I curse my parents’ choice of Fatimah. A name, whether given at birth, self-ascribed or bestowed by mocking contemporaries is so entwined with identity. Change by deed poll seemed the only solution to the seemingly irremovable tags of “Fatty” and “Tatty.” Identifying a fitting substitution was the challenge.
But that was before my career as a Digital Modifier with the Palimpsest Foundation. Digital Falsifier would be a more accurate descriptor. The greatest perk of apprenticeship was learning the tools of the trade,- pixel manipulation, real-time video simulation, voice replication,- from a true master. The downside was moving far from family to the glaring redness of the Foundation’s god-forsaken HQ in the Mohave Desert.
The classroom trailer was smart-controlled against the destructive extremes of temperature and desiccation. Jorge, my supervisor and mentor, took pains to ensure I pronounced his name correctly. “It’s Horch-hay!” My education had started with a scroll of ancient newspapers. Date,-April 15 1912. Headlines,- White Star Liner Titanic Strikes an Iceberg — Passengers Are Safe and the Vessel Is in Tow (The Elmira Star-Gazette): All Titanic Passengers Are Safe. Transferred in Lifeboats at Sea (The Evening Sun).
Jorge sneered. “1500 dead. Pre-reportage at its most historical inaccurate.”
Practicals started in Year 2. Most successful, was the phone call to Ma. She was concerned that my lack of cooking experience meant I was not eating.
“Fatty what are you cooking tonight?”
Fusilli Arrabiata. They fly in fresh tomatoes from Sacramento. I typed.
Long pause “You’re very quiet this evening”
More than you realise Ma, I haven’t said a word. You’ve been speaking with an AI computer programme. I type; it talks in my voice. It’s been trained to speak as an excited me, subdued me, upbeat me… and no Americanisations. So tomartoes not tomaytoes on my pasta!
I knew from Ma’s silence that she was impressed.
I chose real-time facial re-enactment technology as my year 3 module. This involved videoing my own face,- contorted, smiling, frowning, cheeks puffed out, sucked in, eyebrows dancing like sand ripples sculpted by the outgoing tide,- a modern day avatar of those classical self- portrait masters. By superimposing these expressions onto computer generated Ancient Greek style tragi-comic face masks, I amassed an exhaustive collection of templates,- all of me. Now I could, with appropriate pixel manipulation, be anywhere and say anything.
I qualified. Years passed. I became attuned to where surface deceptions hide an original below, expert at peeling back the layers, at reading the substratum and exposing the original. My appointment as Head of Digital Espionage surprised no-one.
******
Jorge turned off the computer and pulled the plug.
******
“Dr Pimp to the Video Lab immediately.” How I regretted changing my name to Palimpsest! Using nicknames was not permitted, neither “Pest” nor “Pimp.” Subversion in the ranks. As I sprinted across the compound, my foot snubbed against a protruding boulder. I looked down. My legs were liquefying to a transparency revealing the pebbles and dust of the desert floor.
