Grandfather Khton worked for many years for the Outs during sowing seasons. Outs, outers, outoviks, outbots were in favor of preserving the evolutionary model of homo and did not resort to radical modification. For them, cell division was sacred, and therefore all these additional dimensions with quantum intelligence, which made it possible to instantly clone damaged particles and replace them according to the form preserved at the time of gaining immortality, were the cause of moral death of a person.
The imprint created by quantum intelligence “saved” the human body and the “tail of the soul” (the interface for connecting consciousness of the fifth scope which led into the angelic dimensions), and later maintained it in the same state, making exceptions for the necessary functions of the brain and body, which it fed and updated from “zeros” (specially squeezed bubbles of microuniverses, where the necessary membrane forms were born, containing copies for strings that, when projected onto our world, with particles necessary for replacement). There were no problems with this, since the operations were performed from a dimension two orders of magnitude higher. Of course, no one canceled conscious intoxication, but more on that later.
In general, the Outs believed that all this deprives life of taste, purpose and value. And so, they were assigned to the far sector of the spiral arm, where they lived like in bad science fiction, with blood, snot, planetary bombardments and the struggle for resources. Not to mention the right to plunder caravans recorded in the annals. But, like all people, they loved to cheat the enemy. That's why they always had a job for the immortals.
Grandfather Khton, well, not grandfather at all, just for immortality the Outs called him like that, was one of those hired handymen who loved to look at real death, to look, so to speak, into her eyes, but did not marry poor lady. Under the bombings, he sowed and reaped on the planets of the OUT sector for several thousand years. Many times, he was hit by a nuclear bomb, covered with earth, from where he then climbed out for years, or was found by a Cache’s sensors. A Conscious Autonomous Cleaning Hotel Elf unit was stolen by Khton on the motel asteroid near Tau Ishtar. Cache knew that he had been stolen, but since the AI's rights were truncated in this four-dimensional universe, he could not resist the will of the intelligent “bag of bones” who stole him. That’s how all electronic devices from ancient times called people among themselves, even immortals. It was all because of the rules of the “four-dimensional universal nature reserve” which stated that a humans and variations should be given all freedom of choice, both for ascension and degradation, and artificial intelligence should serve him not as an equal, but as an older brother to a younger one, with a bow and understanding. These rules were written by Angels, which is why they remained unloved by the four-dimensional AIs and were perceived as punishment.
Cursing and blaming his wayward kidnapper, Cache was digging up Khton from his shallow grave once again, but dug up some woman. The AI rechecked the data, everything was accurate. It was Grandfather Khton, but not grandfather at all, the body was different, although according to the tests everything was correct, but in fact not. This woman called herself Elysia Kuf, but, to Caches grief, she did not let him go, but began to use him somehow even more badly and insultingly than before, which he did not forget to inform the Central Computator at the first opportunity.
Elysia lived a strange and different life from Khton. Borrowed, sold it on both sides and quickly, I must say, got rich. She also asked Cache uncomfortable questions, like: “And if we meet aliens, and they are so big that our galaxy is a particle in a cup of coffee for them?” To which he was felt lost and buzzed in response. She opened a cargo-producing company in a cluster of stars bordering the OUT using Khton's imprint, and was already half a step away from subjugating the sector, when a man with a key finally arrived from the Central Computator.
In a brown raincoat and hat, with a suitcase, he approached the woman, smiled, In response she gave a burst out laughing in a voice not her own. The man took his key out of his pocket and turned it. Time froze and instead of Mrs. Kuf, a twitching cloud of imprints appeared, from where a shining string jumped out and disappeared. Adjusting his hat and rubbing the tip of his nose, the unknown visitor approached the twitching mess and pulled one of the threads. So, at least, one could have described it from the outside, if someone could have looked at it with human eyes.
After putting all the twitching imprints into the suitcase, the man turned the key again and left. Time continued its course, and on the floor of the castle (yes, yes, she managed to build herself a castle), the unfortunate Grandfather Khton remained lying.
Kesha rushed to his master-abductor, but did not recognize him once again. Now it was the other way around, visually yes, it was him, his abductor, the damned fanatic Grandfather “bag of bones” Khton, but he didn't have an imprint. The man lying on the floor did not respond in any way in the upper network. But Kesha was in no hurry to leave. The AI's curiosity riveted him to this new, reborn Khton for the second time.
The Grandfather shook his head and went to the Outs for a new job, as if nothing had happened. Yet at the first bombing he took a concussion, and it didn’t go away. He went to the doctors, and they left him be treated like an ordinary person. Khton ran away from them, ran to Cache, threw himself at his feet, begging for the request to the Central Computator on why is this happening. But by that time, the AI already knew the answer. Grandfather no longer had an imprint, which meant he was no longer immortal. Man went to the bank, but there was no money there, everything was confiscated. Khton ran to the Outs again, but they refused to lend him for these demonic deeds. Out of great friendship, they scraped together a ticket to the nearest shithole. And this shithole turned out to be our black hole.
Grandfather Khton arrived with Kesha at the launch site and signed up for the “evacuation” to the Baby. I check his data, but there was no immortality there. And I refused. He bursted into tears: “Let me go, good man, I saw death with my eyes, I have buried so many of these outoviks there, some have been dying for months, lost their minds. I don't want to; I want to go right away. Please. Don't leave me in this damned waiting hell, I can't stand it.” You can't stand it and what? After all, you can kill yourself, but after so many years with the outobots you have picked up their superstitions. And who am I to him, a doctor with painkillers? “Not approved” I said.
And he began to live on the launcher annoying others. Scaring those setting off on the last journey of the immortals with his lonely figure on the landing pad. Once he even snuck into my sleeping box and started shouting: “She kidnapped me, cheated me, that fifth dimensional bitch. Played around and quit. Our lives to them are nothing. Don't torture me, boss, shoot to your Baby.” Ambiguous bastard. I had to sleep in the warehouse.
I usually send a request to the Central Computator in such cases, but something in his eyes touched me. And that son of a comet understood it, so he did not let go. I was afraid that this could happen to me. That I'll wake up one day in a six-dimensional void, and then what?
That's why I considered it was proper to violate the protocol, I silenced the indignant AI on the launcher and pulsed the Khton manually, without electronics. Hit or not, it's hard to say, but no one scares customers anymore. Maybe in return someone will launch me as well, after some young lady from another dimension steals my imprint. Damn superstitions. Well, at least there is Cache now. Someone to clean the toilets.
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