There's Only One Quantum (14 page)

“Ah, yes. Warren Hanover. As you’ve no doubt discovered, there is no Warren Hanover--”

“But he has a secretary. Ms. Cleopatra.”

“Who has never seen him. She is in a perpetual state of waiting for him...like a character in a Beckett play.”

Coe did not understand.

“Warren Hanover is not a sim, but rather a fail-safe.”

“Fail-safe?”

“A way to exit the simulation, should one of us get in too deep.”

“Through the steam room?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“And that’s why I was encouraged to leave by the mysterious voice in the steam bath.”

“I love watching you make the connections,” she said.

“For the sake of argument, let’s say I
am
a simulation—this is all a simulation. A computer program. Why? What’s the point of it?”

“Simple,” she said. “To test things—scenarios—in this ‘virtual playground’ first, before it’s released onto the unsuspecting public. Case in point: you brought up the staggering population woes here in this simulated world. We’ve—and when I say, we, I mean some of the biomedical companies owned by Quantum—stumbled onto a few potential cures in our research. We’re perfecting them, as well as the commercial reproduction of our own organs. One unexpected outcome to increased longevity is a swelling population. Thanks to this simulation, we will better be able to decide how and when these potential cures are used.”

“And what about Revis? Who is Revis in all of this?” he asked.

“Mr. Collin Revis. Your predecessor, right?”

He nodded.

“He’s a 3.0—like you—but instilled with different personality traits. Where you are generally moral, he was programmed to be—I hate to use the word, immoral—let’s say,
amoral
. His purpose was to predict the integrity of potential Quantum employees...same as you. With you as a predictive model, we will now incorporate a more thorough screening process as we assess potential new hires.”

“I’ll play along,” he said. “So, this simulation is nothing more than a training exercise to you—war games?”

“Don’t think of it that way, Mr. Coe. This is your world, to act and do as you want in it. You’re immortal; should some misfortune befall you, you’ll be reborn with a reset of the simulation.”

“I’m bits and bytes,” he said.

“You are a collection of bits and bytes that is capable of knowing it’s bits and bytes. You are not just in the simulation; you are of the simulation.”

“I’ve been drugged,” he said. “You’ve done something to me—”

“Where were you born?” she asked.

“That’s easy. I was born in—”

Coe could not recall. He did not have even the vaguest notion where.

“Describe your childhood,” she said.

His mouth was dry. “I don’t want to.”

“Where did you go to school? What do your parents look like?”

“I came from the Philadelphia office,” he said.

“What does it look like? Who were your coworkers there? What was your last day like?”

“I worked in Research,” he said.

“Unfortunately, we instilled you with a limited back history. Version 3.1 is being drawn up as we speak. You’ll be uploaded memories—”

“Maybe you’re the simulation,” he said.

She smiled. “Brilliant.” She looked up and called out, “Carmen? You’re brilliant!”

Coe turned away and walked to the window. Outside his building, the vagrants continued to march on in the rain.

“I hate this city,” he said. “It never stops raining.”

“What city?” she asked.

He turned back to her. She was still smiling.

“What’s the name of this city?” she asked.

He swallowed. “I know the name of this city.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to leave now,” he said, still uncertain how they had been instantly transported to his apt.

“You’re understandably upset. These emotions are new to you. You’re in a unique evolutionary state, grappling with your own existence—”

“I just need—I just need to think this out,” he said.

Something about what she told him, under all the explanations and ping pong talk, was undeniably true.

“Of course you do,” she said.

“I’m sorry I’ve reacted with such hostility—”

He was suddenly struck by a peculiar thought.

“Why tell me all of this?” he asked. “Why tell me? How does this benefit your whole simulation explanation?”

“You’re very perceptive, Mr. Coe. That is an excellent question. We—Carmen, Dr. Bruges, and I—decided it would present an interesting study: a seemingly just, moral man is suddenly confronted with the stark realization there is no God, no intrinsic meaning of life—no ethereal soul powering him like a ghost in the machine. What will you do with this knowledge? How will you live? How will this shape your interactions with your fellow man if there is no ultimate reward for living a good, ethical life?”

“I’m wired to be good,” he said. “You said so, yourself.”

“But you’re programmed to evolve, make decisions—to adapt to knowledge you acquire about your world. You’re the new Adam...”

“Free will,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, breathlessly. “
You
have free will.”

He exercised his free will by drawing his gun and shooting her in the heart.

Fifteen.

God Is Dead

--headline from the morning edition of
The Intelligencer

He found Ms. Hunter waiting for him in the lobby of his building. When she recognized him, she moved quickly toward him, and threw her arms around his shoulders. Her features were swollen as if she’d been crying—or perhaps it was just because this was a new iteration of her. Above all, he expected her to be in the lobby, and she was.

“I’m having horrible dreams,” she said. “Horrible, waking, dreams. I dreamt there was a shooting at the office, and...oh, Mr. Coe!”

“Come on,” he said.

She composed herself. “Where are we going?”

“As far as they’ll allow us,” he said. “As far as the simulation will allow.”

He braced for the rain outside. Instead, he found sunshine.

They moved out onto the street, and fell in step with the transients. One of them was Jansky. He’d apparently been staking out the place.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, to Coe.

Coe scanned the faces of the passers by, anyone of them could be visitors—avatars. He looked up at the sky, at the deep, seemingly infinite blue and the absence of clouds. The city looked different in sunlight; it looked full of hope—of human potential.

He was programmed to evolve; the extent of his power within this closed system was still being defined. But it appeared limitless. Just minutes before, he had simply wished for it to stop raining and it had.

Jansky appeared nervous, frightened. “Mr. Coe?” he said.

“You’re mistaken,” he said to him.

Jansky stopped. He looked at Coe as if he were looking at him for the first time. “You’re—”

“A dream within a dream,” he said. “‘All that we see or seem...is but a dream within a dream.’”

Jansky’s shoulders slumped as if his hunch had been confirmed—that a nagging feeling of emptiness was true, and it pervaded all.

Coe found Ms. Hunter’s hand. It felt slender and warm and full of life-blood, and he gave it a squeeze.

They left Jansky and pushed deeper into the crowd.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Nayia and the Collective Presse for publishing this novel, and to Marjorie for being a terrific and supportive editor.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

William Bryan Smith is a graduate of The Bennington Writing Seminars program at Bennington College, where he earned an MFA in Creative Writing and Literature. His writing has appeared in such magazines and journals as
Fresh Ink
(the journal of the California Writers Club),
Conte: a Journal of Narrative Writing
, and
Papyrus
(the art history e-journal of Mansfield University). His short story, “Scottie’s Room,” has appeared in
Spectrum
, the literary journal of the University of California-Santa Barbara, College of Creative Studies. In addition to
There’s Only One Quantum
, he is the author of two previous novels:
Buddy & the Jack
(2002); and
Starry Night
(2005). He lives in Pennsylvania.

Twitter:
@WBryanSmith

Blog:
This Writer’s Life