Original date: June 16th 2020

I’d originally considered the concept of uploading someone’s mind into a computer as creepy, then pointless, then, when I got ill, intriguing.

I’d been a sceptic for such a long time, though, that it was hard for me to admit I’d changed my mind. By the time I was wondering whether it was something me (and my descendents, in perpetuity, after all) could afford, I was considered something of a hold-out. Everyone around me was booking themselves in, even if they weren’t – like me – close to shuffling off this mortal coil.

I decided I could definitely afford it – Moore’s Law made it cheaper all the time, especially now that they’d found out how to map silicon qubits directly on to the recently discovered quantum units of consciousness. Mind and silicon now went hand-in-hand, qubit for qubit. The energy demands were falling, as well as the storage space. It put my mind at ease about the logistical practicalities.

But I still worried about what it would be like in there, even though you can communicate with the outside world. Apparently it’s a bit like 3D video conferencing – just like being in the room. Like a hospital visit, really, but in a location of your designing. You’re not quite with them, but it’s a pretty good approximation.

Before I made my final decision, they let me chat with existing customers, both inside the machine as well as their living relatives, and it all seemed hunky dory. The only qualm I had was that they have to get you moved before you pop your clogs, which robs you of your big sign-off, surrounded by loved ones.

Nevertheless, I decided to take the plunge. I was pretty close to the end by that point anyway, and I signed the forms, they put me under… and here I am! I’m ‘living’ in here with all the others, and having regular chats with my old mates and my family. We talk about old times. My memory’s never been so sharp, and I’ve not felt this energetic in years! Everyone’s happy.

But then the Scarlatti scandal hit. Mrs Scarlatti died, got uploaded, enjoyed a few hours in her new home, and then her ‘corpse’ came back to life. Some mistake on the doctor’s part apparently – she wasn’t dead! Quite an oversight on the medic’s part, but that was just the start of it.

Now she’s in here with us… and out there too. Chatting, eating, shopping, like nothing happened. There are legal issues, I’ll tell you, arguments about who is the real Mrs Scarlatti… Not to mention that it raises interesting questions for us lot in here, and what happened to us under the anaesthetic.