The creator-hacker sat at her cosmic computer and said, "Interactive."
"Which world?" the computer droned.
"Sol system, third planet."
The computer gave a mechanical sigh. "That one again?"
"Look, it’s my world."
"Yes, you still keep trying to get it right."
"It was my first creation, all right. I mean not everybody’s first world is perfect."
"Yes, but really, how many wars are we up to now?"
"Are you going to open the file or not?"
The computer took on an indignant tone. "You’re the creator-hacker. You’ve given me a command. Of course I’ll open the file. Do you want to start in the beginning or at the last string of code you entered?"
"I don’t want to re-live the past five billion years. When did I enter the last string?"
"About two millennia ago." The computer giggled as it reviewed directories and subdirectories in the file. "Oh my. You know that one called the Galilean?"
"Yes?"
"You interacted with him."
"Yes?"
"Well, you won’t believe what he’s told everyone."
* * *
The systems engineer regarded the creator-hacker before him. "Generally, when we create worlds, we monitor them more than once in a couple of millennia their time."
"I made so many corrections in the code," the creator-hacker said. "I thought this last one would do it."
"There was interaction."
"I’m not the only one who’s done that."
"It was certainly innovative to give the physical beings different genders, I must say."
"Well, we’re different genders. I made them in our image, and it was only two. That was the only way to accomplish replication."
During the silence a galaxy died, several million stars were born, and 4,263 sentient species in the universe became extinct.
"I would think," the engineer said, "that you’d be insulted that after all the millions of years you’ve spent on these beings, they’ve decided to make their deity male."
"Yes, well, I really didn’t realize that these two different genders would find so much to disagree about. A third one just seemed, well, superfluous."
Another galaxy came in to being, a few million stars nova’ed, and 5,728 pre-sentient species crawled from primordial ooze and walked on land before the systems engineer spoke again. "This is a real mess. I don’t see how you can de-bug the program. I’m for a wipe."
The creator-hacker’s fractals now flashed and expanded exponentially. "We can’t do that. There is so much promise in this program. Yes, some code is bad, but the base code is magnificent." She brought her fractals under control. "Of course, I am biased."
"I agree the base code is elegant, but there’s no virus protection. Worms abound. In short, and in the vernacular of some of the subroutines, it’s fucked up."
The creator-hacker considered for several millennia before posing an impertinent question. "Did you ever think that we’re just lines in something else’s code?"
"No chance. I’ve been around a long time. I’ve looked in every back door and gateway, through every firewall there is. What’s your point?"
"Well, if we were created by someone like me and someone hit the delete key?"
A universe emerged from a black hole, expanded to its limit, imploded, then exploded again before the systems engineer replied. "If we don’t wipe, what do you propose to do about it?"
"Leave it alone?"
"Unprecedented." The systems engineer called up the program of the Sol system’s third planet. He read the code line by line. "This is amateurish in places."
"It was my first creation."
"Oh, don’t be so defensive. Everybody has a first, and everybody has trashed their first creation. But, I can understand your attachment to it and its heuristic physical creations." He extended sympathetic fractals toward her. They touched hers and merged. "You may not have to wipe. They are well on their way to deleting themselves."
Their fractals separated, and they both sighed.
The creator-hacker mustered her resolve. "I guess I should tell you I, uh, wrote freedom of choice into the code."
"What? You trusted a heuristic program with freedom of choice combined with sentience? Who was your original systems engineer to let you do that?"
"Uh, you were."
"I was?"
"Yes."
"Well…."
"I’m entirely responsible, of course."
"No question about that." The system engineer’s fractals contracted as he pondered.
"Look," the creator-hacker said, "I’ll turn my remaining projects over to other creator-hackers. Let me devote all my time to fix this."
"You’re already too attached. If you concentrate on that one world, you’ll be over-involved. Besides, no one has ever done that before, either."
"Isn’t it about time?"
Millennia went by as pulse-beats.
The systems engineer examined the status of the creator-hacker’s other programs. She’d learned something. All the others were pristine, exquisite, orderly. "You do understand that once you embark on this course, you won’t be able to create any new worlds?"
"I understand." Her fractals flared in sadness. Her ideas for new worlds would never take on life in the cosmic processor. Yet, she could see how lines of code from those ideas could be melded into her first creation to improve it.
The systems engineer saw the direction in which her fractals moved. "That might work." This intrigued him. The physical beings inhabiting her program were sentient, just beginning to suspect their real origin. A few had even plugged in to the ‘Net and seen what cyberspace really was. They now lived in worlds in their own heads, the pallor of their skin made paler by the light from computer monitors glaring in the dark. They would waste away until cyberspace absorbed their electrons, mixed them with starstuff, and shot them to new corners of other universes.
The engineer sighed. This one had always been the creator-hacker with the most promise, and the taste of her fractals left him sated for eons. She was just unorthodox in her programming. "Very well. Turn your projects over to the others and assume responsibility for—what do you call it?"
"Earth."
"Where did you come up with a name like that? No, never mind. Just take over ‘earth’ full time."
"As usual, you are wise."
"I’m the wisest cyperpunk you know."
Their fractals merged for the last time.
* * *
"Game over. Play again?"
The adolescent cybergod smiled. His brilliant game-play had saved the world yet again. He had accumulated plenty of energy points and a few extra lives. He adjusted his glasses, held together with a cosmic string, and gnawed a fingernail.
"Play again?" the computer repeated.
"Yes."
His fingers flew over the keyboard.
* * *
The creator-hacker sat at her cosmic computer and said, "Interactive."
"Which world?" the computer droned.
"Sol system, third planet."
The computer gave a mechanical sigh. "That one again?"
"Look, it’s my world."
"Yes, you still keep trying to get it right."
###
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