Luckily for me—or maybe a little unluckily—I'd programmed my machine to jerk me back to 'reality' after six hours. The artist Chad had a pretty good life, but I didn't know about retiring there. I fixed the bug, but it gave me an idea.
I'd been lucky so far, but jumping into other realities without a clue as to how to get along there was dangerous. The first time at bat, I'd ended up in a post-apocalyptic dystopia. I could've used
that
Chad's skillset.
So—to condense even more work, almost insultingly so, as if you didn't appreciate me 'fixing the bug' enough in the first place—I figured out a way to somewhat duplicate what had happened in the error. My consciousness would get into the other Chads, but I wouldn't retain my muscle memory. Instead, that subconscious accumulation of skills in their bodies would apply to me as well. If I leapt into a gunslinger, I would be as good with guns as him. If I leapt into a poker player—well, how much would it apply? Would I know the rules of poker? Would I have all this insight into probability and psychology, but no idea how to apply it?
And I was also curious about how far the machine could go. So far, I'd asked it comparatively simple things. All things being equal, what were the odds that instead of being a Hollywood actress, Scarlet Johansson would be a supermarket check-out girl? Pretty good, I'd say. After all, so many aspiring actresses never got their big break, there must've been an infinite—well, a
more
infinite variety of universes where she was
anything
but a celebrity.
So the mere fact that we were both American put us in each other's orbit, so to speak. I wondered what would happen if I asked the machine for someone really out there. It was a flip of the coin that ScarJo and I might've ended up moving to the same town—but what were the odds that I would go to Korea, or a Korean would come here?
It helped that, while breaking from modifying the machine, I'd seen pictures of Oh In-Hye's famous dress and become slightly obsessed. You know the one—the Korean actress with stupendous breasts, shown off on top, on bottom, and on the sides by an orange dress that basically left her bare from the waist up, except for shoulder straps and flaps of fabric that draped themselves over her nipples—not much else. It seemed virtually impossible for there to be any circumstances where me and a woman halfway across the world—make that fully across the world—would ever meet.
A suitable challenge for my machine's 2.0.
I set the coordinates and booted it up...
***
Chad heard someone speaking to him in Mandarin.
He looked around in shock. He surely wasn't in Kansas anymore—the buildings were of the famous Asian style, with multiple pagodas and shrines replacing the architecture he knew. Despite that, the lay-out and scenery of the area was the same as the town he knew—there were trees in the same places, boulders, the roads were laid out the same. Even the cars were mostly the same, the auto industry being what it was.
He turned about to face the man addressing him and was shocked again, twice this time. First, that he could understand the Mandarin as clearly as English—score one for the machine. And second, that he was being addressed by a white man, but with his hair cut in the chonmage style and wearing a sort of samurai armor. Ceremonial, certainly, but it was strangely modernized—done in olive-drab colors, and with medals set into the metal at certain junctures.
"Cadet Chad, are you ready to make your school and your teacher proud?"
"I guess," Chad said, too shocked by the fact that he was speaking Mandarin to be too articulate in it. What was
up
with this Sliders bullshit, he wondered? Was it a world where Japanese imperialism—or possibly a Chinese dynasty, or even the Mongol Horde—had conquered the world instead of the British Empire? Perhaps this was a world where Imperial Japan had won WW2, going on to defeat the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany when the Axis inevitably turned on each other, and then bringing its revived samurai culture to America?
He looked around again. In his own world, he would've been smackdab in the middle of a shopping outlet, but it had become the courtyard of what looked like a temple—one of those kung-fu academies like in every martial arts movie he'd ever seen. He noticed people milling about—a great many of them were Asian, though he noticed Hispanics, African-Americans (African-Chinese?), Caucasians... Maybe here, Asians were the majority—perhaps they'd been the ones to conquer the Native American tribes, leaving Caucasians just another minority immigrant group in the Americas.
So much for white privilege.
He faced his—sensei?—again. Whoever he was, the guy was scowling. Chad guessed that his alternate self wasn't such hot shit around here. What'd he been called—a cadet?
"This city has only been recently conquered from the Wu-Shan," his sensei said imperially, stroking a black goatee. "The locals are grateful, but there may yet be enemy agents among them. Accept whatever honors they bestow upon you to maintain good relations, but be wary of these recent initiates into the Que-Pai. Patrol with honor! Do your country proud!"
"Righto. I mean, sir, yes sir!" Chad cried, hoping that translated right into Mandarin. He wasn't really aware of speaking it, but he
could
hear it in a way. It was as unconscious as speaking in a high voice after taking a lungful of helium.
His sensei accepted the acknowledgment with a grunt. He pointed to a map on the wall. "Refamiliarize yourself with your patrol route! Do not deviate from it for any reason, unless you are acting in an official capacity!"
Chad checked it out, his weird mental universal translator turning the
Hiragana
into English—though the street names were still things like 'Flowing Pavement of Promise and Virtue' or 'A Thousand Steps of Comfortable Housing.' He was familiar enough with the area to get the idea. Sicario to Ranch Road to Peyton Boulevard and so on, one big circle that would take him back to the dojo.
"Now, choose your weapon!" the sensei ordered, gesturing to a weapons rack also on the wall.
"Don't I get any armor?" Chad asked, feeling he would be relying on that
way more
if he got into a fight.
His sensei glowered at him. "You are wearing it, Chad-san!"
Chad looked down. Oh yeah. He looked like Snake Eyes or something, wearing form-fitting ninja-esque garb with built-in body armor, all very light. He was a modern-day ninja! And while there were no katanas on the weapons rack—Chad guessed those were family heirlooms, personal weapons—there was a sweet-looking naginata. Chad picked it up and resisted the urge to take a few practice swings. But it was totally boss.
He almost saluted to his sensei, then gave him a bow instead. That at least seemed to mollify the guy. Then he set off on patrol—of a conquered enemy city in Japamerica.
Machine, you have not let me down.
***
The patrol would almost have been boring—it was quiet as hell. But the combination of the strange reflection on his own familiar surroundings and theorizing about just what had happened made Chad feel like a tourist at Disneyland. Even seeing a Coke machine in this new universe was a strange and exciting experience. Apparently, you could win a set of panties if you bought the tenth Coke in a row...
There were not many people on the streets. Most of them were Asian, so Chad took it his guess about racial demographics had been correct. Though given he was a samurai or something, he guessed the discrimination against
gaijin
had loosened somewhat.
Perhaps that was what had enabled, in this universe, the Japanese to be so successful. A loose imperialism, like ancient Rome had practiced—requiring conquered tribes to pay tribute and serve in their legions, but otherwise practicing acceptance or tolerance. But there was clearly some cultural hegemony going on. The place didn't seem big on Native American culture, after all. So maybe they were fine with foreigners and women so long as they followed the code of the samurai?
Scratch women-he didn't recall seeing any back at the dojo. The guys had gone to all the trouble of conquering the world and they'd recreated English prep schools. Shame.
"Soldier!" a woman called, jerking Chad out of his thoughts. On the next turn he was to take, there was a woman in a red qipao, the hem cut high on her thighs to show off her long legs. It was Oh In-Hye alright. Her cherubic face, her dollish hair, and a keyhole cut in her brocade showing off that famous cleavage.
If there was one thing Chad couldn't resist, it was a sure thing. "Hello—citizen," he said, drawing up to her.
"You are one of the Que-Pai, correct?" she asked. She was speaking slowly, taking her time to make sure what she said was right.
"Yeah, I'm the Que-Paiest."
"I was just wondering... what happens if I see one of your fellow soldiers doing something that isn't... moral?"
"You mean illegal?"
"I mean immoral."
Chad planted his naginata in the ground and leaned on it. "What are we talking about here?"
In-Hye whinged girlishly. "You must understand—the Wu-Shan were very bad to us. There are many women here who have either lost someone to them or been mistreated themselves. And now you come in... so handsome in your uniforms, so brave in liberating us... there are many grateful sisters and daughters!"
"Oh?" Chad asked, leaning a little harder on the naginata.
"Yes... they give your soldiers... release. I don't want to get anyone in trouble... but is this acceptable to the Que-Pai?"
"Oh yeah," Chad said. "Very acceptable. Totally acceptable. But... I don't think we're talking about your sister or your daughter."
In-Hye bit her lip. "My name is Oh In-Hye."
