Walk With Me By: nic_lemon At the hospital I was asked if I wanted the download. Or as they referred to it, the “interactive recollected reality” a.k.a, IRR. I stared down at her face, peaceful and slack. The machines hummed in the background, pumping her blood and filling her lungs with air. My detachment was curious as I had thought that when the moment finally arrived I would feel despair and anger. But, as always, things did not go as I had imagined. She had vehemently spoke against IRR. Not just for herself, but for everyone. “Morbid & intrusive”, she called it. Against the very nature of humanity. The thought that someone could walk through her memories, her thoughts, and her feelings was nauseating. “We have a right to privacy, a right to the integrity of our mind!” she yelled at the TV when reports of the breakthrough had occurred, the reporters laughably trying to explain quantum computing. I didn’t disagree. IRR was another step in the breakdown of anonymity and separateness. Privacy advocates railed against the technology, marches were held, and days of congressional hearings played on every major news channel. The “Confidential Mind & Body Act” was proposed and eventually, discarded. The benefits of IRR were seen as too great to limit. The government security experts showed how terrorism could be fought and defeated within months. Simply download a captured terrorist and have an analyst do a walkthrough – the intel collected would be incomparable. The ethical issues were glossed over. But that alone didn’t sway the American court of public opinion. No, it was the emotional argument that won the day. Here was a technology which could connect you with another person in unprecedented ways. All the media had to show was the crying, happy faces of parents who had lost a child. Nostalgia is a potent driver as well. Humans are a curious, voyeuristic lot and IRR exploited that brilliantly. The initial IRR trials had been hit or miss. At first articles came out touting the dangers – how a download had been a nightmare to experience, warped and fragmented. Test “walkers” coming out catatonic and needing therapy to recover. But eventually, the flaws were fixed. The later releases showed little to no degradation. Kill switches were built in which monitored the walkers’ physical state. If a negative reaction was detected, the tech would gently close the download instance. Once the positive coverage was almost universal, the phone lines of congressmen were flooded with calls. People clamored for the chance to sign up. The firm which developed IRR saw a meteoric rise in their stock after the Body Act failed to pass. The wealthy had a bite of the apple first. At the start, a download cost around half a million dollars. An astronomical amount for most people, but a drop in the bucket for the 1%. About 2 years after public access started, China unveiled a competing IRR. India quickly followed. Both countries had less testing hurdles and could bring the product to market quickly. The price dropped and for the first time, it was available to the average consumer. Other technologies piggybacked – the video game industry had a revolution, developing games that take place within a person’s download. Why pretend to be an avatar fighting in Iraq?? Now you could actually walkthrough a soldier who had lived it! Popular media had movies and shows based off the lives of popular figures. Experience your favorite singer’s day to day life! And the porn, holy shit the porn. Experiencing someone else’s sexuality was unbelievable. Plus, you could walk with others. Connect with your lover while getting the craving for variety satiated! Bioethicists debated the morality of “owning” a person’s download. Who owned it? Did that person have a right to sell it or sell the rights to it? What were the limits, if any? But really, those questions didn’t matter to the public or the government. And the people who cared were drowned out by the pleasure of others. It was hedonistic & addictive – the reward center of walkers was overloaded; no drug could compare. Support groups sprang up where spouses vented and wept; discarded people displaced by an intangible life. Downloads became the norm. When registering a birth certificate or a driver’s license you could sign the release for IRR. But the release was a formality – a next of kin could sign off on the download regardless. The die-hard hold outs were seen as aberrant; a throw-back to the dark ages, hippies of the day. As I stood there watching my mother’s body, I remembered her protests, her disgust of IRR. She had pleaded with me, “You promise, right? You’ll let me die without them going in?” Her smile flashing with relief at my assurances. I turned to the doctor as he again asked me if I wanted to proceed. I said yes. ---------- Nobody really talked about how death was an automatic side effect of IRR. I mean, the commercials never mentioned it. But we all knew. Logically, people knew those “enemy combatants” who were renditioned were killed, but any queasy feelings were squashed by the knowledge that downloads kept the country safe. It was a questionable trade-off if one thought about it, but when the thoughts got too difficult, there was always another walkthrough to smooth the unpleasantness away. Scientists and engineers have tried relentlessly to develop the tech to download a person without killing them. So far, it has been a failure. DARPA got the closest, and their test subjects are still in a vegetative state. The fatal damage to the neurons during a download has been unavoidable. When the download of my mother finished, I sat by her side and waited for the process of dying to complete. Her hands lay loosely at her sides and were warm to touch. I cradled her hand in my own and traced my name in her palm. I watched her chest movements slow as her body quietly shut down. While minutes passed without any movement, I stared at her hand, crying. Tears pooled and spread down her wrist. She would never know what I had done. ********** Proponents of IRR will mention how its adoption has led to greater peace in the world. They like to point to the creation of the Palestinian State and the peace accord with Israel. And it is true, the leadership of both sides did several walkthroughs using downloads from the opposing side. Maybe the experience did increase empathy and foster the belief that we are more alike than different. But really, it wasn’t IRR that led to the accord – it was most likely the result of the Middle Eastern War that concluded years before the peace talks. Millions had died and the fallout from the nuclear bomb that fell in western Iraq affected land well into Africa. Both sides were struggling, trying to rebuild and survive. Neither one had the stomach for more destruction. The U.S suffered significant losses as well. After trying to remain as neutral as possible (which was impossible because of Qatar), we were pulled in as we always are – by the demand of the American people for justice. A dirty bomb had detonated off the coast of Georgia; large enough to spread radioactive material up the east coast and across the Atlantic. That was it, the government committed and America was at war. I have some memories of this time – bits and pieces of news broadcasts and parades. School activities centered on patriotism. What I most remember though, is the confusion. Watching my mom frowning as she looked at her phone. Hearing hushed conversations taking place in the dark. Forced smiles for the man filling the screen. “Come on, sweetie, say hi to Daddy! Smile and show him where you lost your tooth!” But I didn’t want to talk or smile, I wanted to finish watching my show. Afterward, mom would admonish me for not being excited. “Daddy can only see us once a month or so. He misses you and we need to make him feel happy, okay?” I would nod and she would go in the other room to cry. The next month, a similar scene would unfold. I didn’t know the short-haired man in the tan clothes. I had forgotten him. When the war ended, there was relief, joy, and grief. The bodies of the living and the dead made their way home. I was caught up in the craziness of it all. The homecoming ceremonies and the funerals. I held my mom’s hand at both, scared by the emotionality of those around me. I was proud though. All around, people told me how lucky I was to have such a brave father. That everyone owed him for his service. He was a hero. And what kid wouldn’t want to have a hero for a father? On the day he came home, my mom and I spent all morning cleaning. The day before had been spent running around, picking up last minute items and re-arranging the house. My aunt was over, helping to change the linens and making sure my Mom was “ready”. My Dad’s favorite foods were either cooked or ready to be. His favorite dessert, chocolate cake, was sitting on the counter in a gleaming crystal stand. Before we left for the base, my mom made me change my outfit twice. She sent me back to the bathroom over and over to fix my hair or re-brush my teeth until I met with her approval. The car ride over was filled with nervous chatter, both adults laughing too loudly. It was hot that day on the tarmac and all my hair brushing was in vain as I kept rubbing the sweat off my face. My hand was again encased in my mom’s and her grip was uncomfortable. We watched the plane land and roll to a stop. Men and women disembarked and walked towards the assembled crowd. Chaos erupted as people ran, shouting and jostling. I pressed closer to my mom and hid my face. My aunt cried out and my head jerked up. My mom’s hand went limp and her eyes were wide. I turned in the direction she was looking and I saw him. He was hugging my aunt. He noticed my mom and strode over to her. He was huge and cast a shadow over me. They embraced and I could feel their bodies shaking. Then he was picking me up, up, up, higher than the swings. I will always remember his tear stained face, grinning, his eyes crinkling in the corners. There was safety in his strong arms and I knew the monsters would never get me as long as he was around. I loved him in that moment, as we spun around laughing, my mother’s smiling face glimpsed in the background. ---------- The first time I experienced IRR was at Defcon. At the time, downloads weren’t common and doing a walkthrough was beyond the reach of a person making minimum wage. Even if someone got a copy, the integrated tech was expensive and medics certified to configure it were rare. Hard core makers had created some impressive “cheap” headsets, but I had heard the horror stories of fucked-up immersions. Especially if the chemicals weren’t correctly calibrated. I wasn’t interested in becoming a Fryer or getting IRR-induced Alzheimers. But that year, Steve Wozniak got sick. When it looked like he was coming to the end, he publically announced he would be providing his download unlicensed in the public domain. Berkeley was handling the retrieval and hosting with a shit-ton of sites ready to mirror. An anonymous donor planned to purchase hundreds of units and provide the staffing for the biggest simultaneous walkthrough ever attempted. Nobody knew where it would happen, but all bets were on somewhere in the Bay area. The anticipation was insane. Everyone, from the richest Silicon Valley tycoons to Heads of State claimed to be invited. We all waited with baited breath for the announcement after the news broke that Woz died. Then, a spokesperson for Apple gave a press briefing and said they had taken ownership of the download. She claimed that before his death he had signed over his rights. Which was bullshit and everyone knew it. She went on further to say that Apple would be showcasing their new encryption schema and would make the download available in the upcoming weeks for a fee. All proceeds would supposedly go towards various charities. The mistake Apple made was to come forward with this information during hacker summer camp. The moment Apple announced, it became a bloodbath. There were upwards of 30,000 attendees at Defcon that year. Thousands of people capable of breaking encryption and security. Together. In one location. How stupid could Apple be? They must have had employees in Vegas. Within minutes of the press release, the race began. Throughout the hotel, people worked furiously and collaborated to breach Berkeley and Apple and exfiltrate the data. It took 7 hours. The download was online shortly afterward. During this time, the conference organizers were contacted by the donor. Behind the scenes, plans were made and a massive undertaking began. From noon till 4pm on Saturday, all the conference rooms were repurposed. Attendees weren’t sure what was going on, but rumors were flying. Somehow, in that four hour window, the hardware was delivered and set up, the rooms networked, and the medical staff put in place. The walkthrough that night was like nothing I had ever experienced. We had taken something that had been stolen and given it to everyone. We walked through Woz’s life together and were connected for those brief hours in a kinship I’ve not been able to recapture since. As I disengaged from his download, I knew that when the time came I would defy my mother. ---------- After Dad returned, he settled in. The cake was finished; Mom and I adjusted to having a man in the house. We learned each other’s rhythms and worked to combine them. I felt the tense knot that had been wound in my stomach loosen. I would fall asleep to the sound of them laughing in the living room, my mother giggling like a girl. And later, I might be awoken by other noises. Maybe a sister or brother would join us. The thought made me smile. The change happened slowly. Almost imperceptibly. It started with Dad sleeping in more. Then he wasn’t so interested in going to the park with me. Before, I would ride on his shoulders and bask in his attention. We would play tag and climb the jungle gym together. He would wink at me as it got dark, saying conspiratorially, “We better get going soon, don’t want your Mom to worry too much.” Then the nights of silence would outnumber the loud ones. I would strain to hear them, pressing my ear to the door. But mostly, I heard the TV. My sleep was interrupted by yells and thuds, my mom’s voice soothing as she tried to bring my disoriented father back to the present. Dad’s friends would come over on the weekends and hang out on the back porch. The day would ebb and still they would be out there, telling stories about this time or that. I didn’t understand a lot of the jargon at the time; now I know what Centcom and IED mean. My mom’s face would get pinched as the pile of empty bottles grew larger in the trash. The voices took on a somber quality and their cadence slowed. When an edge appeared and rage started to seep out, she would push me into my room and give me a tablet. I could choose any movie I wanted; she and I would lie on my bed, watching it, pretending the situation was normal. When the fighting between my parents became a daily event, I started hanging at my best friend’s house more. We would play video games and watch the latest vids on YouTube. I could tune out my father’s blank stare and my mother’s begging. My friend’s mom would look at me with pity and invite me to stay the night. She would attempt to comfort me. “It will get better soon. Your Dad just needs time to adjust.” Dad began to be away a lot. My mom would tell me that he was doing some work out of town. Things were calmer in the house, but I was restless. I obsessively looked at photos of him. There were a few physical ones up on the wall and I would study them, determined to find something that would bring back his smiling face. There was one photo of his platoon and I recognized some of the men in it. Others I had never met. The group stood with sunglasses on, arms casually slung around shoulders, leaning against a wall with writing I couldn’t read. The last night I saw him we watched a movie together. My mom was out and he said we could watch Raiders of the Lost Ark as long as I didn’t tell her. I leaned into him, moving with his laughter. I fell asleep before the faces melted off; a sleepy goodnight was all I could manage when he laid me in my bed. He kissed me and told me to have sweet dreams. The next morning, I was in the kitchen eating cereal. I barely looked up from my game when the doorbell rang. A high keening sound got my attention and I looked around confused. When it finally registered that it came from my mother, I ran into the front hall. She was on her knees with her hands over her face making this terrible “hhhhhnnnnnnn” sound. In the open doorway two police officers stood silhouetted. One of them was speaking but I couldn’t focus on what he was saying. I only heard the noise coming from her. Things were a blur after that. Days of people coming and going. Clustered together whispering “At least it didn’t happen at home.” I numbly watched as my father’s casket was draped with a flag. Men and women in uniform shook my hand, their buttons and metals standing starkly against black fabric. A man pressed an object into my hand. I held a coin, with Semper Fidelis etched into a side. ********** Universities around the world have been studying IRR for over 20 years. Enough for the longitudinal studies to show troubling patterns. Europe is moving to limit access to IRR. The World Health Organization issued a warning. But in the U.S., the lobbyists have been working overtime. The narrative they are pushing is that IRR is uniting us. Bridging the gap between red and blue, old and young, rich and poor. Their think tanks published their own studies showing a positive correlation between life satisfaction and using downloads. And all those results which showed the opposite? Flawed analysis. Or maybe the confounding variables hadn’t been properly controlled. It wasn’t IRR that was the problem, it was: genetics, soy, parents spanking, not spanking, whatever. Lawmakers followed the money and repeated the mantra of “The science isn’t definitive and there is no consensus.” But the autopsies showed the physical truth. The results of nanoparticle experiments on the brains of people who used IRR were consistent. The receptors for dopamine were reduced. Later experiments proved that receptors for glutamate, serotonin, and GABA were also affected. The chemical calibration of the immersion hardware didn’t matter. The effects were more pronounced for heavy users. Which most people are. Mental Health professionals had seen an alarming rise in psychiatric disorders but hadn’t directly connected it to IRR. They thought it was because of the “stage” effect: the psychological disconnection with reality and lack of authenticity. Even if someone wasn’t a walker, the thought that they could be downloaded led to indecisiveness and anxiety. Anti-depressive medications are handed out like candy. And they work for a while. Users seem okay for years sometimes. But the damage always seems to catch up in the end. Neuroregenerative therapies are being developed with initial trials starting before the end of the decade. Stopping all use of IRR can halt progression and over time, some regrowth may occur. Even then, a walker will never return to normal. They will be a washed out version, muted, lacking vibrancy. My mother was one of the few people I knew who rarely did a walkthrough. As far as I know she hadn’t used a download in years. It wasn’t Parkinson’s or Schizophrenia which took her, it was the big C. She had lectured me numerous times on the dangers. Not just to my brain, but to my morality. The irony of using IRR but not wanting to be downloaded wasn’t lost on her. Before her death, I hadn’t walked in five years. The lingering depression makes it hard to function but I guess I should be glad I can still read. ---------- The seizures started yesterday. I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. I was concentrating on steadying my hand when I fell. I came to on the floor, with the towel rack resting on my chest and my clothes wet with urine. I’m going to walk again today. Through a time before the war, when Mom didn’t know what the future held. I’m always taken aback by how young my father looks. I’m older now than he was when he died. When he came around the corner during that first walkthrough of her download, my whole body tensed. She and I touched his arm and held his hand but in the chair my muscles were taut. He is both familiar and surprising. I had gotten glimpses of this man when he lived, but now, he is unbroken and full of promise. When she was alive, mom had only talked about him occasionally and it was always with reluctance. Afterward, I would be left bereft, my thirst unquenched. Maybe today’s walkthrough will be the last. There is one moment I keep returning to; it holds tight to me and eases the ache. So I’ll be heading in…he’s waiting. ---------- The hospital fragment begins in darkness. The voices in the room are joyful and warm. Our eyes open. Mom is tired and exhilarated and our body is spent. The midwife is wrapping a blanket around a child and talking to a man. He is chuckling and his hands come into view. He picks up the bundle, carefully maneuvering it into the crook of his arm. “Am I doing this right?” His voice is reverent and a bit unsure. We laugh, our eyes never leaving him. He grins and I soak up every detail. His face is unlined and content. His arms are unblemished, the scars gone. He looks down at the baby. “Hey there, I’m your Daddy. I’ve been waiting to meet you. You and I are going to have lots of adventures, you just wait and see.” He starts humming a tune off-key and traces the outline of the baby’s face.