Machine A

I remember Milan, it was winter. I was walking through the mist-filled canals with someone ... he was my man, I had met him in Cape Town, he was English, he worked without a real success as a real estate broker. I was in Cape Town for a fashion show. Oh yeah! I had taken the place of my mother "The Russian of Sakhalin" on the catwalks around the world. I surfed the system elegantly and discreetly. Then ... Something happened, something bad ... What happened ... I can't have forgotten ... ... Ah, yes! The world was hit with some kind of disease. Many died, many others, almost all for the truth, were reduced to misery. Someone immediately, someone after some time, I resisted four years.

I remember one morning I was on the subway and readed a job advertisement. No, not exactly a job! They were looking for people who were willing to be guinea pigs for some kind of experiment. It wasn't the first time for me and I had always been lucky. I answered the announcement. And...

And then that's it. I don't remember anything until the morning of ten days ago. I opened my eyes and was lying on a bed of red and black flowers. They showed me my medical records. Everything is in order, there are all the signatures, mine signatures. Apparently I authorized them to detach the head from my body, cryogenize it, attach it to a mechanical body, and revive it.
Ah, but no problem, they said. Everything was done only for the sake of humanity, and the organs in my body were all donated saving many lives.

I remember Berlin, it was summer. I was on a meadow that was the embankment of a canal, behind me was a large hospital. An editor of Vanity Fake had given me an appointment there, we had to organize some shots for their September cover. It was fun. They painted my whole body and sprinkled it with accessories. I looked like a real android, even though they insisted on calling me gynoid for some protest from a local feminist group.

I remember I went to the bathroom, there was a mirror ... Like this one here in front of me. 130 years separate me from that young girl disguised as a robot who is just the me of ten years ago. Vanity Fake had prepared a report on transhumanism, a very cool thing, practically eternal life.

They explained to me that as long as holds the grinder to which they attached my head, I will live. If by that day I have had the opportunity to find a new one, they will transfer my head there, and so on forever. As long as I can pay for a new body. They showed me a brochure, there is a wide choice. There are ultra-advanced models that perfectly replicate all the sensations of a real human body. My model is a basic model, no touch sensors except for the fingers, no leatherette finish, but, most importantly, equipped with a very advanced network interface. I can call anyone I want, retrieve books, magazines, holofilms. The neuronal interface is directly connected to my cerebral cortex. There is no interruption from thinking that you need whatever information and the arrival of it from the interface. It can keep your memories for you. There is a huge cloud where everyone uploads his memories and retrieves them whenever he wants. Comfortable. But sometimes I have the impression that the memories are no longer so authentic. I must remember to talk about it with my friends ...

I remember Milan ...


- - - 5 - You will not dare to question the system, ever. - - -