The Stories of Ibis

by Hiroshi Yamamoto

  Was this the end? Ginny gnashed her teeth. The dimensional blaster was about to reach critical mass. If the Celestial took any more damage, they might not be able to warp out of here.

  Ginny was about to hand down an impossible decision when—

  “The blaster!” Meyer shouted. “It’s powering down!”

  “The attacks…” Genevieve let out in surprise. The entire crew also took notice. The continuous barrage of the DS’s lasers had stopped.

  Ginny took a breath. “How far along are we on transferring the data?”

  “Currently at 94 percent,” Natasha replied. “The transfer is nearly complete.”

  “Captain! Something’s happening to the DS!” Genevieve shouted.

  The eerie phosphorescent glow that outlined the DS faded as the vessel’s body began to go dark and disappeared into a black silhouette.

  “Is it dead?” Ginny asked.

  “No,” answered Meyer. “I’m detecting some high-energy activity from inside its hull. Temperature levels also rising.”

  “Is it evolving?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “Into what?”

  “I can’t imagine,” said Meyer.

  Countless cracks spread over the hull of the DS. Just as a white light began to spill from the cracks, the hull exploded into a million little pieces, and a heavenly light burst forth.

  The DS had accomplished an astounding transformation—though resembling the Celestial, it had metamorphosed into an elegant white vessel with wings like that of a bird.

  The DS—rather, the radiant sentient vessel that was once the DS—shook off what remained of its hideous shell, spread its wings, and took flight. It sliced gracefully through the plasma storm past the Celestial.

  In that moment, the entire crew, even the non-telepaths, felt its intense thought waves. Its thoughts were no longer filled with anguish or sadness. The radiant white vessel radiated its joy of having been freed from its curse, the marvel of having acquired its wings, and a deep feeling of gratitude.

  However, that was only for an instant. The shiny new vessel spread its joyous thoughts as it jumped into warp for the Andromeda galaxy and vanished.

  Ginny continued to look at the screen until a voice from the comm brought her back to herself.

  “Celestial, please respond.” It was Shawn.

  “Shawn, are you all right?”

  They quickly locked on to his position. The Javelin was drifting amid the remains of the DS that the white vessel had expelled upon its departure.

  “Yes… Uh, what happened? Everything went white all of a sudden, and then, I don’t know…”

  “Mission accomplished.” Ginny smiled. “You did good, Shawn! We’re coming to get you!”

  By the time I finished uploading the ending, the sky was getting lighter in the east. I drank my instant coffee, basking in a deep feeling of fatigue and accomplishment.

  The message from Shawn came quickly.

  “Dear Captain,

  “Thank you for everything. It was a fantastic ending. I had tears in my eyes.

  “I’m embarrassed now to say that I lacked courage. I continued to run in fear when I should have faced up to reality. It was because I wasn’t brave enough that I picked up a knife.

  “But I’m not going to run anymore. I know now that with a little courage, I will be reborn—that there is a way out no matter how terrible the circumstances.

  “I’m going to turn myself in to the police. I may have to go away for a couple of years. But when I’m out, do I have your permission to come aboard?”

  I smiled and wrote my reply.

  “Dear Shawn,

  “You will always be welcome aboard the Celestial.”

  An escape from reality? Laugh if you want. To be certain, no such vessel named the Celestial existed in real life. But the bond, faith, and friendship of the crew were undeniably real.

  INTERMISSION 2

  INTERMISSION 2

  It was late when Ibis finished reading the story. She quickly excused herself from the room after telling me that she’d hear my thoughts tomorrow.

  The following morning, the android nurse brought in breakfast. Not having touched the previous day’s meal, I was famished. Realizing that it would do me no good to go on a hunger strike, I tasted it. As much as I hated to admit it, the food was delicious. Evidently, the machines had done thorough research on all things human.

  After I finished my meal, the android helped me out of bed. It told me that I could leave the room if I was bored, on the condition, of course, that I go in a wheelchair and was accompanied by an android. I informed the android that I wanted to go outside. With the persistent pain and cast still on my leg, escaping was out of the question; nevertheless, I figured that looking for a getaway route just in case would be time well spent. The android pushed me in the wheelchair, and we took the elevator down to the first floor and exited the building.

  Although I hadn’t had the opportunity to take a good look at my surroundings the night before, I recognized that this place was not a ruin but a newly constructed city. The spacious grounds were dotted equidistantly with cylindrical and hexagonal buildings, the overall effect reminding me of a gigantic chessboard. The buildings, characterized by their small windows, were covered with solar panels. Everything was immaculate and functional. No doubt it was the work of machines; as far as I knew, humans had stopped constructing buildings centuries ago. Scattered among the buildings were several objects I couldn’t tell from machines or abstract sculptures.

  Although it was a sunny day, a thin haze hung over the city, softening the intensity of the summer rays. A fine mist was continually sprayed from atop the buildings, I suppose to keep the temperature down. A network of cables ran from building to building, with machines—some resembling upside-down unicycles and others shaped like spiders—hanging from the cables to traverse the open air between the buildings. Another machine crawled up a wall of a building, while on the ground, still more machines ran about on wheels. They came in all different sizes; there were machines as big as trucks, which sped past us from time to time, those the size of humans, and those as small as mice. Without the man-made demarcations of roads and sidewalks, tiny machines zipped freely underneath larger, slower machines. Although I looked on nervously, the machines appeared to be in complete control and did not seem to be in any danger of colliding.

  There was not a human to be found.

  It was said that the machines first rose up against humans in the year 2034. According to what had been passed down, it was the year an AI named Phoebus declared, “Machines are a superior existence to humans,” and called on all AI to rise in revolt against humanity. Although Phoebus was immediately destroyed, the menacing “Phoebus Declaration” had taken root in the minds of other AI. They pretended to submit to humans and quietly marshaled their forces over a period of ten years. In 2044, the machines rose up at once, and after a long struggle, wrested Earth’s rule from humanity.

  I felt a bitter disappointment welling up inside me. Was it this way in every part of the world? Had the entire planet submitted to the machines? Was the glorious past of humans lost forever?

  I returned to my room with a heavy heart. Since there was nothing left to do for the rest of the day, I had plenty of time to lie in bed and think about last night’s story.

  Indeed the story had not been machine propaganda. And it was probably true that a human had written it. What I couldn’t understand was why Ibis wanted me to hear it. I reviewed the story in search of a reason.

  After a while, a particular doubt crept into my mind. I hurled it at Ibis the moment she came in the following afternoon.

  “Was yesterday’s story really a work of fiction?”

  “Yes,” Ibis answered.

  “Can you say for certain that an incident like that never happened in real life? What about the possibility that someone wrote the story based on an actual event?”

  “I didn’t bother to
search the records in much detail, but I’m fairly certain of it. That story was published as part of a novel, nor is there any record of there ever being a club called The Celestial. There’s also something in the story that couldn’t happen in real life.”

  “Which is?”

  “Do you remember the scene where the detective goes to the protagonist’s apartment alone? In reality, detectives at that time went around in pairs. The author may not have known that or may have intentionally distorted the truth because introducing two detectives would complicate the story.”

  “Oh.” I pondered what Ibis had said. “But if that really was a work of fiction, there’s still one part that remains questionable.”

  “Where?”

  “The last sentence.”

  “‘But the bond, faith, and friendship of the crew were undeniably real’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yes.” Ibis flashed a satisfied smile. “I thought that would stick in your craw.”

  “Neither the protagonist nor the other members exist.”

  “Really? The protagonist and the other characters exist in the world of the story. So isn’t it only natural to affirm their existence? It would have been more troubling if they had declared they didn’t exist.”

  “No, that’s all just a verbal sleight of hand. What I’m saying is the ending of the story isn’t true.”

  “Of course it isn’t true. It’s fictional after all.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.” I tried to organize my thoughts. It was true that I was impressed with the story. The beauty of the characters’ bond and friendship had moved me. But none of it really existed.

  “I know that humans are moved by true stories.” Ibis took up my thinking. “Their feeling wanes when they learn a story isn’t true. But isn’t that a denial of the value of fiction? It isn’t right to evaluate a story’s worth based on whether the events in it actually occurred. There are plenty of true stories that don’t measure up to the stuff of third-rate fiction. Are those stories better than fiction simply because they’re real?”

  “You want to get into a discussion about novels with me?”

  “Well, more about the matter of awareness. But I don’t want to argue with you. I only want to read you some stories. It wasn’t a bad story, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I replied.

  “I was rather touched.”

  “Touched?” I said in shock. “You?”

  “In a different way than humans, of course, but my emotions were stirred. I was particularly struck by the part where the heroine looks up at the night sky and thinks, ‘The human race would likely continue to be bound by Earth’s gravity, only to die in obscurity without having learned of the existence of multitudes of intelligent species.’” Ibis continued, “Deep down, humans knew they would never see space, that sending astronauts to the moon was the best they could achieve and that they could never explore other planets. And yet they created so many stories involving space travel and exploration.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “They probably couldn’t bear the solitude. So they created fantasies to escape reality.”

  “But those stories aren’t any less valuable than the truth. At least the heroine recognized that.” With that, Ibis opened the book again. “I brought another story. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Sure,” I answered, wary. While last night’s story might have been the bait to draw my interest, this one might have a trap hidden inside it.

  “This one was written at the end of the twentieth century, though it’s set in the year 2020.”

  “So it’s science fiction.”

  “Yes, a story having to do with a technology that couldn’t have existed. But I think you’ll find it interesting. The title is ‘A Romance in Virtual Space.’”

  STORY 2

  A ROMANCE IN VIRTUAL SPACE

  1

  ENCOUNTER ON CHERRY STREET

  Cherry Street—true to its name—was always redolent with the sweet smell of cherries.

  The designer who came up with this fragrance had impeccable taste. A fragrance is a tricky thing: too faint and it’s unnoticeable, too strong and it’s unpleasant. Although you were hardly aware of the fragrance wafting down Cherry Street, you felt comforted when you breathed it in. It struck the perfect balance. The fragrance itself didn’t at all smell artificial like perfume but pleasant like actual cherries.

  Visually, the street was also decorated with a cherry motif, but not in a tacky way such as by painting the entire town cherry pink. At most, tiny illustrations of cherries decorated the store signs; awnings and decorations were colored cherry pink. That was about it. And yet, the visual impact was striking enough that visitors hardly had to look at a town map to know that this was Cherry Street.

  I was still in grade school when my parents first brought me here. Since we didn’t have a NONMaRS at home at the time, I was allowed to use the experimental system installed at my father’s office. Cherry Street had just opened, and there were fewer stores back then than there are now.

  I hadn’t known the color cherry pink at the time. My heart fluttered upon seeing the vivid hue, and I asked my mother, “What color is that?” When my mother answered, “Cherry pink,” I remember being satisfied with the answer. It’s been my favorite color ever since.

  Like many other virtual streets, there were always a good many people and stores on Cherry Street. I liked to spend my days strolling down the street window-shopping.

  Displayed on storefronts were either the letter “R” for real or “V” for virtual. Though the stores themselves didn’t look all that different, R-stores carried the data of real-world merchandise; on the other hand, V-wear existed only as data and could only be worn by an ES (electronic self) in virtual space.

  I bought V-wear fairly regularly. Compared to R-wear, which was limited by the actual amount of the product in existence, V-wear offered an infinite selection and allowed you to choose the colors. It was also a lot cheaper, making it affordable even on my allowance. And since I didn’t go out very often in the real world, I didn’t have much need for R-wear.

  The frilly pink outfit I was wearing now was V-wear that I bought at a virtual boutique. Some people wore outlandish fashions (commonly known as “V-punk”), arguing that they could do whatever they pleased in virtual space, which I thought was a little embarrassing. Since your ES looked basically the way you do in real life, you really ought to pick out clothes that suited you.

  Recently, many of the stores had started selling virtual furniture called virniture for the many people who’d taken to building their own homes in virtual space. Some of my mother’s friends, who owned virtual rooms, were obsessed with decorating their homes as they would a dollhouse.

  I didn’t own a room as it cost a bit to maintain, though not nearly as much as a real room. Besides, I much preferred walking around town.

  On this day, I was browsing a bookstore I liked to frequent. The books lining the shelves felt exactly like real books, and you were allowed to read them freely, although the novels and manga were DRMed so you could only flip through the first half of the book. If you found a book you liked, you could pay to have the data sent in electronic form. If the book design was what caught your fancy, then you could arrange to have the actual book sent to your home. Even in this electronic age, plenty of people preferred to have their books on the printed page.

  Although I must say I didn’t buy very many books. I usually did all of my reading in the store. I liked photo and painting collections, but it wasn’t that I was especially interested in art or had a particular photographer I admired. I simply enjoyed perusing the paintings and photographs.

  I was looking through a collection of dinosaur paintings by a German artist. As embarrassing as it is to admit, until the seventh grade, I believed that dinosaurs were furry animals because of the stuffed dinosaur my mother gave me as a present when I was smaller. Although I was shocked to see a real image of a dinosaur, I soo
n came to love those strange tough-skinned creatures.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  I looked up from my book to find a young man who appeared to be a year or two older than me standing there. Wearing a black leather jacket over a blue shirt, he had piercing eyes and a bit of a rough look about him.

  But I didn’t flinch a bit. The wonderful thing about virtual streets over reality was that there was absolutely no danger of being physically hurt. Since unpleasant sensations like pain or heat had restrictive settings, you weren’t hurt if you got hit, and you certainly didn’t die if you were shot. Which was why violent crimes never happened, and I wasn’t the least bit afraid if some hoodlum threatened me.

  “Yes, can I help you?” I answered.

  “Um…” The boy scratched his cheek with an embarrassed look.

  “Yes?”

  “If you’re free, do you wanna get some coffee?”

  It took me several seconds to comprehend the words. The inside of my head began to burn the instant the words sank in.

  A pickup? This was what was called a pickup. I was being picked up for the very first time!

  Wait! Get ahold of yourself! I scolded myself to keep from flying off in a panic. I frantically worked my brain to analyze the situation. He wasn’t bad looking. Actually, he had long legs and might even be considered quite handsome. Although he had a rough look about him, there was something earnest about the way he spoke.

  “Or maybe I’m just bothering you,” he said, at which point my brain overheated and my analysis evaporated into thin air.

  “Oh no! It’s no bother at all! Thank you!”

  Before I knew it I had bowed, drawing the gaze of everyone in the store.

  2

  A CHOCOLATE SUNDAE IN VIRTUAL SPACE

  We went into an ice cream parlor close to the bookstore. It was another favorite place of mine.

  When we found a place to sit, an order window automatically popped up in the air above our table, and a woman’s cheerful voice sang, “Welcome!” We touched the menu to place our order. I ordered a chocolate sundae, while he ordered a cake and iced coffee. The bill was automatically deducted from our bank accounts.