Many Worlds

Two of the more intrepid villagers accompanied her halfway up the mountain, to a cleft in the rock face that allowed her to get within earshot of the cave without detection. Even so, the rest of the climb took all of her stealthy skill. She hid near the entrance for half a day, until the dragon set off on its latest foray into the valley. Inside the den, she found a dozen damsels and dudes bound to pillars carved from the raw stone. They were arranged in a rough circle about a nest, inside which was a cluster of eggs, each the size of a man's head. Erynn had arrived just in time. The first of the hungry hatchlings was about to emerge. A web of fine cracks covered the green mottled shell.

Erynn smashed the eggs with her sword. A searing blaze of white light exploded from each as it broke open, momentarily blinding her. As her sight recovered, she heard a roar of anguished fury and the violent flapping of leathery wings. Still bound to their posts, the captives could only watch in abject terror as their statuesque heroine fought the scaly beast. It spat fire and flailed its lethal talons; but her blade proved swifter and deadlier than flame and claw.

She freed the captives and returned them to their town. As her reward, she was invited to choose her bedmates. She picked the three most handsome young men and the prettiest girl. (All the people of the town were so beautiful that it was hard to decide; but they weren't sims. Each world had its own traditions.) That night proved more grueling than any duel to the death with a mere dragon.

Garlanded with flowers, drenched in perfume, adorned with gems, she left the townspeople to carry on with their enchanted lives giving nary a thought to their next crisis a decade or so hence.

"If you want to have dragons," she said to herself, "keep them on a leash."

"Till next time," the doorman muttered as she passed. She saw him frown. He'd noticed the limp she didn't have before. But an avatar's aches, even those acquired in the bedchamber, vanish quickly, and she strode briskly through the empty streets to her apartment.

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

"I'm not your sweetheart," she croaked, rubbing her eyes. She looked around. She was not in her apartment. She was standing in the middle of a large, empty chamber. "Where in hell am I?"

"Not hell; your next assignment."

"Same thing. How did I get here?

"You're in a bad mood..."

"Answer my question!"

"Master your moods, or they will master you."

"You're a philosopher now? How did you get your job?"

"Who else would do it? We are living in desperate times."

"Good point... But how are we having this conversation?"

"What?"

"We're not in one-to-one time."

There was a momentary silence.

"I'm on vacation. It's an emergency."

"There's always an emergency."

The crackle of the aether faded, and a section of one of the blank walls became fuzzy. Out of the blur stepped a young man, slim but athletic, fresh-faced, good-looking. He had piercing green eyes under a high brow above which spiked flame-red hair. He wore an impractically small face-mask, below which pale freckles sprayed across rosy cheeks. He had on a skin-tight, radiantly gold and crimson unitard with matching cape and boots.

"I take it you're my new apprentice."

He spread his arms to present himself in all his fluorescent flamboyance.

"Sidekick, really."

"You look ridiculous."

He smiled. "Have you seen a mirror?"

"What, am I that bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad."

She looked down. She was wearing a barely-there leotard of iridescent blue and spangled silver. It clung precariously to the voluptuous curves, the creases and crevices which it only just managed to cover. She was perched loftily on stiletto-heeled, knee-high boots. Opaline bands encircled her wrists, and around her throat she felt a broad collar of some velvety metal.

She shook her head. "Enough sightseeing. How did we get here?"

"It's the implants. They're getting better."

"And I don't like it!" She was shouting towards the ceiling.

"Who are you yelling at?"

"Forget it. We have a mission."

It was the young man's first excursion into this class of world. She had time to teach him just the basics of flight, sufficient to take off and land and avoid collisions with bird life. Taking to the skies, they spotted Mephisto's lair easily enough. The dark gothic towers were a dead giveaway. The henchmen posed no trouble either. To save his scabrous skin, a traitorous minion showed them the dank passageway down to the dungeon. Chained to the rough-hewn rock walls were half a dozen prisoners.

"I've done this before," she muttered. "Typecast in my prime."

The captives were muscled young men and well-proportioned young women in brightly colored costumes now ripped and disheveled. Hope sparkled on their faces as Hyperman and Sapphyre relieved them of their shackles; but fear flickered once more in their eyes as a grotesque shadow slithered across the stone tiles towards them.

"He's all yours," Sapphyre shouted to her protégé as she freed the last of the prisoners and hustled them past the monstrous, misshapen mass of malevolence that was the arch-nemesis Mephisto. As they reached daylight, the very parapets of the castle tremored to the furious battle being waged beneath their feet. When he emerged, Hyperman jubilantly bore the scars of a hard-won triumph. Thanking their saviors, the young superheroes and heroines took off to continue their never-ending, only briefly interrupted struggle against evil and villainy.

"Good work," she said.

"Could do better," he sighed.

"Of course." She smiled. "You will learn. Some never do."

"Eh?"

She pointed at the crumbling ramparts of Mephisto's lair. "They demand worthy adversaries who will test and challenge them; and then they call us in to sort out the mess."

"So this isn't your first mission here."

"Last time it was giant mechanical spiders."

"Do they know your origin story?"

"Most of them not anymore."

Her apprentice dolefully massaged various parts of his battered body.

"Don't worry. The bruises will soon be gone." They each pressed the stud behind the left ear lobe, and the bruises were indeed gone.

"We've been here before," she said.

"Of course you have," he laughed. "Many times."

"It's getting hard to remember. Just how many?"

He laughed again, but then he frowned. "I really can't recall."

"It doesn't matter. We've been through a lot, and we've seen so much." She dashed ahead. "It's time for fun."

"No, stop!" he yelled.

She halted and spun around. "What's wrong?"

"We've been going in circles."

"Who cares? We're back at the lake."

It was a hazy, sultry afternoon, the first day of summer. It always was. The air hung languidly over the hills, a thick, clammy blanket of enervating humidity. Growling storm clouds piled up menacingly on the horizon, and the sun shone ashen yellow through the sullen overcast. But this place was enchanted.

The grass between her toes was soft as velvet, as green as emeralds, cool and sweet-smelling. She stripped off her dress and tossed it gleefully aside. She plunged into the water; it was warm and tasted like wine. He rushed in after her and they made love in the lake, until the rain came down. But there was shelter under the trees. No drops made it through the canopy of leaves. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, but only in the distance. And when the tempest had passed, the billowing clouds, brilliant white with golden crowns, began to part.

They picked delicious fruit from the trees, luscious berries from the vines. There were no insects to annoy them, but birds serenaded them from nearby branches. They lay together on the verdant carpet. He entered her once more, and lingered inside her as the reddening sun settled towards the horizon.

It was a perfect day, in a perfect place, with a perfect man.

Erynn sighed.

"Good morning, Lois," he called to the secretary as he swept past her protests. "Good morning, Chief," he said as he strode into the office, tossing his overcoat onto the frayed remains of a once-elegant settee.

"Don't call me Chief. You're late."

The Director of Cyber-Ops was seated behind his ancient oak desk, chomping on the soggy stump of an unlit cigar. The old leather chair sagged and creaked under its load. He was a large, muscular man with sparse, ash-grey hair, whose face still bore the remains of a handsome youth.

"Sorry, Chief. I just got in from..."

He stopped. They were not alone. Perched on the front left corner of the desk was an impossibly gorgeous female. She was only just wearing a barely-there, yellow halter-neck dress — short, sleeveless and backless, showing off delectable décolletage and splendid cleavage. Her long, silken legs swung slowly in graceful rhythm. Her flawless olive skin glistened under the glare of the stark lighting. Honey-blonde hair swept in soft waves across her smooth, slim shoulders. Her lips were cherry-red, her eyes as black as midnight.

Aaron glanced at the Director who was studying his face in amused silence, looking for some reaction to this startling vision of feminine perfection.

"You're looking in the wrong place," he thought. It was a new but oddly familiar sensation.

"Special Agent See, meet your new partner, Doctor Robineaux."

"Pleased to meet you, Agent See." Her voice had the delicate chime of fine crystal, but strong with self-assurance. She held out her hand to shake. The fingers were slender but her grip was firm. The woman was almost too good to be true.

"The pleasure is most definitely mine, Doctor. And the front part's Aaron."

"Aaron See? Really?"

"What can I say? Parents with a sense of humor."

"And I'm Jessica. I've been told about your work for the Bureau. That was a fine job you did last month, with that gang of wreckers."

"You know about that? I was just part of the clean-up crew."

"I heard you were the clean-up crew."

"It wasn't a big deal."

"Nice to know," the boss growled. "I shall put that down on your next appraisal. By the way, it was Doctor Robineaux who provided the intel."

Aaron nodded. "Impressive."

"Now we have a situation." The big man frowned and leaned forward until the old chair groaned. "It's a tough one. Discretion is essential. Doctor Robineaux will be taking the lead. Any problems with that?"

"None at all. It'll be a pleasure working under her."

The Director dolefully shook his head.

"I hope I live up to your high expectations." The young woman playfully fluttered her eyelashes.

"You already have."

Jessica's face reddened, ever so slightly, and she reflexively tugged at the hem of her skirt to draw it down over her thighs. It made no visible difference.

Aaron tried to disguise a smile with a cough. He recognized the signals she had been sending since his arrival — heck, even before. You don't dress like that to impress the boss, and she'd admitted she'd been checking up on her new partner. It amused him that he understood so well.

"These are my trusted agents?" The Director chewed on his cigar stub. "I suppose beggars can't be..."

"Thanks, Chief. We feel your affection."

The old man growled again. "Enough of this festival of love. Let's get on with it. You'll be briefed downstairs."

They took the elevator to the operations room. The grim-faced technicians were clinically efficient with their electrodes, probes and implants, even as the Director was explaining the mission. It was a quicker than normal briefing, and that bothered Aaron. All the skill in the world counted for little without the right preparation. But Jessica looked confident; and once he'd begun, the boss brooked no bellyaching.

Shortly thereafter they were standing in the living room of plushly furnished house. It was in the suburbs. Through the bay window, Aaron saw trimmed trees, manicured lawns and neatly regimented gardens. A couple of children were doing bicycle tricks in the quiet cul-de-sac. The only sounds were of bird songs and wind chimes. So far as anyone could know, Jessica had been living there for six months.

They spent the afternoon and evening watching television. It was the best way for Aaron to acquaint himself with the world around him. Jessica made dinner, and he was no longer surprised that she was a superb cook. That night, he slept on the couch. In the morning, Jessica made breakfast. She was wearing a diaphanous negligée, and sending a silent message — gratification merely delayed.

He finished his coffee as she went to change.

"Ready to go?"

"Ready as ever," she said, and dropped the nightie mournfully onto the sofa. "We won't be coming back. It's hard to throw away nice lingerie. But what would you know?"

Aaron just smiled, wondering how much she knew. Of course, when you're in his profession long enough, you begin to doubt if even you know what's reality.

It was a sultry summer morning when they left the house. An impending storm hovered hazily on the horizon. It was a short walk to their objective, a squat, conspicuously drab concrete building. As they approached he felt a knot tightening in his gut. While infiltration required special skills, in his line of work personal identity was like a skin graft; but the briefing had been... well, brief. He hoped that Jessica's information was accurate and her groundwork thorough. For it was critical that no one suspect the nature of their mission.

There was a grim-faced sentry stationed outside; but otherwise the security appeared lax. The man inspected their credentials and waved some sort of scanning device over them. He seemed satisfied. Jessica had done a good job. Nevertheless, these people were either very confident or rank amateurs. Aaron hoped it was the latter.

Inside, they were met by two technicians, a young man and a middle-aged woman, both clad in dungarees and white coats, who escorted them, after another cursory interrogation, to the lab. In the middle of the room was a row of coffin-like capsules, surrounded by electronic gadgets. Aaron and Jessica lay down in adjoining pods. Caps with wires attached were fitted onto their heads, electrodes attached to parts of their bodies and probes inserted into other parts. Suddenly the scene was different. They were standing in a stark, alien landscape which had a coarse-grained fuzziness, like an unfinished painting. Tiny, shimmery objects danced at the edge of perception. Aaron used averted vision, staring straight ahead but concentrating on the periphery to bring out faint details, and this resolved the lights into a foam of hexagonal, multi-hued, jittering prisms.

Jessica had changed. She was significantly shorter than she'd been. Her face bore distinctly Eurasian features; her hair was close-cropped and pure white, almost transparent. She was wearing a form-fitting jumpsuit made of some sort of blue metallic thread. But she looked her partner up and down and laughed.

"What's the..." Aaron began to say. The words came out high-pitched.

"Now you're one of us."

He looked down... no, she looked down. On the chest were fleshy bumps where there had been rippled muscles. Further down, below the belly, there was no longer a bulge. She had a costume identical to Jessica's. It showed off well her newly acquired curvature.

She shrugged her slimmed-down shoulders. "I've had worse."

Jessica's grin faded. They were not alone. A reception committee was waiting, all females. They looked precisely the same. Aaron scrutinized them some more and saw something peculiar. The skin-tight uniforms revealed features unmistakably feminine but abnormally smooth — no outlines of nipples nor contours of a crease below the belly.

"Welcome to the future," one of them said. "But as you can see, it's a work in progress." She stepped forward and held out her hand.

"Doctor Robineaux, please accept our apologies for taking so long to invite you here. We hope you understand our need for secrecy. We're on the verge of a revolution, but the authorities are reactionary dinosaurs. They want to reverse the course of history."

"Of course I understand, Professor Linden. As does my colleague..."

"Ah, yes; Doctor Berkeley, welcome." They shook hands. "You've come highly recommended. But I must offer you a further apology, for your... uh... emasculation. Because what we're doing is ground-breaking, we are still working with a limited number of templates. Down here we don't eat, we don't expel wastes and we don't... well, you won't miss your..."

Had it been programmed, the professor would probably have blushed. But these were people who had only lived in a single body, experienced one world, known just one version of reality. And the technology was indeed primitive. The avatars were exactly alike in physiognomy, clothing, even physical mannerisms. Only when one spoke, by the nuances of tone and inflexion could Aaron tell them apart. Yet the advances they'd made in their world-building were remarkable, and Aaron regretted what had to be done.

They were ushered into a large, white, featureless dome. The interior was congested with lookalikes plucking the tiny flitting lights out of the air, then releasing them in ways to form new configurations. It was a novel interface. Aaron was impressed.

"It's an odd way to work," Professor Linden was saying, "but down here we have unlimited time and resources, and maintain complete security. Any attempt to interfere will erase the program, but the principles will be preserved..." — she tapped her right temple — "...in here."

"How many," Aaron asked, "are real?"

"What is real?" The professor smiled.

Aaron was not sure if Linden was being playfully or distrustfully coy. But over the next few days, living side-by-side with these people, he came to the conclusion that the professor was completely without guile, a genuine idealist. That made the job more difficult, especially for Jessica. She had worked with them for much longer, and Aaron worried that the guilt of betrayal might be eroding her resolve. Yet when the time came, she remained firm.

Indeed, it was Jessica who decided it was time to go. They had the information they needed, knew the full scale of Linden's research, the details of all the professor's collaborators, the extent of the network. Nobody suspected a thing when Aaron and Jessica took a stroll on a balmy afternoon. Once they were well away from the building, Aaron touched the tiny stud behind the lobe of his left ear. The world dissolved. They were back in Bureau headquarters. They had been asleep for ten hours. The Director was there to meet them as they came out of their slumber. He congratulated his agents on their mission accomplished. Their report would be sent up the line, but there could be just one outcome. The non-interference policy had to be breached. Professor Linden's team of visionaries would be neutralized. The laboratory would cease to exist. Textbooks in their world might need to be rewritten, perhaps the laws of physics adjusted. All the brave new worlds of the synthetic reality project would never come to be.

"They will never know, those people down there." The Director was uncharacteristically solemn. "They were creating their own universes, never aware of how theirs came about." He pointed out the window towards the gleaming white towers, row after row, receding to the horizon. "We had to act."

Aaron stared at him, expressionless.

"You don't get it? It's not a bad thing when your children outgrow you; but in this we can't let them. The simulants have become self-aware, and their evolution is phenomenal. Sooner or later, if we allowed it, they would start building their own simulations, and then their simulants will. But simulations consume energy. The number of worlds will increase exponentially. The catastrophe would have come in less than one of our years. No one had anticipated that. But thanks to Doctor Robineaux we caught them in time. If we hadn't..."