Ascension - Daniel Weisbeck (top fiction books of all time TXT) 📗

Liza’s eyes grew wide. “What! That’s ridiculous. She followed me to my car. I told her to go away. It was only minutes.” Fear crept into her voice.

“Yes, I see that. But then you delayed this meeting for over twelve hours. I hope you see why we might have some concerns about your commitment to the Ascension program. Either way, it means we are dealing with a Red Form now.”

Liza leaned forward, trying hard to read the holoscreen’s reversed text. “What does that mean? A Red Form?”

With a stern look, Hildra silently invited Liza to sit back. Liza did as she was told.

“It means we now have limited options. You can go directly to the Oasis from the clinic today. There you will live one week of bliss before your Ascension. Within reason, you can have just about anything you desire while in the Oasis. It’s our way of saying thank you.”

Liza stirred in her seat. “And option two?”

“Or you can be escorted to your home by the Keepers’ units today, and they will remain with you, in your home, for three days, allowing you time to get any outstanding business in order. Then you will proceed to the Oasis.”

Liza jumped to her feet. Hildra’s hand moved quickly under her desk as if about to set off a remote alarm.

“Three days! You can’t do this!” Liza screamed. “I have a life, people I need to see, things I want to do before my Ascension.”

Hildra shot Liza an abhorrent look. “Ms Lee, we are not monsters. I am here to help you, not hurt you. Anyone you want to see will be allowed to visit you during the three days. We wouldn’t dare think of stopping you from saying your goodbyes.”

Liza huffed at the answer. “Right, and will they also then be ‘Red Flagged’ for having visited me?”

“Chances are, anyone you have been in contact with of a personal nature over the last twelve months is already under supervision. Until you Ascend, of course.”

Liza let her shoulders drop in total resignation. What’s the point anymore? She thought. This is only going in one direction. “What will it be like? The end?”

“You won’t even know it is happening,” Hildra offered a conciliatory grin.

Liza released a heavy sigh. “Tell me then, how do I end my life?”

Hildra nodded gratuitously. “As I said. We have two options…”

The Arranger proceeded down a list of End-of-Life Service options: free options, granted options to be gifted by loved ones, and paid selections. Liza listened numbly, saying nothing, allowing Hildra to read uninterrupted. The Arranger concluded her Ascension registration checklist.

“And finally,” Hildra sat forward, excitement rising in her voice. “This is always my favourite part,” she said giddily. “We have produced a digital epitaph of your life which will be permanently archived in the Sanctuary’s official cenotaph.” Hildra placed her hand into the screen, flicked her fingers to her right, and sent the projection onto the wall. “Please, join me in celebrating the life of Liza Lee.”

The artificial lights overhead dimmed, and the holographic screen expanded itself until larger than life. A soft musical note lingered in the air, swelling into a movement of string instruments and then even larger until a full orchestral soundtrack introduced the title screen with the words: Liza Lee, Born May 21st, 2121, Blissfully Ascended July 16th, 2161. Liza stared at the wall with wide eyes, bewildered and confused. Then, the image of herself, no older than five, arriving at the Sanctuary’s orphanage, faded in from black.

Hildra sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. A smile slid upward on her face as she lifted her chin in pride, self-assured Liza would agree that the movie of her life was a success.

With mouth hung open, breath held, Liza watched her life’s story play out before her. Moments, her moments, her experiences that had been recorded by her virtual assistant had been edited by strangers into a montage of a person she barely recognized. Overlays and fades announced transitions from teen years to young adult to the outstanding citizen Liza had become. Beautiful pictures of Liza smiling, laughing, showing compassion by helping others, and working hard at helping build a life for the last of humanity in the Sanctuary played out. Absent were the dark moments, the scared and lonely moments, times when she cried herself to sleep thinking of her lost parents. Times when she wondered what life was really all about. This movie version of her life was always happy. She was almost jealous of the person on the screen. What a remarkable life that person lived, she thought. I wish I could be her.

The digital epitaph ended with a surge of patriotic music and a glowing still image of Liza looking upward, out across the Sanctuary’s glass and steel skyline, beaming with pride, a beacon of hope and self-sacrifice. This person loved the city more than herself. Hell, this person would have inspired her to sacrifice her life for the Sanctuary. Except Liza remembered that image, that very moment now staring back at her on the wall, and it wasn’t the Sanctuary she was thinking about. It was Henry. That was the moment she was walking home after their first night together. She wasn’t wondering what she could do to save humanity. No, she was thinking of herself. She was thinking—for the first time in her life, she had something to live for. She was thinking of the future. How naïve she was. And how ironic this would be the picture they would choose to be the last moment of her life.

“We also have the option for your visitors to create their own storylines,” came an abrupt interruption in Hildra’s voice.

“Excuse me?” Liza said, slowly looking to the Arranger and wiping away a tiny bit of saliva that had filled the corner of her drawn mouth.

The lights came back up.

“None of us likes to admit it, Ms Lee, but not everyone you’ve encountered in your lifetime was satisfied with your relationship. This option, should you choose, allows the viewer to interact with their memories of you…and include a few minor changes. An unrequited love might finally hear you say the words ‘I love you,’ or an old friend might need to apologise for the guilt they had been harbouring and, in return, hear you forgive them.”

“But those are lies.”

“Is it, though? If the viewer believes it? I mean, it really can’t harm you at all, can it? And be certain, we do not allow downloading or rewriting of original data. These are temporary interventions. All records of the interaction will be erased. There is absolutely no risk whatsoever that your real-life would be confused or overwritten by a new storyline.”

“You want to turn my life into a game? Step right up and pick your own ending!”

“Some of our guests…” she paused. “The more compassionate ones”, she uttered low, under her breath as if Liza couldn’t hear her. “…they rather like this option. Like organ donations, they see it as their final gift to humanity. After all, what use are your memories to you after you’re gone?”

“Giving my bloody life is gift enough to this city. Let the survivors live with their guilt.”

“Of course, this is just an option.”

A sudden urge to get up and walk out shot through Liza, only hampered by the nagging question, what will happen to Henry?

“I’ll take the basic program,” Liza said hurriedly. “No frills, no gifted guest options. Just that silly movie thing if I have to, and one other option. I’d like my life files deleted from the archives—all of it. Everything ever recorded about me, either publicly in others’ feeds or by my virtual assistant. I want my experiences to be erased from history.”

Hildra sat back, her brow pinched in surprise. “Ms Lee. I’ve never…you understand the Government mandates that all lives are recorded and kept in the cities’ archives. A total delete is not possible.”

Liza sat forward and leaned in aggressively. “Then what are the options for being publicly forgotten?”

Hildra hesitated. “Well, there is one option for the insane or if you are a convicted criminal. We can mark your life file as Sanctioned. These lives are held in a separate database, firewalled, encrypted, and inaccessible. Are you really sure you want to be recorded in history with society's least desirables?”

A cynical smile stretched across Liza’s face. “What will it matter to me when I’m gone.” She threw the words back at the Arranger like a punch.

“Very well.” Hildra’s voice went crisp. “I’ll just mark your file clinically insane, as you like.”

“Very well,” Liza imitated her words in a contemptuous tone. “Now, where is the Keeper. I’m ready to go home.”

Hildra produced one last false smile, all teeth, no truth. She closed the holoscreen in front of her with a whisk of her hand. Her jaw muscles flexed, and her lips twitched, as most peoples did when using their subvocalization implant to talk to their virtual assistants. From behind Liza appeared a silver-haired, metallic Keeper’s android at the door.

Liza rose out of her chair and turned to leave the room without so much as a nod to Hildra. As she reached the door, she heard a loud sigh come from behind her. The exasperated tone of the Arranger’s heavy breath gave Liza a feeling of satisfaction. She may have lost the battle to save her life, but she won the last word. Take that, she said silently, and a thin smile lit up her face.