In a distant future humanity achieved such a level of technological advancement it was able to breach the borders of three-dimensional reality and move to the multiverses of multidimensions. But some of us were too afraid to move on. So, they stayed...
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So, he was standing in the doorway. Launcher manager. The light from the hall framed his bald head and sparse hairs, which seemed to want to break away and fly into the black hole outside the window. I've been replacing him for how long? About 800 years? God, how do I remember.
We live in a social eon, so it is quite difficult to find a job. Nobody gets fired. But if you have found, for your good fortune, some dusty place occupied by artificial intelligence, you can safely claim it. All the work will still be done by AI, officially you. But if this place is occupied by an immortal... Anyway, I've just lost my job.
"Here's a letter for you," he said, and took a glowing piece of paper out of his raincoat pocket.
My insides turned cold.
"No..." I began, but the letter flew out of his hand and immediately ended up in mine.
"I'm sorry, I know what it's like, I guess..."
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But I didn't hear his meaningless apologies. I was jerked somewhere through space and time. Before my eyes, or maybe not in front of them at all, the particles of my imprint flew into the toilet of eternity, and with them the planets, stars and clouds of interstellar gas. Someone took a drag on us like a good cigar, and then blew this smoke through my nostrils, and I found myself in a large stone hall with a ceiling that went somewhere into the dark void.
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