Intersection

by Fred Warren - 

Avenir Station, Paradise Virtuality, Communications Nexus

Anya Sherikov and Vicky Remsen sat back-to-back at glowing consoles that floated within a mosaic sphere of rectangular windows--each one displaying a tiny fragment of the mayhem that was spinning through the Avenir space station.

Vicky paused to rub her eyes. “How do you work like this? Another ten minutes, and I swear I’m going to hurl. By the way, I’ll make sure you experience that with me in all its multicolored glory.”

Anya’s eyes darted among the scenes of carnage. “You’re a doctor. Prescribe yourself an anti-nausea drug.”

“Oh, you are so funny.”

“The good news is that we’ve done as much as we can, for now. The colonists will have to take it from here. I only hope our assistance was enough to keep them from being completely overrun. Before you log out, double-check the lower levels…make sure the pest control agent is working. You may need to dispense another blast if spiders are still moving about.”

“Way ahead of you. Checking the last couple of ring segments now.” Vicky’s fingers paused on her console and she leaned forward to squint at one of the windows, tilting her head to bring it into alignment. “Whoa. That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“Enforcers who aren’t running away. They’re at a corridor intersection, having an argument with some raggedy bum, and there’s a skid next to them with bodies piled on it.”

“Those are probably unfortunates caught in the first swarm.”

“I’m zooming in on it. Monitor A-34. The Enforcers sure look angry. I wonder if...ohmigod.”

“Now what?”

“Miss Sherikov…the bodies…they’re children.”

“Children? Let me see that. Perhaps the shabby fellow is their guardian, and he’s angry with the Enforcers for failing to protect them. Ah, there’s an audio tap nearby. Maybe that will shed some light on what’s happening.”

The Enforcer who seemed to be in charge stood scowling at the ragged man, arms crossed over his chest. Anya and Vicky could hear his gravelly voice now: “I told you, no payment until the end user certifies the goods. Doll-quality is worth four times whatever we have to dump into the labs. We’re not paying top credits for substandard material.”

Anya’s eyes narrowed, and she whispered a curse in Russian.

“That wasn’t the deal.”  The bum jabbed a finger at the Enforcer’s face. “I’m not waiting for some pasty-faced accountant to cull this lot to fit his budget.”

One of the other Enforcers was moving the bodies around on the skid, lifting up arms and legs. “Hey! This one’s got a club foot, Harry!”

“Do tell. I doubt it’s the only one. Forget it, Beadle. You’ll wait ’til the quality check’s complete.”

Vicky turned her seat around and leaned against Anya, arms gently encircling her shoulders. “Doll-quality? Labs? Material? What are they talking about?”

Anya pushed her away. “I need you to go check on John. Make sure he’s integrating properly. I’ll finish up here.”

“He’s fine. Father Sukahara sent me a progress report a few minutes ago. I figure they’re on their third pot of tea by now, which means Milton’s getting the nightingale story in all its painful detail.”

“Check him anyhow.”

“No. I want to know what those Enforcers are up to. The whole situation is sketchy, and you’re avoiding my questions.”

Anya spun around, nose-to-nose with Vicky. “If you don’t leave this instant, Victoria, I will isolate you from the network.”

Vicky backed away, eyes wide. “All right, all right. I’ll go. No need to get violent.”

“I’ll explain everything later. Out!”

Vicky’s avatar vanished, her voice trailing behind. “Just don’t expect me to stop asking.”

Anya returned her attention to the argument on screen. Flesh traffickers. Preying on children. They were usually more discreet. It was the first time she’d caught them in the act—and they’d chosen a singularly poor location for their little spat.

I’m sorry, dear one, but I can’t let you see what happens next.

Anya’s fingers flew across her console. The sphere of monitors was replaced by a single red-tinted display, front and center. With a grim smile, she aligned its flashing reticle on the nearest man.

Chaplain

by Fred Warren

The claustrophobia was gone. Anya and Vicky had been guiding John through the restoration of his senses for what felt like several hours, and he could talk back to them now. He was still surrounded by thick darkness, but he could feel tactile feedback from his skin as he lay prone on some smooth, warm surface that conformed to his body’s contours, and when his nose itched, he could move his arm, hand, and fingers to scratch it. The air moving through his nostrils and into his lungs was cold and left a faint metallic tang at the back of his throat.

He knew all these sensations were part of an unimaginably complex computer simulation, but it felt so real. His consciousness was slipping into the Dreamers’ virtual world. It was frightening—and exhilarating.

He heard a series of high-pitched chimes, then Vicky and Anya began chattering excitedly to one another.

“Stage Three alert? You have got to be kidding me.”

“How could they have been overwhelmed so quickly? It must be a mistake.”

“No mistake. Look at the external feeds, Miss Sherikov—here, here, and…wow. There.”

“This is awful.”

“Cromwell doesn’t give a rip about the colonists. I want to see him explain this to Captain Aziz.”

“Hush. We told him we’d help if things got out of hand.”

“This is way beyond out of hand.”

“What’s the matter?” John called out. “What’s happening?”

Anya’s voice swirled around him. “Victoria and I must attend to a minor emergency that will require our full attention. Continue to lie quietly in place and limit your movements. Father Sukahara will monitor the remainder of your integration into the network and begin your orientation.”

“But I still can’t see anything!”

“Oh, quit bellyaching.” The disdain in Vicky’s voice was palpable. “Vision is the most complicated piece of the interface, so it takes the longest.  If we energize the connections any faster, it’ll fry that lump of oatmeal you’re using for brains.”

“Sukahara’s the chaplain, right? Wouldn’t it be better to have somebody with a technical background at the controls?”

“Well, if we get a power surge, you’ll need someone to administer Last Rites, and…”

Anya cut in. “Stop it, Victoria. John, Father Sukahara has sufficient medical training to keep you stable in the event of a mishap until we can return.”

“That’s comforting.”

“The process is almost finished. Relax. You’re in good hands.”

A rush of cool air flowed across his body, and a tapestry of sound unfurled within the void. Leaves rustling. Birds chirping. A high pitched buzzing that waxed and waned in the background. The whisper and chuckle of water. The smell of flowers, intense and sweet. A strange, hollow knock that repeated at a long interval.

Then, a new voice—a soft tenor. “Hello, Mr. Milton. I’m Jiro Sukahara. We met at the welcome banquet a few days ago, though I’m sorry we weren’t able to exchange more than pleasantries.”

“I remember. I was surprised to find a chaplain there. Why are you part of all this?”

“It was a nod to tradition on the part of the original crew. Some of them were devoutly religious. All of them recognized a need for someone with whom they could discuss delicate matters in complete privacy, outside the military command structure, without fear of disclosure.”

“Wouldn’t a psychologist have served the same purpose?”

“The crew wanted something more than expertise in treating mental or emotional distress. They knew they’d have to make difficult decisions…life and death choices on behalf of the people under their care. Their technical skills weren’t sufficient. They needed a moral and spiritual compass.”

“And now? Do they still feel that need?”

“Hmm. Not as often as I’d like.  Anya and Victoria consult with me the most.”

“I’m having trouble imagining Vicky seeking advice from a priest.”

“Beneath her bravado is an anxious little girl who misses her father terribly. She’s been forced to grow up much too fast, and her responsibilities weigh heavily upon her.”

“She hides it well enough.”

“I wish she wouldn’t. It would help her to be more open to others about what she’s feeling.”

John decided not to argue that point. “I hear a knocking sound. What is it?”

“It’s a shishi odoshi, a traditional garden decoration from the land of my ancestors on Earth. You’ll understand better once you’re able to see. I’ve arranged to bring you into my personal space…my virtual residence, you might say. I thought it might ease your orientation.”

“I think my vision’s coming back now. Is this some sort of test pattern? I’m seeing orange fish and white birds with long legs on a blue background.”

Jiro chuckled. “No, that’s not part of the process. Look closer.”

It took a few moments for John to realize he was staring up at a delicate watercolor painting of birds and fish cavorting in a broad blue lake. It formed what seemed to be the ceiling of a room, though the proportions were odd. The place was warm and sunlit, filled with the flowery aroma he’d noticed earlier, plus a pleasant, spicy odor he couldn’t identify. Turning his head to one side, which caused a brief moment of mild vertigo, he could see the light filtered through the pink-blossomed branches of a huge tree visible beyond the threshold of a wide opening. It made the space feel more like a porch than a living room.

There were no furnishings aside from the cushion that supported his body and a low table at the center bearing a stack of thin books on one side. Several large sheets of paper and a collection of writing instruments—brushes?—lay in a loose pile on the opposite end of the table. Jiro knelt behind it, and he was as John remembered him—a small, solidly-built man with close-cropped black hair and facial features similar to the Asian genetic subgroup on Avenir. He wore a dark blue robe decorated in the same pattern as the ceiling.

“Ah, it seems the integration is complete. Welcome to my home.” Jiro smiled, his face as warm and comforting as the room, and every lingering suspicion that all this was an illusion vanished from John Milton’s mind.

Awakening

by Fred Warren -

He was conscious, though he lacked objective evidence that this was the case. No light, no sensation of heat, cold, pain, or pressure on or within his skin. No odors, either pleasant or offensive. No lingering flavors within his mouth, not the faintest whisper to stir his eardrums to life.

If his heart was beating, he could neither feel nor hear his pulse.

Am I dead?

He was thinking, at least. That he was able to methodically catalogue the utter absence of any sensory feedback bore witness to cognition, if only via a slow and feeble synaptic spark.

There was memory, too. He had an identity: John Milton, resident of Avenir, businessman. Wait…that wasn’t quite true. He’d abandoned that life for something else, something new, something…no, someone…

Anya.

The Dreamers. That was it. He was being wired into the virtual reality inhabited by the Dreamers. He’d taken the long, spiraling journey into the heart of the Avenir station, where he was led into a brilliant white space. He’d disrobed and entered a life-support pod, there was a sharp sting, and the light faded into nothingness. Until now.

Something was wrong. Anya said he’d awaken into a world both vivid and boundless, as subjectively real as the mundane, sterile, hopeless environment of Avenir, but so much more. So much better.

Myriad horrifying possibilities began scampering about his mind, pursued by a fear that ever-so-slowly took form—lithe, feline, and clawed—from somewhere deep within his imagination. It crouched and bristled, ready to pounce. What it ensnared would become real.

He needed to take a deep breath, steady himself.

He couldn’t expand his chest to pull in a fresh lungful of air. He couldn’t even tell if he had a chest or lungs to fill with air. He was drowning in a viscous soup of nothingness.

He screamed, soundlessly. Again and again and again.

A wave of calm spread over him then, for no particular reason and from no perceptible direction. It didn’t matter so much anymore that he couldn’t feel himself breathing. Something tickled inside where his head ought to be. Something familiar…

“What’s the matter? What does that alarm mean?”

“His heart and respiratory rates were spiking. I gave the big baby a shot of sedative to settle him down until I’m ready to activate his neural net.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s tried to plug an adult into our network, Victoria. A panic attack isn’t an unreasonable reaction to sensory deprivation.”

“It should feel restful, like floating inside a cloud.”

“That’s easy to say. You were integrated as an infant, so you can’t imagine how it must feel to someone who’s lived his entire life outside virtuality.”

“I remember exactly what it feels like. I loved it. In fact, I was really upset when they brought me online and I had to deal with all that noise and confusion again.”

“How could you possibly…”

“Did you forget who you’re talking with here? I’m precocious. Okay, all the connections are in place, self-check complete, statuses green. Time to light him up. I’ll engage the cycle extra-slow so we don’t kill him with sensory overload.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Yeah, he may be a whiny baby, but he’s the most interesting thing to happen in Paradise for the past five Foundings. There’s one thing I don’t get, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you bring him in? I mean, he’s smart and devious and all that, but there are plenty of colonists who are more tech-savvy, and I would’ve expected you to find some kind of electronics wizard to take over Communications.”

“It’s…well, it’s complicated. I wanted someone who could hold his own with Aziz and the others, someone who understands the social and political dynamics of both Avenir and Eclectia. Well-rounded. Someone like that.”

“Then why not a politician? Admit it, Miss Sherikov, you’re sweet on this clodhopper. You know I’m going to find a cure for you, so you’re planning ahead. You want a boyyyfriend. You looove him. You want to…”

“I want…nothing of the sort. You’re being ridiculous. I suggest you refrain from further speculation on my motives, and stay focused on the task at hand. How much longer until he begins to regain sensation?”

“Oh, he’s been able to hear us for about three minutes or so.”

“He…what? Victoria Remsen, you little laska!  I’m going to deactivate your sensory inputs, permanently!”

“Take it easy. Maybe he won’t remember. Or, maybe he will.”

“Victoria!”

“Hee, hee… Moving on to the sense of touch.”

Problems

by Fred Warren -

Anya Sherikov's virtual office was a tidy environment with a wide desk, high-backed leather chair, walls lined with video monitors, and a collection of fragrant flowers in terracotta pots at the corners. A little ceramic dog with a bobbing head adorned the desk, and she gave it a nudge out of habit before unlocking the door to grant entrance to whoever was leaning on the visitor’s chime.

Security Officer Nigel Cromwell came bustling in, followed by Victoria Remsen, who was looking uncharacteristically professional in a white lab coat. Vicky slammed her hands onto the desk and leaned forward until she was nearly nose-to-nose with Anya. “Miss Sherikov, we’ve got a big problem! Somebody broke quarantine, and there are spiders running loose on the station!”

Anya gently pushed her back a few inches. “The pest-control systems will deal with them. This happens occasionally. Some gourmand lets his delicacies incubate a day or so too long, and…”

Cromwell waved her off. “No, Anya. This is a large-scale infestation. Some stupid gaggle of meat-bag revolutionaries have brought up fertilized eggs from Eclectia in quantity, and not just the small species. The hatchlings are moving through the ductwork and in the gaps between decks. Lasers and microbots are getting some of them, but not enough. I can keep our habitat safe, but the colonists are in for a fight like none they’ve seen since the original Founding. They’ve brought Hell onto Avenir. Again.”

Vicky nodded. “I’ve been reading up on what history we have about the first time this happened. It isn’t pretty. They grew fast, and some of these things were huge. The spiders’ venom caused hallucinations and psychosis before it killed. Most of the casualties were from poisoned colonists attacking each other.”

“Any help we provide must appear to spring from a routine order issued by the Avenir leadership,” Anya replied as she did her own historical search. “What do you think, Victoria? Is there anything we can do that won’t stir much attention?”

“I can direct a nanofactory to accelerate production of the standard antivenins we manufacture for Eclectia, so there’ll be more on hand once they figure out what’s going on. Until then, I can cycle pesticide into the ventilation system, but it won’t work on all the bugs, and it could make a lot of people sick on the lower levels where there’s no filtration.”

“Better than them dying, I suppose. Have you informed Captain Aziz?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t seem very worried. He said something about ‘acceptable losses’ and ‘facilitating the Plan.’ He smiled a lot.”

Anya sighed. “When is he not smiling? I’ll monitor the situation and try to identify the conspirators. Victoria, dispense the pesticide, but begin with small doses, so we can gauge its effects.”

“I’m not stupid. You think I’d just dump it all in at once?”

“Yes. Despite your many wonderful qualities, dorogoya, you have an affinity for mayhem.”

Vicky’s self-righteous ire dissolved into a sullen pout. “Okay, I would have, but now I won’t. You’re no fun at all.”

“Off with you, then. Nigel, let me know if there’s anything you need in support of our habitat defense.”

“Hmph. I can’t imagine needing your help, but thanks for the offer.” Cromwell scanned the displays covering the walls of Anya’s communications nexus, and jabbed a finger at one of them. “What were you doing when we came in? Who’s that girl?”

Anya didn’t look up. She began typing commands on the keypad set into her desk. “She’s one of the Gamers I’m watching until you finish repairs on the network firewall. She seems to be oblivious to our presence, so all’s well.”

Cromwell glared at her. “Just make sure she stays that way. I’ll have no time for anything but spiders for the foreseeable future.”

Anya paused her typing and smiled affably at him. “Of course.”

#

It took a few moments to make the transition back into the valet. Melanie was poking him in the shoulder and squinting into his vacant eyes. “Sir? Mr. Butler? Are you okay?”

Anya shook his head and blinked his eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry. Software update. They happen at the most inconvenient times. However, we must end our conversation, and you must return to your quarters immediately and secure all doors and vents. I’m told there is a security problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“One that will become your problem if you don’t hurry. I enjoyed our chat, and I think I can help you, but we must meet again later.” Anya clamped one of the valet’s arms firmly around Melanie’s shoulders and ushered her outside. “I will make what arrangements I can in the meantime to ensure there are no negative repercussions from your excursion into the private network. Until then, farewell.”

#

Melanie lingered in the corridor a moment, still shivering but elated that she’d accomplished her mission. Carson would stop chasing the Dreamers, and things would return to normal.

Something skittered across the toe of her boot. She looked down to find a small, red-striped spider lifted up onto its hind legs a few meters away, forelegs waving in the air, fanged mouthparts working rapidly and drooling viscous slime. She stared at it in fascination—bugs weren’t supposed to be able to get onto the station, especially not the upper levels. Where did this one come from?

It looked like something out of ArachnoHunters. She hated that game. When one of the spiders caught someone, it wrapped them in silk and then slowly sucked the life out of them. Whatever sadistic method the game employed to simulate internal organs being liquefied gave her diarrhea in real life for two days afterward.

She backed away from the spider, trying to keep her body as still as possible. Without warning, it hurled itself at her, leaping a half-meter into the air and nearly closing the space between them.

Melanie screamed and sprinted down the corridor, not daring to look behind her.

Banquet

by Fred Warren

Vicky tugged at John’s arm as they walked up the broad, grassy slope to the clearing where a group of people sat around a long table laden with flowers and exotic food. John was still gaping at the rainbow-colored birds, swaying palm trees, and most of all, the turquoise-blue water that surrounded this tiny island. When he didn’t respond, she pulled on his ear with enough force to make him double over.

“Keep your mouth shut and smile a lot,” she whispered, “Talk only if somebody asks you a question. When you do talk, don’t be boring, if that’s possible.”

“Thanks.” John rubbed his ear and straightened his jacket. “I’ll try to remember that.”

A low burble of conversation coalesced into intelligible words as they approached the banquet table.

“In my opinion, they’ve become far too dangerous. How long do you intend to let them run on?”

“Teriyaki chicken? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Levitation? You’re joking. That’s impossible.”

“Oh, a while yet. The scheme amuses me, and their blundering draws attention away from our activities. After they’ve been exposed, it should be easier for us to proceed.”

“Take a bite. It’s one of the formulations I recovered last week. Since I incorporated my new algorithm into the core recovery utility, I’ve repaired fifteen teras of memory I thought was lost forever.”

“I watched it happen. If only I’d thought to initiate a recording. There’s more going on here than meets the eye.”

“Just don’t wait until they’ve wrecked the entire station and decimated the colony. Pineapple?”

“Mmm. It’s heavenly. I may eat nothing else for days.”

“Next you’ll claim they’re conjuring apparitions of the Holy Virgin.”

 “Don’t mind if I do. Thank you. How goes the refit? ”

“Wait ‘til you taste the lemon meringue pie.”

“Don’t scoff. You should peruse my predecessor’s archives sometime. Avenir Eclectia’s history is chock full of unexplained phenomena. He was convinced there’s a spiritual element to it.”

“Poorly. There’s nothing for it but to completely strip and resurface the radiation shield. I can jigger the nanofactories to produce the necessary materials, but I’ll have to move at a snail’s pace to avoid attracting attention. It will be at least one more Founding before we can think of proceeding to the next step.”

“I’m hoping our new recruit can help us expedite that. Ah, here he is now.”  The man at the head of the table rose from his chair. He wore a white, military-styled cutaway jacket trimmed with gold braid. Wavy black hair fell almost to his shoulders, and his brown eyes and dark complexion made the brilliance of his smile that much more striking. “I am Captain Kagan Aziz, and these are my friends and advisors.”

A burly, redheaded man wearing a uniform similar to Aziz’ stood up and seized John’s hand in a crushing grip. “Otherwise known as ‘The Staff.’  I’m Colin Finn, First Officer, in charge of colony liaison and human intelligence.”

The other officers arose in turn and moved around the table to greet John.

“Girard LeBeau, Engineering.”

“Yeong Soo Min, Astrophysics and Navigation.”

“Nigel Cromwell, Security.”

“Jiro Sukahara, Chaplain.”

John nodded at each one, accepted and returned a firm handshake, and tried to maintain an expression of polite interest, the only way he could think to follow Vicky’s instructions without looking like a complete idiot. So these are the Dreamers. It beggared belief. The descendants of Avenir’s original command crew, living in a virtual world but still influencing the colony their ancestors helped found so long ago. Not a legend. Real, powerful, and active.

But there aren’t very many. Are these all of them?

Aziz finished the introductions: “You’re already well acquainted with Anya Sherikov, Communications Officer, and your lovely escort, Victoria Remsen, Medical and Life Sciences. Please, join us. I must apologize in advance…the food and drink will have little taste due to the limitations of your interface, but once you are fully integrated into our network, I promise you flavors and sensations beyond your wildest imagination.”

“So Anya has told me, but I haven’t actually decided whether…”

Cromwell interrupted in a rumbling voice that matched his scowling, craggy face. “Anya, I thought we agreed not to use the visitor interface until the firewall was repaired.”

“This is a situation of some urgency, Nigel.” She flicked her fingers in an airy wave, as if she was shooing off an annoying insect. “Don’t worry, I’m monitoring the fracture. There have been no attempts to probe or penetrate it, only some idle chatter on the Gaming net.”

He tapped the table with a stubby finger. “I will not tolerate any compromise of the firewall.”

The carefree mirth vanished from Anya’s countenance. “Oh, I’m certain all the Gamers are still shivering in terror after what you did the last time. It was excessive, and it compounded the damage. You probably drew more attention to our existence than any number of data leaks.”

“I’ll do it again, if necessary.”

Anya pushed up from her chair and slowly leaned across the table, coming almost nose-to-nose with Nigel. “The Command Network firewall is my domain. You will not apply active countermeasures without my consent.”

“I won’t need consent if I void your security clearance.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try.”

Aziz raised a hand. “That’s enough bickering, both of you. This is no way to behave in the presence of a guest. Anya, continue to monitor for intruders. If Nigel thinks countermeasures are necessary, I would like input from the entire staff before I decide whether or not to respond. Is that clear?”

The two combatants remained silent, eyes locked.

Aziz steepled his fingers beneath his chin and sighed. “Is. That. Clear?”

 “Yessir.” Anya flopped back into her chair and turned it sideways.

“Yes…sir,” Nigel growled.

“Excellent. Now, to business. Mr. Milton, we have been observing you for some time, and are very impressed with your business acumen and technical expertise. Most of all, you appear to share our vision for the future of this colony. Anya thinks you would make a worthy replacement for her when the time comes, and I concur.”

Vicky piped up. “Miss Sherikov doesn’t need replacing. I’m going to make her well.”

“Your father spent many years studying Anya’s ailment, without success,” said Aziz. “We must prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

“Father was close to a cure. I know I can finish it.”

“Victoria, now is not the time.”

Her face flushed. She fixed her eyes on her plate, but her shoulders were trembling. “No! If I don’t figure this out, we’re all…”

Aziz’ voice cracked like a whip. “Victoria!”

There was silence all around the table for several long moments, then Vicky murmured, “I’m sorry, Captain.”

He reached across the table to grasp her hand, and John was surprised she didn’t pull away.  “We are all very fond of Anya, but we must also acknowledge the reality of her situation. It may be that you will identify an effective treatment, but we cannot risk a gap in transition for the Communications function. Many things depend on its smooth operation.”

Anya  gently encircled Vicky’s shoulders. “I have confidence in your skill, dear one, but the Captain is right. We must be prepared. Anyway, it’s a long while yet before we have to worry. In the meantime, our new friend has many things to learn.”

Vicky sniffed and rubbed her nose. “That’s for sure.”

Aziz leaned back in his chair and gestured toward John. “As you may have noticed, despite living in this virtual paradise, we are not a community of lotus eaters. We are passionate about a great many things, and it keeps life interesting, at the price of an argument or two along the way. Now, I’m sure you have many questions about us. Proceed.”

John didn’t hesitate. “I’ve at least a hundred, but there’s one thing I’m particularly curious about. You said I share your vision for the colony. I don’t understand. I don’t have a vision for Avenir Eclectia. In my opinion, it was a mistake for us to settle here.”

 “Precisely.” Aziz smiled and twiddled a tiny cocktail umbrella between his fingers. “We are convinced the colony is no longer viable. It must be relocated.”

Expanse

by Fred Warren - 

“Good grief. Took you long enough to wake up.”

John blinked and groaned as the leering face of Victoria Remsen gradually came into focus above him, framed in dangling brown curls that bobbed and waved like a collection of springs--or snakes.

“Where am...oh, right. I remember. Doctor Vicky's House of Horrors. It feels like you ran over me with a forklift.”

The discomfort was real. John had to keep reminding himself he was immersed in a virtual reality simulation, and Vicky was suspended inside a life support pod somewhere nearby, practicing medicine by remote control, her brain hardwired into the Avenir computer network. She wasn't a little girl play-acting at being a doctor. She was a Dreamer, part of the legendary, hidden community that watched over the entire Avenir Eclectia colony from cyberspace--and wielded more control over it than anyone imagined. She knew what she was doing, and she was very, very dangerous.

She winked at him. “Good idea. Let's save that for next time.”

The cartoony nurse costume she'd worn at their introduction had been replaced by a modest red party dress and a white lace shawl that draped across her shoulders. She began unfastening the restraints that held him to the examination table. “Well, you may be a moron, Mister John Milton, but you're no coward. I expected you to scream like a baby when I took the spinal tap, but you didn't make a sound. Impressive, but boring. Instead of letting the pain drive you into unconsciousness, I sedated you.”

“How kind. Thanks.”

“You earned it. It also gave me a chance to start attacking your liver problem, so the time wasn't completely wasted.”

“What did you do to my liver?”

“Programmed some nanobots and set them to work reconstructing the right lobe. They should be finished in a couple of weeks. Don't worry...it won't hurt, but you can expect a little nausea mornings and evenings. Okay, maybe a lot of nausea. Anyhow, you're lucky. Without the repairs, you would have been dead inside five Foundings. As rich as you are, I'd think you could afford better hooch than that battery acid you've been drinking.”

“I only buy the best vodka on Avenir.”

“It's battery acid, and if you drink any more, I won't fix you. I don't warranty my work against stupidity. Now, get up. We're running behind.”

“Behind what?” John sat up, and nearly fell off the table as a wave of vertigo washed over him, setting the entire room awhirl.

Vicky grabbed his arm, somehow managing to keep him upright and stable. “Whoa, guess I overdosed you a little on the sedative. Take it easy. Slow breaths, in and out. You'll get your balance back in a minute.”

The oscillations subsided. John cautiously set his feet on the floor and stood up. He was fully dressed, the thin hospital gown exchanged for an expensive-looking formal suit in pinstriped gray with silver buttons, a starched white shirt and bow tie, and shiny black shoes. He tugged at his sleeves. “Why am I wearing a tuxedo?”

Vicky sighed. “The same reason I'm wearing a fancy dress. The command staff is honoring you with a welcome banquet. They're all waiting for us, and Captain Aziz isn't known for his patience. C'mon, this way.”

She guided John by his elbow to the examination room's single door and unlatched it. Bright sunlight flooded through the opening, and John could hear strange twittering sounds and a low, repetitive rush of air. He stepped through the doorway onto soft, verdant grass that carpeted a broad clearing ringed with tall, thin trees. They swayed in a warm, gentle breeze that smelled faintly sour and tangy. The leafy foliage at their crowns danced in the wind, dark green fronds that stood in sharp contrast to the brilliant blue sky. Tiny winged creatures with indigo, crimson, and vermillion plumage fluttered among the treetops. Birds. He'd only seen pictures before, on his computer display or in old, old books.

In the distance, visible between the trees, was an expanse of translucent blue, tipped here and there with frothy white. The door had vanished behind him, and as he turned first to the right, then to the left, then all the way around, he could see the water encompassed the land on all sides.

It was an ocean. A real, living ocean.

He was on an island.

There was a long table at the center of the clearing with people seated around it, half a dozen or so, talking and laughing.

Vicky jabbed his shoulder with a manicured fingernail. “Quit gawking, and start walking.”

Examination

by Fred Warren

“This interface provides much less fidelity than a fully-integrated network connection, but we’ve found it useful as a means of conferencing with outsiders from time to time.”

Cyborgs assisted John as he shuffled to a contoured couch and lay down. The full-immersion helmet permitted a narrow, foggy, green-tinted view of the room, and of Anya’s holographic image standing to one side. “It’s like a gaming rig, but it’s a lot heavier,” he wheezed. Tubes and wires ran from the suit to a conduit in the ceiling, high above. He felt like a life-sized puppet. “I can barely move in this thing.”

“I think you’ll find this simsuit is more sophisticated than the ones you’re used to. Of course, when you experience the hardwired connection, you won’t be able to distinguish it from real life.” She turned away. “I have a few more preparations to make, but I think you’re ready to enter our virtuality now. I’ll see you inside.”

“Wait. I still have questions…”

Anya motioned to a cyborg sitting at the control panel. “Activate the interface.”

John’s muscles convulsed, and a wave of vertigo tunneled his vision, then expanded it to infinity in a rush of color and light. As focus returned, he found himself standing in a bare, white room containing a table, a chair, and washbasin with a mirror. There was a single door, closed, and the doorknob didn’t turn when he tried it.

He looked down at himself. He was clad in a thin blue gown that tied at the back. His arms and legs were stylized , smooth and hairless, like a doll’s, but the hands and feet had the proper number of fingers and toes. Turning to the mirror, his own face gazed back at him. It wasn’t a perfect image, maybe a shade more lifelike than the virtual-reality games he had played as a teenager. Dark brown hair, parted at the middle, green eyes, prominent cheekbones, a trace of stubble at the chin.

“Hello, Mister Milton. Welcome to Paradise!”

He spun round. Smiling up at him was a little girl wearing a pink-pinstriped dress, white pinafore, and a square cap emblazoned with a wide, red cross. A stethoscope was tucked into a pocket on the pinafore.

He couldn’t help but grin back. “Paradise, eh? I thought it would be bigger. Who are you, and where’s Anya?”

The girl tilted her head, light-brown curls bouncing with the motion. “I thought you would be taller. I’m Doctor Vicky. Miss Sherikov is arranging your meeting with the other Commanders, and she said I should see to your examination in the meantime.”

“Anya said nothing to me about an examination. Is this some kind of joke? You’re just a kid.”

Her smile vanished, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m ten Foundings old, and I’m the Avenir Medical Officer. Sit on the table so I can begin your examination.”

“Listen, Doctor…Vicky? Nobody’s examining anything on me until I see Anya.”

“Hmm. I guess Miss Sherikov forgot to tell me you’re a moron. Get on the table. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Makes no difference to me.”

John slid himself into a sitting position on the table, clutching the gown tightly around him. “This can’t be right. It’s…it’s indecent.”

“Mister, if you’ve seen one avatar, you’ve seen ’em all, and that goes double for this piece-of-junk interface you’re using. I’ve got stuffed animals with more physical detail.” She pulled the stethoscope from its pocket, set the prongs into her ears, and pressed the diaphragm onto his chest.

“Hey, that’s cold!”

“Shut up. Lungs clear, heart function good, slight hypertension, minor plaque buildup on the aortic wall.” She reached up on tiptoe and set the diaphragm against his throat. “Some narrowing of the carotid artery, but that’s easily reamed out.”

“What do you mean, ‘reamed out?’”

“Do I have to tape your mouth shut? Bend over so I can reach your head. EEG recording…complete. Hmm. A couple of freaky spikes. I’ll take a closer look at that later. Mm-hmm…intracranial pressure normal, pituitary normal, thyroid normal. You can sit up straight now.” She moved to his stomach and frowned. “Wow, you’ve got the liver of a sixty-Foundings man. What have you been drinking?”

“Vodka, mostly.”

“It’s killing you. Stop it. Now, turn over.”

“This thing is open at the back. There’s no way I’m letting you…”

“Okay, the hard way, then.” Vicky began rolling up her sleeves.

The door opened, and to John’s great relief, Anya entered the room, cradling a large datapad. Like his own image, her avatar wasn’t nearly as realistic as the hologram he was familiar with. She was dressed like a secretary, in a burgundy suit, and her red hair was pinned into a conservative bun. “Ah,” she said, “I see you’ve met our Doctor Remsen. Victoria took charge of Medical and Life Sciences after her father’s death, two Foundings ago. We would have liked her to have more time to ease into her responsibilities, but she’s doing a fine job. She’s extraordinarily bright.”

“I wish you’d call me Vicky. Victoria makes me sound like an old lady.”

“You’re an officer now. We must maintain decorum.”

“Whatever.” Vicky pointed at John. “He won’t cooperate with the examination.”

Anya laid a hand on her shoulder. “Victoria, do you remember what Captain Aziz said about your bedside manner?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Vicky sighed. “Less attitude, more professional.” She produced a huge syringe, with a disturbingly long needle, from somewhere behind her back. “Ahem. Mister Milton, I will need samples of your blood, bone marrow, and cerebrospinal fluid to complete your physical examination and obtain the necessary data to prepare for your integration into the Avenir Command Network. Please roll onto your stomach, as the necessary control points for your simsuit are located on your avatar’s back.”

“Wait…bone marrow? Cerebro-what?”

“This will hurt.”

Over his shoulder, John could see Vicky’s cherubic face grinning from ear to ear as the needle descended.