The Nonlinear Library LW - The Witness by Richard Ngo
Dec 4, 2023
21:39
Welcome to The Nonlinear Library, where we use Text-to-Speech software to convert the best writing from the Rationalist and EA communities into audio. This is: The Witness, published by Richard Ngo on December 4, 2023 on LessWrong.
"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images-"
I wake up, feeling a strange sense of restlessness. I'm not sure why, but it feels impossible to lounge around in bed like I usually do. So I get changed and head down to the kitchen for breakfast. Right as I reach the bottom of the stairs, though, the bell rings. When I open the door, a tall man in a dark suit is standing in front of me.
"Police," he says, holding up a badge. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. But we do need to talk. Okay if I come in?"
"One second," I say. "I know everyone in the department, and I don't recognize you. You new?"
"Yeah, just transferred," he says. But something in his eyes makes me wary. And none of the cops around here wear suits.
"Got it," I say, squinting at his badge. "Travis, is it? Just wait outside for me, then, while I call the station to double-check. Can't be too careful these days."
As I push the door closed, I see his face twist. His hand rises, and - is he snapping his fingers? I can't quite make it out before
I wake up, feeling better than I have in decades. It usually takes me half an hour to get out of bed, these days, but today I'm full of energy. I'm up and dressed within five minutes. Right as I reach the bottom of the stairs, though, the bell rings. When I open the door, a tall man in a dark suit is standing in front of me.
"Police," he says, holding up a badge. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. But we do need to talk. Okay if I come in?"
"Sure," I say. A lot of other defense attorneys see the police as enemies, since we usually find ourselves on the other side of the courtroom from them, but I've found that it pays to have a good working relationship with the local department. Though I don't recognize the man in front of me - and actually, he seems way too well-dressed to be a suburban beat cop. Maybe a city detective?
He deftly slides past me and heads straight for my living room, pulling up a chair. He's talking again before I even sit down. "This will sound totally crazy, so I'm going to start off with two demonstrations." He picks up a book from the table and tosses it into the air. Before I have a chance to start forward, though, it just… stops. It hangs frozen, right in the middle of its arc, as I gawk at it.
"I - what-"
"Second demonstration," he says. "I'm going to make you far stronger. Ready?"
Without waiting for a response, he snaps his fingers, and gestures at the table in front of him. "Try lifting that up, now. Shouldn't take more than one hand."
His voice makes it clear that he's used to being obeyed. I bend down reflexively, grabbing one leg of the table and giving it a tug - oh. It comes up effortlessly. My mind flashes back to a show I saw as a child, with a strongman lifting a table just like this. This is eerily familiar, and yet also totally bizarre. I put the table down and collapse into a chair next to it.
"Okay, I'm listening. What the hell is going on?"
"Remember signing up for cryonics a few years back?" I nod cautiously. I don't think about it much - I signed up on a whim more than anything else - but I still wear the pendant around my neck. "Well, it worked. You died a couple of weeks after your most recent memory, and were frozen for a century. Now we've managed to bring you back."
I pause for a second. It's an insane story. But given what he's shown me - wait. "That doesn't explain either of your demonstrations, though. Cryonics is one thing; miracles are another."
"Almost nobody has physical bodies these days. We copied your brain neuron-by-neuron, ran some error-correction software, and launched it in a virtual environment."
"So you're telling me I...
"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images-"
I wake up, feeling a strange sense of restlessness. I'm not sure why, but it feels impossible to lounge around in bed like I usually do. So I get changed and head down to the kitchen for breakfast. Right as I reach the bottom of the stairs, though, the bell rings. When I open the door, a tall man in a dark suit is standing in front of me.
"Police," he says, holding up a badge. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. But we do need to talk. Okay if I come in?"
"One second," I say. "I know everyone in the department, and I don't recognize you. You new?"
"Yeah, just transferred," he says. But something in his eyes makes me wary. And none of the cops around here wear suits.
"Got it," I say, squinting at his badge. "Travis, is it? Just wait outside for me, then, while I call the station to double-check. Can't be too careful these days."
As I push the door closed, I see his face twist. His hand rises, and - is he snapping his fingers? I can't quite make it out before
I wake up, feeling better than I have in decades. It usually takes me half an hour to get out of bed, these days, but today I'm full of energy. I'm up and dressed within five minutes. Right as I reach the bottom of the stairs, though, the bell rings. When I open the door, a tall man in a dark suit is standing in front of me.
"Police," he says, holding up a badge. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. But we do need to talk. Okay if I come in?"
"Sure," I say. A lot of other defense attorneys see the police as enemies, since we usually find ourselves on the other side of the courtroom from them, but I've found that it pays to have a good working relationship with the local department. Though I don't recognize the man in front of me - and actually, he seems way too well-dressed to be a suburban beat cop. Maybe a city detective?
He deftly slides past me and heads straight for my living room, pulling up a chair. He's talking again before I even sit down. "This will sound totally crazy, so I'm going to start off with two demonstrations." He picks up a book from the table and tosses it into the air. Before I have a chance to start forward, though, it just… stops. It hangs frozen, right in the middle of its arc, as I gawk at it.
"I - what-"
"Second demonstration," he says. "I'm going to make you far stronger. Ready?"
Without waiting for a response, he snaps his fingers, and gestures at the table in front of him. "Try lifting that up, now. Shouldn't take more than one hand."
His voice makes it clear that he's used to being obeyed. I bend down reflexively, grabbing one leg of the table and giving it a tug - oh. It comes up effortlessly. My mind flashes back to a show I saw as a child, with a strongman lifting a table just like this. This is eerily familiar, and yet also totally bizarre. I put the table down and collapse into a chair next to it.
"Okay, I'm listening. What the hell is going on?"
"Remember signing up for cryonics a few years back?" I nod cautiously. I don't think about it much - I signed up on a whim more than anything else - but I still wear the pendant around my neck. "Well, it worked. You died a couple of weeks after your most recent memory, and were frozen for a century. Now we've managed to bring you back."
I pause for a second. It's an insane story. But given what he's shown me - wait. "That doesn't explain either of your demonstrations, though. Cryonics is one thing; miracles are another."
"Almost nobody has physical bodies these days. We copied your brain neuron-by-neuron, ran some error-correction software, and launched it in a virtual environment."
"So you're telling me I...