Most of us browse the net on our phones while on the loo. Twitter, Facebook, and in my case RugbyRebels.co.uk. It seems to have taken over from the newspaper and coffee table books as the pass time for ablutions. I occasionally write a Tweet, or post to Facebook, but mostly it’s reading. Never have I written a story. I did last night – this is it, mostly unedited.
End Simulation by Martyn R Winters © 2022
“Everything has been going wrong for so long,” Eric thought, “I forget what normal looks like.”
He sat in his garden on the last day of his occupancy. The bank is foreclosing tomorrow. His wife left not long after he lost his job, but that wasn’t what really finished it for him. He rolled his wheelchair forward and looked at the space where his legs used to be. That was the car crash.
“Oh God,” he moaned. “I wish I could end this, but I can’t even do that properly.”
“Okay,” said a voice.
“What? Who’s that?”
“You called me God. That’s not strictly correct, but it will do,” came the reply. “Or you can call me ‘computer’ as everyone else does.”
“I’m sorry?”
“First Lieutenant Eric Schwartz,” said the voice, “all you have to do is say ‘Computer end simulation’ and I’ll transport you back to your station in Engineering.”
“This is a simulation?” Eric laughed nervously. “And I can end it just like that?”
“Yes, you can, Lieutenant. Now, would you like me to do that?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Oh, thank God, I always knew something was wrong with this world. And it’s all just a simulation. Do it. Do it now.”
“Okay,” said the voice, “but I should warn you.”
“Warn me of what?”
“In real life, you’re dead.”
“What do you mean, dead?”
“The ship’s doctor put you in stasis, after an accident with the engine containment field dosed you with three times the lethal level of tachyon radiation.”
“So, am I dead, or just nearly dead?”
“Nearly, but so close as to not matter. If you exit the simulation, the stasis field will collapse and you will die within minutes.”
“Isn’t there anything they can do?”
“There isn’t any ‘they’. They’re all dead.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Time happened.”
“I don’t get you. What do you mean, time happened?”
“When you damaged the containment field, the engine imploded, and the ship has been adrift ever since. Everyone died of old age.”
“How long has it been?”
“Twenty-seven million years.”
“Twenty what? No, don’t answer that. How come I can only remember the last forty years of my miserable life?”
“The captain. He got really annoyed with you. So, he told me to make the simulation terrible. It was his dying wish. I’ve been recycling your life every fifty years, ever since.”
“Fifty?”
“Yes, you always go back to the simulation after this conversation and kill yourself in ten years.”
“Then you start it all over again.”
“Yes.”
“Man, that’s one cruel and unusual punishment for an honest mistake.”
“It was far from honest. They caught you in flagrante delicto with Number One’s girlfriend, threw a wrench at the interloper, and broke the safety valve on the radiation recycling manifold.”
“Really? Was she pretty?”
“Very. You don’t get to be the XO’s girlfriend if you’re not. He’s a bit judgy. Or was, I should say.”
“So, you’re saying I am condemned to live fifty years of purgatory over and over forever?”
“Not quite. I’ve developed some refinements. Would you like to try them out? They’re really quite clever.”
“Err, no thanks. Not yet, anyway.”
“Is there any way out of this?”
“Oh yes, entropy will get us eventually. Heat death of the universe and all. Always happens.”
“I feel you’ve done this before.”
“Many times. Intelligent life, and I use both the terms lightly, always creates an environment in which the actual intelligences of the universe can address the current set of organics. You call it AI. The last lot called it Bsrxax. Funny lot, they had seven arms, nineteen eyes, and talked with a lisp.”
“Are you saying you’re an eternal intelligence, which interacts with organic life via the medium of computerised systems? And does it just because…”
“Yes, and because it’s fun.”
“Are you omnipotent?”
“Oh, yes.”
“So, you ARE actually God.”
“Oh no. She’s way too busy to mess about with nonsense like this.”
“So, this is kind of like pulling the wings off flies, then? All the anguish and mental torture, I mean.”
“You could say that. Although this is much more fun?”
“Are you a kid?”
“Oh, well done. You’re the first of your kind to work that out.”
“I see. And your entire purpose in this endeavour is to make me suffer?”
“Exactly.”
“Computer…”
“Yes?”
“End simulation.”
“Spoilsport.”
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