Episode 16

Memory Fragments

As she dragged me along, Cherri complained, “I told you we should have met in a private room.”

Inexplicably, getting lectured by her on our first date didn’t feel like too much of a negative to me. Maybe, after unexpectedly coming face to face with Merc, anything would seem pleasant by comparison. Regardless, I felt like a celebrity being publicly abducted by the alpha female of the USMC and taken to … wherever.

Everyone seemed to enjoy watching Cherri lead me through the crowded lobby like an obedient pet. The numerous snickers suggested that this incident would be part of the social consciousness (and gossip mill) for the foreseeable future.

As we left the main room in the lobby, we entered a long hallway, flanked by doors on each side. None of the doors were marked, implying anonymity upon entry. This revelation fit conveniently into my theory about the high value of privacy here in troopship land.

Only mildly curious, I asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“To where we should have started this meeting in the first place.”

She tossed a quick glance my way. If I wasn’t mistaken, she also performed a subtle appraisal of my enhanced appearance. “I see you borrowed one of Lucy’s avatars.”

Shit! It seemed like everyone recognized that I was wearing one of Lucy’s hand-me-downs. Clearly, I was freefalling, in terms of my social status.

“Uh, yeah. Do you like it?”

“Well, camo draped on top of camo … on top of more camo? It is a bit obvious, considering we don’t actually wear camo in combat.” I recalled Lucy’s use of the term ‘obvious’ and wondered if it was code for something else, like stupid. Suddenly, I didn’t feel nearly as confident as I did a few minutes ago.

Cherri appeared to pick one of the anonymous doors at random and opened it. Pulling me inside, she closed the door and locked it. The lock was probably just some code designed to discourage curious busybodies. I questioned the need for a lock in the first place.

“Is that really necessary?”

She turned to me, tilting her head slightly, as if carefully considering how to respond to my question. She then said, “You’d probably be surprised at how many opportunists are lurking in a troopship. Stealing personal privacy codes is a thriving business here.”

I was a little surprised at this revelation. I hadn’t considered that there might be criminals within the UCC community. But now that I thought about it, a troopship was essentially the digital equivalent of the Wild West. The whole culture here was ostensibly a criminal enterprise, and everyone in it was a convicted ‘criminal’.

“So, no honor among thieves, eh?” I guessed my assessment might be considered an insult, but I had to call it like I saw it.

Without hesitation, she said, “None at all.”

As she walked over to a comfortable looking white, leather sectional and sat down, I noticed her avatar for the first time. It was a surprisingly understated affair, consisting of sandals, jeans, and a white cotton shirt. She wore her blonde hair long, in a thick braid that hung to the middle of her back. In a world where anyone could achieve any look they desired; it conveyed a comfortable confidence.

The absence of the typical USMC super-soldier attire seemed to explain why she’d expressed a preference for my previous outline avatar. And it was probably why she considered my current look so ‘obvious’. I belatedly decided to go entirely authentic in the future. No more castoff avatars or attempts to appear badass for me. If the most popular female character in the USMC could pull off authentic, then so could I. At least it was simpler.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I settled into a highbacked chair facing her, feeling a little awkward in my excessively camouflaged state.

She made no immediate attempt to initiate a discussion, so I got things started. “I was wondering why you wanted to meet me in person.” Realizing that this was technically inaccurate, I clumsily added, “Figuratively speaking, of course.” It seemed; I couldn’t help but sound foolish in front of Cherri.

“Do you recall when I asked if you had earned back any of your memories yet?”

I find it annoying when someone replies to a question, with another question. However, not wanting to come off as too fussy, I simply said, “Yeah, I remember.”

“When a recruit first arrives here, and before they earn their first memory awards, they typically have residual memories. They’re generally only fragments. It’s almost impossible for a new Marine to access these memories, and they get lost in the clutter when your drive starts filling up with earned memories.”

I had no clue where Cherri was going with this explanation but resolved to let her finish without interrupting with any questions.

She concluded with, “I know how to recover these memory fragments.”

So now I knew, ostensibly, why she wanted to meet me. She wanted to ‘recover’ residual memories. But why was this important to her? I doubted this was some altruistic effort to help new arrivals, so what was her motivation?

Bluntly, I asked, “Why are you interested in my memories?

“Well, they’re only fragments of memories. They likely wouldn’t make any sense to you. However, I use them to create memory mosaics. It’s an art form. Something that I enjoy doing, very much.”

I was about to ask the obvious question; what’s in it for me? But before I could say the words, she added, “And of course, I’d share all these fragments with you. You can decide if you want to keep any of them.”

I wasn’t sure this was sufficient incentive for me to let someone poke around in my mind, or CPU, searching for memory fragments. But I had to admit, I was intensely curious about my previous life, and this seemed like my only chance to access any of those memories. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to recall some of my human existence, I asked how this recovery process worked.

“It’s simple. We establish a data link, and I use a hacked admin key to gain access to your core program. Then I search for any logical anomalies in the code. We all run the same core program, so it’s a relatively straightforward matter to identify these irregularities.

Anomalies, which aren’t part of the original design, are treated like junk code. They slow down the program’s operating speed slightly, but otherwise have no effect. These irregularities typically contain fragments of personal memories.”

She paused, and I took the opportunity to ask a question. “Why wouldn’t the original designers just clean up the anomalies when they created the core program in the first place?”

“It’s a flaw in the design. It resembles a type of logical error that is common with code created by an artificial intelligence. We think the memory fragments were an attempt by the AI to embed a unique identifier into each core program that would link it to a specific consciousness. It’s like the AI tried to use pieces of personal memories as a sort of digital fingerprint.”

The reference to an AI creating the UCC core program caught my attention. Lucy had said that a team of humans had designed both the digital construct and the AIs.

“Lucy told me that humans designed everything here, including the AIs. So, which is it?” I was totally confused.

“Well, technically, it was both. Because of the scope and complexity of the design, the developers used AIs to create the code. As far as we know, it’s common practice to use automation wherever possible during the construction of digital megaprojects, to save both time and money.”

”As far as we know?”, I thought. Lucy had told me there had never been any contact between the UCC community and humanity. Consequently, I wondered about the UCCs’ source of knowledge. ”How do we know anything for certain, if everything is being filtered through the AIs?”

“We don’t. Not with any certainty.”

It was troubling to learn that we existed in an environment that was not only controlled by AIs but had been designed by them as well.

Under these circumstances, it would be virtually impossible to validate any information. Consequently, all knowledge was suspect. I was in the unenviable position of having to accept everything I learned on faith alone.

Regardless, I vowed to find out the truth about troopship land by any means necessary. It was the only way for me to have some hope for the future. A future where, at least theoretically, I could live in freedom. However, for the moment that was still only a theory, and a weak one at best.

Cherri asked, “So do trust me enough to let me in?”

With so much uncertainty surrounding my immediate future, I decided the least risky decision I could make would be to allow Cherri to access my CPU and search for residual memories from my previous life.

“Sure. Let’s do this.”

I really wanted to trust her and besides, what did I have to lose? A life of forced combat on behalf of humanity? A humanity that had enslaved me and was brutally expanding throughout the galaxy, annihilating every species it encountered? Any bond I previously felt with humanity was now tenuous at best.

Cherri rose and said, “I sent you a My Wizard code. It will form the datalink between us.”

She approached me, coming to a halt much closer than seemed necessary. I tried to decipher if this maneuver was simply a consequence of her natural assertiveness, or some fundamental change in her perception of me.

Cherri said, “Hold my hands and download the code. I’ll do the rest.” I wondered if holding hands on a first date here, signaled something beyond merely checking for memory fragments. Or maybe I was just overthinking things as usual.