Hotbox
Day One
I’m sat in my dormitory running through the deck plan in my head for the thousandth time.
My name is Alex P. Graviton. I’ve had that name since I was born and, excluding the “Alex P.”, so has everyone else I’ve ever met.
I was born with Gravitons, raised by Gravitons, and trained by and with Gravitons for this hellish system that they call War, this everlasting battle that sucks the lives of the innocent and turns them into murderers without a choice. Or so my mother said. I always thought it was rather fun. She disappeared when I was very little.
In bootcamp, I excelled. I scored one hundred percent in every task. I was the best at fighting, the best at survival, the best at leadership and the best at organisation. Joint best, that is. Everyone in Graviton bootcamp scores equally. Not out of lenience - the masters are anything but lenient - but out of sheer competence.
I was identical to everyone else I knew and I was perfectly happy. This is what I was born to do.
I’m sat in my dormitory running through the deck plan in my head for the thousandth time. It’s simple. Pillars - Gravity, Aether and Time - then us Mercenaries, then Fractal, then more Mercenaries. More and more Mercenaries until the enemy is defeated. A little Reverse Time here and there to counter the enemy. The plan is flawless. The masters above organise us with perfection.
The battle is tomorrow and we will not be defeated.
Day Two
I’m sat in my dormitory running through the deck plan in my head for the thousandth time.
My name is Alex P. Graviton, and without having to think any further I know that this is something I’ve already said.
“Hello.” says Alex P. Graviton from the other side of my room. He’s sat on the bed, dangling his legs off the edge.
“Hello.” I reply. I myself am sat at my desk. “Are you me?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Okay.” For a few moments his response satisfies me, but I decide I should probably query him again. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Alex P. Graviton and suspect that you would give me the same answer.” he replies.
“That is correct.”
“If you’re me, then you’re logical. You know that in order for us both to be who we say we are, one must have to be the original.”
I nod my head. “And we both think that we’re the original.”
“Right.”
“I’m glad you’re me. You get me. I think the best thing to do would be to decide that we’re both the original and work out how to go from there.”
Alex P. Graviton nods his head. “I get you as much as you get me. So how did this happen? We were top of our class in bootcamp, we should be able to work this out.”
I shrug my shoulders. “The battle is tomorrow. Deck plan involves Fractal and Reverse Time. Who knows how the two could interfere with each other?”
He nods, exactly the same as I did before. “If you’re me then you should agree that we should probably go and talk to the masters to get this issue sorted.” He stands up to leave.
I also stand up, and outstretch my arm towards him, fingers splayed in expression of desperation. “Wait a moment. If this is truly the effect of Reverse Time, then we cannot do anything that would prevent the battle from happening tomorrow.”
He stops where he is. “Damn. You’re right. What now?”
I shrug. “We wait. We fight tomorrow.”
“They’ll notice that there are two of us.”
I laugh. “Alex, we’re all identical. No one will notice.”
He laughs too. “Very well. We fight tomorrow.”
Day Three
I’m sat in my dormitory running through the deck plan in my head for the thousandth time.
My name is Alex P. Graviton and there are four of me in this room.
“I had a funny dream.” I begin to say. The sound of my voice seems to echo discordantly, like it’s coming from everywhere in the room at once. It is. All four of us spoke the line at exactly the same time.
The Alex P. Graviton who is sat on the floor speaks first - presumably because he is the most uncomfortable, and most eager to get the words out. “Starting now, we speak in clockwise.”
I nod. As I am still sat at the desk, it is my turn to speak. “Very well. Did we all have the same dream?”
The Alex P. Graviton that is stood between the desk and the bed speaks next. “If for all of us, the answer involves the same situation as now but with just two of us, then I believe the answer is yes.”
The Alex P. Graviton with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed says, “In my dream, it was just me and the me who is sat at the desk. I remember this clearly.”
Floor speaks next. “In my dream it was just me and the me who is sat at the desk.”
“So I was in both of your dreams.” I say. “But in mine, it was just me and you, sat there on the bed with your legs dangling off the edge.”
“Just me and you on the floor in my dream.” says Between.
“Raise your hand if in your dream, you were in the same position you are now?” asks Dangle. All four of us raise our hand. “Statistically speaking, then, it is likely that the desk-me is the original.”
It is Floor’s turn to speak but he shakes his head indicating that he has nothing to say.
“So you’re sure that I’m the original?” I ask Dangle. “But if I were to make the same allegation, I know that I would most certainly not be okay with not being the original.”
“I know that I’m not.” says Between. “But one thing is for certain. No matter who is the original...”
“...we have to find a way to stop the duplications before this goes on any further.” finishes Dangle. “There’s no indication that it’s going to stop tonight.”
“I can’t emphasise enough how important it is that we don’t stop the battle.” says Floor. “I said it in the dream and I’ll say it again. If the battle caused this, then it’s already happened, and it can’t not happen.”
We all nod.
Day Four
I’m sat in my dormitory running through the deck plan in my head for the thousandth time.
My name is Alex P. Graviton, but it’s much easier to just call me Desk at this point.
“Alright.” I say, and so does everyone else - all eight of us. We all turn to Floor to speak first.
“Clockwise.” he says. “Starting from me. Window, go.”
Window nods. “So, to summarise. Yesterday there were four of us. The day before that, there were two. Before that there was only one, and yesterday we all agreed that that person was me.”
I screw up my face. “According to my memory, yesterday we agreed that it was statistically likely that it was me who was the original. But then again, you weren’t even in my yesterday, Window.” He mutters a quiet “fair enough” under his breath.
“Sorry Window, you weren’t in mine either. And that’s a good idea - give us all names. So, going clockwise, we have Floor, Window, Desk, me - let’s call me Between, Pillow, Bed, Dangle, and Door.”
“Why am I Dangle and not Bed?” asks Dangle.
“Because of the three of us sat on the bed, you have your legs dangling off the edge, and Pillow is sat on the pillow.” says Bed. “Me, there’s nothing more descriptive for what I’m doing.”
“I was calling you Dangle in my head yesterday, too.” I mention.
“Shut up, Desk. You nerd.”
“Hey! This desk is yours as much as it is mine.”
“Guys, guys!” calls Floor. “What happened to the whole going clockwise thing?”
Pillow shrugs. “Now that we can all at least identify each other, I guess the order doesn’t really matter anymore. So long as we all know who’s talking.”
“Nothing matters.” says Door. “The only thing that matters is stopping this. Stopping the Fractal. Because tomorrow there won’t be enough names to go around, and going clockwise is just going to be a pain in the bum. And not long after that there won’t be enough space to move. If we don’t stop it, at some point we’re going to run out of oxygen, and at some point we’re just going to be crushed to death immediately by the sheer quantity of ourselves. So we better fix this quick before we’re stuck in an infinite cycle of dying forever.”
“If we’re dead, the battle won’t happen.” I point out.
“Right. Which means we’ll’ve never been dead in the first place.” says Floor.
“Right. Paradox.” says Bed.
Dangle shrugs. “We’ve been very reluctant to stop the battle from happening. But if what Door says is true, and I don’t see any reason why it isn’t, well.... I don’t much fancy being dead.”
There’s a general murmur of agreement. To none of our surprises, nobody in the room would like to be dead. Not here. In battle, sure thing, a glorious way to go.
“A vote!” I announce. “Raise your hand if you wish to attempt a paradox. On the count of three. One!”
“Two!” calls Dangle.
“Three!” calls Window.
We all raise our hands.
“Oh, that was simple. How do we go about it?”
Door is closest to the door, and he opens it. “I say we go tell the masters.”
Only one voice offers dissent, and it belongs to Pillow. “Will we remember any of this?”
Door shrugs. “Maybe. I guess we’ll find out.”
We march out of the dormitory in single file, none of us eager to wake up tomorrow and find there to be sixteen of ourselves. If we do, I’m sure we’ll remember.
