Pushing up the digits
Pascal Inard
PUSHING UP THE DIGITS
A collection of short stories on the digital afterlife.
PASCAL INARD
Copyright © 2015 Pascal Inard
Cover photo © Can Stock Photo Inc./rolffimages
ISBN: 9781311644923
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
“Each book is Lazarus and you the reader, bid Lazarus to come forth. And it lives again, the dead words warmed by your glance.”
Ray Bradbury
These stories were written in Melbourne, Australia, on the land of the Wurundjeri people who have been custodians of this area for thousands of years.
The Wurundjeri are a people of the Indigenous Australian nation of the Woiwurrung language group, in the Kulin alliance, who occupy the Birrarung Valley, its tributaries and the present location of Melbourne.
I acknowledge the Traditional Owners of this land and pay respect to their Elders and families.
Table of contents
Introduction
The Last Post
Virus Scan
Time to Move on
Connect with Pascal Inard
About Pascal Inard
Other books by Pascal Inard
Chapter One of The Memory Snatcher
Introduction
Have you ever wondered what was going to happen to your digital self when you pass away?
Your 'likes', your connections with friends and family, your photos, your purchases, the web sites you visited, your tax return, your curriculum vitae and job applications, the films you watched, the music you listened to, the books you read and rated, the meals you ate, the events you attended and (almost) everything else you experienced. There are few aspects of our lives that aren't stored as binary digits on a server somewhere in the web.
People who have had a near death experience report that their life flashed before their eyes in chronological order. If you want to imagine what that looks like, picture your digital activity in a continuous stream, from the first time your fingers swiped a device to your last Facebook post, and that will probably cover most of your life.
But whether or not you believe in life after death, the fate of your digital self is a mystery.
Does it die like you do, or does it take on a life of its own? Has heaven kept up with technology to offer its inhabitants their own social network?
Jason, Vince and Stephanie, the characters of the short stories you are about to read, are confronted with these questions, and the answers will change the way they use their connected devices forever.
The Last Post
Jason tapped the Post button and the screen of his smartphone became blurry. His Facebook page was replaced by an image of a tunnel with letters and numbers on its sides, moving at high speed towards a bright light. Jason's Facebook posts, tweets and photos flashed on the screen one by one in chronological order.
When the procession finished, the screen was black.
Jason frowned; he had bought his smartphone two weeks ago. It was the latest model; how could it die so soon?
He restarted it and it resurrected. Everything seemed normal, except the colour of his apps. He tapped the purple coloured Facebook icon and a 'Couldn't resolve the host name' message appeared.
Had the Radical Urban Terrorists acted on their threat to shut down social media sites? They had boasted about having recruited the best hackers on the planet, but Facebook and Twitter had shrugged off the threats, and the others had followed. At first, there had been a spurt of 'Last Posts' and 'Last Tweets', but after a week, regular activities had resumed and the threat had been forgotten.
Jason tapped the pink Twitter icon and got the same message.
He typed 'Facebook' in the search bar of his browser, but there was nothing in the news.
Jason's shoulders tightened and he bit his lower lip. He opened his music library; his death metal playlists were still there but they were empty. There was only one playlist that was intact: Stardust, the name of the jazz fusion band in which his sister Clarissa played violin. Had she played a joke on him? Unlikely, she wasn't particularly tech-savvy.
Jason opened his game library: Derelict Doomsday Devastation was gone, Mario Kart was still there, but Angry Birds had been replaced with Happy Birds. He tapped on it and saw a row of birds smiling at him. He picked one and it flew above a meadow where children were playing. He tapped on a bomb icon, hoping to have some fun, but the bomb exploded in mid-air, scattering flowers. He got points every time a child caught a flower.
Someone was playing with his nerves, and he didn't like that one bit.
A soft tinkling melody played and when Jason saw the Facebook, Twitter and Instagram icons blinking, he chose Facebook. The last post he had liked, a photo of Clarissa with her Westie, was there and so was his last post, a link to a Transformers short story he had written, but there were no likes yet.
The recovery of Twitter and Instagram had also been fast; digital life would continue as if nothing had happened. Nice try, hackers, you'll have to do better next time, Jason thought.
#
The next day, he called Clarissa after waiting for twenty minutes at La Movida where they usually met on Tuesdays for lunch.
“Oh, it's you. I thought you didn't want to see me after you unfriended me yesterday,” Clarissa said.
“Why would I do that?”
“After I told you what I thought of your new girlfriend, you had every right to be mad at me.”
“No, I'm not mad. I can't say I'm rapt, but we've always been honest with each other and I want it to stay that way. I definitely didn't unfriend you, but Facebook and the others went down yesterday. It didn't last long so I didn't think there had been any damage.”
Jason looked at his Facebook friend list. “Damn, I've lost all my friends, except one: Simon Fabernot, a colleague from my first job I haven't seen in years. His last post was two years ago, which doesn't surprise me; he wasn't much of a social guy.”
“I just checked. All my friends are still there, except you.”
Jason thought about their common friends; Clarissa should have lost them as well if he had.
“Are you sure you've only lost me, what about Melanie and Joseph?”
“Still there, but when I type your name, it says 'Not found'.”
“How can that be? I'm in Facebook now. I'll see if they can fix the problem, talk to you later.”
Jason selected 'Report a problem' and explained his situation.
The answer came two minutes later.
“Stay where you are, someone will come to explain everything to you.”
Jason shook his head. What a nonsensical answer, as if someone from Facebook was going to come all the way to La Movida to see him when a message would have sufficed.
Unsurprisingly, no one came.
Jason finished his lunch and when he returned to his office, he saw that Facebook had sent him another message: “Please accept our sincere apologies for this regrettable mistake, this is new technology for us and we are still learning. Despite everything we offer, the folks up here were grumpy that they had lost their cybersoul, so we decided to transfer it when they arrive, and now our place is back to its usual cheerful state. The only ones who complain are devotees of death metal music and violent computer games because we do apply content filters. When I got your message, I thought th
e welcome committee had missed your arrival, and then I realised we got your cybersoul instead of another Jason. We do apologise for the confusion and we will restore yours shortly. Kind regards, Pierre.”
What sort of joke was this?
The screen went blurry again and his posts, tweets and photos flashed on the screen in reverse order, followed by the journey through the tunnel.
The colours of his icons were back to normal and so was his friend list, except for his sister. He typed her name in the search bar, but Facebook didn't find her, neither did Twitter or Instagram. Had the same thing happened to her? He had discounted the hackers too quickly. He would call her in the evening to find out.
#
When Jason came home, a police car was waiting for him.
“Jason Tanspell?” asked the officer.
“You're not here because of Clarissa, are you?”
The officer nodded.
END
Virus Scan
The virus scan gave Vince’s laptop a clean bill of health. The seller had assured him that the anti-virus software was up to date, but Vincent hadn’t taken his word for it. Buying a second-hand laptop was a risk, he knew that, but his old one had died and he couldn’t afford to buy a new one. He didn’t mind that it came from a deceased’s estate, as long as it was clean and it worked. He created a new user for himself and downloaded Derelict Doomsday Devastation.
“Who are you?” a girl’s voice coming from the laptop asked.
It sounded like Emma, that annoying voice-activated Electronic Mobile Assistant that was part of Windows 15. Vince opened the personalisation panel, but found that Emma wasn’t activated.
“What are you doing with my laptop?” the voice asked.
Vince didn’t answer.
The download completed and he started the game.
The conversation window showed a message from ImaGeddon.
“Where were you, loser?”
Vince typed a response. “My laptop died, had to find a new one.”
“We need you. CreakyJoe got smashed by the Vortex eaters.”
“Stop playing with my laptop!” It was that voice again. Vince checked the list of active apps. There were only two: the Internet browser that he used to download the game and the game itself. He shut down the browser.
“I think I got a virus; there's a voice coming from my laptop.”
“Haven't you switched on the anti-virus?”
“I did, but it didn't find anything.”
“Must be a new virus, what does it do?”
“Nothing apart from the voice.”
“Weird.”
“Gotta go, don't want it to spread.”
Vince logged out and switched off the laptop.
#
When Vince got up the next day, he switched on his laptop and turned off the Wi-Fi.
The laptop stayed silent while he ate his breakfast. He stared at the screen.
The silence persisted.
Could the laptop have intercepted someone's Skype call?
He hadn't asked any questions about the previous owner, but could someone have been trying to call him, someone who didn't know he was dead? Or was the previous owner a girl? It didn't matter now; all Vince wanted to do was to play his game.
He got up to fill his glass, and as he turned around, he heard the opening of a song he particularly disliked.
“I wanna hold'em like they do in Texas plays. Fold 'em, let 'em, hit me raise it baby stay with me. “
He sat down and muted the speakers, but as soon as he did that, the volume increased to the maximum level.
He closed Media Player and the song stopped.
He opened the music library. It was empty of course. He had created a new user yesterday and all his libraries were empty, so where did the song come from?
Media Player restarted and the song began again.
He closed his laptop and the music stopped.
Then he thought about the anti-virus. It was the best on the market and had a support desk you could call to report a new virus.
He opened his laptop and launched the anti-virus admin screen, where the support desk number was displayed.
Vince turned on the speakerphone.
“Your call is important to us and we will be with you shortly.”
He looked up and saw that the default wallpaper had been replaced by a picture of a tarantula. His heart raced and his throat constricted. He turned around and closed his eyes. He repeated to himself that it was only a photo and that he had nothing to fear. He looked around the room and was relieved to see there were no real spiders.
His hand was shaking, but he managed to open a browser to hide the wallpaper.
“You're speaking to Chakravarthy; how may I help you?”
“My laptop has a virus that your software hasn't detected.”
“How did you notice it?”
“A voice came from my laptop several times, then it was playing a song that isn't in my library and the wallpaper changed.”
“There haven't been any other reports of this. Did you open a suspicious email or insert a USB drive?”
“No, it's the first time I've used the laptop. All I've done is install Derelict Doomsday Devastation.”
“I'll log this call for further investigation. Your ticket number is VS582095. I suggest you contact your game's distributor to see if any other users have reported this problem.”
A web site had been opened while he was speaking: www.malamba.com. Vince recognised Odin, Atlas and Horus and assumed the other characters pictured on the website were other deities.
A session was open under the username Anansi with a power level of seventy-six. Vince saw that a message was being written to Tangatu-Manu. Someone had taken control of his laptop remotely. The anti-virus had a firewall that was supposed to prevent this, but Vince must be dealing with a very clever hacker. He closed the browser.
“What did you do that for?” It was the same voice he had heard yesterday.
“Whoever you are, you've proven how clever you are by getting through my firewall. Now buzz off and go annoy someone else.”
“Hey, you're the annoying one. Leave my laptop alone.”
“It's not your laptop, I bought it yesterday.”
Vince turned off the Wi-Fi and turned off his router. That should get rid of her, he thought.
“Who sold it to you?”
Vince gasped. “I don't know the man's name, just his eBay User ID. Hang on, how are you accessing my laptop remotely? There's no connection.”
“I'm not accessing it remotely, I'm here.”
Vince turned around, half-expecting to see someone behind him.
“You had me fooled there; you're a very clever virus, but I'll find a way to get rid of you.”
“Look, I don't know who you are, but I'm not a virus and I'm not leaving.”
“OK, you're not a virus,” Vince said in a condescending voice. “I'm Vince Langfred. What's your name?”
The voice hesitated, as if she didn't want to reveal herself. Then she said, “Melanie Cleary, and whoever sold you my laptop had no right to do that.”
“Well, Melanie, what do you want me to do? Return it?”
“No, there's no point. It's my laptop and I'm in it anyway, so it doesn't matter.”
Vince shook his head and reached for the laptop screen to close it.
“Stop, don't do that!”
“Do what?”
“Close the laptop.”
“How did you know I was going to close it?”
“I can see you.”
Vince put his thumb on the webcam. “And now, can you see me?”
“No.”
He removed his thumb. “What do I look like?”
“Chubby face, glasses, short dark hair. Wait a minute, can you turn to the left? Just as I thought: a ponytail. I've seen better looking men, but—”
“Stop, I've heard enough.”
Vince paused, thinking about ho
w he could get rid of her.
“OK, Melanie, tell me more about you.”
Again a hesitation. “There's not much to say really. I'm twenty-two, auburn hair, fat and lonely.”
“What do you do for a living, apart from hanging out in a laptop?”
“I was at uni before I decided to end it all.”
“Did you quit your course?”
“No, you dufus, don't you get it? I had enough of my life and I tried to end it. I thought I wasn't gonna wake up and now here I am, stuck in my laptop. I thought everything would be over by now. I took enough sleeping pills to make sure of that.”
Vince considered what she'd said. It wasn't possible; when you die, it's the end. You don't resurrect, especially not in your own laptop. He decided to continue to humour her.
“OK, I know a good hacker. I'm sure he'll find a way of getting you out of there.”
“Yeah, and to go where?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Listen, I bought a ticket to nowhere land and that's where I wanna go.”
“I'm sure he can find a way to arrange that, he's very good at getting rid of viruses.”
“I'm not a virus.”
“If you're dead, that means you're a ghost. Ghost, virus, same thing. They're both insubstantial and annoying, although viruses can do more damage than ghosts. But how can I be sure that you are who you say you are?”
“My parents created a Facebook page in my memory; look it up.”
Vince reactivated the Wi-Fi and switched on the router. He logged on to Facebook and found Melanie's Facebook page. A photo showed her smiling with her Westie.
“You're beautiful.”
“You're only saying that to make me feel good. It's too late you know.”
Vince read the information Melanie's parents had posted.
Our beautiful daughter was the victim of a ruthless and heartless bully, whom for legal reasons we are not allowed to name on this page. She could not bear the abuse anymore, but she did not tell anyone about it until it was too late. If you are harassed on social networks, please seek help.
