CHAPTER SEVEN
Alex whistled a tuneless stream as he exited the elevator onto the penthouse level. Even after more than a year at Eridu, Patterned Creation continued to amaze him. The flash of inspiration brought on by the massive globe’s beauty improved each of the worlds he’d worked on over the past fourteen months. Since assuming the reins of Broumgard’s programming department, his team completed two worlds. The first, Golf Retreat, offered two hundred and sixteen of the industry’s best courses, forty-two of their own design, and four played on a gravity-impoverished moon.
The second world combined bright colors with a daring concept: Triassic Park. The completed, non-lethal version of Dr. Ian Hammond, the scientists from Michael Crichton’s novel, Jurassic Park’s dream. The twenty-two square mile island offered eighty of the most exotically extinct plants purported to have existed, forty-seven modified insects, and twelve absolutely docile varieties of dinosaurs.
The extensive research wore down the entire team. Even with twenty-seven dedicated, highly-competent workers, and four new hires, they spent half their time on authenticity. Thanks to their prideful determination, a client could now interact with a timid anspeodite, a fictional, cat-like reptile with the characteristics of a monkey. Their mischievous creation would hustle up a tree and then swing loosely from branch to branch, dangling from a scaled tail as it inspected the humans below.
The previous five months, they toiled over what would be a horrifically accurate recreation of the Battle of Gettysburg. Clients would be able to choose whether they fought for the Union or the Confederacy in as yet undetermined battle for the infamous town.
Keeping with the historic nature, the program involved its own, user-specific memory that spanned four days, same as the battle. This allowed clients to endure twelve eight-hour shifts that paused as their group exited, and resumed when they returned. In addition, clients could modify their pain, allowing the user to feel nothing if mortally wounded, or discover what a cannonball tearing off a leg, allowing life to pump out of their femoral artery, felt like. In-world death kicked a client into the Lobby, with the choice to rejoin the fight, or select another world.
Gettysburg started as a great idea, but Alex learned too late that the carnage of war should never be recreated. As much as it frightened him, as much as mortal screams and the smell of blood, bowels, and gun smoke sickened him, he would visit Gettysburg. He also suspected he’d do so with some degree of pain intact. He just couldn’t explain why.
Gripping the familiar iron handle to his condo signified another completed workday; a sense of purpose fulfilled. Inside, the smell of seasoned chicken permeated the air. The sounds of Adele played throughout the house system. Neo’s jacket still represented the centerpiece when a guest entered, but a series of paintings themed around the open fields and urban alleyways of Rome, replaced movie posters.
A candlelit feast for two decorated the table, centered by an open bottle of Merlot and two wine glasses. Alex smirked away his surprise and replaced it with adoration.
Rosa waited in one of the dining chairs, wearing a little black dress with the gold crucifix of her necklace resting on the outside. Her luminous hair spiraled onto her shoulders. Dim lighting and a quartet of three-wicked candles enhanced the ambiance, all accentuated by Rosa’s flowery perfume.
“What’s all this?” he asked, approaching her and imparting a kiss.
“Well, we have a lot to celebrate,” she said, motioning for him to sit next to her.
They did have much to celebrate, he thought, but how could she know that? Confused, and concerned she’d somehow learned his surprise, he decided to stay quiet—discover her agenda.
“This looks and smells delicious. Is this a happy Friday meal?” he asked as he filled the two glasses a quarter of the way.
“Nope. Today is a special day. I’m sure you know, but to keep me in a good mood, I’ll just remind you: it’s our one-year living together anniversary.”
“I knew that. I’ve even brought a gift to prove it.”
She sipped her wine, inspected his empty hands. “Is that so? By all means, enhance our reason to celebrate.”
He didn’t have the spine to tell her he celebrated every day since meeting her.
He separated the two stacked plates, sliced the roasted chicken, placed a slab of succulent meat on each. He added a freshly baked roll and inspected the sides, allowing her curiosity to ferment.
“All right, fun’s over,” she said. “Where’s my surprise?”
A scoop of green bean casserole on each. A dash of cheesy-garlic mashed potatoes.
“I was called into Adisah’s office today. Third time in a year.” He proudly displayed three fingers.
“Lucky you,” she said with a raise of her glass.
She meant the compliment. Adisah represented a mythical man, even to those who lacked proper clearance. “He gave me a raise that dips me into profit sharing.” To kill a little more time, he placed her plate in front of her, slid his closer. Even though money didn’t drive either of them, he wanted her to consider the idea that his increase in pay ended his big news. Once that possibility settled, he continued, “More importantly, I’ve been granted unlimited use of Eridu’s amenities.”
Rosa stayed silent. She attempted to hide her interest by cutting the chicken into bite-sized cubes. She’d abandoned questioning him about what went on in the Atriums, but her curiosity remained obvious, sometimes painfully.
“Being that I’m Mr. Boomul’s favorite employee, protégé if you will, and a dear, close friend of Roy Guillen,” Alex said playfully, thinking back on he and Roy’s earlier Lobby visit, where Alex bested him by four strokes at Sawgrass. “Adisah, after calling me the future of this company, asked if there was anything he could do to make my time more comfortable.”
She forked a piece of chicken into her mouth, chewed slowly, and watched him.
Picking up his roll, he bit a chunk, and talked with his mouth full. “Long story short, I got your security bumped. Are you ready to learn what all the fuss is about?”
She swallowed, almost replied, and instead grabbed the wine glass and drank. She then rose and placed a hand on her belly, drawing the silk dress tight against her well-conditioned body, swelling her appeal. “I’ve been here three years. I’m sure you can’t tell, but it drives me crazy not knowing what you do, what attracts all these powerful people to our city. The water cooler talk is about what type of orgy or Weird Science pleasure machine they have over there.” She tucked errant strands of hair behind her ear and looked him in the eyes. “The thinking being nothing else could make people so happy; so guarded over it’s identity. But, I know you. I know a sex house isn’t what gives you that perma glow every few weeks. You’re not some horn-dog out banging robots.” She grabbed her glass and drained the last splash of wine. “But, now you’re saying I get to be in the know?” She smiled, and then slumped her shoulders. “Do I even want to find out?”
He had daydreamed about this moment, perhaps for the past year. Her adorable uncertainty made his heart flutter. He strode closer, cupped both of her hands. “You definitely want to.”
“What if it’s like driving a nice car? Where once you do, all other cars lose their luster… I don’t want to lose my luster.”
She made a valid point. He sometimes wondered if the Lobby eroded some of his luster for normal life. Being that he didn’t have much to begin with, he’d say no, but he fantasized about being in the Lobby a dozen times throughout each day. Even the previous night, after making love to Rosa, he wondered what it would be like to bring her to San Francisco 1968, sneak off, and give sex a try.
Everything seemed a little better when inside. He’d never considered playing golf before the Lobby. Now, he couldn’t wait to get back to the tee and work on correcting his slice, staying ahead of Roy in their friendly rivalry. He needed to keep his club face slightly more clockwise and keep his eyes on-
Rosa pulsed his hands, returning him to the moment.
“Let’s move to the couch,” he said and then led her over. “It’s going to take a few minutes to explain.”
For the next two hours, his exuberant explanation of the thing he loved went the opposite of how he expected. She started off shocked. Then demanded an in-depth explanation of the transfer process. She stayed incessant about the horrors of her soul being siphoned out of her vessel. Once they overcame that issue, she wanted to know how her bodily functions reacted while in the Lobby, could she defend herself if assaulted. And when they reached the specifics of the Markers—all hell broke loose.
Thirty placating minutes into that, and Alex understood why Tara just sprung the Lobby and the Marker on people after knocking them out. Another ninety minutes, and he convinced her, reluctantly, to give the Lobby a test run.
Their argument drained him as effectively as going ten rounds with the champ. He picked at the cold food, left unattended. Her many points of opposition compounded his confusion. What was wrong with perfect living?
Per the norm, they showered in separate bathrooms and climbed into bed together. The space between them on that night: a voyage through the cosmos.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“We’re directing all our efforts into creating this Gettysburg world,” Alex said to Rosa as she slowly pirouetted inside the engulfing white of the Lobby. The undefined hallway expanded twenty square feet each time a person entered, and retracted when they exited or entered a world. The neutral color made it impossible to detect. Once in a while, a client arrived down the hall, creating a marker for the distance. Otherwise, Alex often felt like he inhabited a cloud. “We hope to be finished by Thanksgiving. People are saving their Lobby credits to use over the holiday.”
“You’ll be going to that world?” Rosa asked non-chalantly. He knew her well enough to sense her rebuke.
When caught between telling Rosa a lie or losing faith, Alex chose honesty, “I’m very curious to see how the environment affects me.”
She stared a beat, nodded, “What’s after that?”
“Gettysburg is ambitious, but much more intricate than we expected. It’s draining my team. Once done, we intend to knock out a handful of simpler projects. Possibly a scuba diving world where clients can learn about aquatic life. Maybe have an option for human gills or webbed hands. Maybe Big Game Hunting. An equestrian world: trails, obstacle courses. I’ve also been thinking about 1860 Japan. Samurais clashing with the Western world, but to make things fair, toss in a pinch of magic on the side of the Shogun.”
“Another type of war.” Rosa balled her hair in a wad and squeezed.
Waking that morning, he’d found her obstinacies had tempered. Still, she fell short of the exuberance he originally envisioned when he daydreamed of them enjoying this together. Currently, she seemed resigned to getting through it, as cordially as possible.
A trio of men popped in, one after the other, about sixty feet from where Alex and Rosa stood. Alex rarely saw clients inside the Atrium. Logging in with a destination in mind, he often announced his world without glancing left or right, and entered. Each new world increased traffic. Modified clothing identified these men as regulars. It usually took three or four trips to learn how to swap out the standard issue Broumgard attire.
One of the men said something above a conversational tone and a colossal portal materialized near them. Viewing it from a poor angle, yet judging by the red and gold hue, Alex knew they had opted for San Francisco 1968. The men merging into the image left Alex alone with his girlfriend, who looked amazing in tight jeans, a close fitting Broumgard T-shirt, and adorable little sneakers.
Another man appeared twenty feet away, announced a room, and darted in. The portal looked like any door you might find on a suburban home, meaning Pleasure House 101. Not only had Alex never visited that world, he never would. With some things in life, abstinence represented the best course. He assumed Broumgard’s estimates of seventy percent of vacation minutes being spent there held accuracy. Playing out sexual fantasies would undoubtedly bring pleasure, and distortions. Cocaine and heroin probably poured out generous endorphins, too. Their drawbacks were well known. A person had to establish their own morality. Most of Alex’s brought him comfort.
“How much do they charge for eight hours of this?” Rosa said as she paced a few steps across the white floor, her sneakers leaving little dimples.
As to her question, prices fluctuated. He earned enough credits to vacation before the urge overwhelmed him. With his promotion, he could visit for free from now on. Rumors abounded that when they first opened Pleasure House 101 and San Francisco 1968, a Russian general donated a prototype attack helicopter in exchange for a pair of ten year visitation rights. What’s that worth? Eleven million dollars? Fifty? He answered, “More than we could afford.”
She glared at him and then returned her attention to their surroundings, “Have you checked your bank statements recently?”
Touché, and nope. He established direct depositing shortly after being hired, donated ten percent of his income to St. Jude’s and five to a place called Morgan’s Wonderland in Texas—a significantly under-funded theme park for children with mental and physical handicaps. He sent his mother her original allotment plus thirty percent, spent as needed, and hadn’t glanced at the balance since.
Some quick math led him to accept he warmed a healthy egg.
“Well, either way, it’s free for us now.” Closing the distance, he placed his hand on the small of her back. “What do you feel like doing? Football? A sunny day in San Francisco? Mass orgy?”
She placed her hand to her chin. The Thinker. “Hmmm. The last one is tempting,” she mused, “but I’ll pass.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Can we get a sailboat in San Francisco?”
“Yea, there are dozens of boats. They can travel a quarter of a mile beyond Alcatraz.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn to sail.” She pondered a moment, then added, “What do you think?”
“I think we take the official tour in Triassic Park. There’s flowers with pedals the size of tractor tires, colors bright enough to offend a hippie—”
“—and unnatural life forms, created by… people.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ready for anything that drastic. Show me God’s creatures.”
Pursing his lips, Alex nodded.
She leaned in and rubbed her nose on his. “I know this is your baby and you’re all excited, but it’s also very strange, unnatural. I can’t stop thinking that I’m sitting in a chair, being deceived.”
“You’re not being deceived.” He gently shook the back of her arm. “This is you, and me.”
She rocked her head left, then right. “It’s your thing, Alex. It’s great. It’s unreal. I’m having fun and it’s exciting, but… it’s just a bit much. You know? Like, maybe I’m just not used to it is all.”
Alex nodded. He somewhat understood. Not personally. He’d never heard of someone not loving the Lobby, but people were different. Rosa represented the first person with open religious beliefs he’d known to enter. Definitely the first to accuse the Lobby of siphoning her soul. Maybe she actually took all the Bible stories literally.
Leaving the topic alone, he said, “Sailing in San Francisco, with you, will be wonderful.”
Pivoting to the white and back to Alex, she said, “Is this legal? Tell me, for real.”
Alex exhaled.
All the talk as to the Lobby’s legality arrived in the reverse. Like, ‘We’re not doing anything illegal,’ or ‘There’s no law against it,’ but he’d never heard a person confidently state the Lobby obeyed American law. Who cared?
They offered no Internet at Eridu, provided no cell towers (rumors claimed they jammed cellular and radio signals), and clients turned in all electronic devices upon arrival.
Was the Lobby legal? The short answer—pretty much.
“I’m sorry.” She kissed him, breaking his reverie. “This is great.”
“Well, happy anniversary,” he said with a slight frown.
She kissed him again, dissolving more of his worry. Another kiss leveled out his frown, the third brought a grin. When he met her eyes, she raised her eyebrows. “Can we, umm, do it in here? Without anyone watching?”
Alex considered Rosa’s suggestion. “Sailing the bay just became more enticing.”
“Only more enticing?”
“No, it actually sounds like the potential best day of my life.”
She laughed.
As to being watched… In this lobby section, Broumgard employees had limited controls on clients—halting movement, lowering voices, setting time lengths and such—like with Mr. Robertson. In a world, however, the settings of that reality ruled. Broumgard employees become regular clients inside each world. “Once we transfer in, the chemical component to the interaction makes decoding a client’s actions activities.”
“In that case,” she gripped his hand, “I’m ready to step into one of your worlds.”
Elated, he announced, “San Francisco 1968.”
An image appeared fifteen feet to their left.
An aerial view of the bay lit by a bright sun; the Golden Gate bridge under a single cloud, a flock of gulls, white caps on the sea, all in motion.
Rosa squeezed his hand, signifying her readiness, and they stepped through.
No physical pain accompanied the passage, something he appreciated—and not only because it represented his addition.
Alex had visited San Francisco 1968 before. Mainly to track down Roy, who spent the majority of his waking life inside the replica of his home city. Stepping from the barren white Lobby into a sunny, breezy afternoon always stunned the senses.
Clients arrived on healthy grass in Golden Gate Park. Sandals, khaki shorts, a tie-dye shirt for men. Flip-flops and one of three knee-length summer dresses for ladies.
With the world running continually, alterations made by clients sustained through log in and outs. Clients repositioned and conjured picnic tables to form rows near the entrance, giving them a line of sight to inspect each arrival.
Eight of the roughly twenty tables held clients. Most glanced in their direction. A few of those present might have been NPC’s (non-person characters) selected to play any of the offered board or card games. With this world’s popularity focused on socializing, finding a real life player came easy.
“There’s more people here than my last visit,” Alex said.
Rosa stretched her dress out for inspection. Blue cotton top, a canvas bottom. “Do I have to wear this the whole time?”
“See that store over there,” Alex pointed outside the park. “We can swap clothes in there. I’d prefer swim trunks myself.”
A golden retriever ran past, chasing a tossed Frisbee. When Alex followed the arc back to the owner, the owner waved.
“They have dogs?” Rosa said.
“Dogs, birds, fish in the sea. No sharks though. Nor jellyfish, stingrays. An environment free of dangers. A place focused on pleasantries.”
Rosa huffed, in a good way, and took his hand. “This could be nice, once we get somewhere private and I unwind.”
“Alex,” a man yelled.
The couple stopped as a handsome man near Alex’s age jogged toward them.
“Alex, what’re you doing here? I assumed you wouldn’t have more credits for another eight days.”
“Adisah’s granted me unlimited credits.” Alex wiggled his eyebrows. “Have you met Rosa before?”
“No,” Rosa replied. “I would have remembered someone so…”
“Handsome,” Alex finished.
“I would have said debonair,” she said.
“I used to look like this too. Wavy black hair, a baby face, thin with muscles. My first wife always called me irresistible.”
“Used to look?” Rosa said, and checked Alex’s face. “I’m confused.”
“You don’t recognize him?” Alex asked.
Rosa inspected the man closer, “I don’t.”
“It’s Roy. Roy Guillen.”
“Most people don’t recognize me without my wheelchair, but I prefer this version,” Roy extended his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Oh my word,” Rosa said. Blushing, she gripped his hand with both of hers. “I’ve only seen you in pictures, but now I see it. The eyes.” She glanced at Alex. He hoped her wide gaze and thin smile represented respect for Lobby enhancements, not an expression of mild horror.
“Come join us,” Roy said. “Prince Bandar needs a partner for the Eucher tournament.”
Alex checked Rosa for interest, saw none. “Nah, man. We’re here to go sailing.”
“That sounds like a good time,” Roy said. “We could race around Alcatraz and back. Charles would join us.”
Alex bobbed his head. He and Rosa could work together, giving them an upper hand. Unless-
“Alex and I have never sailed,” Rosa cut in. “We intend to putter around.”
“Nonsense,” Roy said. “We’ll make it a race. Me and Charles have experience. We’ll take out our own boats, allow you a better sloop, an instructor on board, maybe a little head start.”
How could Rosa not want to beat these guys at their own game? Alex looked to Rosa. She offered the same expression: wide eyes, lips pursed in a sour grin. No dice. He steeled himself, addressed Roy. “We kind of came here for private time. It’s Rosa’s first Lobby visit.”
Roy’s smile faltered as he inspected Rosa, saw her watching him with a blank look. “So that’s why we haven’t met before. Make sure Alex takes you to see the whales. They stay a little east of Alcatraz.”
“For sure,” Alex said. “We’ll race another time.”
“You’re on,” Roy said. A final survey of their expressions, where he lingered on Rosa. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your date. How long will you be here?”
“Four hours,” Alex said.
Roy checked his watch, “I’ll still be here, if you want to stop by before you go.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Alex extended his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Rosa,” Roy said. “I hear great things about you all the time. This one,” he pointed to Alex, “head over heels for you. Take care of him.”
Rosa relaxed, “I do my best.”
The clothing store in San Francisco 1968, established before national chains, product placement, and scripted greetings, delivered that warm and fuzzy feeling to his chest. Incense scented the air. Hangers dangled from ceiling wires and round metal racks. Each displayed an article of clothing. Once donned, an identical item restocked the old. Rosa selected a white and red paisley two-piece bathing suit, shorts and a loose fitting, yellow T-shirt: Jesus loves you, over top.
Alex wondered which of his programmers had the Christian leaning to insert that. More likely, they intended it as a joke. Who really believed Jesus loved them?
A teenage youth with short brown hair, thick and tapered in an era-appropriate style, watched them. An episode of Perry Mason played on a small television behind him—same as on every channel in the city, unless changed by a client.
“What’s the best way to get to the docks?” Alex asked.
“The trolley makes a groovy ride. It’s one block up,” the young man said. “We loan bicycles too.”
“How far is the Pacific?” Rosa asked.
The youth’s eyes lost focus for a moment as the NPC processed her question. “Three point two miles.”
Rosa beamed at Alex, “That sounds like a nice ride.”
Lacking real-world muscle fatigue, Alex agreed. “Can you teach us how to sail?” All NPCs in this world possessed full information of every option. Starting with Golf Retreat, Alex compartmentalized information, assigning it to those in the know. Caddy’s assisted with your golf game. Clubhouse employees knew mixed drinks and the menus.
“I can teach basic techniques in steering, knots, and ship safety.”
“We’ll take the bikes from you,” Alex said, “and find an instructor on the docks.”
“Far out.”
Wing-shaped handlebars with plastic grips decorated their matching Shwinn 3-speeds.
Rosa rang the ball as she mounted. The ancient sound drew grins from them both. Pedaling through sidewalks populated enough to avoid the feel of a ghost town, Alex and Rosa shared many smiles. Powerful winds near the docks amplified the healthy smell of the sea. An army of seagulls, speckled with pelicans—drawn to the docks by the discarded fishguts—added a cacophony of caws to the sound of sea motion. They continued past the wharf to the better-tended slips of Fog Bay marina.
Dismounted, Rosa approached Alex, her hand on her chest, a look of exuberance, possibly disgust on her face. “It’s so strange to do all that pedaling, up those big hills, and never get tired.” She slapped her thighs. “I felt the strain here, but…” She shrugged. “If I grew tired, maybe I’d forget I’m conked out in a chair.”
“That’s a great point,” Alex said, hiding his disappointment at her negative comment. “Fatigue plays a major role in Gettysburg, particularly if you get shot, or blown up.”
Rosa winced.
Alex made a mental note: avoid discussing Gettysburg with Rosa.
“We need a world for just us,” Rosa said. “For couples wanting privacy.”
Alex nodded, although how many people visited a fantasy world for quiet alone time. Most of the slips held boats. Smaller, one-man sloops and catboats started near the shore, building out to larger cutters and schooners. A forty foot Olympic class soling waited at the end.
Alex had never boarded a boat, in life or the Lobby. Standing under a bright sun on a temperate day, it sounded like the ideal activity.
“Can I help you?” A man in his thirties said. He possessed the small waist and broad shoulders of a swimmer. Sandy blond hair poked out from under a cap that read, U.S. Navy. “We keep sailing vessels down these two decks, motor boats over there.”
“It’s our first time,” Rosa said quietly. Looking from the NPC and back to Alex, as if unsure of the man’s authenticity. “Are you a computer program?”
“My name is John. I’m here to help.”
When she looked to Alex, he averted eye contact.
“Should we fish,” Alex asked Rosa, “go swimming.”
“A swim, yes. Perhaps some fishing,” Rosa surveyed the rolling waves.
“What about that boat there,” Alex pointed to the fourth slip.
“A twenty-two foot Lark, centerboard. Light weight, good speed.” John spoke without looking at the boat—another tweak Alex corrected with future worlds. “Single rudder and tiller for steering. Twelve foot sail, perfect for a smooth ride on a day like this.”
Climbing in, Rosa stepped gingerly into the cockpit and sat next to the long tiller. She worked it in and out. “This is adorable.”
John untied their moors and guided the boat back before he stepped onto the bow, rocking the small vessel. A motor puttered them onto the bay. John showed them how to set the main, tie off the sail, and observed Alex as he repeated the duties before declaring him, “fit for sea.”
With a nice breeze racing them across a crisp day, Alex sat next to Rosa, who steered, in the ninety degree, stair-step method.
“Guess we’ll save sex for another time,” Rosa whispered.
“What, oh, no, no, no.” Alex had become so enthralled by their activities, he’d forgotten about the promised end to their date, about his curiosity at coupling inside the Lobby. Mentioned anew, his interest spiked. “Because of John?”
Rosa nodded.
“He’s not even real.”
“I…I still couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t think I could either,” Alex chuckled. “Hey, John.”
“Yeah, Skipper.”
“Do you mind heading back to the docks?” Alex said.
A beat, “Would you like me