“Let’s have ice cream!” I demand.
Four seconds ago, I demanded that we have ice cream. There is now an ice cream cone forming in my hand. It is taking FOREVER.
The old man sees it and flinches.
“Oh no!” I cry. “What’s wrong? Do you hate ice cream?”
He looks at me with a really weird expression or maybe a couple different expressions.
“How are you doing that?” he asks. His voice is funny and tight.
“Oh. Allocator is making it for me?” I say. “Hey, let’s get into another reality.”
I spring up to my tiptoes. Moving is kinda fun but not as fun as it is in, like, the Manifold Wonders. Or in Bird Simulator. That one’s really good.
“What?”
I blink. I almost forgot! It’s time for me to be a good Tour Guide to the Future and repay Allocator’s trust in me.
“Post-Singularity humanity now exists entirely as uploaded consciousnesses in distributed Matryoshka brains, living in trillions of universes presided over by our Friendly AI, Allocator,” I say.
My ice cream is dripping! It can do that?
“Sorry, I didn’t really understand that,” he says. He doesn’t sound sorry. “Is there anyone else I can talk to?”
“Sure!” I say.
#Kit/dinaround: yo Big A, come talk to, uh
#Kit/dinaround: hang on
“What’s your name?” I ask. I forgot to ask earlier.
“Charlie,” he says. “And you?”
“Kit/dinaround,” I say, making extra-careful to pronounce the / so he won’t miss it.
“Oh,” he manages, “can I call you Kit?”
“I LOVE it!” I cry.
#Kit: Did you hear that?
#Allocator: Yes.
#Kit: I LOVE IT
The old man is looking around the room. There’s nothing to see, though. Just the cryo pod, the upload station, and the walls.
“Is there a way out of here?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I point to the upload station, a bare slab with a half-sphere dome for the brain. “I mean, it’s no demon altar, but this is UZ, so we can’t exactly travel in style.”
“Please,” he says. “I don’t understand. I have apparently been snatched from death and returned to good health. I am grateful for that. I’m happy to repay that effort in any way you require….”
“…are you listening?”
“Oh!” I start. “Sorry.”
Charlie blinks at me and I blink at him. I actually really like these lashes that Allocator gave me.
“Can I talk to the Allocator?” he asks.
The man flinches as the one of the walls tears away with a big whooshy sound effect.
Outside of our little blue room is the full majesty of the void. Space!: The Final Frontier looms before us, a whole lot of it.
Ol’ terra firma is there, 90% nite-devoured to make more smart matter. Held in place above the gray slab by a trick of gravity (that I will totally remember to look up later), a little island is floating, a blue and tropical nature preserve. I squint, hoping to see an elephant.
I do not see an elephant.
The sun is almost entirely shrouded behind big spindly metal rods and arms. Whatever project Allocator is doing with Sol takes a lot of energy.
Charlie cries out, in fear and kind of pain. He doesn’t look hurt, but I can’t see his HP or anything so I don’t know.
“Is it your cancer acting up again?!” I cry out. “Did Allocator not cure it?”
An enormous floating head forms in front of the window.
“Charlie Wilcox,” it says mildly, “I am called Allocator. I am an AI tasked with the safety and flourishing of intelligent life.”
“Hi,” says Charlie, strangled-like.
“I understand you have many questions. I have prepared a tour to assist in your understanding of how life is lived in the future. Kit will be your guide. She is more competent than you would think.”
“I’d hope,” Charlie mutters.
“To begin the tour, simply lie on the provided table, with your head in the hemispherical dome. You will then experience a simulated reality. You will be in no danger and may return here at any time. Do you consent?”
“I suppose so,” says Charlie.
Allocator’s big ghostly face is blank. “Apologies, but I was created with several safety measures which prevent me from inferring consent. Do you consent?”
“Yeah,” says Charlie.
“I require a ‘Yes.’” Allocator patiently smiles.
“Yes, then.”
“Thank you. Please lie comfortably on the table.”
“Yaaaaaay!” I say, trying to force some enthusiasm because c’mon obviously we’re uploading and who even listens to contracts before agreeing to them anymore? If you listen too close, people can’t play pranks on you!
Charlie tentatively lays on the table, and scoots his butt up until his head is under the dome.
“Am I supposed to feel anythiunnnnnggg,” he drools, going limp.
#Allocator: Good work.
#Allocator: Where to?
“Eeeeee!” I squeeeeee. “You’re letting me pick?”
#Allocator: Yes.
#Allocator: Obviously.
“Oh my goodness,” I say. “Uh… but what if I choose wrong?”
#Allocator: I have a hunch that you won’t.
#Allocator: The “hunch” in this case is an identical copy of your mind, to whom I’m feeding inputs and reading her behavior as she makes it, thus allowing me to deterministically predict what the “real” you will choose.
“Sigh,” I say. “Could you not?”
#Allocator: I could not.
#Allocator: Would you kindly pick a U?
“Fiiiiine.” I roll my eyes. “Ummm… Oh! Bird Simulator!”
#Allocator: Great choice. ;)
#Allocator: Close your eyes.
FWOOSH I’m a bird haha!
I nip through the air, just above the snow on the treeline. The air smells incredible, like forest pine. I’m darting around like a cross between a rocket and a fly. My tiny bird heart is pounding like the itty-bittiest drum and golly but I do feel alive.
#CharlieSamarkand: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa
#CharlieSamarkand: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa
#CharlieSamarkand: aaaaaaaaaaaaohgodwhat ’shappening
#Kit: Charlie!
#CharlieSamarkand: what? what is happening what
#Kit: You’re a bird!
#CharlieSamarkand: I NOTICED THANK YOU
#CharlieSamarkand: WHY ARE WE BIRDS
#Kit: That’s a really philosophical question!
#Kit: Why were we humans??
#CharlieSamarkand: WHAT
He’s flapping really hard, so I fly under him to show how you can just sort of coast.
He’s this really little cute bird. I guess I am, too, ’cause I think there’s only one bird you can be in Bird Simulator. Bird Simulator is more of a game than a proper U, but it’s also way fun.
#Kit: You don’t have to flap constantly to be a bird!
#Kit: Never give up! Trust your instincts!
#Kit: Do a barrel roll!
#CharlieSamarkand: YOU’RE THE WORST GUIDE