Permutation City

by Greg Egan

Paul thought about smashing furniture. Instead, he took a long, hot shower. In part, to calm himself; in part, as an act of petty vengeance: twenty virtual minutes of gratuitous hydrodynamic calculations would annoy the cheapskate no end.

She wasn’t upset, or relieved – just calm. It always made her feel that way: burning bridges, driving people away. Simplifying her life.

But if the visitor had been perfectly deceived, and had experienced everything the Copy did … what set the two of them apart? So long as the flesh-and-blood man had no way of knowing the truth, it was meaningless to talk about ‘two different people’ in ‘two different worlds’. The two patterns of thoughts and perceptions had effectively merged into one.

If he came away from the kitchen sink brandishing a carving knife, calmly announcing his intention to sacrifice her to the Spirit of the New Moon, she’d have no right to feel betrayed, or surprised. She couldn’t expect to live off the proceeds of insanity, and also take for granted the usual parameters of civilized behaviour.

The people the software creates when you’re gone won’t be you in any way.’ ‘They’ll be happy, won’t they? From time to time? For their own strange reasons?’ ‘Yes. But—’ ‘That’s all I am, now. That’s all that defines me. So when they’re happy, they’ll be me.’