Fifteen

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October 25, 2020
SNS Research Center—9:50 a.m.—

He had inserted the backup program prepared in advance, but it had no effect on Aiwen’s consciousness; her mind was guarded fiercely, and altering the data of her conscious impressions was exceedingly difficult. She must have tampered with the system beforehand. Yet Hollen remained unwilling to give up, for there were still several minutes left before the final replacement. If Aiwen refused to cooperate, he would have to forcefully modify her consciousness, or perhaps obscure her subconscious? But she seemed prepared to resist his invasion and the burning away of her memories.

He continued to stare intently at the code system displayed on the computer, watching the constant flashes and changes. The assistant, clad in a white coat, brought another assessment report for him to review.

“Doctor,” the assistant said, “the data remains unstable. Could it be due to a flaw in the system? Deviations have been appearing since earlier, and now they’re growing more pronounced. Sooner or later, the subject will realize this is merely an illusion. When that happens, the consciousness transfer cannot proceed smoothly. You understand this better than we do.” The assistant was compelled to repeat himself, aware of the stakes involved.

“I am well aware of the risks and benefits,” Hollen replied, raising his gaze to fix upon the assistant. “The only option is to race against Aiwen for a favorable moment.”

The assistant remained perplexed. “But what exactly is the flaw? How can the process succeed if it isn’t resolved?”

Wasn’t it a little late to ask? If the flaw had existed all along, why not fix it before starting the transfer program? It wasn’t that Hollen was ignorant—nothing could be clearer to him. He had simply chosen to ignore it, refusing to confront the issue, obsessed instead with pushing the transfer forward as quickly as possible.

Hollen was a calm and stubborn man; he had long known the flaw was unfixable. Years ago, his mentor, Dr. Eddie Min, had admitted the same: the system’s flaw could not be resolved, at least not with their present capabilities. Perhaps after another decade or so, things might be different—but for now, Hollen had no time to wait for future breakthroughs. For Aiwen’s sake, he had to take the risk, even if she refused to cooperate. If she agreed, nothing would be amiss and the flaw would be irrelevant.

“The flaw is unfixable. This is how it must be. I’ve already emphasized this before—I don’t wish to revisit the topic. Our priority now is to race against Aiwen. Let’s see who acts faster.”

The assistant in the white coat said, “Although the consciousness libraries are shared, each impression object cannot recognize the host consciousness of the other side.”

A nearby programmer interjected, “You’re talking about the flaw in the early code system you handed me before, right? I tried to patch it, but unfortunately, I did all I could—it’s simply beyond our current capabilities.”

Hollen said, “That’s perfectly normal. My mentor and I couldn’t eliminate this flaw in those days either. So many years have passed, and the problem hasn’t changed. With time running out, all we can do is take our chances.”

The programmer found the relevant materials, plugged in a mobile drive, and opened another simulated code system interface. Dense data appeared, with code constantly shifting. The programmer pointed out a section and paused the movement.

“Here,” he said. “The flaw is quite obvious. In truth, we shouldn’t have attempted the consciousness transfer so soon. The code system isn’t complete...”

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The assistant asked, “What happens if the host consciousness detects the flaw? Could it damage their brains?”

Hollen replied, “We must hurry. If we finish the transfer within ninety minutes, the brain won’t suffer any harm. It’s a matter of time. I’m taking a gamble, hoping they won’t notice so quickly.” He lowered his head, continuing to monitor the system’s changes.

“How could they fail to notice?” the programmer murmured, knowing Hollen wouldn’t be swayed and refraining from further comment.

The assistant said, “I just detected another anomaly in the consciousness body. Is there a connection?”

Hollen replied, “Aiwen is very clever. Her consciousness is more sensitive than most. No matter how precise our system, she might still notice. Even so, we must press on, racing against time—so we might as well ignore the flaw.”

After Hollen walked away, the assistant couldn’t help but ask the programmer again.

“I only know that the impression objects of both consciousness bodies can’t merge, but what exactly does the flaw cause?”

The programmer pondered for a moment, then tried to explain in the simplest terms: “Each person’s consciousness library is independent, filled with the people and events they encounter in daily life—the impressions they form of everything they see, stored in their consciousness library.”

The assistant tried to organize his thoughts. “So, my impression object would be, say, a person I met yesterday. My impression of him is archived in my brain—my consciousness’s subjective impression of a person is an impression object?”

The programmer nodded. “That’s the basic idea. If there are some particularly memorable people or events, you can think of them as deep memories stored by the subconscious.”

The assistant added, “So it’s all extremely subjective impressions of sights and sounds from daily life.”

The programmer nodded again.

“If we want to link two people’s consciousnesses now, the information in their consciousness libraries will be shared. The subjects can see the contents of each other’s libraries.”

“So the consciousness library is equivalent to the brain’s archive of all impressions and memories of external things?”

“Yes.”

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“But after linking, the impression objects archived in the consciousness library can’t recognize the other subject’s consciousness body.”

“I think I understand, though it’s still a bit unclear.”

“For example: Suppose Miss A’s consciousness is linked to Miss X’s. Miss A can see the objects or people in Miss X’s subconscious world—these are X’s impression memories. Yet these impression objects can’t recognize Miss A’s presence.”

“So you mean, if my consciousness library is linked with yours, the parents in my impressions are my own impression objects—they’re just my impression memories. So even if your consciousness sees them, they won’t recognize you?”

“Exactly! And your consciousness body won’t be recognized by my impression objects either. So when an impression object encounters the other’s consciousness body, it’s as if it can’t see their existence.”

“This flaw is fatal. One of them is bound to notice first.”

The programmer sighed. “That’s why we must complete the consciousness transfer as soon as possible.”

The assistant finally understood, “What if the replaced consciousness refuses to cooperate?”

At that moment, Hollen returned. “It’s not ‘what if’—that’s exactly the situation. I just tried to use the backup program to interfere. Who could have guessed Aiwen would notice? Her memory is already gone, but she remains so vigilant!”

The programmer asked, “Does the backup program create your virtual consciousness body, Dr. Hollen?”

Hollen nodded. “Yes! A third-party virtual consciousness body, since it isn’t an impression object belonging to either side, can recognize their existence. However, the program has blurred their observation of the virtual body’s form—so what they see is unclear. Yet Aiwen’s consciousness body had pre-set an interference exclusion! She can see the virtual consciousness body’s specific form!”

The assistant immediately saw the problem. “Wouldn’t that arouse her suspicion even more?”

Hollen was left speechless. The assistant and programmer exchanged glances and could only continue their work in silence.