Tinaya and Arqut wake up on the floor. The first thing that she notices is
that there is something rather heavy weighing her ankle down. She lifts
herself up at the waist and looks down to find a shackle, attached to a
chain, attached to another shackle, which is wrapped around her husband’s
leg. His clothes keep changing colors. They’re mostly orange, but
occasionally flicker to yellow or purple. Hers are doing the same. It
apparently worked. They pleaded with the AI in charge of The Buffer to keep
them on ice until it was time to be downloaded into new bodies, and finally
see the Extremus planet. It didn’t sound like it was working, but something
must have changed.
“Oo, I’ve never seen a couple come through here before,” a voice behind them
says. It looks like some kind of authority officer, maybe police. His
uniform has green and purple stripes, which seems like an odd choice, but
who knows how much has changed in the last century?
“We did a lifelink,” Tinaya explains, standing up, and helping Arqut do the
same.
“Never heard of it,” the cop says. “I’m sure the judge will know what to do
with you, though. Right over there. Lucky you, you’re in the short line.”
“The short line?” Arqut questions when they look over to see a minimum of a
few dozen people snaking their way towards an entrance.
“Yeah. As opposed to that one.” The officer points in another
direction. It’s hard to parse, but he’s right. Once they realize what
they’re even seeing, they realize that the line in the distance has many
thousands of people in it, possibly more. The floor curves upwards as if
they’re in a centrifugal cylinder of some kind, which they might be.
“A judge? We have to see a judge?” Tinaya asks. “We were to understand if we
answered yes, we would be downloaded to new substrates, no questions
asked.”
The officer winces and chuckle-scoffs. “Downloaded? You think you’re being
resurrected? Ain’t nobody gettin’ resurrected ‘til Pinocchio gets what he
wants.”
“Who is Pinocchio?”
“You’ll learn.” The officer waves the back of both of his hands towards
them. “Now, shoo. Shoo! The line waits for no one, not even two people
sharing a hock chain.”
They step in line. Other people’s clothes are shifting colors too, with that
same orange base, but various other colors instead. “I think it’s a caste
system,” Tinaya postulates. “We haven’t been judged yet, but maybe the
system has some kind of idea of where we belong, so it changes.”
The next person in the queue turns to face them. “Well, which colors are
best?”
“No idea,” Tinaya admits. “Probably not orange, though. This endless
bureaucracy screams guilty until proven innocent to me, but I could
be wrong.”
“No, that’s what I guessed too,” the woman agrees.
“When did you die?” Arqut asks.
“Arqut,” Tinaya scolds. “That’s a sensitive question.”
“No, it’s all right,” the woman says sincerely. “It was 2388.”
“Same as us,” Arqut replies. “Admiral Emerita Tinaya Leithe, and I’m
Superintendent Arqut Grieves.”
“Oh, interesting. And this is an army you commanded?”
That was a weird question. Their names could have fallen out of the history
books over time, but not within the year. That would be crazy. Who could
have possibly not heard of the recently deceased Admiral? “Where did you
die? Where were you living?” Tinaya presses.
“Proxima Doma, in a dome called New Hertfordshire,” she answers.
Tinaya and Arqut exchange a look. Proxima Doma is a planet in the stellar
neighborhood. It is, in fact, the nearest exoplanet to Earth, which is why
it’s called that. They’re not in The Extremus Buffer, but somewhere else.
This is something, perhaps...universal, maybe the real afterlife?
“Where are you two from?” she goes on.
“We’re on a Wanderer. I mean, we were.” They’re not entirely sure if
this is a current term. It’s the closest one that fits their description,
since they ought not to give away the truth about time travel and other
universes, and all that. A Wanderer refers to a ship that is designed to be
the permanent habitat for its residents. Instead of settling somewhere
around a star, it flies—or even drifts—somewhat randomly. Star systems being
what they are in the way of being predictable and relatively evenly
distributed, the Wanderer isn’t looking for strange new worlds. They just
are...somewhere out there, often without even any quantum connections to any
other worlds. They’re basically hermits, though some communities can be
quite large, and they’re not necessarily misanthropic or distrustful of
others. Arqut knows the term because that’s what the history books called
them before they existed for real, but their last update was a very long
time ago, so the concept may have evolved since then, or just changed names.
“Oh, fun!” She seems to be familiar.
“Do you happen to know why our line is so much shorter?” Tinaya asks her.
“We all just died,” she explains, nodding her head. “All those people have
been dead a long time, possibly for millennia. Apparently, something has
changed with the process and they’re all getting new assignments,”
she continues with airquotes. “That must take a long time, but we’re sittin’
pretty because people don’t really die that much anymore.”
“No, they don’t,” Arqut agrees. It’s not exactly true from their vantage
point. Everyone on Extremus dies, and while they don’t know how any of them
will respond to The Question, it’s not like it is in the stellar
neighborhood, where you’re all but crazy if you don’t opt in to virtual
immortality. At least that’s how they understand it. Again, their copy of
the central archives isn’t up to date.
There’s a commotion behind them, which the woman notices first since she’s
already looking that way. It’s growing louder. When they turn to look, they
can’t really see what’s going on. They can just tell that the gigantic line,
which once was uniform, has now been broken. It’s moving erratically, be it
from an attack, or maybe an escape? If there are good assignments or bad
assignments, there are probably some who are reluctant to accept their
fates. And as they say in the old movies, everybody runs.
And they are running. At first, it’s just a wall of green heading
this way, but faces begin to appear. It really does look like they’re trying
to escape, which suggests that green is one of the bad colors. “I don’t know
what the hell to do here,” the officer says.
“Are they dangerous?” Tinaya asks him.
“They shouldn’t be. Greenies don’t have the best lives here, but they do
okay. They should be rejoicing.” Why would people like that be escaping?
A man suddenly appears. He’s wearing a rainbow of colors. So he has
all the assignments? What the hell is this place? “I can’t
stop them all,” he kind of says to no one before turning to the officer.
“Court Agent, Usher all of these people into the courthouse, then close the
doors behind you.”
“Yes, sir, Pinocchio, sir,” the agent responds.
It’s then that this Pinocchio fellow notices Tinaya and Arqut, and their
orange chain. “Hm. You’re too interesting to be judged by one of the
others.” He reaches out and pokes them each in the shoulder. Their clothes
stop fluctuating and settle on pink. “It’s only temporary, so don’t get too
excited.” Just before the oncoming storm can crash into them, he teleports
the three of them away.
They’re standing on a platform in the middle of the ocean now. No structures
besides this little wooden dock can be seen before the horizon. Pinocchio
steps over a little and bends his knees, materializing a throne just in time
before he can hit the floor. He waves his hand, and generates two arm chairs
behind Tinaya and Arqut. “Where are you two from? No need to lie about
anything, by the way. I can always look it up in your file. I just prefer to
have a conversation.”
“The Transgalactic Generation Ship Extremus,” Tinaya replies. “Currently
roughly 84,000 light years from the stellar neighborhood.”
Pinocchio nods. “Yes, I remember reading about that. It was quite difficult
for my predecessor to install the relay station on board without anyone
noticing or discovering it later. He has spies everywhere, though.”
“Relay station, sir?” Tinaya asks. They don’t know who this guy is, but it
seems prudent to treat him with respect until they have more information.
“Quantum communication is more difficult across vast distances,” Pinocchio
begins. “It’s obviously possible, but it’s better to package up whole
IDCodes, and keep them intact. Since it doesn’t make sense to mirror you
remotely, they installed a dedicated server onboard your ship, which manages
the codes, and sends a data burst back to us only when necessary.” He flicks
his finger around, and pulls up a hologram, which is blurred from their
perspective. “Looks like you died almost two years ago. The farther out you
travel, the fewer bursts it delivers. It’s an efficiency constraint.”
“So, we’re not really dead?” Arqut asks.
“In any meaningful sense, no. In the present day, the consciousness
mirroring tech we use isn’t that much more sophisticated than the living
establishment has already developed on their own. We’re just very,
very good at it, and very, very accurate, and we don’t
tolerate coherence errors. You’re in a computer simulation, which was first
created some eleven thousand years ago. Everyone who has ever died since
then has come here. They were assigned levels to determine their lot in
afterlife. If you were a good person, you got privileges. If you were really
good, you got more. If you were bad, you went to hock, and if you were
really bad, you were just erased. I’ve recently taken over responsibility,
and I’m making a few changes to the system.”
“The giant line,” Tinaya acknowledges.
“It’s been slow-going, but necessary,” Pinocchio claims. “They used this
hyperintelligence to judge everyone, and I didn’t like that it was just this
one entity. Everyone who is already here needs to be rejudged. It’s a mess,
but I promise, it will all be better in the end. The colors are good, I like
the colors. It’s the nuance that needs to be reassessed, especially since
people aren’t really dying anymore. Like I said, the living have mostly
taken over the responsibility of maintaining continuity of consciousness. If
anything fails on their end, I’m not sure we should step in as a backup plan
anymore. Sounds like overkill to me, to be perfectly ironic.”
Tinaya and Arqut look at each other awkwardly.
Pinocchio glances back at their file on the hologram. “I see that you had
the option of being backed up locally instead, and for whatever reason, that
failed. Don’t worry, nothing has been decided on that yet. I’m not going to
zero you out just because I’m reconsidering the policy. The question is,
what level do you deserve, now that you’ve made it here?”
“Is it possible for us to go back?” Tinaya asks hopefully. “Is that one of
these colored levels?”
Pinocchio smirks. “Level Eleven, White, Resurrected. It’s incredibly rare,
but it has happened. I’ve never done it myself as I’ve been focused on the
reassessments. Let’s call it a hiring freeze. I don’t know why I should
unfreeze it for you.”
“Our son,” Tinaya starts to explain. “He died a few minutes after us. He was
murdered. We have to fix that.”
“It’s more than that,” Arqut adds. “We have to stop his murderer from taking
over the ship. The problem is not that he killed Silveon, but that he’s
clearing house so he ends up with no opposition. If he succeeds, it could
destroy Extremus entirely, and all those souls—even the ones who have
already died—will be coming here. But if you’re thinking of changing that
policy...”
Pinocchio holds up a hand to stop him. “I appreciate your concern.
Typically, I don’t worry about living sociopolitics, but your link to each
other has intrigued me, and I am not without mercy. Let’s take a look at his
file, and see his status.” He waves his hand again, and changes the
hologram. “Silveon Grieves. One hundred and five years old, died on January
5, 2388. Presently...awaiting integration. I’m sorry, he’s already here. He
probably would have ended up in line right behind you had that horde not
come running for the hills.”
“Who were those people?” Tinaya questions. “Why were they trying to
escape? It sounds like green isn’t bad?”
“It’s not, but they’re not supposed to be green. There are people here who
have almost as much power as I. Level Ten, Purple, Unrestricted. They can do
just about anything they want, and sometimes what they want is to cause
chaos. Not everyone was happy that I took over. They didn’t like the
simulation’s creator, which would have been good for me, but they adored the
woman who took over for him just before me, so that leaves me at a
disadvantage.”
“Let us help you,” Tinaya pleads. “Make us two of these purple people, and
we’ll combat the insurrectionists.”
“Tina,” Arqut says to her, not sure that he agrees, but not sure that he
doesn’t.
Pinocchio thinks it over. “You were just asking to be sent back for your
son. Now you’re asking to not only stay here, but to be two of the most
powerful people in the simulation? Fascinating tactic.”
“Our power is your power,” Tinaya clarifies. “I assume you can always
take it away, and unlike the others, we would let you. Since we will do
whatever you want, that is not what we get out of it. What we get out of it
is you send Silveon back to Extremus. He must be saved, because he
can save everyone else. Plus, we wanna talk to him first.”
Pinocchio considers it again, incorporating these new parameters. “I’ll do
it, but unpurpling you isn’t as easy as it may sound, so I have one
condition.”
“Go ahead,” Tinaya offers, not surprised.
“Your ship, it’s cut off. Your son goes back to prevent it from blowing up,
but if it does anyway—or if individuals just die for other reasons—none of
your people comes here. Dead is dead is dead is dead.”
Brief pause. Tinaya takes a breath. She shouldn’t have this kind of power.
“Deal.”
