TEDDY BEAR TOYS

by Carl Frederick

When you get good enough at simulating reality, it can get dangerously hard to tell the difference.

As he’d done every evening for the last two years, Niel keyed his day’s thoughts into his lifebook. Fortunately, he didn’t have to enter his external reality; his micro-cam, with its voice and image recognition technology, took care of all that. He looked down at the tiny device pinned to his shirt, with its all-seeing fisheye lens. It always made him feel like a walking film shoot.

Waiting for the beep indicating that the cam had completed its upload, he checked his watch. 20:30 hours. He still had a little time before having to run off to meet Dennise outside Teddy Bear Toys. He bit his lip, speculating on whether he’d be able to convince his friend to help him snag a precious copy of Phantom Warrior.

Beep.

With a sigh, he glanced at the on-screen menu. He knew it was a bad idea to read the story generator results; he’d have to enter his thoughts on it and that would lead to recursion problems. But reading it was fun—just about the only fun left to him on this project. And Kendrick always says, “Recursion is the key.”

Once more, he sighed. He’d been all but incoherent with excitement when, at age fourteen, he’d entered college and was chosen for the project. It was all about simulation theory and story generators. Professor Kendrick said that at such a young age, there wasn’t much of a personal history to contend with, and only a kid can devote himself to a single cause.

But Niel wasn’t a kid anymore, and the cause now seemed more like a chore, and lifebook technology, albeit in a simpler form, was everywhere.

Professor Kendrick had said, if you want a good simulation, simulate yourself, but Niel wondered at times who was simulating whom.

I wish I had a life—a real life.

Niel pushed back from the computer console, then darted to his dorm-room closet. Rummaging through the chaos, he found his headband-mounted LED flashlight. He’d need that tonight. Heading for the door, he caught sight of the computer screen and succumbed to temptation. At least he could see what the story generator program had come up with as its latest title. He swiveled back to his computer and hit a key.

CONFRONTING DEATH AT TEDDY BEAR TOYS

Niel pocketed his headband flashlight and left the dorm. Hurrying, for he was short of time, he jogged toward Teddy Bear Toys, a freestanding toy store at the edge of the mall about a mile away. He passed a man with an ax sticking out of his head, and then a Frankenstein monster in a tuxedo waved at him. Even though it was only Halloween eve rather than the night itself, people still went about in costume. Halloween was an important time on university campuses.

As he neared Teddy Bear Toys, Neil saw an encampment in front of the door. An array of blankets and sleeping bags stretched for perhaps a quarter mile. And the campers mostly were in costume; the store had offered a 10 percent discount through the weekend for costumed customers. Niel wished he’d worn one himself. Even with the discount, Phantom Warrior was an obscenely expensive video game. But still Niel had no doubt that the game would sell out within five minutes of the store’s opening in the morning. And that opening was scheduled for five a.m.

A werewolf sidled up to him.

“Dennis?”

“Yeah,” said the werewolf. “Now what’s this big plan of yours?”

“Listen,” said Niel in a conspiratorial tone. “I’m going to hide in the store overnight. When it opens, I’ll join the mob running for the game counter. I’ll be way up in the line, and I’m sure to get the game.”

“You’re nuts,” said the Dennis-werewolf. “What about burglar alarms?”

“They have perimeter alarms,” said Niel, breathlessly, “for the doors and windows. But my brother, he’s a volunteer fireman. He told me that after a lot of false alarms, they took out their motion detectors. It seems modern toys have a tendency to move around from time to time. So I don’t have to worry about setting off something.”

“Nuts. N-U-T-S. Nuts!”

Niel, ignoring the discouraging word, went on. “And the windows have boxed-in displays and the door isn’t glass, so no one will be able to see in from the outside.”

“So,” said Dennis, suspicion in his voice, “what does this have to do with me?”

“I’d like you to hide in there with me,” said Niel cheerfully.

“What?” The werewolf’s rubber muzzle shook. “Double nuts! No friggin’ way!”

Inwardly, Niel smiled. Things were going as planned. “Then, at least,” he said in a hurt tone, “at least help me.”

“How?” The werewolf said the word almost as a growl.

“Provide a diversion.” Niel leaned forward and continued at a whisper. “Something that will let me sneak into a kid’s tent. The one set up in the Backyard Adventure Jungle. It’s in the middle of the store right next to the Videogame Jungle.”

“I really don’t like this.” The werewolf shook its head slowly, then sighed. “What kind of diversion?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Niel spread his hands. “How ‘bout an epileptic seizure?”

After a second or two of silence, the werewolf growled.

“What?”

“Werewolves don’t have epileptic seizures,” said Dennis evenly.

“Then … then pretend you just swallowed a dime.” Niel spoke through teeth all but clenched in frustration.

“Dimes don’t have silver in them anymore.”

“Come on, Dennis! Please.” Niel stared at the now silent werewolf. It was disconcerting not being able to read his friend’s expression. “Look. I’ll let you play the game for three hours as soon as I get home with it.”

Still, the werewolf stayed silent.

“Four hours, then.”

After another few seconds, the werewolf said, “Five hours.”

“Okay, five hours,” said Niel hurriedly. “Is it a deal?”

“Oh, all right.”

“Great!”

Dennis swung his muzzle around toward the encampment. “Look at them all,” he said. “What the heck is so special about Phantom Warrior?”

“It’s sweet,” said Niel. “You can put yourself in the game. You upload your lifebook. And then you are the Phantom Warrior.”

“Scary,” said Dennis as they sauntered into the toy store. “But that really does sound sweet.”

Recursion is the key.

While Dennis lingered behind, Niel meandered through the store to the Backyard Adventure Jungle. At a signal, Dennis screamed, the sound both muffled and amplified by the wolf mask. He flopped to the ground, rolled onto his back and, while moaning, kicked the ground and pawed the air.

While a store full of goblins, witches, devils, spacemen, ex-presidents, and other monsters turned their attentions to the fallen wolf, Niel silently scrambled into the tent. Watching then from an opening in the tent flap, Niel saw a man in a white lab coat with a stethoscope swinging from his neck like an elephant’s trunk.

“Give him room,” the man called out as he struggled through the crowd toward the werewolf. With many utterances of “Excuse me,” he pressed forward. “I’m an emergency medical technician.” Some in the crowd laughed. “Look,” he insisted, “The costume is real. I really am an EMT.”

Dennis paused in mid kick and turned his muzzle abruptly toward the man. Then, as the EMT knelt and moved a hand to remove the wolf mask, Dennis howled, jumped to his feet, and ran screaming out the door.

Niel withdrew fully into the tent, slipped off his sneakers, and curled up like a cat: his usual position when sleeping in a cold bed or a sleeping bag.

A sudden decrease in the ambient light level woke him. In the instant of disorientation, he felt constrained in the small space—and feral, like an animal in its lair. As his mind followed his body awake, it added fear. From outside the tent came no comforting crowd noises. All was silent except for the sounds of walking. The specificity of a distinct person rather than a crowd was disconcerting. Niel, hearing his own breathing, tried to breathe lightly, shallowly, without sound or motion. He was cramped from being in a fetal position, but he dared not move.

“Shouldn’t we turn off the displays?” came a voice, uncomfortably nearby.

“Why bother?” came a more distant voice. “We won’t get out of here until ten, and we’d have to spend a half hour turning things on again at five am. I’d prefer to sleep for another thirty minutes in the morning.”

“You got it,” said the first voice.

Niel heard a click, and the darkness in his tent became complete. A few moments later, he heard the sounds of a door opening and then closing.

Niel waited motionless for a silent count of a hundred and then stretched straight, his legs slipping under the rear wall of the tent. He let out the breath he’d not known he’d been holding.

Pulling back the tent flap, he looked out onto the deserted and dark toy store—but not completely dark; flashing lights came from the Videogame Jungle, and less animated illumination emanated from shelves and display cases holding dolls, tech toys, teaching toys, and the store’s distinctive teddy bear mascot.

Niel waited until his eyes had dark-adapted, then eased himself out of the tent. He stood, slipped on his headband LED, and turned it on. Then, realizing he didn’t need it and spooked by the eerie whiteness, he switched it off.

He stood there, not knowing what to do next. Finally, he shrugged and started on a tour of the darkened store. He’d not been in a toy store in a while, and knowing that toy tech was second only to military technology, he was curious to see what was new.

He didn’t see anything interesting in the Backyard Adventure Jungle. But as he left the area via the Valley of the Dolls, he saw a box labeled “Dog Nose.” It had an illustration of a kid wearing what looked like an animal mask. Niel flipped on his LED to read the box. “A smell amplifier. Sweet!” Niel had an urge to buy it, and he would have had the store been open for business. In the dark store though, he felt like a burglar. He shined his light over the box, where a dog was sniffing at a pizza.

Niel remembered he’d not eaten before coming. “I’m hungry,” he said aloud.

“Me, too,” came several high-pitched voices.

Startled, he dropped the box and spun around. There was no one there—just sweet-looking dolls staring down from little cubicles. In the beam of the light, they looked eerily sentient.

Feeling foolish, Niel repeated, “I’m hungry.”

“Me, too,” answered several of the dolls.

Voice recognition and synthesis. Impressive! Niel walked over, read the explanation, and found he’d uttered one of the stock sentences that the dolls could recognize and respond to. He turned away and was surprised to see a doll that he’d not remembered being there. Moving his head, he saw that the doll was visible only when viewed head on. From the side, it was virtually transparent. Reading its label, he found it was an Imaginary Playmate doll.

Making the unreal real. He shook his head and went off to find some less surreal toys. And he found some: remote-controlled marbles—from the same company that made remote-controlled dice; a DVD lunchbox so kids could watch videos over lunch; Solitaire Monopoly; a music system that responded to a baton; Surfboard@home—a servoed surfboard that moved with a DVD of surf; Kite-cam; a self-writing pen that used a motor-driven pen tip and speech-to-text technology.

Startled by a movement from the floor, Niel looked down. A cat! What’s a cat doing here? He stooped to pet it, but it darted under a display case. As he stood, he heard, or rather felt, a presence behind him. Feeling a sudden dread, he turned slowly around.

In the brittle white beam of the LED lamp, Niel saw a tall figure some seven feet away. It was clad entirely in black: cloak, cowl, gloves, and even mask all in black. The figure rested one hand on the black pole of an enormous scythe, its metallic blade gleaming in the light.

Niel backed against the display case.

“I am deeeath,” came a low, reedy voice.

Niel pressed himself against the case, feeling its edge cut into his ribcage.

“But you can call me Victor,” the figure continued, now in an eager, bright voice.

“I’m … I’m Niel. What … Who?”

The Victor apparition extended a black-gloved hand, and Niel nervously shook it.

“I was resting on a game couch,” said Victor, “when I saw the werewolf spaz out.” He laughed. “Nice diversion. And then I saw you sneak into the tent.”

“I was just…”

“I know,” said Victor. “Getting a head start on tomorrow’s game rush.”

Niel smiled, sheepishly. He feared he’d made something of a fool of himself by his obvious fear. But then again, that Death costume was really effective.

“Anyway,” Victor went on, “during all the excitement, I tried not to move. And when they closed the store, they ignored me. They probably thought I was a mannequin—that is, if they saw me at all.” He shrugged. “So I decided to do what you’re doing and camp out here. I would just about kill for a copy of Phantom Warrior.” He glanced around the store, which appeared almost infinite in the murky darkness. “Come on. Let’s explore.” He leaned his scythe against the display case. “A toy store in the dark. Spooky.”

Niel gazed at the image of death before him. “Yeah. Spooky.”

Victor, with Niel following, left the dolls and strode into the Teddy Bear Zoo. “Hey, look at this,” he said, stopping in front of a bear on a counter. He passed his hand in front of the plush creature’s face. The bear growled and snapped its mouth closed.

“Yikes!” said Niel. “That’s no teddy bear.”

“Big Bad Bear,” said Victor. “You can switch them so they’re not cuddly. They snarl and bite. My sister has one in her dorm room.” He turned to another display. “And here,” he said, picking up a small box, “is the ultimate in ridiculousness.”

Niel picked up one of the little boxes. It was labeled “Teddy Bear Toys.”

“Toys for a teddy bear?” Niel said.

“You got it. Weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Niel turned over the box and looked at the tiny animal within. “An imitation animal as a present for another imitation animal.”

Recursion … again. Recursion and ambiguity.

“Who is the teddy bear,” said Victor in a distant voice, “and who is the toy?”

“Halt!” came a sharp voice from behind.

Niel dropped the teddy bear toy and spun around. Victor swiveled as well.

“Halt! Put up your hands! I am not a toy!”

A three-foot-high wheeled thing pointed some sort of a gun at them.

Niel raised his hands. So did Victor.

“Warning!” said the thing. “I am not a toy.”

“Wait a minute!” Victor dropped his hands. “It is a toy.”

“How do you know?” said Niel, his hands still pointed up.

“Its gun,” said Victor. “It’s a GiggleBlaster.”

“How do you know?”

“I have a kid brother.”

Niel lowered his hands. “What’s a GiggleBlaster?”

“I am not a toy,” said the robot.

“Go away!” said Victor. The robot went.

Victor turned to Niel. “When you pull the trigger on a GiggleBlaster, it tells a joke. It projects it on a narrow beam of sound.”

“It looked like a real gun,” said Niel. “You know. It’s hard to know what’s really real anymore. I’m not even sure I know what real is.”

“Like T-DNA, for example?” said Victor.

“Like what?”

“Toy-DNA. Robocat. Toys that mutate and evolve. That sort of stuff.”

“Robocat?” said Niel, remembering what he thought was a cat. “I think I saw one.”

“Just like a real cat, but its claws aren’t sharp and you don’t need a litter box. Rechargeable. Doesn’t even eat batteries.”

Niel was impressed. “How do you know about all these things?”

“I told you. I have a kid brother.”

“Oh.”

Victor glanced around. “There are entirely too many creatures running around on the floor of this toy store. I say we find a few game couches and spend the night playing videogames.” He started toward the Videogame Jungle.

“I’m for that.” Niel followed Victor to the boundary of the videogame area.

“Boy,” said Victor, staring at the wonders of the jungle. “A whole night of playing videogames. This’ll be great.”

“I’ll set my phone alarm to ring at four thirty,” said Niel. “Just in case.”

“Yeah. Good.”

They settled in on adjacent Game Master couches and checked what games were on offer.

“Monsters of Mars,” said Niel, reading the description. “A definite maybe.”

“Be careful when you fight the monsters,” said Victor, absently, while looking for a game for himself, “lest you become one. Nietzsche said that. And that game has crummy graphics.”

Niel chuckled. “Okay, here’s another one. Monsters of the Abyss.”

“When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. Nietzsche also said that.”

Niel rolled his eyes. “Are you a philosophy major or something?”

“Well … actually, I am.”

Niel chuckled again. “Do all you philosophy majors go around quoting one-liners from famous philosophers?”

“It’s a shorthand.”

“A shorthand for what?”

“For nothing. It’s just a shorthand.”

Niel gazed at Victor, then decided to reply with some gibberish of his own. “But that’s like talking about a reflection of reality—and you look around from the mirror and there’s no reality.”

“Yeah. So? Einstein said reality is merely an illusion.” Victor’s death mask looked sharply at Niel. “In fact, I read about this guy in England who says all of us are most likely not real. We think we’re real, but we’re actually just a big computer simulation.” Victor leaned in toward Niel. “It was frightening reading.”

Niel smiled, finally able to reply with a philosophy quote of his own. “Schopenhauer said reading is equivalent to thinking with someone else’s head instead of with one’s own.”

“I wonder,” said Victor, “if that applies to going to movies.” He canted his head. “Hey? Are you a philosophy major too?”

“No,” said Niel distantly. “Computer science.” He felt uneasy about the notion of being a computer simulation. He hoped Victor would drop the topic.

“Hey,” said Victor, tapping the console. “Here’s a game. Gods and Demons. I could get into that.”

“A philosophy major,” Niel said lightly. “You would pick a game where you’re a god.”

“I like playing god. It fits with my non-linear, trinity belief system.”

“Excuse me?”

“I pray to my god,” said Victor. “He prays to his god. His god prays to me.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Of course I am.” Victor paused. “I don’t think that’s much consolation to the god that prays to me, though.”

“Sheesh!” Shaking his head, Niel turned from Victor and started up a game. He switched off his headlamp; he certainly didn’t need it to operate a game controller. “With your imagination, Victor,” he said, his eyes on the screen, “you probably really go into your own world when you play these things.”

“Few people have the imagination for reality.” Victor fired up his game. “Goethe said that.”

Sheesh!

For hours then, they fought their enemies in silence.

Niel heard a chiming and after a while, realized it wasn’t coming from the videogame. “My alarm!” Still playing the game, he glanced over at Victor. “It’s four thirty. They’ll be opening soon.”

“Yeah.” Victor sighed and ended his game. “We’d better hide out.”

“Just give me a minute to kill off this—”

“Now!” Victor jumped from his console and switched off Niel’s game. “I’d rather not be caught here, if you don’t mind. Come on!”

“Okay, okay.”

After Niel retrieved his sneakers from the tent, they went to ground in the men’s room and took turns listening at the door in the dark.

At length, Victor, his ear to the wood, whispered, “They’re here.”

Niel added his ear.

After perhaps ten minutes, Niel heard a voice say, “Five o’clock. Time to loose the Mongol Horde.” Then Niel heard the sound of a door being unlocked.

He inched open the men’s room door and saw the store transformed from night into day. He blinked in the fluorescent brightness.

As the store’s doors opened, a throng, screaming and shoving, rushed in and rampaged up to the videogame counter. Victor darted from the men’s room and slipped into the line about ten feet from the front. Niel ran in directly behind him.

“Oh no!” said Niel under his breath.

Victor turned around. “What’s the matter?”

“The cashier,” said Niel, nodding forward. “That’s my lab instructor, Mrs. Carmichael. What’s she doing here?”

“Moonlighting, I suppose.” Victor shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m cutting lab tomorrow—so I can play Phantom Warrior all day.” Niel peered forward over Victor’s shoulder. “If she recognizes me, I’m toast.”

“Does she know you well?”

“No. It’s a large lab.”

“That’s something, anyway. But still … Oh wait.” Victor pointed a black-gloved finger at Niels’ forehead. “Turn on your LED headband. Say you’re Zark of Zorgon or something. In the glare, she probably won’t see your face. You might even get the 10 percent discount.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Anyway,” Victor went on, “I’ll try to provide you some cover.” He moved his hand to stroke the nose of his death mask. “Hm. A distraction.”

The line moved quickly. When Victor reached the counter, he drew himself up and said, “Death wants Phantom Warrior!”

“So does everyone,” said Mrs. Carmichael wearily. “Which version?”

Victor held forward his credit card. “Death wants the Cyberia version.”

“Swipe your card through the reader, please.” She reached for a packaged game cartridge. “Ten percent off for you.”

From behind, Niel flipped on the LED. He stepped forward into the space just vacated by Victor. “Um. Zark of Zorgon wants the Oui version.”

She squinted her eyes against the beam and at that moment, Victor, standing at the side, leaned in over the counter. “I am Deeeath,” he said in a rumbling voice.

Mrs. Carmichael looked up at him while at the same time, mechanically reaching for a Oui version of the game. “Yes, yes. Of course you are. But would you mind—”

“I am the grim reaper,” Victor announced. He flourished his scythe. “Repent or I shall deliver you to hell.”

While Niel held his card over the reader, Mrs. Carmichael glanced over the crowd. Smiling sweetly, she looked back at Victor. “I think I’m already in hell, thank you.” She made shooing motions. “But be a good little angel of death now, and go reap somewhere else.”

Victor turned to face those on line. “Re-sin, you ‘penters!” he urged loudly.

Suddenly Niel pulled back his credit card before the reader could scan it. He turned and hurried away, leaving the videogame unclaimed on the counter. Victor followed him.

“What’s the matter?” said Victor, catching up. “Afraid you’d be recognized?”

Niel plowed through the crowd and out the door. “I just changed my mind.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Victor planted himself in front of Niel. “After waiting here all night.”

“I looked at all those people in costumes screaming and shouting to get one of those precious game cartridges.” Niel gave a shudder. “It weirded me out. I just had this urge to go on a camping trip in the woods. To feel the crunch of leaves under my feet. To have a campfire. To smell the wood smoke, to talk to trees and hope they don’t answer me. To try to convince myself that I’m really … real.”

“But you’re probably not real,” said Victor. “You’re just a computer simulation.”

“Yeah, right. Thanks a lot.” Niel balled a fist. “But you know. It’s like I am some kind of simulation. Like someone is manipulating me.” He glanced back at the store. “That someone is the game company, and I don’t like to be manipulated.”

“What do you mean, like a simulation?” said Victor in the voice of a philosophy major. “Reality is a myth. For all practical purposes, we are computer simulations. Live with it!”

“Drop dead, Victor!” Niel threw a frustrated glance to the predawn sky.

Victor laughed. “You’re telling Death to drop dead? That’s funny.”

“Get real! You are not Death.”

“Sure I am.” Victor rubbed a hand down his black costume. “Clothes make the man, as they say.”

“Stuff it, Victor.” Niel turned and walked away.

As he walked, the idea of a genuine campout grew on him. He thought about going back to Teddy Bear Toys and buying the Dog Nose—to sniff things in the woods. He mentally slapped himself.

As he reached his dormitory, he had further thoughts about Phantom Warrior.I bet after the buzz dies down, I can probably IM for a copy or find one on the Net—eBuy, or maybe at the second-hand shop in Third Life. I might even get it at half price.

In near shock, Niel pushed himself back from the monitor. Usually a generated story was no more than a tale about someone with the same first name as his, but this time it was different. This time, the main character was him—and the story somehow had predicted his Teddy Bear Toy scheme. Everything, even down to the LED flashlight.

Impulsively, he checked his watch. He had to rush off to Teddy Bear Toys immediately so not to keep Dennise waiting. He’d enter his thoughts and think about the implications later. There had to be some rational explanation for all this.

But still, he stared at the computer monitor, held captive now by a feeling of guilt about verbally abusing Victor. Again, he slapped himself. Recursion … again! He laughed at himself. “Feeling guilty about a simulation of myself telling off another simulation,” he said aloud. “I must be losing my mind.” And why did I get mad at Victor? He shook his head. More strange still was his simulation deciding to not buy the game. That, he couldn’t understand at all. Maybe my sim is trying to tell me something. He laughed nervously. Could it be that the simulated Niel, a composite drawn from his lifebook, was actually advising him? My sim seems to have a better quality of life than I do. He closed tight his eyes. “Maybe Victor was right. Maybe I am a computer simulation. A simulation of myself.”

He pounded a fist on his desk. “Free will,” he said to the monitor. If he had free will, then he couldn’t really be a simulation, could he? Abruptly, attempting to exercise free will, he changed his mind about trying to get a copy of the game. He swiveled and strode to the door. “Maybe,” he thought, “maybe I can persuade Dennise to go to a coffee shop with me.” He thought they could discuss computers, philosophy, and life. And then maybe afterwards, they could do something together—something unambiguous, something real.

At the door, he stopped, swiveled and returned to his desk. He was in no condition for a date with Dennise. He blew out a long breath, then phoned her on her mobile, pleaded illness, and arranged they meet tomorrow.

In an attempt to organize the jumble of wild ideas going through his mind, he moved his hands to the keyboard and, as he’d always done after reading a story, entered his thoughts.

He keyed the final period with a flourish—and then decided to truly make it final; he’d quit the project. It was the only way to save his sanity.

He picked up the phone and dialed Professor Kendrick’s lab. It was late, but Kendrick all but lived in his lab.

When Kendrick answered, Niel said, “Professor Kendrick. This is Niel.” Then, on impulse, he added, “Am I real?”

Rather than laughing as Niel had expected, Kendrick said, “Of course you are.” Then, he added, “Why don’t you come over to the lab? We can talk.”

“Now?”

“Why not?” said Kendrick. “We have just been reading your entry.”

We? Niel canted his head, quizzically, then said he’d be right over and hung up.

*

Niel walked into Professor Kendrick’s computer lab, a big, fluorescent-lit room with huge wall-mounted displays, an abundance of keyboards, and a rat’s nest of cables. One of the displays showed an image of a kid, about fourteen years old or so—a student by his clothes and bearing. The adjacent monitor had a 3D wire-frame reconstruction of the kid.

In addition to Professor Kendrick, the lab held someone Niel had not seen before—an upperclassman by his appearance.

“This is Victor Frechet,” said Kendrick, standing to make introductions. “He’s your … your shadow programmer.”

Victor? Niel canted his head. Shadow programmer?

Victor stood and shook hands. “You’re about to quit the project, aren’t you?”

“How … How did you know?”

“It’s pretty obvious.” Victor gave a friendly chuckle. “But I don’t blame you. And actually, this might be an appropriate time to quit.”

“As shadow programmer,” said Kendrick, “Victor does the hard work. He reads your entries, then tweaks the story generator program for the next day’s run. He even, at times, provides story seeds to the program—adds a little of himself to the mix.” He patted Victor on the shoulder. “We sort of think of him as your big brother.”

“The program is working pretty well now,” said Victor. “Isn’t it?”

Niel, trying to assemble all the pieces, nodded. “Extremely well.”

Victor smiled, shyly. “The program is highly non-linear,” he said. “When it starts getting things right, it very quickly gets them very right.”

“Victor is about to graduate,” said Kendrick, “and has gotten a first-rate graduate fellowship at Stanford.”

“What is your major?” Niel asked in a small voice.

“Computer science … but I started out in philosophy.” Victor paused. “You guessed as much, didn’t you?”

Niel nodded.

“Anyway,” said Victor, “it’s a good time for me to quit the project, too. Especially now that the program has told us as much about you as it ever will.”

Niel felt exposed to the point of being transparent. Yes, he was real, all right. But he still didn’t seem to have free will, not when it really mattered. He suppressed a sudden desire to run away and go on a camping trip.

Kendrick pointed to the kid displayed on the monitor. “That’s Alexander Whitten. He’s a freshman here. Soon to join our research group.” He glanced at Niel with an expression of almost paternal pride. “Alex is young—not much older than you were when you started college.” Moving to a keyboard, Kendrick pushed a few keys and the wire-frame began to move, walking smoothly against an empty background. “Our next generation program will be movies rather than written stories.” Kendrick stared at the moving image. “We can use the large-array supercomputer for image rendering, so the processing won’t take appreciably longer.”

“Why are you showing this to me?” said Niel.

“I’d have thought you’d have guessed.” Kendrick turned to him. “We’d like you to be Alexander’s shadow programmer. His big brother, so to speak.”

“I’ll train you before I leave, of course,” Victor cut in.

Niel stood there, mute, open-mouthed.

“I know,” said Kendrick, smiling, seeming to read Niel’s thoughts. “But recursion is the key.”