Big Papa: Gray Power (Part IV)

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Needless to say, changing everything about how the afterlife simulation works by going back in time and rescuing the exceptions isn’t actually my first act as keeper. A lot that happens in this place is automated, and these people are pretty self-sufficient, but they don’t do everything. The job demands I spend a pretty significant amount of time managing the higher level residents. They ask a lot of the program, and while it’s not my responsibility to approve—or even acknowledge—every alteration to the code, I do have to make sure it doesn’t get too crazy. Technically, the Level Tens are Unrestricted, and can do whatever they want, but not all of them can be trusted. Back on Earth, there is and was a group of special choosing ones called the Springfield Nine. Or maybe they’re chosen ones; the truth is unclear. A man by the name of Rothko Ladhiffe was dangerous when he was alive, and he’s dangerous now. He wields far too much power than he deserves, and he’s constantly trying to tear down the establishment. The problem is that he’s capable of realizing his dreams, so I have to combat him at every turn. I’m apparently not allowed to demote him, but I’m seriously considering breaking that rule. They’re my rules now, and though I’ve not changed anything yet, I reserve that right.

The residents accept me as their new leader with no fuss. They’re not particularly ecstatic about it either. I kind of thought they would become joyful—and maybe even start singing—as people did when Dorothy killed the two witches. They don’t seem to be giving it much thought. Like I said, the place pretty much runs itself. As far as I know, it’s the longest-running civilization in history, outlasting all others by an order of magnitude. So it’s no surprise they have it fairly well figured out.

The code automatically has me wearing rainbow-colored clothes. I can change the design and accessories all I want, but I can’t wear fewer than six colors at a time. People want to know who you are, and what you can do. It’s as much for safety as it is for status. Many avoid interacting too much with anyone they see wearing violet, since the Unrestricteds are the only ones capable of killing someone permanently. They don’t want to piss them off, and any experience can take a turn, even if it starts out innocuous or pleasant. For this reason, the Violets are powerful, but generally alone, which probably diminishes the fun of being a Violet in the first place.

Lowell is the only one wearing white, as he is the only person who was resurrected, but has since returned, except for me. Unlike their regard for me, which lacks excitement, they are in such awe of him. They treat him like a king, who can help them, and change their lot in life. He could give them anything. He could upgrade them. Of course Unrestricted people could help them too, but people assume Lowell is better at it. Nothing could be further from the truth. Manipulating the code doesn’t require an advanced computer science degree, but it does demand a level of understanding of how computers work. As a nomadic serial killer in life, who chose his victims by literally looking at them, he never needed a computer. He only ever had a flip phone, and in fact, never figured out how to turn it off. He could never keep track of the charger either, so whenever one died, he would just take another one out of his trunk. They were all burners, so he bought them in bulk, and only used them to order delivery.

Today, he tried to upgrade someone from Yellow to Green, so she could have her own place to live, but he accidentally downgraded her to Orange. It’s taken an executive order from me to get her out of Hock. “Again, please accept my deepest apologies for what you’ve endured.”

“It’s fine,” the victim, Paisley assures me.

“Still, in recompense for your troubles, please allow me to convert you to Level Seven, Elite. I promise you, nothing will go wrong this time. Since I’m new here, I’ll conscript an Unrestricted to do it for me, just to make sure it works.”

“No, really,” Paisley continues. “I can just go back to Limited. It’s fine.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I say. “It would reflect too poorly on me. I have to do something to remedy this error, so people don’t lose faith in me.”

She smiles kindly. “Okay.”

I look over my shoulder. “Gilbert.”

“Yes, madam, I’m ready.” Gilbert Boyce was a spawn before death, which means he wasn’t born with time powers, but was accidentally transformed by his enemy when that enemy tried to kill him the first time. That moment was so powerful that it actually rewrote Gilbert’s neurology, and turned him into the rarest kind of temporal manipulator. Pryce felt this entitled Gilbert to be an Unrestricted without earning it. The irony is that Gilbert used his power to operate against Pryce by coding a special section of the simulation where Pryce couldn’t detect him. My friends and I used this to formulate our escape plan. Well, they mostly used it. It was my job at the time to stay in the main simulation so I could spoof their respective individual codes, and prevent Pryce from getting suspicious.

“As you wish,” Paisley says respectfully.

Gilbert approaches her, and opens up the virtual toolbox. From there, he simply has to move a slider up or down. He could send her down to Black if he wanted, or even all the way up to his own level. He can’t resurrect her, which is one of the few restrictions that people like him have. He’s only supposed to make her Pink, but instead makes her Level Nine, World-Builder, which is only one level below him. “Whoopsie-doodles,” he says before closing the toolbox, and stepping back. “That can’t be undone.”

Paisley’s clothes turn from orange to gray.

“Yes, it can,” I contend.

“Oh, it can?” He asks, pretending not to know. “Hmm...weird.” He looks over into the aether. “What was that? Yes, I’ll be there right away. Sorry, gotta go. Sorry for my mistake.” He teleports away.

It was absolutely not a mistake, but I feel like it would be even shittier for me to downgrade her yet again, even though Elite is a perfectly acceptable level. Plenty of people here have been living as Elites for thousands of years with no complaints. Not everyone wants to alter the code, and build their own things. I’m not sure whether Paisley is one of these people, or if she’s more like Gilbert, who enjoys having the control.

Paisley looks nervous. “Okay, go ahead, put me right.”

“No,” I determine. “This is what’s happened, and this is how we’ll keep it. You are a world-builder now. I pull up a fake holographic tablet. “Here are the directions to Siva University, where experts will teach you how to code new simulations.”

“I don’t know if I want this.”

“Yes you do.” Lowell steps forward. “I’m good at reading people. You’re thrilled. It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad about your ambition. I screwed up, and this is for your pain and suffering. Now, go to school so you can do something good with it.”

“Okay,” Paisley says. “Thank you.” She teleports away.

Lowell chuckles. “I can’t wait.”

“For what? To see what worlds she designs?”

“No, for the consequences. When people find out they can be upgraded just for being wrongfully downgraded, they’re gonna start looking for ways to be wrongfully downgraded.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t think of that.” I release a virtual sigh, and massage my virtual forehead. “Call a meeting. Mandatory. I need to speak with all the Unrestricteds. We have to make sure this doesn’t get out of control.”

“Let’s set up the meeting for later today,” Lowell counters. “There’s someone you should speak to first. I think you know who.”

Yes, I do.

I walk into the prison alone. The guards nod cordially as I pass through the barriers like they aren’t even there. I don’t even have to ask for visitation, because they know who I’m here to see. I just walk into the room, and find him waiting there with his personal security detail. “Here so soon?” he asks. “You must be desperate.”

“I just need some advice,” I tell him. “Nothing’s wrong yet, but I’m worried.”

“What have you done?”

“First, how are you doing?”

Pryce leans his head back, but not the rest of his body. “Well, it’s a whole lot less fun in here. Boring, I would say. I’m surviving, though.”

“I can give you pain patches,” I promise, “if you would just accept them.”

“You could also just turn on the violence inhibitors,” he argues.

“I can’t make too many changes too fast. You know this. It would cause psychological problems, even if the changes are objectively superior.”

“I like the pain,” he says. “And I kind of like being in here. Ya know, I spent decades in a real prison before I became the foremost expert in mind transference. It feels a little like home.”

I look over at his guard. Like Gilbert, Nerakali Preston was also a time traveler who was immediately assigned Unrestricted privileges upon her death. Her road to redemption was a long one, and she’s improved so much that she wants to complete some penance to make up for some of the things that she did while she was alive. This is her way of accomplishing that. She shares the cell with Pryce, and can’t leave unless she asks to be released permanently. Until then, she does wear pain patches so she can’t be harmed, and she keeps a close eye on Pryce for me. He’s obviously here for a reason, and I need to know what that reason is before it’s too late. “Report.”

“He doesn’t need pain patches either way,” she explains. “Nobody would dare hurt him. They think this is just some kind of publicity stunt, and that he can walk out of here just as easily as you walked in. They call him Hancock now, like that superhero-angel movie where the titular character does the same thing.”

“Is this true?” I ask him. “Are you Hancocking us?”

“As I recall, he didn’t get out until they let him out. But regardless, no.” He snaps the chest of his shirt. “These are real.” He pounds his fist on the table twice, demonstratively, and not violently. “And I can’t walk through walls.”

I don’t entirely believe him, but I move on. “Did you hear about the woman who was accidentally oranged?”

“Yeah, I saw her. She was only in here for, like, an hour.”

“It was thirty minutes at most,” I correct. “Anyway, I obviously had to fix it, so I called in a favor.”

“Lemme guess...Gilbert Boyce.”

He’s too smart. He’s literally too smart, I wish he were dumber. “Yes. He slid her all the way up to World-Builder.”

“And you’re worried that this is gonna start some trend, where people will find ways to game the system.” Yeah, way too smart.

“Yes, I’m meeting with the Unrestricted people to warn and prepare them for it.”

“Yeah, don’t do that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“People don’t like to be told what to do, especially people with the power to reject the advice. You’re only gonna remind them just how powerful they are. The entire population is in the hands of a few hundred people. A few hundred people that you can’t control. Do you really want to talk to them about their power? Most are content just making goats that walk upside down midair, and undenary star systems. Don’t be putting ideas in their heads. When Alexander the Great reached Level Ten 700 years ago, I made an off-handed comment about how he could once more destroy civilizations. Asshole went to war, and took down four simulations before MacBeth managed to kill him with Alexander’s own zeroblade. That wasn’t even the worst thing that an Unrestricted has done.”

“What would you do? What would you do with another Alexander the Great if you didn’t have another MacBeth?”

Pryce narrows his eyes. “I told MacBeth how to steal the zeroblade. I had Alexander killed, to protect everyone else from him...and I had someone else do it to protect the system from the inevitable chaos that would result from me doing it myself.”

What he said before was right. Rules are necessary, even when they seem cruel or wrong. I don’t think I misjudged his character, but I’m already starting to see the reasoning behind some of his decisions. The crown is on my head now...and it’s heavy. Maybe I shouldn’t go back in time and save the exceptions. Maybe the consequences are worse than I can fathom now. “I’ve already called the meeting. It would be more suspicious if I cancelled it now.”

Pryce shrugs. “Hold the meeting then. Just say you wanted to acknowledge their status, and assure them that nothing will change. Or promise that the only changes will be better, I guess, I dunno. You can let them ask questions, but steer the conversation away from the incident, if you can. Be careful, though. Some of them are real smart.”

“Are you helping me?” I don’t ask him why are you helping me?, because I don’t know if that’s the case. What I do know is that he’s up to something.”

“I am,” Pryce says. “I want this place to succeed. I want you to succeed. I also want to be part of it, and if that means I have to spend a few centuries in here, I think it’s worth it.”

I leave him to be happy with being in prison, and head towards a special simulation that was designed specifically for Level Tens. No one else can access it, and it’s a cleanroom, where they can’t make alterations to the code. I stop at the entrance, and check my watch. There’s still time, which I should be using to come up with a good opening speech. No, instead of coming up with my own speech, how about I just have Abraham Lincoln write it for me?

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Microstory 1585: By Accident or Design

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Prompt

This is my tenth interview in two weeks. I should be upset that no one’s giving me a job, but I just feel lucky that they’re considering me at all. Usually, I spend months unemployed with nothing to show for it.

Botner

Now, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a few more days, and pray that somebody who gives a crap notices I’m good at this. The star: I am a self-taught designer/illustrator/graphic designer. I don’t understand people who get a “serious” degree in a field. I have read every comic, watched every movie, and read every graphic novel I could get my hands on. Everything I’ve learned about art, design, and publishing is self-taught. I couldn’t wait to graduate high school because I wanted to be independent and do my own thing. I wanted to be me. I got a job in entertainment instead. The job: I work for myself as a freelance illustrator and designer. I do graphic design work, print advertising for corporate clients, and offer art consulting for print and web-based businesses. I’ve also started an art school for adult animation. I work on a freelance basis or full-time depending on the project. I will accept projects from anywhere in the world. My rate is based on the complexity and size of the...

Conclusion

..never mind, it doesn’t matter. The point is that none of it is going very well. No one wants to come to my random animation school, and I’m not getting enough clients. Freelance is tough out there, and everybody’s got an edge. There’s really no good way to stand out, so I’ve had to admit that my best bet is to make a steady income by working for a company. The HR representative walks into the waiting room, and tells me that she and the team manager are ready. I follow her down the hall, shoulders straight and confident. I’ve lost my enthusiasm, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at me. I have to act like this is my dream job, and I’ve never wanted to do anything more than work here, for these people, especially this one particular person. No one wants to hear that you’re only in it for the money. Everyone is in it for the money, but they pretend to be passionate, so they expect everyone else to suffer under their own façade as well. People are petty like that. Of course, graphic design is indeed my passion, but I’ve never wanted to become a corporate hack, which is why I tried to go it alone. I’m only here because I’m all out of options. Hopefully even my failed entrepreneurship will make me look reliable and worthy, and they won’t consider the time I’ve spent not working for a company to be a gap in employment. Though no one’s actually said it, that’s how I’ve interpreted how the other interviewers have felt. I walk into the room, and sit down. The manager stares at me without saying a word for a good two minutes. “I spend all this time looking for a good candidate, only to have them quit on me a month later for something better,” he finally says. “It seems it doesn’t matter if someone’s a good fit, and I’m wasting energy trying to figure it out ahead of time. If it’s inevitable, I might as well skip all those steps, and get right to the point, so I at least always have someone on board. You’re hired.”

Microstory 1584: Courage

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Prompt

I wake up in a bathtub, covered in ice, and in an immense amount of pain. There is a huge sewn-up incision on my stomach.

Botner

I look at the tiled walls, look at the floor, look at the woman, whose voice I remember but whose face I don’t recognize. “So you’re the doctor, right?” I feel like a fraud.

“Doctor?”

“Doctor.”

“Yes. You won’t help me.”

I’m confused. “How is that even possible?”

“You saved my life.”

“I didn’t know you were still in here.”

She laughs. “You will help me. You have to.”

At the beginning, I was confused by the entire experience. I felt both privileged and like a fraud to be part of it. Then I remembered my PhD and the structure of the experiment that I had been part of. After a while, I came to accept the role that I was being asked to play. This person had incredible amounts of courage, strength and resourcefulness. I knew that I had to do whatever I could to help this person, regardless of whether she could do the same for me. I can remember every second of that night. Everything that transpired is still like a slow-motion film in my head. I remember my partner, Sam calling...

Conclusion

...me up, and saying that I needed to meet her at this motel. She wouldn’t tell me why, and when I got to the room, she wasn’t even here. The last thing I remember, something sharp pierced my neck, and now I’m here. I never thought my life would end like this, but at least I’m doing something good. This doctor may not have taken my organs in the most ethical way, but with them, she can do a lot more good than I ever hoped. There’s something about me—my biology—that makes my organs special. They’ve made great advances in cloning human tissue by studying me, and the time has come for me to die, so they can leap over that last medical science hurdle. I should be mad, but I guess all this was inevitable. They could only do so much without taking me apart. She says she’s going to take the heart next, but that she wanted to thank me for my sacrifice first. Now that I’m too weak to fight it is what she probably really had in mind. For my last few minutes I call Sam, and thank her for setting this all up. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do it myself, so I’m glad someone was there to force my hand. I don’t call my family to tell them I love them. They know, and hearing their voices again would just make it harder. The light dims, and I disappear, but will live on in everyone whose life this technique saves.

Microstory 1583: Gun to My Head

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Prompt

They haven’t tied me to this chair very well. I could probably escape if it weren’t for this gun still trained on my head.

Botner

They had me think about how things could be if I wasn’t such an awful person, how much things could be...if I didn’t care about other people so much. “Now, we all know what this is about.” They lift my head with the gun. “That slut you were seeing.”

“Her name’s Jamie,” I say. “She didn't like the way I was treating her, so she dumped me.”

“Boring,” the soldier says. “She’s a slut. Why do you think you had to go so far as to run away?” He turns my head so he can see my eyes. “Shut up, kid. You really have no sense of shame at all, do you? I don’t like these questions either, you know that.”

“Maybe you should leave.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“Then you better listen, asshole. You know I need a job.”

“No, you don’t. You’re already giving me more hours than I asked for.”

“It’s not the hours.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m giving you more than I asked for. I’m giving you more money than I asked for. We’re even.”

The other one says, “and how much is this going to cost me, kid?”

Conclusion

“It’s not going to cost you anything,” I tell them both. “Listen, we can all come out of this alive, and on top. You just have to trust me. The plan is solid.”

“If this plan of yours is so great, how come you haven’t done it already?” the one with the gun asks.

“I can’t do it alone,” I explain. “It’s a three-person job. Well, I mean, it’s a two-person job, but it’ll work with the three of us.”

“Hmm,” the one who hasn’t been holding a gun says. Then he takes it out of its holster, and shoots his friend.

“Thanks,” I say. “I know you didn’t do it for me, but I didn’t appreciate him calling my ex a slut.”

Now he’s the one pointing a gun at me. “We’re gonna do this plan of yours, and then we’re gonna split it seventy-thirty.”

“Sixty-forty,” I counter.

“Sixty-five-forty.”

Um. “Deal.”

He finally unties me, and we get going. It’s a little late for the job, I would have rather started earlier, but if I ask him to wait until tomorrow, he’ll think I’m stalling, and just shoot me. In order for this to work, we have to be in two different places—which he should have expected, because that’s kind of the whole point in a two-man job. Still, he’s nervous, and it takes a lot for me to convince him that he can trust me. He can’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. Surprisingly, it’s not all that hard to get him to give me a gun. In fact, it’s a little too easy. I lean up against the wall of the building, and check the magazine. Empty. That explains why he didn’t balk at letting me have it. That’s perfect, though. My plan depends on me not actually being armed. I round the corner, and hold up my gun, but then pretend to realize that there are too many guards for me to handle, so I drop it, and reach for the sky. We’re both caught, and sent to the same prison. I could have called the cops. I could have ratted him out, let him take the fall for it, and made some kind of plea deal. But he would have gotten out eventually, and then he would have come after me. Now, remember, my gun wasn’t loaded, which gets me a lighter sentence, and instead of it being my fault, it’s his, so he won’t be able to blame me for it. I’m out after a year, and he’s still in there.

Microstory 1582: Woman in a Cave

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Prompt

I enter the cave, and find...

Botner

...a woman, sitting on a bed. She watches me with a bored look on her face, and moves a little away from me. I ask, “is this you?” She nods yes. I want to sit down next to her, but something tells me not to. So I say, “it’s me, Celeste.” I say, “is this your cave?” She says, “yeah.” I ask her, “is that your cave?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your body?” She says, “yeah.” I try to sit down next to her, but I’m not strong enough. So I say, “is this your dead husband?” She nods yes, and holds up her dead husband’s cane. I ask, “is that your dog?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your cat?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your pony?” She nods yes. I ask, “is that you?” She nods yes. I try to get near enough to kiss her, but can’t. I know how hard it is for a TOTALLY BOY to kiss a GIRL. (That’s how I refer to myself to my own friends). I can get just about ANYTHING ELSE done, much to Celeste’s chagrin, but kissing is the one thing that I just can’t manage. So I back off a little. She...

Conclusion

...getting a little antsy, so I put the photograph of her and her family away, and sit against the opposite wall, so I don’t make her feel uncomfortable. I take outmy notebook, and start going back over the information I’ve gathered about this place. Legend has it that you can bring your loved ones back to life if you bring their body in here. I nev er truly believed it, but I had to hold out hope that I could one day see my son again. I’m willing to try anything, except for sacrificing someone else’s life for him. I found a cult in Alps that claimed they could do it, but someone else would have to take his place in the afterlife, and neither he nor I would want that. I’ve been studying this cave when I have time for the last seven months, and Celeste is the only one who’s ever been brought back. Others have come, and met nothing but failure and disappointment, so I have to figure out what is different about this one person. Once I feel like she’s ready, I start asking her for more information. It’s not all that easy, because she’s only willing to answer yes/no questions. As it turns out, she can’t ever leave the cave, or she’ll die all over again. Her family comes once a week to check on her, which I find quite strange. If this works with my son, then I’ll find a way to live here with him. I’ll never leave his side as long as he’s back. I decide to try it, because it’s my last hope, and if it doesn’t work, then I will have least done everything I could. I steal the body from the morgue, grateful to my friend who works there. He made sure no one tried to bury the remains, or anything. I take my boy back to the cave, and lay him down in the center. Only a few minutes later, he rises as if he had just woken up from a slightly jarring dream. For a week or so, we’re happy, but then he starts becoming more like Celeste. He loses his ability to carry on a normal conversation, all the way to the point where he can only say yes or no. Still, he’s back, and he understands me, so I stay, and we stay together. A few weeks later, though, things start to get worse. I too can only comprehend true or false now, and if I could, I would ask myself, “is this really living?”

Microstory 1581: Empty

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Prompt

I literally saw no other cars on my way to work this morning, no one on the streets, and no one in the office. Something strange is going on.

Botner

It’s been like this all week. This morning, I had to leave a little bit early for a doctor’s appointment. I can’t remember the last time I was late for work. And, since this has been happening all week, I am guessing it has something to do with my hormone levels being out of whack. Probably due to the possible infection. And, the whole period thing. I’m trying to stay positive. I just hope it’s a short term thing. And, that it doesn’t affect my job, because I really like my job. Yesterday I went for my 28-week check up. I had asked about my nausea since I noticed that it seemed to be lessening, as well as my food aversions. I was told I was still pretty miserable. Then, the doctor told me that I had to stop wearing my belly band and go on full bed rest. That I had to wear nothing but a pad or a maxi pad the rest of my pregnancy. That my blood pressure was being regulated and they had decided I had gestational hypertension, but the baby’s was fine. (There was an issue with...

Conclusion

...the ultrasound, but it turned out to be some kind of imaging error). None of that explains why there are no people around anymore. I didn’t notice it the first few days. Because of the pandemic, so few people are coming into work now. My mind wanders while I’m driving, and I try to stay away from people in person anyway. Fortunately, I work in my own little corner with a special door that pretty much takes me right there. I’m obviously extremely worried, now that I realize that I’m all alone, and have been for quite some time. Even if the virus killed everyone, and for some reason, left me alive, I should still see signs of life. If it was that quick, there should be dead bodies in at least a few cars on the way. Perhaps it’s all just hormones, and I’m imagining everything, or it’s some kind of fever dream. I decide to skip out early today, and go exploring. I just randomly drive around the city, looking for anything—anything—that suggests there are other people still alive and around. I saw a movie about this once. A couple was on vacation when they woke up to find the whole world empty except for them, and (spoiler alert) one other guy. I keep driving around, but there’s no one. I call up my doctor, and he answers the phone, so I keep him on the line while I’m headed his way. He’s confused as to what I’m talking about, but I’m even more confused when I get to his office, and find it just as empty as everywhere. He’s still talking to me, and claiming that he’s sitting in his chair. I’m looking right at it, he’s lying. Then I remember. The father’s ex-girlfriend claimed to be a witch, and warned me that she would be sending me to a prison world. I didn’t believe her then, of course, but I believe her now. I have to find a way out of here, and since I can obviously still make calls to the real world, that has to be possible. Who can I call, though? The father? Maybe, but the witch will be monitoring his communication, surely. Then again, she’s probably just watching me right now. I hang up, and call my neighbor, who once strongly suggested he too was a witch.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Sunday, July 31, 2146

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The team dropped Miapaktem and Padera off in the Croatian arcology, right where the scientists had been for the first transition window. Their job done, they went back to The Imzadi, and hung out for the rest of the day. A transition alarm woke them all up from having been sleeping in the next day. They were a little out of sorts, but well-rested. The window was opening up in Lebanon, Kansas in two minutes, and they were still in Croatia, so the new AI teleported them there, evidently underground.

A woman appeared on the bottom level. She looked around, curious but not scared. “Does anyone need any help?” she asked.

“Us?” Leona questioned as she was sliding down the steps. “I believe you are here so that we may help you.”

“I think I’m all right,” the woman said. “Helping people is generally my job.”

“As it is ours. My name is Jeremy Bearimy. These are my friends, Missus Leona and Mateo Matic, Angela Walton, and two people you can’t see named Kallias Bran, and Aeolia Sarai.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jodie Konsten, substitute Savior of Earth.” She smiled proudly.

“Substitute?” Leona asked. “You step in when Xearea needs a break.”

“Indeed,” Jodie confirmed. “It is a tough job, and mine is easy. She gets the occasional vacation, and I get the occasional un-vacation. The rest of the time, I wait in The Constant.”

“Konsten in the Constant,” Angela noted.

“The powers that be do like their puns,” Jodie acknowledged. “If you don’t have a job for me, though...”

“Why weren’t you called up in 2109?” Leona asked, though more to herself. “That’s when Xearea went out of commission, because she was trapped on Tribulation Island. If you existed, you should have been able to fill in for her the whole time.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jodie apologized.

“It’s Arcadia,” Mateo began to explain. “She trapped a bunch of people on another planet. Younger versions of the two of us are there right now.” He pointed to himself and his wife. “We were later assigned to fill in for her ourselves. I was responsible for 2121, 2122, and 2123. She had 2118, 2119, and 2120.”

Leona stepped forward. “That’s right. She must have planned that all along, and arranged for Jodie here to not be called to action.”

Jodie was upset. “That is my entire purpose in this world. Had I know that there was a gap in service, I would have found a way to close it.”

“It’s okay,” Mateo assured her. “We took care of it.”

“But not forever,” Leona reminded him. “Lincoln is doing it right now. “He got last year, this year, and next year. After that, Arcadia runs out of people. I talked to her about it once, she said that all the years until 2159 are shit out of luck.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jodie said, determined.

“This must be why we’re here,” Jeremy figured. “Arcadia managed to keep Jodie in the Constant so she couldn’t do what she does, but we’re a loophole. She doesn’t know this team exists, or I mean, she doesn’t know what we do.”

Mateo nodded. “We’ll get you back to your reality, so that you may take the baton from Lincoln.”

“What do you mean?” Jodie asked. “Are we in a different reality?”

“That’s how we got you out,” Leona told her, “or rather, how our boss did. You won’t be needed for another year and a half, though. I’m not sure why you’re here now.”

“We think we might have an idea.” Bran looked forlorn, as did Aeolia next to him.

“What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything,” Jodie said. “You’re the one who said I’m too early.

“No, I wasn’t talking to you,” Leona tried to explain.

“Not me, what?”

“It’s too confusing,” Mateo said. “Give her a cuff, so she can see Bran and Aeolia.”

“Who are Bran and Aeolia?” Jodie asked. She couldn’t even remember Jeremy mentioning them earlier.

Angela took a cuff out of the drawer, and handed it to Jodie. “If you put this on, you’ll start to share their  patterns and temporal conditions. I’m a human, so you’ll get nothing from me, and we recently parted ways with our resident choosing one. We will also be able to use your abilities, though I’m not sure what that looks like when it comes to the Savior. This has to be your choice, mind you, but you can absolutely take it off whenever you want.”

“Okay,” Jodie said with no more thought. She put on the cuff. “Oh! Kallias and Aeolia! I know who you’re talking about. Hey, guys.”

“Hey,” Aeolia said with a laugh, but the smile faded from her face quite quickly.

“Why did we have to transition Jodie this year?” Leona asked her. “What do you know of the future?”

Aeolia sighed sadly. “The Constant. It’s been, well...constant, for billions of years. It was designed to last forever, but everything has a weakness. I couldn’t tell you what that weakness is, because I’m not the one who destroyed it. All I know is that it was, or rather, will be. It happens sometimes next year. I would imagine Nerakali is aware of this as well, and has extracted Jodie early, to both save her life, and prepare her to take a more active role in her job.”

“What?” Mateo had been pretty good for the last few days. He came back from his multiversal ordeal a changed man. He was no longer so agitated and anxious, but calm and forgiving. The bliss wore off over time, or at least lessened in intensity, but his sense of completeness remained. The constant carefree attitude would have gotten on people’s nerves, so this was a good balance. Now, all of it was—hopefully only temporarily—gone. He was back to being pissed off and overwhelmingly worried. Family was clearly his trigger. “What does that mean for Danica?”

“We don’t know,” Bran said. “We saw the aftermath in 2151, and eavesdropped on a few people who had some more details, but no one seems to know where The Concierge went.”

“Well, we have to stop it.” Mateo was growing frantic. “What did it look like?” Was it an explosion? Implosion? Tell me everything.”

“It was...” Aeolia hesitated.

“Spit it out,” Mateo demanded.

“Mateo, relax. It’s not happening today, give them time.”

“It was pretty bare,” Aeolia went on. There was some debris; pieces of the walls, it looked like. The rest was gone, and what little remained was, like, pulled toward the center.”

“A portal,” Leona guessed. “A portal that sucks things in, rather than allowing you to walk through it.”

“Is this a person?” Mateo wasn’t feeling any better. “Who do we know that can do that?”

“I don’t know of anyone specifically,” Leona said. “We’ve never seen it before, it’s just...possible. It would have to be a time power, or a time device, because human technology doesn’t do that. From what they describe, there’s too little left behind to be anything but temporal. I suppose the portal itself wouldn’t have to be capable of it. Maybe they simply opened the portal to a location of intense gravity, like a black hole, or a neutron star.”

Mateo sort of stepped away from the group, and spoke into his cuff. “Nerakali. You better be listening in realtime, or somehow get to us. I need you to open a transition window. We need to go to the Constant and stop whatever this is. Or we at least need to be able to save Danica. We gave you this job, you owe us.” In response, all of their cuffs beeped. A time appeared in the corner, counting down. “What is this? What does that mean? Nerakali, just use your words.” The timer grew to a larger font for emphasis, but that was it. “Goddammit.”

“It’s counting down to next year, Mateo,” Leona said. “It’s a transition window. Today is about Jodie. Tomorrow, the Constant. Presumably, there’s nothing we can do until we’re given that mission.”

“I can think of a whole hell of a lot we can do. First, we can just sneak Danica out of there, so it doesn’t matter what happens. We can leave a guard topside, and we can find a psychic, and a seer, and call in every favor we have coming to us.”

“Nerakali knows more than us,” Leona continued to try to get him to understand. “Respect and accept that.” She cleared her throat. “Of course, this doesn’t mean we can’t prepare. I don’t want Jodie involved in this, as she’s too important. So Jeremy, please escort her to the Kansas City arcology, and get her set up with a unit, where she can rest, and learn about this world. I don’t know if you’ve kept up on current events while down here, Jodie.”

“Not really. It would be nice to familiarize myself with this world.”

“Angela and Bran, we haven’t really asked you to use your powers yet. I’m going to be making a list of tech that could help us, and I want you to steal it from the Parallel natives. We don’t have time for diplomacy. Angela, the way I understand it, you taught a medication class in the afterlife sim before you became a counselor?”

“I did, yes.”

“Please help my husband get through whatever it is he’s going through. God knows I’m useless in that respect.”

“What will you do instead?” Mateo asked. He wasn’t upset about her talking about him like he wasn’t here, because he knew she was right.

“I’m gonna go call in some favors.” Leona lifted her head, and spoke to the AI. “Computer, please teleport me to the surface. I can transition from there.”

“Wait, what?” Mateo questioned. “You can?”

It was too late, Leona was gone.

« < » > Table of Contents

Big Papa: Keys to the Castle (Part III)

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Two days later, Lowell and I are sitting on one side of a table, like this is mediation for a divorce, and one of us is the other’s attorney. No one else is in the room yet except for a robot assistant with limited cognitive capabilities. I check my watch. “Are the other parties in a different part of the matrioshka body?” I question the bot. “How wide is the time discrepancy?”

“Oh, we are no longer as close as we were to Sagittarius A-star,” it explains. “The entire hyperstructure is presently operating at roughly the same relativistic time as your average planet in one of the outer galactic arms.”

“We left the black hole?” I ask rhetorically. “What year is it, by Earth time?”

“Twelve-thousand three hundred, and thirty-seven,” the bot answers. It means 2337, but it’s using the human era calendar, which arbitrarily adds ten thousand years.

“We’ve still not yet caught up to the creation of the matrioshka body,” I point out.

“They will not reenter the stellar neighborhood until the time loop is complete. There will be no interference with the past,” the bot says. “Research into the effects of high gravity on time has been exhausted. That is all I know about it.”

“Thank you,’ I say to it.

Gacar enters the room from one door, while Tamerlane Pryce comes in from another, as if they rehearsed their grand entrance. Lowell and I stand up respectfully, then sit down with the other two. “Thank you three for coming. This is a relatively informal meeting to see if this issue can resolve itself. We understand that your species demands a sort of...long-winded approach to everything you do. My people would rather stay out of it, if at all possible. I’m here to facilitate discussion, but intend to make no judgments. If you cannot come to an agreement, we will step in, but not before that. Understand this, the afterlife simulation exists as a favor to whoever wants it. As long as it does not disrupt anyone else’s processing power, we will let it be. We don’t care who’s running it, or even what they’re doing with it. We will shut it down, however, if that is the only way to end this. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” we all say in unison.

“Then we’ll begin,” Gacar says. “Ellie, you may speak first, but after that, I expect the three of you to police yourselves, and stay civil without intervention.”

“Thank you, Gacar,” I say. I turn my attention to Pryce. He regards me politely, but like he has a magic bullet in his arsenal—and knows that his argument wins, regardless of what I say. He’s just waiting for his moment to drop the mic and pwn me, so to speak. I must preempt him. “I do not demand control of the simulation. I only ask what you did with my friends, and why they are not here to control it, if only alongside you?”

He tilts his head to the other side. “I killed Trinity. Thor and my daughter were conscripted into some kind of train war. I didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

“Why did you kill Trinity?” I ask. I’m keeping my cool, because if she truly died, her consciousness should still have survived in the simulation. Technically, the simulation always existed if he went back in time to collect everyone’s consciousness from history. The bot even called it a time loop.

“It couldn’t be helped. “Thor destroyed the body I was using before her, so I jumped into Trinity’s.”

I think a moment. “That’s when you were masquerading as me,” I posit.

“Yes. I intended to ingratiate myself into your group, and become one of the big four in your stead. There’s a reason I haven’t done that before, though. I’m not a good actor. I’m...not a great person either, but I’m nothing if not honest. I couldn’t pretend to be you. Didn’t last a couple minutes. So I let Thor kill me, and switched tactics.”

“Wait. That doesn’t make any sense. You say you weren’t capable of pretending to be me, but you were good enough of an actor to pretend to be Trinity?”

“I wasn’t her at first,” Pryce answers. “I was a passenger. I couldn’t control the things she did or said. I would later realize that I was influencing her the entire time, which is why they abandoned you so decisively, but Trinity was still there back then. Over time, my consciousness overtook hers...until there was nothing left. I was not aware that this would happen. By the time I had the chance to make myself a new clone, Trinity was essentially brain dead.”

“But she’s still alive,” I put forth. “She’s somewhere in the sim.”

He looks saddened. The guy actually looks saddened, it’s unbelievable. “Contrary to popular belief, not everyone goes to the sim after they die.”

“What?” Lowell finally jumps in. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Pryce sighs, and runs his finger through his hair. “Little bits in the brain. They act like insulation, but they’re what transfer neural data. An entire backup of the brain is located inside every brain. When someone dies, that generally survives long enough to complete a transfer to an external server, which is on Earth—and most other planets before they’re needed. From there, it can be transferred to the sim. There are exceptions to this. I spent a lot of time perfecting the timing. I needed to be able to rescue people even if they were blown up by a bomb. I needed people who were stabbed in the head with a sword. I am damn good too. Almost everyone makes it. Almost.”

“What are the exceptions?” I press. “What made Trinity one of these exceptions?”

“Technological advancements come with some pretty crazy ways to die. The twentieth century gave us vaporization. The people who die within the blast radius of a nuclear bomb do so too quickly for my systems to save. Your buddy, Lucius Deschamp can basically do this with his mind. I can’t save those people either. It doesn’t matter how fast I made my program, it was never fast enough. Thor didn’t want any time travel, other than the first one that sent us to the beginning of the endeavor. I respected that, but it means that some people can’t be saved. To answer your question, there are other exceptions, which go the other way. They’re too slow. Some people’s minds don’t die all at once. Alzheimer’s, dementia; these involve microdeaths that essentially destroy the person’s identity little by little. How do you quantify that? It’s hard enough to map and transfer a single flash image of someone’s mind, but over time, as it changes? That’s...not impossible, but it was hard, and still leaves us with exceptions.”

“You still haven’t explained Trinity yet,” I remind him.

“But I have, haven’t I? I told you my mind took over her body...slowly. Dementia patients slowly lose their minds, but those minds aren’t being replaced, they’re just losing connections. And that revision history still exists, so all I have to do is backup those people long before their deaths, uploading them as slowly as their disease destroys them. Before you ask, I can’t back up everyone using this technique, like they do on Altered Carbon, because that much server space would alert people to our existence, but I’ve been able to reserve a little extra space for those few who need it. That didn’t work with Trinity, and some other people who suffer too much psychic trauma, like Volpsidia Raske.”

I sit quietly for a moment, and everyone just lets me. “This sounds like manslaughter to me. Where do manslaughterers go when they die? What level are they?”

“Level Three, Hock, just as they would be on Earth.”

I sit quietly for another moment. “Did you put yourself in there? You killed someone? Did you do your time? Or have you been sitting one your throne since this all started?”

“Is that what you want from me?” Pryce asks. “You want me to serve time in prison?”

“Yes,” I answer plainly.

He snaps his fingers, but keeps his eyes on me. A little wheel appears before us.

“What was that?” Lowell questions, looking around. “Are we in the sim?”

“As we have always been,” Pryce replies.

“I was concerned that one of you would resort to violence,” Gacar jumps back in. “We are in a part of the simulation that I control. I delegated the responsibility of making sure you understood this to someone else.” Gacar gives the assistant bot the stink eye, but he just keeps smiling back. He’s not programmed to feel shame, embarrassment, or guilt. Must be nice.

“Running the simulation is not easy,” Pryce says to me. “I wouldn’t think you would think it was, but I just want you to know that I did my best, and I hope you recognize and remember that when I’m up for parole.” There are twelve wedges on the wheel, of varying sizes. The smallest is obviously the hardest to land on, but if you get it, you’ll be resurrected. It’s only happened twice. When I, Lowell, and our other friends were brought back to life, he didn’t make us spin the wheel, because he had already made the decision. It has no power on its own, it’s just a way for him to turn life and death into a game. The fourth largest wedge is orange, and will send the spinner to a virtually inescapable prison section of the simulation. This is the wedge that Pryce deliberately chooses for himself, rather than spinning and hoping. He just adjusts the hand, so it goes where he wants it. His clothes automatically turn orange, but he doesn’t disappear right away. “You’ll see. You’ll understand the choices I made, and when you realize that the changes you make to the system are creating nothing but chaos...you’ll know where to find me.”

As soon as Pryce disappears, a heavy metal gear a little larger than a normal human hand appears on the table, spinning like a top. It never loses momentum, due to us being in a simulation. It just keeps going, until I pick it up. “Does anyone know what this is?”

“A symbol,” Gacar explains. “The possessor of that gear controls the simulation. Don’t fear it, though. If someone were to physically steal it from you, they wouldn’t simply take your place. There’s a real world analog, but as far as I know, it doesn’t really do anything. He’s just telling you that you won.”

We’re silent for a second. “Congratulations,” Lowell says to me, not in monotone or shock, but genuinely and softly. “What is your first act as God of this world?”

I inhale deeply, then let it out. “I’m going to prove him wrong, and show that I can indeed save everyone, including dementia patients, and vaporized victims. We’re ignoring Thor’s mandate, and going back in time, so that everyone makes it to the simulation, especially Trinity.”

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