Big Papa: Welcome to Welcome (Part VII)

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Cautiously but curiously, we all follow Pryce down the path. It really is a beautiful marvel. It doesn’t even feel like we’re in some kind of space habitat. This structure is certainly large enough to fit millions upon millions of fully formed planets comfortably, so maybe this is exactly that. It’s impossible to tell from this perspective. It could be another simulation, for all I truly know. I can’t trust my senses ever again. They’re sensing a lot of pleasant things now, though. The rustle of the fallen leaves in the wind, the smell of petrichor, the feeling of a warm—but not too warm—sun. The taste of air that’s completely free from pollution. This world is paradise, and I know I’ve only seen a fraction of a fraction of an unfathomably small fraction that Hogarth and the world-builders have created. If this is just the bridge that leads to the other universe, I can’t imagine what’s waiting on the other side, which is where I assume we’re going.

The path splits into a fork, one leading alongside the pond that we’ve come across, and the other leading directly into it. Stone steps go right down to the edgewater, suggesting that we’re meant to enter here. Hogarth isn’t surprised or concerned, so this isn’t something that belongs to him, but to her. Pryce steps one foot in, and keeps the other up on the last dry step. He reaches towards me with his hand. “You can trust me.”

I step down, and take his hand. “That will never be true.”

We all walk into the water, and find it to be the perfect temperature. Once it gets deep enough, we drop our chests down, and begin to swim towards the middle. I keep my eye on Hogarth, because if she starts to detect trouble, I’ll know that it’s real. “Just float on your back and relax,” she instructs. “This is the prototype of the transitional prebiotic lake that people from the afterlife simulation will be using. I designed this to be a joyful and calming experience. Bulkverse travel is always either so technical and mechanical, or jarring. I want people to slip over to other worlds peacefully, which is why I call this a drift portal.

Despite tasting no salt, we’re incredibly buoyant. Floating was always something I struggled with when I was learning to swim as a kid, but this takes no effort at all. I do feel wet, yes, but it’s almost as if I’m hovering in the air on a cloud. It’s simulation physics made real. I intended the afterlife to be a place where the dead could live on, but I failed to predict some of the more creative real world applications, such as this. We lie there quietly, and enjoy the sounds of nature around us. We occasionally drift close to each other, but never collide. I start coming up with explanations for this, like maybe Hogarth programmed the area to prevent collisions with a force field, but then I just let it go, and stay in the present. At some point, I realize that the sky has changed from the familiar blue to a lovely violet color. We transitioned, and I didn’t even notice.

I hear splashing as the others begin to swim towards the new shore. When I start to follow, Aldona is still on her back, and we don’t try to summon her. If this is where she wants to be, here is where she’ll stay. She seems content, as am I. I am as relaxed as Hogarth wanted me to be, and have relinquished all hostility I felt coming into the mission to remove Pryce from power. I do not forgive him for anything that he’s done, but it no longer consumes me. Who can be mad under a purple sky?

“Welcome, all...” Hogarth begins, “to Violkomin” She smiles proudly at her own pun. “All who come to this universe shall pass through here.” She walks around a bit, and admires nothing in particular. “The membrane is fifty thousand times thicker than any other universe. Not even The Crossover could penetrate. If someone wants to come, they’ll be bottlenecked. This is the safest place in the multiverse.”

“No,” Nerakali contends. “The universe as a whole may be, but this world is on the frontlines. One way in...one way out; no escape. Might want to consider building a backdoor.”

“Is this what you wanted to show us?” Lowell asks Pryce.

“No, he responds. We’re about four hundred light years from that.”

“Where’s the nearest Nexus?” Gilbert asks.

“Now that we’re in my domain,” Hogarth says, “we don’t need Nexa.” She reaches out towards Pryce. “Navigator.”

He takes her hand to better send a psychic message containing the coordinates to their destination. We all transport to another planet, one that’s just as beautiful and wondrous as the last. “Ellie?” comes a voice behind me.

I turn around to find Paige Turner. There are eleven versions of her that I know of, though, so there’s no telling which, or if it’s a new model that I’m not familiar with. I glance over at Pryce. This may not be any version of Paige, but a clone inhabited by some other personality. If this is meant to be a gift from him, it’s an unreliable one. “How do I know you’re who you seem to be?”

Paige sets down the little bear-looking creature she was carrying at her side like a dolphin in a sealab. She tilts her head much in the same way Pryce did when he was contemplating a philosophical question. “You can’t ever know who you’re seeing, or who you’re talking to, can you?” she poses. “I mean, ignoring quantum duplicates, time travel, clones, android substrates, dreams, hallucinations, and holograms, identity is something we can’t ever truly know about anyone but ourselves, and maybe not even then. Perhaps when we met, Ellie, I was an individual, and the next day, a different individual woke up in the same body. I believed I was the original Trinity, but how would I really know that? Perhaps it’s all just a lie, and if I can’t truly ever know whether I’m the same person as Past!Me, then I certainly can’t expect you to have a clue.”

“That was unhelpful,” I tell her. “I hoped your response would prove it one way, or the other.

“I think her point is that—” Nerakali tried to explain.

“I get her point,” I snap. I compose myself, and apologize with a remorseful facial expression. “If you had your powers, would you know whether this was the real Trinity?”

“If I still had my powers,” Nerakali begins, “I would be the worst person to determine which version of Paige this is. All duplicates are the same to me. Identity doesn’t exist in my world.”

The apparent Trinity walks forward, her loyal ursine creature following closely by her ankles. “I remember everything that Trinity experienced before she died, and I remember everything back when I was just a young girl from the early 1970s named Paige, before I split off to start my own life on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida.” She takes both my hands in hers. “And I remember how I feel about you. I hope that can be enough.”

“It wasn’t enough for you,” I remind her. “Pryce masqueraded as me on Lorania, and when you found out it was actually him, you never talked to the real me again.”

Trinity frowns. “It’s my biggest regret.”

I hug her, also hoping the possibility that this is really her will be enough for me. “How did you survive past your death?” I ask when we release. “Avatar!Pryce said you were a hopeless case.”

She nods towards the physical embodiment of Pryce.

“I went back in time, and utilized a special type of mind siphon,” he explains. “Don’t blame my avatar, he doesn’t know I did it. It was much harder than for people with brain disease. I had to write an algorithm that predicted which neuron would be overtaken by Past!Me’s consciousness next. It had a point-zero-six percent fail rate, so I had to loop back multiple times until those errors were corrected.”

“So you see?” Trinity asks. “I am from an alternate reality. But aren’t we all?” It’s true, everyone here originated from a different timeline, and none of us belongs in this one. Well, I’m not sure about Aldona, I just don’t know enough about her, but she’s still back on Violkomin.”

“Oh, thank God,” Aldona’s voice suddenly shouts in my ear. “Please come help me! There’s a fire in the sky, and it’s heading right for me!”

“Aldona?” I cry. “Say that again, so everyone can hear.”

Aldona repeats herself after I alter the teleporting sound waves to a wider area. Hogarth transports us back to Violkomin, where we indeed see a fireball hurling through the sky, threatening to crash into us. The ground is shaking, and it’s incredibly hot. Hogarth transports us again, scooping up Aldona in the process. We don’t go back to Trinity’s world, though. We’re inside a glass geodesic dome, the sky is black, but we can see the sun, so this must be a moon with no atmosphere. We watch the fiery object crash onto the surface of Violkomin, and utterly destroy it.

“Are we safe at this distance?” Lowell questions.

“We’ll have fair warning,” Hogarth assured him. This moon is orbiting the next planet over in the system, but it’s still pretty far away. If debris heads towards us, I’ll get us out in time. But I wanted to see what this whas. What the hell happened?”

“Something crashed into your planet,” Gilbert answers with a little attitude.

“Where did it come from?” Hogarth asks, knowing that no one here will know the answer.

“What’s that?” Lowell asks. Something is flying through the sky, towards the moon. It doesn’t appear to be coming from the debris, but perhaps from where the crashing object came from. It changes direction, so it’s not a comet.

Hogarth wants to keep watching her precious world fall apart, but she has to stay level-headed, and in charge. “Give me a vacuum suit.” As she walks towards an airlock, machines appear around her, and wrap clothes around her body. First, she steps into a pair of pants, and then a pair of shoes with the next step. She lifts her arms to let a top slip over her. Finally, a helmet comes down, and secures itself over her head. It’s like Iron Man, but with fewer moving parts, because that’s more conducive to a space environment.

Not sure whether it’s even possible or not, I ask for my own suit, and literally follow in her footsteps. I’m not as graceful, but it works for me as well. Within one minute, I’m ready for a spacewalk. Lowell and Nerakali do the same, but Gilbert and Aldona choose to stay in the safety of the habitat. Pryce ignores the suit assembly line, and steps into the airlock seemingly unprotected. He’s always had an obsession with finding the perfect body to live in, so the one he’s using now must allow him to survive outer space.

We let the hatch close behind us, and wait for the outer door to rise out of our way. I’ve actually been on a spacewalk before, and not how you would think. I normally transported to other worlds via The Trotter, or Trinity. I’ve traveled in a few spaceships, but always stayed inside. No, actually, I was the only female crewmember of Apollo 18. I was pretty famous, and it was an exhilarating experience, but then I went back in time to my younger body, and ended up in a timeline where the mission didn’t even take place. That’s kind of what I do, live a crazy lifetime, gain all this experience and knowledge, and then take it away so no one knows I ever did those things. That was a very long time ago from my perspective, and it’s not exactly like riding a bike. Only Hogarth and Pryce are true masters of the moonwalk. Even Trinity struggles and stumbles a bit as we make our way to the downed spacecraft.

Hogarth uses an AI in her helmet to determine the best point of entry for us, one which won’t harm whatever inhabitants are inside. It has its own air lock, which the AI hacks into for us. The atmosphere is perfectly breathable once we’ve repressurized. “Stay together,” she orders. Which makes sense, because we’re not some kind of highly trained recon team. We may all respectively have the skills to protect ourselves, but we don’t know how to work together, and we don’t have a shorthand with each other.

A small group of large white aliens are sitting in what looks like a mess hall. They look frazzled and depressed, and there’s a hint of fear when they notice we’ve walked in, but they instinctively hide it defensively. The apparent leader stands up, and symbolically gets herself in between us and her crew. “My name is Ukodenva Unedisalk. We are but cadets in the Loyal Interspace Arm of the Maramon Lower Class Military Branch. We possess little training, and no means of defending ourselves. Please do not harm my people. If you require a hostage, I alone will suffice.”

This should be interesting.

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Microstory 1600: Welcome to The Bulk

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My name is Thack Natalie Collins. Weird name, I know, but my parents are a little weird, and they have good reason to be. I belong to a subspecies of humans called voldisil. I was not born of only the two parents, but also of a third, which provided me with a special gift that no one else has. This third parent did not raise me, and does not concern itself with human affairs, and it is unclear what their intentions are in regards to us, if they’re even driven by anything beyond their instincts. They may not quite realize what they’re doing. My gift may be part of some grand plan, or it’s just something that happened, but either way, I decide how I use it. I can witness events that occur in parallel universes. I can’t see it all at once, and I can’t see too much detail, but I am able to recognize momentous occasions, and important historical figures. I’m especially good at noticing when someone from one universe travels to another. Those events are so clear to me, as are some others, and what I’ve realized is that they are not inevitable. I can change things sometimes. I can only do it from a distance, mind you, but it is possible to interfere. Communication across these unfathomably vast distances is not easy, but when I need to reach out to someone, I can do it. And when I do, it’s because they’re at some kind of fork in the road, and I believe I can help them choose the right path. There are an infinite number of universes—which those in the know know are called branes, and that they are floating in something called the bulk—and while I could theoretically see any of them, I’m most concerned with the ones that are “closer”. Close is a complicated concept when dealing with hyperdimensional physics, but the fact is that some branes impact other branes more than others, and as selfish as it may sound, they have the potential to impact my universe. All of these are the ones that I’m worried about. They threaten each other, and upset the balance, and since I’m one of the few people who can actually make a difference on a grand scale, it’s my responsibility to try to make things better. The following are some of the more interesting anecdotes from across the bulkverse. I meddle in some of them, and stay out of others, but they are all important, and they all matter.

Microstory 1599: Shutting Down Botner

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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)

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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.”

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