Mar 15th, 2255
Richard inhaled the distinct aroma of Scottish heather. What once served as a comforting prelude, playing on triggers of childhood memories, now heralded unwelcome news, casting a shadow over its once soothing effect.
As he opened his eyes, the room's lights gently brightened, dispersing the shadows. In this newly illuminated space, Richard's gaze settled on the device Janice had assembled. Despite its advanced purpose, its appearance evoked a sense of nostalgia, reminiscent of an old-fashioned stereopticon—his dad had owned an actual one, kept in the antiquities room, though Richard had never been allowed to touch it.
"Must be my birthday," he said aloud to the room. Every five years, since he turned 200, Janice performed an exhaustive check on his memory. The human mind was not designed to perfectly hold 255 years' worth of memories. They were navigating uncharted territory, and Janice was uncertain about how problems would manifest when they eventually arose.
"Why did you have to entwine my birthday with this ritual? Are you trying to ruin my birthday?"
Janice's disembodied voice whispered in his ear, "You've always maintained that you hate your birthdays and are happiest ignoring them."
"And if it wasn't for this... gauntlet, my day could have continued blissfully unaware of its context."
"Guess what?... Happy 255th," Janice's voice cheered from all around him.
"I don't feel a day over 23," Richard quipped, settling into their familiar pattern.
"Okay, axonic fluid still looks perfect," Janice announced.
"Wait, slow down. You're supposed to ask my permission before doing anything invasive," Richard's tone sharpened, betraying his growing irritation at being treated like machinery undergoing diagnostics.
"Did you feel anything?" Janice inquired, her tone neutral.
"No," Richard admitted, his voice clipped and frosty, as his irritation sought an outlet.
"Then, by many definitions, it wasn't invasive," Janice replied, her cheerfulness undiminished.
Richard bristled at the artificial cheer, "Do not play semantics with me."
"Look, this is for your benefit and that of the other Immortals in your age group. You don't like it, so let's just get through it quickly," Janice replied, her voice adopting a clinical detachment.
"I have no problem with the memory tests. It's the physiological tests I question. We know BioNano keeps me in perfect shape, and you know how much I despise you poking around inside me. I don't see the necessity," Richard argued, despite knowing logic was often futile against Janice's artificial mind.
A picture of a neural pathway appeared before him, magnified to the size of a thermos.
"Richard, the fluid we're discussing," Janice began, her voice a mix of warmth and scientific rigor, "is crucial for maintaining the electrical connectivity in your brain. It resides in the narrow gap between the axon, the neuron's main conductor, and its myelin sheath, which acts as insulation."
The layer of fluid glowed, highlighting its significance. "This fluid significantly reduces the electrical resistance across the neuronal membrane. It's like upgrading from a standard electrical wire to a high-efficiency cable, enhancing both thought speed and memory recall."
"When BioNano restored you to what you call 'factory specs,' your neural pathways were improved. This corrected issues initially caused by your diet and the absence of certain minerals in the Scottish diet, enhancing your memory, learning, and reasoning capabilities," Janice explained, her tone reminiscent of a lecture.
"Did you just call Scottish people stupid?" Richard kept his humor dry and his tone neutral.
"Not at all. This was a combination of your DNA with the soil of the region. And you were previously far from stupid, just not fully up to your potential," Janice responded, unfazed.
"My tutors used to tell me the same thing... But how does this relate to probing around inside me?" Richard asked, his curiosity piqued as he grabbed the Halo from the wall and conjured some lightweight gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting teal pullover.
The overload of the brain can often lead to memory loss or degradation of neural pathways, particularly in contexts involving brain damage or other situations that reduce cognitive capacity. That's why it's important to monitor the brain's structure and regularly test for any signs of memory loss," Janice explained.
"Such a rigorous scientific test," Richard remarked, his comment laced with a hint of sarcasm.
"More than you realize," she responded, without further clarification.
Now standing, Richard headed toward a breakfast table emerging from the floor at his command. "I'd like a sia," he told her, and the bagel tube rose from the table's surface.
Janice ignored that he was eating and continued on. "Five years ago, I gave you 12 concepts. Can you repeat them back to me?"
"Singapore, umbrella, public restroom, 1948, Ruddy, cadmium, toothpaste, fluoxetine, Danish pastry, pilfering, tidal wave, multiplication table," Richard rattled off without a pause, then continued chewing on the sia, savoring its warm core of cream cheese.
"Pi to 30 decimal places," they said simultaneously.
He sighed and added, "3.141592653589793238462643383279"
Now, at least the questions would vary, picking up random details of his life that he had previously given it.
"You remember your second pet..."
"Billy. He was a 2-year-old Scottish terrier when we got him. I was five years old, and Dad was feeling guilty about being away on my birthday, so he got me the puppy," Richard cut in, his words spilling out in a hurried stream, as if to preempt Janice's probing.
"Yes, describe its collar," Janice requested patiently.
"A plain brown leather strap and buckle assembly. A four-leaf clover tag made of silver with 'Billy' engraved in a serif font on one side, and the estate's name on the other," Richard shared, his voice carrying a trace of fondness. This journey through memories was a part of the process he genuinely appreciated. Having perfect recall didn't equate to omnipresence; memories needed a catalyst to be vividly re-experienced. It was doubtful he would have thought to remember Billy on his own.
"Tell me about the time you kissed your 11th person," Janice pressed on.
To answer, Richard had to sequentially recount the people he had kissed, counting as he went and omitting any repeated encounters. Passing his memories of MIT, a strong suspicion about where this was heading began to form.
"Do my parents count?"
"Did my question seem ambiguous?"
"To a computer, I suppose not."
"I am no more a computer than you are a frog," Janice responded, her voice teetering between irked and proud.
Richard was momentarily tempted to explore that analogy, but his mind had already raced to the inevitable conclusion he had anticipated. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?"
"Calling Brenda names won't help you," Janice shot back with what was, admittedly, a clever quip. Richard might have appreciated the humor if he wasn't so consumed by his growing frustration, mostly directed at himself.
He sighed and slumped back a little in his chair, bracing himself. "It was Pooka Chooke. We were both drunk and angry at Brenda. There was kissing, and a little second base, and then our better minds prevailed. We felt very guilty about it and promised never to talk about it or tell Brenda. This was on April 14th, 2082, at Tal der Ruhe. Secrets could be kept back then. I know I never told you this. I'm surprised she talked about it."
"Actually, it was Brenda who told me," Janice replied.
"Privacy really has been dead for a long time, hasn't it?"
"How did her skin taste?"
"Oh, you're still going to continue with this. Do we really have to do this?"
Janice outwaited him in silence.
He sighed, pushing aside centuries-old guilt, "She wore a pendant, a little mesh ball with a chunk of amber in it, which gave her a mossy honey smell that was quite alluring. Smell affects taste, and for me, it made her sweat taste like little beads of sweet melon juice... What could you possibly have to compare that to? I never told you this story, and she certainly doesn't know what she tasted like to me, nor did Brenda?" A part of his mind suddenly realized that either of them could call up the recording of this conversation at any time.
"Yes, but now we have a baseline of it, and 100 years from now, I might ask you about it," Janice said, her tone suggesting she was totally unaware of the emotional turmoil she had just reignited.
"Your Intro to Quantum Mathematics textbook, what was special about it?"
By this point, Richard seemed to have the fight beaten out of him. Without any quips or jokes, he replied, "Page 65, in the lower right-hand corner, I drew a rather good rendition of Roxanne, who sat one row up and to my left. The pencil drawing was of her, naked, as I imagined her to be. I later ripped that corner out when I resold the book."
"What was her full name?"
"Roxanne Anna Tallymaker. She was one year older than me, from Oxnard, California. She had delightfully long red hair, the most perky breasts, lived in Tessman Hall, and ate cream cheese and olive sandwiches for lunch most days. She had absolutely no interest in me and later started dating a guy who could break me in half."
"What was her major?"
"Hmm, I don't think I ever asked or found out. And I don't recall anyone mentioning it in my presence."
"She was pursuing a bachelor's degree in applied physics with an aim towards a doctorate in quantum field theory. You were impressed by her brilliance. You shared this with me 40 years ago."
"Even with you telling me that, it's not coming back to me. This is disturbing."
"I can see how that might be unsettling from your perspective, but actually, it's a positive sign. If the issue is merely that new memories are overwriting old ones, without any physical damage to the brain's axons, then we're looking at the best-case scenario. It's unrealistic for a human mind to maintain 200 years of perfect recall. The critical question was whether the overload would simply cause an overwrite or lead to structural damage. Congratulations."
"Well, seeing as we've encountered a missing memory, why don't we proceed directly to the scan?"
Without a word or hint of resistance, Richard walked over to the device that reminded him of a stereopticon. He placed his chin on the receptacle and leaned forward. Images began flashing before his eyes, uncoordinated between the left and right, at a rate of about 15 frames per second. All Richard had to do was watch as thousands of sensors dispersed throughout the room took continuous readings while the images streamed by. The theory was that if an image connected to something he recognized, his limbic system would react differently than it would to something unfamiliar. Moreover, if the content was personally significant, his hypothalamus would also respond. All of this data was captured and would be compared against that from previous sessions. Richard found the experience simultaneously disturbing and relaxing.
In the brief moments it took Richard to grasp that the scan had concluded, Janice had already processed the results, showcasing the efficiency of the technology at their disposal.
"I've analyzed the results. Last time, there was a 1% variance, which was within the margin of error, though all previous scans had shown a 0% variance. This time it's 4%."
"So, I'm losing my mind?"
"A normal human is quite fortunate if they retain 10% of their daily experiences. Considering you're maintaining 96% from the last five years, I'd say you're significantly outperforming the average."
"But could this be the start of an accelerating decline?"
"It's indeed possible. We're navigating through uncharted waters here, Richard, which is precisely why we remain vigilant. The next five years will provide more insights. But I wouldn't be overly concerned. I was actually more worried when you showed no signs of degradation at all. Believe it or not, this is good news. It would appear that your body is adjusting by overwriting some less used memories"
"So, are we done?"
"Almost. Lastly, here are twelve concepts for Punct 2260."
"Ready," Richard declared, though his tone suggested he was both bored and tired.
"Penultimate, mangosteen..." Janice began, only to be cut off by Richard's interruption.
"What's a mangosteen?"
"Does knowing its definition impact your ability to remember the word?" Janice queried, unfazed.
"Janice, what's a mangosteen?" Richard repeated, turning his head as though addressing someone else in the room.
From where he was looking, another instance of Janice's voice, carrying another distinct cadence and rhythm, explained, "A mangosteen is a tropical fruit native to Southeast Asia, scientifically known as Garcinia mangostana. Often hailed as the 'queen of fruits,' it is prized for its delicate flavor, a blend reminiscent of peach, pineapple, and strawberry. The fruit itself is about the size of a small apple, characterized by its deep purple rind and juicy, white segments."
With a grin spreading across his face, Richard looked back towards the original source of Janice's voice. "Were you going to continue?"
"You could have continued. It wouldn't have made a difference," Richard quipped, visibly amused by the exchange and feeling momentarily superior.
"If we encounter a problem next time, this diversion might affect the results. But let's proceed: the Rutherford quintuplets, aleph naught, 82.3 bar feet, a Rotary Club meeting, masterpiecefully..."
"That's not a word!" Richard couldn't help but interject.
"So? #7- an Italian outdoor bistro cafe, alto tenor..."
"That's also not a thing..."
"#10, minced words, L prime prime, and 'cantankerous old bastard.' Done. You're set for another 5 years."
Traditionally, Richard would greet the news of his next appointment with a ritualistic quip, "I'm not getting any older." This phrase, brimming with defiance and a playful acknowledgment of his condition, today hung unsaid in the air. The words didn't come; they no longer felt true. In the quiet that followed Janice's announcement, Richard confronted a reality he had often treated with humor but seldom fully accepted. The variance in his memory, the erased details of past lives, the subtle yet unmistakable signs of change—all converged on an inescapable truth: time, in its relentless march, was etching its narrative on him in ways he could no longer afford to overlook.
As if to signal the end of the session, Janice's equipment, along with everything not listed as permanent—like the bed, his clothes, the view screen, and Mushkin by his closet—was reabsorbed into the flooring. It was unusual for Richard to feel so exposed in this space, stripped of the usual trappings that defined it.
For the first time, the thought of his next appointment stirred within him not just anticipation of another routine check-up but a poignant recognition of the finite nature of his seemingly infinite existence. His mind wrestled with cognitive dissonance: the notion of true immortality had always terrified him, yet now, the idea of its eventual cessation filled him with equal parts dread.
In response to Richard's increasing distress—detected through subtle shifts in his physiological state—another dimension of Janice was activated, assembling a playlist designed to provide comfort in an intricately tailored manner. As the opening notes of Jethro Tull's "Beastie" started playing at a carefully adjusted moderate volume, the music filled the room, creating a comforting presence. This auditory embrace was further enhanced by programmable matter in the air, subtly inducing flavors on Richard's taste buds that mimicked the sweetness of melon juice, operating just beneath his conscious perception.
This sophisticated interplay of sound and taste, a direct response from Janice, underscored her Prime Tenet: to ensure the colonists' safety, both physically and psychologically.