Getting back

by William Dietrich

  "Which you can take and I can't."

  "I didn't say that."

  "Give me the password, Raven."

  "I warned you, right?"

  "You've done everything but let me judge."

  "All right." She conceded the point. "You can log in with 'Erehwon.' " She spelled it.

  "What does that mean?"

  "It's just code. And the passwords are 'Getting Back.' "

  "Getting back? To what, nature?"

  "It means whatever you want it to mean, I suppose."

  "But why an export company?"

  "To deter the casually curious, I think. To discourage mere tourists. After you listen to them it will make more sense."

  "What if we looked into it together?"

  She took another sip. "I don't think so."

  "As friends. We could even go together. Friends."

  "I'm not your friend, Daniel. I'm just this strange woman you met who's revealed a potential opportunity and decided it's better for us each to go our own way." She stood abruptly. "Look, this discussion is hard for me but I can't really explain why. Maybe you should just forget it. Forget me. Get on with your life."

  "I don't have a life."

  "Don't look for it from me."

  "I'm looking for something to shake up my life. Maybe this Outback Adventure is it."

  "Maybe. But you have to decide without me." Then she walked quickly away.

  The code gave him access to a web site with an opening picture of a red-sand desert, dotted with bright green trees. Australia, he assumed. Projected onto his apartment video wall, the scene had a brilliant vividness. Daniel felt like he was standing on a dune, heat on his back. The immediacy was arresting. "Welcome to Outback Adventure," a female voice intoned. "To begin your adventure, please enter the passwords."

  Dyson remained puzzled. Why would any company make it an obstacle to hear about its product? Surely that violated some profit commandment. Maybe it was a kind of reverse psychology.

  He cleared his throat. "Getting Back." There was a pause and then two tiny figures appeared at the edge of his screen, confirmation that the site had been activated. The two began angling up the dune toward Daniel.

  A teaser scrolled across the bottom of the screen. "For people who ask not what they do, but why they do." Then the picture froze.

  So Raven DeCarlo was a parrot of slogans. Not that different from Mona Pietri, perhaps.

  "Show more," he ordered.

  The couple advanced again, coming side by side near the top of the dune and closing to almost fill the screen, wind blowing through their hair. Daniel almost laughed. They were both striking and bizarre. The woman had flame-colored hair and sapphire-blue eyes (Daniel suspected imagery augmentation) and was a model of barbarian chic: her fur and leather garb was cut to show a flat midriff and a muscled thigh. She wore armbands of bone and leather and was holding a staff. The man, dark and chiseled, was in skintight Ninja black from neck to boots, a bandolier with silver throwing knives cinched taut across his chest. The pair looked like they belonged in a B-grade fantasy. He knew they were actors in front of a blue screen, projected onto a distant Australia. What kept Daniel from surfing on in dismissal was the look in their eyes as they gazed out over the desert. Whether acted or real, they seemed to have found what they were looking for. It was a look of triumph, of fulfillment, of satisfied destiny.

  No one in the city looked that way.

  "Welcome to the Outback, Daniel Dyson," a voice boomed, its amplification like a growl of thunder.

  Hello God, he thought wryly in reply.

  "Can you meet the challenge of Outback Adventure?"

  Daniel was surprised at the speed with which his identity had been confirmed by the company. Corporate identification of those logging on to web sites and the greeting of electronic customers was routine, but this time it happened so fast it was almost as if they'd been expecting him. Raven again? Or just good demographic sifting?

  "I've never heard of your company," Daniel challenged.

  The redhead turned to look and smile. Her teeth were perfect, her skin glowing, her breathing… fetching. "Would you like to know more?"

  "Yes," he replied, his curiosity only one of the things aroused.

  Now Mr. Bandolier turned to him. "Virtual reality, Daniel. Odd term, isn't it? As if an imitation of life is worth spending your life on. Are you tired of pretend peril and artificial ecstasy?"

  "I do things."

  The desert dweller smiled. "And is what you do what you think life should be? Or does it feel like some distant imitation of it? Like touching skin through a mitten. Peering through fog."

  Daniel was quiet. Sometimes life did feel like that.

  "What if you had a chance to feel life raw? A chance to explore a new world and in doing so, explore yourself? A chance to start fresh?"

  "On a vacation trek." Daniel was dubious.

  Mr. Bandolier shook his head. "Outback Adventure is no vacation, my friend. No walk in the park. It's the toughest outdoor experience you could ever encounter. It's only for people willing to risk their life so they can finally truly live it. That's the test. That's the price." His eyes were challenging.

  "And why would I do that?"

  "Do you ever long for a place with no rules except the discipline you establish for yourself? A place without clocks, commutes, or committees? A place of self-reliance where you gather your own food, find your own way, and learn the challenges and satisfaction of simple survival? Are you ready to face true wilderness? That's Outback Adventure, a truly once-in-a-lifetime experience!"

  Daniel was baffled. There was no shortage of adventure travel companies in the world. They'd take clients anywhere they dreamed: pampering them in the Amazon, perching them on camels in Mongolia, or pitching tents on an Arctic ice floe. All supplied food, howeverexcept this one, apparently. And the location! "Outback is a word associated with Australia," he objected. "I thought entry to the continent was banned."

  The man smiled and nodded, sharing the secret. "For ordinary people it is, Daniel. For the select few who find our company, who identify themselves through their own initiative, and who want a chance at something different, United Corporations has designated Australia a clean slate, an empty continent, a disease-free place for men and women to test themselves in a new beginning. There hasn't been an opportunity like this for hundreds of years."

  Daniel was intrigued. He'd enjoyed vacation expeditions but also felt they'd been choreographed. To wander on your own… "So what, exactly, is Outback Adventure?"

  The woman smiled and leaned toward him, revealing more cleavage, eyes dancing with flirtatious amusement. "What is it?" she repeated in mock surprise, as if she'd never heard of such a question. Then she threw out her arms to embrace the country she was in. "It's life stripped of artifice, Daniel. It's nature that hasn't been smothered by man. It's clean air, sweet rain, rainbows, and thunderstorms. It's more stars than you thought possible to fit into the sky. It's open country without a track or a trail. Most people find that scary. Do you?"

  He frowned. "I don't know." They hadn't really answered his question.

  The man nodded. "Of course you don't. None of us did until we met with our Outback Adventure counselor. That's where everything becomes clear. And not everyone who contacts us can be invited to make this journey. They have to be special. Independent. Adventurous. Would you be willing to take our survey to see if you qualify for a personal interview?"

  Daniel paused at that. This exclusiveness again. They wanted his money but required some kind of test before they'd take it? While the premise was intriguing, this was commercial confidence bordering on arrogance.

  "I'm not much for surveys."

  "I think you have what it takes, Daniel," the woman encouraged.

  Dammit, they'd made him curious. "What the hell."

  The pair nodded approvingly. The Australia scene dissolved and he was looking at a walnut-paneled office with leather-bound books, overstuff
ed furniture, and lighting so soft and indirect it made him squint. It was a 3-D cliche of a psychiatric den: authoritative, dark, and calming enough to persuade an entrant to have his head shrunk. He almost laughed again, and yet the predictability of it did put him somewhat at ease. Electronic surveys like this were ubiquitous, he knew, as companies probed both job applicants and customers. A somewhat older, handsome woman was sitting in a maroon chair wearing pearls, pumps, and a business suit of classic and modest cut: stylish, professional, reassuring. "Hello, Daniel," she said in a low, warm voice. "I'm Dr. Cynthia Chen, Outback Adventure's preliminary screening consultant. Experience has taught us that while some people are suited to life on their own in the wild, most don't really belong there. If you don't mind, I'm going to ask you a few simple questions. This is strictly confidential and is just to give us a better idea of who you are so we can help you decide if Outback Adventure is best for you." Her tone was kind.

  "I don't really like questionnaires."

  "It doesn't hurt." She smiled as if they shared agreement about the absurdity of it all. "It's kind of fun, actually."

  "I'm not sure I want you to know who I am. I want to know who you are."

  "These questions are your gateway to learning that. Believe me, it's for the good of both of us. We don't want to waste your time- or ours."

  He remembered vocational tests in school. One suggested that half his class become farmers, when there'd been almost no vocational opportunities in farming for fifty years. The kids had hooted in derision. Now here Daniel was again, trying to fit some shrink's personality grid. He sighed. "Fire away."

  There were no preliminary questions about his age, weight, health, family, hobbies, or skills. He'd been a net-entry since birth, and a punch of buttons could deliver to anyone who cared an avalanche of files groaning with information about his buying habits, subscriptions, employment records, and memberships. Privacy laws had broken down under the continual assault of hackers, lawyers, web solicitors, journalists, and snoops, and targeting businesses often knew more about their consumers in a statistical sense than the consumer himself. Instead, Dr. Chen's queries focused on Daniel's self-analysis, ranging from the trivial to the fundamental:

  "Do you sometimes wake just to see a sunrise?" she asked.

  "I get up early to run." He shrugged. "Sunrise is one of the reasons. It's hard to see in the city."

  "Do you like to try new things?"

  "It's hard to find new things. That's the problem, isn't it?"

  "What kind of watch do you own?"

  "Jesus, I don't know." He looked at his wrist in puzzlement. "It's just a watch. Ganymede, I think. Does it matter?"

  "What would you order for your last meal?"

  He pondered. "I've never been convinced I'd have much of an appetite."

  She laughed approvingly.

  It was a bullshit test, Daniel decided, another part of an elaborate psychological come-on. He'd been enlisted in the effort to recruit himself. Accordingly, some of his answers were serious but others were flippant. She made no objection to the latter, going down her list calmly. The doctor is a holo-recording, he reminded himself. You can't provoke a true reaction.

  "Are you a leader?"

  He hesitated, then admitted his supervisor was right. "No."

  "Are you a follower?"

  That was easier. "No."

  "Are you brave?"

  "I've never had to find out."

  "Are you smart?"

  "Taking this test, I'm beginning to wonder."

  "Do you like people?"

  What was the right answer on that one? Were they looking for hermits or class presidents? "Depends on the person, doesn't it?"

  "What do you live for, Daniel?"

  "Myself, I guess." Might as well be honest.

  "And is that enough?"

  "Sometimes." He paused. "No. But I don't have anything else. Anyone." He certainly wasn't making much progress with Raven. Or Mona Pietri, for that matter.

  "Are you happy?"

  He sighed. "Sometimes. Not really. I don't like the way things are."

  "Would you eat grubs to keep yourself alive?"

  "Grubs? What the hell is a grub?"

  "A larval insect."

  He laughed. "If I would, does that mean I'm happy? Or simply crazy enough to go on your outdoor outing?"

  Dr. Chen smiled. "Congratulations, Daniel. You've passed the first test of Outback Adventure."

  "That's it? I'm insane enough to go?"

  "You've been accepted as a candidate for the experience of a lifetime. To pursue this possibility further you must make an appointment to meet your Outback Adventure counselor."

  "Good grief. You don't make taking my money easy, do you?"

  "At our corporate offices we'll explain the program and schedule you for excitement if you decide to participate."

  "Schedule for excitement?" He rolled his eyes.

  "We choose our words carefully, believe me."

  He looked at her skeptically. "And how much will this once-in-a-lifetime experience cost me?"

  "One year's salary." She didn't even blink.

  "What!"

  "The fee is to test the seriousness of your commitment."

  "It sure as hell does! I can't afford that!"

  "Yes you can." Her look remained serene.

  "I'm sorry. I'm not going to pay that."

  "Yes you will." Her confidence was infuriating. "It's a small price to come alive."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The address in Daniel's city was in the tower of an anonymous skyscraper cluster forty minutes away by tube. Discreet lettering in the lobby announced the firm's presence on the thirty-third floor. The elevator opened to reveal a number of nondescript small offices: a title company, a financial newsletter, a laser-lift skin clinic. The tour agency door was solid wood, plain, and locked. OUTBACK ADVENTURE, a tiny sign read in letters slipped into the kind of bracket that could accommodate a rapid turnover of tenants. He glanced at the ceiling. A vidsnake was watching him.

  Daniel hesitated, then knocked.

  Silence.

  He looked at his watch: on time. He tried the knob but it didn't budge. He knocked again. Nothing.

  Dammit, it wasn't lunch, but there was no sound from the other side. He eyed the keypad lock and punched some numbers at random without effect, quickly becoming bored. "Hello?" Finally he retreated across the hallway and slid down the wall, sitting expectantly on the floor. He'd wait for the bastards.

  With that there was a buzz, a click, and the door swung quietly open. He stood awkwardly and walked over, poking his head through. The inside revealed a small waiting area with ugly plastic molded chairs, a desk, and a pretty receptionist. She smiled. "Close the door behind you."

  He stepped through and the door clicked shut.

  "Your appointment?"

  "To see Mr. Coyle," he said grumpily. "My name is Daniel Dyson."

  "Please have a seat, Mr. Dyson." She gestured at the plastic chairs. "I'll inform Mr. Coyle."

  "You didn't answer my knock."

  "Yes we did. Eventually." She regarded him with quiet amusement.

  "You don't want clients to come in?"

  "Eight percent of our applicants are turned away by that door and that's for their own good. They wouldn't do well with Outback Adventure, would they?"

  He sat while she announced his arrival. The chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked. The brochures on the table featured the same wilderness couple he'd seen on his video wall. There were pictures of empty desert, red-rocked gorges, and bounding kangaroos. The text was spare. "Like primitive life itself, this is a journey with no schedule, no itinerary, and no set destination- except self-realization."

  A Zen thing, maybe.

  There was a buzz and she looked up at him again, smiling. "Your counselor will see you now." He went through another solid wooden door.

  The man who met Daniel reminded him a bit of the brochure Ninja, but without the
knives. Elliott Coyle was dark-haired, tanned, and dressed in a charcoal sport coat over a black silk crew shirt and dark pants. He wore black Dura-Flex slippers. A silver pin on his lapel was the only bright point to catch the eye. It showed a kangaroo. That would be something, Daniel thought, to see a wild kangaroo.

  "There are thousands of them- hundreds of thousands- where you're going." Coyle had followed Daniel's eye.

  "How do you know I'm going?"

  "I've read your profile, Daniel. You belong there."

  "You have a profile?"

  "The screening questionnaire, a background check. We don't send just anyone on Outback Adventure. It's too expensive for both of us. So we try to guess- an educated guess, but a guess nonetheless- who truly belongs there. The information we have on you is very promising."

  "I'll bet it includes my annual salary, if that's my fee."

  Coyle smiled. "Touche."

  "Secret passwords, locked doors. Your company doesn't make sense."

  He nodded. "You want to know more, of course, which is why I'm here." He stuck out his hand. "Elliott Coyle." The handshake was firm and brisk. "I'm your assigned counselor, the man whose job it is to convince you the experience is worthwhile, to help decide if we should give each other a try, and then guide you through preparation if we come to agreement. I feel it's safe to say that what I'm offeringwhat we're offering- will change your life."

  "Who is 'we,' exactly?"

  "Outback Adventure is a travel consultant that contracts with the umbrella governing arm of United Corporations. We have exclusive excursion rights to offer wilderness experiences in Australia."

  "And Australia is quarantined. Off-limits. Dangerous, last I heard."

  "It was. To keep management of the continent controllable, we haven't advertised its change in status. Instead we screen candidates to find the few who can realistically take advantage of what we have to offer. You're in a select group, Daniel."

  "So how did you find me?"

  "You found us, remember? That's the first requirement. Friends tend to tell like-minded friends. We keep a low profile to discourage the casually curious. We register as an export company. If we didn't take such steps, the screening would become unwieldy. The idea would intrigue more people than you might think."