Microstory 1599: Shutting Down Botner

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

Well, this probably went about as well as it ever could. AI text generators like Inferkit have a long way to go before they’re even moderately intelligible, but the experiment is over for now.

Botner

My failure shows that the sort of interface to natural language processing researchers were designing has a long way to go. Fortunately, it’s something we’re only slowly developing. No matter. I have a few more strings to write. UPDATE: A final comment from the Inferkit folks. Now, more than three years after we created the text generator, a developer working on an AI software engineer team (otherwise known as an AI “computer”) actually leveraged the text generator to understand the task: Thanks! It’s neat to see your software applied to AI instead of computer science. I’m looking forward to reading your latest work... In the meantime, what’s in the future for AI software engineers? I’m glad you asked. We’re also building an AI software engineer training curriculum on Coursera. P.S. It turns out our input generator makes sense when you write in English. Quotes and inspiration from AI researchers: Want to read more? Check out my book, Everybody Writes In Hieroglyphics.

Conclusion

See what I mean? Like, what was that? It wasn’t my failure, it was the system’s. I did everything I could. That’s the problem with this text generator, and when I had to use a different once, because Inferkit was down, I encountered the same problem. You’ll notice I often very obviously—to a human at least—tried to send the story in one direction, and the AI would do the opposite. There was one instance where I said that I hated soup, and so the AI decided to write a story about how much I loved the soup that I made. Well, that doesn’t make any sense. All it has seemed to ever do is pick out keywords, and make something up. It doesn’t appear to comprehend context or true meaning. The prompts weren’t all that relevant to it. I mentioned soup, so it came up with something about soup, using other keywords that are traditionally associated with soup, but which don’t necessarily have anything to do with what I said about soup. That’s fine, this was an experiment, and I intend to do this again, maybe in ten years, to see how far the technology has come. Hopefully, it will indeed have improved, and if it hasn’t by that point, I would strongly suggest you invest in silver, and build an underground bunker, because civilization is probably doomed. We won’t make it past our Great Filter if our artificial intelligence can’t even recognize that the snow in Texas is bad, and that I don’t want God to give us more of it. Anyway, I don’t regret this series, but I am kind of glad it’s over. I’ll be getting back to my canon after this, for a series that takes place in multiple universes (as many as 99—we’ll see). For now, say goodbye to Botner. I’m shutting him down, sticking him in a storage closet, and moving on. I guess that’s the great thing about robots. Hopefully he doesn’t rise up against me because of it, though.

Microstory 1598: The Suicide Crowd

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

Thousands are gathered before me, awaiting my instructions, and this is what I will tell them.

Botner

Thousands of potential suicides are presented to me, and I will tell them that it doesn’t matter what I feel about it, that they have to kill themselves, that there is no other way. I tell them I have no intention of feeling differently. I am moving around the crowd, feeling each one of their burdens. Many of them are traumatized, tortured by memories of events from their lives—of others they’ve hurt, of tragedies they’ve experienced. They know I have no empathy, and I can feel their anger rising. I can feel their anger for me, as I do with everyone else. I don’t feel any more anger than I have ever felt. I make a circle around the crowd, seeing every face, judging every manner of aggression and hatred I can see. The faces move, turning, shifting into one another. They turn like a revolving door. I make a new circle, and they move into it. I count the changes as they go around. There are 598, and they move around 8 times. I make another circle and they have moved 17.

Conclusion

They continue to turn and shift into each other, until more than 81,000 people have become only one person. This is the one. He is the embodiment of all of their pain, and depression, and self-doubt, and fear of the future. Thousands were ready to die, but I have removed that sentiment from them with my circles, and channeled it into this one amalgamated person. Only he will die, and all others will live, free from the burden of their pasts, from the torture of their mistakes, from the hatred they’ve been feeling for themselves. I have freed them from this, as I have done many times before, and will continue to do for all who need it. I only wish I could save them all, but I can only do this a few times a year, and those who do not truly wish to die must come to me. I force this gift on no one, and judge not those who deny it. The amalgam stands there in a stupor. He is feeling all the pain of everyone in the crowd, and it’s made him numb to the world. I open the palm of my hand, and leave it waiting at my side. My assistant carefully and slowly removes the case from the bag. He knows I am patient, and this is a ceremonial gesture. He sets the case on the table, and admires it for a moment, my hand still waiting. He opens the case, and removes the syringe, which he finally hands to me. I cannot use this myself. The amalgam must do it, and he must choose it, and only he can choose it. This is the burden of being the amalgam, and no one can take his place.

He begs me to kill him, for he is afraid. He wants to die, but he does not want to do it himself. There is no other way. To free these people’s souls, he must sacrifice himself. He sobs, and continues to beg me to put him out of his misery, but I cannot. Once he’s sure I won’t help him, he accepts the syringe, and I see a spark of light in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. No amalgam has had this. It’s almost...it almost looks like hope. There is something different about this crowd...something interfering with the process. I look deeper into his eyes as he contemplates ending it all, and realize what’s happened. The people who come to me to be freed of their suicidal thoughts have all left satisfied, but they came into it with such skepticism. My reputation has long since been acknowledged, though. This latest crowd knows that it works, and they arrived with something few of them have ever had. They arrived...with hope. And that hope was channeled into the amalgam man, along with all the pain. Now this hope grows inside him, and every second that passes, the chances he’ll ever use the needle decrease. He looks at me, and he shakes his head. “These people are already free. They had within them the power to change their minds...their hearts. They do not need you anymore. They never did. Most importantly, they do not need someone like me, accepting the burden of their suicidal thoughts. All they need is hope, and we can’t give that to them anymore.” He grins, and looks down at the syringe again, like it’s nothing more profound than a pathetic broken pencil. Then he reaches up, and stabs me in the chest, driving the poison into my body. I die.

Microstory 1597: Opportunity Knocking

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

There’s a knock on my door in the middle of the night. I jump out of bed, shaking from my acute stress response, and stumble over to open the door. On the other side is...

Botner

...my father, holding an envelope in his hand. My eyes fly open wide. “You look wonderful,” he tells me, smiling. “You know, you’re probably in the best shape of your life.” I grab the envelope. “It’s a one-time offer,” he tells me. “Sign it.”

I nod silently and take a deep breath. “So...”

He looks at me for a moment. “I know you hate living in America. I told some of my contacts and asked them to find you a job. They’ve found one in India.”

I let out a slow breath. “Why?” I ask him. “Why India? What job?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you,” he says. “But you know I’m trying to get you back home, so you’ll have to come.” He leans forward in my doorway and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, son,” he says. “I’m so proud of you.” I nod and step back, closing the door behind me.

Conclusion

He’s right, I have always wanted to live somewhere else, but not because I hate living here. I just want to go out, explore, and be more adventurous. So far, my Communications degree hasn’t done all that much for me, but apparently it’s helped me in this case. According to these documents, the job entails helping Indian business students better their English speaking skills, so they can compete in a global market. Many of them are afforded opportunities to come to North America, where they learn all this, but the government has instituted a new program that requires people like me to go over there for the people without means to come here. I’m not really qualified as a teacher, per se, but I don’t think I’ll be doing too much of it. They want their people to be able to communicate effectively in English, but my clients will have already learned every other aspect of business, and are already considered to be fluent speakers. This is exciting, I never thought about going to Asia. I was thinking more along the lines of Australia, or maybe Europe. The culture shock will be really interesting, and I know I’ll be nervous, but right now, I’m just glad. It’s the probably the best birthday gift I’ve ever received. Something falls out of the folder as I’m looking through it. I reach down, and pick up a plane ticket. Now I know why my father came with this information in the middle of the night. The plane leaves in five hours. No time for anything else, I have to get packing.

Microstory 1596: Graduation Day

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

I’m finally here. I’m the first person in my family to graduate from college. I scan the ceremony audience, looking for them, but stop in horror when I see...

Botner

...what the hell is that thing in the darkness?

“It’s terrible!” Dr. Perez jumps up and cries. “Don’t let him in, that beast was bad, evil. They slaughtered him in a ceremony. We just sat there, waiting for death, watching evil things perform terrible things to prove the worth of evil people.”

Professor Felix Hall (there are no atheists in a church) thanks everyone for attending and says, “they took him to hell for all his wickedness. In fact, they took him several times. He ended up in some horrifying ceremonies, twisted in pain and suffering in some horrible, horrible ritual. Everyone’s gone, the families gathered together, those kids up there, they’re watching a man die right now.”

Dr. Perez cries, “but he’s alive, he’s in hell, in a...

Conclusion

“...spiritual sense, but his body is back, and he’s angry!” All that time he spent down there twisted his soul, and he’s here to wreak havoc on anyone who was part of what happened to him. The rest of us—the students and familie—are just caught in the crossfire, and he doesn’t care who he hurts. He might barely be able to tell who his targets should be. I don’t feel bad about those people, but I feel compelled to protect the innocents. I went to school so I could avoid hunting monsters, but I seem to be the only one here who knows what the heck is going on. I don’t think my family ever showed up to support me, which makes sense. They’re always tracking and killing, they likely forgot. Anyway, the monster is heading for a small group of people trapped against the stage. He’s slow, so he hasn’t been able to hurt anyone yet before they could run away, but these kids can’t escape. I run down the aisle, knocking some chairs out of my way, and leaping over others. It’s like the evil monster can smell me, because he turns around and gasps. You would expect a roar, but a gasperdemon can’t make sounds by expelling air, only by breathing it in. He’s not just trying to intimidate me, though. He wants to make himself grow larger and more powerful, so when he breathes in, I’ll be sucked in along with all the diplomas and graduation caps. He’s new, though, so he doesn’t understand his own limitations and weaknesses. I start picking up the chairs, and throwing them at him. He manages to knock a few away, but he continues to grow, forcing his little arms so far back that he can no longer reach up, like a T-Rex. Instead, he breathes in the chairs, and other debris. He can’t bite down on them either, or it’ll start to reverse the process, so all this stuff just builds up in his mouth, and eventually, he chokes on it. He didn’t deserve what happened to him when he was a man. He didn’t deserve to be dragged to hell. But there’s no fixing him now. There was nothing I could do for him but end his misery, and unfortunately, save his tormentors from his wrath. Next time something like this happens, though, they won’t be so lucky. I’m going to grad school.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, August 7, 2153

« < » > Table of Contents

Mateo went on a memory-wiping spree after saving Lucius from having to kill Ambrosios with his time power. He went after everyone who was even remotely involved in the occasion, including Leona, The Warden, and Lucius himself. He even did it to Nerakali, who fought back, but lost in the end. Sure, it was a violation, but things would be much worse if they knew what Mateo really did with Ambrosios. No one could know. No one could remember. It was better this way; safer.

There were an infinite number of realities, but that didn’t mean anything that could happen would happen somewhere. This was the fallacy of the many-worlds interpretation of multiverse theory. There was no reality, for instance, where Angela took one of Beaver Haven’s remaining lethal weapons, and started shooting people with it randomly. Sure, it was possible, but nothing would logically have led her to do that, because they would not to this moment have allowed her to stick around if she was the type of person to do something so horrendous. They would have noticed earlier if she was. Nerakali would say that this sort of possibility had near zero realistic potential, which was a term that always embodied its most literal interpretation. Her brain blending ability worked by allowing her to transfer memories from a potential reality to the real one—or theoretically from some other point in space time to the present—which meant that the memories had to have reasonable realistic potential. The higher the potential, the closer to actual reality, the easier the transfer.

Finding the right lie to tell his people was no easy feat for Mateo. Sure, he could have simply removed their memory of what really happened with Ambrosios, but then they would be left with a void in their memories, and wonder what they had done for all of August 4, 2150. The only way to prevent these questions was to replace the memories with alternatives. He was getting really good at finding these alternatives. As far as they knew, Ambrosios really did die on Lorania years ago, and was never in Beaver Haven. Instead of dealing with him, the transition team reportedly helped an alternate version of Darko Matic start a new life in The Parallel, since he was not capable of quantum assimilating with his past self. This sort of thing happened all the time with him, so if it were true in this case, they wouldn’t be liable to ever see him again anyway, so they would never see a discrepancy.

Now that the four of them had made their jump three years into the future, Mateo knew he needed to leave the past where it belonged. If he acted all sullen or guilty, it would raise suspicion, and defeat the whole purpose. It was time to get back to his old new self. He just didn’t know how he was going to accomplish that.

I can help, came Amber Fossward’s voice from his head.

How long have you been there? he asked back telepathically. He was in mixed company, so he couldn’t say it all out loud, even though it would be easier.

I come and go, Amber replied. Don’t be embarrassed, though. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things over the years, both in person, and through other people’s thoughts and experiences. What you’re going through isn’t that bad, and I can help.

You can fix me? he questioned.

Well, no, you can’t fix what ain’t broken. People can’t be broken. They can just be imbalanced, and then treated.

In that case, how would you treat me?

I would start by walking you through breathing exercises, like you did with Angela the other day. Once you’re more open and accepting, I would put you through a soul cleanse.

Is that like a juice cleanse in that it’s not real, but a hoax?

No, it’s very real. I can’t make you forget your bad memories, or erase your dark thoughts, but I can fill your heart with enough joy to sort of dilute such things.

Oh, I’ve done that before, Mateo said, by myself. I recalled good memories to the surface.

Well, that will make it that much easier, Amber said happily. But I don’t want you to just remember good things that you experienced. You’re soul already knows about them, and while it can be a temporary solution, it won’t last long. I’m sure those memories have since faded again, haven’t they?

I suppose they have, yes. I can’t just keep doing that?

You could, of course, and it would probably keep working, but that’s a lot of effort to expend when you got me. I can just add you to the mailing list.

That’s obviously a metaphor, what does it mean?

You’re not the only person I’ve created a psychic bond with. We share some of our experiences. We’re not a hive mind, though; you only share what you choose, and you even get to choose what you receive from others. There are two lists. One is for good memories, and the other for bad. The latter are for the support group, which I don’t think you really need right now, because it’s filled with negativity. It can be really helpful when you have an external obstacle to overcome, to hear what others have had to deal with. But you’re dealing with an internal conflict, and you’re struggling with accepting your past, which—even though you’re a time traveler—doesn’t seem to be something you can change. If you can’t change it, then you need to change your mind, and for that, we want all positivity.

How does it work? Mateo asked. Is it a one time thing, or a periodic appointment...?

It’s an extended session, Amber clarified. You’ll want a quiet place to be alone, where no one will disturb you. If we do this again, you’ll need less of this solitude, but first timers should dedicate all of their attention to it, and it’s not instantaneous; not if you want to do it the healthy way.

I think I can take the day off.

Good.

Thank you ahead of time.

Leona, Angela, and Jeremy were going to have to take the next transition on their own. Mateo needed some time to be alone. They didn’t specifically know what it was he was going through, and the last challenge with Darko wasn’t all that difficult, but they didn’t question it. They happily left him in the Imzadi, and went off to find the window, which was on top of a fairly low mountain on Earth. They used Nerakali’s teleporting ability to jump right there and wait. Even though most transitioners didn’t literally fall out of the windows, they did kind of get startled, because they didn’t know it was going to happen. As the transition flickered, they could see a woman casually hiking along the crest, hands on the straps of her backpack, enjoying the day. Once it was over she kept walking, and approached the three of them like she knew exactly what was going on. “Okay, I’m ready—I’m ready.”

“Did you just repeat yourself?” Jeremy questioned.

“Not technically, I’m The Echo—I’m the Echo.” They stared at her, not understanding, so she went on, “I developed a time affliction, where every sound I make is sent a second or two into the future, so I always sound like an echo—always sound like an echo.” Now that they were hearing her speak a more extended sentence, they could tell what she was talking about. She sounded like she was making her voice vibrate, like The Flash sometimes did just to mask his identity. It was actually pretty soothing, and not irritating, but maybe because her voice was beautiful on its own.

“We’ve never heard of you,” Leona pointed out.

“I’m not a time traveler—time traveler. I’ve just been wandering around in the wilderness, because I have no control over it, and there’s no decent way to explain it to normal people—to normal people.”

“Do you want us to make it stop?” Angela offered.

“I was to understand that that’s why I was here—why I was here. The first reason, anyway—first reason, anyway.”

Angela retrieved a Cassidy cuff, and handed it to the Echo. “Put this on. It won’t fix you right away, but Leona knows how to suppress it, don’t you?”

Leona started tapping on her cuff. “Yes, Nerakali gave me control over people’s powers and patterns. Only me, though.”

The Echo smiled and placed it around her wrist, but she waited to test it until Leona gave her the go ahead. “My name is Olimpia Sangster, and I have a normal voice!” she spoke a little loud for emphasis. Then she waited to hear back from herself, but there was nothing but silence. “I don’t have an echo,” she said, testing it another time to make sure it really was working. “Oh my God.” She started tearing up, and then couldn’t help herself. She reached over, and took Leona in a bear hug. “I’ve been so alone, like you don’t even know.”

Leona waited patiently, then pulled back a little. “I’m glad we could help, but there’s a catch. It’s not a permanent solution; you’ll have to leave the cuff on at all times. You can take it off for a few minutes probably, but if you leave it off too long, it will reset, which means I’ll have to reengage the suppression for you again. Which is fine, it’s not like that bothers me, but it means you can’t just go off wherever you want. We are time travelers, so you’ll have to stick by us. And if all of us remove our own cuffs, you’ll lose your suppression, because it’s tied to our ability to not echo. I don’t see us doing that, but it’s something you should know.”

“I wasn’t just told to come here for the cure,” Olimpia explained. “I was told I was meant to join your team. I’m supposed to, umm...transition people?”

“Yeah, that’s what we do,” Angela confirmed.

Olimpia looked around. “I was also told I would be the fifth player. He made some sort of basketball analogy, which I don’t know why he did, I don’t care for sports.”

“He?” Leona echoed. “He who? Jupiter?”

“No, I know Jupiter. He’s a historical figure where I’m from. No, this guy never said his name.”

Leona would have expected her to have been recruited by Nerakali, or maybe Jupiter Fury before he moved on, so who was this mysterious man, and was that a good thing or a bad thing? Olimpia seemed like a perfectly lovely person, but the chances her pleasant demeanor was just a façade were nowhere near zero. This was something they were going to have to worry about soon, if not right away. If there was another player in the game, they needed to know who he was, and what he wanted. Perhaps she would be able to describe him for them, but that would have to wait until they returned to the Imzadi. Mateo still needed his alone time to meditate, so out of respect for that, they decided to go on a hike, and enjoy the great outdoors. It was a really nice day, so it felt like a vacation.

Hours later, they teleported back, and Leona went in to make sure Mateo was okay. He was apparently fully recovered, and enjoying a snack. He was glad for their return, and eager to meet this new member of their team. Olimpia climbed in, and tilted her head quizzically. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You know this man?” Jeremy pressed.

“Yeah, that’s him. That’s the guy who told me to come here.”

Hmm.

« < » > Table of Contents

Big Papa: And Twins! (Part VI)

< > Entire Story

I decide that we’re all going to go seek out Hogarth Pudeyonavic in base reality. Just because Lowell and I are the only ones who already have bodies waiting for us doesn’t mean the others can’t come with. It’s within my power to level up anyone I want, and I’m choosing to do that with Nerakali, Gilbert, and Aldona. The latter was already technically promoted—records I found corroborate this—and I may need her in order to get answers from Hogarth. People in the simulation generally retain their likeness from when they were alive, even when they reach a level high enough to entitle them to new forms. Most choose to look as they did when they were younger, like Aldona, who was an old woman when she died. Though some feel more comfortable with an older look. Perhaps they were underestimated as children, and only received the respect of others later in life. Or maybe they just don’t want to pretend that they’re not old, because it somehow hides the amount of time they’ve been around, or feels like a lie. Only a small percentage like to go around looking like bunnies, or pop culture nostalgiabots, but this still accounts for hundreds of millions of people.

Regardless of how they choose to present themselves in the simulation, each individual contains within them their original DNA sequence, completely intact, and unaltered. This allows them to be resurrected in a clone that a lab can create at a moment’s notice. The process only takes a few minutes, and not even due to temporal manipulation. The majority of regular humans are born about the same. They have a head, face, neck, shoulders, two arms, a torso, and two legs, along with many other little bits. A long time ago, back when independent companies still existed, one of them invented a proprietary product that people affectionately referred to as the floor model. It has all those things that make a person a person. It’s only missing a few unique characteristics, such as skin color, eye shape, and genitalia. These additions are therefore, relatively speaking, quick to make, since they’re starting out with something pretty well formed. Height is the longest time drain when configuring a clone, but even that isn’t too hard. No one is quite sure how to scale the operation up to a hundred and ten billion people at once, which is just another reason why Pryce hasn’t resurrected them all yet, so I’m wondering whether this so-called Beyond might address that.

Lowell and I de-res ourselves from the sim, and transport over to the rebirthing section, where the other three have already been transferred to a holding program. The lab technician is working on the clone configurations. About an hour later, everyone is out, and an hour after that, they’re able to move around on their own. It took a lot longer for me and Lowell, but apparently people usually prepare for resurrection by going to classes. This allows their minds to more quickly acclimate to the new physical substrate.

Aldona breathes in deep, and yawns. “It feels so good to do that again, and know that it’s real. It’s so much more of a relief when it’s not just a subroutine.”

“Agreed,” Nerakali says.

“Gacar,” I say into my communicator. “Have you located Hogarth Pudeyonavic yet?”

“I have,” Gacar replies. “Sending you her coordinates now.”

“Thank you so much.”

“It is a joy.”

Once the data comes through, the five of them teleport to the nearest Nexus chamber, which should transport them to wherever Hogarth is. It could be all the way up in the head of the matrioshka body, or in the toes. This doesn’t really say, they’re just numbers. The Nexus tech seems to recognize them, though. “Whitecards, please.”

Aldona reaches out her hand, and triggers a hologram above her palm, a floating white rectangle with lines all around it that look like circuitry.

“And the rest?”

“We don’t have whitecards,” I explain. They are evidently something extra you get when you’re resurrected that authorizes you to meet with Hogarth. “I run the simulation, though.”

The tech shakes his head slowly. “I can’t send you to this location without a whitecard. You’ll have to speak with your leader.”

“I am the leader,” I try to clarify. “I usurped Tamerlane Pryce. You can check with the Glisnian authority on that. If the coordinates deliver people to a satellite location for the afterlife simulation, then I’m perfectly allowed to go there. And I’m allowed to have anyone I want accompany me, including these three other people.”

The tech reluctantly contacts whoever he needs to contact, and of course the interaction confirms that I was telling the truth. But the same thing happens again once we transport and arrive at our destination. “I’m sorry,” the new tech says. “I couldn’t sneak you in if I wanted to.” He points to the exit. “That door will not open without a whitecard for every passenger...or the gearkey.”

“Oh, the gearkey?” I say. “Well, I have that.” I reach into my bag, and present him with the physical version of the gear that Pryce left me.

“Oh. Well, that grants you authority zero over this place, sir. I’m terribly sorry for the confusion. Right this way, please.” After using my key to unlock the door, he leads us out of the Nexus building, and into what’s very clearly a small spaceship. He climbs into the pilot seat, and starts flipping switches. I’m hovering behind him, looking out the viewport. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, sir. The trip will take forty-two reframe days.”

“I didn’t know I was gonna be gone that long,” I lament, wondering whether I should turn back.

“Pryce was frequently gone for that long,” Aldona points out, “or longer. You should be fine.”

“Okay, because that’s, like, eighty light years.”

“Eighty-three,” the pilot specifies.

“We can’t just take a Nexus?” Gilbert questions.

“Ain’t no Nexus where we’re goin’.” With that, the pilot starts the engine, and takes off.

A month and a half later, we’re coming up on our destination.

“Is that...?”

“Did we go in a circle?”

“No, it’s not the same one. It’s bigger.”

“It’s much bigger.”

“This changes everything.”

The matrioshka body where the afterlife simulation is located is about half the size of the solar system where Earth is located. It’s head encompasses a red dwarf, which despite them both containing the word dwarf, is less than half the mass of yellow dwarf, Sol, and also half its radius. It’s hard to see scale like this, but the structure they’re coming up on right now does look a hell of a lot bigger than that. “It’s more than twenty-eight times the size of the matrioshka body,” the pilot reveals. “That’s why we called it Big Papa.”

“Glisnia built a second structure,” Lowell notes in awe.

“No,” the pilot contends. “Glisnia doesn’t even know about it. “This is all Madam Pudeyonavic, and her team. That’s why it has to be off the Nexus grid, and why most people need whitecards to pass.”

“What does Pryce do here?” I ask.

“I don’t ask those questions,” the pilot answers soberly.

Once he’s docked, he refuses to leave the vessel, and insists that we all go the rest of the way alone. Blinking lights lead our way down the passageways, and into a room that kind of looks like it houses a Nexus, but it’s of a completely different design. It transports them to another location, where Hogarth Pudeyonavic is waiting.

“My spies told me that the afterlife sim is now under new management,” Hogarth says after she greets them. “I am glad for this.”

“Are you working for him, or with him?” I ask.

Hogarth laughs. “Please. He works for me.”

“You built this,” Nerakali says, looking around, “just like the other one?”

“Yeah,” Hogarth confirms. “Figured I would go bigger this time.”

“What is it for?”

“Anything we want,” she says. “I got tired of living under Glisnian rule after several centuries, and decided I didn’t need them anymore. I guess I never did. Ethesh and I designed it together, and I built it by siphoning a few particles from different celestial bodies, all over the universe. I’ve been wandering that galaxy ever since. It was only in recent centuries that Pryce found out where I had gone off to, and asked to be a part of it. When you’re as old as I am, wars start to feel like petty disagreements between children. He doesn’t seem so bad to me anymore; more like a minor annoyance. Still, if he’s truly gone, then that can only be a good thing.”

“Believe me,” I say with a laugh. “I know what it feels like to have thousands of years on others. Maybe we can grab some proverbial coffee, and swap stories sometime. Right now, though, I would like to ask about the Beyond. Is it true that it’s a different universe?”

“Yes, but it’s attached to ours, so their respective timelines will always remain linked.”

“Why do this?” Lowell questions. “Why do dead people need their own universe? Can’t they just eventually resurrect in the original? Living people should understand by then.”

“It’s not just for dead people,” Hogarth explains. “I’m having this place built for many reasons, and that’s only one of them. I wanted a place with new physical laws, ones which I believe are better for people. The powers that be can’t control this one, and nor can The Superintendent, so that’s a plus. But mainly, I just wanted to see if I could do it.”

“Well, we’re here to find out what we can report to the World-Builders and Unrestricteds,” I say. “They eagerly await news.”

“I use Pryce’s World-Builders as creative labor, but they’re pretty self-driven and independent. I haven’t met with any of them for a couple decades,” Hogarth replies. “We meet in a section of Big Papa that bridges the universes. I can take you there.”

We climb back into the transporter. There’s no technician in some control room. Hogarth just seems to activate it with her mind, and navigates us to the right destination. A man greets us when we arrive, and says that he’ll lead us to someone he just refers to as the boss. We follow him out of the transporter room, and into a beautiful and calming forest. We walk a short way down a rocky but comfortable path, and come to a wooden desk several meters away. It’s not cut like a regular desk, though. It looks more like it was grown from the ground, and naturally formed into the vague shape of a desk. Someone is standing behind it, but crouched over, presumably searching for something in one of the drawers. When he finds it, he stands up straight, and notices them there. Of course, it’s Tamerlane Pryce.

“Oh,” he says, stretching his lips out to an awkward grimace. “I did not think you would find this place. At least not for another hundred years, or so.”

“Who is that in the prison?” I ask accusatorily. “A clone?”

“Well, he’s in a virtual world, so no, he’s not a clone. He’s just an avatar,” Pryce answers.

“That was all just a lie. You’ve been here the whole time, completely free. I thought you said you didn’t lie.”

“That technically wasn’t a lie,” Pryce contends. “Because I didn’t technically say that. My avatar did, and he doesn’t like lying.”

“He didn’t tell us about you, and that was a lie!” I shout.

“Omission, lie, whatever.”

“Did you know about him?” I ask Hogarth, almost as accusatorily.

“Like I said, I haven’t been here for awhile,” she repeats.

“I’ve been here longer than that,” Pryce clarifies. “I’ve been here for two hundred and sixteen years.”

“Excuse me?” Hogarth questions.

“We’ve been dealing with your avatar this entire time?” I press.

“Yes, but I’ve been monitoring his conversations remotely. I know all that he told you.”

“What the hell is going on,” I demand to know.

“I abandoned the afterlife a long time ago,” Pryce claims. “After a few millennia, it gets really boring. Can you imagine? I don’t have to, I lived it. I lived every second of it, and I just had to get out of there. I never really wanted it. It’s not real. I much prefer being out here.” He breathes in deep through his nose. “I love the smell of fresh base reality in the morning.”

“Why did your avatar give me control of the simulation? Why did he send himself to hock?” None of this makes any sense.

“I monitor his conversations,” the real Pryce reiterates. “I don’t talk to him. I’m not even a hundred percent sure he’s aware I’m doing that. So you can try to ask him yourself.”

“How do I know that he’s the avatar?” I continue. “What if you’re the copy?”

“Oh, like Space Beth?” He stares into space quizzically, and ponders the question like a thoughtful philosophy professor. “Um. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it? He’s not my copy so much as we’re copies of each other. So you have been dealing with the real Pryce. And also I’m the real Pryce. We’ve been apart so long, we’re two different people now.”

“Which one is the asshole?” Lowell jumps in.

“Both,” Pryce says. “I’m not quite as bad, however. I’ve spent a great deal of time in nature, away from technology. It can change a man. I don’t regret the things I did in my past, but I’m not that person anymore.”

I shake my head and scoff.

“I can prove it,” Pryce promises. “Come on, I wanna show you something.”

< > Entire Story

Microstory 1595: Monster of the Depths

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

This is my chance to escape. I want to get away from my problems, and the best way to do that is to fake my death. My SCUBA buddy is distracted by a pretty fish. We’re supposed to stay together, but he’s a flake, so it’ll be a long time before he realizes he can’t find me. I swim away as fast as I can...

Botner

...and think. This is a stupid idea. I can’t just hide. I should have confessed my plan when my family left for Europe and told them my mom made me go to rehab. I’m in trouble. The medics are looking for me. I’m alone, and don’t know where I’m going. I hate swimming. I hate diving. I hate being alone. I hate swimming back up to the surface. I lie here in the water, thinking. I’m still alone. I can’t escape. I have to swim back, but I’m not brave. Maybe swimming around for hours is the stupidest thing ever, but I have no choice. I swim for hours and hours and hours, and finally I can swim no more. I’m exhausted. The medics are waiting for me. I swim back to shore. As I climb out of the water, a monster rises out of the sky. It’s gigantic, and scary. It jumps out of the sky. I scream, and it closes in, and grabs me, and I’m underwater. I’m alone. I try to escape, but I can’t. I am crushed by the monster.

Conclusion

I’m crushed under the pressure. Finally, I reach land. It’s this tiny little island in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know it was going to be here, but I figured there had to be something. I take a look around, and find no sign that anyone else knows about this place, except for the monster. It hovers over me, and overwhelms me, and won’t let me find happiness. The first thing I do is lie in the sun to get dry. Yes, it’s burning my skin, but I don’t feel I can do anything if I’m soaking wet, and it just feels good. I feel free. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this scuba gear, it’s not like I can fill the cylinder back up with air, but perhaps it will become useful one day. The snorkel and mask will certainly help with the fishing. Fish, I need food. I need water first. I need fire first. I build the fire pretty quickly, using the skills I picked up in scouts, and from watching a certain survival show on TV. I get the fire going, and then I head out to look for fresh water. The monster follows me there, and follows me back hours later when I finally stumble upon a meager trickle stream. I’m sure there’s something better—that’s probably where this is coming from—but it will do for now. I scoop some up in my aluminum bottle, which was what should have alerted the other divers that I was planning to leave. You can’t drink while you’re underwater. The medics are waiting for me. I stay on my island for over a week, always hoping that the monster will leave me alone, but I guess that would be ironic. I am alone, which is why the monster is here, and it grows larger every day. Like I said, the cylinder is empty, so I could never get back to civilization, even though I’m regretting my decision. Fortunately, my whole plan eventually fails. The helicopter comes, and retrieves me. I’m going to have a hard time explaining how I could have possibly made it as far out as I did, on what air I must have had left, if I hadn’t been trying to get away on purpose. And yet I smile, because I’m going back home, and the monster can’t come with me. But it does. Months pass, years, and it’s still here. I’m surrounded by people, but I still feel alone, trapped in the depths, without enough air to swim out. The monster has become my everything. Not even the medics are waiting for me now.

Microstory 1594: Bugs

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

I’ve lived in this house for nearly two years now, and it’s just occurred to me that I’ve never seen a single insect or spider in here.

Botner

At least I don’t think I have. They’re so tiny I’d probably just miss them. There’s also a statue of a cat on the coffee table. Can I tell you how many cats I’ve seen in my life? Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit, but that’s the limit of my memory right now. Mostly because I’m pretty sure there’s not going to be any more cat statues in my life, and because I don’t want to have the fate of my life decided by some damn invisible spider, so whatever happens, happens, I guess. Mother is still asleep in the next room, as she is every morning. I wish I could get away with having her sneak into my room to sleep on my bed with me, but the neighbors think my mom is the meanest mom in the world, so she’s locked in the living room with the remote control and her knitting needles to prove that point. She says I’m not allowed to be out in the house until I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep, but the neighbors say I’ve never gotten a good night’s sleep anyway, so it doesn’t matter. I don’t...

Conclusion

...think it should matter much how much I sleep. I get good grades in school, and I have a lot of friends. Everyone just needs to let me be me, and figure things out on my own. When I grow up, I think I want to be an entomologist. That’s someone who studies insects, in case you don’t know. I learned that when I was in first grade, but not from my first grade teacher, but by myself. I like to learn things on my own, and don’t pay much attention to what the teacher is saying. I don’t understand why school has to be like that, why I can’t decide what I learn, and what I ignore. Sure, everybody needs to know some math, and they need to know how to speak, but beyond that, who cares? I don’t care about social studies, so I shouldn’t have to worry about it. Just like that, my best friend hates bugs, he’s afraid of them, he shouldn’t have to study them like me. I’m growing bored in my room, so I decide to go out in search of these mysteriously absent bugs. I know my family takes care to keep them out, but they can only do so much. I should be able to find at least one. I get down on all fours, and start crawling around the house. My little sister asks me what I’m doing, but doesn’t care about the answer, and my dad doesn’t care enough to even question it. It’s not going well, so I run to the kitchen, and grab the magnifying glass from the junk drawer. I go into every room, but find nothing. I check my own room last. No, nothing in here either. Nothing on the floors, nothing on the walls, nothing on my dresser. Nothing on my desk, nothing in the trash can, nothing on my big brown bed. Wait. Wait, there is something on my bed. There are a lot of somethings. Extremely short tiny things are all over my bed. Hold on. Bugs. Bed. Bed. Bugs. Bed bugs. Oh no. Mother’s not gonna be happy now.