You Can't Kill the Multiverse

by Ira Nayman

  Bao Bai-Leung nodded. “It looks like.”

  Bertrand Blailock turned back to the scene and enthused, “Wonderful! I never thought I would stand at the foot of the Wi-Fi bridge to Digitaleusia!”

  “Digitaleusia?” Bao Bai-Leung asked.

  Bertrand Blailock stifled a sigh. He knew his partner refused to read the file for fear that the universe would become too real in his imagination, paradoxically making the real universe less credible to him, which would make him loath to travel there. But, really, who didn’t know the home of the digital gods? “The home of the digital gods?” Bertrand Blailock stiffly suggested.

  “Yeah. Of course,” Bao Bai-Leung hastily agreed. “I knew that.”

  Before they could talk further, a large figure with broad shoulders and two heads dropped from the sky and thudded to a halt before them, blocking the path. “I told you we were coming in too fast!” the head on the left, with short dark hair and a permascowl etch-a-sketched on its face, bitched.

  “I got us here, didn’t I?” the head on the right, with flowing blond locks and a beatific smile, responded. “If we had traveled at the speed you had wanted, we would still be walking past the palace canteen!”

  “Phisysus,” Bertrand Blailock stated in awe.

  “Who?” Bao Bai-Leung asked in ignorance.

  “Oh, very nice,” the head on the left groused. “You don’t know the god of binary choice? Mac or PC? Kirk or Picard? The universe of the gods or the shitty little universe of wherever you came from? I say we throw them out on general principle!”

  The right hand of the body went up in a placating gesture. “Now, now, let’s hear them out,” the head on the right suggested. “I’m sure they have a legitimate reason for being here.” He turned his attention towards the investigators. “Do you have a legitimate reason for being here?”

  Bao Bai-Leung nudged Bertrand Blailock in the ribs. With a start, Bertrand Blailock closed his gaping mouth and remembered that he was on official Transdimensional Authority business. “Oh, umm, yeah,” he said. “We’re here to see Arrundel. He should be expecting us.”

  “By the multi-pronged outlets of Arrundel’s CPU!” the head on the left exclaimed. “Mortals wanting to see the All-programmer? Who would believe such impudence! We should have their Dimensional PortalTM send them to a random universe just to teach them a lesson!”

  “Don’t even joke about such a thing!” Bao Bai-Leung shouted.

  “May I see some ID, please?” the right head officiously asked.

  After Bao Bai-Leung and Bertrand Blailock had proven themselves to Phisysus, the right head of the god of choice smiled at them and said, “Enjoy your stay in Digitaleusia.”

  “Stay to your left on the path to Sparkling City,” the left head sneered, “and don’t access any areas you haven’t been given explicit permission to access.”

  And, with that, Phisysus stepped aside and allowed the pair to walk onto the bridge.

  As they walked down the road, Bao Bai-Leung and Bertrand Blailock passed various gods, demi-gods, semi-gods, hemi-gods, godlings, divine goslings and other non-mortal creatures going in either direction. Bertrand Blailock delightedly named every one. Bao Bai-Leung, not for the first time, cursed under his breath that he had been partnered with a man with a graduate degree in the classics.

  As they approached Sparkling City, they came to a fork in the TV snow road. At the foot of the fork (this was obviously the utensil, famed in song and story, that ran away with he spoon) was a ramshackle wooden hut. It wasn’t much bigger than an outhouse (because its owner was always in conflict with various other deities, it was sometimes referred to as the ‘on the outshouse’) and looked like a stiff breeze could knock it over. Or, a passing fancy.

  Bertrand Blailock swooned. “ePik Flayel’s home!” he squeaked.

  “I could knock it over with a heavy thought!” Bao Bai-Leung scoffed.

  “They say it contains every computer game ever made.”

  “Even Star Blap: Degenerations?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That game was only ever released in Polynesia! And, all copies were destroyed and sent to a landfill three minutes later!”

  “I know. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “How could all of the games fit in there? There’s a VR harness that’s bigger than that!”

  “It’s dimensionally transcendent.”

  “Oh.”

  “That means that it –”

  “Yes, I know what being dimensionally transcendent means.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s –”

  “I know.”

  “If you’ll just let me tell you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Being dimensionally transcendent means –”

  “It’s bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.”

  “Oh. You know.”

  “Stubborn old goat!”

  “Young know-it-all!”

  As instructed, they took the left fork (which is traditionally used for entrees and deserts not made with fruit), which took them to Sparkling City. The road to the right led to the Hall of Code Warriors. The HCW (not to be confused with the Hillock of Crustacean Waiters, which is a whole other geography of the mind) is a miles long wooden structure which houses casualties of earthly code wars. It is made up of computer workstations as far as the eye can see, punctuated only by vending machines always full of junk food and soda and the occasional ping pong or pool table. Young men and women drink virgin alcohol and use the computers to share tweets about their glory days. Oh, and it is said that, when not doing that, they write the code that keeps the universe going on a moment by moment basis.

  About a mile out of the city, Bao Bai-Leung and Bertrand Blailock picked up their goggles. You thought I was kidding about the sparkling part of the name Sparkling City? It was so bright that mortal eyes burned out within seconds of arriving at the city limits. (While we’re here, you wanna question the city part of the name Sparkling City? Jesus begesus – I’ll bet Homer never had to put up with this!)

  “Investigator Bai-Leung?” a short, middle aged man in an impeccably tailored, if ultimately bland, three piece suit asked Bertrand Blailock.

  “Frequency Radical Ian Daye?” Bertrand Blailock asked. “Arrundel’s personal assistant?”

  “Actually, I’m Bao Bai-Leung,” the other investigator introduced himself.

  Daye, confused, took out a PDA and consulted it at length. Eventually, he put it away and, with a smile that could have almost been mistaken for sincere, said. “Of course. My apologies.”

  “It was an honest mistake,” Bertrand Blailock excused the man. “It happens all the time.”

  Bao Bai-Leung gave him a look that said, “No it doesn’t. It’s damn near impossible to mistake you for a Chinese man, slick.” Out loud, he said, “I would have expected the leader of the digital gods to have a digital personal assistant.”

  “He is,” Bertrand Blailock stated. He went on to explain that Frequency Radical Ian Daye started off as a computer programme (sort of like Ask Jeeves, but without the air of unfocused tetchiness or the silver tray), but proved so useful that Arrundel gave him a holographic body.

  “So, you mean…?” Bao Bai-Leung asked, passing a hand through Daye’s chest.

  “Yes, well, if you are done amusing yourself,” Daye drily pronounced, “I am to take you directly to Arrundel’s palace. If you will follow me…”

  As Daye led the pair of human beings through the Sparkling City, Bertrand Blailock leaned towards his partner and whispered, “When we get to the palace, let me do all the talking.”

  “Fine by me,” Bao Bai-Leung agreed.

  “The digital gods are easily offended,” Bertrand Blailock explained. “One wrong word, and the entire mission could go cow pies.”

  “Okay,” Bao Bai-Leung said.

  “Having studied the pantheon,” Bertrand Blailock continued unnecessarily, “I know the right things to say a
nd the subjects to avoid.”

  “You have trouble taking ‘Okay’ for an answer, don’t you?”

  As they walked through Sparkling City, the two Transdimensional Authority investigators saw many wonders, but they will have to wait for the Director’s Cut of their adventures. For now, all you need to know is that they approached a four story building that shone brighter than any of the other buildings in the city. Daye led them through it into a room with wood panelling, glass desks and plastic sheets over the comfortable-looking sofas. It reminded Bertrand Blailock of the den of his house in the 1970s (before the divorce from his second wife), except for the jungle of computer technology spread out all over the room. The wires looked like silver vines that would not be out of place in a Richard Brautigan poem. Not to mention the incongruous torches set in the walls, which cast a flickering glow on the room. Oh, wait – I did mention it. Pretend I wrote ‘Not to forget’ instead.

  In the far corner of the room sat a hulking figure in a three piece striped business loin cloth. The figure had wild, greying hair and a patch over his right nostril. He was concentrating on a large computer screen on the largest desk in the room, his plump fingers typing in a blur.

  “Arrundel,” Bertrand Blailock practically drooled.

  “Ahem,” Daye ahemed.

  “Yes, yes,” Arrundel grumbled with the voice of 1,000 synthesized human beings, “the device you seek is over there. Please collect it and be gone.”

  Arrundel waved his arm in the general direction of another corner of the room. Under a dense layer of electronics could just be made out the housing of a Home Universe GeneratorTM.

  “Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” Bertrand Blailock blubbered.

  “That’s it?” Bao Bai-Leung punched his partner in the shoulder. “There’s so much more we need to know.”

  “Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” Bertrand Blailock continued blubbering.

  “Not so fast,” Bao Bai-Leung said to Arrundel. “I’m sorry…sir, but there are a couple of questions that need answering here.”

  Bertrand Blailock looked at his partner in horror. Although his fingers kept typing, Arrundel looked up from his screen, both amused and annoyed. Annused. “Are there?” the digital god asked.

  Ignoring Bertrand Blailock’s desperate attempt to divert him with hand gestures, Bao Bai-Leung continued, “Yes, sir. For instance, where was the Home Universe GeneratorTM found?”

  “In a shed behind Hotjax’ stable,” Arrundel informed him.

  “What would a god want a Home Universe GeneratorTM for?”

  “Baaaaaooooo!” Bertrand Blailock urgently whispered. A third degree was not, by his reckoning, the way you treated the All-programmer.

  “It depends on the god,” Arrundel answered. “If I had to guess, I would say that ePik Flayel wanted your device for some infernal trick of his. I have taken the liberty of –”

  On cue, a redheaded man with a slight hunch strode purposefully into the room. “You rang?” he asked Arrundel.

  “ePik Flayel, these gentlemen would like your assistance with their investigation,” Arrundel told him.

  “These…mortals?” the redheaded man sneered. “Why are you cooperating with them?”

  “I am not,” Arrundel assured him. “I am countering the latest legal irritation foisted upon us by the rain midgets. You will cooperate with them, though.”

  “No,” Bao Bai-Leung shook his head. “That’s not right. Is there somebody here whose name is similar to Jerzak Carnakhian or Jeroen Kardashanus?”

  “As a matter of fact…” ePik Flayel reluctantly began. Before he could continue, a tall, distinguished looking middle aged man burst into the room. On cue.

  “You rrrrrang?” he grinned.

  ePik Flayel shook his head gently. “I’ve already used that line,” he told the newcomer.

  “Sorry,” the man apologized. “I got discomfructulated waiting for my cue in the –”

  “Yes, well,” ePik Flayel hastily cut him off, “this is the person you were asking about. Germaine Cossakian. What is it, exactly, that you gentlemen would like to know?”

  “Are you responsible for bringing the Home Universe GeneratorTM here?” Bao Bai-Leung asked. Bertrand Blailock was frowning. ePik Flayel gently shook his head.

  “Absolutely not!” Cossakian cheerfully responded. He was immediately enveloped in a blinding field of static electricity, which caused him to scream unreservedly.

  “Are you being entirely honest with us, Germaine?” Arrundel asked.

  Panting, Cossakian looked towards ePik Flayel, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Y…yes?” he replied. Once again, he was enveloped in painful static electricity and screamed, although not with as much enthusiasm as he had the first time.

  “For a third time,” Arrundel persisted, “are you responsible for bringing the mortal device to Digitaleusia?”

  “Yes! Yes! I totally am!” Cossakian answered. Then, he cryptically added: “This isn’t nearly as much fun as I was hoping it would be.”

  “There’s your answer, then,” Arrundel stated. “Now, if you will all please –”

  “No,” Bertrand Blailock found his voice. “Something’s not quite right, here.”

  “Oh?” Arrundel arched an eyebrow. Volumes could be written about the meaning of that expression.‡

  ‡ Actually, volumes have. By the Might of Mighty Arrundel’s Wistfulness by Eric Minusha is a twelve volume set detailing all of the potential meanings that can be gleaned from the raising of his right eyebrow. The foreword by Jacques Derrida is especially piquant.

  “You know, I’m something of scholar of the digital gods,” Bertrand Blailock stated. “And, there’s one thing I’ve always wanted to know about ePik Flayel.”

  “What’s that?” the redheaded god responded.

  “What does the ‘e’ stand for?”

  ePik Flayel considered this for a moment. Then, he tentatively suggested, “Eugene?”

  Bertrand Blailock shook his head. “Actually, no,” he said. “Because the letter is not capitalized, people assume it means ‘electronic,’ but, in fact, it doesn’t stand for anything at all. You, sir, are an imposter! If I had to guess, I would say that the man claiming to be Germaine Cossakian is actually ePik Flayel!”

  Cossakian weakly threw up his hands and said, “I didn’t tell!”

  “My first clue was that ePik Flayel makes up words,” Bertrand Blailock explained. “Whether it is because he finds joy in creating something new or cannot be bothered to think of the correct word in any given situation, nobody knows. I found it suspicious that Cossakian and not you made up the word ‘discomfructated.’”

  “Actually,” Cossakian energetically corrected him, “the word was ‘discomfructulated.’ If I’m going to go to the trouble of getting it wrong, you should make an effort to get it right.” Then, realizing that he should still be recovering from the effects of the static electricitying he had recently received, his body sagged and he quietly said, “I mean…moan…”

  “One simple trick question later, and the ruse was revealed,” Bertrand Blailock concluded. Everybody in the room ‘ooohed’ at his deductive genius. Well, actually, Arrundel was the only one who oohed at his deductive genius, but because he spoke with 1,000 synthesized voices, it sounded like everybody in the room. And, then some.

  “So, there’s just one thing left to do,” Bertrand Blailock stated. Before he could tell everybody what it was, ePik Flayel(Cossakian) blinked sharply and said, “What the hell am I doing here?”

  Everybody’s attention was already on ePik Flayel(Cossakian…?), so they couldn’t be said to turn their attention towards him. Let us say that their attention on him intensified.

  ePik Flayel(?) looked at his body and exclaimed, “Oh, by the Dreaded Twelve-sided Dice of Arrundel’s Doom, is this another one of those soul-exchanging adventures? Because, you know, I was really busy working on a new information architecture!”

  “Gigi?” Bertrand Blailock asked.

&nb
sp; “Who wants to know?” said the mouth of ePik Flayel(Gigi).

  “It’s a great honour to meet the goddess of design,” Bertrand Blailock bowed deeply.

  “You haven’t exactly met me,” ePik Flayel(Gigi) pointed out.

  “I have met the essence of you,” Bertrand Blailock, still doubled over, insisted.

  “Inhabiting the body the All-programmer coded for me is an essential part of me,” ePik Flayel(Gigi) insisted right back.

  Daintily feeling his ribs and grimacing, Cossakian(ePik Flayel) said, “I think I would really like my body back, now, please.”

  “EVERYBODY! OUT! NOW!” Arrundel bellowed. “I REALLY HAVE NO TIME FOR YOUR ANTICS!”

  They were all out the door before the walls of the room had ceased their shaking.

  3. The Interrogation Comes to a Head

  TRANSCRIPT

  INTERROGATION OF SUSPECT JEROSHI CORNIFFEROUS

  INTERROGATOR: Bob Blunt, Transdimensional Authority

  When in doubt, don’t decide

  03:47:08

  BLUNT: …ead for the hills!

  CORNIFFEROUS: (moans) Please, god, MAKE IT STOP!

  BLUNT: Are you ready to talk?

  CORNIFFEROUS: N…n…no!

  BLUNT: You ever wanted to make a Public Service Announcement?

  CORNIFFEROUS: A…what?

  BLUNT: You know – a PSA. Public Service Announcement.

  CORNIFFEROUS: I’m an evil scientist. We don’t do PSAs!

  BLUNT: Good. Because that’s no way to get a…HEAD in advertising!

  CORNIFFEROUS: Gaaaak!

  BLUNT: But, I, ahh, may be getting a-HEAD of myself here!