“Oh, man, my people never gave me no votes. If they had feelings, they just acted on ’em. Ha, ha, yeah, they hit you soft, that means they only hate you a little. But if they hit hard, well, then they must really love you.” Then Tina laughed, looking at my face, and said, “Oh, Sophie, that’s why I like you, girl, you always take things so serious.”
She said she wanted me to know they were all giving me Pro votes around here, though admittedly, given their own scores, it wouldn’t count for much.
Nobody can understand why I’m in this place. To be honest, I don’t understand either. I used to be at the top of the Pro ratings, attend a prestigious university, go to meetings with the country’s biggest business leaders. What I want now is for my narrative to be a help to others, and aid them in avoiding the pitfalls I have taken. There are times, though, when I feel like I will never understand, and always be deep in the red, no good to anyone.
As for what transpired after my meeting with Mr. Barraine? That particular time is hard to recall. They say that when the officials came, I was sitting in a chair in his office, and wouldn’t move. For weeks after, I wouldn’t speak or do anything. They had to bring me to a hospital and take care of me. I remember I was there when my mother came, and told me she was sorry for everything, and reminded me that while it is very easy to fall into the red, it can be very difficult to climb back out. Some of the underwriters of my education also came, and reminded me about the opportunities I could still have if I remembered my responsibilities and pulled myself together. But mostly I just sat there, doing nothing, except falling ever deeper into the red.
I thought about the negative scores I had given people in my life, and the friends I had voted out of my peer network, and how one time my mother had wanted to talk about my father, and I had told her, “I can’t do this with you.” But mostly I thought about the reason this all started, which is the one thing I haven’t talked about, because to be truthful it still feels so weird.
This was in seventh grade, when they introduced an autistic boy into our school, as part of an experimental program. He was seriously autistic, so nobody wanted to be near him, because he would do things like grabbing you when you didn’t expect. But there were some people he liked, and one of those people was me.
Then one day, some other kids were doing something to the autistic boy, and suddenly he started to howl and ran across the lunchroom, throwing his arms around me from behind. I don’t know what the other kids had done. All I knew is, the autistic boy was hugging me in a way where I couldn’t breathe. That was the day everything changed. Because people began to panic and shout, as there had been prior incidents. And the more they shouted, the harder the boy squeezed, until my head began to go dark.
But instead of struggling, I whispered to the boy, and reached up a hand and stroked his arm. After a while he loosened his grip. I felt very calm. I managed to stand. Then I turned around and hugged him back. It surprised everyone. And when the boy’s parents saw the videos that had been taken, they started a Pro-Vote campaign on my behalf, even though the boy had to go into an institution because of what he did. And the campaign took off, and the videos went viral, and before I knew it, the Pro votes came in, millions of votes from around the world. And that was what made my holoscore go so deep into the green, and what made me seem like such a promising student, and why so many investors wanted to put their money into my Child Development Program. And that was why everything turned out the way it did.
But what I remembered, while I was lying all that time without moving, was how it actually felt, when the autistic boy grabbed me. How I was so scared I wanted to scream. But I was also so scared I couldn’t scream. He was so much bigger than me, and he wouldn’t let go, and people were screaming how I might die. I couldn’t even say why I did what I did. It was like there was a different person inside me, who lifted up a finger and gently brushed his hands. And when he responded, I knew what to do, and I turned and put my arms around him. Everyone became silent. I remember him shaking, and making puffing noises, like a cat when it can’t stop sneezing. Then he began to quiet down, and I stroked my hands along his back, and put my cheek against his cheek. It was like there was no one else. It was like there was just us two. I felt it go through him, a kind of hum, like a vibration I could feel in my hands. That was when I knew, just by the feel of him breathing—I knew he would be peaceful, this person in my arms.
* * *
Nick Wolven’s science fiction has appeared most recently in Asimov’s Science Fiction and the anthology Infinity’s End, the final volume in Jonathan Strahan’s acclaimed Infinity series. He lives in New York City.
Utopia, LOL?
By Jamie Wahls
He’s shivering as he emerges from the pod. No surprise, he was frozen for like a billion years.
I do all the stuff on the script, all the “Fear Not! You are a welcomed citizen of our Utopia!” stuff while I’m toweling him off. Apparently he’s about as good as I am with awkward silence ’cause it’s not three seconds before he starts making small talk.
“So, how’d you get to be a…” He waves his hand.
“A Tour Guide To The Future?!”
“Yeah.” The guy smiles gratefully at me. “I imagine you had a lot of training. . . ?”
“None whatsoever!” I chirp. He looks confused.
“Allocator chose me because I incidentally have the exact skills and qualifications necessary for this task, and because I had one of the highest enthusiasm scores!”
He accepts my extended hand, and steps down from the stasis tube. He coughs. Probably whatever untreatable illness put him in cryo in the first place.
“Oh, hang on a second,” I say. My uplink with Allocator tells me that the cough was noticed, and nites are inbound to remove some “cancer”, which is probably something I should look up.
I’m confused and eager to get on with my incredible Tour Guide To The Future schtick but I have to close my eyes and wait because the nites STILL aren’t here.
Patience was one of your weakest scores. But you proved you can wait. This is just like that final test Allocator put you through, the impossible one, where you could choose between one marshmallow NOW, or two marshmallows in one minute.
I quietly hum to myself while checking my messages, watching friends’ lives, placing bets on the upcoming matches of TurnIntoASnake and SeductionBowl, and simulating what my life would be like if I had a longer attention span.
It would be very different.
#Allocator: Good job waiting!
#Kit/dinaround: :D thanks!
I beam at the praise, and check my time. I waited for eleven seconds!
Pretty dang good!
The old man clears his throat.
“You poor thing,” I gush. “Your throat is messed up too! Don’t worry, the nites are here.”
He looks at me. “The. . . knights? I don’t see anyone.”
I cover my mouth with a hand as I giggle. “Oh, you can’t see them. Well, you probably could with the right eyes, but we’re actually in universe zero right now so the physics are really strict. The nites are in the air.”
He looks up and around at the corners of the room. He’s frowning. It makes me frown too.
“In the air,” I explain. “We’re breathing them. They’re fixing your ‘cancer’.”
He looks downright alarmed. I’m not an expert but that’s not how I think a person should react to being cured of “cancer”.
“Wow,” he says. “Is that how far medical technology has come? Some kind of. . . medical nanobots?”
“They’re not medical,” I say. “They’re pretty all-purpose.”
On one hand I’m sort of tired of answering his questions because it’s all really obvious stuff but also it’s really fun! It’s always super neat to watch their eyes light up as I tell them about the world and that’s probably why I got picked for the position in the first place.
“Let’s have ice cream!” I demand.
>
• • • •
Four seconds ago, I demanded that we have ice cream. There is now an ice cream cone forming in my hand. It is taking FOREVER.
The old man sees it and flinches.
“Oh no!” I cry. “What’s wrong? Do you hate ice cream?”
He looks at me with a really weird expression or maybe a couple different expressions.
“How are you doing that?” he asks. His voice is funny and tight.
“Oh. Allocator is making it for me?” I say. “Hey, let’s get into another reality.”
I spring up to my tiptoes. Moving is kinda fun but not as fun as it is in, like, The Manifold Wonders. Or in Bird Simulator. That one’s really good.
“What?”
I blink. I almost forgot! It’s time for me to be a good Tour Guide To The Future and repay Allocator’s trust in me.
“Post-Singularity humanity now exists entirely as uploaded consciousnesses in distributed Matryoshka brains, living in trillions of universes presided over by our Friendly AI, Allocator,” I say.
My ice cream is dripping! It can do that?
“Sorry, I didn’t really understand that,” he says. He doesn’t sound sorry. “Is there anyone else I can talk to?”
“Sure!” I say.
#Kit/dinaround: yo Big A, come talk to, uh
#Kit/dinaround: hang on
“What’s your name?” I ask. I forgot to ask earlier.
“Charlie,” he says. “And you?”
“Kit/dinaround,” I say, making extra-careful to pronounce the / so he won’t miss it.
“Oh,” he manages, “can I call you Kit?”
“I LOVE it!” I cry.
#Kit: Did you hear that?
#Allocator: Yes.
#Kit: I LOVE IT
The old man is looking around the room. There’s nothing to see, though. Just the cryo pod, the upload station, and the walls.
“Is there a way out of here?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I point to the upload station, a bare slab with a half-sphere dome for the brain. “I mean, it’s no demon altar, but this is UZ, so we can’t exactly travel in style.”
“Please,” he says. “I don’t understand. I have apparently been snatched from death and returned to good health. I am grateful for that. I’m happy to repay that effort in any way you require. . . .”
• • • •
“. . . are you listening?”
“Oh!” I start. “Sorry.”
Charlie blinks at me and I blink at him. I actually really like these lashes that Allocator gave me.
“Can I talk to the Allocator?” he asks.
The man flinches as the one of the walls tears away with a big whooshy sound effect.
Outside of our little blue room is the full majesty of the void. Space!: The Final Frontier looms before us, a whole lot of it.
Ol’ terra firma is there, 90% nite-devoured to make more smart matter. Held in place above the gray slab by a trick of gravity (that I will totally remember to look up later), a little island is floating, a blue and tropical nature preserve. I squint, hoping to see an elephant.
I do not see an elephant.
The sun is almost entirely shrouded behind big spindly metal rods and arms. Whatever project Allocator is doing with Sol takes a lot of energy.
Charlie cries out, in fear and kind of pain. He doesn’t look hurt, but I can’t see his HP or anything so I don’t know.
“Is it your cancer acting up again?!” I cry out. “Did Allocator not cure it?”
An enormous floating head forms in front of the window.
“Charlie Wilcox,” it says mildly, “I am called Allocator. I am an AI tasked with the safety and flourishing of intelligent life.”
“Hi,” says Charlie, strangled-like.
“I understand you have many questions. I have prepared a tour to assist in your understanding of how life is lived in the future. Kit will be your guide. She is more competent than you would think.”
“I’d hope,” Charlie mutters.
“To begin the tour, simply lie on the provided table, with your head in the hemispherical dome. You will then experience a simulated reality. You will be in no danger and may return here at any time. Do you consent?”
“I suppose so,” says Charlie.
Allocator’s big ghostly face is blank. “Apologies, but I was created with several safety measures which prevent me from inferring consent. Do you consent?”
“Yeah,” says Charlie.
“I require a ‘Yes’.” Allocator patiently smiles.
“Yes, then.”
“Thank you. Please lie comfortably on the table.”
“Yaaaaaay!” I say, trying to force some enthusiasm because c’mon obviously we’re uploading and who even listens to contracts before agreeing to them anymore? If you listen too close, people can’t play pranks on you!
Charlie tentatively lays on the table, and scoots his butt up until his head is under the dome.
“Am I supposed to feel anythiunnnnnggg,” he drools, going limp.
#Allocator: Good work.
#Allocator: Where to?
“Eeeeee!” I squeeeeee. “You’re letting me pick?”
#Allocator: Yes.
#Allocator: Obviously.
“Oh my goodness,” I said. “Uh… but what if I choose wrong?”
#Allocator: I have a hunch that you won’t.
#Allocator: The “hunch” in this case is an identical copy of your mind, to whom I’m feeding inputs and reading her behavior as she makes it, thus allowing me to deterministically predict what the “real” you will choose.
“Sigh,” I say. “Could you not?”
#Allocator: I could not.
#Allocator: Would you kindly pick a U?
“Fiiiiine.” I roll my eyes. “Ummm. . . Oh! Bird Simulator!”
#Allocator: Great choice. ;)
#Allocator: Close your eyes.
• • • •
FWOOSH I’m a bird haha!
I nip through the air, just above the snow on the treeline. The air smells incredible, like forest pine. I’m darting around like a cross between a rocket and a fly. My tiny bird heart is pounding like the itty-bittiest drum and golly but I do feel alive.
#CharlieSamarkand: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
#CharlieSamarkand: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
#CharlieSamarkand: aaaaaaaaaaaaohgodwhat’shappening
#Kit: Charlie!
#CharlieSamarkand: what? what is happening what
#Kit: You’re a bird!
#CharlieSamarkand: I NOTICED THANK YOU
#CharlieSamarkand: WHY ARE WE BIRDS
#Kit: That’s a really philosophical question!
#Kit: Why were we humans??
#CharlieSamarkand: WHAT
He’s flapping really hard, so I fly under him to show how you can just sort of coast.
He’s this really little cute bird. I guess I am too ’cause I think there’s only one bird you can be in Bird Simulator. Bird Simulator is more of a game than a proper U, but it’s also way fun.
#Kit: You don’t have to flap constantly to be a bird!
#Kit: Never give up! Trust your instincts!
#Kit: Do a barrel roll!
#CharlieSamarkand: YOU’RE THE WORST GUIDE
#Kit: >:(
#CharlieSamarkand: HOW ARE WE EVEN COMMUNICATING
#Kit: haha
• • • •
“What was that?” Charlie demands. He’s pale and sweating.
“Biiiiiiird Simulator!” I crow, because, “crow”, Bird Simulator? Get it?
It is a pun.
Charlie looks at me like I’m crazy, which, sure, yeah.
“I want a new guide,” he demands, to Allocator.
The face returns.”I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why?” asks Charlie. His voice comes thick and he looks like he could screamcry, which is like screaming while crying except even more frustrated and hopeless.
I get serious, ’cause I’m kind of friends with him now and you get serious when a friend is gonna screamcry.
“It may be difficult to believe,” says Allocator, “but Kit is one of the more relatable humans you could have as your guide. And, she is the only guide we keep on hand for cryogenically frozen patrons. You’re really very uncommon.
“There are trillions of humans. However, you would not recognize a sliver of one percent of them as anything other than frightening, incomprehensible aliens. Not just their forms, which are inconstant, but their minds as well.”
“Her,” speaks Charlie, all flat.
“Yes, her,” says Allocator, a little sharply, and I feel bad for Charlie.
“Hey!” I object. “What’s the big idea with letting me take Charles into a U that he hates?”
“It was the universe you selected,” says Allocator mildly.
“I’m not a giant superbrain!” I protest.
“This is all part of my superbrain plan,” Allocator explains, mysterious like a supervillain. “Would you like to try a different simulation?”
I glance at Charlie. He’s looking all dubious at the brain-helmet of the upload station.
“In a second,” I say, because oh my glob I want to get out of this room that doesn’t have even a single unicorn in it but I also want to be a better guide. “And Charlie picks the U.”
They both look at me.
“He would have no idea what to pick,” protests Allocator.
“Actually. . .” says Charlie. “Could I get a directory of available universes?”
“There are trillions,” says Allocator.
“Well, can you just,” Charlie waves his hand, “give me an overview? Of some categories?”
I try waving my hand like Charlie did. I like it. “Yeah! Give him some categories!”
The Long List Anthology Volume 4 Page 9
