by D. Levesque
One thing that Paradigm Alpha protected fiercely was its ability to make money. Most games that Paradigm Alpha created for VR were moneymakers. Folks would spend in-game credits for items they would not buy in real life here on Earth. Right now, Paradigm Alpha has nine games going that cater to everyone from young kids to older adults. So most likely, they found something that is making them lose credits and they need me to tell them that maybe like the last bug where if someone bought a store item outside the game, and the same item in game, it would give them their credits back but also let them keep the item. Before the bug was fixed Paradigm Alpha had lost over two million credits.
When the elevator arrives, I get in and press the number 99. Some of the folks who get in look at me enviously. Most employees know who I am by now—a poor employee who has access to floor 99. Talk between some of the workers starts up as we start to ascend.
“Did you hear that Russia is thinking of retaliating against us because we refused to send them food?” one girl says.
“I doubt they would do that, USACan would hurt them badly. I mean, we aren’t involved, but that’s because we are too strong to get involved,” says a young male, trying to sound smart. Ah, I think to myself. We have stayed out of it because we have our own problems already. Like keeping our own people fed, oxygenated, and well, that’s pretty much it. Our military isn’t remotely as large as Russia’s or China’s. What we have is technology and our nukes.
“I was watching a show and they say there is a 38 percent chance that Russia or China would nuke us,” another girl starts up, but thank God the elevator stops on floor 32 and lets them all out, leaving me alone. Once the door closes and their voices fade away, I go back to thinking about this meeting. Sighing, I just want it over. I am supposed to be on a required one week vacation that I have every year. They aren’t supposed to be calling me into work.
Once on the 99th floor, the door opens, and I head down the hallway. Compared to the other floors, this one is quite opulent. It’s meant to impress guests, and that it does. The floors are all marble, and there is artwork from all over the world on the walls. Some are on loan, but I am sure Paradigm Alpha owns some. Even the Mona Lisa is here. It might be a copy. It might not be. Paradigm Alpha can afford it, even if they’re renting it.
Once at the end of the hallway, there is a desk with a single person at it. The woman who is there could pass as a model. Nothing but the best for the rich upper management here. Nodding to her, I say, “Hi Nadine, any idea what is going on?” nodding towards the double doors.
“I am sorry, I cannot say, Mr. Grady. Please go right in, I have let them know you are here,” she says in a quiet monotone.
Oh boy, this is bad. Nadine always called me by my first name, Jeff. If she is calling me Mr. Grady, something big is going on. Nodding to her, I say, “Thanks, Nadine,” and I walk towards the door and open it. In the room are four people. My two bosses, Mr. Broady and Mrs. Laman - right now, the two richest people on Earth and off, if you believe they have a moon base. The other two, I don’t recognize. They are both males, large, and wearing suits.
“Mr. Grady, come in,” says Mrs. Laman. “Please sit there,” she says in a commanding voice, brooking no discussion and pointing to the only empty chair across from the four of them. What the heck is going on? Nodding to her, I go sit in the chair she directed me to and wait to see what this is about.
Mr. Broady looks nervous, and the two suits simply stare at me, not showing any emotion. Mrs. Laman continues, “Now, we have some questions for you, Mr. Grady. These two gentlemen here are from the FBI. The answers we get will determine the way this discussion will go. But first, please sign this.” She places a piece of thick paper in front of me. I pick it up and see that it’s an NDA or a non-disclosure agreement. I have signed many of those. Including the one I had to sign for the job I do now, as I am not allowed to tell anyone what I actually do here, even other employees, with the exception of Mr. Broady and Mrs. Laman, who already know what I do.
Reading it over, I see it’s a standard NDA that states I will not talk to anyone about what is being discussed in this meeting, and that the fine if I do would be two million credits and possible jail time. Holy heck! Two million credits? What is going on here! That part isn’t standard. My own contract had a fine of 25,000 credits. Looking up in surprise, I see that the two suits are still staring at me, Mrs. Laman seems impatient, and Mr. Broady keeps wiping his hands on his pants.
“What is going on here?” I ask slowly.
“Please sign, and we can discuss it,” she says, tapping the contract on the table.
“And if I refuse to sign?” I ask, slowly looking at her in the eyes. As soon as I say that, I see a predatory look creep into her eyes.
“Then these two gentlemen here will be taking you in cuffs on charges of espionage against the government of USACan for giving technology secrets to China,” she says, with an enormous smile on her face. I always thought Mrs. Laman was a beautiful woman for her age, which I guessed to be around late forties, but now her face is nothing but ugly with greed.
I look at Mr. Broady, who still has that nervous look, and he simply says, “Just sign it, Jeff. Otherwise, these men will take you away, you will be charged, and the outcome for espionage is the death penalty, as I am sure you are aware.”
“Shut up, William. Let Mr. Grady make his own choice,” she snaps at him.
“Thelma,” he snaps back at her, “I still own this company or a majority of it, so I would be careful who you tell to shut up.” There is the backbone I knew he had! He didn’t get to where he was by being a nice guy.
Mrs. Laman flushes, from embarrassment or anger, I am not sure, but she says, “Sorry William, but this is too important, and you know it.”
“I agree, but I don’t like the method.” What the? The method? What is he talking about?
Turning back to me, she says again, but without a smile, “Sign. It.”
Looking at the two suits, I see one of them take out a pair of handcuffs and place them gently on the table, with no change of expression at all. What the heck is going on? There is no way I did any kind of espionage, especially with the Chinese. So the choice is, sign the paperwork for an NDA when I have no clue what the discussion is going to be about, or get charged, jailed, and executed for something I didn’t do?
Taking the pen that is on the table already, I sign my name at the bottom. In the spot where you put your fingerprint on the smart e-paper, I press my thumbprint to it. I then turn the paper around and offer it to Mrs. Laman to look at. She confirms that I signed it, asks for the pen I still have in my hands, signs it herself where it says witness, and thumbprints it as well.
“Thank you, Jeff. I am sorry I had to do this, but once we talk about it, you will see why. These two gentlemen are from the FBI, but from a small division you would not have heard about,” Mrs. Laman says, her demeanor doing a total 180. “And I am also sorry I had to do this to you,” she says, pulling away a section of the contract that had seemed blank to me. I look and see writing that hadn’t been visible before.
“What the hell!” I say in shock, as I grab the contract and read the section that was just uncovered.
I also hereby give my body and my mind to Paradigm Alpha. I agree to abide by their choices for my welfare, work location, and job title from now until I die. I shall not in any way, shape, or form fight Paradigm Alpha in any Court of Law regarding the terms of this contract. I also agree not to discuss it with anyone, as I have given away my rights to Paradigm Alpha with my admission of guilt for espionage against the government of USACan for giving technology to the Chinese government that would have allowed China to bypass the Satellite Defense Network and kill millions of USACan Citizens.
“What?” I scream at them in horror. “I did none of those things, and you know it!”
“Be that as it may,” one of the suits finally says, “You are now the property of Paradigm Alpha and the USACan government, to do with a
s we see fit.”
“Agent Mead? If you will allow me?” Mr. Broady says to the agent.
Nodding, the agent sits back. “Now, Jeff, we are sorry we did this to you, but you have to understand we have a good reason,” he starts.
“Mr. Broady, what good reason would you have for making me a damn slave!” I ask him hotly.
“William, call me William,” he continues, ignoring my brief outburst. Sighing, he sits back. “Trust me. We have a significant reason. Where do you think we will be in, say, ten, twenty years from now?” he asks me. The question throws me off guard, and my anger disappears in a puff of smoke.
I look at him oddly and ask, “You mean Paradigm Alpha? Probably richer, better tech. Why?”
“No, not Paradigm Alpha, the world. Earth?”
I laugh at that question. “Knowing the way things are going, probably in a nuclear apocalypse.” But I stop laughing when I notice no one else at the table is laughing with me. “What, seriously?”
“Seriously,” says the other suit. “Name is Agent White. No. It’s not a code name,” he says at my raised eyebrow. “Our projections say that within a year, there will be another nuclear warhead detonated somewhere on Earth, and the chances of it being in the USACan are very high. So, with the help of Paradigm Alpha, the USACan government has come up with a plan to save as many people as possible.”
“You mean the rich and those who can afford it,” I tell him bitterly. Yeah, sure, save the human race. Right.
“No, we will be saving many genetic samples. We have been for the last two years,” he says.
What? Genetic samples? How is getting genetic samples from people saving them? “I don’t get it? What do you mean samples? You have been collecting humans?” I ask him, confused.
“No, samples. Blood DNA samples.”
“And how is that going to save humanity?” I ask, perplexed at his answer.
“Are you sure you want him in on this?” he asks both my bosses, and both of them answer quickly, “Yes!”
Sighing, he turns back to me. “We have collected over three million blood DNA samples. Over one million female egg cells, or oocytes, and over one million male sperm cells. These are stored in a deep bunker on the moon. What we need is an administrator to watch over the system,” he finishes.
I gape at him in shock. I am not sure if it’s the number of samples they have collected or the fact that we have a base on the moon. I guess my brain knows which one since I blurt out, “We have a base on the moon?”
“We do, but we need someone to watch over them, for when, as you called it, the nuclear apocalypse happens, and it’s over. We need someone to watch the system with all the human minds in it.” It takes me a second or two to finally clue into what he just said.
“What! What do you mean, human minds?” I ask him.
“And this is where we get to the chief issue. We cannot take humans as they are. They would die. So we will upload folks onto what we call The Doomsday System. Think of it as a big VR system, but for human consciousness. The technology works, thanks to Paradigm Alpha. Most folks can be uploaded, but they are just on pause, as it were. Not able to interact with The Doomsday System. Think of it more like storage,” he says.
“So wait, you want me to get uploaded with them, so I can watch over them? But how is that going to work when my brain will be in storage? And I hope you aren’t going to say you have some kind of new technology that will make me immortal,” I tell him with a nervous laugh.
“No, you will be uploaded along with them. But there is something unique about you,” Mrs. Laman says quietly.
I give her a questioning look and ask, “And what’s that? I am a simple bug tracker, Mrs. Laman. You know that. I have been doing that for the last 12 years. And I am not being vain when I say I am quite good at it.”
“And do you know why you are so good at it?” she asks me, instead of commenting on what I said.
“I pay attention to details?” I say, perplexed by her question.
“Nope,” she says with a smile, a truly genuine smile. “The reason you are so good at it is that for some reason, your brain is able to separate what is real and what is not. When you are under for VR, your brainwaves, for some reason we have not been able to validate or copy, go into overdrive, which allows you to go past the boundaries of the normal systems. Honestly, we were studying you while you were working under VR, which has allowed us to create some of the technology we have today for the new VR systems.”
“What do you mean real and not real?” I ask her, puzzled.
“When most folks go into VR, it’s hard for them to tell what is real and what isn’t. You, on the other hand, can, which is what makes it so easy for you to find bugs in the game. You can pull yourself away from the ‘game’ long enough to see something’s not meant to be there,” William says now. “Do you know why we tell you not to tell folks what you do for your job? As a bug finder, I mean?” he says.
“I just thought it was because of the NDA,” I tell him.
William shakes his head. “No, it’s because you are the only one,” he says.
“What? No, that’s impossible! You have an entire team on floor nine here that does only that, they find bugs,” I say in disbelief.
“Oh, they do. But in the code itself. Not in the game. You are the only one who does that since you are the only one that can.”
I stare at him in utter shock. What does he mean, I am the only one! I can’t be the only one finding bugs and glitches while in the games that Paradigm Alpha creates! That would be ludicrous.
“Why do you think our games are so much better than the competition, Jeff?” Mrs. Laman says with pride. “It’s because of you. You find errors in days that our coders or debuggers would spend months, or even years finding. That is why we are able to get games to market so much faster.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say. If I am so important for this company, why are you doing what you are to me?”
All four people at the table have the grace to blush at that comment. Mrs. Laman is the one who answers, after shocking me by putting her hand over mine. “Because, we need you. Jeff, we are entrusting you with our care for a long time. There isn’t anyone else who can do this. You will one day wake up, and if the worst comes to be and we on Earth have destroyed each other, you will be our last bastion of hope. You will be our protector, our savior, and our salvation.”
“Laying it pretty thick, aren’t we Thelma?” William says with a soft laugh.
“No, he needs to know how serious this is, and why I have put most of my own money and time into this.”
“So,” I say awkwardly, “how is this supposed to work? I hope I am not going to the moon? I mean, how are you going to keep me alive for what may amount to thousands of years, until the Earth can be lived on again?”
At my question, the two owners of Paradigm Alpha look at each other oddly. Finally, Thelma is the one to look back at me and answer. “Your body won’t be alive,” she tells me softly.
“But,” I say, confused, “how am I supposed to watch over everyone in VR if I am dead?”
“We will upload your mind to The Doomsday System servers, and there you will live your days out in a game until the AIs of the system feel that it’s time, and you will be pulled out of the game to begin the reseeding of Earth. We cannot trust that part to the AIs at all. They are smart, but they aren’t human,” Thelma says softly.
“Wait, you want me to play a game for thousands of years?” I ask them all in astonishment.
“Yes, but to you it won’t be thousands of yours. We will be telling the AIs to make it so that the time dilation for you is 10:1. For every ten years outside the game for you, it will be one year in-game. So if you are in-game for 1,000 years, it will only feel like 100 years. And if you play a long-lived race, you should be fine,” William chimes in.
“Wait, what game am I going to be playing?” I ask them suspiciously. If it’s the pirate game Hooked Ships,
forget it.
“You will be playing a completely new game that has been created with feedback from all the other games, and built by the AIs. We have shown you snippets of it to find bugs, but you have found none. So we know the game is solid with no bugs,” he says proudly.
“Wait! Are you talking about game X? I thought that was a new game coming out next year and that you just didn’t have a name for it!” I exclaim.
“Yes, you will play that one, but we are not giving it a name. This will be a new world for you to explore.”
Looking around the table at the eager faces, I don’t know what to say. I mean, I don’t have much choice, but to play a game for such a long time and actually be that character? I mean, how many times have I wished while playing a game for fun that I could just escape and be in the game forever as my character? So, instead of trying to escape from it, I grin at them and say, “Sign me up!”
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https://geni.us/DoomsdaySystem1