Nihala

by Scott Burdick

  “How do we know we aren’t living a simulation ourselves?”

  “Philosophers have debated this question since the beginning of recorded history.” Tem dropped a seed into the moon-dust, and it sprouted into a glowing apple tree. “One can never prove their reality since it is subject to the limitations of our senses. Both of us could be V-Dreamers, and we’d have no way of proving otherwise. Or our entire universe itself could be nothing but a simulation in some vast computer in another dimension.”

  “I’m already questioning my own memories, and the existence of the God I cherish. Now you add reality itself? It seems you’re determined to drive me insane!”

  Tem picked an apple and took a bite, then handed it to her. The sweet smell of it tickled her nose, despite the irrationality of the setting.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Tem said, “one of the more striking aspects of V-Dreams is that none of them contain the knowledge that V-Dreams exist. It seems people avoid such existential instabilities in their fantasy worlds.”

  “So the fact that I’m aware that reality may be fake, means it’s not?” Kayla took a bite of the apple. “Maybe that’s precisely the sort of fact designed into your V-Dream to fool you?”

  “If our reality is a dream, then that dream is our reality, just as your memories remain your memories, whether or not they happened.”

  “I think, therefore I am,” Kayla said. “I suppose it’s the only anchor anyone has ever had.”

  Tem’s hand rose and gently caressed her cheek. “I operate under the assumption that my experience is real.”

  Kayla closed her eyes as his fingers made their way down her neck, and along the side of her breast. An electric twinge followed in their wake, and her nipples hardened. “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I have still lost nothing.”

  His fingers drifted away, and she opened her eyes. His beautifully sculpted features gazed back at her like some poet sage from the beginning of time.

  Kayla smiled. “That sounds like Blaise Pascal’s proposition that one should believe in God because you lose nothing by having faith, but if you don’t believe, and it turns out there is a God, the consequences become grim.”

  Tem’s lips curved ever so slightly at the corners.

  If only he would kiss me again.

  “But how to choose the right God?” Tem leaned close, and his lips hovered just beyond hers. “And even then, Pascal’s assertion that belief costs nothing ignores the fact that most religions demand a degree of obedience, time, money, and a suspension of one’s rationality.” Their lips met for just an instant. Not a kiss—not really. Kayla’s heart pounded with desire, and she pictured the two of them lying next to each other in his tent.

  Tem’s lips brushed hers with each word he spoke. “If you are born gay and suppress who you are for your entire life because the Bible says it’s an abomination, have you really lost nothing?”

  The image of Tem burning for eternity twisted her insides with sorrow, even as his nearness filled her with longing. “Aren’t you even slightly afraid of Hell?”

  Tem pulled back and laughed, breaking the hypnotic spell. “I’m as unafraid of Hell as I’m sure you are of going to the Greek underworld of Tartarus. Arguments that depend on threats can be discarded on that basis alone, in my opinion.”

  Was her fear and faith a result of the continuous indoctrination and threats she’d been subjected to every seven days since childhood? But what if he was wrong?

  Kayla waved her hand, and the scene morphed into the shattered ruins she’d wandered through before finding the Monads.

  “Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Tem said. “Even if you are changing the subject.”

  Kayla motioned to the toppled skyscrapers and sun-baked desolation.“If all of Earth’s cities are deserted, where has everyone gone?”

  Tem flicked his hand, and the surroundings shifted.

  Clear, coffin-like chambers lay suspended in rows spanning miles in all directions. Naked human bodies floated in a milky liquid within each. Wires and tubes sprouted from the bodies and connected to a grid running down the aisles. Robots tended to the maintenance like a swarm of bees flying from flower to flower.

  Tem squeezed her hand protectively, and they drifted closer to one of the chambers. Inside reclined the body of a woman with the physique of an athlete in her prime.

  “Why would anyone live like this?”

  “The sole difference between these bodies and mine, as it lies on the floor of my tent, is that they don’t have to wake to feed themselves or worry that an accident might destroy the body that houses their mind.” Tem gestured at the vastness surrounding them. “This facility houses five billion people in lunar orbit and is but one of twelve others. The station is free from the dangers of earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, or any of the many Earthly risks. Magnetic shields protect it from solar radiation, and distant robots gently nudge the trajectories of any meteorite that strays too near.”

  Kayla moved along the rows of bodies as if viewing an exhibition of specimens in a museum. “It seems astonishing that every human on Earth would agree to something this extreme.”

  “Like all technology, it was a gradual process,” Tem said. “At first, everyone accessed Ixtalia as you and I are now. They awoke to feed themselves, and used their real bodies in between sessions in virtual reality. Over time, such interruptions seemed a chore, and many installed these chambers in their homes. If they needed a physical body, they simply rented a surrogate like the one Ohg used when you first met him. This offered the additional benefit of protection from infectious disease.”

  “But why the Moon?” Kayla asked.

  “The orbiters started as tourist resorts. A few of the super rich moved here permanently to escape the dangers of terrestrial accidents. After tens of millions of people died when the Yellowstone volcano erupted, there was a rush to have one’s body housed in lunar orbit for protection. So AI designers and robot labor created these storage facilities at the direction of their human masters. Even those with planet-side jobs could rent a surrogate body and live normally on Earth, free of the fear that some natural disaster might threaten their immortality.”

  “Didn’t at least some retain independent control of their own bodies?”

  “Only the Scientarians resisted lunar internment.”

  Kayla laughed. “That sounds like an alien species or something.”

  Tem motioned and the scene changed. All around her people worked at a frantic pace. Some assisted towering robots, while others made their way across the enormous hangar with purpose-driven strides. A shimmering veil of darkness enveloped each head so completely that not even their eyes showed behind the mask. Lights in the distant ceiling tinted everything cerulean.

  At the center of the room sat an enormous midnight-colored sphere about a hundred stories tall and equally wide. Neither blemish, bolt, nor doorway marred its perfection. The humans and robots scurrying beneath appeared as ants in comparison.

  Tem took her hand and led her across the crowded floor. “The Scientarians yearned to build colonies in the Oort Cloud. Once beyond the reach of the World Council, they planned resuming the banned scientific advancements of genetic engineering and even artificial intelligence.”

  “Why not let them leave?”

  “Many worried that such exiles would evolve into an alien species superior to their primitive human relatives on Earth. The government feared a time when they’d return as conquerors.”

  In front of them, a man leaned close to the woman working at his side. As their dark masks came together, they fused at the intersection point in a kiss. As their heads retreated, the shimmering shrouds coalesced back into their individual shapes.

  The man spoke from within his mask, though his lips weren’t visible. “In just three days we’ll be free of this planet and these technological veils.”

  The woman squeezed his hand. “I will look on your face for the first time.”

&nb
sp; “And have children,” the man said.

  The woman pressed her voluptuous body against his and ran her hands along his back. “The start of a new generation.”

  “Why hide their faces?” Kayla asked.

  “For security,” Tem said. “Even a mind scan can’t reveal what they don’t know.”

  An explosion detonated above, and Kayla jerked her gaze skyward. The ceiling came apart like a shattered eggshell. A blaring horn sounded as chunks of concrete rained down.

  “Security breach, evacuate—this is not a drill,” announced an unnaturally calm voice over a loudspeaker.

  As one, every person in the hangar ran. Those close to the giant sphere fled toward it and dived into its black surface, which swallowed them like a dark lake. The rest fled into the connecting tunnels.

  Another explosion shook the cavern, and beams of sunlight streamed down through a hole in the ceiling. Then came the drones—by the thousands.

  Kayla screamed as a drone flew through her body as if she were a ghost. Only Tem’s hand felt real, and she gripped it tight as the battle raged around them.

  The black sphere pulsed to life with a throbbing hum and rose into the air, heading for the hole in the ceiling. A bolt of energy flashed down from the sky and engulfed the ship. It slowed, sputtered, then fell as if some invisible hand had released it.

  “God help them!” Kayla shouted as the sphere crashed to the ground and crumpled. It deconstructed in apparent slow motion. As the black shell shattered, the vast interior revealed its tens of thousands of human occupants fleeing the flames, many jumping to their deaths.

  Tem motioned with his hand, and they returned to the silence of the lunar storage facility.

  The stillness hit Kayla like a blow across her back.

  “You witnessed a virtual model based on the memory scans General Colrev ordered before turning the survivors into V-Dreamers. In that single attack, he eliminated the greatest scientific minds of humanity. It provided the justification of mandatory lunar internment and complete government control. Within a year, not a single human remained on the Earth’s surface.”

  What had the Founder said at the treaty signing? The price of immortality and total safety will be complete control by society. Freedom is too great a threat to be tolerated in such a future.

  “As robots took the place of human labor,” Tem said, “the need for physical surrogate bodies in the real world dwindled, and a time came when all the activity on the surface of the Earth ceased, except for a few automated mining operations that supply the lunar stations. Eventually, human activity migrated almost exclusively to Ixtalia.”

  They floated past a series of robots moving one of the bodies into a shiny new pod. The woman’s eyes never opened.

  “An armada of billions of such robots repair equipment and maintain the health of their slumbering masters. Solar collectors cover thousands of miles of space, beaming energy to the stations via microwaves.”

  A robot with appendages sprouting in all directions headed toward them. Kayla moved aside, but Tem let it pass right through his body. “Everything is recycled, and each facility is self-sufficient. The Main Computer that runs it all is segregated from Ixtalia to guard against any Rogue AI attack infecting the life-support systems.”

  “Minister Coglin said science would enslave those outside the Wall.”

  Tem took her hand and guided her down the aisle past body after body. “The Neo-Luddites gained freedom from technology in exchange for protections from disease and death, while those outside the Wall conquered death, but only with the total surrender of personal freedom.”

  “You make it sound like an algebraic equation,” Kayla said, “where freedom and safety are opposed variables.”

  “Traffic rules, gun control, water rights, and every law ever passed are trade-offs society makes between these two opposing ideals. Ixtalia has freed mankind from war, famine, and death—the ultimate liberation from the physical dangers that once enslaved our ancestors. But the price must still be paid to balance the equation.”

  Around them, a sea of anonymous faces lay passive, eyes closed—a realm of living corpses whose spirits had been lured away from their bodies by the promise of everlasting life, pleasure, and escape.

  “Evolution seems frozen,” Kayla said.

  “The last human child was born two hundred sixteen years ago. Most humans fear new generations as a risky wildcard they’d rather avoid.”

  “So they outlawed children?”

  “Perfect safety requires extreme measures.”

  Tem halted beside a man in his glass cocoon. A Sanskrit tattoo flowed down his forearm.

  Kayla jerked backward. “That’s General Colrev!”

  Tem’s voice hardened. “He’s now in charge of Ixtalia’s security and second only to the president.”

  Kayla moved closer to the chamber and gazed at Colrev’s sharp profile. Unlike the other perfectly restored bodies, ancient scars crisscrossed his face—no doubt badges of honor he wore with pride.

  “He’s a murderer,” Kayla said.

  “When civilized order resumed, amnesty allowed a fresh start for all of humanity, and leaders like General Colrev became essential to the effort.”

  “Could Colrev arrest us here in Ixtalia?”

  “Unlike these people,” Tem gestured at the bodies surrounding them, “our true selves are beyond their reach, but there remains the possibility of the government realizing the network has been infiltrated and coming after Middilgard.”

  Kayla looked away. Was that why Ohg had opposed her coming here? Was her presence here endangering those who had taken her in?

  “How do I find someone in Ixtalia?” she asked.

  “Just say their name, and you’ll be transported to their location if they accept your query.”

  Kayla lapsed into silence. I have to let him know what I’ve done.

  “Find Ohg,” she said.

  Chapter 23

  “Ohg accepts your query,” a disembodied voice said. The surroundings transformed to a ballroom with several hundred men and woman dancing a waltz. Tem stood beside her, garbed in a three-piece suit of green silk. The tailcoat’s high collar contrasted oddly with his long braided hair. Breeches of the same material ended just below his knees, showing off his muscular calves.

  “Madame.” A butler stepped in front of her, inclining his head politely. “I’m sorry, but proper attire is required for this gala.”

  “Oh.” Kayla looked down at her plain white dress and naked feet. “I don’t really know what would be appropriate.”

  The butler raised an eyebrow. “The theme is eighteenth-century French. Would you like me to make a selection for you?”

  “That would be quite helpful.”

  The butler placed his right index finger to his lips and looked her up and down. “For your figure, I’d definitely go with a sacque dress.” He glanced at Tem. “I think a pale blue silk with golden brocade would complement your escort’s attire.”

  Tem nodded approval, and a painfully tight corset suddenly compressed Kayla’s waist. Rounded side hoops flared the dress into the distinctive bell-shaped silhouette favored by the aristocracy preceding the French Revolution and the start of the Industrial Age. The butler held up a mirror, and Kayla drew in her breath at the sight of her powdered wig and feathered headpiece. Knotted golden tassels adorned the bodice and complemented the intricate golden embellishments tastefully woven into the silk and partially exposed petticoat.

  “It’s beautiful!” Kayla said.

  Tem smiled and offered his arm. She took it and nearly fell flat on her face as the high-heeled shoes tangled in the layers of fabric.

  “I feel like I’m shackled!”

  “I think the term is a slave to fashion,” Tem said.

  The butler bowed and moved on.

  “He takes his job very seriously,” Kayla whispered to Tem with a giggle.

  “He’s a simulated life-form,” Tem said. “They range from
animals to people, ghosts, angels, prostitutes, or whatever is required. Ixtalia would be impossible without them.”

  “Are they common here?”

  “Sims outnumber humans fifty to one. All the servants at this party are computer-generated algorithms.”

  A serving girl offered her a tray of drinks, which Kayla declined with a shake of her head. The girl moved on to the next guest. “They’re slaves, then?”

  “They have no will of their own,” Tem said. “So they are slaves only in the way a toaster is.”

  The couples on the dance floor flowed in a kaleidoscope of color. A tall man in a French military uniform and a petite woman in a sparkling purple gown served as the focal point. They floated across the floor in unerring precision and unconscious grace.

  The music rose, and the ceiling stretched upward, increasing the already enormous room to vast proportions. Gravity relinquished its hold, and the dancers floated through the air like untethered spirits. Stars appeared above and expanded into shimmering dolphins and whales that glided between the dancers in their own intricate choreographies.

  At the center of the spectacle, the French officer and the sparkling beauty swirled in graceful abandon, their soaring dance elaborating as they whirled in dreamlike flight. Soon, every guest abandoned their own dance and simply watched the dazzling display of artistry and skill of the stylish couple.

  The room dissolved into a galaxy with swirling clouds of stardust and flashing supernova. The duo spun at the center of the maelstrom, and the music rose to a crescendo of frenetic instrumentation. A final, riveting note signaled the end, reverberating through the vastness like an archetypal first cause. The universe expanded outward with the lingering reverberations, then flowed into the open mouths of the man and woman.

  The eighteenth-century ballroom returned. The guests applauded.

  The French officer lifted the woman in his strong arms and twirled her through the air. She screamed in mock indignation, and then revealed the lie by rewarding him with a passionate kiss. The musicians took a break and the guests mingled.