Several dozen beltways extended from the terminal in every direction like the spokes of a wheel. Some immediately began a gentle upward curve, while others disappeared sharply downward, while still others went upward in a slow spiral, like a tangle of ribbons that could never be undone. Each beltway carried an immense number of people and goods, looking like dark spots scattered across the glowing luminium of the belts. Another terminal hung in space several hundred meters up. All beyond that was lost in a thin mist. Far below, a third wheel-like terminal floated in the depths like an aquamarine star.
A single rotodyne descended through the foggy night air. As Siddhārtha watched, its wings morphed into different shapes to navigate traffic. The rotodyne left a trembling wake in the mist above it.
Immense walls rose all around this vast space, suffused with darkness. The walls were made of translucent glass, inside of which could be seen sparkling colors like the broken fragments of gemstones. There seemed to be many layers of glass, more than a thousand, through which cavities and passages housed the daily lives of all the people in the city. A thick outer wall, built to withstand all climate change and drastic weather, separated them completely from the world beyond. A nuclear reactor on the bottommost level of the city powered a vast electrical network. The citizens of this place had no need to work at manufacturing or production of any kind. They were—
What is this place?
Siddhārtha stood, blinking. The city vanished from before his eyes. He stood, and a powerful dizziness struck him. What he had seen was no vision or dream. The giant metropolis had been there, right before his eyes, a classic tower city capable of supporting a vast population and completely shielded from the outside world.
With dark eyes, Siddhārtha looked over the row of lockers in front of him.
“We abandoned our city . . .” Siddhārtha said, repeating the citizen’s words. Siddhārtha looked up and saw the crab hanging in space over his head. He tensed, readying himself for another psychic attack.
When nothing came, he waited awhile, then spoke. “There is something I want to ask you. Why did you have to abandon your city?”
Deep silence swallowed Siddhārtha’s words.
“Also, has a man calling himself Jesus of Nazareth come here?” There was no answer, but Siddhārtha continued on regardless. “Just now with my own eyes, I saw a massive city stretching into the sky. I believe that this is a virtual city, its citizens the memory cards found inside each of these lockers. You are keeping them there, protecting them from the world outside, watching over them—you are their god.”
“This is so,” said the crab from high above. “The great city you have just seen was revealed to you because you interfered with one of the circuits.” The city, the crab explained, was generated using perfect hypnosis that allowed people to walk through its streets, to live their lives in the company of others. Yet it was all a phantasm, taking place in the span of a few minutes during which time the person might still be sitting or lying on the floor.
“But the people in these lockers—only their biological patterns have been encoded. You might inject one into an artificial body as you have just done, but that does not make it human—it does not even make it alive!” Siddhārtha said, choking back rust-colored nausea.
“Are you any different?” the crab asked. “Can you say with absolute certainty that the planet upon which you were born, the objects in your life, and all of the events you have witnessed are not aspects of some grand phantasm?”
Siddhārtha shook his head. “I can make observations that are shared universally between people—”
“And what if all these people are in the same virtual world, experiencing a shared phantasm?”
“What?!”
“Physical phenomena are not an emergent property of reality. No technology or means of observation can prove that they are.”
“Strange to hear an agnostic argument from a god,” Siddhārtha said.
“To call something unknowable is to assume that anything can be known,” the crab replied.
Siddhārtha smiled. “What happens to the self when you’re on one of those cards?”
“What happens to the self when you are asleep?” the crab rejoined.
When you’re asleep, or when you’re dead . . . Siddhārtha shook his head. “Why did you abandon your city?”