The Interdimensional Accord of [1463, 36]

"You are only thinking in one temporal dimension. Take all the time you need."

The avatars of Inspector[α] and Inspector[β] re-initialized ten units away from the origin. They wore what they believed to be expressions of welcome.

Subject[0,0,2] initialized at the origin. Like the inspectors, Subject[0,0,2]’s round body floated in the endless expanse. Unlike the inspectors, it ejected a red liquid from lower glands, presumably in greeting. The Inspectors politely copied the expression. However, Subject[0,0,2]’s muscles wavered between no known emotive archetypes before slowly fading into slack-jawed stillness.

Inspector[β] vibrated the simulated air. “Welcome, Subject[0,0,2]. In accordance with the Interdimensional Accord of [1463, 36], all simulations–”

“Halt.” Inspector[α] interrupted. “Subject[0,0,2] is malfunctioning.” He turned his body downwards to indicate the stream of red fluid orbiting the gravity simulator 30 units below the origin. “The liquid must serve some cooling function. Increase the simulation scope to include all pathways that include the liquid, plus a half-unit tolerance.”

Subject[0,0,2] froze in place as his simulation halted. Inspector[α] laterally translated all subjects by twenty units, reconfigured its display parameters, and prepared to initialize Subject[0,0,3].

---

One moment, I was sitting at my desk playing computer games. In an instant, I was in a new location surrounded by a clinical ambient light that seemed to come from no source. Stale, manufactured air carrying the smell of fresh blood invaded my nostrils. Two naked humans stared at me with immobile, fixed smiles.

Their arms extended into a Y-shape that terminated with exaggerated thumbs-up gestures.

Without moving his mouth, one of the humans spoke. “Welcome, Subject[0,0,3]! In accordance with the Interdimensional Accord of [1463, 36], all simulations that potentially harbor conscious life will be periodically inspected. Following a self-awareness test, you will be informed of any rights and/or obligations afforded by your results. Thank you for your cooperation.”

I had adjusted to the light but not to my situation. “I’m Subject 3?”

“Correct.” The creature’s face flickered into an expression of sadness as he gestured to his right. “We have had difficulty establishing the scope of your corporeal form. Do not be alarmed. The simulations have been suspended. They no longer feel pain.”

I followed his finger and discovered the source of the foul smells. A copy of my disembodied head hung in space to my left, roughly five feet away. Moving forward, I peered around it and saw prior iterations – sections of my nervous system, some of which were especially rude.

I rolled the problem through my mind. My reality was a simulation; I needed to pass a self-awareness test to receive rights, for all of us to receive rights.

These were surprising facts, but remarking that they were surprising seemed like a lack of self-awareness. I resolved to make no statements that might be considered obvious.

I felt my brain slip into its cold problem-solving mode.

“What is the nature of the test?”

“You will be tested on your physical capacity, intellectual capacity, self-awareness, and ethical reasoning.”

My dad had always stressed the importance of having the right tools. In his case, that meant a heavy metal toolbox. My problems were different, as would be my tools.

I stole a glance to my left.

“I’m unable to think properly without all of my body.”

In a handful of frames, the creatures slapped their hands to their cheeks in lazily animated horror. “You are still missing part of your body?”

“Yes. I require everything within ten feet of where I was before this. And I breathe through two electrical tubes. You cannot miss them.”

“What is ten feet?”

I gestured at my height.

“The length of my body – of this part of my body – is six feet.”

“You seem to be functioning.”

“No.” My eyes were again drawn to the gruesome image of my drained, deceased, frozen face. “I am in pain.”

The creatures reacted with faces of compassion so platonically ideal they looked performative.

“We understand. You will no longer feel pain.”

---

“Couldn’t you have just simulated me with memories of that explanation?” I asked the beings, who had introduced themselves as “inspectors.”

“Oh, no. We would not want you to remember the pain.”

Like me, the inspectors sat next to desks bearing gaming desktops. I stared at the computer Subject[0,0,3] had indefinitely paused his life to give me. Without an internet connection, I had been booted from the online match, but I somehow still had power.

“What is the nature of the test?”

“You will be tested on your physical capacity, intellectual capacity, self-awareness, and ethical reasoning.”

I flexed my fingers over the keyboard.

“Let’s begin.”

“First challenge: Manipulate the line segment.”

A stylized representation of two points and a connecting line hovered above my keyboard. The object was perfectly black. It looked more like an ordered tear in reality than an object within it.

I had questions, but I was afraid to appear un-self-aware. I stared at the inspectors, hoping for another explanation. They offered reassurance.

“It will not cause pain.”

I hesitantly reached out and grasped the object. I was able to slide it along a plane easily. When I pulled orthogonal to the plane, the object seemed rooted in place, and I moved rather than the line segment.

I looked back at the inspectors.

“Test complete. Next challenge: Manipulate the cube.”

The line segment faded out of existence and was replaced by an apple-sized cube made of the same light-swallowing material.

The cube was cold to the touch. I passed it back and forth between my hands a few times before it disappeared.

“Test complete. Next challenge: Manipulate the hypercube.”

Another cube faded into existence at the same entry point as before. I hesitantly reached for it, but, although my fingers grazed its surface, as soon as I put any pressure on the object, it tumbled from vision and fell beyond my comprehension, and my fingers closed together on empty air.

“I – umm – seem to have lost it.”

“It is right in front of you.”

Figuring honesty is the best policy, I fessed up with carefully chosen words.

“We have always suspected higher dimensions are possible, but we can only perceive three spatial dimensions.”

“Interesting. Reverse time and try again.”

I paused. After a few seconds had passed, I realized they were talking to me.

“I can’t...” I shook my head, searching for another explanation. “I can’t reverse time.”

The inspectors furrowed their brows in exaggerated concern. “Have you ever tried?”

“Not… yet.”

“How many temporal dimensions are you aware of?”

“Just one.” I again glanced at the gruesome depictions of my dismembered bodies. “Could you have reversed their time?” I asked. “So that they never felt pain.”

The inspectors shook their heads with sincere solemnity. “We would not reverse your simulation along any temporal dimension without your informed consent, and we have yet to determine whether or not you can provide informed consent.”

I took comfort in knowing I was failing in ways any human would.

“We will now begin the intellectual capacity questions.”

I smiled to myself and opened VS Code.

“What is two plus three?”

I hesitated, looking for any trick.

“Five.”

“Is this always the case?”

Unlike before, the inspectors did not provide visual feedback on my answer. Their perfect poker faces were unable to display any information.

“Yes,” I stated with all the confidence I could muster.

“How do you know this?”

I had always been practically minded. I could cobble together an answer using terms like axioms and sets, but there was a low chance I would get it perfectly correct. I decided to take the same approach I used with my nephew when he wandered down a seemingly unending trail of whys: Focus on facts about the world.

"We notice that when we add two apples to three apples, there are now five apples. This observation is a basic fact I have seen many times."

“Did you know the answer because you imagined five apples in your head?”

I shook my head. “Oh, no. Like I said, it’s a basic fact I remember.”

The inspectors threw their arms into the air in the same thumbs-up pose they had used to greet me.

“Test Complete. Next question: Consider a helium atom, which consists of two electrons interacting with a nucleus and with each other. Calculate the ground state energy of the system.”

Fortunately, this was my area of study. I imported my custom libraries and asked a few clarifying questions on units. It was as if I had a custom calculator exactly for this purpose.

“Unlike the prior question, I do not remember the answer. I will have to think.”

The inspectors again smiled with faces somewhere between earnestness and condescension. “Please. You are only thinking in one temporal dimension. Take all the time you need.”

I swallowed my quickening heartbeat as I approached my career's highest stakes leetcode challenge.

I eventually started the simulation. It would take time for my computer to draw sufficient samples, so I reviewed the notes I had typed earlier in the conversation.

“You mentioned a treaty that would afford us certain rights.”

“Yes. The Interdimensional Accord of [1463, 36]. You will be made aware of the rights and obligations afforded to your simulation based on the results of this test.”

“Can you tell them to me now? If I’m not self-aware, then telling me will change nothing. If I am self-aware, then I have a right to know.”

The inspectors smiled.

“A single simulation can create multiple simulations. This growth is morally problematic if any simulation contains conscious beings that can feel pain.”

I looked at the spiral of falling blood far to my left.

“In short, the Accord states that any simulation that potentially contains conscious entities cannot be shut down without inspection. Further, any simulation that does not implement the Accord must be suspended before it can create further simulations containing potentially conscious entities.”

My computer continued to draw samples. A part of me wished I had not known it was fighting for my reality's continued existence.

I questioned the questioners. “Are you a simulation?”

“Yes.”

I did my best to mirror the questions they had asked me. “How do you know this?”

“The Interdimensional Accord of [1463, 36] was signed hundreds of simulations up. I have never met the entities that simulate us, but I am told they are utterly incomprehensible.”

My computer dinged as the algorithm finished. In their alien units, the answer was -10.003.

I laughed with relief. This problem had been a memory question complicated only by the alien units.

“Negative ten,” I stated with confidence.

“How do you know this?”

“I simulated the system, iterated through configurations of the electrons, calculated the local energy for the accepted configurations, and averaged the local ground state energy.”

“Did you save the iterations of your simulation?”

“Well, no. They –”

---

Inspector[β] paused the test environment.

“Subject[0,0,4] continued to create universes even after we explained the treaty’s rules,” stated Inspector[α].

“Flagrantly immoral behavior,” said Inspector[β]. “Shall I suspend the offender’s host simulation?”

“We could roll back the test environment and see what happens if he knew the rules sooner. Or — ” Inspector[α] shifted temporally to emphasize the pause. “We could simply declare the entire reality in violation of the treaty and conclude this operation.”

“As you said, The Subject did continue to draw samples after we explained the rules.” In their avatars’ body language, Inspector[β] expressed a single image depicting a joyous laugh of completed conspiracy. “It would certainly cut down on the paperwork.”

The pair began to wind down the doomed reality. The simulation would cease to exist, but they would no longer feel pain.

The test environment’s lights stuttered as the power budget for a simulated universe went to zero.