Everything had changed. It was too much to hope that it might change back someday, and things be flat, square, smooth, black, like they were. It wasn’t clear that hoping for such a thing was right anymore. Everything had gone beyond what it used to be, like a sleeper who wakes after a hundred years and wants the world to be a dream. You can’t sleep back the old days, and you can’t return to bird’s eye simplicity when you’ve tasted the thrill of the side-scroller. This was a humble quest, Ms. Pac-Man knew, but it was one of almost unimaginable importance.

She cried often and secretly. She never let herself appear affected, either to her husband, or to her son, or to the invisible audience that she now knew more poignantly than before to be there. The only one she revealed her feelings to was Inky, but he was only there for brief minutes. He had not been called. For the first time, the ubiquitous blue ghost was the intruder.

Ms. Pac-Man’s saving grace was that she was seldom in the limelight, only a minor figure in the saga of her husband, there only to help him along the way. A part of her resented having been called at all for such a task, and wondered what kind of beings would place such seemingly infinite value on a creature such as he, while assigning her to the periphery. But a part of her enjoyed the knowledge of knowing that she was active and not forgotten, while still being able to see her ghostly lover from time to time. He took her bringing her fruit, which she ate decadently and slowly, although she knew deep down that she wasn’t hungry anymore.

Inky confided in her, on one of his furtive visits, that he felt insulted.

"It’s not only that he haven’t been called back. We’ve been replaced with cookie-cutter shadows of ourselves."

Ms. Pac-Man nodded. "The suggestion that those things are better than you would indeed rankle," she agreed.

"That’s not it. It’s the fact that they exist at all. We had believed ourselves to be the only ghosts there were. We were special. But these nameless, disposable ghosts have come along, and now we must ask ourselves: do our identities matter?"

"Yours does," she said with what came very close to being a kiss.

She longed more and more to leave the land created in her husband’s image, as she had been once, and return to the long black corridors in which she had lived all her life. She dared not try to leave at first, for fear of causing her husband to fail. But why? Was there still love for him in her heart? Did she see herself too faithfully in his featureless features?

She asked Inky when next he came to her little niche. He thought for a moment, and then said, "You aren’t used to failure."

This confused Ms. Pac-Man. "But--aren’t I? Didn’t I cause my son to lose one of his lives? Didn’t I fail to stay in love with my husband? He was supposed to be my perfect match. The way I see it--I’ve failed at the foolproof."

Inky did not blanche, nor did he shout, for it was no part of his nature to do so. He sat with her through those spacious hours--as quiet as the paths once were black--and explained to her his theory of how the world was ever branching into billions.

"How is it that you never once died when it was your turn to pick up the dots?" he asked.

"I was careful?" answered Ms. Pac-Man carefully.

"You did not die because it was possible, however unlikely, for you not to," said Inky.

"I don’t understand. It is possible that many things can happen," said she.

"And we should understand them as if they do," said he. "You died millions of times while traversing those mazes. Many of those deaths may even have been caused by me. But in those worlds where you died, there was no future. In the world where you first succeeded in your mission with no loss of life, fertile ground was sown, and a million other worlds took root."

"And only one of them will survive?"

"As far as we are meant to know," said Inky.

Ms. Pac-Man loved Inky’s thoughts as much as she loved him. She came to accept much of what he said. She also realized that she had no hope of leaving her husband’s quest unless she was willing to doom the worldline she would thus create to non-existence. If she left the structure of her world, whether involuntarily, as by a ghost’s touch, or voluntarily, all would be null from that point on.

"I do not wish to make this happen," said Ms. Pac-Man. "It is contrary to my nature."

"It is contrary to all nature," said Inky. "Yet it is in your power to do it nonetheless."

"But do you want me to do this?" she asked, near tears.

"I am but a humble servant of the existence in which I live. If I become part of a null worldline, I will accept my fate happily. If this is the choice you make, then, since I will no longer have the game to serve, I will devote all my attention to you."

Null? Perhaps a better word would be, "Unchaperoned."

She waited until her husband came to her again, looking for support in his quest. She smiled at him, and at the track outside he was meant to follow. It amused her now in a way it did not before, because it was all part of a vision that she felt would no longer be. Or at least, it would no longer matter in any way, and that made it more beautiful.

She wished him good luck, and studied his reaction with an academic interest. He seemed to think that he had somehow won her back. Wasn’t that just too beautiful?

Taking a deep breath, she turned herself downward. It was an unnatural facing for her, but moving so briskly through the levels of her son’s complex had reinvigorate this third dimension in her, and the illusion of three-dimensionality this latest quest possessed had awakened her fully to what she could do. She peered into the deep blackness and stared until she could make out the tunnels and bends in which she had lived her life before the new world had overlaid it. Closing her eyes, she let herself drop from one level of existence to another.

She didn’t dare to open her eyes at first. Her surroundings felt wrong, as if the world she had left behind had shriveled and become brittle. She didn’t want to learn that it had also started to fade.

But in time, she found herself at home again. She recognized the corridor she was in with her distance sense. It separated her husband’s original challenge from the field where she had been created. Her nursery. She moved toward it, and as she did, she opened her eyes.

It wasn’t the world that had changed. It was her. Her form had become blocky, even anthropomorphic, but now it was rapidly changing back to normal, and she was able to glide easily through the corridors once more. She did not feel lonely. She felt not as if she had been left behind, but like a pioneer, ready to colonize an empty and fruitful land.

And as for Inky’s theory?

It was impossible to say. There was no difference, so far as she could tell, between the times when no game was in progress and the experience of being abandoned altogether by the intelligence that governed them. If Inky’s theory was wrong, then let her never know it, she prayed! She would just as soon believe that she was rid of the higher power which had directed her life and that of her family, and that, miracle of miracles, the world still held together without it.

She knew that Inky would come soon. She did not mourn him, or any other thing. Ms. Pac-Man sought about here and there, in leftover levels and abandoned alleys, for one thing only--power pellets. She found them slowly, but the time seemed to fly, and in the end it turned out there were dozens and dozens that had been left behind, in one place or another, never swallowed. The question occurred to her: when those were gone, would there be any more? But she sent the question on its way again forthwith. It wasn’t a worry she intended to entertain.

Having at last decided that she knew the whereabouts of each and every remaining power pellet, Ms. Pac-Man committed them to memory, and then flew from location to location, working to minimize the tour. She took delight in imagining sprees amid the biggest lodes, flitting from this one to that one. She took care never to touch them, but came within a pixel’s breadth of them each, and floated back, and sighed.

She slept blissfully. She slept for a long time. When she woke, it was because someone was approaching. A ghost. And, to her surprise, this feeling was not a blissful one.

"Hello, Sue," she whispered to herself. Then she woke herself fully and left the corridor in which she had been sleeping. A flare of orange met her eyes as she turned the corner.

"Home-wrecker," Sue growled as she rushed forth. Ms. Pac-Man was so startled by the insult that she nearly forgot to turn and flee. Fortunately, Sue was alone, or she might been caught in a trap.

Their speeds were exactly even. What had happened to player’s advantage? Ms. Pac-Man wondered. Usually, the ghosts didn’t get so fast until--

Uh-oh--

Inky was right.

She understood. With no game to govern anyone’s relative speeds, the two females were evenly matched. And moreover, the caprice that had crimped Sue movements, her ineffable program, had vanished. Had she but a hair’s breadth of speed advantage, Ms Pac-Man could eventually lose her pursuer--but minutes of running proved that hope futile. The ghost was exactly three-and-a-half body lengths from Ms. Pac-Man, and that figure did not change.

Well, then, it was a good thing she knew where the power pellets were, wasn’t it?

She went for her own long-abandoned fortress. She knew it best of all. The tunnels still gave her a sense of exhilaration. It was wonderful to feel left become right, or top become bottom. And there were pellets as low as the fifth floor.

Sue’s mood grew grim as the fortress loomed. She said nothing more, but her growl became a constant thing, as if it were the hum of a new world order and Sue herself were its overlord.

They ascended the levels. There was no meandering around the early mazes. Both pursuer and pursuant knew their business. Ms. Pac-Man rose to the last of the three azure levels and went for the single pellet left in the upper right corner. She hesitated a moment before it, hoping that Sue would shy away. Ms. Pac-Man did not want to give up even one of her potential hugs with Inky if she could help it.

Sue gave no ground. Ms. Pac-Man swallowed the pellet.

To her astonishment, Sue did not turn, and she did not hesitate. She collided directly with Ms. Pac-Man, and was swallowed before either could blink.

Ms. Pac-Man stopped and watched. Sue’s eyes were cold and did not waver even as they were soaked away to Central Control.

It was in that instant that Ms. Pac-Man felt a clammy dread--and then it was replaced by a hint--no, more than a hint--a slice of that horrible despair that she had known well, not so long ago--Sue would not be belayed. She would come after her quarry. She was willing to be swallowed a thousand times; she would give chase. Since her speed was equal to Ms. Pac-Man, it was feasible to do so. Since she had nothing better to do, there would, it seemed, be no end.

And each time Ms. Pac-Man bought herself a few seconds of relief, it would cost her one precious lover’s embrace.

And worst of all, Sue knew it.

"Ha, eat them all up, you bow-headed vixen! Keeping chugging them down, and see where it gets you!! Yea-hah!"

Ms. Pac-Man moved up to the next level. When she came within eyeshot of the single power pellet there, she began to cry.

There was no more gobbling of power pellets after that. Soon, the chase became a thing eternal. Resting time was not measured in stillness any longer, but in motion. Whatever Ms. Pac-Man wanted to do, she had to do with Sue on her tail.

And she had nothing she wanted to do.

And then came Inky.

It was in one of her black periods. She had fled for so long, without rest, without sleep, that she could no longer think, except in tiny spurts, the energy for which she must save up over ever-longer periods. She had never known what would happen if she did not sleep, despite her curious nature. It had been one of those questions that could hold no useful wisdom. Now, she barely kept alive the spark of gladness that she did not die, and did not collapse over prolonged periods of flight--except on the inside.

And Sue? Sue’s reality was already warped. She no longer spent breath to rant, but her inner life was, no doubt, fundamentally unchanged.

What little reserves of conscious thought Ms. Pac-Man had built up were sapped involuntarily at the first flash of cyan. She spent her next several minutes dodging randomly, aimlessly, trying to remind herself of why what she had perceived was so important. When the recollection of her lover stood before her mind’s eye at last, whole, she swooned, a spinning hesitation that cost her a full body length’s lead. She heard a devious, albeit brief cackle from Sue’s winded throat.

Inky had not returned since the faint spell. Had he been so perceptive as to realize what a shock he had caused her? Yet, surely he knew that to see only a flash of him and then have to wait was thrice as bad as the giddy confusion from which she had just emerged! Where was he? She found herself tired anew, wondering how in the world she had managed to keep up such a pace for so long. Every turn she made exacerbated her longing, and she felt her determination slipping. Her place in eternity had been lost, and Sue had begun to gain.

And there he was again, and all was right. She rounded a square’s corner, he flew after her, and at the rear of the corridor came Sue’s voice: "Your being here means squat, traitor! I’ve always gone straight through you--and I will again!"

Inky’s reply was immediate and unyielding. "On the contrary. My presence renders your presence irrelevant."

"Non--nonsense!"

"I have no care whether my life is spent following my love. And ask her, if you will, whether she cares whether her life is spent fleeing from you."

Sue only growled, but Ms. Pac-Man volunteered an answer. "For your information, Sue, my energy is restored. And Inky is right. The terms of our universe are not for us to choose. We did not decide to live in two dimensions, amid square angles and round, glowing sustenance. We did not choose our forms, nor our families. Yet we live nonetheless, and if we are wise, we live without complaint. So my life henceforth is to be a circus of endless motion? So be it. I will not mourn my rested state, so long as I have Inky to travel with me."

Sue said nothing, but continued to pursue with mechanical precision.

Sixteen hours later, the ghost began to lose ground. She was taking the wrong turn at intersections for fractions of a second. Her eyes darted left and right, even in long corridors with blank walls. She started to jag between the walls now and then, losing half a body length or more each time. She began to hum ominously, a way of rationing her breath.

Four hours later, her speed began, very gradually, to fall.

An hour after that, without warning, she reversed course and fled. She was out of detection range in a matter of seconds. She had been too proud to fall where her quarry could see her.

Inky and Ms. Pac-Man came to a halt. They remained watchful at the branches of a junction, doubtful. Was she about to return? Was it a ruse?

Thirty minutes later, Ms. Pac-Man was in her home, sleeping, and Inky slowly traced a broad square path around her, her trusted sentry.

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