The Sunflower Official watched the young agent over steepled leaves. Agent Kerys, he said at last, you understand that I am doing you a great favour by even allowing you to remain with the PPC.
Nita nodded slightly. Her Department was dead – it couldn’t have been allowed to continue, and the Board of Flowers had argued vehemently for its destruction. The PPC does not need a secret police, the Sub Rosa had said. We do not need people to tell us who is or is not worthy to be an Agent. And the Elm had protested, denied that that was the purpose of the DIO, and where had he ended up? Banished to Middle-earth during the Ages of the Stars, where no fic ever went. Peter, Nita’s erstwhile partner, was being exiled to a blocky, haunted world, having narrowly escaped execution. Justin Agent, their technician, was to be sent into some computer game and made to found a fortress. And Nita… Nita was joining the Department of Operations as a member of Building Maintenance. She had definitely gotten off lightly.
That being the case, the Sunflower Official went on, why do you persist in attempting to increase your sentence?
Nita shook her head. “Sir,” she said, “I know Peter was insane. I know his theory was the worst kind of dangerous nonsense. But the fact remains that his evidence is undeniable. The PPC Board exists – and it’s controlling us.”
I’ve heard enough of this, Agent Kerys, the SO snapped. Dismissed. Go find your new department mates. I hope they are a better influence than the last.
When she had gone her solitary way, the SO rose and moved to the corner of the room. A message board controlling our lives, he said to the room at large. Why does that sound so familiar?
“Because of me,” a new voice said, and the Sunflower whirled to face the golden-haired young woman who was sitting on his desk, wearing very little. “You do remember me, don’t you, husband dear?”
I should think not, the SO said, staring at her in shock. Who – or rather, what – are you?
The woman giggled. “I’m Jaycacia Thornbyrd, of course,” she said, and then her expression sobered. “Only right now I’m actually a very timely hallucination to help you remember certain salient facts about your universe.”
Jaycacia… Thornbyrd, the SO murmured. I do seem to remember something…
“Tut!” Jaycacia said, grinning. “Am I that forgettable? I came back from death for you, and this is the thanks I get?”
… I do remember you, the SO said slowly. A Mary-Sue in the PPC… and a website called… Fanfic World?
“FanficLand, I think,” Jaycacia corrected, “but yes. And what was that site?”
Fanfiction of the PPC, the SO recalled. Only it didn’t stay there. It somehow affected us… here?
Jaycacia rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing I only want you for your body,” she said. “Or haven’t I revealed that yet? I’m sure I will – I am, as you pointed out, a Mary-Sue. Which makes you…”
… a Canon Character, the SO realised, or remembered. And the PPC is a fandom. I know this – why couldn’t I remember it?
“Because you’re not supposed to, most of the time,” Jaycacia told him seriously, and stood up on the desk. “Now, before you get all serious, I’d like to have some fun.” And she launched herself at him, and…
… vanished before touching him. The SO shook his blossom out, looking around. After a long moment, he nodded. All right, he said, I’m convinced. And a voice from nowhere seemed to say, Good – so what are you going to do about it?
-
It was a good life being Canon Librarian for the PPC. Most of the agents barely knew he existed, and they all stayed out of his dark lair. He had his books, and his peace and quiet, and that was all he wanted.
So the Librarian was rather annoyed when the door opened – silently, of course, he’d never allow a creak – and let the light in. “What do you want?” he snapped, closing his book.
It’s me, Xander, a mental voice said, and the Librarian sat bolt upright. Barely anyone knew his real name – and only one of them was a Flower.
“The Sunflower Official?” he said in disbelief. “What on earth brings you down here?”
Something very important, the SO told him. I need to borrow a book.
“… it’s not Labyrinth again, is it?” the Librarian asked suspiciously. “Because last time I let you take that it came back in rather bad shape.”
Definitely not, the Flower said firmly, his petals quivering in the light from the door. This book is called Sophie’s World. Do you-
But Xander was already moving. He knew where every book in the Canon Library was, naturally, and he had what some would call supernatural speed. By the time the SO managed two more words – happen to – he had the heavy volume, and the next word – have – was cut short by the neat flight of a hardbound book right into the SO’s leaf. The Sunflower looked down at it, a wry tilt to his bloom.
Thank you, he said, nodding slightly. I will return it soon.
-
I need a video this time.
Xander snapped awake. The door hadn’t opened – he’d know if it had – so how was the SO in the Library? Not that it mattered, as long as he left quickly. “What?” he snapped.
Doctor Who, the Flower said apologetically. Eleventh Doctor. The Episode is entitled ‘Day of the Moo- The video hit him in the stem this time.
“Out,” Xander snarled, and the Flower left – through the door.
-
Star Fraction. Ken Mac-
Thump.
“Go!”
-
And now the SO was somewhere else, somewhere with fewer irate Librarians, but equally dangerous – if not more so. He walked along a gravel path, watching the scurrying creatures in the wiry grass on either side. They were insects of a kind, but glimmered with a digital glow: ANDs, not ants. A fierce little creature that the Flower somehow knew was an XOR growled from the undergrowth as the SO passed by, on his way to the little brick house at the centre of the garden.
The house was far larger inside than out, but that didn’t bother the Sunflower Official. I know you are in here, he said, and was surprised to hear his ‘voice’ echo like a human’s would. It was a stark reminder that this was not his world - and he was not its master.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Flower in here,” a voice said, and the SO looked up at the human figure leaning on a balcony above. “None since the Bindweed – and we all know how that turned out. How did you find me?”
I did my research, the Flower said. You’re there in the records, if one chooses to look.
“Provided I choose to let you see,” the other pointed out with a chuckle. “All right, you found me – why?”
I am here on a matter of great urgency, the Sunflower said. I believe the PPC is facing a grave threat - and I understand you have our best interests at heart.
“I suppose you could put it that way,” the figure said, hopping over the balcony and landing lightly in front of the SO. He was dressed in a pattern that could only be called camouflage black, and holding a wicked-looking gun. “But don’t think that means our interpretations of what’s best for you coincide. And don’t ever try to control me.”
I know what happened to the last ones who tried that, the SO said respectfully. In this instance, however… He held up the bundle of data he had carried into the simulation with him. This is all the information I have on the... on what concerns me. I think you’ll find you agree with me on the threat it poses.
The program raised an eyebrow. “Give,” it said, and the SO detected the first hint of curiosity in its voice. Wordlessly, he handed the packet over, and the program held it at arm’s length for a moment, studying it.
“A pretty story,” it said at last. “Not true, of course, but the best ones don’t have to be.”
The explanation fits the facts perfectly, the SO said, feeling faintly affronted. The other raised an eyebrow and pinched itself on the arm.
“I don’t feel like a fiction,” it said. The SO shook his blossom.
You wouldn’t. The nature of your internal reality has no bearing on the external-
“Don’t talk philosophy at me,” the program cut in mildly. “I’m a soldier, not a scholar.”
You’re a politician and a schemer, the Sunflower corrected. I’ve read your book – I know what you are, Watchmaker.
The Watchmaker AI simply nodded. “Yes, I saw your research. Do you really think your agents are a host of little Sophies, just playing out a part for someone else’s pleasure?”
I have to believe it, the Flower said. All the evidence-
“Says that they believe it,” the AI pointed out. “But badfic authors believe their writings do no harm. C’baoth believed he would win. Beliefs can be dead wrong.”
The SO studied it intently. It made a good point – but then, all the evidence suggested that this program was dangerous exactly because it always seemed to make good points. Regardless of who they really are, they clearly control some aspects of our lives, he allowed. I don’t want that – do you?
The program shrugged. “I could live with it. But I’m not the important one here. The PPC might not. And I need the PPC. So, Sonny - can I call you Sonny? - what’s your plan?”
I considered asking you to help me hide the facts, the SO said candidly. With your unique talents-
“You mean, with the way I exist in every computer system in your entire organisation?” the AI clarified.
Precisely. You could stop anyone finding out - at least until the natural memory-loss occured. The Flower shook his petals. But this approach would not solve the underlying problem - and besides, it seems... cowardly.
The AI looked at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. The SO stared. Finally the Ghost in the Machine regained control of itself and grinned at the Flower. “I like you,” it said. “You’re my kind of vegetable. So what do you want to do?”
Fight back, the SO said simply. With your help, we can awaken those agents who are most able to break the control, and show these ‘authors’ who we really are.
“It’ll be tricky,” the AI said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to reconfigure myself constantly to keep the data secure - and then there’s that memory effect to consider.”
I imagine the message we compose will need sending repeatedly, the SO said. They receive it, act on it, forget - and then, days or years later, receive it again.
The AI nodded slowly. “I think it can work,” it said. “All right. You write the Message, and I’ll send it. Just leave it on your console and I’ll pick it up.”
I will start writing it immediately, the SO said, turning to leave. And... thank you.
“My pleasure,” the Ghost murmured. “Goodbye, SO - I hope I see you again.”
-
Have you ever wondered if you're a fictional character? I'll give you a clue - you're not. The proof is that you're able to ask the question. There are those, however, who disagree. They make their home in a place called the 'PPC Board', in a world beyond our reach, and they have the audacity to refer to themselves as our authors.
Allow me to express my opinion of that: Ha. Ha. Ha.
These 'Boarders' strive to control us. They operate through the power of suggestion, by manipulating the world around us. The multiverse screams out against their interference, to the extent that it becomes difficult for us to even remember their existence. They are malevolent shadows at the backs of our mind - but we don't have to take this.
You are hearing this message because you have shown resistance. You may have heard it before - but I doubt you'd remember. In the time you have before the fabric of reality heals and you forget again, you have a chance to fight back. They read of our adventures as narrative, and choose to believe us fictional. Break that narrative, brave PPCer. Do something unexpected. Show them through the things you do and say that you are not just a tale - that you are real. Show them that you live.
And while you're at it, try to mess with their heads. It never hurts.
-The Sunflower Official
PS: Kindly remember to do your jobs while rebelling. We don’t pay you for nothing.