The query I get most often from corporeal folks is, “What’s it like, making the transition?”

Good question.

The answer is somewhat complicated, I’m afraid. There’s explaining the details of the procedure itself, and there’s what the experience is like for those going through it. I’m happy to walk you through it, but before we begin, I really should ask if you’ve just had a big meal.

What? Oh… no reason.

It’s not a straightforward process, extracting what makes someone human from their corporeal form and then translating it into a type of life that can exist in the digital world. Philosophers have been asking since the beginning of time what makes us human, and they’ve come up with more answers than you can shake a stick at. As it turns out, they’re all wrong.

What makes you human is your central nervous system.

Which should be no surprise since scientists had been saying that all along. (Personally, I think anyone calling themselves a “philosopher” is an individual who’s allergic to hard work and is trying to swindle free drinks, but that’s a separate conversation.) But hey, what do they know? Quite a bit, as it turns out, though like I said earlier, it wasn’t us Terrans who figured out the trick. The species we stole… err, borrowed… the technology from were only vaguely humanoid; translating that into something that would work on Homo Sapiens took a great deal of trial and error.

So how does it work? Well, the first step is to separate the nervous system from the rest of one’s body, which is an extremely delicate procedure. Obviously, you don’t want to be awake for this part, actually, you don’t want to be awake for any of it. Removing the nerves intact is delicate work, considering it runs over seventy kilometers in length, much of which is thinner than a human hair. Damaging those fibers during the procedure will have profound consequences, ones that will follow you into your next life.

“But you said you could create anything you wanted in cyberspace!” I hear you cry, and that’s true, to a point. But remember what else I said, what makes you human is your nervous system, from your brain down to the smallest fibers in your hands and feet. Damaging any of it means entering the virtual world less than whole, and that is the one thing we cannot change. To turn a famous historical quote on its head… if you’re damaged in the real world, you’ll be damaged in the Matrix.

Once all the nerves and neurons and brain tissue are extracted, they’re placed in an oxygenated nutrient bath while technicians thoroughly map the entire system. Imagine a kilo of lumpy cottage cheese attached to a long tangled mess of gray spaghetti, bubbling away in a thick red soup of…

… hey, don’t look at me like that. I asked you if you’d had lunch. Mop is over there.

As I was saying, it’s a lot easier to map the network when the nerve fibers aren’t encased in bone and meat, and part of that process is recording the frequency and amplitude of the electrical impulses traversing your own personal neural network. It takes a lot of raw computing power to pull it off, even with quantum systems. That forms the template for the following step of the procedure.

You’re still snoozing away inside your physical brain while they’re mapping out your nervous system, but a map is not the territory. If I draw a sketch of, say, Freya’s deck plans on a piece of paper and then set it on fire, the actual ship doesn’t burst into flames. This isn’t a voodoo doll we’re talking about, so how do we take the you that is you and move it from the physical world into the virtual?

Basically, we cheat. Sort of.

See, electrical energy powers our bodies, and electricity is something that can bridge the gap between the organic and the synthetic. By wiring the organic neural system directly into a quantum computer network, we can begin downloading the basic framework that will help create the virtual personality that will be the new you. That takes us most of the way there, but there’s one last step required for the transition.

Yeah, this part always gets them. Sick bags are directly in front of you.

As difficult as the preliminary work is, it’s nothing compared to the last stage necessary to make the transition a reality. Despite all the mapping we’ve already done, it’s nowhere near detailed enough for our needs. We require something that’s accurate down to the individual atoms and their quantum eigenstate, which of course is impossible. Can’t be done, ask any physicist, and yet we do it all the time. How? I’ll skip the math, because frankly it’ll put us both to sleep, but basically, we average out the various superpositions in the neural network, which is close enough for our purposes. While it’s impossible to determine what a single quantum state looks like, when you’re dealing with a trillion trillion of them, they break down into categories as rigorous as an actuarial table.

How do we map all those atoms, you ask? Simple. We run your brain through a blender.

I’m kidding, of course. We don’t do that. That would be silly. No, instead what we do is slice your nerves and brain and neurons into slivers a molecule thick and scan every atom while transmitting that data into the computer. We start with the peripheral nerves and work our way up, using that information to build your new virtual neural network, transferring the data from each individual slice. It’s fascinating really, shaving the brain stem into paper-thin wedges…

… yep, thar’ she blows! Chuckles.

Anyway, there you have it! A brand-new Avatar, ready to awaken in their new virtual world. We keep trained staff on hand to guide the new arrival and show them the ropes, and they’ll remain in a training facility that limits their new abilities until they have them under control. Trust me, the things a newbie can dredge up from the depths of their subconscious can scare the bejeezus out of you until they master it.

What can I say? It’s not for everyone.

Getting my new friend Ser Vurgaiqaunx to talk wouldn’t be easy. Information brokers by their very nature are a paranoid lot, and it was a safe bet he had the latest security software guarding his databases. Bluffing my way into his network, my standard modus operandi, wouldn’t work here, and that was assuming what he knew about the Brotherhood was even saved electronically. If it was even half as dangerous as I suspected it was, it was possible the only place he kept that data was inside his head. If so, infiltrating his network would do me no good whatsoever.

It was a place to start, though.

I didn’t bother probing his defenses; I was certain they were top of the line. No, I had something a little different in mind.

In less than a second I found what I was searching for in the planet directory. I’ve worked this angle many times over the years, and it has yet to fail me. The first step was to find me a body. Not just any body, mind you, I have specific tastes when it comes to the job.

It’s probably no surprise that in a galaxy threatened by the murderous artificial drones of the Yīqún that personal robots never took off. They limit the few that exist to drudge work, like automated factories, and are purposely kept dumb as rocks. For anything else, they’ll hire an alien. There’s always plenty of species out there struggling to get by who will gladly take a job as a servant or butler or their equivalent. Even some Terrans have gone that route, though not many considering how most races view us.

But one aspect of civilized life that’s almost always automated is waste disposal.

Let’s face it, nobody likes garbage. It smells, it’s unsightly, it’s unsanitary, and it’s a major pain in the ass to get rid of. More importantly, there isn’t a single kid in the galaxy that dreams of someday toting other people’s trash, no matter what the species. It’s a reality, and it needs to be dealt with, but almost every race I’ve met is more than happy to let robots handle it.

Think about it… mechanical servants that are kept purposefully stupid and go everywhere. Just imagine the possibilities. I certainly have. Grins.

It took a little digging, but I finally pinpointed my quarry’s physical location. I’m sure he had several backups and bolt holes just in case, but most folks are creatures of habit and it looked like Vurgaiqaunx was no exception. Once I had that nailed down, it was simplicity itself to learn who handled waste pickup at that site and their schedule. Since the entire system was automated, the same transport vehicle visited that building twice a week.

I scheduled it for routine maintenance.

While that was happening, I purchased a smaller delivery bot through a dummy account, along with a memory storage unit. That was for me, since there was no way I was going to fit my gestalt in the waste transport’s limited brain. The delivery bot, now outfitted with the markings of a local delivery company, delivered the package to the maintenance depot, along with a set of new orders when it tapped into the mainframe. I instructed the maintenance bots to install the memory unit inside the waste transport and then wipe the memory from their data banks.

Here’s something else that makes my job easier; people are lazy. And when I say people, I’m referring to all sapients, no matter the species. If given even half a chance, they will do the absolute bare minimum to scrape by and complain about doing even that. And although the entire galaxy was terrified of the Yīqún, the data connections in the waste vehicle’s pea-sized brain used for testing were the same type used by a standard memory storage unit. Literally “Plug and Play”. Took less than a second to install.

I mean, I get it. Who in their right mind could imagine a fleet of garbage trucks suddenly gaining sentience and rising in rebellion? It’s utterly laughable.

Thinks for a moment

… naw, it’d never work. Be fun trying, though. And don’t look at me like that, I never said I was in my right mind. Being completely serious for a moment, you could say I haven’t been in my “right” mind since they removed it from my skull.

With the maintenance complete, waste transport vehicle #34691 was returned to service and reassigned its original route. Two days later, it arrived for its normal pickup at a certain nondescript building on the outskirts of the metropolis, connecting to the building’s waste disposal system as it prepared to receive the last three days’ worth of trash.

Here’s the thing; every data connection in and out of that building was shielded and encrypted to within a centimeter of its life. All of them… except one. And since only an authorized waste transport could access it, there was no reason to encrypt it, now was there? Not to mention the fact that if he had mucked about with it, they’d cut off his service. It’s just so odd to me that no one else has ever come to that realization and used it to their own advantage. Once the transport made the connection, I was inside and slashing my way through Vurgaiqaunx’s security in… dare I say it?

...in the blink of an eye.

Like I said, getting inside was only half the battle. I still had to find the data I was looking for, and if it wasn’t in his system, somehow convince Vurgaiqaunx to tell me what I wanted to know. Well, first thing’s first. I began rifling through his database, copying any file that looked intriguing while I looked for any mention of the Brotherhood. You see, getting inside was the hard part, since my new best friend had made the same mistake most do with security. They spend all their efforts trying to keep intruders out, with no thought given to what happens if they somehow sneak in. It’s what I call the “Tortoise Shell” defense, and while it’s effective against most data thieves, it doesn’t offer you much backup in case it fails.

Oh, there was an alarm designed to alert the Admin that his security had been breached, as well as an option that would allow him to completely scrub the system. The only problem with that setup is that I hadn’t triggered the alarm, I’d bypassed it, leaving him blissfully unaware there was now a fox in the henhouse. Really, considering that this was his livelihood and all, he really needed a better strategy in place. He’d likely done the work himself, worried that a contractor might leave behind a back door that would grant him access, and then congratulated himself on his brilliance.

Amateurs. Sigh. Well, it makes my job easier. I really shouldn’t complain.

The size of his database surprised me, it was larger than I’d estimated, and it took some time to go through it all. I learned quite a few things that would pique Chris’ interest, but sadly there wasn’t so much as a hint of data relating to the Brotherhood. So, he was playing things close to the vest, just as I’d expected.

On to Phase 2, then.

Vurgaiqaunx was huddled over one of his screens, reviewing some new intel when I put in a call. “Morning sunshine,” I grinned, appearing on the display.

He started back in shock, his eyestalks gyrating wildly. “What? What is the meaning of this?” he sputtered. After locating my signal, he froze, unable to believe what his data was telling him.

“Your software isn’t lying,” I informed him, “I really am inside your network.”

“Impossible!” he roared, launching an attack to purge me from his database.

I yawned. Politely.

He didn’t take it well.

His efforts grew even more frantic as he threw everything at me but the kitchen sink, to no avail. Disabling his arsenal and rendering myself immune to his barrage had been the first thing on my agenda once I downloaded myself into his network. When his attempts to drive me out or delete me failed, in desperation he reached for the nuclear option. Vurgaiqaunx had decided to crash the network and delete the information forever… including me.

“Really, don’t you think that ‘Zero-Zero-Zero Destruct Zero’ is just a tad melodramatic for a code phrase?” I chided him, as the attempt failed. “If you’ve gotten that out of your system, maybe now we could talk?”

“What do you want?” he asked nervously. With good reason, I might add, considering the circumstances.

“All I want is what you know about the Brotherhood of Shadows,” I told him. “You give me that, and I’m gone.”

“I already told you, I’ve never heard of them,” he blustered.

“Really? Are you sure that’s how you want to play it?” I asked him. “Before you answer, think long and hard about where I am… and just what I could do.”

Vurgaiqaunx switched tactics and tried to stonewall me instead. “Go ahead, delete the data,” he sneered.

“Why? You’ve got backups stashed somewhere, I’m certain. Complete waste of my time,” I replied. “No, I had something different in mind.” I pulled up a file, one of the juicier ones I’d stumbled across in here and flashed it onto the screen. “I thought I’d just dump all your hard-won information onto the data network and flag your enemies that it was all up for grabs.” He blanched, inasmuch as his species was capable of that, but I wasn’t done yet. “I mean, I’m sure that Iqbaalix won’t mind that you…”

I paused, pretending to reread the file. “Oh, my... his sister? I must say, I am impressed. After all, just because he’s the local crime boss, and has at least a dozen bodies tied to him, you don’t think he’d get upset about something like that, do you?”

That was all it took. He crumpled like a cheap suit. It was actually kind of sad.

“... all right,” he whispered, “I’ll tell you.”