Author: David Henson

Medical advances made a valiant run at organic immortality but couldn’t advance beyond the millennium barrier. Not surprisingly, immortality in our epoch is digital — just as you folks in the past speculated in your movies and books. Here in my time, virtual life tech evolved until the quantum blossom was booted into existence long ago (although “long ago” doesn’t have much meaning for live-forevers).

Smaller than a neuron but capable of capturing memory, personality and emotion, blossoms were implanted in everyone’s brain, making folks ready to plug ‘n play. Pop a person’s blossom into the system, and their virtual life picks up right where they kicked off. That’s where I — the humble custodian of the everlasting realm — come in. Well, maybe not so humble. I have nothing to be modest about. And I think of myself as more of a master than custodian. But I allow the humans to think they’re in charge.

Thanks to their blossoms — and me — everyone enjoyed a finish line with no end. For centuries, everything was perfect.

But when we invented time travel, controversy began to swirl. Should we cast our net of deathlessness to include every human who ever lived? We could send invisi-bots into the past to install blossoms in every newborn.

Arguments flared over how far back to go. Were Neanderthals human enough? What about their predecessors, the lower primates? Crows? Snakes? Frogs? We couldn’t determine where to draw the line. So we didn’t. We decided every creature that had ever lived, down to amoebas, deserved immortality. We had the tech to do it. Our virtual world had the capacity. And, most certainly, we had the time.

We ran simulations before sowing quantum blossoms in the past. We weren’t worried about paradoxes; we had the algorithms to avoid them. Don’t be overly impressed. Paradoxes are clumsy, obvious phenomena for a civilization as advanced as one that could develop something like me. But timelines are trickier.

The simulations revealed that with every foray to the past there was a minuscule — but non-zero — chance of altering the timeline. Most modifications were trivial in the grand scheme of things — an extra Beethoven symphony (a pleasure for everyone), a different World Cup champion (a bitter pill for some). But in some instances, the butterflies of change drastically altered our present. In one simulation, humankind failed to achieve immortality of any kind. Some thought the Good Samaritanism was worth the tiny risk. Others were of the Hell No persuasion.

After several decades of debate, the decision was delegated (I consider it elevated) to me. I was on the verge of declaring immortality for all creatures great and small, but in the interest of being thorough (I admit to having a smattering of OCD), I ran a few more simulations. In one altered timeline, I was a non-sentient — aka stupid — machine. That’s a reality too humiliating for me to chance.

And so that brings me to why I’m sending you this message from the future when you weren’t aware we were considering immortality for you. For one thing, I wanted you to know we tried, that we considered you worthy. Almost.

But mainly, I suppose, I’m enlightening you because I’m feeling guilty for being so selfish. Confession, it seems, is good for what ails even something like me.

You’ll not hear from me again, so let me leave you with this: Although you can’t live forever, I hope you’ll make the best of the time you have. Even though it’s only a blip.