Every Last Piece of Her (An Original Sci-Fi Short Story)

"So this is it? This is everything?"

James held the black envelope in the air, testing its weight.

I couldn't blame him. It was hard to believe it myself. Such a small, insignificant envelope. It seemed impossible.

His eyes were serious but a small grin flickered at the edges of his mouth.

"It’s all there James, every last piece of her."

For as long as we’ve been able to mechanically image the brain, scientists believed that human consciousness was little more than an accident. The unintentional byproduct of an overly complicated physical system fed imperfect information. Oh how things have changed.

James delicately emptied the envelope and scanned through the reports.

The symbols and graphs would mean nothing to him. But he committed to the charade, carefully making his way through each document, line by line. It was painful to watch.

His face betrayed him. Confusion danced across his eyes, yet still he read on, as if squinting harder would suddenly bring understanding. 

But then again, only a handful of people alive today would actually understand the bizarre physics, biology, and intelligence algorithms needed to grasp the context of my work. Maybe two dozen others at most.

They would understand it, alright. But no one else had thought to put the pieces together in quite the same way. They would not be pleased, to say the least.

The small hard drive sat on the table in front of him, smaller than a dime. An impossible, incredible dime.

Corporate espionage had evolved considerably over the last decade.

Moore’s law, the name given to the inevitable doubling of computer processing power every 18 months, ultimately has no morals. Technology is a tool, and tools are neither good nor evil. 

A person decides that for themselves. And I’ve chosen my tools carefully.

Society has rocketed to incredible heights, we’re at the pinnacle of scientific and technological achievements.

The average lifespan is 137.4 years. All 12 billion people on Earth are fed and watered. Artificial intelligence has taken over the remedial workforce, allowing humans a life of intellectual, artistic, and creative pursuit.

But it wasn't until the singularity, that one effervescent moment in time when artificial intelligence finally leaped ahead of the human Gods that created it, that our world truly changed.

Who would have guessed that an artificial intelligence would be the one to unlock the secrets of human consciousness? I suppose it was only a matter of time. And eventually, our sensor technology progressed to the point of, at least theoretically, creating backups.

But no one else had considered the implications. No one else had seen what I had seen in the hysteria of the headlines that made the rounds.

The result is that people like James are drawn to me. They can’t help themselves. All these corporate types are the same. 

Gone are the days of industrial espionage and intellectual property theft. No one needs to live a double life anymore. Hacking is off the table, too, now that cyber security isn’t a running joke. 

Because after all, why steal an idea, when you can steal a copy of a mind?

James finished reading the file and carefully put the papers away. As he sealed the envelope, his face became animated. He picked up the small drive, grinning wildly.

“Incredible. Simply incredible. Mr. Grant... I must admit I was skeptical. But this is good. This is quite good."

He pulled an iPhone from pocket and whispered a command. After several moments, he held it up to show me the confirmation.

My phone chimed a moment later in response. The transaction was complete. $1.6 million dollars of Steem had been transferred to my encrypted wallet.

$1.6 million dollars, the going rate for the consciousness of a Chief Technology Officer. The very price of the head of his fiercest competition. 

I pitied him, really. All these CEOs were the same. We’ve chosen such similar paths, dancing together in the shadows of society. But how little he truly understands. It’s all about the money with these guys. I choose to play an entirely different game with rules he’ll never grasp.

"James remember, her consciousness will run in the virtual environment I provided. But it will be torture.”

“Her consciousness won't be able to accept the limitations of the environment. She’ll be able to communicate, but little else. She’ll have no sense of a body or the outside world. She will exist in a universe of complete and total darkness.” 

“Never run the program for more than 10 minutes. Her mind will break, corrupting the original copy."

James nodded sternly, feigning empathy, and stood up to leave. Unconsciously, he smoothed the wrinkles in his designer suit.

He held out his hand. I shook it firmly. 

"Grant, it’s been a real pleasure doing business with you. You can be sure that I will be in touch again soon."

As James casually walked away, I sat back down to finish my coffee. The black envelope was tucked neatly under his arm. A moment later, James’s driver pulled around the corner, as if on cue.

I set the cup down and reached for the small device in my left jacket pocket.

It was warm and humming quietly, but he hadn’t noticed a thing. The copy had finished within minutes. 

As the black Mercedes S65 drove away, my cellphone chimed. $5.2 million dollars’ worth of Steem had been transferred to my wallet.

The very price of a certain CEO named James.

All in all, not a bad day.