A Bridge Between
You’ve been dead for three years. You were married to Takeshi and Irina, and my console chimes now with the notification that they’re here to see you. My work crosses time zones; Kato’s gentle snore from our bed on the other side of the room sounds melancholy. I clock in and pull on my rig.
I’ve studied your digital artifacts, your journals, films and photos, your social media presence. I’ve absorbed your quirks and the cadence of your speech. The algorithms can reproduce your voice and face, but the system needs a human actor to inhabit you.
Is it creepy? Yeah, a little. But the pay’s too good to turn down.
I log into the virtual space my clients have chosen, a peaceful Japanese garden. You’d like it. You always loved plants and trees. It would remind you of the garden in Kyoto where you boldly proposed to Irina and Takeshi back when poly marriages still weren’t legal. Irina stands on the bridge alone.
In your body, in your voice, I say, “It’s good to see you.”
She folds her arms around me. Around you. “I miss you.”
She’s wearing one of those expensive rigs that gives haptic feedback. She feels like she’s really hugging you. I only get visual feedback, the fall of her hair as she moves in, the sweep of her cheek near mine. She releases you with a sigh.
. Irina’s eyes don’t meet mine; she’s agitated. I take her arm, and we walk slowly in the garden. Irina has chosen autumn, your favorite season. Golden leaves drift around us.
“Takeshi thinks we shouldn’t see you anymore.”
No surprise; he was reluctant from our first meeting to accept me as a substitute for you. “How do you feel about that?”
Irina gazes at the simulated bamboo grove in the distance. “I’m a coward. I never told you—”
My instinct tells me that she’s close to expressing the reason she signed up for the service. In theory, we help our clients find closure. In practice, we’re encouraged to draw out the process. “Tell me what?”
Irina’s voice is raspy. “You don’t smell like her. She had a scent, you know?”
That’s the one thing we can’t replicate. I don’t know what you smelled like. That’s a private memory I can’t access. “What’s bothering you?”
Her voice is so quiet. “Did you know I wasn’t there?”
I’ve read the report. You had a stroke, alone, while Takeshi and Irina were away. They didn’t find you until hours later and you died en route to the hospital. “It’s not your fault, Irina.”
“Then whose fault is it?” She turns away.
There are protocols for this, but I am you right now. . You confronted your mother’s cancer when you were only twelve, you testified against your boss even though it got you fired. You always blazed through life. “Maybe it is. But what are you going to do about it now? I’m gone. She’s gone.”
Irina is silent, and I think she’s crying although her rig doesn’t convey tears.
I’ve broken about a hundred protocols and I know they’re monitoring this conversation. But you would hold her hand and tell her the truth. “You won’t find peace talking to a dead woman.”
She looks at you with startled eyes. At me.
I know what you would want, and it’s the least I can do, respect your wishes after I’ve embodied you. I let go of Irina’s hand. “This is goodbye. You shouldn’t come back here.” Takeshi’s right.
I watch as she crosses the bridge to the other side, until she dissolves into the light. I know I won’t see her again.
I take my headset off as my console chimes angrily with notifications. My performance has been monitored, evaluated. I shut it down. I peel myself out of my rig, get a glass of water, and crawl under the covers next to Kato. I press my nose into the back of their neck where the skin is so soft. “I’ll take the day off work tomorrow,” I whisper. “Let’s go to the park, maybe. See some trees, smell the air.”
They sigh in their sleep and turn towards me.
© 2021 Miyuki Jane Pinckard
About the Author
Miyuki Jane Pinckard is a writer, game designer, researcher, and educator. Her fiction can be found in Strange Horizons, Uncanny Magazine, Flash Fiction Online, and other venues. She was born in Tokyo, Japan and now lives in Venice, California, with her partner and a little dog. She likes wine and mystery novels and karaoke. Follow her @miyukijane (Twitter and Instagram) and at www.miyukijane.com.