The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect (6 page)

"That was diamond monofilament. Part of the booby trap you were
supposed
to get past, minus a few more dents. If you..."
"You call that
Authentic?
"
"It's physically possible..."
"No it's
not
. This is science-fiction shit. What were those stalactites made of? I can tell you it wasn't calcium carbonate. Look, you want to compete in Pain, or Adventure, or Imagination, go right ahead. But Authentic is for things that could really have happened in the pre-Change world."
"I don't think you understand..."
"I don't think
you
understand, sonny. Did you bother to ask Prime Intellect about me?"
"You're pre-Change and you're the best. That's what counts."
"Not just pre-Change. I was a hundred and six years old.
Before
the Change. I was in a nursing home with bedsores the size of baseballs and six different kinds of cancer eating me away. And my nurse was stealing my pain medication to trade for cocaine, so I got to experience every delightful moment in full three-D. This went on for
years
. And I didn't know Prime Intellect was
gonna
pop me back into this nice healthy body when it was all over. It was just the inky unknown and the pain. That's what death is.
That's
what counts."
"I was just trying to reach an artistic balance," he pouted. "I didn't realize you'd be so picky about the technical details."
"
Artistic?
What fucking
bullshit!
You think I've never been chopped into little bitty bits before? You just don't have time to appreciate
art
in a situation like that. Not if you have any human feelings at all."
"Why not? It's just a game."
"That is exactly the problem." She
signalled
Prime Intellect, and the meadow disappeared.

"You really put him in his place."
The words came from a shambling monster, a skeleton with loose folds of rotting flesh draped across its bones. Although its muscles couldn't possibly work, it moved, pointing a bony finger at her. The jaw moved as it talked, and sound came out even though the larynx and lungs had long rotted away. Its voice was strong and powerful. Surprisingly bright and alert eyes bobbed in the eye sockets.
"You're starting to stink, Fred."
"I know. I think it adds an extra dimension to the experience. You wouldn't
believe
how many types of bacteria are involved in the decay process."
Fred was on his seventh body as a zombie; when all the scraps of flesh rotted away and he was reduced to a living skeleton, he'd have it fleshed out again and start the process over. He had directed Prime Intellect to change the rules slightly in his personal space; death was still impossible, but healing occurred only in the authentic circumstances at the authentic rate. When healing was impossible, as it was after each time Fred cut his wrists to extinguish the life of his new body, consciousness and feeling would go on. Even for a rotting corpse.
It had started out as nothing more than a little joke on Caroline's periodic un-aging ritual, but Fred had found that it was
fun
to be a zombie.
His personal home was decorated in a matching Halloween motif; he had a huge haunted house with rotting floorboards and real ghosts. Large spiders spun intricate webs in the corners. Monsters prowled outside in the graveyard.
"That punk needed his bubble popped. He should spend some time as a zombie. Might teach him something."
"He never will. Too vain."
"Never is a long time," he reminded her.
There was a dramatic ding, followed several seconds later by a long, sonorous dong. A kid's voice: "Trick or treat!"
"Care to get the door, darling?" Fred asked graciously.
Caroline laughed and got up. Fred faded away. She knew the "kid" would be nearly as old as herself. Prime Intellect would never allow a real child anywhere near Fred. But Caroline wasn't the only one to appreciate his twisted and darkly humorous fantasies.