M STOOD STRIPPED to the waist in front of his bathroom mirror. The only real light came from his computer terminal in the other room, and it made him look green-tinted and gaunt. It was a cold morning, and his breath misted on the glass. He regarded it silently for a few minutes, then reached out and wiped the mist away. His own piercing eyes stared back at him.
"What are you looking for?" A voice asked.
M smiled slightly. The voice was always there. It came from inside. His inner self, which seemed to have a personality of its own.
He shrugged. "Silence," he said softly.
The voice spoke again. "You mean you're looking for silence, or you want me to shut up?"
"Both, I think."
A few minutes passed. M continued to stare at his reflection. His reflection continued to stare back. M was not willing to back away first. Not this time.
"Everything they told you is true, you know," the voice said.
M said nothing.
The voice continued. "You're a freak. A throw-back to another time. The Emperor will want to have you killed."
"Shut up," M said, his voice soft, though touched with anger.
"Listen to me! You are more than just another number, so much more than an ordinary person. You can leave this place. Do not ignore your inheritance, M."
M finally broke away from his reflection. He turned and looked out the tiny bathroom window. He remembered how hard he'd had to work, just to afford a place that had a real window. A real window, looking onto the real world.
"The view wasn't worth it," M said to himself. "All I can see are other highrise buildings. I want to see trees, or a field."
The voice inside him sighed. "But you can. All you have to do is --"
"I know," M interrupted. "I just have to believe in it, and it will become real."
"No. It already is real. This is artificial. Can't you see that? None of this exists."
M thumped his fist against the wall. "It feels solid enough!" he said angrily. "How can I believe a voice in my head? How do I know that I'm not going mad?"
"You're not. Trust me, I'd know. You think that the only truth is in what you see? You have to look beyond the surface. Look through the doors, see past the walls. The surface is a painting, light and colourful. Beneath it lies shadow and darkness. Walls only exist to contain, constrain, confine. But you make these walls for yourself."
M walked out of the bathroom, and into the only other room in his apartment. He dressed quickly, angry that the voice should speak out against reality.
His apartment was on the twentieth floor, and the elevators were broken, again, so he had to use the stairs. On the way, he passed a young woman. He tried to talk to her, but she shied away. She was not authorised to talk to strangers. Nor was he, for that matter, but he was beginning to feel the bonds of society loosen. M reached out and grabbed her arm. "Why won't you talk to me?"
Her eyes were frightened. "Please... Let go."
"No! I only want to speak with you. I haven't spoken to a real person in years."
The girl shook her head. "It is forbidden."
"But why?"
She tried to pull away from him. "We have the network if we wish to communicate. Please let me go."
M released the girl's arm. "I am M. Who are you?"
She began to walk away. Without looking at him, she said "I am L."
M watched her go. He could still feel the warmth of her skin on his hand.
He finally reached the litter-strewn streets. Overhead, the Empire's patrol craft hovered, watching every move he made. On an impulse, M looked up at the nearest and waved. He could imagine the confusion inside the craft: his breach of protocol was not forbidden, but it was unorthodox.
M had nowhere to go, but then there never was anywhere to go. Not here. Not in this perfect society where the Empire provided every entertainment in the comfort of your own home.
But the voice had said that this wasn't reality... M knew that the voice only spoke when he was completely alone, so now, out in the open, he was free to think his own thoughts, without interruption. He wondered, not for the first time, where the voice came from.
Some said that the voices were mental aberrations. Others said that they were the words of God. Still others completely denied the existence of the voices. But M knew: they were real.
Something clicked inside his head, and reminded him that it was almost time for work. He hurried back to his apartment, made a tortured run up the twenty flights of stairs, and collapsed, exhausted, in front of his terminal. He placed the receiving nodes of the headset on his temples, and closed his eyes. He didn't need to be awake to perform his duties. In fact, it helped if he wasn't.
For two hours a day, M connected himself into the Empire's master computer, which used his brain as a sub-processor, performing billions of calculations every second. The Empire's strength was in its computing power: with millions of human brains connected to the network, the master computer was the most powerful ever built. In return for his service, M was given food and an apartment, as well as all the entertainment he could need.
The voice had told M that it was a part of his brain that had been spurred into life through connection with the network. Another mind, occupying the same person. A mind within a mind, a soul within a soul.
Later, after M's work had been completed and he'd disconnected himself from the network, he tried to relax, but the voice wouldn't let him.
"Nothing is real, M. When you see something, all you are truly aware of is that you think you are seeing it. Memory is the same. You think you are remembering things. Go into the bathroom, M, and put your hand on the mirror."
"What?"
"Do it. Just humour me."
M was reluctant to comply, and he realised that he was afraid: Afraid that the voice might be right, afraid that it might be wrong.
"Do it, M."
He stood, went into the bathroom, and faced the mirror. He reached out and placed his right hand flat against the cold surface. "Now what?"
"What do you feel?"
"Glass. What else?"
The voice paused. "No, M. Ignore what you think you are feeling. What do you really feel?"
M closed his eyes, and relaxed. He tried to cut out all thoughts, and concentrate on the pressure of his hand against the glass. And then suddenly it was warm, and softer. He could feel flesh. He opened his eyes suddenly, and the M in the mirror reflected his shock. He jerked his hand back.
"Nothing is real," the voice said.
M left his apartment again, and waited for hours on the stairs, sitting in the same place where he'd met the girl. He knew only that he had to talk to her again. Other people passed him in silence. None of them even looked at him, though he was certain that they were thinking about him.
And then, finally, he saw her. "Hello, L," he said, smiling.
For a few seconds, she looked as though she was going to run, but then her panic seemed to pass. She walked slowly forward until she was standing in front of him.
"I shouldn't talk to you," she said. "It is forbidden."
M nodded. "This isn't real," he said, gesturing to include the whole building. "None of this is real."
L sat down beside him. "Sometimes I hear a voice," she said. "It tells me the same thing."
"Does it also say that you can leave?"
"Yes. But I don't want to."
"You mean you're too scared?"
She shrugged. "Maybe."
M reached out and took her hand. This time, she didn't try to pull away. "I am going to leave this place."
L shook her head. "You can't. The voices lie."
"There are other realities," M said. "They're only a thought away. Whatever we think can become real. I want you to come with me." He raised her hand to his mouth, and kissed her fingers. "I love you."
"I know. But I can't go with you."
"You don't love me?"
She squeezed his hand. "Of course I do. But I have to stay."
"I'll miss you," M said, surprised to hear the sadness in his voice, "but I'll never forget you."
He closed his eyes. He wished for another reality, and then he was gone.