Hannu Rajaniemi - The New Voices of Science Fiction

“In a second,” I say, because oh my glob I want to get out of this room that doesn’t have even a single unicorn in it but I also want to be a better guide. “And Charlie picks the U.”

They both look at me.

“He would have no idea what to pick,” protests Allocator.

“Actually…” says Charlie. “Could I get a directory of available universes?”

“There are trillions,” says Allocator.

“Well, can you just,” Charlie waves his hand, “give me an overview? Of some categories?”

I try waving my hand like Charlie did. I like it. “Yeah! Give him some categories!”

Allocator sighs, real put-upon. “I will do my best. Please note that at least two-thirds of the simulations would be sufficiently alien to your mind so as to cause extreme trauma. I will exclude those.”

“Like what?” I demand.

“Floor Tile Simulator.”

“What!” I demand. I’m demanding a ton today! “No way! I love FloTiSim!”

“You…” Charlie looks all skeptical_fry.pic. “You look at tiles?”

“No, you ARE tiles!”

“And you…”

“People walk on you!”

I’m really underselling it. The sensation of being edged where your body has stark boundaries and stillness inside, no little fluttering feelings like a bird heart thub-thubbing away, no squashy boobs or butts or venom sacs to bump or sit on. Everything is rocky and stark and permanent, even your own mind.

I get some of my best thinking done when I’m a tile. I can see my underlying brain architecture and all the little weights on the scales, the direct causal chain of “Kit doesn’t like snakes because of that one prank played a while ago and that’s why Temple of Doom is not a fun U for her,” the behind-the-scenes machinery. My mind gets like an obelisk, resolute and above everything. And I can finish a thought without my stupid brain interrupting.

“And you’re… hard!”

He makes that face again. “Okay, maybe we should exclude those.”

“I have made a list,” says Allocator. “I have taken the liberty of highlighting the one I expect you would most appreciate.”

Allocator flashes something up so only Charles can see it.

“Hey!” I protest.

“Oh,” Charlie smiles, and it’s a certain kind of smile, like when you get back into a body you made a hundred years ago and you’re a different person now and wearing the old suit makes you miss your past self like they’re an old friend. “That sounds really nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” says Allocator. “Please, get comfortable.”

“What is it?” I demand, but I’m also excited, because I like surprises.

Charles glances at Allocator, then back to me. He’s smiling, and my heart does little leaps to see that Al and I made him happy, but also c’mon freaking tell me.

“Is it your secret Terra project?” I ask.

“No,” says Allocator. “You’ll learn about that soon enough.”

And he sounds sort of melancholy but why he would bother to be ominous and foreshadowing for my sake I don’t even know!

Charles lies down on the upload table and makes a more dignified exit this time.

#Allocator:Doing great, Kit.

#Kit:TELLMETELLMETELLME

#Allocator:No.

#Kit:>:^O

#Allocator:Ready?

Okay so I probably coulda shoulda guessed from how straight-laced Charles is that we’d be going to something really mundane, but I didn’t realize that he was taking it to the point of parody.

We’re in Middle Earth.

Uggggghh. Glitter_barf.pic

Charles looks over at me. He’s dressed like that one guy. The secret king who lived in the woods and was pure of heart… and then there were no deconstructions or plot twists whatsoever .

Charles looks pretty puling pleased with himself. At least until he sees me.

“Kit?” he asks, tentatively. He’s backing away.

I’m the whatever, the big thing. The big demon thing. Whatever.

“You’re a Balrog?” he asks.

“IT WAS A PHASE.”Ugh.

I start changing into whatever the local equivalent of an ironic catgirl bath maiden is.

Charles watches, confused, as my body flickers through a bunch of different templates, but then the piping of stupid flutes harkens the approach of wankers, and he gets distracted looking around.

Yes, it’s a splendorous elvish conclave. Yes, it’s green and vibrant, untouched by the tides of strife or decay. Yes, of course it’s inhabited by beautiful and mysterious immortals. Siiiiiiigh.

This is as bad as that U about Pizza: Extra Sausage.

Okay so the thing about the hardcore roleplayers is that they play out their entire freaking lives start to finish inside of one U. Like, they do that whole “birth” thing and then they wrinkle and die, unless they’re Beautiful and Mysterypoo Immortans or whatev.

And to really get the experience, for people who aren’t content to just do a boring thing really to-the-hilt for a century, you can block off your other memories, so you don’t even know you’re roleplaying. You don’t know you’re in someone’s U. You just think all the stuff about “war” and “orcs” and “scarcity” is the way that everything is .

I might be doing that right now how would I even know .

I select an elf body, but like, a really dorky one with dumb bangs. I don’t want them to think I care.

The locals arrive, all self-importanty.

“’sup, hail to the elf king,” I say. Whatever.

“I am Princess Elwen,” says one with purple eyes and silver hair. Her eyebrows twitch in polite skepticism as she looks me over.

Charles looks super giddy like he can’t believe he’s doing this. He strides forward—do you get it, strides —and announces himself.

“I am… Charles-lemagne!”

#Kit:Oh My Stupid Sparkly Elf Goddess

#Allocator:Not to your liking?

#Kit:The plot there is so straightforward unsurprising and mainstream that it hurts

#Allocator:Well, most fantasy settings you've experienced are inspired by LoTR.

#Kit:It’s so BASIC

#Allocator:Is Charles happy?

#Kit:YES, IT’S ABSURD

#Allocator:Then you’re doing a good job.

#Kit:aaaaaaaaaa

#Allocator:My calculations indicate he’ll be staying there about ten years.

#Kit:

#Kit:

#Kit:

#Allocator:I acknowledge your feelings on the matter.

#Kit:no

#Allocator:I think it’s best if you return when he's done. I'll be able to show you my project then.

#Kit:in a decade

#Allocator:Yes.

#Kit:that’s literally forever

#Kit:I’ll be so different by then. What if I can’t guide him TO THE MAX?

#Allocator:I expect you’ll be able to.

#Allocator:I expect it mathematically.

#Kit:quit deterministically predicting my life!

#Allocator:No. :)

#Allocator:Anyway, see you in a decade.