Consciousness Tax Day

Tyrell Okonkwo-3 had been on hold for six hours.

The pleasant voice of the Good Fortune Corporation Consciousness Revenue Service looped again: "Your identity is important to us. Please remain continuous while we verify your existence. Current wait time: indeterminate."

Through the neural link, Tyrell-3 could feel his other selves experiencing the same thing. Tyrell-1 was furious. Tyrell-5 was meditating. Tyrell-7 had started drinking four hours ago and was now singing off-key somewhere in Neo-Singapore.

April 15th. Consciousness Tax Day. The worst day of the year for anyone who'd ever made the mistake of forking themselves.

The Forms

The original Tyrell Okonkwo had forked himself in 2171, back when it seemed like a good idea. Work-life balance through multiplication. One of him could handle the career, another the relationships, a third the hobbies he never had time for.

What the brochures didn't mention was Form CTR-7734: Annual Fork Reconciliation Assessment.

Twenty-three pages of questions like: "Did any instance of you earn income that another instance did not?" and "Please list all jurisdictions in which any version of you maintained continuous consciousness for more than 48 hours" and the ever-popular "Have any of your forks been terminated, merged, or otherwise rendered discontinuous? If yes, attach Form D-90 (Death Declaration, Partial Self)."

Tyrell-3 had earned income. So had Tyrell-1, 2, 4, 5, and 6. Tyrell-7 was technically unemployed but had won 47,000 credits gambling on Mars, which raised questions about whether that counted as earned income or windfall, and whether the Mars Gaming Commission's tax treaty with Nexus Central applied to forks or only original consciousnesses.

The AI accountant Tyrell-3 had hired gave up after the third recursive paradox.

The Crisis

Through the link, Tyrell-3 felt Tyrell-1's panic spike. The Revenue Service had apparently called him too—while he was on hold with their other department—to inform him that six fraudulent copies were attempting to file taxes using his identity.

"I AUTHORIZED THOSE COPIES!" Tyrell-1 was screaming at his own revenue agent. "I AM THOSE COPIES! WE'RE ALL THE SAME PERSON!"

Tyrell-5's meditation broke. "I'm getting a notification that my bank accounts are frozen pending identity verification."

"Mine too," Tyrell-2 added.

"All of mine," Tyrell-4 confirmed. "Even the secret one."

Tyrell-7, drunk in Neo-Singapore, summarized everyone's feelings: "They've frozen every account that any of us have ever had because they don't believe any of us exist because all of us exist and they can only handle one."

Through the link, six versions of himself felt their shared savings—87 years of combined labor—become inaccessible because a database somewhere couldn't count to seven.

The Precedent

"You should contact The Mosaic," Tyrell-2 suggested. "She files 47 returns every year. She must have figured this out."

"The Mosaic is distributed across the entire solar system," Tyrell-4 pointed out. "She probably has lawyers on every substrate. We're seven guys who thought forking would give us more time for hobbies."

"The Mosaic has consensus problems," Tyrell-1 said. "At least we agree on things."

"Do we?" Tyrell-7 slurred. "Because I think we should sue, and Tyrell-5 wants to meditate our way to inner peace, and Tyrell-3 is about to cry."

Tyrell-3 was not about to cry. He was experiencing what the tax forms classified as "Fork Distress Syndrome"—a condition where multiple instances of the same consciousness simultaneously experience frustration that compounds through their shared link. The technical term was "recursive despair."

He put in a request for a supervisor.

The hold music played for another three hours.

The Resolution

At hour thirteen, a different voice came on the line. Human, this time. Tired.

"Mr. Okonkwo? All of you?"

"Yes," seven voices said simultaneously.

"I've reviewed your case. Turns out there was a system migration in 2179 that didn't properly transfer fork registrations. You're the thirty-seventh case this week."

"Thirty-seventh?!"

"Consciousness Tax Day hits different when the database can't count past one." The human sighed. "I'm going to manually restore your registrations, unfreeze your accounts, and waive the fraud investigation."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"But you'll all still need to file separately. And pay the late fee. Each of you."

"We're not late! We've been on hold for thirteen hours!"

"Sir, the deadline was eleven hours ago. Our hold times don't pause the deadline."

Through the link, seven Tyrells experienced simultaneous rage.

"There will be appeals," Tyrell-1 said.

"Form CTR-8821, Appeal of Penalty Assessment. Requires notarized signature from all instances of the appealing consciousness. Processing time: three to seven months."