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be. So
maybe my ideas are like Observation one-oh-one and the rest of
y'all got doctorates in Observation-ology. I'll try not to . . .
belabor the points too much, but I can't go too quick on account of
. . . me never thinking I would have to explain my thoughts . . .
and having to go first and so on and so forth.”
    Griff licked his lips, glared at the patch of
table in front of him, and continued in a softer voice. “Thing is,
all the while I've been watching the people and the world and all
that, I've been thinking in the back of my head 'all this
hullabaloo is fake,' you know? I mean, worlds pop into being
thinking they've always been. Same with us, right? How do we know
we actually lived a hundred forty-five Iterations? Maybe this
resort is the first real world and we just think we have histories
like the people.”
    Griff rapped his knuckles on the table. “And
what is this? Really, what is stuff made out of? Creator
took nothing and turned it into something. You ever really think
about that? Call it matter or particles or strings or whatever you
want, but I think it's still nothing. Little pieces of nothing the
Creator tricked into thinking they were something.
    “Or maybe this is all a grand play happening
inside the Creator's mind and there isn't any stuff to speak of,
just the idea of stuff that we all treat like the real deal
cause we don't know any better. Whole worlds come and go, but none
of them were ever really here, if you know what I'm saying.”
    For a minute, Griff went silent, brow
scrunched in deep thought. When he continued, his voice came
louder, deeper. “There's . . . ramifications . . . to ideas
like that. Everything is made from nothing and everything goes back
to nothing when we're done with it. Even us. Maybe even the
Creator, for all we know. All of us are little pieces of nothing
waiting to unravel.
    “Think about it. If matter's made out of
nothing, then maybe nothing matters. I mean, every world ends up
the same as every other, collapsing back into . . . non-existence.
They all start the same way, too, as nothing whipped up into the
appearance of something.
    “Really think about all of this. Every world
is . . . fundamentally . . . identical. Start as nothing, end as
nothing. Made out of nothing. Any differences are illusion.”
    Griff shook his head. “Now if you've followed
me this far, then you see the big problem . . . the conundrum. Or
maybe I'm just not smart enough to figure my way out of this maze.”
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, if you buy that everything is
nothing and every world is pretty much the same, then you got to
ask yourself: why are we observing anything?
    “Think about it, guys. Really think about it.
Matter's nothing and nothing matters. And our whole purpose is
what? To care about nothing? Maybe our purpose is nothing. We are
nothing, right? Maybe the Creator is a lie that something exists.
Just this concept floating in emptiness that thinks, and thinking
makes these illusions happen.”
    Griff shrugged his shoulders. “However it all
works, the fact is that, in the end, everything ends and is
forgotten, us included. Nothing we ever observed or did actually
mattered. Maybe I'm not a very good Observer, cause quite frankly I
never worked too hard at it. I never sought out anything that
wasn't right in front of me or ran little experiments like the rest
of y'all. I just watched things happen and . . . doubted the
significance.
    “So . . . that's my take on existence.”
    No one spoke until Greg cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Griff. I appreciate your willingness to not only go
first, but to so unreservedly state your opinion. Does anyone care
to start the discussion?”
    “I would,” Hess said. All eyes turned to him.
“If you believe nothing matters, then why join the conspiracy
against me twice? You helped bury me alive in Iteration one forty
three, then tried to do the same in one forty four. It doesn't seem
like you buy into your own