My Girl Friday

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Nah, Roger has read The Filth.

Nope.  Not the Filth.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Part 10

Friday walked into the office, grabbed a beer out of the mini-fridge, and sat down.

"So, you're saying we're all...DEAD?", Sara asked.

"No", Friday responded, "None of you were ever actually alive.  You're a computer construct, spooled into the system by Horne."

"Wait.  We visited Horne", I said, totally lost.

"You visited a copy of Horne, which in fact DOES store copies of you.  This is why, Hamish, you were able to alter reality when you were in there.  You can do that in lower 'levels', so to speak, of the architecture."

"So what's the green fire weirdness?"

"That is a manifestation of a higher-order person altering the programming of the environment around them.  It's actually quite a bit more dramatic, but we filter out what we can, to minimize impact on the, um, entities that live in that environment."

"So I'm just a computer program?", Sheila asked, "I don't FEEL like a computer program."

"You are an extremely advanced computer program.  Feelings, self-awareness, the whole thing."

"This explains Wilson's suicide", I remarked, "He's not real, so who cares, right?"

"Yep.  That's why we edited the memories of those in the lower architecture.  So they wouldn't be able to reveal what they know.  They are a control group.  They are far more in the know than people on this level."

"To what purpose", Sara asked, "are you - they - doing this?"

"Well, two reasons.  First, some of you have specialized knowledge and skills that are too valuable to lose, should anything happen to the 'real' you.  Second, you can learn new skills here, which can be useful in the real world."

"How?  I mean, how can it be useful in the real world, if we're just computer programs?"

"Again, a two part answer.  First, you are not 'just' computer programs.  To some of us, you are sentient beings with all the rights afforded.  Second, you can be 'uploaded' into remotes.  Robots, in a way...Or, for that matter, into any machine with a standard processor.  Then you can interact with the real world.  We've done that a couple of times, with great success."

We all sat there for a few minutes, digesting all of this.

"So, about this 'murder'..."

"It's very real.  Horne was killed in the real world, killed here, killed in the lower architecture, and his backup erased.  He's gone.  What we don't know is who did it or why."

"If he was killed in here and...uh...out THERE, then it had to be either one person with access to the system, or multiple people."

"What's it like?", Sheila interjected.

"What's what like?", Friday asked.

"What's it like out there?"

"Not as pleasant as here.  Hotter, for one thing.  It's 126 degrees in Tucson today, and it's only May.  The planet is a bit of a wreck, and the country...Well, the singular form of the word isn't really appropriate anymore."

"What, they had another civil war?"

"No, things just sort of broke down, and nobody did a thing about it."

I thought for a second.  "So if I'm a program, why do I need security?"

Friday looked at me like I was an idiot.  "People still die here, Hamish."

"Oh, yeah.  Right, right."

"Now that you know what's going on, I think perhaps it's time we went back to work.  We still have a murder to solve."

"Okay.  One last question."

"Shoot."

"Am I - the orginal me - still alive out there?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really."

"Then let's get back on the job, shall we, boss?"

(To be continued)   

[trix]

STOP STOPPING I NEED TO READ THIS ALL AT ONCE OR I'LL BE OBSESSED FOR DAYS!

Actually that's kind of fun, so uh, keep on keepin on, man.

I guess my real point here is,
AWESOME I LIKE I REALLY REALLY LIKE.

Thank you for all the extremely high quality entertainment.  I could easily and happily spend all of my time reading into your disturbingly clear, articulate, and horrible imagination.  If I didn't need to eat, that is.

[trix]

Also, while I figured out they were in a VR right when I was supposed to (right when Howl did his magic trick), it just clicked for me that it explained Friday seeming to be evil and cold blooded, while not actually being responsible for ripping off penises in retribution for standard assholiness.

However, at the same time, apparently the people are REAL in the sense of being self-aware and somewhat alive, and that poor guy had to experience the digital sensation of having penis removed.  So she is kind of evil, and definitely very scary.

I would not want to meet Friday in real life, even if she treated flesh and blood people better.

Besides, her reality is probably a VR too.  It's probably Fridays all the way down.  Which, of course, reminds me of this: http://everything2.com/title/I+don%2527t+know%252C+Timmy%252C+being+God+is+a+big+responsibility

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Thanks, Trix.

Friday is actually a young lady named Lauren Rae, whose picture appears earlier in the thread.  She is a very nice young lady, whom I have chosen to be horrible (with her amused permission and even assistance).

[LMNO]

Points for Roger. The reveal was a surprise in the details. I like how "some" treat the sims as sentient "persons", and how you allow them the ability to grow past the program. Logical, in context, but rarely used in stories.

Also like how the suicide has echoes of "All the Myriad Ways" by Niven, but VR in place of Multiple Worlds.

[trix]

Thanks, Trix.

Friday is actually a young lady named Lauren Rae, whose picture appears earlier in the thread.  She is a very nice young lady, whom I have chosen to be horrible (with her amused permission and even assistance).

I did catch that part, though I was referring more to the disturbing fictional character rather than the very nice young lady, when I said I'd never want to meet her in real life.

I thought her written contribution was quite good as well.  She definitely has talent, and I'd be interested in more of her works, if she produces (or has produced) more.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Points for Roger. The reveal was a surprise in the details. I like how "some" treat the sims as sentient "persons", and how you allow them the ability to grow past the program. Logical, in context, but rarely used in stories.

Well, what is the test for a "person"?

[LMNO]

Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

It depends on who you ask.

Some shitnecks, a person is "possessing white skin".
Some other shitnecks, it's "has a penis".
Others might say "a person is a person if they can formulate the notion that they are a person."
Personally, I say "a person is a person if they can recognize the personhood of others."

[LMNO]

Mmmm.  I like that.

[trix]

Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

It depends on who you ask.

Some shitnecks, a person is "possessing white skin".
Some other shitnecks, it's "has a penis".
Others might say "a person is a person if they can formulate the notion that they are a person."
Personally, I say "a person is a person if they can recognize the personhood of others."

I'm not sure I like the underlying assumptions in this kind of thinking.

As much as it will make me sound like some kind of hippie, I would say "it doesn't matter what makes a person a person, what matters is if it's a living being that can feel pain".

I wouldn't go as far as saying the life of a rat is equal or not equal to the life of a human, it's gets a bit sticky if you try to make a list like that, but in general, if a being can feel pain, I would consider it alive and worth due consideration, be it animal, AI, construct, or human ape.  Note that I said "due consideration" not, "never eat an animal because that's badwrong".  I'm no hypocrite.  Well, at least not in this case 

(sorry if I'm derailing this amazing story, tell me to shut up and I will)

[Reginald Ret]

Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

It depends on who you ask.

Some shitnecks, a person is "possessing white skin".
Some other shitnecks, it's "has a penis".
Others might say "a person is a person if they can formulate the notion that they are a person."
Personally, I say "a person is a person if they can recognize the personhood of others."

I like your personal view, though it may lead to discrimination against the empathically impaired. Granted, most of them are sewer-floaters, but there is the occasional brain damaged person who can't see other people as persons but is a good person nonetheless.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I had a vague inkling it was this sort of set-up. So much cooler than I'd come up with, though. Looking forward to more, Roger.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Part 11

I said goodbye to the widow Horne, hung up the phone, and leaned back in my chair.  "Apparently, the only places Horne had been in the days leading up to his death were his house, his office...and the San Xavier Mission."

"Was he Catholic?" Sara asked.

"No.  He was an atheist."

"So what was he doing at a Catholic church way the hell out in the desert?"

"Might be interesting to find out", Friday said, "Let's go."

"Everyone goes strapped", Sheila broke in.  That made sense, so I put my shoulder holster on, then my jacket.

"You, too" Sheila said to Friday.  Friday just smiled at her.

"Um, Friday is always armed, Sheila," I put in hastily, "Don't worry about THAT."

Sheila shrugged, and we went down to the car.  Now, the San Xavier Mission isn't exactly 'way the hell out in the desert', it's just a short jog down I-19, about halfway to Sahuarita.  About a 15 minute drive, call it.

As we pulled up, though, it was apparent that things weren't right.  Someone had painted over the sign at the entrance to the mission's grounds, and then scrawled "The Church of the Electric Juggernaut Jesus" in day-glow orange spray paint.

We parked the car and got out.  The doors of the church were scrawled with more spray paint, mostly orange and lime green.  Most of it was just random lines, almost like tags, but I caught a few actual phrases..."Unplug the world and power it with Jesus" was in the lower right corner, and "the righteous shall fuck the unworthy" in the upper right.

I pulled my gun.  Sara and Sheila already had theirs out.  I'm not a religious man; in this case I didn't have to be, to be bothered by this desecration...Nor by the awful smell emanating from the door, or rather, from behind it.

I pushed open the door, and almost gagged at the stench.  As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the church's pews were about a third full, with people apparently praying in the usual fashion, utterly unaware of the travesty about them.  Blood was smeared on the stained glass windows, and even spattered the ceiling, 30 feet up.  The poor box was overflowing with what looked like human feces.  At the altar, a man in priest's robes was shagging a nun, who was either unconscious or dead.

I glanced to the side, and went pale.  The statues of the various saints were all contorted, their mouths agape, as if screaming.  And dribbling from their mouths was what looked like blood.  From under the hem of their carven robes, pus and semen dripped out onto puddles on the floor.  Friday giggled, and I damn near screamed.

"What the hell..." Sheila said.

"If you're in a computer afterlife, the idea of heaven and hell is kind of silly isn't it?" Friday said, with another giggle.

I strode up the aisle toward the priest doing his business with the nun.  The place felt like it was dying, and like it was trying to take me with it.

"Hey, asshole!" I yelled at the priest.

"That's FATHER asshole", he replied, lifting his head.  Where his face should have been, there was only static, like on a television with no signal.  "And I see that you have brought offerings."

"What?"

"Those women.  This one is...worn out."

"Like hell."  I raised my pistol, and fired into the static.  The priest's head flew apart bloodlessly, and the rest of him began to dissolve into static.  Behind me, there was a groaning noise.  I spun around, to see the congregation rising to its feet.  They were all very dead, and their eyes were static, as the priest's face had been.

Sheila, Sara, and I began to shoot them, as we hustled back toward the front door.  The bullets rocked them back, but they didn't fall...Even when they took headshots.  So much for zombiepocalypse strategy, eh?

We got out and slammed the door just as the first of the congregation reached it.  Friday dashed off to a nearby pickup truck and climbed in through the window, as the rest of us tried to hold the door closed.  This became more and more difficult as more of the congregation reached it.

With a roar, the pickup truck's engine started.  Friday drove it in a wide loop, then honked the horn as she backed up.  We scrambled out of the way, as the ass end of the pickup truck slammed into the door, firmly holding it shut. 

She got out of the cab, and opened the gas cap.  Sheila caught on, and shoved a rag from the cab into the gas tank port.  Sara and I ran back to the car as the other two lit the rag.  We pulled up, they jumped in, and we drove off.  In the gathering twilight behind us, we saw the flames rise.  Friday giggled, and started humming a tune.  I recognized it in two notes.

It was Elton John's "Burn Down the Mission."

(To be continued)