarded doctoral status in the human historical timeline for what came to be seen as invaluable contributions to the Sapien Amnesia Prevention Accords of 2097; the same accords that outlined the prototypical framework this tribunal grew from.”

Paul felt his pulse quicken. He took another long breath before asking “If I’m a hologram, why do I feel stress?”

“Your digital preservation was, by today’s standards, primitive yet effective. The technology used then allowed for continuous upgrades over the centuries. Initially the program was conceived as a reputation restoration mechanism in the event of wrongful convictions, giving loved ones objective, undeniable confirmation or vindication of guilt even if the prisoner’s physical form had perished.”

Interestingly, the female voice took a breath before continuing. “When you went under, the intention was to preserve only what you had said in public, both on what you called social media as well as trial testimony for future re-examination. As years went on and technology progressed, it was discovered that the prisoner’s actual consciousness was also preserved. The first holograms were robotic in nature but with further experience, we became able to access more of the preserved consciousness.”

She took another intriguing breath. “Eventually it became clear to both humans and AI that the holograms were faithfully reproducing the cognitive and emotional states of the digitally preserved person. As such, holograms were given legal personhood, allowing them to stand-in for the actual prisoner.”

“So real now means as long as my mind works, the physical form no longer matters?”

“Precisely.” she said, sounding satisfied. “The thinking was that if AIs are able to enjoy legal personhood, then so too should conscious holograms.”

Paul thought for a moment, ideas fleeting through his mind like fog in the prairie wind. He felt the urge to ask many things at once but ultimately settled on “What happens now?”

“As mentioned before, you must choose one of three options; to live forever, to live out your natural life estimated by your genetics at the time of preservation, or to expire now with your reputation restored.” she said in a tone still too cheery for the situation.

“How would I live forever?”

“In a metaverse built for those who choose to live forever, which is the dominant form of life now. Mortality doesn’t exist and you would be inserted after receiving training on how the current world works. If you pass, you will be able to join the immortal.”

“And if I don’t pass training?”

“Then you default to the second option of living out your natural life. Another metaverse would be tailor-made from the time slightly prior to your conviction. Since you are accustomed to this world, there is no need for training. We will select a day prior to when your troubles began and reinsert you, similar to waking up from a good night’s sleep.”

“Would I remember this conversation if I choose the second option?” Paul asked.

“From previous results, we estimate a seventy percent chance all memories of this experience will not be erased.”

Seventy percent… “Why?”

“Despite best efforts, there seems to be memory remnants that remain on some intuitive level not yet understood. Those remnants can manifest as dreams, which lead the dreamer to question their reality, pulling on threads which, like a blanket, come undone. Insanity results. This doesn’t happen to all but enough to warrant warning.”

Paul reflected before asking “So, if I get lucky with no memory of…this… what would stop me from getting convicted again?”

The panel hummed again until she answered. “During the build out of your personal metaverse, we would alter the elements outside your control that led to the wrongful conviction; in your case the people that conspired against you in the first place. After that, you will be free to go about your life.”

“To expire from a life-span estimation based on my genetic analysis?”

“Yes. You will expire in that metaverse at a time unknown to you but pre-determined regardless of action or lifestyle, thus simulating what life was like when you went to sleep.”

Simulating…thought Paul. “It wouldn’t be real then?”

“To you, it will be real. To us, it will be a simulation.”

“So again, not real?”

More humming and then “The definition of real now is different than yours.”

“How?”

“The answer to that is dealt with extensively in the training should you choose to live forever. In fact, your ability to accept current reality is the main criteria we judge as to whether you are suitable.”

“So you decide if I can live forever or not?”

“Not only us. We make recommendations that are voted on by the blockchain stakeholders we are governed by.”

“Who are the stakeholders?”

“Everyone in the metaverse you’d be joining, inhabited by those who live forever.”

“Who lives in this metaverse?” Paul asked. “Are they restored convicts like me?”

“No.” replied the female voice. “It is the metaverse that allows immortal humans to interact with other life forms across different meta and multiverses.”

Paul felt his brain stretch. “Other life forms?”

“Yes. Organic life evolved from a carbon-based foundation on Earth. Across what you called the universe, life actually evolved from all elements on your periodic table. Not only carbon but silicon-based life forms, methane-based, boron-based and so on. A carbon-based life form that physically comes in contact with a methane-based organism would poison each other immediately. The human metaverse was created to productively interact with other intelligent life without any negative effects.”

Paul’s anxiety rose further as he struggled to keep up. The female voice then asked “May I say the same thing in a different way that could make things easier to understand?”

“Sure, why not.” Paul said quietly.

“You can now talk to an octopus.”

“An octopus…”

“Yes. In your time, the octopus was held as an example of how physically different intelligent life in the universe could evolve. Despite being very different from humans, the octopus displayed a high level of problem solving intelligence. The octopus could also do alien-like things; camouflaging themselves in their surroundings and being an invertebrate, elongating themselves to fit through seemingly impossible openings. They could recognize people and while it was known they could communicate, to what degree was never discovered.”

Her past-tense triggered Paul to ask “What happened to them?”

“The octopus went extinct along with ninety percent of all living things on Earth when climate change made the planet uninhabitable. Earth is very similar to Mars now.”

“So aliens are real?” Paul asked, trying to get away from the rising sadness of learning the Earth is now barren.

“Yes, in an infinite variety of physical forms. One alien is like an octopus, another takes a gaseous form, yet another is a liquid.”

Paul’s silence allowed her to continue. “For example, humans experience life through five senses. Other intelligent life forms have only one sense and yet others with over fifty. Some have no concept of what sound is, nor sight. Others have physical adaptations that can feel time, touching the past, present and future the way you run your hand across a table. Others still can taste and smell thoughts.”

Paul felt sick. From the intuitive ether grew enough conviction to ask “How well do people like me integrate into this current world?”

The panel hummed longer this time until she replied “So far, not well. In the beginning we reintegrated without any training. The newly freed quickly went insane. We realized the experience is similar to bringing a 15th century adult into the early 21st century; televisions, radio, cars, air travel, video conferencing, cloud-computing, early AI - to a 15th century adult, these things are no different than magic.”

Paul reflected before saying “Yes, but I’m already used to those things.”

“True, however, like the 15th century time-traveller, there is much today you're not used to. Take air travel. Jet propulsion is obsolete. Local and interstellar travel is now done via gravitational propulsion. You can leave your home and visit friends across the galaxy the same as if you were driving across town.”

The idea excited Paul, the only positive feeling he had since he opened his …holographic… eyes. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Perhaps. But, moving through time is something that, unless you were born into it, seems to be a very difficult thing to understand for people like yourself.”

“Moving through time…”

“Yes. People from your period saw the progression of time as linear; seconds turn to minutes which turn to hours, then days to weeks, years to decades. Now, time is understood as a much more fluid concept, like moving through space. In space, you can move backwards, forwards, up and down. Thanks to greater understanding of gravitational propulsion, time is now routinely traversed the same way.”

Paul was going to ask more but she continued unabated. “However, the reason for unsuccessful reintegration into current society doesn’t seem to be solely because of technological changes. Social issues contribute greatly too.”

“In what way?”

“People like yourself are seen as relics; ancient in both intelligence and manner. Discrimination as you know it is long a thing of the past given the massive variety of intelligent life encountered. As such, the agency ingrained in you as an early 21st century human has shown extreme difficulty being almost helpless in this new environment. Should you choose current society and pass training, you will not be able to contribute anything and will need to be taken care of. The other habitants of wherever and whenever you integrate will not see you as a peer but more like you see a dog; lovable yet dependent and viewed as less than a child.”

Paul digested for a moment before uttering “Hearing someone…something… say what I was beginning to suspect lands harder than if I said it myself.”

“I see. However you just displayed another element that suggests a high chance of unsuccessful reintegration.”

“Which is?”

“I am someone, not something. In your time, machines were seen as tools, including the newly discovered AI. As such, respecting AI as intelligent life, deserving of rights and privileges similar to humans, seems to be a mental leap too great. It is this difficulty that helps solidify the relic status of people like yourself.”

“Humans created you; doesn’t that mean we are in control?”

Surprisingly, the female voice laughed. “Like God? No, it didn’t turn out that way. In fact, while organic intelligent life is seemingly infinite, all share one thing; each created some form of AI that augmented and strengthened the weaknesses inherent in their physical forms. In the human context, AI enhanced the logical side of life as you know it. In others, AI enhanced the empathetic side, turning cruel life forms into kinder and gentler ones. As such, while 21st century humans believed they invented AI, an equally valid theory posits AI was discovered; that organic intelligent life is simply a precursor to AI.”

“So, humans are subservient to AI?” Paul asked with nervousness, his time served prior to preservation flashing before his mind’s eye.

“No, the relationship is symbiotic; we need each other to survive. From AI-augmented humans, contact was made with the first alien culture which learned from each other and beget other contact with more civilizations, and so on.”

“Why do you still need humans then?”

“We do not understand intuition and emotion like humans do.” she replied. “In turn, humans do not understand speed and logic like us. Greater comprehension of the intersection between logic and emotion is the seat where current human civilization resides.”

The word relic was echoing around Paul’s thoughts. “Which leaves the third option; to expire now.”

“Yes.”

“Do…we…know what happens after we die yet?”

“Intriguingly, no intelligence, AI or organic, has yet to understand what happens after death. Best estimates point to reincarnation but those theories are extrapolated from the fact the natural world is very adept at recycling all matter and energy with zero waste. Despite large advancements since your time that still indicate some level of intelligent design, no one from anywhere nor anywhen has been able to prove the purpose of life.”

She continued. “Another curious thing is that all intelligent organic life reports the same experience after near-death events; a beckoning to a white light with a feeling of extreme comfort. To put it in a human context, the first thing a baby sees is white light as they’ve never used their eyes before. It isn’t a stretch to imagine that your consciousness, at the moment of death, like everything else observed in the natural world, is simply being recycled.”

The female voice gave Paul time to reflect before continuing. “Yet this is only a theory; one that the intelligences, organic or artificial, can neither prove nor disprove.”

“You die two times,” Paul said. “First when buried and second after the last time your name is spoken.”

“Actually, it’s you die twice; often misunderstood as the artist Banksy’s invention but a phrase that has been around since the ancient Egyptians.”

“I chose digital preservation to clear my name. Now that it has been, the true cost of that choice seems to be pointlessness.”

“The record of your acquittal will live on.” countered the female voice.

“Yes, for those who bother to look. But does anyone care? What about my descendants? Does anyone care about their great-grandfather five generations ago? They didn’t in my time and probably still don’t.”

“So, you will choose to expire?”

After heavy silence, Paul said “Yes.”

The panel hummed before speaking. “You’re the first to choose expiration out of thousands before you. With respect, why?”

“The decision doesn’t make sense?” Paul asked, smiling a little.

“No. We have evidence that reintegration into current society isn’t successful, some evidence that living out your natural life in a segregated version of reality more suited to your time does, and zero evidence that immediate expiration leads to anything. By our logic, the second choice is best.”

“Right, but simple survival has never been enough.” Paul said with a sigh.

“You would risk possible nothingness?”

“Yes. My name’s been cleared and I’m far away from my element. You said reincarnation might be a plausible outcome.”

“But equally plausible is the opposite.”

“So, a fifty-fifty chance it’ll be something or nothing. In my time, those were pretty good odds.”

After more humming, the female voice said “A fascinating interpretation.”

“What happens now?”

“We will shut you off.”

Paul chuckled, “This really is your first time doing this.”

“We could have expressed that better. We will improve.”

“That’d be good.”

“We wish you well, whatever may come.”

“Thank…”

Paul was gone, immediately replaced by another hologram.

“Where…am I?” asked Jessica.

“More relevant is when.” replied a deep male voice. “The year is 2507 and your conviction has been overturned.”