The Hikari Paradox

Enter: Kasparov Grid I

A whirlwind of thoughts plunged Konstantin into a delirious state. He turned around, the dog’s bark a distant echo, encircling him in waves of sound, like two orchestras playing asynchronous tunes. A stereo assault of his new eardrums, which seemed far more sensitive to external stimuli than his old ones, the thin membrane an excitable surface. The blue fireflies of the scattered memory chips danced on the lens of his mind, drawing weird patterns, their light leaving trails of conjecture in a network of jumbled connections. He felt like an annex to life, a strange element somehow walking on a parallel line with reality and materiality. A dissociative state, as if the real Konstantin, the one back in Petersburg was still there, concomitant with the Germanic Konstantin, and his old body was summoning him home. Reality felt alien, a wronged mistress who was now expelling him from her bedchambers, not through the door, but through the window; and her beautiful penthouse was at the top of the tallest building ever erected.

Darkness crept in, and he felt gravity pulling him indiscriminately to the floor. Light then filled his vision, and a sensation of weightlessness, as if the mass of his body had disappeared, settled in. Floating through ether, he stopped on top of a hard surface, polished black, a floor suspended in the middle of nothingness. Vibration ascended from within, the beating of his heart forcing the body into a quivering state. He was a propelled particle, waiting for collision, the splintering impact with something on the other side; a silhouette of some sort, shaking at the other end of the platform.

His body split: first in two, then four, eight, sixteen. Sixteen Konstantins now stood in circle, eyeing each other, mirroring movements like children playing the imitation game. Shockingly, he realized his nakedness, and felt ashamed, his hands rushing to cover his privates. He was in his old body, the thin, aristocratic frame of a Easterner, his perfect skin stretching on his sixteen bodies. It was a rejuvenating sight, to look around and see fifteen him. After all, who could have been a better counsellor for himself if not… more of himself?

The board below shivered sonorously, its solid state being challenged by some external phenomenon. The jet black shifted, as a layer of white transparency fell on top of it, drawing a checkered model. Eight squares times eight, perfect synchronicity, black/white/black/white – a chessboard of the void. Light engulfed his sixteen avatars, a soothing textured sensation caressing his skin. From the other side of the chess board, sixteen other figures started glowing. Unmistakably, that was his opponent for the day, an otherworldly Kasparov figure. Clothes and armor formed around his body, and eight Konstantins, now dressed in chainmail, were abruptly teleported on the seventh row on the board.

A strange figure appeared from thin air, wearing the clothes of a fool, and using a cane he started pushing the Konstantin pawns, making sure their feet were perfectly in line.

“Tch! It’s as if you have no etiquette, enlightened! I thought your kind was supposed to be well-mannered, but I guess I was wrong,” the buffoon said, his green lips twitching. “Time to check the other one!”

The air of the nonspace pulsed around him, and he warped on the other side of the board, proceeding to torment the pawns of white with his absurd etiquette demands.

The pieces once in place, Konstantin’s perception rejoined wholeness, as he only saw from the perspective of the King. Glancing left, he chuckled at his Queen’s attire. He had never tried crossdressing, but he had to admit that a Victorian dress fitted his body charmingly.

“Le rouge et le noir,” the Konstantin Queen said, bowing courteously, as her pompous dress overflowed on the sides. “I will protect my king with all my might!”

He tried to compliment his gallant anima, but was interrupted by the buffoon’s piercing shriek.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have gathered here today… Oh… wait! There’s nobody here. Why isn’t there an audience? We need an audience people! How can I properly flabbergast uneducated sheep with my marvelous oratory if there is no audience?”

He paced around in circles, switching between the four central squares, tapping his cane against the board.

“This is madness! This… this is preposterous! I will not witness such disgrace in front of our absent audience, so gentlemen… suit yourselves and sort out your existential conflict without me. Tch! This is the worst mind-chess I’ve ever seen,” the buffoon spat in disgust, vanishing from the scene.

A sound like the gentle flap of wings caught Konstantin’s attention. He looked behind, where now a huge curtain laid, as black as the depth of the unknown cosmos. With a hum, the curtain flared up, a grandiose image of King Konstantin, jeweled crown stylishly placed on his head, appeared. There were no drones around, no dragonfly cams, yet his face still appeared as clear as a spring day, wonderfully portrayed in all its beauty. On the other side of the board, a similar screen materialized, displaying the face on his new body.

“I’ll have my body back, intruder,” Franz said calmly, fine lines adorning his somewhat oxen face. “I don’t understand how this has happened, but I don’t like watching and hearing you talking about my body and mind, so I’ll have it back.”

“This is a most curious dream,” Konstantin said to his Queen. She nodded, the golden locket around her neck clinking. “I’d have made quite a pretty woman, don’t you think?”

“Indeed, you would have,” Queen Konstantin whispered, displaying a lordly smile.

“Listen to me, you self-entitled prick, I’ll have you out of my body, you hear me?” King Franz said, as the Franz-pawns bashed their swords against shields. “So what if I am a drone line worker, huh? Does that make me a lesser being? If I’m not as rich and pretty and cosmetically altered such as yourself, then am I inferior? I’ll show you who’s inferior once I pluck you out of my body with my bare hands!”

“Actually, mister Kaffman, I think we are to play a game of chess, not to participate in a bare-knuckle boxing match. Though, looking at you, I think the match would have indeed suited you better.”

The face on the screen reddened, and the German’s broad forehead darkened. He eyed King Konstantin and bit his lip, eyes almost tearing up. It was a very realistic and entertaining dream, save for the whole chess masquerade and the randomness of events that had followed his descent into the dream state. Of course, the haphazardness of it all provided immeasurable amusement, but it had no relation with realism or coherence.

“I’ll have you know, mister Kaffman, that I have never played this primitive game. I’d say it’s rather beneath me, considering the marvels of today’s brain trainings, so I don’t think I’ll have any difficulties in showing you the superiority of a post-cortex in this pseudo-intellectual setting we find ourselves in.”

Franz squeezed his scepter, the skin on his fingers catching a tint of ghastly white.

“I haven’t played it either, but I don’t think it can be that hard. I need you out of my head, so I’ll definitely win,” he growled. “How do I move myself on this board?”

“I think you’re supposed to mentally switch to the piece you want to move, and then… move it,” Konstantin replied, a satisfied smirk brightening his visage.

Konstantin was the king of black. Even if his knowledge about chess was limited, he at least knew that white was the opener, so he carefully assessed the board, waiting for Franz to make his move. Tapping into his mind, he realized that the oneiric state had been kind to him. It was all there, like fresh rain after a drought, ready to bless and rejuvenate the wasteland he had become. The post-cortex, alive, beating like a heart, a whirlwind of electricity and connections, conjectures worthy of the gods; the stigmata of the evolved.

The combinations were limitless and cross-referencing was useless. In that neutral state, as much as he wished it, there was no projection to be made, save for the final outcome of the game. He was going to win, no matter what, because he had been born a winner. Firstly, the genetic lottery had favored him, bringing him into the world with a quality that was offered to less than 0.2% people. Secondly, his upbringing had been more than optimal, it had been outright flourishing, as his family, homo-sapiens as they were, had the mental capacity to comprehend what sort of being they were raising.

“I’ve opened, you arrogant scum,” Franz said, his German sounding grim. “Your move.”

A pawn… two squares forward, D2 to D4. A bold move, perhaps emotional, at least in Konstantin’s perspective. To open as such, exposing the king, could mean only two things. Either Franz was a chess master, or he was stupid. And judging by the looks and manners of the man, the latter seemed to be more truthful.

“Why are you so keen on taking me out?” Konstantin asked, meditating on the amazing dream-control his new brain displayed. “As far as I see it, you’ve just received an upgrade, so you should be thankful to whomever may guide your belief system, because they have blessed you.”