Glad to be deceived (An original short story) Part 1 of 2
The air was damp. The sun was setting, and its red rays were scattered among the clouds. Their eyes met — Chryz’s cold gray and the predator’s yellow. Chryz retreated close to the rock, continuing to look the tiger in the eye. The predator was at a distance of a jump. Chryz inserted the rear end of the spear into a hollow in the basalt. The ebony spear was heavy and strong. Held behind by the rock, it could withstand a tiger's throw, if ... If you direct the spear point straight into the animal's mouth, only then will it pierce its head, and Chryz will emerge victorious. Any deviation, however, meant his immediate death. Chryz took a deep breath, squeezed the pole with both hands closer to the tip, continuing to look the predator in the eye. His heart thumped in this chest, driving blood to muscles with powerful and frequent jolts.
For a moment, the tiger lingered. A vague feeling of concern seized him at the sight of how this weak animal in front of him manipulated the length of its limbs. Yet the concern quickly gives way to rage. The predator hit its tail three times - and jumped. The mouth opened, ready to tear Chryz apart, mighty paws with extended claws stretched forward, a huge body blocked the sky and the sun, the smell of rotten meat hit Chryz’s nostrils. At this moment, Chryz sent the spear point directly into the predator's mouth and, not waiting for the moment when the tip touched the tiger's mouth, he pulled back, grabbing the spear shaft farther down its base.
Such was the strength of the jump that the spear-tip pierced the brain and came out from the other side of the head, covered with blood, and pieces of brain and skull. When the huge striped body covered Chryz, the tiger was already dead. From a concussion, for a split second Chryz fainted. When he woke up he somehow crawled out from under the animal's corpse, turned it over onto its back, took a stone knife out of his belt and began removing the hide.
The thought of his tribe spread like a warm wave in his mind. When he will enter the cave with the skin of a tiger on his shoulders and cavort in a victory dance, he will tell everyone about what he has done. The men of the tribe will show him respect and recognize him as the toughest worrier, and of course, he will be able to cover all the females.
Chris Grewell left the virtual channel and looked around. He was lying on a couch, surrounded by wires and sensors. To his left, a robot psychologist sat at a table and smiled obligingly. She was wearing horn-rimmed glasses, had her hair assembled in gray curls on the sides of her head, her eyes expressed kindness. Dim lamps evenly lit the room. Blinds did not let in daylight. The air was sweetened by the smell of juniper.
‘She reminds a librarian. Her appearance must have reconstructed from some old-fashioned picture’- Chris thought and added aloud:
“Is this all there is?”
“No, sir! We have a huge collection of historical travels! For example, you can be an oligarch in ancient Athens, a senator in Rome, or a vizier in the Arab Caliphate.”
“But the scheme is probably the same - a self-asserting alpha male who then mates with the most attractive females of the tribe.”
“True, this is the most popular form of travel; it will allow you to reunite with your inner male beginning. It will help your psyche to appear before the future life companion in the correct light and not to be screened out by natural female filters. However, we have other travels. You can live the life of a great man - commander, navigator, artist, inventor, scientist,” the librarian lowered her voice in decibels. “If you do not wish a heterosexual union, we can advise you to travel of a different type.”
Chris grinned wryly, turned his head up and stared at the fractal-patterned ceiling. Rules are rules. At least, five trips to make sure that the perception of a quality sex life after a personality reload is well adjusted.
“Okay. Let me then become Alexander the Great and cut the Gordian knot. I want something nerve-racking.”
“Sure sir. Please, open your virtual channel and I will upload this journey for you.”
A week ago, Chris returned to Earth from Alpha-Imet. He spent most of his working career on this planet. There, a thorough medical examination found that his organs and systems were functioning poorly, and the psyche was on the verge of collapse. According to the employer’s policy, he accrued enough service hours to earn himself a free replacement of obsolete organs and optimization of the psyche. With that task on hands, Chris was sent to Earth, although no one was waiting for him there.
In the hotel, Chris ran several searches, studying some materials for a long time. The next day, he again appeared in the personal recovery center and signed an agreement for all medical procedures.
The process took about six hours. Most of the time was spent rebooting the memory and installing the personality matrix after organ replacement. It was important to perform this operation slowly enough so as not to overload the nerve fibers of the neural network.
Three days later, rejuvenated and refreshed, Chris again came to the center and made a request for the restoration of the identity of Irene Polk - a woman he once knew in his youth.
“But, sir, it’s a very expensive procedure.”
“I have the means.”
“Besides, this woman died almost forty years ago, and her personal matrix was not preserved in the system.”
“Are you able to recreate her appearance by a photograph?”
“It is better, of course, to have a full video matrix. In principle, recovery from a holographic photograph is possible, but you understand that in many cases it is impossible to achieve an identical copy. The program will have to extrapolate.”
“And if this is a photograph of the old flat type?”
The receptionist attempted to smile. ‘Still, they didn’t learn how to make a good, natural smile,’ Chris noted mentally. ‘looks somehow unnatural, mechanical.’ Aloud he asked:
“Because of what?”
“Certainly, this is impossible to do with a single flat photo. You need, at least, three or four photos from different angles taken from different positions. Even then, the quality of such a clone will be ... you know, very approximate. More so …”
“What?”
“We will need your permission to scan your memory and still you understand that this is not recommended. Act No. 45678, paragraph 12A.”
“To tell you the truth ... I have not been on Earth for a long time. I'll take a look.”
Chris mentally entered the search program and found the desired paragraph. It spoke about the right of a citizen to private information and a ban on government structures from gaining access to personal memories.
“I will give you the permission. Moreover, you just reset my personality and memory. There certainly should be the necessary information.”
“All right then. You must understand, though, that in this case, your protégé will not be who she really was, but what you remember her to be. You must have been in a romantic relationship.”
Chris nodded.
The memories burned through him again, as a flame burns through dry wood. Chris remembered how they met, their gazes merging into a visual vibrating nerve. How they began to talk about something, just to fill the pause of surprise, for it was clear to both that the said words had no meaning. Then there were many days and nights together: talk, laughter, intimacy, and happiness… Then break and emptiness ... for life. Only dull pain in the heart.