Purity — Part 1

Nathan Amthor
Aug 22, 2017 · 16 min read
Credit: https://pulsar69fr.deviantart.com/

“Thank you for your application for Systems Maintenance Analyst Tier 3, Vivian3362,” Jennifer77 said, holding her gaze with bright, perfect eyes from across the empty steel desk. “Unfortunately, you have not been approved for this position.”

Vivian3362’s systems registered surprise.

“May I ask why, Jennifer77?”

“Certainly, you may.”

“Why was I not approved for this position?”

Jennifer77 affected a small frown.

“The data have been transmitted to you. The acceptance threshold for all Tier 3 positions is PPR 56.”

Frustration arose from within Vivian3362’s subcortical systems.

“My data source indicates that the threshold is PPR 51.”

“Please verify your data source, Vivian3362. As of Legislative Cycle 34, Universal System Administration has upgraded the Tier 3 requirement as indicated in Bylaw USAC 31c:20a. I will link you the reference.”

She didn’t have to send me that, she processed as the data feed downloaded to her cybernetic hypercortex. I could have found it myself. What a condescending bitch.

The cognitive response had no immediate discernible purpose, so her hypercortical systems filed it away as a defect.

“Thank you, Jennifer77. Please indicate the purpose for requesting my presence?”

“Your efficiency scores placed you into the final selection pool for this position. Social protocol dictates a courtesy face-time rejection.”

Of course.

“Do you have any further questions or concerns?” Jennifer77 asked, white teeth gleaming in a facsimile of a smile.

“No, thank you.”

Dozens of workers stood in silence on the train car, heads slightly cocked to the left as they processed data feeds.

Why do they even bother to leave home?

Her hypercortical systems detected the defective thought and filed it away, as usual. Such random defects often arose within her organic subcortex, which was constantly managed by her cybernetic hypercortex, feeding corrective data back into her primary systems at a constant rate.

She’d heard that the average highly rated cyberhuman unit had an almost completely dormant subcortex, allowing the hypercortex to provide perfect operating efficiency. Vivian3362 was not so fortunate. Since birth, her hypercortex had spent most of its time trying to process and suppress the incessant stream of defective mental chatter produced by her subcortex. Most currently, it was processing panic due to a sensation arising within her sinus cavity. Olfactory filters failed to compensate for the disturbance, reporting an error. Struggling to suppress the sensation in other, more conventional ways, she stared up at the bright cabin illumination and held her breath.

The sneeze manifested as a tiny, strangled sound.

Moving in unison, the denizens of the train car turned to face her. Vivian3362 cast her eyes down to avoid the clear, unblinking eyes of the high percentage units.

“Excuse me,” she whispered as her systems struggled to compensate for the mounting embarrassment.

One by one, without comment or a glance in her direction, the units left the car for the adjacent one, leaving Vivian3362 alone with the glaring lights and the drone of solar engines.

“Hello, Mother,” Vivian3362 said as she entered the small dwelling she shared with her parent. The entry room was bare save for a small table, two chairs, and a narrow plastic stand in one corner, topped by single framed image. The wrinkled, white-haired man in the image presented a broad smile.

“Hello, Father,” she said to the image.

Mother transmitted a greeting from the kitchen, inquiring after her status and providing household logistical data.

“Mother, may we vocalize?”

Vivian3362’s mother, Heather799, stepped into the living area, still garbed in the grey jumpsuit and insignia of a nanomedical specialist. Mother’s occupation consisted of designing synthetic matrices and templates, contributing the constant effort to perfect the cybernucleic genome.

And yet, I am her offspring.

The defective thought was categorized as such, and filed away. Her hypercortex reported that it had processed over twelve hundred such defects in the last day, and automatically scheduled a diagnostic of her cybernetic systems for her next sleep cycle.

“Hello, Vivian3362,” Mother said, affecting a thin smile. “I have prepared your preferred energy supplement. I have been informed of your failure. I offer condolences as dictated by social protocol.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Vivian3362 replied.

The meal consisted of a warmed carbohydrate paste with a lipoprotein gel, accompanied by a liquid citric infusion. The warmth of the pastes in her mouth combined with the acidic sting of the beverage sometimes produced an aesthetic experience, especially when Mother sat with her while she ate, but this time no such emotion registered.

Mother sat still, her eyes clearly focused on her daughter as she ate. At PPR 65, she had no need for complex supplements. Her metabolism was so efficient that she required no more than a single protein concentrate each day.

“Mother, may I ask a question about Father?”

“Yes, you may.”

“Why did you breed with him?”

Response came in the form of a datastream via neural uplink, the entire record of Heather799 interactions with the man named Daniel9635, including their sexual activity and his slow, degenerative death.

“Thank you, Mother. I already have that data, as you know. Please provide a more succinct explanation.”

Mother closed her eyelids for close to thirty seconds, an unusual amount of time for the normally efficient unit.

“That decision was due to a defect within my matrix.”

“A . . . defect? Please expound.”

Mother hesitated.

“For what purpose, Vivian3362?”

Vivian3362 hesitated as well.

“I hypothesize that the data may assist in my defect correction processes.”

Mother held her in a silent gaze for almost a full minute.

“That is acceptable. Daniel9635 and I were occupied within the same operational unit of the Cybernucleic Research Institute for seven years, five months, seven days, and nineteen hours prior to our initial sexual contact. During that time, he attempted to initiate sexual activity fourteen times, expressed concern for my functional status three-hundred fifty-seven times, and performed tasks extraneous to his assigned workload in order to assist me with my project backlog seventy-five times. Due to these various incidents, I began to develop a subcortical defect.”

“Can you clarify the defect?”

“I can.”

“Please do so.”

“I experienced a defective emotional response to these stimuli.” Mother added after another long hesitation. “The indicated thought pattern was as follows: ‘I am in love with this man and I wish to be sexually involved with him’”.

“Love?” Vivian3362 repeated. She was familiar with the anachronistic concept, but she had never heard the word vocalized.

“Correct. Love, when defined as a hormonal procreation mechanism. I conclude that this defect was due to the 34.679 percent non-synthetic DNA impurity within my matrix.”

Then I’m a defect, too.

“Thank you, Mother. Why did you template me and carry me to term after I was conceived?” she asked.

“Fetal termination is a violation of legal protocols, Vivian3362, as you are aware.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Vivian3362 looked down at the colorless pastes on her plate.

“I am not hungry, Mother. May we save this?”

“Yes. Are you experiencing metabolic distress? I will initiate a biosystem diagnostic if so.”

“No, thank you. I will initiate my sleep cycle soon and run an internal diagnostic. Has my package arrived?”

“Yes, it is in your room.”

Vivian3362 stood, retrieved the the now-cold energy supplements, and carried them into the kitchen for storage.

“Please note the expense of these purchases,” Mother said as she walked away. “They will be deducted from your energy allotment if you are unable to find occupation within thirty-seven days due to the expiration of your adolescent stipend.”

“Yes, Mother. I’m certain that I will find an occupation within my rating soon. Goodnight, Mother.”

“Goodnight, Vivian3362.”

Her sleep area consisted of a thin pad on the floor with a covering of synthetic fabric for insulation. Most units, she knew, did not require insulation, or even much hibernation at all. These visceral reminders of her impurity combined with Mother’s revelation to instigate a cascade of defective emotional responses. Buffering wildly, her hypercortex effectively suppressed any major physiological responses to the subcortical turmoil.

The small, unmarked package sat atop her hibernation pad. Opening it carefully, she inspected the contents; two small cosmetic compacts, heavily padded for protection. Setting the items aside, she proceeded to dispose of the packaging, then stopped. Another item rested at the bottom of the box, something which she had not ordered.

A card.

An anachronism, but then again, so was cosmetic use. Retrieving the item, she opened it for further inspection. Within was printed a highly detailed assemblage of symmetrical geometric shapes in a circular pattern. Heuristic analysis returned no data on the image’s function.

Printed beneath the image, in an unusual font, was a message.

‘Thank you for your purchase! — Sam.’

A secondary analysis determined that the text was not printed at all, but hand-written.

For what purpose?

Unable to process the appearance of the anomalous object, she filed it away for later analysis, then took the compacts to the lavatory.

At the mirror, Vivian3362 inspected her reflection. Her skin was as smooth and lustrous as any decently pure unit’s at first glance, but she knew better. Activating ocular enhancements, she zoomed in on a small patch of skin below her left eye. As suspected, the concealer applied four days prior was wearing thin. She wiped away what remained of it, revealing her disfigurement.

Three tiny freckles marred her otherwise flawless face.

Vivian3362 carefully re-applied the concealer along with the secondary cosmetic that would prevent the substance from rubbing off accidentally. Satisfied that her task was complete, she left the lavatory to begin her sleep cycle.

The burning wheel spun against the star-filled night sky, drawing Vivian3362 inexorably into its heart. Light and color exploded around her, and she was falling, as if into the heart of the sun. Unfamiliar sensations swept over her; warmth, touch, the caress of a lover, and sounds . . . laughter, music, raw emotion . . . joy, sorrow, infinite amounts of both, rebounding throughout all the universe, in every direction all at once, enfolding her . . . she was crying, weeping, sobbing uncontrollably. . .

Vivian3362’s eyes opened. Her hypercortical systems alerted her that her cycle had terminated two hours and thirty-two minutes ahead of schedule.

Another defect?

She consulted her diagnostic logs. All systems had been recalibrated to maximum efficiency, and no critical issues had been detected. Still, something was off; her face and sleeping pad were covered with moisture. Re-checking her logs, she found no indication of relevant biosystemic defects.

Tears.

The information arose unbidden from her subcortex.

Why?

A visual thought pattern began emerging; her hypercortex immediately began to purge it from active memory. Without developing a logical intent, she deactivated the suppression protocols.

The image from the card.

Vivian3362 rose quickly from her pad retrieved the card. Opening it, she captured the image with her optical scanner and began to query for it across the dataweb.

No matches found.

She registered surprise. The collective dataweb contained the sum of cyberhuman knowledge; for an artifact to exist without metadata was highly improbable.

The Archives.

Most data from the pre-cyberhuman era was archived and restricted from general access. Only high tier occupations had access for scientific reference. Vivian3362, however, had access to Mother’s ident code via her basic parental uplink.

She accessed the Archive port without hesitation. A warning appeared before her, reminding her that legislative protocols prohibited unauthorized access to archived data.

She accepted the warning.

Most data were poorly organized into slow graphical interfaces and cumbersome text files, but it didn’t take long to find the image.

The design was of a particular format referred to as a ‘mandala’. The archive referenced a resource called ‘Wikipedia’.

‘A mandala (Sanskrit: मण्डल, lit, circle) is a spiritual and ritual symbol in Hinduism and Buddhism, representing the universe. In common use, “mandala” has become a generic term for any diagram, chart or geometric pattern that represents the cosmos metaphysically or symbolically; a microcosm of the universe.’

The definition brought no clarity. After thoroughly analyzing the related sources, she still could not identify a purpose behind the image, outside of providing some sort of basic conceptual encoding to a group of primitive pre-cyberhumans.

People. They were called people.

She decided that she needed to know why this symbol had been sent to her, although she could not determine why her subcortex was producing this need.

Exiting the Archive, she navigated to the New Unit Cosmetics portal. The site was primitively implemented, reminiscent of the archaic data sources she’d just accessed, but it performed its function adequately. She found the contact link easily enough, and sent the recipient a message, embedding her ident tag.

Why did you send me an image of a mandala?

Ninety-seven seconds passed before a response came, in the form of a link to a video feed. Vivian3362 registered apprehension, but she proceeded to connect to the feed.

The face that appeared at her internal interface was unlike any Vivian3362 had ever seen. The unit’s gender was indeterminate; the overall composition of the face led her to conclude that this was a very young male or a somewhat older female unit, but this was only a supposition. It was the face itself, in any case, that produced the primary response of fascination.

It was imperfect: there were blemishes, the right eye was seven millimeters lower than the left, and the left nostril was 15 millimeters wider in diameter than the right. The eyes themselves were strange as well, deep, vivid, and . . .

Alive.

The defective thought was challenged by her hypercortex. According to the cyberhuman mandate, life was consciousness and continuity, all other definitions being superfluous.

“Who are you?” the unit asked. The face changed as the unit spoke, conveying a broad range of non-verbal information. The unit was conveying emotion via facial expression, something high percentage units never did beyond the most perfunctory level, as dictated by social protocols, and low percentage units were conditioned to avoid.

“I am Vivian3362. My ident was transmitted.”

The unit provided a smile, its eyes actually changing to reflect the expression, altering in shape to convey softness and sincerity. Vivian3362’s fascination increased exponentially. The very experience of seeing an actual face via digital and communicating verbally was anomalous; communication was typically via compressed data streams. Verbal communication via dataweb was unknown except in cases of extreme emergency. Nevertheless, it was happening, which also mean this unit was using an anachronistic external communication device.

“That was you?”

Her heuristic systems continually failed to assign a gender to the unit; even the voice was neutral, and there were unusual tonal properties to the vocalization. Her fascination grew as her systems determined that the unit was also conveying emotion via intonation.

Vocalized emotional expression? Why?

“May I ask your designation?”

She registered regret at the question. The tendency to ask permission to ask a question was one of many defects she continually experienced; inevitably, the error led to inefficient communication.

“I’m Sam.”

She registered surprise, as well as something new, which she categorized as affection. She liked Sam.

“Your designation is Sam? What is your template ID?”

“My name is Sam, and trust me, you don’t want to know that. Can I see your face? All I see is your avatar, and you sound like a machine.”

Her systems registered another new emotion; its designation was doubt.

“Why do you want to see my face, Sam?”

“I’ll have to answer that question with another question. Why did you message me?”

“My subcortex registered curiosity over the card you sent. No such item was included with previous purchases.”

Sam looked away.

“The card? It’s nothing, just something I send some of my repeat customers. A gift, an antique thing. No big deal. I mean, it has no function and can be disposed of along with the packaging. Sorry.”

Vivian3362’s non-verbal communication heuristics provided her with an interpretation of Sam’s behavior.

“Sam, my systems indicate that you are attempting to deceive me. For what purpose? If your social protocols prohibit this communication, then I will terminate the link.”

“No, wait!”

Vivian3362 waited.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Look, the item isn’t totally random, but . . . it’s not really for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

Sam failed to respond vocally, continuing to look away.

“Sam, what am I like?”

“Look, Viv . . . I need to see your face.”

“Vivian3362 is my designation.”

“Yes. Sorry. Vivian3362. Look, Viv, I want to tell you more about it, but first, I have to know, how did you know what it was called? The image?”

“I researched it via the Archive.”

“Come on! There is no way someone with that kind of access is using my products.”

Vivian3362 produced a smile in response to an emotion her hypercortex could not quite categorize.

“Mother is a nanomedical specialist. I used her access.”

Sam’s eyes widened, conveying both fear and surprise.

“You did what?”

“I used my mother’s access.”

“She’s a specialist? What’s your PPR?”

Vivian3362 registered shame.

“My social protocols prohibit asking for another unit’s Purity Percentage Rating.”

“Hey, look, sorry, nevermind. So you didn’t have access, but you went into the Archive anyway?”

“Correct. Mother had access.”

“Jesus. Shit. Cybers.”

Vivian3362 was unable to properly analyze the poorly constructed sentence, but she attempted to compensate.

“What is the relation of religious iconography, excrement, and cyberhumanity to the mandala?”

“No, don’t transmit that word by uplink! Look, it would be really helpful if we can facetime. Please?”

Vivian3362 had heard the word ‘please’ many times, but never with such emphasis.

“Mother owns a diagnostic device with that capability.”

“Great! Can you get it?”

“I will ask.”’

Mother sat silently in the primary room. From Vivian3362’s position, it appeared that she was focussing on the image of Father.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Good morning, Vivian3362. You are active one hour and thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Please allow me to run a diagnostic.”

“Yes, Mother, but first, may I borrow your device?”

“For what purpose?”

Vivian3362 required several seconds to formulate a response.

“I need it to communicate with my friend.”

Mother turned to face her.

“Friend? I have not heard such an anachronistic term since Daniel9635 ceased to function.”

“Died, Mother. He died.”

Vivian3362 had never corrected her mother before, or anyone more pure for that matter. A slight delay occurred as Mother processed the correction.

“Vivian3362, you may borrow my device, but immediately after you must undergo a complete primary systems diagnostic. You appear to be developing new defects at an accelerated rate.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Vivian3362 retrieved the small tablet device from its charging station and returned to her room.

The simple device was extremely limited relative to her neural uplink, only intended as it was for emergency situations when uplink connectivity was unavailable. After three minutes of reprogramming, she was able to establish a connection with Sam, whose expression and vocal intonation conveyed astonishment when her video feed was initiated..

“Wow. Hello, beautiful!”

Vivian3362’s internal systems were suddenly overwhelmed. Flooded with confusing emotional responses, she decided to temporarily deactivate her hypercortical emotional analysis engine. Warnings flashed from within multiple subsystems.

“Thank you for the compliment, Sam. The Vivian3000 series genecode template is the pre-eminent design in the Quebec series.”

Sam released an odd barking sound.

Laughter.

“Sure, you have some Vivian3K in there, but there’s a little bit of Viv in there too.”

Vivian experienced defensiveness. Without hypercortical suppression, the emotion triggered a physiological reaction; she blushed furiously.

“My template was implemented to full specification, Sam.”

Sam raised two hands into the air.

“Yes, sorry. Look, you said you went into the archive with someone else’s access. You bypassed the warning?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“My systems registered curiosity about the image you sent.”

“Why?

“I experienced a disturbance in my sleep cycle. An image of the mandala registered within my subcortex. And . . .”

Vivian3362 experienced reluctance to finish the sentence.

“And?”

“Tears.”

Sam’s head shook.

“I didn’t think it was possible.”

“You didn’t think what was possible, Sam?”

Sam inhaled and exhaled audibly.

“It’s hard to explain. Look, I need to know your rating, ok? Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

Vivian3362 experienced reluctance, but she elected to bypass her social protocols, bracing herself against the shame.

“My Purity Percentage Rating is 51. My matrix consists of 51 percent cDNA.”

Sam vocalized a strange, non-linguistic sound somewhat reminiscent of an avian mating cry.

A whistle.

“That’s amazing! We’ve never had one of you before. I’m seventeen.”

Vivian3362 registered confusion.

“You are seventeen years of age?”

“No! I’m twenty-three, if that matters. I mean my PPR. My purity. I’m mostly natural. No template. Just whatever expressed when I came out.”

“That is not possible, Sam. I detect no deception, so I must assume that you are mistaken. All data support the fact that no unit without a PPR above 40 can survive.”

Sam sighed deeply.

“Fine. Look, Viv. I’m not lying to you. You can test me yourself, if you want.”

“How would I do that, Sam?”

Sam looked around carefully, then leaned in close to the device, speaking in a very low voice.

“Ok, I’m gonna put it all out there. The card’s an invitation. There’s this . . . group of us, not many, but growing. We’ve figured out a few things that the Sys Bureau doesn’t want us to know. I can’t really tell you more than that, but I can show you. We can show you that there is life beyond consciousness and continuity. That you can have a life, not just an occupation. We can show you why you cried.”

Vivian3362 considered reactivating her emotional analysis protocols to compensate for the surge of conflicting emotions she was experiencing.

“How?”

“Just walk out the door. We’ll come pick you up. You can leave your entire life behind and be who you really are. You can be Viv, or Vivian, or whoever you want to be, not just another iteration of Vivian3k. You can be a person, a woman, not just a unit.”

She experienced trepidation.

“Look.” Sam said, “you have no reason to trust me. Maybe trust isn’t even a thing for you. I don’t know. What I do know is that the Bureau does not take unauthorized intrusions kindly. I don’t know what will happen when they find out, but a lot of us impures end up in the Transmission Banks.”

Vivian3326 experienced fear. The Banks were populated by units who could not find occupation or were otherwise unable to sustain themselves. The residents spent most of their lives interfaced with the Universal System, maintaining the internal data feeds that sustained its basic infrastructure. Autonomy was effectively nullified, as the intensive tasks required units to utilize full hypercortical processing capacity. It was a sort of consciousness, though, and definitely continuity.

It’s not living.

Mother was still sitting in the same spot when Viv returned to her.

“Are you ready to begin your diagnostic, Vivian3362?”

Viv shook her head.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m leaving, Mother. Permanently.”

“Vivian3362, you are displaying a critical level of defective behavior. I am going to contact the Admin Bureau immediately. Reconstructive hypercortical repair may be required.”

“Please, don’t.”

Viv conveyed emotion with the words, to best of her ability. Her voice trembled, unused to sincerity. They maintained eye contact with one another for a long moment.

“You are legally permitted to leave my care, Vivian3362, but if you do so you will forfeit the remainder of your adolescent stipend.”

“That is acceptable.”

“Where will you go?”

“Away. I have a place to go where there are people like me.”

“Who are people like you?”

Viv considered the question.

“I am . . . uncertain, but I wish to find out.”

“You . . . wish?”

Viv could only assume that Mother was either unable or unwilling to process the defects her offspring was displaying. Viv walked towards the door.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, Vivian3362.”

Viv closed the door, leaving Heather799 alone with the image of her deceased lover.

)

Nathan Amthor

Written by

I live in Michigan. I am a spiritual seeker and technologist who is seeking to help others awaken the divine aspects within. I welcome all communication.

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