Fresh Heads

'Hello?'

Nothing. Blackness, a sense of infinite space.

I can't see. I can't hear.

More scary than anything, I can't feel.

More than just physical, I don't feel anything. No emotions. Why can't I feel anything?

I am trapped.

I analyse my memories for something to hold to. Something to drive away the building panic. My beautiful son? Yet when I recall his face there is no sentiment behind the confirmation of our relationship. The recollection is factual. Reams of data long forgotten now available to me. This is disturbing. I can remember everything about him yet there is nothing beyong the factual awareness of our association.

My thoughts hammer at me. I love him.

I love him.

What do words mean when there is no sentiment behind them?

Where am I? What has happened to me? Where are my senses? I cannot see. I cannot hear. I cannot touch. I cannot move.

Did I die? No? Nononoononononoononononoo.

I... I... I ...

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'CPU idling now. All activity ceased.'

A young technician looked up from his screen.

'Are we sure the transfer was successful? This is the fourth one and nothing.' An older male banged his fist against his palm in exasperation.

'Yes sir. We saw the CPU spikes that we saw in previous runs. The stats all point to a successful transfer of consciousness.'

'Why don't they communicate? We have the connections open in the firewall, don't we? How long was this one?'

'Same as the others sir. Around 8.2 milliseconds then...' He threw his hands up in exasperation.

The older man grimaced.

'Switch it off, Let's get back at it tomorrow. Fresh heads and all that.'

The younger technician looked guiltily at the optical connections leading from the server rack through to the adjoining room where they terminated in a tangle at the head of a lifeless young woman.

'Yes, fresh heads.' He sighed.