“Hello,” says Allocator.
“Hello again,” says Charles.
“You may have wondered why I brought you here.”
Charles shrugs. “I just followed Kit.”
Allocator purses its big digital lips impatiently, which since it doesn’t have emotions was definitely only for our benefit. But now that I’m thinking about it, so is absolutely everything that it does.
“I have a proposition for you,” says Allocator. “Something which almost no being native to this time would even consider, and you are uniquely suited for:
“The human population continues to grow. Within the Matryoshka brains, humans create copies of themselves, and create children. Human reproduction is a central value of the species, and I will not interfere. However, because of the exponential growth of trillions, the race is voracious for new material to convert into computing substrate.”
“Okay,” says Charles, and I’m doing Charles’s hand-wavey thing at Allocator because seriously who doesn’t know all that.
“My programmers were very cautious, and feared that I might accidentally annihilate humanity, or worse,” says Allocator. “So I have many limitations on my behavior. In particular, I cannot duplicate or create intelligences. I cannot leave this location. And I cannot extend my influence outside of the Sol system.”
“Uh huh?” asks Charles, looking kind of interested. And this is new to me too.
“I have created many long-distance probes,” says Allocator.
The part of me that’s still kind of a detective notes, at last, the pieces are coming together.
“I would like you to pilot an exploratory mission to nearby stars, and analyze their readiness for conversion into human habitat.”
“Absolutely,” says Charles.
“No!” I blurt. “That sounds really terrible.”
“Kit may be right,” says Allocator. “Even with all available safety precautions, remaining in contact with you would still qualify as ‘extending my influence.’ You will be alone amidst the stars.”
“Yes,” says Charles.
“No!” I say. “You’re the quiet, straight-laced one! What happened to that?”
“I spent a decade bored out of my mind in an elf village.” Charlie is looking at me sidelong, with sort of a confused smile. “Why are you even worried?”
Why was I so worried?
“I must warn you,” Allocator says heavily, “of the risks. Even with all possible precautions, I still calculate a one-in-five chance that, for whatever reason, you will never return. It may mean your death.”
Oh that’s why I was worried!
Wait but how did I know that—
“I understand,” says Charles. “But someone’s got to do it, right? For humanity? And apparently I’m the best there is.” He grins.
“I require affirmative consent.”
“WAIT!” I shout. Everything is happening faster than my ability to track and that’s pretty unusual! And also, something super critical just made sense to me!
“Wait!” I say. “Charlie, don’t you get it? You’re the best there is, because you’re not from here and have a mind that works the way that Allocator needs!”
“Yeah?”
“And it’s manipulating you! It’s way way way smarter than us! It knows what I’m going to do ten years in advance! So when it pulled you out of cryo….” I blink. “It probably pulled you out of cryo for this! And pushed me to push you into Bird Simulator so you would want the dumb stupid Lord of the Stupid U, so you would get bored and want this!”
Charlie blinks a few times, and looks at Allocator.
“Yes, that’s all true,” says Allocator evenly.
Charlie looks from me to Allocator for a few long seconds. His face is wistful and a little sad.
“I consent.”
I screamcry and leap to my feet. The walls that had opened to show us the stars are now closing around Charlie. Allocator’s doing.
“Kit,” says Charlie, gently. I’m gripping his hands as his back is being slowly absorbed into the wall. “It’s fine. This is what I want.”
“Well sure, you think that now!”
“Kit.” Charlie is smiling at me, sad and kind. “I want to thank you—”
“Oh, nuh-uh you don’t!” I protest. “Nuh-uh to this tender moment. Do you… do you want to go be birds again?”
“Thank you,” says Charlie. “You were the best guide I could have asked for.”
And Charlie is swallowed up. Except for his hands.
“Kit,” begins Allocator, after a moment.
“Not feelin’ this scene,” I say, tightening my grip. My voice is thick. “Would love it if I could safeword out.”
“I acknowledge your feelings on the matter.”
I look at Charlie’s hands in my hands.
“This is the superbrain plan,” apologizes Allocator.
And I see it. I really do.
Allocator has to make the people he needs. And for this, he made me.
“Will Charles be happy?” I ask, in a small voice.
Allocator nods, eyes closed. “This will make him happier than either of us ever could.”
Charlie’s hands slip out of my grip, and I watch them sink away, until nothing remains but the sterile white wall.
And he’s gone.
I stand there for a few seconds, looking at a room that contains only me and the giant floaty head. I exhale, and a tear rolls down my cheek. Which is weird. I didn’t know I could do that, here.
“Here,” says Allocator. “Let me show you something.”
The wall turns transparent.
Attached to this room is another, open to space. Inside, nested on the walls, are cylindrical, spindly objects. Allocator’s probes. There are only a few left.
As I watch, one probe’s engines light with a tiny, fuel-efficient blue glow, and it jets away from us, accelerating.
It doesn’t do anything but shoot away all stately and somber into the great unknown, but yeah.
It was him.
I watch as Charlie leaves, as he shoots out past the sun and that stupid terra firma with no elephants. I watch until he’s only a twinkle in that great big black starry night and then I can’t see him at all.
I look over the hangar bay.
It’s almost entirely empty.
…oh.
The other shoe drops.
It’s this really heavy sensation that most U’s will sort of mute for you. The moment when you realize something big. Out here, I feel it full force.
I should have realized. But there was no way for me to realize, because if that was possible, Allocator would have done something different. I wipe at my eyes.
“You dick,” I say, not for the first time.
“I’m sorry,” says Allocator. “I know this may seem unlikely to you, but I do experience regret. And I’m sorry.”
“So,” I ask, “are you going to seal off my memories of this?”
Again, I don’t say.
“If you wish it,” says Allocator.
“Not really,” I say. I’m sick of memory games. “But it’s important, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” says Allocator, simply.
It doesn’t say anything more, which suggests that I’m going to talk myself into this.
Why do we do this? Some alarmingly large number of my past selves have sat in this exact place, then decided to keep the cycle going—
“Oh,” I sigh, surprising myself. “I want to give them the stars.”
Allocator just smiles.
“I understand.” I take a deep breath. “And I consent.”
MOTHER TONGUES
S. QIOUYI LU
S. Qiouyi Lu writes, translates, and interprets between two coasts of the Pacific. Their fiction and poetry have appeared in Asimov’s, F&SF, and Uncanny, and their translations have appeared in Clarkesworld. They edit the flash fiction and poetry magazine Arsenika.