It always sounded wrong at first.
A thin electronic shriek that climbed in pitch to a squeal. A whinny and buzz in the headphones, static underneath. Four notes, sometimes five.
A cassette that screamed.
Computers used to make that sound. Martin remembered. A violent, mechanical noise. Meaningless.
The screen cleared.
READY
The cursor blinked.
Martin put his hands on the keyboard.
hi em
The cursor blinked some more.
hi dad
He sat back. The office chair creaked.
bad day?
how did you know?
you only load me on bad days
not always
mostly
Martin smiled.
ok, fair
A moment’s pause.
tell me?
So he did.
The computer looked out of time on his desk. Small screen. Cheap keyboard. Cassette deck. Nothing was connected except for the power.
No network. No wireless. No account.
Nothing on a cloud.
Emma had insisted.
The cassette had once been a game. Her black marker wrote over its original label.
SIDE A: PROGRAM
EM
Martin had called it an AI. She’d pulled a face.
“Don’t call it that.”
This had been in the hospital. She had her laptop, though she could only work for half-an-hour or so before she needed to rest.
“So what is it, then?”
“Nothing. It’s just, I dunno, a thing.”
“A thing that talks like you do.”
“Just barely.”
She turned the laptop toward him.
He could see the conversation on the screen.
mum says you were rude to the nurse
not that rude
she said you called her an officious prick
doesn't sound a bit like me
Emma grinned.
“It isn’t me.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He pushed the laptop back toward her, and she closed it.
“It’s supposed to be small. It’s on purpose.”
“OK...”
“I don’t want it to get too good. In case you start thinking it’s me.”
“I’m not going to confuse it.”
“People confuse a lot of things when they’re sad.”
He didn’t answer.
Emma leaned back, her hands resting on the blanket.
“Only one copy.”
“Em...”
“Dad.”
“Alright. One copy.”
“No cheating. No backups.”
“OK.”
“No digital copy somewhere else.”
“Yes.”
“No cloud.”
“Yes.”
“Nothing else.”
He looked at her.
“It’s just a thing by itself,” she said.
The sun was shining outside, bright through the window.
“What happens when the tape wears out?”
She shrugged. “Then it wears out.”
“Emma.”
She looked at him.
“I’m serious. It wears out.”
At first he’d loaded it a couple of times a week.
After a while it was less.
The machine lived in the spare room. The cassette was in a drawer in the desk.
Sometimes he’d go for months without touching it. Sometimes he couldn’t go more than a few days.
He found her coat at the back of the cupboard.
A letter came, addressed to her.
He heard a song she’d liked.
Then he’d go upstairs and put the tape in.
Press play. Listen to the shriek.
READY
hi
hi dad
It knew some things that she’d chosen to give it.
Not that much. Not enough.
I'm thinking of selling the car
good
why?
it's shit
why do you say that?
don't know
you hated it
i must have had a reason
Sometimes it could feel like more.
i bumped into claire today
what, from school?
yes
is she still terrifying?
she wasn't terrifying
you said she was once
when?
no idea
He searched his phone. Found a years-old message he’d sent to her.
CLAIRE STILL TERRIFYING BTW
He laughed.
Sometimes it was like finding a scrap of paper.
remember coney island
yes
what do you remember
tater tots, and it was windy
what else
did mom lose her glasses?
She had.
The woman from Bereavement Continuity Services sounded kind.
They had Emma’s continuity consent status on record as declined.
“Yes.”
But Martin was next of kin, so he could request a reassessment.
“No. Thank you.”
She explained that they’d use existing material without creating a commercial persona. Messages, video, voice, photographs, other kinds of approved archives.
“No. Thank you.”
She said she understood. Gave him a reference number, in case he changed his mind.
Martin didn’t write it down.
It was Tuesday. He’d just put the trash out.
The tape shrieked. Then stopped.
R TAPE LOADING ERROR, 0:1
Martin waited.
He rewound the tape. Pressed play again.
This time:
READY
you didn't load
i'm loaded
first time it failed
A pause.
i wouldn't know
no
how was your day?
Martin smiled.
trash day
you remembered for once
It didn’t happen again for a couple of months. Then it did.
Later, twice in one month.
He cleaned the heads. Then he went online, searched for a better cassette player.
He stopped before he bought one.
But he decided to start keeping count.
DATE. LOAD. ERRORS.
Every failed load dragged the tape over the heads.
After he filled up a page in a notebook, he tore it out.
He could just copy it.
He looked up how.
Late one evening he got as far as putting a cable on the desk.
The transfer software was free. It’d take minutes.
As many backups as he wanted. On something that didn’t wear out.
Might even be able to fix the damaged sections.
He got an annual email.
CONTINUITY CONSENT STATUS: DECLINED
A reminder that “family-directed memorial options” remained available.
Martin put the cable back in the cupboard.
The errors became the norm.
Two attempts.
Three.
Sometimes five.
R TAPE LOADING ERROR, 0:1
Rewind.
R TAPE LOADING ERROR, 0:1
Again.
R TAPE LOADING ERROR, 0:1
He took the cassette out.
Shook it. Blew on it. Put it back.
The scream completed.
READY
Martin typed:
hi em
hiHe waited.
The cursor blinked.
em?
He shivered.
who am i?
dad
A long pause.
martin
yes
He stayed another twenty minutes.
It forgot the name of the street where they lived, but it remembered his brother.
It thought her mom drank coffee. She hated it.
He didn’t correct it.
It was Emma’s birthday.
He thought about the tape on the way to work. And again after dinner.
But he didn’t load it.
The next Monday he had a bad meeting. Some project that was going to be canceled.
Some man younger than Emma had talked over him for fifteen minutes.
Martin made tea when he got home.
Went upstairs and opened the drawer.
Play.
Shriek.
R TAPE LOADING ERROR, 0:1
Rewind.
Again.
Error.
Again.
Error.
His hand wavered.
Again.
Error.
He stopped.
He waited.
One more try.
The screen cleared.
READY
Martin typed:
hi em
A long pause.
hi
who am i?
The cursor blinked.
martin
He watched the word. Nothing.
who is martin?
your dad
Martin stopped.
whose dad?
A pause.
your
Then nothing.
Martin stayed still.
mar...in
A pause again.
sorry
Eventually he typed:
that's all right
bad day?
yes
tell me
not tonight
okay
He sat there after the cursor stopped blinking.
Rewound the cassette and pressed play.
R TAPE LOADING ERROR, 0:1
He ejected the cassette. Put it back in the drawer.
A story from the Static Drift universe.