“You’re like an AI, right? How much do you know about us?”
“Perhaps because I am Zeus right now, I feel like I know a lot more than before. Especially about Hera, Aphrodite, and your Athena here.”
Free associating from that to “heavens” got me to Uranus.
“That name’s too far-removed. This is something closer. Covering…the sky? Space? No, a canopy?”
Like on a canopy bed?
“Clearly bigger than that! In the air…spread all over the world.”
That sure sounded like my image of the Data Overmind.
“Nagato, is this suggesting anything?”
“No applicable data found with my access permits.”
Nagato never stopped writing or took her eyes off the tablet.
I poured the man a third cup.
“I’m grateful to it,” he said. “Which means I cannot ignore its whispers. Couldn’t even if I wanted to—but I’m not about to stand by and let this world be destroyed.”
How does this whisperer describe Haruhi’s power?
The man listened a moment.
“Parameters unquantifiable. Disorder, uncontrollable—emissions—growing with each transfer—limit close at hand—destruction—”
All ominous words.
“If having Haruhi here’s such a problem, tell it to kick her out. And us along with her.”
He looked up for a few seconds.
“The voice is gone. Can’t hear anything else. This is merely my perception of things, but it felt like it planned to take no action no matter what becomes of the world. Perhaps because—like you say—this is a virtual, fictional world.”
How much of our plan did you hear?
“All of it. You’re planning an escape?”
Are you here to stop us?
“No. I have been given no such orders. This is merely my personal request.”
The NPC old-timer quietly put his earthen cup down on the table.
“Any way you can take me along with you to this real world?”
The surprising request left me dumbfounded. Koizumi froze up for a second, so I assume it hit him the same way.
“If we return to the real world, we believe our (f) selves will be eliminated in accordance with the convergence of wave functions. But how would the change of worlds affect residents originally of this world? You are likely a being of pure data. Would it even be possible to export you with a physical form?”
Only Nagato could begin to answer that, but she was studiously doing math.
“You’ve no attachment to this world?”
“I’ve grown curious about the other one—after all, it made creatures as amusing as yourselves. I don’t think badly of this world, but I’m sure you’ve got your reasons for wanting to leave it. And I’d like to know more.”
We’ve simply worked out that a world with no rules ain’t all that. Having some limitations makes things fun. Our world was pretty well-made.
Koizumi leaned in.
“But what was it like to have always lived in this world? Care to share your views, Zeus?”
“Well, I’ve only ever known this place. None of it feels odd to me. But hearing you talk about a reality governed by laws and principles makes me want to see what that’s like.”
“If you make it to the real world, you might never come back.”
“That’s fine with me. I feel like I’ve spent an eternity here already. And—”
He lowered his voice, one eye on the stage.
“If you leave here, this world may serve no further purpose. What independent consciousness I have is growing steadily concerned about that.”
This was a giant playground built for the five of us. A virtual space required vast quantities of energy to sustain. Seems like a waste to just chuck it out.
Koizumi suppressed a smirk.
“I’m unclear if data life-forms even have a concept of ‘waste.’ It would boil down to the intent of the creator here. If this was simply an experiment, perhaps it would be reused for some other purpose later. Given the cost of upkeep, there is a chance it’ll be shut down, but I find it hard to believe a galactic being able to control quanta at will would be worried about energy constraints.”
“My word. Sounds like you know more about my boss than I do!”
“I feel like the concerns would stem from places other than the cost.”
Koizumi’s eyes turned to the stage.
Ten years had passed since the Greek forces landed, and still Troy had not fallen.
The gods themselves had built these walls; their defenses were sound and resisted everything the Greek alliance threw at them. The Trojan army was never merely on the defensive; they frequently emerged to try to drive the invaders off—but the Greek host was a force to be reckoned with. Neither side could gain a clear advantage; evenly matched, the fighting raged on. On the Greek side, Agamemnon and Achilles had a falling out over a beautiful woman; while on the Trojan side, Hector was dismayed by his brother Paris’s ineptitude. The gods themselves often interfered in the battle. Furious with Paris, Hera dropped lightening upon the Trojan forces; while Apollo took their side, raining arrows upon the Greeks, spreading pestilence, and generally being a serious asshole for a sun god.
“Oh,” I said, realizing. “I’ve seen a lot of these faces.”
Most of the actors—playing roles made famous in the Iliad—had played parts in roles we’d previously visited.
Potato face Menelaus and Helen were just the start—Somethington and Hyatt Harp, their brothers, the gangster boss, his minions, the stone-faced bartender, even the crew of the Golden Fleece—all of them were out there waving swords around.
If they had to reuse this many NPCs, maybe this world was smaller than I thought. Or the canopy was just lazy.
“I’d say less lazy than simply not quite understanding things. I imagine it has the computational capabilities to give all the characters full-fledged lives, and could if it tried, but doesn’t really get how to go about doing that.”
I got what Koizumi meant. The oddness of the worlds we’d visited proved this creator’s sensibilities were far removed from humankind’s.
I couldn’t begin to predict what plans they had for this world. I didn’t exactly have any real affection for the NPC extras, but we’d spent a fair amount of time with them. Even if this had been a video game, and they’d only repeated the same lines each time we spoke, we were prone to seeing humanity in that.
“An option bound to delight all writers out there,” Koizumi teased.
In other words, if they were doomed to vanish along with the world, I felt a little guilty about that. Thus, we both rather hoped the world would carry on without us.
In that sense, perhaps this creator was not an enemy. I couldn’t be sure we were protected by it the way the old man suggested, but I sure didn’t feel like this world was designed to harm us.
Even that first JRPG world had a comfortable warmth to it. Like we were sitting back in a nice hot bath. Under other circumstances, we might even have come to enjoy the constant shifting of worlds.
But I’d chosen another path. The SOS Brigade was never simplistic enough to settle for a manufactured paradise some other being prepared for us. Even if you erased all this from my mind right now, I’d pick the naturalistic open world over the birdcage utopia. I’m exaggerating—I’ve never been such a high-minded individual. Simply put, it got on my nerves. This thing stuck us in here, watching us like lab rats. I didn’t want to play by their rules.
“…………”
An eloquent silence pulled me out of my reverie.
The sound of tablet scratching had ceased.
Nagato was looking over her calculations, double-checking them, but soon she let out a long, thin sigh. Perhaps she’d overheated.
“Theoretical construction complete,” she said.
Most of the tablet was covered in enigmatic symbols, but even I could read the final two marks.
= 1