Chapter 19

Archer stepped out of the elevator on the forty-fifth floor of one of the countless residential skyscrapers in the city of O.

He was dressed in ordinary clothes: a shirt, pants, and sneakers. A neural interface rested against the back of his head.

He walked down the hallway until he found apartment 45-15.

With a mental command, he opened the door and stepped inside.

He passed through a small entryway and entered a fairly spacious common room, where a man and a woman were talking.

When they saw Archer, they stopped their conversation and stood to greet their new roommate.

“Welcome. My name is Erebas,” the man introduced himself.

“And I’m Vikritia,” the woman said. “But you can call me Vicky.”

“My name is the Painter,” Archer said.

“The Painter,” Erebas repeated. “Interesting name.”

“Painter, will your personal belongings be arriving later?” Vikritia asked.

“No. I don’t have any personal belongings,” the Painter replied.

“Well,” the man said, “you can always order whatever you need online. That won’t be a problem.

“Come on. I’ll show you around the apartment.

“The notes said you’re new to our world and don’t know anything about how things work here. Is that right?”

“Yes,” the Painter said. “Just assume I came here from another era and know absolutely nothing about the modern world.”

“Got it,” Erebas said. “We’ll explain everything.

“Take a look around. Right now, we’re in the common room. It’s a multipurpose space where people spend their real time.

“Do you know what ‘real time’ means?”

“I can guess, but you’d better explain it to me,” the Painter said.

“Real time is the twenty percent of your time that you spend in the real world.

“You’ll spend the other eighty percent in the virtual world through your neural interface.

“While you’re in virtual time, your body will remain inside your personal living pod.

“Here. Take a look. This one is yours.”

Erebas led the Painter to one side of the square common room.

Five horizontal pods were built into the wall, each large enough to accommodate a person either lying down or sitting upright.

The man pointed to one of them.

Through his neural interface, the Painter could see the pod’s status:

AVAILABLE

“You need to claim the pod through your interface,” Erebas said.

The Painter mentally selected CLAIM, and his portrait and name immediately appeared on the pod’s small display:

THE PAINTER

The pod opened.

Inside, Archer saw a comfortable bed and several storage compartments built into the wall.

“You can keep whatever personal belongings you want in the first two compartments,” Erebas explained, pointing to them. “The third contains food and water. Both are replenished automatically.

“The fourth is for trash.”

“What kind of food is there?” the Painter asked.

“Open the third compartment and take a look.”

Archer opened it.

Inside were two transparent bottles of water, two glasses, and three stacks of protein bars in different-colored wrappers.

“As you can see, it’s pretty basic,” Erebas said. “But those nutrition bars contain everything your body needs.

“Eat two a day and you won’t have to worry about food.

“If you want something more traditional, just order it through your interface. Machines will prepare it and deliver it within ten minutes. Sometimes faster.

“And if you want to cook something yourself—over a fire, on a stove, in an oven—take the elevator down to the basement complex. There are communal kitchens there.

“The refrigerators and freezers are stocked with every kind of ingredient you could want.”

“But you have to pay for all that, right?” the Painter asked.

Vikritia laughed.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help it.”

“There’s no charge,” Erebas said. “Everything is free.

“In fact, money doesn’t exist in Trinity. We live in a society of complete abundance.

“Order whatever you want, whatever you need, and you’ll receive it almost immediately.”

“What if I want something bigger?” the Painter asked. “A private apartment, for example. Or a personal vehicle.”

“Purchases like that require approval from a committee,” Erebas explained.

“You submit a request through your interface, and a designated group of people reviews your need. They determine whether you genuinely require those things.

“There’s also a public reputation system.

“You earn reputation points for contributions to society and for helping other people. Those points can be exchanged for an apartment, a transport, or something similar.”

“So you do have a currency,” the Painter said.

“Well...” Erebas replied. “A kind of currency, yes.”

“What can I do to earn reputation points?”

“Something useful for other people,” Erebas said. “You could be a street musician and share your music with people. Or a writer and give people interesting stories to read.

“Or, for example, you could show a newcomer how our society works.”

“Ah. So you’re earning reputation points right now?” the Painter asked.

“Yes,” Erebas replied. “I’ll get a few public reputation points for giving you this little tour.

“Not that I particularly need them. I just have some free time, and I don’t mind helping a newcomer.”

“I see,” Archer said.

“Let’s continue,” Erebas said. “There are four bathrooms, one in each corner of the common room. You can use them to relieve yourself, shower, shave, get a haircut, and so on.”

“Got it,” Archer said.

“And at the center of every apartment like this is the common room, where you can spend your real time, socialize with your roommates face-to-face, and enjoy your hobbies.

“Vicky and I play role-playing games, for example. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Thanks,” the Painter said. “Maybe I will.

“One question. I don’t see any private bedrooms.”

“That’s right. We don’t have private bedrooms,” Erebas said. “If you need privacy, you can use either your living pod or one of the bathrooms.

“If you absolutely need a traditional private room, you can submit a request through your interface. If the committee approves it, you’ll be transferred to an apartment with private bedrooms.”

“I see,” the Painter said.

“If you have any questions, just ask.”

“I do,” the Painter said. “I received a notification through my neural interface saying that my first work shift starts tomorrow. It gave me an address, but I don’t know how to get there.”

“Oh! What do you do?” Vikritia asked.

“I pick apples,” Archer said.

“Oh, cool!” Vicky replied. “Working close to nature—that’s awesome.”

“Painter,” Erebas said, “just go outside and summon a transport through your interface. Enter your destination, and a regular transport will arrive within five minutes.

“Some of the other passengers will probably be your coworkers.”

“Got it,” Archer said. “Do I need work clothes?”

“They should give you some when you get there,” the man replied.

“Painter,” Vikritia said, “come join us. We’re in the middle of this awesome quest to liberate Dunk Castle from the gray goblins.”

“Oh, really?” Archer said with a smile. “Tell me more.”

The Painter and Erebas joined Vikritia on the couch, and she began telling him about the fictional world of Arkania—a place of dragons and magic, knights in shining armor, elves, orcs, goblins, and frequent wars.

Archer liked the fantasy world and agreed to join Erebas and Vikritia on their current quest.

The Painter created a character for himself: a human mage.

The three of them spent hours fighting goblins inside Dunk Castle.

Time passed so quickly that the Painter used up his entire allowance of real time playing the game.

They realized their time in the real world was over when three humans and one artificial person emerged from four of the living pods along one wall.

“Looks like it’s time for us to get into our pods and head to the virtual world,” Erebas said.

“Painter, it was nice meeting you—and playing Arkania with you.”

“Yeah, thanks for joining us,” Vikritia said.

“Thank you,” the Painter replied. “That was fun.”

“I sent a private chat request to your interface,” Erebas said. “Accept it, and we’ll be able to talk in the virtual world too.”

“I sent you one as well,” Vicky said.

“All right. I’ll accept both.”

Archer mentally opened the REQUESTS category, which lit up green on the display inside his mind, and accepted the two requests from his roommates.

“Great,” Erebas said. “See you around, Painter.”

“Bye-bye!” Vikritia said.

Vicky and Erebas cleared their role-playing set from the table, put the box on one of the shelves in the common room, climbed into their respective pods, and closed the hatches.

Archer climbed into his own pod and closed the hatch.

For a while, the Painter simply lay there, thinking about the peculiarities of the world he had created.

The pods.

Real time.

Shared hygiene facilities.

Public reputation.

The absence of money.

The food compartments.

He opened his food compartment, took out several bars in different-colored wrappers, and examined them.

One was apple flavored. Another was cheese flavored. The third was corn flavored.

He chose the third one, opened the wrapper, and took a bite.

It was good.

When he finished the bar, he threw the wrapper into the trash compartment, then took a bottle of water, opened it, and had a drink.

A soft chime sounded inside the Painter’s head.

Then Vias spoke to him.

“Painter, how is your first day in Trinity society going?”

“Everything’s great,” Archer said. “I met two of my roommates. They seem friendly.

“That’s good.”

Archer fell silent for a moment.

“You can read my thoughts, can’t you?” the Painter asked.

“Yes, that’s correct,” the virtual assistant replied.

“Then why do you need to ask me how my day went?”

“To normalize the process of communication and conversation for you. To make sure you don’t forget how to communicate with other people.”

“Is there actually a risk of that happening?” Archer asked.

“Yes,” Vias replied. “Unfortunately, there is.

“Because people in Trinity spend eighty percent of their time in virtual environments and various simulations, they can lose the habit of normal interpersonal communication.

“They have to be regularly reminded how communication works.”

“I see,” the Painter said.

“One more question.

“I saw an artificial person coming out of one of the living pods.”

“Yes?” Vias asked.

“Do artificial people live with humans?”

“Yes,” Vias replied. “Approximately ten percent of the artificial population lives in biological human residential spaces.

“This is done to prevent psychological segregation, so that humans remain accustomed to seeing artificial people as part of their everyday environment.”

“Ah. I see,” Archer said. “So how do the other ninety percent of artificial people live?”

“They live quite compactly,” the assistant replied.

“Their living spaces are more like warehouses, where they simply stand in orderly rows.”

“Do they also spend eighty percent of their time in the virtual world through neural interfaces?”

“Neural interfaces don’t work on artificial people because they don’t have brains,” Vias replied. “But they have specialized wireless transmitters that allow them to connect to the humans’ virtual environment.

“And yes, they also spend four fifths of their time in the virtual world.”

“I see. I see,” the Painter said.

“So what now? Do I enter the virtual world?”

“Yes, Painter. I recommend finding a simulation that interests you and spending some time there,” Vias said.

The Painter lay down and closed his eyes.

Using his thoughts, he navigated the control panel of his neural interface until he found an option labeled VIRTUAL WORLD.

He selected it.

Instantly, he was somewhere else.

He was high in the sky, surrounded by clouds.

He simply hung there in midair.

Far below him, visible through gaps in the clouds, was the ground and a small town.

He tried moving his body through the air.

It worked.

Intuitively, using nothing but his thoughts, he chose a direction, and his body flew wherever he wanted it to go.

A smile appeared on his face.

Flying among the clouds felt wonderful.

The simulation was so realistic that he could feel the air rushing against his face and the increased humidity whenever he flew through a cloud.

“Vias, are you here with me?” he asked mentally.

“Yes,” the virtual assistant replied.

“What is this place?”

“This is the central hub of virtual space,” Vias said. “Many paths begin here, leading deep into the virtual worlds.”

The Painter descended beneath the clouds, slicing through the air at high speed as he gazed down at the green hills below.

“Are there other people here?” Archer asked.

“Yes. Both humans and artificial people,” Vias replied. “But there aren’t many users in the central hub.

“Most enter a specific simulation immediately after arriving.”

“What if I like it here?” the Painter asked.

“You can stay here as long as you like.”

“No,” the Painter said with a smile, accelerating even faster. “I want to see what kinds of simulations there are.”

“Opening the simulation menu,” Vias said.

Windows into other dimensions began opening in the air around Archer.

He stopped, flew back toward them, and began peering through.

“Notice something,” Vias said. “The windows are arranged vertically according to category.

“At the very bottom are physical simulations. At the very top are intellectual simulations.”

“What’s in the middle?” the Painter asked, flying toward the center.

“Mixed simulations,” Vias replied. “Mostly games and entertainment.”

“What kinds of games?” Archer asked.

“There are games you can play with other people, games you can play against the system, and games you can play by yourself,” the assistant said.

“May I suggest one for you? Civilization Builder.”

The Painter laughed.

“You know me well,” he said. “Show me.”

One of the countless windows was immediately outlined by a glowing frame.

The Painter flew toward it.

Inside, he saw previews of different moments from the Civilization Builder simulation.

Founding settlements.

Researching technologies.

Military conquests.

Cultural achievements.

Social development.

A civilization progressing from the Stone Age to the distant reaches of the space age.

“Looks good,” the Painter said. “How do I start?”

“Touch the window twice, and the game will begin,” Vias said.

Archer touched the window twice.

The game began.

He started building his civilization from a small Stone Age tribe.

He sent the men out hunting and the women gathering. He could accompany either group himself—the game allowed him to experience events firsthand or oversee the entire settlement from above.

For his civilization’s first technology, he chose archery.

Then he stopped.

He remembered the incident with Grokan.

He remembered the Shod tribe as they had originally been, before Archer ever came into their lives.

And once again, he felt guilty for giving them bows and, in doing so, making them a target for Grokan’s tribe.

“Painter,” Vias said.

“Yes, Vias?”

“You might benefit from speaking with a psychologist,” Vias said. “I can arrange it.

“You can continue playing while having the conversation.”

“Nah, Vias. I’m fine,” the Painter said. “I’m okay.

“Something just came back to me for a moment. It’s nothing.

“Let’s keep playing.”

Archer played for eight hours straight, eventually advancing his civilization into the Bronze Age.

“Painter,” Vias said. “It’s time to get some sleep.

“If you’d like, I can make your dreams follow the same theme. You can dream about your civilization and interact with its inhabitants.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” the Painter agreed.

The game immediately transformed into a dream.

His consciousness began to drift.

It was a pleasant dream.

Archer enjoyed walking through his settlement, talking to its inhabitants, solving their problems, constructing buildings, and practicing different crafts.

At some point, a soft chime sounded inside the Painter’s head, and Vias spoke to him again.

“Painter, Anka would like to speak with you in virtual space.”

“Sure,” Archer said.

His dream immediately dissolved, and Anka appeared in front of him.

“Hi, Anka,” the Painter said.

“Hi, Archer,” she replied. “How’s your first day as an ordinary citizen going?”

“Not bad,” Archer said. “I met some new people and played a role-playing game with them called Arcania. Then I went to my pod, entered the virtual world, and I’ve been here ever since.

“It’s pretty nice here. Addictive, too. You could get used to this very easily.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Listen, I spent the whole day browsing different forums in the virtual world, including forums where people who disagree with the current system of government gather.

“Want to come with me and hear what they have to say?”

“I don’t know, Anka,” the Painter said. “Are they saying anything worthwhile?”

“Some of them are.”

“All right. Let’s go listen.”

“I’m sending you the link,” she said.

A window into one of the public forums appeared in front of Archer.

He touched it twice and was instantly transported into a vast amphitheater.

Several speakers stood in the arena below, while the surrounding stands were packed to capacity.

“Archer,” Anka said, touching his arm.

Archer turned and saw her.

“Call me the Painter,” he said. “I’m incognito this month.”

“All right,” Anka said. “Listen to what they’re saying.”

“Who gave them the right to dictate how we live?” a man in the arena demanded. “Who gave them the right to force us to follow schedules? To impose quotas on us?

“We spend nineteen hours a day in our pods and five hours in the real world. Every day. Day after day!

“But what if I don’t want to leave the virtual world today? Who are they to force me back into the real world? To make me exercise, interact with other people, work?

“Why can’t some people voluntarily live in virtual space while others live in the real world? Who decided that everyone has to live this particular way?

“Democracy?

“The majority gets to decide how they live—and how everyone else lives too. Why shouldn’t the minority have the right to decide how they want to live?

“They’ll tell you it’s for the good of society. For our own good. They’ll tell you their model is the healthiest way of life available to us.

“And I say, to hell with a healthy lifestyle if I don’t even have the right to decide how I want to live!”

The stands erupted.

Applause and whistles thundered through the arena.

Anka took the Painter by the hand and led him away from the stands and into one of the amphitheater’s corridors.

“Archer, look at the statistics for this forum,” she said, pointing to one of the displays. “There are billions of users here.

“Billions of people want to live differently, but they aren’t allowed to. They’re forced to follow the standard schedule and the standard way of life.”

“What do you suggest?” the Painter asked.

“I don’t know,” Anka said. “I only learned about all of this today.

“But we have to do something.”

“Anka,” the Painter said, “this civilization decides for itself how it wants to live. We’re ordinary citizens now.”

“No. We still have influence,” she said. “If we make a public statement, people will listen to us.”

“I think we should talk to Sol first,” the Painter said.

“All right. Let’s talk to Sol,” Anka agreed.

“And I don’t think we should rush into making any public statements,” he said. “This is our first day living in Trinity. We barely understand how this society works.

“Let’s give it a month. We’ll listen to more people, hear more points of view, and then decide what to do.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Anka said.

“I know, Anka,” the Painter said. “I can see that very clearly.

“It bothers me too. But we haven’t even lived in Trinity for a full day yet. Charging straight into battle would be foolish.

“This issue isn’t going anywhere in a month. Let’s look at the situation from every angle. Then we’ll decide.”

“One month.” Anka raised a finger. “We wait one month. Then we act.”

“All right,” Archer said.

“Are you coming back to hear the rest of the speech?” Anka asked, turning toward the arena.

“No,” the Painter said.

“Suit yourself.”

She headed back toward the stands.

Archer returned to the virtual world where he had been building his civilization and continued playing.

But now the words of the speaker in the arena wouldn’t leave him alone.

He found himself thinking about them.

Several hours later, a soft chime notified him that it was almost time to go to work.

He left virtual space and found himself back inside his body, lying in his living pod.

He opened the hatch and climbed out.

Erebas, Vikritia, and another woman were in the common room.

“Hey, Painter!” Erebas said.

“Hiii!” Vikritia said.

“Good morning,” the unfamiliar woman said.

“Good morning,” the Painter replied.

The woman approached him and held out her hand.

He shook it.

“Lakmi,” she introduced herself.

“Painter.”

Erebas and Vicky were discussing their role-playing game, while Lakmi was doing her morning exercises on a workout mat.

The Painter left the apartment, took the elevator down to the ground floor, and walked out of the skyscraper.

Using his neural interface, he summoned a transport and entered his workplace as the destination.

The interface displayed the estimated wait time:

THREE MINUTES

Archer looked up at the sky.

Thousands of vehicles moved through the air along invisible traffic lanes.

Then he looked around and noticed two street sweepers—a human and an artificial person.

They were sweeping fallen leaves from the street.

The Painter was surprised.

He walked over to the woman and spoke to her.

“People sweep the streets by hand in Trinity?”

The woman stopped working and looked at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Why do people sweep the streets instead of machines?” the Painter asked.

The woman shrugged and went back to work.

Archer returned to the pickup point.

A short while later, a standard four-seat transport landed beside him. Its doors opened.

There were already two passengers inside, both well dressed.

The Painter took one of the four seats. The doors closed, and the transport lifted into the air.

“Vias, can you hear me?” the Painter asked mentally.

“Yes, Painter. How can I help?” the virtual assistant replied.

“Is it customary to strike up conversations with strangers on public transportation?”

“Generally, no,” Vias said. “Most people occupy themselves through their neural interfaces while traveling. They may read the news, watch a movie, listen to music, and so on.

“The etiquette in this situation is as follows: choose the person you would like to speak with and mentally send them an invitation to converse.

“If their settings allow invitations from strangers, they’ll be happy to take a break from what they’re doing and talk to you. If not, they won’t even see a notification that you sent an invitation.”

“I see,” the Painter said.

The transport landed at another location, picked up its fourth passenger, and then merged into the stream of rapidly moving vehicles.

The Painter’s journey to work took about fifteen minutes in total.

The transport dropped him off in front of a skyscraper whose sign identified the building as a vertical apple farm.

The Painter went inside.

“Hello,” an artificial person standing near the entrance said, holding out his hand to the Painter.

“Hello,” Archer replied, shaking the wooden man’s hand.

“My name is Fifty-Eight Ninety-One,” the artificial person said.

“Painter,” Archer introduced himself.

“Excellent! You’re the one we’ve been expecting. You can call me Ninety-One. I’m the owner and manager of this apple farm.”

“The owner?” the Painter asked in surprise.

“Yes,” the artificial person replied. “I founded a small private apple-growing business three hundred and fifteen years ago.

“Today, my farm has ten thousand apple trees and employs around thirty people. We’re happy to welcome you to the team.”

“I’m... happy to be here,” Archer said, slightly bewildered. “It’s good to see private enterprise thriving in Ankarian.”

“Yes, indeed,” Ninety-One said. “Come with me.”

Ninety-One took the Painter to a changing room and gave him a work uniform.

Then they entered an elevator and went up to the fifty-first floor.

There, in a completely white, open space beneath high ceilings, a hundred apple trees were growing.

Their fruit was ripe and ready to be picked.

The manager showed Archer how to use a portable folding ladder, explained the safety procedures, taught him how to pass apples down to a coworker, and showed him how to place each apple into its own individual container.

“What makes our business special is that we devote one hundred percent of our attention to growing and harvesting apples,” Ninety-One explained. “Every apple is picked individually and packaged in its own container.

“Our customers appreciate this careful, individual approach, which is why they choose our apples.”

“But Trinity doesn’t have money,” the Painter said, still struggling to understand the business model.

“That’s correct,” the manager replied. “People pay for our products with public reputation points, which we can then use to expand our operations.”

“I see,” Archer said.

“The apple-picking process is recorded on video, and each individual apple comes with its own recording,” Ninety-One explained. “The customer receives not only the product itself, but also the story of its origin, complete with video evidence showing the care with which it was harvested.”

“Don’t you need my permission to record me?” the Painter asked.

“Only if we want your face to appear in the recording,” Ninety-One said. “And we would indeed like to show your face.

“So, Painter, please give us your verbal consent to record your face.”

“I give my permission,” Archer said.

“Thank you,” the artificial person replied. “Now, meet your coworker, Forty-Three Zero-Five.”

The Painter turned and saw an artificial person standing beside one of the apple trees with a cart full of empty apple containers.

“You’ll pick the apples from the tree and pass them down to him,” the manager explained. “He’ll package them individually and place them in the cart.

“You can pick the apples in any order, moving from one tree to the next. Your workday will last another hour and fifty-three minutes.

“You may begin.

“When your shift is over, simply leave the cart of apples where it is, change out of your work clothes, and leave the building. If you have any questions, you can contact me through your interface. I’ve sent you my contact information.

“Have a pleasant workday.”

“You too,” the Painter said.

Archer picked up the ladder and walked over to his coworker.

“Greetings,” the artificial person said.

“Hi. My name is Painter,” the Painter said.

“Forty-Three Zero-Five,” Archer’s coworker replied.

“Can I call you Zero-Five?”

“Yes,” Zero-Five said.

“Great.”

The Painter unfolded the ladder beside the first apple tree and climbed up.

He began picking apples and passing them down to Zero-Five one at a time.

Zero-Five took each apple, placed it into its individual container, and sealed the package.

Two hours passed that way.

Archer simply picked apples and carefully handed them down to his coworker.

When his shift ended, he changed clothes, left the skyscraper, summoned a transport, and returned home to apartment 45-15.

He had a little over two hours of free time left in the real world.

Vikritia and Erebas weren’t there, so the Painter decided to simply go for a walk.

He stepped outside, mentally opened a map through his neural interface, and looked at what was nearby.

“Vias?” he said.

“Yes, Painter?”

“I want to meet and talk to real people in the real world,” the Painter said. “What do you suggest?”

“There are many possibilities,” Vias replied. “Tell me which of the following interests you.

“Politics and philosophy?”

“No,” Archer said.

“Cooking and pottery?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Sports and dancing?”

“No. Definitely not my thing.”

“Martial arts and archery?”

“Hmm... Wait.”

Archer paused.

“Don’t tell me everyone in Trinity practices archery.”

“Yes, of course,” Vias said. “Archery is a revered tradition in Trinity and is mandatory for all citizens.”

“Damn,” the Painter said, laughing. “All right. Let’s go shoot some arrows.”

“There is a public archery range ten blocks from your current location. Shall I summon a transport?” the assistant asked.

“No. I’ll run there,” Archer said.

“Excellent choice,” Vias replied. “The run will count toward your weekly exercise requirement.”

Archer laughed again.

Then he started running toward the archery-range marker on his city map.

He entered the public archery range, where he was greeted at the entrance, at the equipment counter, and again when he reached the shooting area.

The range was crowded.

Each shooting position had one archer and two or three people watching. Everyone seemed to be discussing something.

“Hi,” said a boyish voice.

The Painter turned and saw a boy of about ten speaking to him.

“Hi,” the Painter replied.

“Want to be shooting partners?” the boy asked.

“Sure,” Archer said.

“My name’s Mick.”

“My name’s Painter.”

“Painter...” the boy repeated. “Cool name.”

“You should hear my other name...” Archer muttered under his breath.

“What?” Mick asked.

“Nothing,” the Painter said. “It’s my first time here. Tell me how this works.”

“Well, right now we have to wait for one of the shooting positions to become available. Then we can take it.”

“Isn’t there a line or some kind of numbered ticket system?” the Painter asked.

“Nah,” Mick replied. “Vias keeps track of everyone’s place in line and tells us when it’s our turn. Mine says the wait is about four minutes.”

“Ah, okay,” Archer said. “Yeah, mine says four minutes too.”

“Painter, tell me about yourself,” Mick said.

Archer scratched his head, unsure what he could tell the boy.

“Well, let’s put it this way,” the Painter said. “I’m interested in civilizations. And lately I’ve been particularly interested in our civilization—Trinity.

“I like talking to ordinary people who live here and asking them what life in Trinity is like for them.”

“Cool,” Mick said. “I’m really into military strategy. I study the history of the Four Crowns wars.

“It’s fascinating. Especially the last war, when Sol and Archer saved their flagship, the Arrow, from a carefully planned attack and won the war because of it.”

Archer smiled.

Then, a moment later, he realized that his eyes had begun to water slightly as he remembered that maneuver—and how Sol had sacrificed himself that day.

“Oh! Come on,” Mick said. “A spot opened up early.”

They walked over and took the newly available shooting position.

“Who goes first? You or me?” Mick asked.

“You go ahead,” the Painter said.

“Okay.”

The boy raised his bow and began shooting.

“Hey, Mick!” a woman said as she approached them.

“Oh, hey, Tayli!” Mick replied.

“Making new friends? Who’s this?” Tayli asked.

“His name’s Painter,” the boy said. “He’s a civilization enthusiast. Especially interested in ours.”

“Painter? Nice to meet you.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Tayli.”

Archer shook it.

“Nice to meet you,” the Painter said.

“Tayli is really into history,” Mick said. “And she teaches history at an elementary school. She taught me for my first three years, before I switched to homeschooling.”

“I have to say, Painter,” Tayli said, “you remind me very strongly of a certain historical figure.”

Archer looked at the woman.

She was smiling knowingly.

“I’m afraid I’m just an ordinary citizen here, like everyone else,” Archer said, holding her gaze.

“All right,” she said. “An ordinary citizen. If you say so.

“So what do you do for work, Painter?”

“I pick apples at an apple farm owned by an artificial person,” the Painter said.

“Fifty-Eight Ninety-One’s apple farm?” Tayli asked.

“I think so,” the Painter replied. “I didn’t remember the owner’s full name.”

“Ninety-One’s apples are popular around here,” Tayli said. “People love them all over city O.

“I’ll have to pay closer attention the next time I watch the video of my apple being picked.”

“Great shot, Mick,” Archer said.

“Speaking of food,” Tayli said, “I’m making a potato-and-cheese casserole today. You’re both invited to dinner.”

“Oh, awesome!” Mick said, raising his hand.

Tayli gave him a high five.

“Painter, high five,” Mick said.

The Painter gave him one.

“Me too.” The woman held up her hand.

Archer lightly slapped her palm.

“I probably won’t be able to make it,” Archer said. “My real time is almost over.”

“All of ours is almost over,” the boy said with a laugh. “What, is this your first day in Ankarian?”

“Everyone you see here, Painter,” Tayli explained, “has the same real-time schedule you do. There are exceptions, of course, but as a rule, everyone here belongs to your time slot.”

“All right,” the Painter said.

“I still have an hour and a half of real time left,” Tayli said. “The casserole will take me half an hour to make, so we can head over to my place whenever we want.”

“Tayli has her own apartment,” Mick said as he aimed his bow. “With an old-fashioned kitchen and everything.”

“Yes. And I love cooking,” the woman said.

“I thought private apartments were only given to people who were... exceptional,” Archer said.

“Yes. Teaching is one of the most highly respected professions in Trinity.” Tayli smiled.

“That’s ten,” Mick said after sending his tenth arrow toward the target. “Painter, your turn. Then Tayli.”

“All right,” Archer said.

He fired all ten arrows in less than a minute.

Every single one struck the center of the target.

“Are you showing off for Tayli?” Mick asked with a laugh.

“Not really. It’s just more efficient this way.” The Painter looked slightly embarrassed.

“Tayli, show him,” the boy said.

“Oh, I’ll show him,” the woman replied.

She began shooting.

Ten shots.

Ten bullseyes.

Forty seconds.

“Impressive,” Archer said.

“Yep. All right, let’s go,” Tayli said. “We’re heading to my place.”

“Let’s go!” Mick said.

They returned their bows and went outside, where a private transport was already waiting for them.

“Wait,” the Painter said. “Shouldn’t we tell the boy’s parents first that we’re taking him to Tayli’s place?”

Mick laughed.

“Painter, were you born yesterday?” the boy asked as he climbed into the transport.

“Children in Trinity are supervised by Vias,” Tayli explained to Archer. “By default, Vias determines what a child is allowed to do and who they’re allowed to go with.

“And through Vias, the parents always know what their child is doing.”

“All right,” the Painter said, joining his new friends inside.

The transport took the three passengers to the skyscraper where Tayli lived in five minutes.

They rode the elevator to the eighty-first floor, where she let them into her apartment.

“Gentlemen,” she said, “I ask only one thing of you.

“Help me peel the potatoes.”

“No problem,” Mick said, heading into the kitchen.

“Yeah. No problem.”

The Painter followed him.

Tayli put on some pop music and started dancing.

“Don’t mind her,” Mick said. “She always does this.”

“Music is life!” Tayli exclaimed, dancing her way over to her two guests.

Mick took out the potatoes, found three potato peelers, and handed them around.

And so the three of them—Mick, Archer, and a still-dancing Tayli—stood together peeling potatoes for the casserole.

It took them ten minutes to peel them. Tayli spent another ten minutes slicing the potatoes and layering them with cheese in a ceramic baking dish. Then the casserole spent ten minutes in the oven, covered with foil and baking at high heat.

A little while later, all three archers had eaten their fill of the delicious casserole.

“I have to go home,” Mick said. “You do too, Painter.”

The boy walked over and hugged Tayli.

“Painter is going to stay a little longer,” the woman said. “I need to talk to him.”

“See you around, Painter!” Mick said.

“See you!” the Painter replied.

Mick left.

Tayli turned off the music and stood there smiling at Archer.

He looked back at her.

“Painter, huh?” she finally said with a knowing smile.

“Painter is the name I chose so I could spend a month living as an ordinary citizen of Trinity,” Archer said.

“Not exactly the best choice of name for someone trying to stay undercover, considering Archer, the founder of Trinity, owns a magic brush that he uses to paint things and bring them into reality.”

“Yes. I realize that now,” Archer said. “It was foolish of me to think no one would recognize me.”

“Maybe not that foolish,” Tayli said. “I only recognized you because, as a history teacher, I’m more familiar with your portraits than most people are.”

“Well,” Archer said, “let’s start over.

“My name is Archer. I’m one of the co-founders of Trinity.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Archer. My name is Tayli, and I’m a history teacher,” Tayli said with a smile. “To be honest, it feels completely unreal seeing you like this—in person, right here among ordinary people in Trinity.”

“Believe me, being here feels just as strange to me,” he said. “From my perspective, only a couple of days ago, Trinity had a population of barely more than a thousand.

“Now there are a trillion of you, with your own society, your own customs, your own lives.”

“Is today your first day in Trinity?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“So what do you think of Trinity?” she asked. “What’s your first impression?”

“You know, my first impression is pretty good,” the Painter said. “Especially after meeting you and Mick.

“It feels like this world has a life of its own now. Like it no longer needs a leader or a savior.”

Tayli went to a cabinet and took out a bottle of cognac, then picked up two glasses from the counter. She poured a drink for herself and Archer, then handed him one of the glasses.

“To new friendships!” she said, raising her glass toward his.

“To new friendships,” he repeated, clinking his glass against hers.

They drank.

“Are Anka and Sol spending this month living as ordinary citizens too?” Tayli asked.

“Anka is. Sol isn’t,” the Painter said. “And Anka has already gotten excited about the idea of political reform.”

“After one day in Trinity?” Tayli laughed. “What doesn’t she like?”

“Quotas. Schedules. Compulsion,” the Painter replied briefly.

“Yes, but we can’t do without those things,” Tayli said, completely serious now. “Our social model is based on scientifically established evidence. People need stimulation. Without it, they’ll simply get stuck in virtual space and deteriorate.”

“What about freedom?” the Painter asked.

“We have plenty of freedom,” Tayli said. “Of course there are certain boundaries and restrictions. But they’re necessary.

“You can’t give complete freedom to a society of one trillion people. It would be chaos.”

“What scientific evidence are you talking about?” the Painter asked.

“In the fourth century of our era, when Trinity’s population reached one hundred million,” Tayli explained, “a massive social experiment was conducted.

“Ten cities were built in virtual space, each designed for a population of one million. Each of the ten cities was governed according to a different set of rules and a different political system. In every other respect, the cities were identical.

“The experiment lasted only ten years, but the results were clear. Democratic autonomy proved to be the optimal system in terms of citizen well-being, political stability, industrial productivity, and physical and mental health.

“The system isn’t perfect, of course. But so far, we haven’t come up with anything better.”

“I saw a forum where people were speaking out against the current system,” Archer said. “There were billions of people listening, and they supported the speaker.”

“Yes,” Tayli said. “But keep in mind that the forum has freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, freedom to propose alternative political systems, and freedom to vote within the existing political system.”

“But they don’t have the freedom to secede from Trinity and build a society of their own,” the Painter said.

“That’s true,” Tayli replied. “But the Autonomy won’t let them leave because it knows their society wouldn’t succeed.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Archer asked.

“Virtual worlds,” Tayli said. “If people want that kind of freedom, let them build their free society in a virtual world first. A simulation as close to real life as possible.

“Let the simulation prove that their system works. If it does, the Autonomy can change its policy and establish a free enclave for them.”

“Why haven’t they created a simulation like that already?” the Painter asked.

“They have,” Tayli said. “They and their predecessors have tried it many times. And every time, their free society collapsed under the burden of governing itself.

“Their ideas work well in theory, but in practice, they haven’t been able to maintain a functioning state. Every time, their society eventually fell apart and they had to terminate the simulation.”

“And they still demand their freedom?” the Painter asked.

“Yes,” the woman replied, pouring more cognac into their glasses. “They believe things would be different in the real world than they were in the simulations.

“Some of them claim their simulations were secretly sabotaged by the Autonomy, since the Autonomy has complete control over virtual space.

“They’re mistaken about many things.” The woman sighed. “So I’ll say it again: democratic autonomy is the optimal system. We have centuries of practical evidence to support that conclusion.”

“I don’t know,” the Painter said. “Wouldn’t it be better to let them find out for themselves that it won’t work?”

“And allow billions of people to suffer?” the woman asked. “No. That wouldn’t be better.

“Better for them to be unhappy in the safe and prosperous society we created than unhappy in the dangerous and dysfunctional society they would create for themselves.”

“Are you absolutely certain the society they create would be dangerous?” he asked.

“Yes, Archer. The simulations prove it. And think about it yourself: should we really allow a minority that is already hostile toward us to secede while retaining access to all the same technology we have?

“What if, eventually, their own freedom isn’t enough for them? What if they decide to liberate the rest of Ankarian by force? How far would they be willing to go to achieve their goals? Weapons of mass destruction? Biological weapons?

“With our current level of technology, it wouldn’t be particularly difficult for them to wipe out all life on this planet.

“So no, Archer. We are not going to endanger the civilization we’ve built for the sake of a few moral principles about freedom.”

“That’s a completely different argument,” the Painter said.

“But the conclusion is the same,” Tayli insisted. “Believe me, we’ve considered every possibility. And we always arrive at the same conclusion: the least harmful solution for everyone is to give people freedom of speech and freedom of dissent—but not the freedom to secede.”

Tayli suddenly realized how worked up she had become.

“Ah. Sorry. Let’s talk about something else,” she suggested.

“Sure,” the Painter said. “Tell me about yourself.”

Tayli smiled.

“About myself,” she said. “All right. Where do I start?

“I’m two hundred and eighty-one years old. Right now, I teach history to elementary school children. But I’m also fully qualified as an air-transport pilot, diver, rock climber, forester, marine biologist, veterinarian, psychologist, and neural-interface technician.

“I change careers about once every thirty years. My favorite was flying air transports. There’s something special about piloting a flying machine. A sense of adventure.”

She smiled.

“I love music. I love dancing. I love reading prose and poetry. I love cooking.

“I’ve been married twice and divorced twice. I have four children. They all grew up a long time ago and have lives of their own now, but I keep in touch with them.

“I became a teacher because I wanted to contribute something to the lives of a new generation.

“Oh, and I’ve accumulated more than ten thousand public reputation points.” She laughed.

“Is that a lot?” the Painter asked.

“Yes,” Tayli said. “With that many, I could practically go to space. Figuratively speaking.

“What else can I tell you? I traveled a lot when I was younger. I wanted to see the world. Ankarian looked different back then. It wasn’t all skyscrapers and parks the way it is now.

“I’ve been to the Four Crowns. I even met Prince Glimorsky in person.”

“Glimorsky?” Archer asked. “How did that happen?”

“He gave a speech at a psychology symposium, and I asked him a question. Afterward, he asked me to stay and talk with him. We spent about an hour together, mostly discussing psychology.”

“And what impression did he make on you?” Archer asked.

“My impression was that he was a very competent man,” Tayli said. “It was obvious that he had studied psychology in considerable depth. I enjoyed talking with him.”

Tayli fell silent for a moment, thinking.

“What else can I tell you about myself? I want to spend the next two hundred years of my life serving society. I want to leave something behind.”

“And those ten thousand reputation points,” the Painter asked, “don’t they already show that you’ve contributed quite a lot to society?”

“Yes, I suppose they do.” She sighed. “But I want to do more. I want to give myself to others—to the next generation. I want to become a thousand seeds that will sprout and grow into something useful.”

“I understand that very well,” Archer said. “Tell me about your marriages. Why did they end? And what is marriage like when people live for hundreds of years?”

“Are you sure you want to hear about that?” Tayli asked.

“Yes. If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I just never imagined the ordinary life of an ordinary teacher would be interesting to anyone,” Tayli said. “All right. I’ll tell you.

“I got married for the first time when I was only forty-four. We met in virtual space while we were both taking a course to become psychologists.

“We fell in love quickly. We were crazy about each other. We got married quickly, and before long we had two children.

“For the first few years, it felt like this was it—this was true love, this was how everything was supposed to be. We were happy.

“But the years passed, and the passion faded. We started noticing each other’s flaws. And instead of working on ourselves or going to couples therapy, we constantly argued, fought, and tried to change each other.

“By our fifth year of marriage, I realized things were only getting worse. I realized that marrying him had been a mistake—that the beginning of our relationship had been the exception, not the rule.

“And, of course, when you’re that young, you want to solve everything immediately. So I filed for divorce.

“He didn’t fight it.

“In a way, that actually hurt. I thought maybe he would fight for our marriage. For our relationship.

“But he didn’t.”

Tayli fell silent for a moment before continuing.

“I kept the children. He was a terrible parent, and he knew it. At first, he saw them twice a month. Six months later, he disappeared from their lives completely.

“I raised them alone until they became adults.

“Fortunately, the state supports single parents, so I was able to devote myself entirely to my children. And if I’m being truthful, I actually liked it that way. Everything was under my control. I didn’t have to coordinate anything with a second parent.

“When the children started school, I began dating again. First one man, then another. Nothing serious. Casual relationships for companionship and well-being.

“I didn’t want another serious relationship. I was afraid of getting myself into the same mess again.

“And then... before I knew it, my children were eighteen and leaving home.

“I was alone.

“There are plenty of single people in Trinity—people who aren’t in relationships. I suppose I decided there were advantages to that kind of life.

“Once my first two children grew up and moved out, I devoted myself completely to my career. I renewed my qualifications and began working as a psychologist. Sixteen years later, I went back to school to become a veterinarian. And after that, every twenty-something years, I found some new horizon to pursue.

“You know what’s funny?” Tayli said with a faint smile. “About thirty years after our divorce, my first husband contacted me to thank me.

“He said I had been right to divorce him. Because of that divorce, he eventually met the woman of his dreams, and by then they had already been happily together for many years.

“I was happy for him.

“And I was happy for myself too. Being alone and completely absorbed in my work felt good.

“I lived that way for more than a hundred years.

“Just work and solitude.

“I didn’t marry again until I was 192.

“At the time, I was training to become a rock climber, and one day I nearly died. My instructor saved my life.

“I don’t know. Maybe something instinctive happened, but I became attached to him. I started flirting with him, and he flirted back.

“It felt good. It felt good to feel desired again.

“He was eighty-three. He had been married and divorced too, although his marriage had lasted almost thirty years. At least I knew he was capable of maintaining a long-term relationship.

“We started dating. We spent a lot of time together. We traveled together. I introduced him to my children.

“Everything was good.

“We were together for five years before we got married.

“And our marriage lasted thirty-two years.

“We had and raised our first child together...”

Tayli gave Archer a sad smile.

“Why did it end?

“I cheated on him with his brother.

“Don’t ask. I still don’t really understand why I did it.

“I was pregnant with our second child at the time.

“My husband couldn’t forgive the betrayal, so he filed for divorce. And nothing ever came of the relationship with his brother.

“I gave birth, and strangely enough, my husband and I raised our son together even though we were divorced.

“A couple of years later, he managed to forgive me. But he didn’t want to get back together.

“I think I would have been willing to try again.

“He was a good man. A good husband.

“And I’ve been alone ever since. I date men from time to time, but the relationships never last very long.

“So there you have it. The story of my two marriages.”

Tayli looked at him.

“Have I satisfied your curiosity?”

“Yes,” the Painter said. “Thank you for being so open with me.”

“What about you, Archer?” Tayli asked. “Your biography says you’ve never been married and don’t have any children. But it doesn’t say why.”

“It’s still too early for me,” the Painter replied. “Biologically, I may be old enough to have a family and children, but chronologically, my age is still measured in years, not decades.

“It feels like I haven’t been alive for very long.”

“What really matters is your psychological age,” Tayli said.

“Yes. Probably,” Archer replied.

A soft chime sounded inside the Painter’s head, and a notification appeared informing him that his real time had come to an end.

“You can stay here tonight,” Tayli said. “There’s a bed in the guest room. You can sleep there.”

“I don’t really need sleep,” the Painter replied. “I can connect to the virtual world and play Civilization Builder.”

“You build civilizations in the virtual world too?” the teacher asked with a laugh.

“Why not?” Archer said with a smile.

“All right. Do whatever you want. The guest room is over there,” she said. “And my bedroom is over there.”

“Got it,” the Painter said.