Asimov's Science Fiction: September 2013 by Penny Publications Read Free Book Online Page B

first served. If you want to come, please make your way to the copying booths."
    I walked to Veronica's seat. "Would you like to be first, lovely lady in the audience?"
    I shepherded Veronica through the booth, with contradictory emotions: anguish at creating an incarnation of her who'd live so brief ly, and relief that she'd agreed to it. I'd created this entire performance to test Veronica's attitude to copying.
    The audience's new copies followed signs to the waiting shuttle. "Move along, please," I called out. "We don't want to keep Death waiting."
    As the originals returned to their seats, I addressed the auditorium for the final time. "I'm afraid I won't be staying with you, because I never create copies of myself. After all, my escapes wouldn't be very impressive if I used backup copies. I'm the one and only version of me: if I fail to escape from the black hole, then I die forever. Wish me luck!"
    In the front row, the original Veronica blew me a kiss.
    "I'll be back—I hope—but in the meantime I'll leave you in the capable hands of my compère. Enjoy the rest of the show."
    I followed all the copies into the shuttle, and guided them to their seats. "Last chance to change your mind," I said teasingly, as I closed the hatch behind me. Then I pulled the release lever. The ship juddered as it undocked from the auditorium and started falling.
    This shuttle was much smaller than the luxurious spaceship in which the audience had arrived. The cabin contained seventy seats, all crammed together. Forcef ields throbbed in thick metal walls. There was only a short one-way journey ahead, and I wanted to create a sense of cramped discomfort. It's not enough to simply escape: it must also feel like a struggle. Half of showmanship is crafting the right ambience.
    The shuttle's nose-cone was transparent, showing us the inferno ahead. The accretion disc flared brighter with every nugget it swallowed. I had sculpted the in falling debris into shapes resembling my rivals and their signature props. Here fell an asteroid looking like old Perplexo with his billowing cape; there fell the twin castles of Flabber and Gast; and between them plummeted Miraclissimo, holding a strangely phallic wand. All these enormous caricatures were distorted in blatant mockery, and all fell to their doom—the doom from which only I would escape.
    I'd enjoyed crafting these absurd eff igies. Rivalry gave spice to our performances, as we strove to outdo each other. My fellow escapologists would be watching their eff igies fall and burn up. Some of them would already be preparing their revenges....
    The prospect of sabotage intoxicated me. I knew what to expect from the black hole, but I had no inkling how my rivals might interfere. I would have to rely on my wits, and my large stock of weaponry. The danger made me feel acutely alive.
    I reveled in the sensation. This was my life: the thrill of competition, making each new stunt harder than the last. And the joy of living in Cockaigne was that it enabled such escalation, with no limit upon performances other than your own imagination. Want a black hole? Here's one! It wouldn't be utopia if you couldn't have any props you wanted.
    The external barrage of X-rays and gamma rays manifested as a cacophonous hiss blaring from speakers all around the cabin. It was the music of annihilation. I'd crafted the noise with a teeth-grating whine to put everyone on edge. I wanted the passengers to become unsettled and nervous. They were all going to die, but emotionally they didn't yet grasp that. I had to make them feel it, and bring them to the pitch of terror and delight.
    "If you have any last regrets, start contemplating them now," I said. "It will take us seven minutes to reach the accretion disc. That's the purple glow you can see. We're falling faster all the while, pulled by the hole's unstoppable gravity. Once we plunge into the halo, it will only take another three minutes to reach the event horizon—the point