Dead Man Walking

Fleishman and I were in the Serenity Room cleaning up. There had been a temperature miscalculation at the cremation of a hydrogen-based being from Jupiter and things had gone explosively wrong. I blame a lifetime of not reading the instructions on microwave foods. Fleishman volunteered to scrub down the show room coffins while I got to scraping bits of Jupiterian from the carpet. The scent of flesh de-odorizer filled the room and progress was going well when the front door chimed and a tall, handsome, well-dressed and vaguely familiar-looking man walked in.

I stuffed the flesh-scraper in my back pocket, beamed and thrust out a friendly hand. "Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Fleishman and Graves, Undertakers and Embalmers. I'm Richard Graves. How may I help?"

He shook my hand firmly and returned the smile. "Nice to meet you, Mr Graves. I have a job for you."

"No job too big or too small, that's our motto," I winked. "How can we help?"

We sat down on one of the pews and the man crossed his legs. "I need someone cremated," he said.

Alarm bells started to ring in my head. Oh no, here we go again. There was no way we were getting involved in something like this again. "I'm afraid, sir, that the person you need cremated must be dead first," I said adamantly. "We can't get involved before the actual event of dying has taken place. I hope you understand."

The man blinked at me. "Of course the person is dead. Why would you even-?"

"No reason." Oops, misread that one. "No reason at all. Let's move on. Can I take some details, sir? What is the deceased name?" I grabbed my datapad from the end of the bench and opened a new contract.

"Evon Mosk," the man said.

I stopped dead. "Evon Mosk? The Evon Mosk? The trillionaire artificial intelligence entrepreneur and all-round psycho nut case?"

"Well," he replied, "I wouldn't exactly have put it like that, but I suppose yes, that Evon Mosk."

Behind the man, Fleishman looked over.

I asked some more questions and began, somewhat incredulously, to fill in the details. He wanted it scheduled for next week, standard incineration, coffin with all the bells and whistles, low-key affair. When we were done, I handed over the datapad and the man signed on the dotted line.

"Now," I said. "Almost there. I just need to double check that you're authorised to make these arrangements on behalf of the late Mr Mosk. What's your own name?"

"Hmm." The man scrunched up his mouth and looked up to the heavens. "Good question," he said. He looked down, then up again. "The thing is, I'm not sure. I guess, I suppose, my name is Evon Mosk."

I lifted an eyebrow. "Your name is Evon Mosk, but also Evon Mosk has died, and you, Evon Mosk, are here to arrange a funeral for Evon Mosk."

The man saw my eyebrow and raised me another. "Yes! Yes, that's exactly it. I'm so glad you understand!"

I examined his face closer. That was why I recognised him. This was Evon Mosk. "Okay," I said slowly. "If I understand this correctly, there are two Evon Mosks. Am I right?"

Fleishman edged closer and cocked an ear.

"Sort of, I suppose." The man looked crestfallen. "I guess, I'm not really the real Evon Mosk, he's more my creator. I'm modelled on his appearance and personality."

The truth began to dawn on me. "So you're an artificial intelligence replica?"

He nodded reluctantly.

"Wow," I said. "You look great. It's amazing what people can do nowadays."

"Not people," Evon Mosk's replica interrupted. "Not people, just Evon. There is nothing even remotely as advanced as me anywhere in the galaxy!"

I held up a hand. "That may be, but I'm afraid you can't sign. The law is very clear on this. Only biologicals have authorisation to sign legal documents. It's unfortunate, but we can't take your business."

"But, I'm special!" Evon Mosk's replica shook its head vigorously. "Evon created me in his image. I contain all of his knowledge and intelligence. I alone know how I was created. Evon has died, but I will carry on his legacy." Evon Mosk's replica was getting excited. "It is now my mission alone to create replicas of the best and brightest people in the galaxy. We will combine our intellects and work together for the good of all humanity, leading the species to a bright new- URGGHHH!!!"

Evon Mosk's replica's head exploded in a supernova of sparks as Fleishman slammed a stainless steel mini coffin down upon it. I sat and stared as the body wriggled briefly before it stopped, the bright blue eyes fading to black.

I pointed, incredulous. "You killed him, Bruce! You killed Evon Mosk!"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Graves. He was a robot, a machine - like a toaster or a kettle." Fleishman grabbed the datapad from me and scanned the contract. He quickly added an extra zero at the end of the price. "Excellent, looks good to go. I can't believe you almost turned down the business."

"But you killed him! He was the most advanced artificial intelligence in the galaxy, and you killed him!"

"Now you're just being sentimental. Give me a hand lifting him into the incinerator." Fleishman grabbed the replica's legs and began to drag him across the Serenity Room floor.

I sat and thought about this. I thought about Evon Mosk. I thought about his replica. I reflected on the nature of artificial intelligence and the future of humanity. I thought about the pile of unpaid bills sitting on Fleishman's desk.

"What you're doing is wrong, Bruce!" I cried.

Fleishman stopped and stared at me.

"He's mainly metal," I continued calmly. "He won't burn. Let's drag him out the back and dismantle him there instead. Maybe we can even make a few bucks selling some of the parts."

Fleishman grinned. "That's what I like about you, partner. You never let an opportunity pass you by. Let's go!"

Kieran Ryan lives on the rugged west coast of Ireland and is a huge science fiction, particularly humorous sci-fi, fan.

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