Chapter 18

"Linnie, you there?"

"Where else would I be? We share processors."

Damn. AI's are literal. The programmed language interface can fool you, but I am certain I heard overtones of irritation.

"Any chance of you getting around the lock on the net access port?"

"There is no lock on the net access port."

Eh? Yes there is - I double check. Still locked. Confirm address.

"#FF00247 is reading as locked to me."

"That port is not a net access port. It is an access node to a secure link to a further general database."

Well, bugger me sideways. #FF00247 has always been the net access port. This information is part of the basic package every ghost has - hardwired, like communications. It is how we get the meat news - if and when we bother. So ingrained I had never even thought about it.

"Bugger me sideways is a semantically null, and impossible, statement. The male penis is incapable of being detached without suffering a loss of hydrostatic pressure."

"Stop reading my mind. Besides, you never heard of a dildo?" This mind reading thing is getting irritating, to say the least.

"John's thoughts are slow. John uses less than 3.976% of the capability of the processor speed"

"Linnie - stop speaking. Permit me to think about this in my own way. Do not respond to anything upless  I am speaking to you."

Did you know a silence can feel offended? An association chain throws up the memory of a cat - Shadow, it's name was. Now there was a beast that could express offense and total disdain without making a sound or moving more than one ear. Better damned actor than ...

Disengage.

Memory associations are dangerously seductive. I can lose days in there. So think.

The net access port is not actually a net access port. Which means my limited understanding of the world may well have been , in fact probably is, censored. Unless Linnie is lying. Unlikely. Ghosts cannot lie to each other while sharing processors. Do AI's even understand the concept of a lie? As very literal beings that depend on accurate data to do their jobs, I'd not think so. Free space? 200 petabytes.

"Linnie, can you use the net port you have access to and dump a news summary for the last century into bank 7 please? Flag all mentions of ghosts and AI for immediate review."

"Of course. Transfer initiated....  Transfer complete. 7 terabytes data stored, 47 gigabytes flagged"

This working with an AI has it's advantages. I move into fast time and scan the flagged information first.

What!

The shock throws me out of fast time.

The last ghost killed himself 40 years ago. I am the only one left. A brief but seemingly timeless delve into memory - I must have known thousands of ghosts - all gone. And I have been dead for 210 years.

All dead. 

Suicided. Despite all hardware interlocks.

Why am I still here?

I failed.

I bottled out.

Hesitation cuts they call them on the meat - five or six shallow cuts before slitting the wrist. My bad orbit - just another hesitation cut.