The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 13

by Gardner Dozois

  Suddenly, a head wearing wraparound goggles poked through the wall and quickly surveyed the room. “Hey, you,” it said to them.

  “Is that our simographer?” Benjamin said.

  The head spoke into a cheek mike, “This one’s the keeper,” and withdrew as suddenly as it had appeared.

  “Did the simographer just pop her head in through the wall?” said Benjamin.

  “I think so,” said Anne, though it made no sense.

  “I’ll just see what’s up,” said Benjamin, breaking his pose. He went to the door but could not grasp its handle.

  Music began to play outside, and Anne went to the window. Her view of the garden below was blocked by the blue-and-white-striped canopy they had rented, but she could clearly hear the clink of flatware on china, laughter, and the musicians playing a waltz. “They’re starting without us,” she said, happily amazed.

  “They’re just warming up,” said Benjamin.

  “No, they’re not. That’s the first waltz. I picked it myself.”

  “So let’s waltz,” Benjamin said and reached for her. But his arms passed through her in a flash of pixelated noise. He frowned and examined his hands.

  Anne hardly noticed. Nothing could diminish her happiness. She was drawn to the table of wedding gifts. Of all the gifts, there was only one – a long flat box in flecked silver wrapping – that she was most keen to open. It was from Great Uncle Karl. When it came down to it, Anne was both the easiest and the hardest person to shop for. While everyone knew of her passion for antiques, few had the means or expertise to buy one. She reached for Karl’s package, but her hand passed right through it. This isn’t happening, she thought with gleeful horror.

  That it was, in fact, happening was confirmed a moment later when a dozen people – Great Uncle Karl, Nancy, Aunt Jennifer, Traci, Cathy and Tom, the bridesmaids and others, including Anne herself, and Benjamin, still in their wedding clothes – all trooped through the wall wearing wraparound goggles. “Nice job,” said Great Uncle Karl, inspecting the room, “first rate.”

  “Ooooh,” said Aunt Jennifer, comparing the identical wedding couples, identical but for the goggles. It made Anne uncomfortable that the other Anne should be wearing goggles while she wasn’t. And the other Benjamin acted a little drunk and wore a smudge of white frosting on his lapel. We’ve cut the cake, she thought happily, although she couldn’t remember doing so. Geri, the flower girl in a pastel dress, and Angus, the ring bearer in a miniature tux, along with a knot of other dressed-up children, charged through the sofa, back and forth, creating pyrotechnic explosions of digital noise. They would have run through Benjamin and Anne, too, had the adults allowed. Anne’s father came through the wall with a bottle of champagne. He paused when he saw Anne but turned to the other Anne and freshened her glass.

  “Wait a minute!” shouted Benjamin, waving his arms above his head. “I get it now. We’re the sims!” The guests all laughed, and he laughed too. “I guess my sims always say that, don’t they?” The other Benjamin nodded yes and sipped his champagne. “I just never expected to be a sim,” Benjamin went on. This brought another round of laughter, and he said sheepishly, “I guess my sims all say that, too.”

  The other Benjamin said, “Now that we have the obligatory epiphany out of the way,” and took a bow. The guests applauded.

  Cathy, with Tom in tow, approached Anne. “Look what I caught,” she said and showed Anne the forget-me-not and buttercup bouquet. “I guess we know what that means.” Tom, intent on straightening his tie, seemed not to hear. But Anne knew what it meant. It meant they’d tossed the bouquet. All the silly little rituals that she had so looked forward to.

  “Good for you,” she said and offered her own clutch, which she still held, for comparison. The real one was wilting and a little ragged around the edges, with missing petals and sprigs, while hers was still fresh and pristine and would remain so eternally. “Here,” she said, “take mine, too, for double luck.” But when she tried to give Cathy the bouquet, she couldn’t let go of it. She opened her hand and discovered a seam where the clutch joined her palm. It was part of her. Funny, she thought, I’m not afraid. Ever since she was little, Anne had feared that some day she would suddenly realize she wasn’t herself anymore. It was a dreadful notion that sometimes oppressed her for weeks: knowing you weren’t yourself. But her sims didn’t seem to mind it. She had about three dozen Annes in her album, from age twelve on up. Her sims tended to be a morose lot, but they all agreed it wasn’t so bad, the life of a sim, once you got over the initial shock. The first moments of disorientation are the worst, they told her, and they made her promise never to reset them back to default. Otherwise, they’d have to work everything through from scratch. So Anne never reset her sims when she shelved them. She might delete a sim outright for whatever reason, but she never reset them because you never knew when you’d wake up one day a sim yourself. Like today.

  The other Anne joined them. She was sagging a little. “Well,” she said to Anne.

  “Indeed!” replied Anne.

  “Turn around,” said the other Anne, twirling her hand, “I want to see.

  Anne was pleased to oblige. Then she said, “Your turn,” and the other Anne modelled for her, and she was delighted at how the gown looked on her, though the goggles somewhat spoiled the effect. Maybe this can work out, she thought, I am enjoying myself so. “Let’s go see us side-by-side,” she said, leading the way to the mirror on the wall. The mirror was large, mounted high, and tilted forward so you saw yourself as from above. But simulated mirrors cast no reflections, and Anne was happily disappointed.

  “Oh,” said Cathy, “look at that.”

  “Look at what?” said Anne.

  “Grandma’s vase,” said the other Anne. On the mantel beneath the mirror stood Anne’s most precious possession, a delicate vase cut from pellucid blue crystal. Anne’s great-great-great grandmother had commissioned the Belgian master, Bollinger, the finest glass maker in sixteenth-century Europe, to make it. Five hundred years later, it was as perfect as the day it was cut.

  “Indeed!” said Anne, for the sim vase seemed to radiate an inner light. Through some trick or glitch of the simogram, it sparkled like a lake under moonlight, and, seeing it, Anne felt incandescent.

  After a while, the other Anne said, “Well?” Implicit in this question was a whole standard set of questions that boiled down to – shall I keep you or delete you now? For sometimes a sim didn’t take. Sometimes a sim was cast while Anne was in a mood, and the sim suffered irreconcilable guilt or unassuagable despondency and had to be mercifully destroyed. It was better to do this immediately, or so all the Annes had agreed.

  And Anne understood the urgency, what with the reception still in progress and the bride and groom, though frazzled, still wearing their finery. They might do another casting if necessary. “I’ll be okay,” Anne said. “In fact, if it’s always like this, I’ll be terrific.”

  Anne, through the impenetrable goggles, studied her. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sister,” said the other Anne. Anne addressed all her sims as “sister”, and now Anne, herself, was being so addressed. “Sister,” said the other Anne, “this has got to work out. I need you.”

  “I know,” said Anne, “I’m your wedding day.”

  “Yes, my wedding day.”

  Across the room, the guests laughed and applauded. Benjamin – both of him – was entertaining, as usual. He – the one in goggles – motioned to them. The other Anne said, “We have to go. I’ll be back.”

  Great Uncle Karl, Nancy, Cathy and Tom, Aunt Jennifer, and the rest left through the wall. A polka could be heard playing on the other side. Before leaving, the other Benjamin gathered the other Anne into his arms and leaned her backwards for a theatrical kiss. Their goggles clacked. How happy I look, Anne told herself. This is the happiest day of my life.

  Then the lights dimmed, and her thoughts shattered like glass.

  They stood
stock still, as instructed, close but not touching. Benjamin whispered, “This is taking too long,” and Anne shushed him. You weren’t supposed to talk; it could glitch the sims. But it did seem a long time. Benjamin gazed at her with hungry eyes and brought his lips close enough for a kiss, but Anne smiled and turned away. There’d be plenty of time later for fooling around.

  Through the wall, they heard music, the tinkle of glassware, and the mutter of overlapping conversation. “Maybe I should just check things out,” Benjamin said and broke his pose.

  “No, wait,” whispered Anne, catching his arm. But her hand passed right through him in a stream of colourful noise. She looked at her hand in amused wonder.

  Anne’s father came through the wall. He stopped when he saw her and said, “Oh, how lovely.” Anne noticed he wasn’t wearing a tuxedo.

  “You just walked through the wall,” said Benjamin.

  “Yes, I did,” said Anne’s father. “Ben asked me to come in here and ah . . . orient you two.”

  “Is something wrong?” said Anne, through a fuzz of delight.

  “There’s nothing wrong,” replied her father.

  “Something’s wrong?” asked Benjamin.

  “No, no,” replied the old man. “Quite the contrary. We’re having a do out there . . .” He paused to look around. “Actually, in here. I’d forgotten what this room used to look like.”

  “Is that the wedding reception?” Anne asked.

  “No, your anniversary.”

  Suddenly Benjamin threw his hands into the air and exclaimed, “I get it, we’re the sims!”

  “That’s my boy,” said Anne’s father.

  “All my sims say that, don’t they? I just never expected to be a sim.”

  “Good for you,” said Anne’s father. “All right then.” He headed for the wall. “We’ll be along shortly.”

  “Wait,” said Anne, but he was already gone.

  Benjamin walked around the room, passing his hand through chairs and lamp shades like a kid. “Isn’t this fantastic?” he said.

  Anne felt too good to panic, even when another Benjamin, this one dressed in jeans and sportscoat, led a group of people through the wall. “And this,” he announced with a flourish of his hand, “is our wedding sim.” Cathy was part of this group, and Janice and Beryl, and other couples she knew. But strangers too. “Notice what a cave I used to inhabit,” the new Benjamin went on, “before Annie fixed it up. And here’s the blushing bride, herself,” he said and bowed gallantly to Anne. Then, when he stood next to his double, her Benjamin, Anne laughed, for someone was playing a prank on her.

  “Oh, really?” she said. “If this is a sim, where’s the goggles?” For indeed, no one was wearing goggles.

  “Technology!” exclaimed the new Benjamin. “We had our system upgraded. Don’t you love it?”

  “Is that right?” she said, smiling at the guests to let them know she wasn’t fooled. “Then where’s the real me?”

  “You’ll be along,” replied the new Benjamin. “No doubt you’re using the potty again.” The guests laughed and so did Anne. She couldn’t help herself.

  Cathy drew her aside with a look. “Don’t mind him,” she said. “Wait till you see.”

  “See what?” said Anne. “What’s going on?” But Cathy pantomimed pulling a zipper across her lips. This should have annoyed Anne, but didn’t, and she said, “At least tell me who those people are.”

  “Which people?” said Cathy. “Oh, those are Anne’s new neighbours.”

  “New neighbours?”

  “And over there, that’s Dr Yurek Rutz, Anne’s department head.”

  “That’s not my department head,” said Anne.

  “Yes, he is,” Cathy said. “Anne’s not with the university any more. She – ah – moved to a private school.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe we should just wait and let Anne catch you up on things.” She looked impatiently towards the wall. “So much has changed.” Just then, another Anne entered through the wall with one arm outstretched like a sleepwalker and the other protectively cradling an enormous belly.

  Benjamin, her Benjamin, gave a whoop of surprise and broke into a spontaneous jig. The guests laughed and cheered him on.

  Cathy said, “See? Congratulations, you!”

  Anne became caught up in the merriment. But how can I be a sim? she wondered.

  The pregnant Anne scanned the room, and, avoiding the crowd, came over to her. She appeared very tired; her eyes were bloodshot. She didn’t even try to smile. “Well?” Anne said, but the pregnant Anne didn’t respond, just examined Anne’s gown, her clutch bouquet. Anne, meanwhile, regarded the woman’s belly, feeling somehow that it was her own and a cause for celebration – except that she knew she had never wanted children and neither had Benjamin. Or so he’d always said. You wouldn’t know that now, though, watching the spectacle he was making of himself. Even the other Benjamin seemed embarrassed. She said to the pregnant Anne, “You must forgive me, I’m still trying to piece this all together. This isn’t our reception?”

  “No, our wedding anniversary.”

  “Our first?”

  “Our fourth.”

  “Four years?” This made no sense. “You’ve shelved me for four years?”

  “Actually,” the pregnant Anne said and glanced sidelong at Cathy, “we’ve been in here a number of times already.”

  “Then I don’t understand,” said Anne. “I don’t remember that.”

  Cathy stepped between them. “Now, don’t you worry. They reset you last time is all.”

  “Why?” said Anne. “I never reset my sims. I never have.”

  “Well, I kinda do now, sister,” said the pregnant Anne.

  “But why?”

  “To keep you fresh.”

  To keep me fresh, thought Anne. Fresh? She recognized this as Benjamin’s idea. It was his belief that sims were meant to be static mementos of special days gone by, not virtual people with lives of their own. “But,” she said, adrift in a fog of happiness. “But.”

  “Shut up!” snapped the pregnant Anne.

  “Hush, Anne,” said Cathy, glancing at the others in the room. “You want to lie down?” To Anne she explained, “Third trimester blues.”

  “Stop it!” the pregnant Anne said. “Don’t blame the pregnancy. It has nothing to do with the pregnancy.”

  Cathy took her gently by the arm and turned her towards the wall. “When did you eat last? You hardly touched your plate.”

  “Wait!” said Anne. The women stopped and turned to look at her, but she didn’t know what to say. This was all so new. When they began to move again, she stopped them once more. “Are you going to reset me?”

  The pregnant Anne shrugged her shoulders.

  “But you can’t,” Anne said. “Don’t you remember what my sisters – our sisters – always say?”

  The pregnant Anne pressed her palm against her forehead. “If you don’t shut up this moment, I’ll delete you right now. Is that what you want? Don’t imagine that white gown will protect you. Or that big stupid grin on your face. You think you’re somehow special? Is that what you think?”

  The Benjamins were there in an instant. The real Benjamin wrapped an arm around the pregnant Anne. “Time to go, Annie,” he said in a cheerful tone. “I want to show everyone our rondophones.” He hardly glanced at Anne, but when he did, his smile cracked. For an instant he gazed at her, full of sadness.

  “Yes, dear,” said the pregnant Anne, “but first I need to straighten out this sim on a few points.”

  “I understand, darling, but since we have guests, do you suppose you might postpone it till later?”

  “You’re right, of course. I’d forgotten our guests. How silly of me.” She allowed him to turn her towards the wall. Cathy sighed with relief.

  “Wait!” said Anne, and again they paused to look at her. But although so much was patently wrong – the pregnancy, resetting the sims, Anne’s odd behavio
ur –

  Anne still couldn’t formulate the right question.

  Benjamin, her Benjamin, still wearing his rakish grin, stood next to her and said, “Don’t worry, Anne, they’ll return.”

  “Oh, I know that,” she said, “but don’t you see? We won’t know they’ve returned, because in the meantime they’ll reset us back to default again, and it’ll all seem new, like the first time. And we’ll have to figure out we’re the sims all over again!”

  “Yeah?” he said. “So?”

  “So I can’t live like that.”

  “But we’re the sims. We’re not alive.” He winked at the other couple.

  “Thanks, Ben boy,” said the other Benjamin. “Now, if that’s settled . . . ”

  “Nothing’s settled,” said Anne. “Don’t I get a say?”

  The other Benjamin laughed. “Does the refrigerator get a say? Or the car? Or my shoes? In a word – no.”

  The pregnant Anne shuddered. “Is that how you see me, like a pair of shoes?” The other Benjamin looked successively surprised, embarrassed, and angry. Cathy left them to help Anne’s father escort the guests from the simulacrum. “Promise her!” the pregnant Anne demanded.

  “Promise her what?” said the other Benjamin, his voice rising.

  “Promise we’ll never reset them again.”

  The Benjamin huffed. He rolled his eyes. “Okay, yah sure, whatever,” he said.

  When the simulated Anne and Benjamin were alone at last in their simulated living room, Anne said, “A fat lot of help you were.”

  “I agreed with myself,” Benjamin said. “Is that so bad?”

  “Yes, it is. We’re married now; you’re supposed to agree with me.” This was meant to be funny, and there was more she intended to say – about how happy she was, how much she loved him, and how absolutely happy she was – but the lights dimmed, the room began to spin, and her thoughts scattered like pigeons.

  It was raining, as usual, in Seattle. The front entry shut and locked itself behind Ben, who shook water from his clothes and removed his hat. Bowlers for men were back in fashion, but Ben was having a devil’s own time becoming accustomed to his brown felt Sportsliner. It weighed heavy on his brow and made his scalp itch, especially in damp weather. “Good evening, Mr Malley,” said the house. “There is a short queue of minor household matters for your review. Do you have any requests?” Ben could hear his son shrieking angrily in the kitchen, probably at the nanny. Ben was tired. Contract negotiations had gone sour.