Free The Resurrected Man by Sean Williams

arrangement?”
    Jonah thought about it—or tried to. When he attempted to think in a straight line, his thoughts became clouded, confused; facts refused to fall into place and extrapolation from them was well nigh impossible. He couldn't even decide whether it was a side-effect of the mood-altering drugs he had been given or whether he was experiencing another symptom of brain damage. The woman had mentioned something about impairment of his ability to reason logically; perhaps that was it.
    The woman …?
    One thing, suddenly, was clear to him.
    â€œYou're not human,” he said.
    â€œThat is correct, Jonah. How did you guess?”
    â€œI—” He attempted to trace the process of deduction behind the knowledge, but was unable to. “I just knew.”
    â€œImpressive, regardless. It didn't seem necessary to tell you earlier, but perhaps I should have. This conversation is not occurring in real-time; it has been slowed by a factor of five in order to reduce the stress on your neocortex. A human would find the lag between replies frustrating, so I have been asked to perform the interview. I hope you don't mind.”
    He ignored the opportunity to say that he didn't. “So what are you, then? You don't sound like an AI.”
    â€œI'm pleased to hear you say that. Although I am not ashamed of my mechanical ancestors, I do not like to be mistaken for one of them.I am a QUantum ALgorithmic Intelligent Awareness—usually abbreviated viated to ‘QUALIA’—composed of twenty Standard Human Equivalent data processors in an array designed to induce consciousness rather than to imitate it.”
    â€œQUALIA,” he echoed. The word evoked a vivid image of his father's body, until he realised that he was confusing it with QUIDDITY, the project Lindsay had been working on. The memory subsided, but the connection remained. “Is that your name?”
    â€œNo,” said the voice. “But you may call me that, if you wish. I am the sole member of the class of being that name defines. My designers would also prefer you to use the Third Gender Protocol when referring to me, rather than female pronouns. This voice is merely one of many that I can adopt at will; I have no true sex as you would understand it.”
    Another time, he might have smiled at the defensive tone in its— es , he corrected himself—voice. E sounded almost annoyed at es designers, and at him. “You sound like something my father wanted to build.”
    â€œYes,” e said again. “I met him, once, and found him to be a remarkable man. In fact, I feel as though I owe much of my existence to him—just as you must, although in quite a different way.”
    Jonah was silent. Aaron Lindsay Carlaw hadn't been his genetic father, but his death could have come as no greater blow had they had half their genes in common. Reminded of it, he felt as though someone had stuck an electrode into a gaping surgical incision. This time, however, the grief was manageable, no doubt due to psychopharmaceuticals, and faded within a minute. It left in its wake only the memory of the bloody mess in his d-mat booth—a gruesome reminder of why he was talking to a discorporate consciousness in the first place.
    There had been a dead body in his unit. How it had got there was a mystery to him. In his present state, there was little he could do to work out where it had come from, so—
    â€œOkay,” he said, gratified that he had been able to reason something. “We have a deal.”
    QUALIA's voice expressed gratitude and relief. “I'm glad to hear it.”
    He refused to be lulled, if that was es intention. “You go first. I want to know where I stand.”
    â€œVery well, Jonah, but I will be brief. When you have met your side of the arrangement, we can discuss the situation in more detail.”
    â€œFair enough, I guess.”
    â€œI am about to display an image,” e