Many Worlds

"All experience is the product of our thoughts; the mind is the master and foundation of what we are." — The Buddha, Dhammapada (Path of Righteousness)

"I once dreamed that I was a butterfly, flitting and fluttering around, happy with myself and doing as I pleased. But suddenly I woke up and I was myself again. But now I wonder, am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?" — Master Zhuang, Book of Zhuangzi

"So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be." — Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam

"An eternity of pure cerebral existence; that may seem to intellectuals as a paradise, to other people as hell." — Hans Moravec, Mind Children: The Race Between Human and Artificial Intelligence

The streets were deserted. They always were. But Erynn had never gotten completely used to the stillness and silence of the city. She quickened her pace, and shivered as a sudden squall of cold, dry air gusted through the canyons of concrete and steel. The tower blocks, dark and ugly despite the bright sunshine, loomed over her like glowering giants. Behind their bleak, barren façades, countless sleeping citizens dreamed synthetic lives.

She was greeted by the only flesh-and-blood she'd seen on the outside in... she could hardly remember how long. For the doorkeeper, it was yesterday. He was a small, joyless man whose immaculate suit and impeccable grooming unnerved her. She pictured her own pale face, lank hair and crumpled overalls slumped over a slender frame. Preening in the real world was a sign of the fanatic or the phobic, someone who never left this reality. The Overseers were getting desperate, to be hiring his kind.

"Welcome back," he said, with a hint of disapproval in his voice. Yet his eyes wandered over the slight contours of her body. They weren't much to look at but they were genuine, and rare.

"Thanks," she replied. They never spoke more than a few words. She had not even bothered to learn his name.

The technicians were friendly but clinically efficient as they attached the electrodes, inserted the probes and carried out their testing protocols before activating her implants. The procedure was tedious. For shorter excursions there was no need for such sophisticated life-support; she slept in a modest pod with just the basics. Her recent missions had been straightforward, mostly surveillance. Simple aberrations in a program were common enough and easy to correct. Yet they had to be fixed. Even small deviations could snowball if left unchecked. Nonlinear amplification was the formal term. But she preferred more challenging projects. Judging by the preparations, this one should fit the bill.

There was a flash and a blur. The white sterile walls faded, and she found herself standing in a meadow. She heard sounds in the distance, getting louder — men's laughter and the neighing and snorting of horses. She took cover in a patch of long grass. The soft blades tickled, and she realized her skin was bare save for a sliver of damask on her loins and a ribbon of fine silk across her chest. A bejeweled collar encircled her throat; golden bands enclosed her wrists and ankles.

A dozen riders passed, close enough that she could smell their steeds. They were returning from a hunt. Twenty or so young women, naked and bound, were trotting beside them, sweating and gasping in an agonized effort to keep up with their mounted captors. They were hitched in a line by the neck, and the lead girl was tethered to one of the pack animals.

Erynn lifted her head just enough to glimpse the faces of the prisoners. It took her just seconds to make her assessment. Training, experience and instinct allowed her to quickly distinguish the subtly impassive gaze of the many from the bleak stares and fearful glances of a few. Five of the girls, including the one in front, were unmistakably dreamers.

Sucking in a deep breath, Erynn stood up and waited quietly for the men to see her.

"Come forward," one of them barked. Like all of his companions he was brawny and handsome. Though his clothes were weather-worn, his face was unspoilt. Below the dull steel of his helmet, his eyes glittered ice-blue. His stubble was dark but peppered with flecks of silver. When she was close enough, he tapped his riding crop on her chin to make her raise her head. He glared at her, squinting to detect the tell-tale signs of sentience. But she was good at her job.

"Sim," he said. She sensed disappointment.

"What are you doing out here?" he demanded. "Where are you from?"

"Please, sir," she replied, lowering her eyes. "I am a poor slavegirl from Shandar."

The man chuckled, and slid his crop along her shoulder and across her breasts. He pushed the silk down to her belly and the damask down her thighs.

"Poor? I think not."

She managed a mechanical blush. That was harder than she expected. She'd materialized too close to the action. She'd not been given much time to adjust to this body.

"I belonged in the harem of the Great Prince..."

"Yes," one of the comrades interrupted. "I have tasted the pleasures of His Grandeur's seraglio. I recognize you."

"Liar," she said, without a sound.

"What are you doing out here?" demanded another of the men, who eyed her with suspicion.

"A runaway, I expect," the first man said, and the distrustful one nodded slowly, perhaps not convinced.

"I've heard it happens. There will no doubt be a sizable bounty for this beauty."

"With a bonus to be paid this very night."

The men laughed.

The first man held out his arm. Erynn grabbed hold, and he lifted her without effort to fling her belly-down across the front of his saddle. The horse's tacks and the man's accouterments stank of grease and grime. Without being ordered to, she put her hands behind her back and he joined her bracelets with their tiny lock.

They rode for several hours, until the sun had all but disappeared behind the far-off mountains. They had slowed because the women on foot were becoming fatigued; but it was not a pleasant journey. Slung across the horse's withers, Erynn's body began to cramp up. The stench of the beast and the oiled, sweat-stained leather assaulted her nostrils. The horn of the saddle pressed into her side. Her captor's hands, grasping the reins, rested on her naked back, between her pinioned arms; but every so often the fingers explored between her thighs. The man's companions made crude remarks about her, and about the other prisoners plodding wearily through verdant but empty fields.

They stopped to make camp on the edge of a forest beside a swiftly flowing stream. Erynn was dumped on the grass; her body was sore from the cramping, bumping and bouncing. The rest of the women collapsed. They recovered quickly, of course, in time to pitch the tents, make the fire and cook a meal before darkness fell. Once the men had eaten, they entertained themselves with their plunder until after the confluence of the two full moons high in the star-blazed sky.

Sated by the evening's delights, the men went to their tents, leaving their captives bound to nearby trees. Strange creatures making strange sounds prowled in the shadows, but the women were safe. In this world, wild beasts never attacked the helpless. Humans alone could defy their program codes.

Almost as soon as the lamps had gone out, Erynn dislocated the bones in her hands and her wrists to slip out of her shackles. In their tents, the only sounds the men made were grunts and snores. It would have been simple and satisfying to slit their throats as they slept. But unlike them, she obeyed the rules. In the dim glow of the campfire's crackling embers, she again studied the faces of the five girls she had identified, just to be sure. She freed them from their bonds. They stared at her, astonished.

She tried to speak, forgetting she was still gagged. She wrenched the noisome rag from her mouth.

"Are there any more?" she whispered.

Each in turn looked around and shook her head. The others were awake and watching; but they were still gagged; so even if any tried to alert their masters, the men by their cruelty had made Erynn's task so much easier. She led the way, silently, out of the fading circle of light and into the eerie blackness of the forest.

The worldsmiths were thorough in their designs. The terrain was harsh. The river was too deep and fast-flowing to cross, so they followed its course upstream until a pink flush on the eastern horizon heralded the coming of dawn. They hid amongst the boulders in an amphitheater of crumbling basalt. (The crater offered shelter from the bitter highland winds as well as refuge from their pursuers. Erynn wondered if the other women gave it a thought that this extinct volcano had never erupted.) They walked for three nights, concealing themselves during daylight to avoid detection and the overbearing heat of the twin suns. They were exhausted. None had eaten since their capture. Naked, they suffered from the cold and the ravages of the wilderness through which they trekked.

Once their path intersected fresh tracks. Only the imprints of hooves showed in the soil. In their frantic search for the runaways, the men had rid themselves of their burden. Erynn had seen flames flickering in the distance the previous night. She guessed it was a funeral pyre. The fate of the women she'd left behind played over and over in her mind. Even after all these years working for the bureau, she still had to remind herself — convince herself — that they would not have felt a thing, neither pain nor fear.

The fugitives reached sanctuary just before sunrise. It was Neraina's village. The ramparts appeared new; the place had been fortified since her abduction. A search party circling back from another fruitless expedition gave shouts of joy. A feast was held to celebrate the rescue. During the festivities Erynn discovered her talent as a dancer. For her bed, she was offered her choice of the most attractive slaves, male and female, sims of course. They were all so fine, it would have been hard to decide. As it was, she declined.

After the first good sleep since their escape, the remaining women were dispatched to their homes with armed escorts. Erynn accepted once more the thanks of Neraina's people. They accompanied her only as far as the crest of a nearby ridge before she bade them farewell. They did not see her disappear. Though some might suspect, they would never know for certain that their visitor had come from the outer world. Their dreams remained intact.

Erynn's job was done, with a minimum of impact. Her bosses would decide on the follow-up. Of course the inhabitants of the Principality would mount expeditions to deal with the renegades. But they would not be found. Exile to one of the primitive worlds was the usual penalty imposed by the Overseers.

The technicians assisted her from the pod. They rarely spoke and never asked about her missions.

"Till next time," the doorman muttered as she passed. She saw him frown. He'd noticed the limp she didn't have that morning. But the avatar's aches quickly vanished, and she strode briskly through the empty streets to her apartment. It was small and sparsely furnished. If she'd wanted, she could live in the penthouse; she had been the building's only resident for a while now. But it was not important.

She ate a quick, cold meal, then peeled off her overalls and tossed them into the hamper, on top of the rest. She adjusted the settings on the control panel, checked for updates and plugged herself in. Her husband was waiting for her by the marble fountain.

"Mission accomplished?" he asked.

"Guardian angel now off duty," she replied.

She danced for him across the lawn to show off her new gift. (Like the aches and pains, physical skills are left behind in the sim-world, unless reprogrammed in; but the brain patterns persist. Even though gross motor proficiency is lost, some of what you acquire in the other worlds, the muscle memory, stays inside you when you return, and persists when you visit the next.) Then she sat beside him, spreading the hem of her dress into a snow-white rosette on the grass. She closed her eyes and sniffed the fragrant air, basked in the mellow breeze, reveled in her children's laughter, tasted her man's sweet lips. Everything felt so real.

Dispatching the palace guards was so easy, she felt it was beneath her. The last one to fall did put up at least the semblance of a fight, and she had to smile at his look of panic, pain and horror as her blade sliced through his abdomen. Nice work on the visuals, she thought. The action sequences were getting more realistic (and it was getting harder to spot the simulacra).

Having cleared the corridors, she strolled casually into the throne room. The self-proclaimed Emperor was perched on his seat of power looking sullen. The bodyguards began to form a ragged phalanx before him, but he ordered them away.

"It's useless, isn't it?" he said glumly.

"Yes," she replied, sheathing her bloodstained sword. "Time for your abdication."

"Well, it was fun while it lasted."

"Twelve years. It would have been ten, but I had some errands."

"Any chance of a reprieve?"

"Sorry; you've been naughty."

"In my defence, sometimes you want a taste of the real thing... well, as real as it gets here." He glanced over his shoulder at the half-naked slavegirls assembled in a corner of the great hall. They cringed at the sight of her gore-covered breastplate. She sensed that their expressions were genuine.

"So be a good boy."

He nodded, in silent acceptance of his defeat. He summoned his chancellor. Erynn was surprised to see that the frowning man and the rest of the entourage were also dreamers, not sims. She was less surprised to see that the emancipation documents had already been drawn up, ready for the imperial signature and seal. He'd known this moment was coming.

"Be it proclaimed," the Emperor intoned, regaining some of his regal dignity, "throughout the Azurian Realm, that all enslaved dreamers are now and forever free."

The slavegirls lifted their heads in joyous disbelief. Rich-robed courtiers shook their heads in disappointment. The insentient guards offered only vacant stares.

"What happens to me now?" the deposed despot asked with a newfound humility.

"That's up to the Overseers. Banishment, probably."

As she vanished from the world, her final dissolving vision was of a reconstruction team materializing. There was much to be done, a social order to restore. With so many worlds to audit, it was hard to stop dreamers going rogue; but the time flow difference between reality and simulation was becoming a serious issue. Ambitious upstarts with enough ruthless cunning had the time to gather supporters, gain control over the sims, seize and consolidate their power before the Overseers caught on. Some of the inhabitants collaborated; most found their dream world turned into an unwakeable nightmare. Every tyrant was eventually deposed, but a decade of absolute rule and self-gratification presented a most tempting prize.

Repair work was not Erynn's concern. If she had her way, the program would be reset — end of story. But the Overseers hated giving up on any sim-world. It was a matter of pride. And anyway, without the need for trouble-shooters to take care of problems, she'd be out of a job, be just another dreamer.

As she walked home through the steel and concrete canyons, she looked around her, up at all the towering blocks, and wondered which one contained the denizens of the Azurian Realm dreaming about their liberation.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart." The coordinator's shrill voice crackled through the interference.

"I'm not your sweetheart," she croaked, rubbing her eyes.

"Welcome home anyway. Sorry for the unscheduled call-up, but it's an emergency."

"It's always an emergency."

"We live in troubled times, and you're the best we have."

"Skip the flattery. And switch off the video until I'm..."

"Too late. Anyway, in this job I need some..."

"How did you get your job?"

"Who else could they find?"

"Good point."

In any case, the monitors were never turned off. The Bureau kept a constant watch on its agents. These were indeed troubled times. She was briefed as she dressed. On her way out she locked up the apartment. There was no reason for it, except as one of those little rituals to preserve the façade. Apart from those in the Bureau, few people dwelt anymore in the base reality.

But some did stay attached to this world. The captured tower was not far away. Guarding the entrance were two heavily armed men dressed head to toe in black. Erynn found it hard maintaining a straight face as she approached under their wary gaze. Even as they raised their weapons, she kept her cool.

"What do you want here?" one of the men demanded.

"What do you think? To rescue the hostages."

The man smiled and shook his head. Ready to repel commandos, he was not expecting a skinny girl with limp hair and gaunt, pallid face. His finger twitched on the trigger, but his pause gave Erynn more than enough time. She leapt forward, her hands flashed and the two black-clad forms slumped on either side of her. It was easy, and that was the fundamental weakness with these fanatics. They rejected simulated worlds and tried to impose their views on everyone else; but they were short-sighted and small-minded. Willfully ignorant, obsessed with their notion of physical existence, they could never appreciate what half a century of combat experience could achieve. Nor did they understand that prowess was mostly a mental thing, a matter of reaction and reflex, timing and anticipation.

In the lobby, a half-dozen men and women lay bound and squirming on the floor. She could not stop to free them, so she released one of the technicians whom she recognized, and he gave her access to a secret elevator before going back to tend to his colleagues. She then took out the saboteurs, one by one, before they had done too much damage. They had split up to do their wrecking, which lightened her load. Just as she finished hog-tying the last of them, the rapid response team stormed in.

It had been an easy job. Perhaps too easy. But she shouldn't let herself get paranoid.

"You should have waited," the burly commander growled.

She shrugged an apology.

"Thanks for leaving us to clean up. What's the mischief?"

"Some consoles smashed, a few pods interfered with. No sleepers woken, no dreams broken." She headed for the exit. "Must go now. A woman's work is never done."

There was a large cave on the side of a stony mountain that overlooked a fertile valley. Below it was a town. There the people lived in perfect peace and harmony, never knowing hunger or disease. The work was hard but fruitful. No one would grow old, but their children would never grow up. That was the price of paradise.

Then one day a dragon appeared. It swooped through the valley and plucked up one of the maidens, carrying her off to his cave. Next time it was one of the young men. This happened again and again. The villagers trembled and hid, but eventually they overcame their dread. They stormed up the mountainside to rescue their people. The monster hissed fire and they fled in fright. Despairing, they cried out for a champion.

"Are you all they sent?" the villagers asked in disbelief.

"You did say just the one dragon?"

Erynn studied her reflection in the polished steel of her gem-encrusted broadsword. Her lustrous mahogany skin bore outlandish tattoos; gold-streaked purple hair flowed down her spine like a river in torrent; sensuous curves strained against the confines of a tiny, shimmering metallic bikini. A lacy veil concealed all except the eyes, but the outlines of the face were essentially familiar. She was still herself, only... enhanced. These fantasy worlds had their own tastes, rules and customs.