by Tad Williams
God, this was big, she thought. It wasn't just us on the inside and my father and Del Ray and Jeremiah on the outside. And then she thought, I want to meet some of those people—the little girl and boy we saw at the end. They were real children! I want to meet everyone. After all, we're the members of a very small, special club.
And I want to see the Stone Girl again, she realized. She may not have been real, but I certainly miss her. She resolved to ask Sellars about it when she had a chance.
Ramsey's recital drew questions—many of those present were only now putting all the details together. By the time they had all lapsed into overwhelmed silence, more than half an hour had passed.
"It seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Ramsey," Martine said at last. "You have had your own difficult journey."
"Nothing like what you all went through, Ms. Desroubins. And that's not even speaking of those who didn't come through—Olga, her poor, mistreated son, your friend Paul Jonas. Compared to the rest of you, I don't have much stake in this. But that's all the more reason I'd like you to listen."
Renie said, "I think we're listening now."
"Thanks." He took a moment to compose himself. "Now, what you've heard already from Mr. Sellars is that the stored code for the network was basically intact." He gestured to the bubble-distorted view of giant trees. "As you can see, Mr. Kunohara has largely recovered his own world already. And there are other worlds waiting to be saved, too. With time, everything could be saved."
"Could be?" Martine was still asking questions, just a little more gently. "Why the conditional?"
"Because unless we take a bold step," Sellars said with some heat, "I do not want to save them." He waited until the clamor died down. "I apologize—I should not have interrupted, Mr. Ramsey. Please continue."
"The problem has a couple of parts," Ramsey explained. "The first is—who owns the network? It was built by the Grail Brotherhood, but all the guiding members are dead. They built it through various business entities, but in many cases by illegally funneling monies out of their own corporations or the countries they ruled—embezzlement for purely personal benefit." He shrugged. "The two largest pieces of technical infrastructure belonged to J Corporation and Telemorphix. J Corporation still exists, but its headquarters is a lump of rubble and molten glass in the middle of a Louisiana lake and its founder is dead. Nothing like that happened to Telemorphix, although Wells is definitely dead, too—you may have noticed they finally announced it." He took a breath. "The fact is, the squabble over ownership is going to go on for decades. Trust me—this affair is going to be worth hundreds and hundreds of millions just to the trial attorneys."
"So what are we supposed to do?" asked Bonnie Mae Simpkins, who had been largely silent. "That's just how things work, isn't it? Regular folks get it in the neck and the lawyers and big businesses make out like bandits."
"I wish I could take time to defend my profession," Ramsey said. "We're not all sharks. But there's another question—a vital one. And the person at the center of that question is right here in this room."
Sellars saved them from a search for dark corners in the cornerless bubble. "We're talking about Orlando Gardiner, of course. This network is Orlando's home now. He can't live anywhere else."
Orlando shrugged. "Nobody's going to be pulling the plug, are they? Not for a while."
"But there's even more to it," Ramsey said. "Mr, Kunohara?"
Their host leaned forward, wearing one of his odd half-smiles. "All of you—well, almost all—were with me when the information life-forms were set free. Despite the objections of some of those present, by the way, I do think that was the only rational solution. Can you imagine the political and legal struggles to determine their fate if we had left it up to the people back in the real world?" He said it as scornfully as if he owed that place no allegiance at all. "Well, I have something else to tell you. Those creatures . . . a bad word . . . those beings are gone now, released from their so-strict confinement. But the evolutionary algorithms first generated by Sellars, the processes which helped create them, were not kept in such a secure way. Remember, the Other was not a discrete entity monitoring a network from some separate location—in some ways, the network was the Other's body. Any evolutionary biologist knows that cells which prove useful in one part of an evolving organism may eventually be put to use in other parts as well. And the evolution of both the Other and the Grail network itself has been rapid and not very well understood.
"For a long time I have been discovering examples here in my own simworld of unusual or even impossible mutations. The first appeared years ago, and thus had nothing to do with the more grotesque mutations forced by Dread. Initially I thought these things were just flaws in the programming, then later I put it down to Grail Brotherhood manipulations. Now I think differently. I believe that the Other put some of the same evolutionary aigontnms which helped shape its children into use in the network at large—or at least unknowingly allowed them to seep into the code."
"So there are like, too many mutants," Sam said. "Do you want Orlando to kill them? He's ho dzang at killing mutants."
Kunohara looked at her in horror. "Kill them? Don't you understand, child? This may not be the kind of evolutionary breakthrough that the information life represented—that life was hothoused, protected, even hastened toward more complex evolution—but it is still something rare and wonderful. In a sense, this entire network may almost be alive! Whether through slow change to the general matrix, the springing up of unusual forms, or even a deepening of the individuality of the virtual inhabitants, I suspect that the algorithms have already had an effect." He settled back, smiling again, clearly pleased with the prospect. "We have no idea what this network can become—all we know is that it is far more complex and vital than any mere virtual reality simulation."
"So," Martine said, "this is the crux."
"Exactly." Catur Ramsey nodded. "We all can guess both the good and bad that might come from this network. The good—a place like no other, almost a new universe for humankind to protect and explore and study. The bad—uncontrolled growth of pseudo-evolutionary information organisms. Possible contamination of the worldwide net. Who knows what else? Now, do you really, really want to put those potentialities into the hands of the same corporations that built it—and their lawyers?"
Renie broke the long, uncomfortable silence. "Since we couldn't bring ourselves to kill off the Other's children, you're obviously not going to suggest we blow up the entire network. But sending it off into space doesn't seem to fit the bill this time. So what's the alternative? You look like you have an alternative in mind,"
Sellars nodded. "We hide it."
"What?" Dumbfounded, Renie looked at !Xabbu, but to her astonishment he was smiling. She turned back to Sellars. "How in the hell can you hide it? Del Ray Chiume, just for one, has already been repeating what I told him about the network on every newsnet that can get a feed out of downtown Durban. There must be others, too—something this big won't just vanish. People are filing court cases already, for goodness' sake."
"And I am one of them," said Ramsey. "No, we can't pretend it doesn't exist."
"But what we show them won't necessarily be the real thing," Sellars explained. "Don't forget, I have a great deal of control over the network now. In fact, with enough processing power—power I'm sure the corporations and governments concerned will be happy to supply—I can reconstitute the entire network for them. But I don't even have to do that—I can just give them the code and let them do it themselves.
"However, that doesn't mean what they get will be the network we all experienced, especially if I sanitize their version first to remove anything that was not in the Grail Brotherhood's original code—that should make sure they don't get hold of any of the Other's mutated algorithms, which didn't exist until he found my experiments. Meanwhile, the true network can exist in careful isolation on the free-floating private web I've put together, based on the TreeHouse model. There are s
ympathetic parties who will support us. We can keep our network entirely separate."
"Separate, yes," said Martine, "but secret?"
"If we allow very few people to enter, I think we might be able to manage it. Remember, Otherland is not really a place, it's an idea—an idea that can be moved at a moment's notice if sufficient preparations have been made."
"And who would be allowed to enter this separate, secret place?" Martine asked.
"You, of course—all of you. And selected guests of our choice. That is why we call you founding members of the Otherland Preservation Trust. If you agree, that is. If you can imagine some better alternative, please tell me."
Renie listened to the others—all except !Xabbu—as they began to talk and argue, struggling to make sense of what had been said, but she wanted a more crucial question answered. "Why did you smile?" she asked !Xabbu. "Do you think this is a good idea?"
"Of course," he said. "The big and strong cannot help but draw attention to themselves—they will always battle each other. The small and silent will hide and survive."
"But do we have a right to do that?"
He shrugged, but he was stilt smiling. "Did the shining lights—the information life-forms, as that fellow Kunohara called them—did they have a right to make the stories of my people their own? Who knows, but the world is different because of it. Who do you trust, Renie? These people, our friends . . . our tribe . . . or people who have never been here and who have not fought together to survive, as we have?"
She nodded, but she was still troubled.
"What about you, Mr. Sellars?" she asked, stilling the last of the questioning voices. "I believe you are a good man. Do you feel comfortable taking on so much responsibility? You can call us a trust, but in the end it's you we will all be trusting. Because we don't have the power you have. You will be God in this new universe."
"Only for a while," he said. "Because I am working even now to put myself out of a job." He held up a gnarled hand. "Have you wondered why, with all the resources of the Otherland network, I haven't chosen a more attractive appearance? Because this is the real Patrick Sellars—burned, twisted, all but dead. Or it was, until I found a way to lose my crippled body. But I don't want to forget it. You won't see me manifesting as Jove, throwing thunderbolts." He grinned. "Please! I'd kill myself laughing. But it's a serious question, Renie, and the only real answer is . . . no, I don't trust myself with so much power, even if it is power over a universe very few people will ever know about. But I don't know anyone else I would trust with such singular power either. That's why I need you all to help me make decisions."
"Why me?" asked Bonnie Mae. "I'm not one of your volunteers."
"You're not only a person of faith, you're a person of good faith," he said. "We need to hear what you bring. In fact, I hope you can convince Nandi Paradivash to come to the next meeting. We need him, too."
"He's hurting, Mr. Sellars." She shook her head. "He told me he was going back to the burning ground, whatever that means. That he was going to start over."
"We need him," Sellars said firmly. "Please tell him so." He raised his scarred head. "As I said, I really do want to make myself obsolete. Once things are up and running, these new worlds won't need another God—neither the twisted sort the Grail Brotherhood made or a caretaker deity like me. Besides, I have other ambitions."
Even Kunohara and Ramsey seemed puzzled by this. "Other ambitions. . . " asked Hideki Kunohara.
"You saw where the others went," Sellars said. "The new creatures. How they rode the light out into the great unknown. Well, I'm information now, too. One day, when I'm not needed anymore, it will be good to be free to fly again."
Renie wasn't sure why Catur Ramsey laughed. She thought what Sellars said was very touching. "So . . . so what does this Otherland Trust do?" she asked. "Vote on things?"
"Yes—in fact we have something to vote on now." Sellars looked over at Sam and Orlando, who were whispering. "Orlando—would you please rise?"
Renie could not hide a smile. He sounded like a schoolteacher.
Orlando stood, a strange mixture of barbarian grace and teenage awkwardness. "Have you decided on what you want to call yourself?" Sellars asked him.
"I think so."
"But he's already got a name!" It was clear Sam Fredericks had not known this was coming, whatever it was.
"It's not another name he needs," Sellars told her, "but a title. Whatever happens, the worlds of the network will need lots of supervision, especially at first as we bring them back online. I can't do it all. I considered Kunohara, but he has made it clear he does not wish such an active role. Also, I need to train someone for the long term, teach them some of my responsibilities, as a maintenance man if not as a god—especially if I hope to ride the sky-river-of-light someday, as our absent friends called it. So I need an . . . apprentice, I suppose. Orlando?"
"I think I want to be called . . . a ranger." Renie thought she saw a blush beneath the deep tan. "I plan to travel a lot, so it makes sense. And to kind of have responsibility for the place, too—like a forest ranger. And . . . and it has another meaning. From a favorite book of mine."
Sellars nodded. "An excellent choice. But may we at least dignify it with the little 'Head Ranger'?" He Smiled. "Considering that this network was largely the province of one astounding mind, that adds another layer of meaning, too." He turned to the table. "Let us vote. All in favor of Orlando Gardiner as the first Head Ranger of the Otherland network. . . ."
All the hands went up.
"Wow, Gardino," Sam Fredericks said in a loud stage-whisper. "Now you're Assistant God!"
"Yeah, and I never even got a high school education."
"Enough jokes, you two," Sellars said kindly. "I believe you have another meeting to attend?"
"Oh, yeah." Orlando's good cheer suddenly evaporated and he was pure nervous adolescent. "Yeah, we do." He and Sam stood up. "Mr. Ramsey, are you coming?"
"I'm ready," the lawyer told them.
"But we have come to no conclusion about the network itself," Martine protested. "Surely it is too important a question simply to abandon."
"It is indeed," Sellars said. "But we have days, perhaps even weeks, to make our decisions. Try to get Nandi Paradivash to come to the next meeting. Let's say in two days, shall we?"
Renie almost complained that two days was too soon, that some of them had to find jobs, but then she remembered. "About that money. . . ." she said.
Sellars shook his head, "There's no one to give it back to—I'm dead, remember? If you don't want it, I'm sure you can find a worthy cause that will accept a large donation." He seemed to enjoy her frustration. "And if you remind me, I'll arrange a better way for you to get online next time. You might want to consider getting a neurocannula, unless you have some religious objection."
By the time Sellars moved off, summoned by Hideki Kunohara for a private chat in one of the adjoining rooms, Orlando, Sam, and Catur Ramsey had already left and the others were all talking—all but Martine, who still sat apart as though she were a stranger at the gathering. Renie squeezed !Xabbu's hand before moving around the table toward her. Martine looked up, but it was impossible to glean anything about the woman's emotional state from her featureless sim.
"So does the money upset you, too?" Renie asked. I am grateful, I suppose, but it does seem a little highhanded. . . ."
Martine seemed surprised. "The money? No, Renie, I have scarcely thought of it. I was wealthy already, from my settlement, and . . . and I have few needs. I have already earmarked my share to go to children's charities. It seems appropriate."
"You can see now, can't you? Is it strange?"
"A bit." She sat motionless. "I will grow used to it. In time."
Renie searched for something to keep the conversation going. "There's something I've been thinking about. Emily. And Azador."
Martine nodded slowly. "That had occurred to me as well."
"I mean, if she was really a versio
n of Ava—and Azador was really Jongleur. . . !"
The Frenchwoman could not show it with her face, but there was a sour tone in her voice. "It is stranger than incest, when you consider that Ava was a clone—and strangely accurate as well, when you consider the child she was meant to bear. I suppose it was a subconscious expression of Jongleur's ultimate vanity." She sighed. "It was all as haunted and ugly as the House of Atreus. But they are dead now. All of them . . . every one . . . dead."
"Oh, Martine, you seem so sad."
The featureless sim shrugged. "There is little in it worth talking about."
"And you seem very angry about Paul."
She did not reply immediately. On the other side of the table, Bonnie Mae Simpkins laughed at some remark of !Xabbu's, although the small man looked entirely serious.
"Paul Jonas was very unhappy . . . at the end," Martine finally said. "He was devastated to realize that he was a copy, as he put it. That he could never have the things he wanted most of all—that he was separated forever from the life he remembered. Yes, I am angry. He was a good, good man. He did not deserve that. Sellars had no right."
Renie thought that somehow, Martine felt the same kinds of things Paul had. "Sellars was doing his best. We all were."
"Yes, I know." The edge was gone and only listlessness remained. Renie almost missed the anger. "But I cannot get it out of my mind. His loneliness. That feeling of being exiled from your own life. . . ."
Renie was trying to think of something reassuring to say until she noticed that the quality of Martine's silence had changed. Even without a facial expression to read, Renie could see a certain tension, an alertness in the woman's sim that hadn't been there before.
"I have been a fool," Martine said suddenly. "A selfish fool."
"What. . . ?"
"I'm sorry, Renie. I have no more time to talk. We will speak later, I promise." With that, she disappeared.
