Cherie waved goodbye to Abe and Marilyn as they exited the Atelier Cafe, located in the heart of the Eiffel Tower, and nowhere at all. The bell on the door jingled twice as Cherie swiped at the counter with a dish rag, powering it down for the day.
A moment later, the doorbell jingled again. Cherie looked up, frowning. A teenage girl entered. She was of slim build, with shiny, straight brown hair. She wore a blue-and-gray argyle cardigan paired with a poofy, leopard-print skirt. A pair of oversized black steel-toed hiking boots completed the ensemble, along with stacks of colorful bracelets and necklaces that jangled and chimed as she moved.
She paused just inside the doorway, looking around the dim, empty diner. It was a small room, ten-by-ten, with three round tables that each had a pair of chairs perched under them. The tablecloths were blue gingham, and each table had a small vase of spring flowers in the middle of it along with a sugar shaker and a little cup of toothpicks. The counter took up one entire wall, with a swinging door that supposedly led to a kitchen but actually led to nowhere. "Are you open?" the girl asked, doubtfully.
Cherie hesitated, and then smiled warmly. "We just closed, but I haven't powered down the coffee maker yet," she said. That was a lie, but a simple clockwise swipe at the counter powered everything up again, including the lights and music.
The girl smiled. "Is that Taylor Swift?" she asked.
Cherie nodded. She was a Swiftie. Ninety percent of the music in her cafe was just musical versions of Taylor Swift songs done with full orchestra. As the girl approached the counter, this version of "I Know Places" hit a single harp glissando while soft timpani rolled beneath delicate, tiptoeing violin notes and a low clarinet hum.
"What is this place?" she asked. "And was that Abe Lincoln and Marilyn Monroe I saw outside?"
This girl was full of surprises. First of all, nobody aside from Abe and Marilyn entered or exited through the door. They were summoned by Cherie and just appeared at whichever table she wanted them at. Cherie had not summoned this girl. Second, the girl was surprised but not shocked at seeing two dead human celebrities leaving the establishment, dressed as a waitress and a busboy. Third, she hadn't blinked when the lights and music had come on, as though by magic.
"It's a liminal space," Cherie answered.
"A liminal space," the girl said. "What's that?" She paused, then before Cheri could answer added, "I wanted a place that doesn't really exist in a specific time or place, where I could just think for as long as I needed to," she said. "Is that what a liminal space is?"
"Close enough," Cherie said. "How did you get here?"
"Lush," the girl answered, simply. She gestured toward her ears, where two gold studs gleamed in her ears. "I've had them since I was a baby, and if I think of a place I want to be, I can just go there."
"Neat," Cherie said. What the girl called 'lush' was a collection of microscopic psychic supercomputers that clung together like magnets. They responded to thought and could be manipulated like clay. They could take on the properties of anything from living flowers to plastic building blocks to cooked food. Lush's entire cafe was made of lush. She used it to call people to her from other worlds, but she'd never imagined using it to take her to other places. Then again, as an agoraphobe, of course she wouldn't.
The girl grinned. "It used to freak my mom out. She just thought that I was magical because she adopted me from a mermaid and mermaids don't exist in our world -- I mean, they're supposed to be mythical." She glanced down. "I was born with legs and no gills, so my birth mom couldn't take care of me." The girl shot her hand out. "Sorry, I'm Aura. And you're Cherie?"
For a moment, Cherie was taken aback again. Had the girl's earrings told her that? No, Cherie's nametag had. Cherie mentally rolled her eyes at herself before shaking the girl's -- Aura's hand. "Nice to meet you," she said. She couldn't remember the last time she'd ever meant a word of that polite phrase, but this girl was...different. Interesting. Uninvited, but not unwanted.
Cherie had never had anyone come to the cafe of their own volition, and she never realized how lonely it was to always choose her company, but never be chosen as company. Then again, Aura had come, looking for a place to think, not for Cherie, specifically. She eyed the girl. "Were you looking for a place to be alone?" she asked.
Aura blinked, and thought. "I guess I hadn't imagined being able to talk to anyone about this, so I wasn't imagining anyone." She frowned. "You're not AI, are you? You don't seem like -- I mean, I've only met one avatar, but you seem more --"
Cherie took advantage of Aura's awkward pause long enough to answer. "I'm human. I'm from the only universe whose technology ever advanced enough to create what you call lush."
Aura's eyes grew wide. "Wow. What was the difference between your universe and the rest of them?"
Cherie hesitated. "Do you know anything about communism?"
Aura shrugged. "Just that you have to stand in line for bread."
Cherie laughed. "Yeah, that's what I thought. So, in a nutshell, communism is the idea that the world is better when people work together, share resources, and everyone has enough to live comfortably. A lot of politicians like to pretend to be communists and end up being fascists, where the rich have the most and the poor don't even have what they need.
Anyway, on my world, everyone is equally valuable, so everyone grows up with adequate food, shelter, clothing, and access to education. And since there are no such things as patents or copyrights, everyone has the ability to build on technology that already exists. So, a society that values education and innovation, where every single person in the population who has the potential to create great art or technological advancements, can."
Aura looked impressed. "I'd be interested to visit that world." She tugged at an earlobe, blinked and focused back on Cherie. She looked shy. "If that's okay?"
Cherie laughed. "We don't get many visitors, but yes. We like sharing our knowledge with people from other universes. We're pretty proud of it. Back when the supercomputers were newer, we shared them with neighboring universes, but it ended up being another type of currency and threatened to cause so much more oppression than would be there naturally. We --" she paused and grinned. "I say we like that includes me, but this was thousands of years before I was born -- anyway, people in my world ended up creating facilities one each version of Earth for hundreds of universes, where an AI avatar could determine when the knowledge of lush would be beneficial to the people there, and in those cases, reveal it to the population."
Aura thought for a moment. "That makes sense. The avatar that I met -- her name is Lush -- she lives in a giant underwater mountain." She paused, frowning. Then she sighed, heavily. "I wonder if that's why she sent me to you. I have a decision to make."
Cherie was surprised. "How could I help?"
Aura sighed heavily again. Her golden tiger eyes were clouded with worry or weariness. Or both. "My world in one-of-a-kind, too, but in a bad way," she said, sadly. "According to Lush, there are many universes where bad people get a hold of lush but my world is the only one that is about to be blown apart."
"Whoa. What do you mean?"
Aura scrubbed at her face with her hands and then leaned heavily on the counter. Immediately, a stool popped up next to her. She looked at it for a moment, bemused, and then sat down. Elbows on the counter, chin resting on one hand, she was quiet for another moment. Then she took a deep breath. "In my universe, there are four really evil people who are hoarding lush, drilling down into the Earth so that they can cause a rupture that will cause the Earth to split into four mini planets." She shook her head, as though she couldn't believe how stupid the concept was to her.
Cherie had to agree. "What? What about the atmosphere? Amongst other things...."
Aura nodded, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Exactly!" She shook her head. "But that's what they want to do. They think that there will be enough lush for each mini planet to maintain its own atmosphere, but they're all idiots!" She broke off, breathing hard, her face pinkening with disgust. "They've calculated all wrong. There's not enough lush create an atmosphere for each small planet. Also, there are people living where they want to create the cracks through the entire Earth, but they call it 'acceptable losses' --" here, she used her fingers to create air quotes, "because it's all people they don't know or care about. Not to mention the affect on merpeople, who they don't even know about and other aquatic life and a million other things they haven't even thought of!"
She stood and paced the small cafe, chairs and tables moving out of her ways so that she could stalk in peace. She didn't even notice. She took a scrunchie out of the pocket of her sweater, and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Then she took the ponytail out, smoothed her hair, and tried again. After three attempts, she seemed satisfied, and her frantic pacing slowed down. She returned to the counter, hopped up on the stool, and then plopped her forehead down onto the counter.
Cherie watched all of this, bemused. She'd had no idea that there was a universe in this dire of a situation. This would definitely be something the people back home would know about, but she hadn't been in contact for hundreds of years. They'd only ask her about the novel. She pulled up her own stool and sat, watching the girl. She wanted to help, but she had no idea how. Why would an AI avatar have sent the girl here?
Aura's shoulders moved with each breath, and once her breathing had slowed enough, she took one deep breath, pulled herself up, and then propped herself up again, elbows on the counter. She looked so helpless, that Cherie wanted to give the girl a hug.
"Is there anything that can be done?" Cherie asked.
"Yes," Aura said, glumly. "That's the worst part." She dropped her arms and her head returned to the counter.
Cherie stared at the girl for a moment, non-plussed. Then she remembered that she ran a cafe. Something -- lush, as Aura called it -- told her that the girl was a hot chocolate connoisseur, so Cherie mentally ordered the girl one in a large mug, specific to the girl's tastes with just a hint of cinnamon and topped with a fluffy layer of whipped cream (and sprinkles). Then she divined the girl's untapped taste for cheese cherry danishes, and pulled a fresh, warm one out of the toaster oven. She set the food and drink in front of the girl. The dishes would keep them at the perfect temperature, so the girl could take her time.
When the girl raised her head again, she looked so miserable that Cherie had to wonder what she was being called upon to do that could possibly be so bad. Then, she had to smile as the girl, distracted from her misery by the unexpected treats took a sip of the hot chocolate and closed her eyes, worry melting away into an expression of pure bliss.
Cherie had grown up in a world where lush was plentiful. She'd never eaten a bad meal or worn a piece of clothing that made her too hot or too cold. She'd never slept in a bed too hard or too soft. And she'd never felt unappreciative of these facts, but she'd never felt appreciative of them, either. Until she'd come to the cafe and met people from other worlds. They didn't even know to be horrified by the worlds they came from, by the discomfort and indignity that greed had built for them.
After she finished her treats, Aura stared at nothing for a while, then she seemed to return to her body. She looked at Cherie. "According to Lush, mine is the only universe where this is an issue. Which is a good thing because the solution -- her solution --" she paused, as though wanting to make sure Cherie knew that the solution wasn't Aura's idea. When Cherie nodded, again bemused, Aura continued. "Is to pull all of the lush that exists from every world, including her origin universe -- and yours, I guess," she added, looking guilty. "Your world would be able to replenish, over time, obviously, because you know how to make the lush," she added hastily. She averted her gaze. "But all of the existing lush would be gone, to keep the mini planets from becoming space junk."
Cherie considered the implication of Aura's words. At first, it didn't sound so bad. Lush was a luxury, not a necessity. Expecially in her universe, where the denizens hadn't destroyed the ozone and created a trash heap out of every ocean, it would still be hospitable. She wondered how it would affect other worlds? Even ones that didn't know about lush still had lush floating around; its AI avatar monitoring and quietly helping when it wouldn't risk detection.
She tried to imagine thousands of universes scraped of all of the small pieces of comfort and safety that lush provided. It would be interesting to see how that would change the people who would come into the cafe. And then, like a bolt of lightening that lasted a million years, Cherie realized that there would be no more cafe. She'd have to return home, a failure. The novel unwritten, and aside from a few pathetic attempts, not even really started. Her family's kind acceptance -- her gorge rose, and she had to choke down her fury at what she was being robbed of.
All of the sudden, she hated the sweet, anxious face of the teenage sitting across from her. She wanted to reach back into the girl's stomach and retrieve every particle of the perfect hot chocolate, every crumb and morsel of the pastry. She wanted to shove the girl out of the door of her cafe, out of existence. She hated the girl more than she'd ever hated another person. This girl had just stolen everything from her, and from the look on her face, she knew it. And she hadn't done it to just Cherie, she'd done it to everyone who'd ever come to rely on lush in any capacity.
"That's the decision you have to make?" Cherie said. Her voice was cold and sounded like it was coming from miles away. She could feel her lips moving, but hadn't intended to speak. "Whether to save your universe or make every other universe slightly worse?" She couldn't even feel her lips anymore. "Doesn't seem like much of a question."
Aura looked like she wished she could disappear. Which was funny, because her wishing was what had brought her here in the first place. The absurdity of the thought snapped Cherie back to herself. Of course the girl had to save her universe. Cherie's stupid novel, the human lives that had already been sacrificed in justification of it, it was never going to happen, wouldn't have happened if Cherie had stayed here for another thousand years. Cherie had always been a fraud. And, of course, the fate of every single human on an entire planet was more important than Cherie's hobby. It was an easy choice. She didn't understand why Aura was agonizing over it, unless there was something Cherie didn't know.
But Aura seemed to be at a loss for words. Cherie realized that she'd stood, knocking her stool over. She righted it, and sat back down. She tried not to think about losing the cafe, having to return home. She focused on the girl. "What am I missing?" she asked, her voice shaken, but warmer than before. She waited.
"I don't think you understand," Aura said, staring at the countertop. "Lush takes up 0.00000002% of the Earth's crust give or take tiny percentages depending on which universe it's in. Your world would be the most impacted, initially, because pretty much everything is made by lush, and even if we only took the excess -- lush created but not in current use -- your world would recover in about six months."
Cherie relaxed. She felt bad about her earlier temper flare. "What about the other worlds? Your world?"
Aura nodded gravely, still contemplating the veining of the granite in front of her. "My world would rely entirely on lush to keep the mini-planets together, so there would be no excess, but in a way, we'd be luckier than most. The surrounding universes would all deal with a pollution crisis. Some worlds will recover, some will have sped up climate change to disastrous degrees."
What Aura wasn't saying was the Cherie's world was as close to a communistic utopia as was capable of sustaining itself while keeping in mind that people will people. There was probably the same percentage of greedy people on Cherie's home world as Aura's, but they were not the loudest or most powerful part of the population. The reason Cherie's world would recover quickly had to do with the sense of cooperation that its citizens had ingrained and encouraged within them. Pollution had never been a problem in Cherie's world, other than as a theoretical future that was to be avoided.
Universes similar to Cherie's would recover the most quickly, universes closer to Auras would likely never recover. That meant that removing lush was essentially dooming billions of people to die prematurely, being born to a less livable environment, or not being born at all -- and that was across an untold thousands of universes.
"So," Cherie said slowly, digesting this information. "No immediate deaths, but an immediate and devastating loss of quality of life, and irrecoverable impact on the entire population."
Aura looked up and nodded. A hint of relief edged at the devastation on her face. She was still faced with a terrible choice, but no longer alone. It was unfair, the weight of the decision on this girl's shoulders. No matter what she chose, she would be causing annihilation. Except that, no she wasn't. The girl's choice wasn't who to destroy, it was who to save. She hadn't created this situation. Hadn't hoarded lush for her own means, hadn't chosen her own power and greed over the lives of billions across world after world after world.
"My world," she said, sorrow making her voice slow and deep, "is the only one that actually chooses to destroy itself. So, does it deserve to live?"
She asked Cherie as though Cherie could answer that. "But your world didn't choose that, did it?" she asked. "A few assholes on your world did."
Aura's eyes widened at the language, but after a moment, she nodded. "And it was really close in other universes," she said, almost hopefully. "And I'd want to help those worlds if they were the ones --" she broke off, sighing.
"Do you want to duel?"
Aura cocked her head like a curious kitten.
"Like, sword fight," Cherie said, waving her arms in a parody of swashbuckling. She thought at a pile of raw lush under the counter and pulled out two swords.
Aura stood, stepping back, eyes wide. "What?" She recovered, quickly, laughing. "Why?"
Cherie, glad to have snapped the girl out of her lethargy, slid one sword across the counter. "Well," she said, "I don't want to give up my cafe for six months, so I'll fight you for it. If I win, your planet explodes and everyone dies." She ignored the girl's flinch. "And if you win, you get to save your dumb little mini planets."
Aura frowned at the sword and then at Cheri. "But --"
"You're not trying to decide what to do," Cherie said, almost harshly. "You're here to be absolved of deciding. So, pick up your sword and be absolved."
Aura looked hurt, then thoughtful. Then, her cat eyes glimmered with sudden humor. "Alright," she said, letting the weight of decision slide off of her shoulders. She reached for the sword, measured it's weight, and stepped back a few paces so that Cheri could join her.
Cherie, surprised, realized that this wouldn't be the girl's first sword fight. She mentally shrugged. It wouldn't be hers either. Cherie held the sword, letting her fingers curl around the hilt, feeling the weight, feeling the history of motion it carried. She was calm, almost eerily so, but inside, her blood was buzzing. This wasn’t a friendly duel, not really. If she did it right, it would be a true test, forcing Aura to put some commitment behind the choice she'd already made before stepping foot into her cafe.
