OtherEarth

by Jason Segel

  “Once I figured it out, it took about five minutes to do the scan,” Elvis says. “I just had Kat put on the glasses and walk around me.”

  “The glasses let me know when I’d captured enough data,” Kat chimes in. “I had to record his voice, too. All it needed was a few minutes of conversation.”

  I step closer to the copy of Elvis. The resolution is perfect. If it weren’t for fake Elvis’s stiffness, I don’t know if I’d be able to tell the difference between the two.

  I look over at the original Elvis. I can still see him clearly. “This is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I tell him.

  “It’s even worse than you think,” Kat says. “With the disk on, you could touch him.”

  “Oh God,” I say.

  “And you could record it,” Busara adds.

  I don’t even want to imagine all the applications the technology might have—or the many unsavory ways in which it will certainly be used. For starters, you’d never know who might be having sex with your digital clone. But it gets darker than that. It’s not just about sex. You could have anyone do almost anything—and get it on film. The line between real and virtual has been erased. We’ll never be able to trust our eyes or our ears again.

  I thought Otherworld was bad, and it was. But this could be worse. The sooner the Company’s kaput and Wayne Gibson’s in jail, the better. “Did you call the number I gave you?” I ask Busara. “Did you speak to Grant Farmer’s lawyer? If we can get someone who used the OtherEarth disk to go public—”

  Busara cuts me off with a shake of her head. She doesn’t look happy. “I talked to the lawyer. I mentioned your mother’s name, too. But the guy said neither he nor his client was willing to talk to me. He told me his client was looking forward to serving his sentence and paying for his crime.”

  Another dead end. I should have expected as much. The Company must have some serious dirt on the guy. Now that I’ve seen what he was playing with when he committed his crime, there’s no telling what it could be. My guess is he made a copy of the actress he attacked and forgot which was which.

  “What about the four dead guys on Alexei’s list?” Kat says. “We did some research while you were asleep. Two of the guys died of unexplained internal injuries. Two had heart attacks. I know Alexei thought the Company might have paid off the police to get rid of the OtherEarth gear. But maybe someone in their families knew about the disks.”

  “It’s possible,” I say.

  “We’ll see what we can dig up while you guys are in Otherworld,” Elvis tells me.

  I feel a chill run down my spine. I’d almost forgotten that I have to go back.

  Busara insists on wearing a disk. Nothing the rest of us say can change her mind.

  “If my dad won’t speak to me, I’ll go back wearing a headset,” she tells us. “But there could still be viruses out there. I might not make it very far.”

  We arrive in Otherworld on the outskirts of Imra. Just past the gates is a thick wall of vines. Rising above the wall are trees that would take centuries to grow on Earth. Gimmelwald appears to be thriving.

  “You should go say goodbye to Volla,” Busara says.

  I can’t remember telling her about Volla, but I was just thinking the same thing. I would if Busara were wearing a headset, but the disk makes it too dangerous.

  “I can’t leave you here and I can’t take you with me,” I tell her. “There’s no telling what kind of beasts we’d find behind the wall.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she promises. “You can trust me.” She says it with such certainty that I find myself believing her—and starting to suspect that she knows something I don’t. She’s acting weird, like a little kid with a secret she can barely contain.

  As we walk toward the wall of vines that surrounds Gimmelwald, an opening appears. Beyond it lies a wild garden of unimaginable beauty. There are no structures of any sort, just grass and flowers and trees. High above our heads, the leaves are shaking, but there doesn’t seem to be any breeze. Then I spot a small green creature scampering among the branches, and I realize the trees are full of Children just like it.

  The ground trembles beneath our feet, and a being rises from the earth. The soil that streams from Volla’s naked form is dark and rich. She’s much healthier than the last time I saw her, and her stomach is swollen with another Child.

  “You’ve returned,” she says warmly.

  “Just to say goodbye,” I tell her. “Your realm is so beautiful now. You’ve brought it back to life.”

  “I’ve done nothing but let nature do what it will,” the Elemental replies. “This is how Gimmelwald was meant to be.”

  Is it? I wonder. It’s certainly not what Milo Yolkin had in mind when he designed Otherworld. A guest-free world teeming with Children was never part of his plan. And yet it does seem right, the way things turned out. The Creator gave life to Otherworld, but he was never able to control it. Maybe there were bigger forces than Milo Yolkin at work.

  I’m still lost in thought when Volla speaks again. “You say this is goodbye?”

  “We’re going back to our world,” I tell her. “And we plan to stay there. After today, there will be no more guests in Otherworld.”

  Busara clears her throat. “Actually, we don’t know that for certain,” she announces.

  I do my best to catch her eye, but I can’t. “We don’t?” I ask. “The headsets have been destroyed. We’re leaving. Who else could be here?”

  Busara shrugs. “We had no idea that my father was trapped in the ice. There could be someone else left as well. Someone wearing a disk.”

  I suppose it’s possible, but it seems highly unlikely. Volla looks concerned. “A disk?” she asks.

  “My friend is just saying that if you meet any guests after today, they’ll be like us,” I assure the Elemental. “Your Children are safe. The killers are all gone for good.” I glance over at Busara, just in case she plans to contradict me. “Right?” I ask.

  “Oh, absolutely,” says Busara. “If you meet another guest here, you’ll be able to trust him.”

  At this point, I must have the world’s highest tolerance for weird, and yet I’m starting to get a little unnerved. It sounds to me like she has someone specific in mind. But I don’t want my anxiety to rub off on Volla. So I keep my suspicions to myself as we say our goodbyes.

  “Mind telling me what all that was about?” I ask Busara as soon as we’re back in front of the gates of Imra.

  “All what?” she asks as if she has no idea what I’m referencing.

  “That stuff you told Volla about trusting guests!”

  “It was true,” she says. “If there’s someone left in Otherworld, they won’t cause her or her Children any harm. I just thought she should know it.”

  “And that’s it?” I ask.

  “For now,” she says, charging ahead through the gates in front of us.

  * * *

  —

  The suburbs of Imra are a ghost town. You’d think decades had gone by since the last guest passed through. I’m worried the elevator won’t work. I don’t know of any other way to access the volcano. But when we step inside, it instantly begins to descend. A few seconds later, the doors open onto a strange scene.

  Dark and silent, the realm appears deserted. Trash litters the walkway and a musty stench lingers in the air. I hear the click of heels as someone walks toward us. I place my hand on the hilt of my dagger just as a woman in a navy suit and white shirt comes into view.

  “Hello, and welcome back to Imra!” It’s my old pal Margot, the same NPC who gave me my first tour of the city when I arrived with Carole, Arkan and Gorog. “It sure is nice to have nice guests again!”

  “Where are all the others?” I ask. “The ones like you, I mean.”

  “Gone,” she tells me. “Pomba Gira
refused to regenerate the workers after they were killed by the guests. I’m the only one left. She kept me safe during the troubles. Now enough about me, how may I help you?”

  “Your Elemental was kind enough to care for my father,” Busara says. “I’m here to thank her and to see him.”

  “Of course!” Margot chirps. “Right this way!”

  The path to the bottom of the crater winds like a corkscrew along the interior of the volcano. I glance over the railing that lines the left-hand side. I see the bubbling lava and feel the heat on my face, but I don’t witness any signs of life.

  “Watch your step,” Margot warns as we trail behind her. “Things have gotten quite messy since the last time you were here.”

  I’ll say. The city has been destroyed. The chandeliers have all been shot out and the walls are riddled with bullet holes. I peek into a spa room and see dark brown water lapping at the sides of a giant pool. SCREW MILO is scrawled in gore on the tiles. I was never all that fond of Imra, but the sight pisses me off. Milo Yolkin built this place to cater to his guests’ every desire. He may have been sick, but you can’t question his hospitality. Then a bunch of filthy rich psychos showed up and destroyed it for kicks. This is why the humans can’t have nice things.

  I keep a careful eye out for danger as we make our way to the bottom of the volcano. I know Elvis and Kat rid the realm of guests, but there’s no telling what might have taken over since then. Still, we haven’t come across anything threatening, which makes my presence feel pointless. The closer we get to the lava, the more anxious I become. I’m not sure why Busara would want me along.

  “Here we are!” Margo trills once we’re standing beside the pool of lava. “On a scale from one to five, five being the highest score, how would you rate my performance this afternoon?”

  “Definitely a five,” I assure her.

  “Six,” says Busara.

  Margot makes a quick note on a tablet computer. “Thank you very much for your feedback! Pomba Gira will be with you shortly!” Then Margot steps into the lava and disappears.

  “Wait until you meet Pomba Gira,” I whisper to Busara as the lava starts to swirl. “You’re in for quite a treat.”

  “I’ve met her,” Busara says.

  “How? You told me you never entered any of the realms when you were here as the Clay Man.”

  “I didn’t,” Busara says. “Listen, Simon—”

  A beautiful woman with skin the color of charcoal and a flaming red dress rises from the molten rock. Ignoring me, she moves toward Busara. Her hair floats like smoke around her face. “You are here to see your father,” she says, her voice soft.

  “Yes,” Busara confirms.

  The Elemental circles her, examining Busara from every angle. “You are not like the others,” she says.

  “Just out of curiosity, how can you tell?” Busara asks.

  “The energy around you is different,” says Pomba Gira.

  “Does it matter?” Busara responds.

  “Wait, what?” I interject, but they both ignore me. What the hell are they talking about?

  “No,” says Pomba Gira. “It is his choice to see you.”

  She lifts one of her hands and a coffin-size box rises out of the lava.

  “You’ve been keeping him in that?” I ask. I think I’d have died of claustrophobia by now.

  Pomba Gira doesn’t dignify my question with a response. The lid lifts off the box, revealing James Ogubu inside, looking none the worse for wear. I hear a gasp from Busara as he steps out.

  “Dad.” She rushes to hug him. I feel like I should let them have a private moment, but there’s nowhere to go.

  “You’re wearing a disk,” Ogubu observes. He looks up at me angrily. “I thought I made it clear that she should have a headset.”

  “I was the one who insisted on wearing a disk,” Busara says, wiping away the tears on her face. “I wanted to feel you when I hugged you this time.”

  “The headset players are gone,” I tell Ogubu. “The virus killed all of them. We are the only guests left in Otherworld.”

  “And the Otherworld servers?” he asks.

  My knees instantly turn to jelly. The servers. Oh my God, I can’t believe I forgot about the servers.

  “They’re in safe hands,” Busara tells her father.

  “They are?” I sputter.

  “Yes,” she assures me. “This world will continue, free of human interference. My dad will be able to live here in peace, and I’ll visit whenever I can.”

  I’m already lost again. What in the hell is she talking about?

  James Ogubu’s eyes take in his daughter. He seems to be struggling to keep it together. “You know?” he asks.

  “Know what?” I ask.

  Busara nods silently and ignores my question. She wraps her arms around her dad, her face pressed against his chest. I hold my tongue for as long as possible. Then I remember that she wanted me to come here. She must have realized I’d ask.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m really confused. What’s going on here? What does Busara know?”

  James Ogubu is still stroking his daughter’s back when he answers. “That this is all that remains of me.”

  My mind is reeling. “You mean—”

  “That I no longer exist in your world. I died months ago. I’ve been told that my body is buried somewhere in New Jersey.”

  In a long, narrow container just large enough to hold it. That’s what Ogubu said the first time we met. I assumed he was talking about a capsule. He wasn’t.

  “Then how—” I can’t seem to get the questions out.

  “When I came to Otherworld to release the virus, I knew the body I left behind would be vulnerable. I uploaded my memories into this avatar,” he says. “Just in case.”

  “What happened to your body?”

  “I’m not entirely certain,” says Ogubu. “There was a cot in my office. I’d sleep there sometimes when I worked into the night. That’s where I left my body when I came here to Otherworld. I don’t know what happened after that. Milo told me there had been an accident. He wouldn’t say more, but I always assumed he was telling the truth. Milo had many negative traits, but I don’t think he was homicidal. He seemed very relieved to discover that my avatar would live on—and quite keen to make use of the technology I’d developed.”

  Before he died, Alexei told Fons he’d never really die because he’d uploaded his real-world memories into his Otherworld avatar. I figured the Company had made it up along with all their other false promises. “So the technology really exists?” I ask Ogubu.

  “Certainly. I invented it. And like my other inventions, it was stolen from me. I’m sure Milo would eventually have used it to upload his memories into Magna. But first he was planning to use it to make a digital copy of himself. He said he’d lost interest in the real world, but he didn’t want to leave the Company in the control of its board of directors. He didn’t trust them to pursue his vision.”

  “I guess he hadn’t gone completely insane,” I mumble. The hologram makes perfect sense now. It wouldn’t just look like Milo, it would think like him too.

  I turn to Busara. “We can’t let the Company get its hands on that memory-downloading technology.”

  “That’s why I wanted you to come with me, Simon,” she says. “The Company’s already got it.”

  “They what? How do you know?” I ask.

  “Do you remember when I told you that none of this is real?”

  I have no idea what’s coming, but I know it’s not going to be good. Busara is biting her lip and looking at me like she’s about to drop some seriously bad news. Every nerve in my body is buzzing with anxiety.

  “What is it?” I demand. I’ve barely gotten the words out when Busara vanishes.

  I spin around in circles looking for
her, but she’s completely gone.

  “Where did she go?” I ask her father, as if he’d know.

  * * *

  —

  Then the world goes dark. I feel the disk being peeled off the back of my head. “Simon, get up!” I hear Kat urging. “We’ve got to get out of here right away.”

  The world is spinning as I sit up. The bed where Busara was just lying is empty. “Where is she?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

  Kat is gathering the disks and visors in a pillowcase. “Elvis went downstairs to get some coffee. He called up and said he saw Company men in the lobby. Busara already took off.”

  “She took off?” Something seriously weird is taking place. “Without us?”

  “Come on! Get up!” Kat shouts. She grabs my hand and drags me off the bed and out of the bedroom.

  But it’s too late. They’re already here.

  “Howdy,” says Wayne. He’s sitting on one of the sofas in the living room, his injured arm still strapped in a sling across his chest. Three large men are positioned behind him. There aren’t any weapons aimed at us at the moment, but there’s no doubt that will change if we attempt to escape. “Nice place you’ve been staying in. We should have checked this hotel right from the start. Seems like Semenov’s taste. Those Russian guys, they like fancy things.”

  “How did you find us?” Kat asks.

  This has something to do with Busara, I know it. Maybe I was right about her from the start. Maybe she was a robot after all.

  “Your brilliant boyfriend led us right to you,” says Wayne. He points at the manila envelope that’s still sitting on the coffee table. “We knew he’d eventually need a little financial help from his mama. She’s too smart to let us track her phone. But the safe in her office took us about five minutes to crack. You know they have tracking devices these days that can slip right in the middle of a bunch of hundred-dollar bills? I’m telling you, technology is a wonderful thing, is it not?”