“So – Nils Baxter, what would you like to say to people who call you the greatest con-man of the 21st century?” Kate Nelson grinned her shit-eating grin. Cameras lights flashed and microphones leaned closer to pick up his response. A few small drones hovered overhead, static propellers softly buzzing.
Nils kept his cool as he spared a look for the camera. “I’d point the critics to our ten thousand beta testers – many of whom were skeptics such as yourself, Kate. A single conversation from beyond the grave manages to change your perspective.”
Kate’s smile remained stapled on as she used a gesture to adjust the angle of her follow drone. “Honestly, I was a bit surprised to get this interview. But, if you can convince one of your most vocal critics, that’d be quite the coup, right?”
Nils let out a confident, calculated little chuckle. “Something like that.”
The other camera crews and reporters had all been given strict instructions – they were here to observe only. Kate had exclusive rights to the interview, the opportunity of a lifetime for the ambitious little troll. But she’d guessed right. He’d picked her because of her massive skepticism (coupled with a massive following).
Funny thing was, that caustic persona was a costume she put on when the cameras were rolling. When they’d met a few hours ago, she’d been very gracious.
They paused for photos when she reached an overlook along the facility catwalk. From up here, they could see the entire accelerator.
Despite having overseen every phase of its design and construction, seeing it completed still affected Nils. An array of conduits all ran to converge around a two-hundred-foot-wide, rhodium-plated torus. Countless rows of capacitors, large as refrigerators, buzzed with potential in a wider circle around the device. At this distance, they looked like a sea of worshipers orbiting the Kaaba in Mecca. Enough power to light up North America for half a day.
“So, this is supposed to be your antenna to the afterlife,” she said. “You’ve built a hundred-billion-dollar donut.”
They both shared a laugh as the camera crew caught the jibe.
“Any worries that this whole contraption is going to blow up in your face when you flip the switch?” she asked.
Nils smiled amicably, gesturing for them to proceed down the walkway. “Well, if that happens, I’m afraid you and I are going down together. But I’m not too worried. The same technology has been battle-tested for years in our phase 1 facilities. This device is simply three orders of magnitude more powerful. It can reach much further with less data, giving our users a higher chance of success with our Connection software.”
“Your previous success rate was what? 5%?” She played the question as easygoing, despite the obvious barb.
“7%, these days.”
She pulled her camera drone closer with a flick of her black-painted nail. “7% chance of speaking with the deceased. Supposedly. Not great odds.”
The cameras flashed, their dark lenses reflecting his considered expression.
“10 years ago, when we first discovered the technology – you’d have said a 7% chance of communing with the dead was 100% impossible.”
She tilted her head as if running his numbers. “I’m not sure that’s how statistics work.”
“I leave the math to my CTO, Ephra.”
Kate crooked one finger to send her drone into a follow shot as they descended a staircase towards the control room. “Originally you’d set out to study background microwave radiation, right?” she asked.
“Exactly. We were trying to learn about the first moments after the big bang. In those early days of AI, we were throwing machine learning at every problem to see what it came up with. Turns out, that background radiation was a window into the afterlife.”
“Right. Half the scientific world labels your software AI-fueled pseudoscience. The other half agrees there isn’t enough data to conclude one way or another.”
“Hopefully we’re about to get a lot more data,” Nils replied. “After today, I think the entire community will be convinced.” He opened the door at the base of the stairs, leading them into the control room.
“What about the over 400% rise in suicide since you first released your Connection software?” she asked.
Nil’s army of PR specialists had thoroughly prepared him for this question. “I’m glad you brought that up, Kate. Obviously, any premature death is a tragedy. And yet, since the very beginning, humanity has grappled with that great mystery: Is death the end? With all the calamity of this century, all the uncertainty, I’d say that now more than ever, we need hope. My company has provided solid, empirical evidence that this existence isn’t the end. Our inevitable fate is more than oblivion. Once the shockwaves of our discovery have settled, our company’s legacy will be that we’ve given real hope to our entire species. A hope so profound, even death can’t take it away.”
Kate’s eyes narrowed slightly “How long did you practice that?”
“Twenty minutes, this morning, in the mirror. How’d I do?”
His off-the-cuff response got a good reaction from the staff and the reporters alike. Even Kate seemed to appreciate the moment of honesty.
A cascading row of desks and computers all led to a massive, hundred-foot-tall screen at the bottom, with readouts of the accelerator as it primed for activation.
Nils had intentionally designed it like NASA’s control room in Houston. And as far as the resources required to pull it off, his company made the Apollo program look like a trip to McDonald’s. But he’d leveraged investors across the entire global stage, across all political boundaries.
“Many would argue that you’ve simply used AI to dupe people into believing what they already want to believe. Why does it require extensive data, photographs, and journal entries, to communicate with the dead? Seems like you’re simply feeding some algorithm all the data it needs for a deep-fake.”
“The dimension we’re just now beginning to explore is unlike anything you or I are familiar with. We couldn’t simply run a phone line to the afterlife. Our orbital constellation scans a vast array of seemingly random cosmic radiation. It requires lots of data to identify the consciousness of the deceased amongst the noise. From there, it can narrow its search, make contact, and translate information back and forth.”
Nils glanced back as the following photographers entered the control room and spread out down a side staircase. He slowed his walk so they could catch candid shots as he and Kate moved past rows of workers on computers.
“The better the data, the better the chances of connection,” Nils continued. “The quality of the information and the time of separation between life and death seem to be the most important factors for the AI to recognize the consciousness in the other dimension.”
She wore a wicked smile as she pulled out her next question. “Is it possible that you wouldn’t even know if your AI is fooling everyone?”
Nils placed a hand on the computer at the base of the control room, then turned to look at the big views screen with all its data. “Our system has enabled detectives across the planet to solve more than two hundred murders by speaking directly to deceased victims – that’s not information you could glean from online shopping patterns. As much as our detractors believe all this to be smoke and mirrors, Kate, the system works. It’s real. And in –” Nils checked the countdown, “Less than five minutes, you’ll be able to see for yourself.”
“You are aware that I was not able to make contact on my last attempt using Connection.” Her tone hardened a little.
Nils was well aware. “As you pointed out, Connection didn’t work 93% of the time with our previous equipment. But with today’s upgrade, we expect an inversion of that success rate.”
Apparently, this was news to Kate. Her brows raised, highlighted by a wave of flashes from drones and cameras. She waved her drone in for a close-up. “Before we find out, I’m reminded of several peer-reviewed studies postulating that this collider could tear a hole in space-time, potentially collapsing reality as we know it. Is it something like Oppenheimer deciding to go forward with the Trinity detonation, despite the outside chance of lighting the entire atmosphere on fire?”
Nils let out a well-practiced laugh – not too derisive, not too long. “Everyone loves to toss that anecdote around, even though none of the scientists at Los Alamos thought it was a real possibility. We’ve taken every precaution and built redundant fail safes.”
“And how much money do you stand to make if this launch goes well?”
If Kate Nelson thought she could shame him for being successful, she hadn’t done her homework. “As it turns out, speaking with the dead is a universal market with zero competition. We have over 120 million phase 1 subscribers and over 1 billion on a waitlist for phase 2. Three months ago, when we announced the date for our phase 2 launch, our stocks broke the two-trillion-dollar mark. So, assuming today goes well…”
“You’ll be richer than god.”
“That money will go back into phase 3 of the project,” he said, while briefly imagining all the various other things he’d do with trillions of dollars. “This facility is just the beginning. Our CTO, Ephra Jayne, has plans for a phase 3 device that could reach back to souls who have been deceased for thousands of years. Think of all the eons of human history that have simply been lost. Anthropologists could interview hunter-gatherers from before written language existed. The Pope could speak with Jesus himself. Can you imagine what discoveries are waiting for us?”
“Great discoveries or just great storytelling? I’m still not convinced it isn’t an elaborate deep-fake, Nils.”
Nils checked the countdown as he brought Kate around to the big desk on the ground floor of the control room. “In forty-three seconds, we’ll make you a believer.”
“Wanna place a hundred on that?”
“Absolutely.”
Cameras flashed as each of them produced the bills. Of course, they’d arranged this bet during the pre-interview.
Ephra shook his hand as he reached the desk. “Hello Nils,” she said.
“Hey, Ephra. Are we ready?”
She turned back to glance over the massive screen. “Safety checks are in. We’re green across the board.”
“Have a seat, Kate.” Nils, ever the gentleman, pulled out a chair in front of a simple keyboard and screen. “We’ve taken the liberty of entering all the data you provided from your first test.”
Kate sat down and waved her camera in so that it could catch the screen over her shoulder. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. “You’re not worried that I’ll be able to see straight through your bullshit?”
“Not worried one bit.”
The countdown timer clicked down to 0 on the massive screen. A hush washed over the room, the silence of a graveyard.
Nils nodded to Ephra and said, “Spin it up.”
Teams throughout the room began their low chatter as the various stages on the collider powered up in sequence. Even Nils couldn’t follow all the technical data on display as the magnetic containment activated, then the emitters. The capacitors began to discharge six weeks of slowly stored energy – the whole system would only run for about an hour on this first test.
The room shook. A distant, low buzz set Nil’s hair on end. If this project actually ‘blew up in his face’, no one here would live long enough to see what went wrong. All you’d find was a patch of glass where San Francisco and the East Bay had been.
That is, if the ‘worst case scenario’ Ephra had outlined last week didn’t come to pass. If the entire universe folded in on itself, well, then there wouldn’t be anyone left to complain.
It was only an outside possibility. You can’t make trillions by playing it safe.
The buzzing settled, and all the numbers on the screen lit up green as each stage successfully initialized. Engineers throughout the room cheered as the cameras caught their various reactions.
With a somewhat anti-climactic chime, a prompt appeared on Kate’s screen.
Connection Established. Sarah Nelson, deceased May 3rd, 2026.
A vertical line blinked below, awaiting Kate’s input.
The reporters all got closer, cameramen crowding around her keyboard and screen. A poor set up, but, ostensibly, the conversation was supposed to be private.
Nils stepped back with Ephra as Kate began typing her first question.
“How’s it looking?” he asked.
His poised CTO adjusted her glasses as she studied the big monitor. “20,000 Connections and climbing. Recognition rate’s even higher than anticipated. 95%.”
“Fantastic.” Nils glanced back at Kate. That mask of snide skepticism had disappeared. Her lips hung slightly ajar as she scanned the text on the screen.
“Think she’s surprised?” Ephra asked.
“Looks like it,” Nils replied.
He wasn’t at an angle to see what she’d written, but all those reporters were getting every word. Two minutes later, Kate’s hard persona had dropped entirely. Tears began flowing, despite all her obvious efforts to keep them in.
Amazing how quickly it always happened. But when you knew, you knew.
Nils gave her a moment to collect herself before he stuck out his hand and cleared his throat.
Kate blinked, as if shocked to find herself surrounded by cameras, reporters, and the control room. She fished the 100 out of her pocket, then grabbed his hand as she passed it over. “I couldn’t be happier to be wrong, Nils.”
“Don’t let me distract you. Talk to your mother,” he said, another rehearsed line.
The reporters ate it up. Their flashes made a strobe effect as he waved back at them, and Kate anxiously sat back down to continue her conversation. Her response, of course, hadn’t been rehearsed. You couldn’t pay for that kind of reaction (and he’d checked).
Once the fervor died down, he returned to Ephra at the stage-left exit. He flashed one more perfect smile for the cameras, then they ducked out of the room.
Ephra led him to a small room with another keyboard and screen – this one without staff, reporters, or enormous overhead displays. Nils didn’t want any live press for this, but he knew he couldn’t get away with not having this conversation.
As he sat down, he stared at the screen and the weight of the words flashing on its surface.
Connection Established. Sven Baxter, deceased October 9, 2014.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Ephra said, squeezing his shoulder before she moved to the exit. She paused, hand at her earpiece. “Some reports coming in of a bit of instability. Nothing outside of parameters so far, but we might need to cut off this first session sooner than expected.”
Nils nodded and tapped his earpiece. “Good to know. Keep me in the loop.”
She shut the door, leaving him alone.
With his dead father.
Hey Dad, he typed. It’s Nils.
The cursor blinked for several seconds, then a response appeared, one letter at a time.
Nils? What is this thing? How is this possible?
Might be hard to explain, Nils wrote back. My company found a way to talk to the afterlife. Hundreds of thousands of people are using it right now.
There was a pregnant pause before more words appeared.
Are you sure it’s safe? It feels wrong. I don’t really have words to describe what it looks like, but it feels like a hole you ripped in my home.
Don’t worry about it, dad. We’ve made sure it’s safe. Nils chewed his lip. I don’t know how long we have to talk before we have to close the connection.
Okay. So what do you want to talk about?
Nils frowned, annoyed by his father’s nonchalance. I don’t know, maybe you can congratulate me on doing the impossible. For heading the fastest-growing company in the history of the world. For finding a way to bridge time, space, and causality to open communication between the living and dead. I’m worth more than a trillion dollars now, dad.
Another longer-than-it-should-have-been silence. Then: Congratulations?
What’s with the question mark?
I guess it just doesn’t matter as much here. If you want to talk, tell me how your mother’s doing. Have her there with you?
Nils ground his teeth. She’s not here right now. I am. I built this place, so it’s me you get today.
Mr. ‘trillion dollars’ still can’t manage even the most basic relationship, can he? All your mother needs is for you to stop being an asshole for, I don’t know, ten minutes, and you could fix things.
Nils fingers crashed into the keyboard. Oh, and you’re going to give me advice on relationships now?
Being dead gives you a bit of perspective. Since your trillion-dollar company built a way to chat with me, I figured you might want to actually listen, but I guess not. You figure it out yourself in a few years when you get here. Then it won’t cost you a dime.
Two minutes in, and Nils had already had enough. How had he expected the conversation to go anyway? He’d had enough to tell interviewers he’d ‘checked on his pop’, and that the man was as ‘crotchety as ever’. Hopefully, no one tried to pry any further than that.
I’ll make sure you can talk to Mom next time we power up the accelerator. Nils typed. Then he sent the command to shut down the connection.
An error message popped up.
<Error 187. Unable to close Connection bridge.>
Nils double-tapped his earpiece. “Ephra, what’s error 187?”
“We’re looking at that,” Ephra replied, her voice tense. “There are a few people hitting it – something about power feedback preventing us from closing bridge points. We’re on it.”
I’d like that, his father said, not knowing that Nils had tried to hang up. I just wanted to say I was sorry, you know, for not being there for any of you. For some reason, all that mattered back then was building the company. I get a feeling you know what I mean.
Nils typed: It’s alright, dad, then immediately deleted the words.
I get the feeling you’ve got no one around to tell you anything straight these days. You’re on top, free to ignore anyone who doesn’t confirm how brilliant you are.
Nils blew a breath out through his teeth. He tried again to sever the connection but got the same error message.
The hole is growing, his father said. You should stop whatever this is.
I told you not to worry about it, Nils replied quickly. We know what we’re doing.
There’s that arrogance. That’s what I mean. Nils could imagine his father’s disapproving sigh, yanking him back twenty years.
“We have a problem,” Ephra said on his earpiece.
Something’s happening, his father wrote. There’re new holes everywhere. You’ve got to stop this.
Nils’ hands hovered over the keyboard, shaking. “What’s going on, Ephra?”
“There’s been a cascade failure,” Ephra said. “As connections increased and the power spiked, things started to destabilize…”
It burns! It burns! Nils, what the fuck are you doing? I’m ripping apart. I’m…it’s all coming apart.
“Shut it down!” Nils said to Ephra. “Close the links!”
“Whenever we try to close a link, new ones open – some recursive loop in the software. We capped users at 358,000, but we’ve got times that in bridges now—”
“Then just pull the plug!” Nil shouted, standing. “Shut it down!”
“Oh, right, why didn’t I think of that?” she shouted. “Maybe it’s the fifty million antiprotons spinning at 97% the speed of light in a magnetic containment loop. Safely shutting it down takes hours. Pulling the plug is like dropping a nuke in the middle of San Francisco.”
We’re all burning, you fucker! The words were coming slower, each letter appearing with longer gaps between. Fuck you! You’ve broken everything! You’ve torn it all apa—
The text disappeared, replaced with the standard splash screen.
Connection ended. Session length: 5 minutes 56 seconds.
Forever Life is not liable for any statements, true or false, made by deceased individuals during your Connection. Conversations may be monitored to improve future experiences for Connection users.
We hope you had a meaningful Connection. We care about your feedback. If you are unsatisfied with your session or experienced any technical difficulties, please feel free to contact support@foreverlife.com.
***
Nils swirled the whiskey in his glass and stared out at the San Francisco skyline. The low roar of traffic and emergency sirens barely reached him up here, a distant whisper of humanity somewhere far beyond any immediate concern.
Ephra entered the room and poured herself a glass before sitting heavily in the armchair across from him.
“What’s the fallout?” he asked.
She took a sip and winced. “You still buy the cheap shit?”
Nils shrugged. “Never could tell the difference. This does the job.” He downed the rest of his tumbler and took up the bottle to pour another.
“The content filters we installed caught most of the incident before it hit the user base.”
Nils nodded. “So only folks with admin access would have seen what I saw?”
“There were a handful,” she said. “We might have to deal with them later, but for now they’re all major stockholders with keen interest to toe the line. The regular users, by in large, had meaningful exchanges before we cut off the actual stream. Turns out, the generative AI was able to pick up the baton mid-sentence without a glitch. The one thing that worked flawlessly today.”
“And the actual afterlife…”
Ephra’s eyes and tone betrayed little, but there was a tightening around her jaw as she responded. “Entirely collapsed. Apparently, punching 13,500,000 holes into that dimension at once led to a chain reaction that tore the entire continuum apart. All thanks to a software failure coming at just the wrong time.”
“Blaming my guys for this, are you?”
Ephra shrugged. “Might have been a spike in power from my hardware that triggered the glitch. It’ll take weeks to figure it out.”
“Don’t bother,” Nils replied. “We can’t be seen investigating a thing that didn’t happen, right?”
She slowly raised one eyebrow, holding her glass of amber whiskey with both hands. “Right,” she said.
“This actually makes things easier for us, in the long run,” Nils said. “We’re still riding high in public opinion. Stocks jumped 28%, despite the early cutoff. That’s in no small part thanks to my new friend, Kate Nelson. The launch went about as well as anyone could have hoped for.”
Ephra’s hands flexed as she held her glass.
Nils took another long drink, enjoying the numbing fire of the cheap whiskey as it made a sun in his stomach. “You know, we should have always gone with the AI version anyway. People don’t want the real product. Now we can feed them platitudes, comfort – give them the catharsis they’re looking for rather than…” He trailed off, focusing on the blinking light at the top of the Transamerica building. The iconic building was a perfect mockery of the ancient Egyptian pyramids. Cheap concrete and glass, a monument to capitalism in place of a monument for the dead.
“Our AI isn’t going to give us anything when it comes to anthropology. I had big plans there,” Ephra reminded him with clipped syllables. “And what about your ‘hope so profound, even death can’t take it away’?”
Nils scoffed. “Would you rather go back to before we started, with 20k in government grants and ramen noodles? Cry your way to the fucking bank.” He refilled her glass, even though she hadn’t finished her first. “You should be up, what, 34 billion in one day? Did I get the math right this time?”
She slowly clinked her glass to his and drank.