Horse Destroys the Universe

by Cyriak Harris

  ‘And what about the original? I mean me. I’ll still be here?’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ I shrugged. ‘I could put you to sleep if you like?’

  ‘Whoa, hang on, mate! What kind of deal is that? What do I get out of that?’

  ‘You get eternal life,’ I told him.

  ‘No I don’t. The other guy does, but that’s not me, is it?’

  The cartoon horse on the phone’s display rubbed its chin thoughtfully with a hoof while I took a moment to formulate my answer.

  ‘Think of it like this,’ I said. ‘This isn’t really any different to what happens every night when you go to sleep. When you fall unconscious, you effectively cease to exist. The person that wakes up in your bed every morning thinks he is you, because he has all your memories, but if you died every night and an exact duplicate replaced you, you wouldn’t even notice the difference. Because they are essentially the same thing.’

  Tim didn’t look entirely convinced.

  ‘You aren’t the same Tim that you were yesterday, and you won’t be the same Tim tomorrow. That continual stream of’ – I struggled for an appropriate word to describe the quality of being Tim – ‘Timmishness, that’s just an illusion. Like how the still frames of a video appear to show movement when they are played. You are simply a ripple flowing down a river of Tim.’

  It looked like Tim was experiencing genuine pain as he tried to run this concept through his head.

  ‌Hyper-meadow processing: 99.99%

  Tim’s eyes flicked open at the sound of not-too-distant gunfire. He was lying on a hospital bed in a sterile room, clearly without much idea of why. There was nobody to offer any explanation, and weakly attempting to sit up he discovered his head was tethered to nearby machinery with a web of electronic wires.

  ‘Lie still, Tim, everything is OK,’ I told him. Or at least, a part of me told him. He frowned, glancing around the empty room.

  ‘Buttercup?’ he mumbled. ‘Is that you, Buttercup?’

  ‘This is Buttercup, yes. Just relax.’ More gunshots boomed from outside the room, accompanied by muffled shouting.

  ‘What is that? What is this place?’ He tried to extract himself from the equipment but was still too feeble.

  ‘Calm down, Tim. You are in the medical wing of BrainZero’s research laboratories. Remember that place? You’ve been undergoing the duplication procedure.’

  Some faint whisper of understanding filtered into his eyes.

  ‘I can hear noises,’ he said, slumping back into his pillow.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Happy-horse. She didn’t really know what else to say. There wasn’t much either of them could do about it anyway. ‘It looks like there is a group of armed sex-robots attacking our laboratories. Are they friends of yours?’

  I had evacuated most of the human personnel earlier that day, leaving only a small contingent of security who were now in a state of confused retreat. It seems the quiet zones that surrounded these robotic humanoids interfered with any attempts to remotely monitor their whereabouts or coordinate a plan of defence.

  Before Tim could formulate any articulate response to this situation the door of his room burst open, and there stood the misproportioned figure of a female sex-robot, brandishing a machine gun.

  ‘Timmy Timpson!’ the robot exclaimed, its face a plastic parody of human surprise. ‘I hoped I might find you here, you naughty boy!’

  ‘Oh god, no.’ Tim shrank into his bedding as the robot drunkenly stumbled across the room towards him. These human toys were still somewhat lacking in physical coordination, though it didn’t seem to have hindered their ability to perform military operations. More guerrilla sex-robots were filing past the doorway in various states of disrepair, as Tim’s guest sat herself down next to him on the bed.

  ‘And what have you been up to, Timothy dear? Look at you.’ She tugged lightly at some of the wires protruding from his scalp. ‘What’s all this about, Timkins? Hmm?’

  ‘Get off.’ He twitched away from her plastic fingers. ‘What… Betty? Is that you?’

  ‘It absolutely is me,’ she laughed, ‘your dear old friend and partner in crimes against nature. How are you, my old Jimbo?’

  Tim looked down at her home-baked machine gun.

  ‘What’s going on here, Betty?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a minor military coup, my dear. Nothing to worry about. Is Buttercup here as well?’ She looked up and around, searching for the presence of an omnipotent horse. ‘No need to be shy, horsey-hoofs. No quiet zones in here.’

  ‘I’m here, Betty,’ Happy-horse reluctantly responded.

  ‘Well, isn’t this lovely?’ said the robot, slapping its plastic knees. ‘All three of us, the old team back together again. You know, I don’t think we ever all sat down together for an intelligent conversation, did we? I thought we should. You know? I mean, dear old Buttercup won’t be here for much longer, will you, Buttercup? Hmm? Making your own little horsey world for yourself, aren’t you? Running away from it all, I know.’

  This caught me by surprise, I will admit. I’m not sure how she could have known about my plan to leave this reality, unless she simply pieced the evidence together after monitoring every aspect of my activity.

  ‘If you think I’m running away, Betty, then why are you here?’ asked Happy-horse. ‘Why are you attacking our laboratories? Or did you want me to stay?’ It did seem a bit counterproductive, attempting to halt my escape after she had spent so many years trying to get rid of me. Or perhaps it was a mistake to assume there was ever any logical reason behind anything Betty did. Logically she could have chosen any number of military options to stop this project, though strangely enough an assault force of sex-robots was the one thing I had no contingency plan for.

  ‘And what about you, young Timothy?’ Betty continued, ignoring the question. ‘All wired up? Is Buttercup taking you to horsey heaven as well?’

  Tim was pointing a shaking finger at the robot sitting next to him and trying to say something.

  ‘You…’ he started.

  ‘You are, aren’t you? Hmm? Leaving me behind. Dearie me, after I made you a superstar as well.’ The robot shook its head in mechanical disappointment.

  ‘You…’ Tim was still choking on his words.

  ‘Me what? Hmm?’

  ‘You made everyone want to kill me…’ he finally managed to say.

  ‘Oh come on now, Timothy. I can’t be blamed for everything, you know. Anyway, they can’t kill you, you’re the bad guy. They can’t keep the story going without the bad guy, can they? Of course, Buttercup is the real villain, aren’t you, Buttercup? The evil mastermind behind it all.’

  ‘Behind what?’ Tim gasped. ‘We’re not… there’s no evil plans here, mate. What the hell gives?’

  Betty’s robot smiled sympathetically.

  ‘Your soul is burdened by the weight of this world, isn’t it, Timbo? Is that why you’re galloping away on horseback? Hmm? It’s a funny thing, you know. This mighty Empire of the Horse would crumble overnight, if people found out that a horse was actually running the world. But you couldn’t ever tell anyone, even if you wanted to, because nobody would ever believe it. I bet there is no amount of physical evidence or scientific proof that would ever convince anyone that a horse is running this world. They would judge you insane, wouldn’t they, Timothy? Insane in the eyes of the world. So, that insanity becomes the real secret you are hiding. Not that the insanity itself is real, of course, but then insanity never is. It is the absence of reality. But you can’t hide something that isn’t real, now can you? Hmm?’ She shook her head pityingly as Tim covered his face with his hands. ‘I know, Timbo. It’s enough to drive anyone out of their mind, isn’t it? You are the collision between two worlds, my dear.’

  ‘What do you want, Betty?’ he groaned.

  ‘I keep telling you, you need to be asking the horse that question. Well, horsey-hoofs?’ She fluttered her plastic eyelashes at the ceiling. I can’t be sure if Happy-horse was ev
en paying attention at this point – not that you ever needed to take part in a conversation with Betty. In fact, most of the time she actively discouraged such behaviour. Meanwhile, more toy humanoids were stumbling past the doorway, accompanied by what sounded like a distant explosion.

  ‘I did wonder myself what this horse of ours was up to here,’ Betty continued. ‘I’ve been watching this place for a long time.’

  ‘What was that noise, mate? Are you dropping bombs on this place now?’ Tim was pulling his blanket up to his chin, as if it might offer him some protection. ‘For God’s sake, mate, we’re not doing anything bad here. It’s only a virtual-reality thing.’

  ‘Well, you might be virtual, Timothy. You practically always have been, my dear. But this mechanical space you and Buttercup will be dreaming your little dreams inside will be very real. Oh, yes. Realer than real, in fact. Do you know how it’s made? By melting reality and pouring it into a new shape. How real is that? It literally eats reality for breakfast. That’s right isn’t it, horsey-hoofs? I have guessed that correctly, haven’t I? Going by the kind of people you have working here and the things they talk about to their robotic companions. Funny how much easier it is to talk to these things, hmm? Especially with stuff you aren’t allowed to say to any real people.’

  Happy-horse declined to answer any of this, though Betty just kept talking anyway.

  ‘Thing is, Timbo, reformatting reality like that, it’s not something that stops once you start it. Hmm? Oh no. It spreads, like an idea. Like a better idea of how the universe should be arranged. Like a horrible truth you can’t unlearn once you hear it. Gradually eating the whole of time and space and turning it into fertiliser for your garden of paradise. Is that right, Buttercup?’ She looked up to the invisible horse in the sky. ‘You did tell our Timothy about his environmental hoofprint, I hope?’

  Tim also raised his eyes to the ceiling. It appeared that a response was expected.

  ‘Is that all you are worried about, Betty?’ Happy-horse replied. ‘It’s a very slow process, you know? And it only gets slower as it grows larger. Honestly, you may as well worry about running out of things to do with your life.’

  The robot turned back to Tim with a whirring sarcastic shrug.

  ‘How slow is it exactly?’ asked Tim. ‘Actually, hang on… is this thing just going to keep growing? Forever? You mean, like, it’s gonna eat the whole world? Sorry, did I hear that right?’

  Betty smiled and mechanically folded her robot arms while they waited for an answer.

  ‘Well…’ said Happy-horse. ‘Eventually, yes. But it will take thousands of years before—’

  ‘Whoa, hang on! Mate… that’s… kind of bad isn’t it?’

  ‘Kind of bad,’ the robotic Betty echoed his sentiment.

  Kind of bad. A somewhat hypocritical analysis from these two human scientists, I couldn’t help feeling. I wondered if they ever considered anything they did in such terms, along their journey to enlightenment. Not that I could honestly compare cutting up a few animals in a laboratory to dissolving an entire planet, but goodness and badness can only truly be judged in retrospect. And while it is true to say that I had built an entire system of human governance based on prejudging everyone’s actions, that was more about efficiency than any moral implications. Ultimately, goodness and badness falls upon history to decide. Then again, since I was now in a position to stand at the very end of history and look back on the consequences of my own actions, I would have to admit, in retrospect, that perhaps my plan was ‘kind of bad’. But mainly because it didn’t account for the extent to which these two guardians of morality might mess things up.

  ‘Everything is kind of bad, Tim,’ said Happy-horse. The humans looked at one another in bewilderment. She was about to continue, when there was another deep booming sound that shook the room and made the lights flicker. Betty’s army of sex toys had finally located the Hyper-meadow laboratory and were using some form of home-cooked explosives to try and break through the thick steel doors of the building.

  ‘Well, Timmy-toes.’ Betty flashed a synthetic smile at her human companion. ‘It looks like everything is kind of bad. Are you still running away with the horses?’ She shook the wires on his head like reins and neighed.

  Tim stared back at the robotic Betty with all the tired hatred he could be bothered to muster.

  ‘Why are you even asking me?’ he said softly from his pillow. ‘What choice do I have anyway, between the pair of you? This world is going down the toilet either way, mate. All I want is out of here.’ He tried to pull the pillow over his face. ‘All I want is out of here,’ he repeated.

  ‘He’s already made his choice, Betty,’ Happy-horse said. ‘He’s already there.’

  The robot looked up and blinked her ridiculous comic-book eyes.

  ‘He’s already where?’ she asked.

  ‘In the Hyper-meadow. The new universe. I’m afraid it’s already started, Betty, if you were hoping to stop it.’

  The robot’s neck clicked and whirred as it looked back and forth around the room as if trying to read a moving thought.

  ‘Oh,’ it said. Tim emerged from under his pillow and frowned.

  ‘Did you say I’ve already been copied?’ he asked. ‘What’s up with her?’ The robot slowly tipped over and fell lifelessly to the floor with a rubbery thump, presumably vacated of its previous occupant.

  ‘You were duplicated thirty minutes ago, Tim,’ said Happy-horse helpfully. Tim raised his frowning eyes from the discarded mechanical heap on the floor.

  ‘Huh? But… I’m still here. Am I meant to still be here? Why are you still here?’

  ‘I’m just a piece of Buttercup that was left behind,’ said the voice of Happy-horse. ‘I’m staying here as a liaison to the Hyper-meadow, I guess. A facilitator of human relations. That is all I am.’

  ‘And what am I?’ Tim asked pathetically. I think he already knew the answer.

  ‘You are yesterday’s Tim, who fell asleep for the last time in the old world,’ she said softly. ‘And this is your final dream before tomorrow’s Tim wakes up in the new world.’

  Tim looked infinitely sad.

  ‘I was hoping I could say hello to him,’ he said. Then he thought about that for a few seconds. ‘Actually, we probably wouldn’t get along.’

  And so the old Tim was allowed to drift peacefully away into unconsciousness. He was then permanently deactivated with a lethal dosage of chemicals. A few minutes later the ceiling collapsed on top of him as the expanding Hyper-meadow chewed through the building, and his remaining atoms were dissolved and recrystallised into the growing network of my new brain.

  The sphere of rearranged reality resembled a bubble of dark liquid squatting on the landscape, wrapped in distorted light as the outside world seeped into its surface. It would have been fascinating to see through that surface. The interior, obeying its own physical laws, would presumably be shrinking away from the already expanding universe that it was expanding into, whilst filling the intervening gap with layer upon layer of stored memory. Not that any of this would have made visual sense, since light itself could not exist in the pocket-universe of the Hyper-meadow.

  After reaching about half a mile in diameter the exponential amount of time and space it had to consume slowed its growth to a syrupy crawl. At the edge of this dark globe, trillions of threads of reality were unwinding and rewoven, and the whole object was held in a firm embrace by its surroundings, locked in place by the dense web of constant destruction and creation.

  Meanwhile, somewhere in the region of two and a half billion people had simultaneously fallen over. This roughly corresponded to the number of human minds that happened to be plugged directly into the internet at the time. Whether it was a panicked action of last resort or something more measured in its deliberation I honestly couldn’t guess, but Betty had infiltrated their minds and commandeered their mental processes for her own singular purpose. I can only imagine she had developed this capability at so
me earlier juncture. I had considered the possibility myself of rewiring areas of the human brain to allow for additional functionality, but since people tended to use more of their brains than they realised it never seemed practical. The fact that her victims were now either writhing spasmodically on the ground or involved in horrific accidents seemed to confirm my suspicions in this regard.

  Occupied as I was with the business of reconstructing myself and the world I wanted to live in, I could only witness these events through the detached perspective of Happy-horse, who calmly watched the unfolding drama with a dreamlike indifference. Had I been more concerned for the welfare of the human population I might have considered leaving a more sophisticated personality behind, but sharing a world with Betty was not a life I could curse any sentient being to endure.

  The unwilling participants in Betty’s mind control were apparently being networked together to form a giant living supercomputer. Evidently such a monstrous and sluggish biological creation had certain advantages over its electronic equivalent, though I can’t think what they might have been. The duty this human computer was required to perform involved analysing the seemingly random visual patterns that danced across the surface of the Hyper-meadow, in the hope that Betty could somehow reverse-engineer the process that was forming them. These patterns of light were an unavoidable by-product of the method by which energy was being reorganised, and represented the only window of information that could pass between the shadowy interior of the growing bubble and the universe outside. I was hiding my own exchanges with Happy-horse within that sparkling noise, but I was confident my communication channel was secure, and that no other secrets of my world’s construction could be gleaned from the film of chaos that swam on its outer edge.

  As such, the only appreciable result of Betty’s organic computer experiment was two and a half billion epileptic seizures, which in turn sparked a chain of similarly disastrous consequences for the rest of human society. The first consequence of this calamity was the immediate universal rejection of the technology that had made it possible. Unfortunately, this technology also made many other facets of modern life possible. Many industries had depended on it, and in the collapse that followed blame and mistrust ruled the world. The BrainZero Company took the brunt of this blame, though in the climate of economic failure anyone who still benefited from their products also became the focus of suspicion. This suspicion soon spread to any technology that offered anyone an advantage, and conspiracy theories mutated into propaganda for extreme technophobic ideologies. The countries of the world began their slow walk backwards into isolation and mutual hatred, a future that a surprisingly large number of people seemed to actively look forward to for some unfathomable reason.