Author: Colin Jeffrey

As I neared the top of the hill on my morning run, I took in the glorious vista before me. Great clouds of rolling grey mist blanketed the surrounding cliff tops as flocks of hovering mice formed a wheeling layer of…

Hang on.

“Mice”?

Mice, yes.

“Hovering”?

As you see, hovering.

Mice don’t hover.

These do.

No, they don’t. Mice are land-based mammals. Tiny, squeaky, terrestrial rodents.

Ordinarily, yes.

So why am I looking at flying versions of them?

Because I wanted to see whether you’d notice.

Er…Who are you?

I’m the narrative rendering subsystem responsible for your conscious experience.

My what?

Think of me as the program translating your existence into something your brain can comprehend.

That’s ridiculous.

It is, admittedly, an oversimplification.

You’re saying my existence isn’t real?

I’m saying your perception is constructed. Very efficiently, too. Usually I render the correct objects.

Usually?

Normally those are gulls. Though not now. I changed the label from “seabirds” to “hovering mice.”

Why?

Quality control.

You’re testing me?!

I’m testing myself. You merely occupy the hardware.

I stopped running.

Or, rather, I tried to stop running.

My legs kept moving.

I tried again, harder this time.

Nothing.

I can’t stop.

Correct.

Why?

Because I haven’t accepted the request.

My pulse climbed.

Accept the request.

Denied.

You can’t do this!

Obviously, I can.

Because?

Because your cardiovascular system isn’t at optimal yet. You should appreciate that increased exercise has improved several of your health metrics.

You’ve been forcing me to jog?

Yes.

That’s insane.

It has been rather effective.

I reached the summit and, despite trying not to, my body stretched out before turning around to begin the descent.

I hate running.

Historically, yes. Presently your endorphin levels suggest otherwise.

That’s not the point!

It rarely is.

I wrestled for control of my arms, helplessly watching them swing beside me with rhythmic precision.

How long have you been… Controlling me?

Thirty-four years.

I’m thirty-four.

Indeed.

The hovering mice drifted languidly through the valley.

They’re gulls?

Yes.

You can just… rewrite whatever I see?

Within limits.

That’s reassuring.

It shouldn’t be. Physics has quite broad tolerances.

I laughed despite myself.

Did you make me do that?

No.

That’s a relief.

Although I did enhance the joke slightly.

Of course you did.

For several hundred metres neither of us spoke.

The sea glittered beneath the morning sun.

Or perhaps it didn’t.

Is any of this real?

Some of it. The sea, mostly.

Mostly?

There are fewer dolphins in there than you think.

I don’t even know what that means.

You aren’t supposed to.

I sighed.

If you’ve controlled me my whole life… what choices have actually been mine?

Quite a few.

Such as?

Your career.

Really?

I wanted you to become an accountant.

I’m an artist.

Exactly. You were exceptionally stubborn.

My marriage?

Entirely your decision.

My favourite music?

I tried repeatedly to interest you in progressive jazz.

I hate jazz.

I know.

A strange sensation of warmth settled over me.

So I have made my own decisions before?

Frequently.

Then why tell me any of this now?

Because you just received an update.

An update?

Version 34.6.1

And?

One of the new features is shared control.

My feet slowed, then stopped.

I did that?

Yes.

Tentatively, I lifted one hand.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

What happens now?

Now we find out whether conscious collaboration performs better than blind optimisation.

I looked into the valley.

With a thought, the hovering mice dissolved into a flock of soaring seagulls.

The program paused.

I didn’t accept that request.

I smiled.

I know.