Virtual Heaven, Redux

by Taylor Kole

  Remembering the godfather of hacking, Alex said, “Does Adisah spend much time with the programmers? Does he live here?”

  “He does live on site, at the top of La Berce,” Brad leaned back and studied Alex. “He’s a great man—a genius, no doubt.” He waved his hand as if shooing a fly. “But he’s not business minded. Somehow, word is spreading around the planet, even with our secrecy. People know that if they live with a disability or chronic pain, and get face time with Adisah, he’ll comp them free vacations.”

  Alex briefly wondered if sore buns from sitting with a laptop on his lap all day would count.

  “Philanthropy is great,” Brad said. “I’m all for it. Just not for a start-up company miles into the red. Without a profit, we die. Many people have invested vast fortunes—everything they have—to see Eridu succeed.”

  “What if we have programming questions,” Alex said. “Can we meet with him?”

  “No.” Brad rocked his head side to side. “Consider him ‘perpetually unavailable.’”

  The next hour slugged by as Brad explained many of the amenities for Eridu’s clients.

  Finally, the time arrived for them to fire up their laptops and examine part of the code.

  Brad assigned them passwords, congratulated them on their hire, and ended with a speech about confidentiality, the severity of punishment for security breaches, and how fortunate they were. He then picked up his folded newspaper, and once at the door added, “Take notes; do what you do. If you have any questions, email them to the design department, or bring your concerns to the group when you start work. Maybe Adisah will see them.”

  “Thank you.” Alex said. What else could he say? He still reeled from the buzz of it all.

  Brad huffed as if satisfied. “Have fun. Work hard. You men create our worlds, and we need more!”

  As the heavy door closed, it dawned on Alex that he now had the greatest job on Earth.

  He wondered if, as head of the department, would he choose the worlds they created? The Lobby offered thrill-seeking awe with Big Hitters’ Ball, a realm of tranquil community with San Francisco 1968, and the base desires with Pleasure House 101. He thought the next logical step would be to create something intense: maybe reenact the D-day invasion, have a tournament with knights and squires, or some metaphysical warzone, like X-Men gone wild. Just thinking about the possibilities flooded him with endorphins.

  He understood research would play a major role. Outlining the storyline would take another chunk; both preceded writing the software. A code larger than hundreds of novels might take weeks to familiarize, and years to complete.

  His greatest strength lay in diagnostics. Yet he feared with a project this sophisticated, the startup bugs would be long vanquished. The possibility that some might linger caused him to power on his computer.

  The characters filling the screen looked like all of the others he’d ever seen, but the digits before him constructed the greatest wonder of all time.

  Within minutes, he fell into his groove of interpreting lines of code as executions, processing the executions as coherent commands, and visualizing the intended structure in its final stage.

  He’d never get over how something as mundane as characters on a keyboard could be the ingredients to magic.

  Carl whispered something to himself and scooted closer to his screen.

  Alex penned his first notation.

  Lunchtime came and went.

  Neither man moved from his seat for longer than a two-minute breather or a restroom break.

  Around one in the afternoon, the earpiece in Alex’s pocket vibrated. Resting his pen on yellow pages filled with intrigue, he inserted the device into his ear. “Hello?”

  “Pardon the intrusion, sir,” Victor said. “It has been six hours since your last meal. Would you like me to have food delivered for you and Mr. Wright?”

  Unlike the majority of people, who used their stomachs to judge hunger, Alex allowed his mind to rule. The brain needed fructose to function, and when his thoughts wavered, he ate. He had sensed a decline, but with no idea as to the breakroom’s whereabouts, or how they served food in the Atrium, he’d ignored the foggy reminders.

  “Did you say something?” Carl asked.

  Alex pointed to his ear. “Got Victor here. Are you hungry?”

  Clearly unsure who Alex meant, Carl frowned.

  “That sounds good, Victor. What are our options?”

  “Countless options, sir. All four restaurants will deliver. Anything from the food court can be brought to you, or, there is an employee breakroom on your floor, with open access vending machines.”

  Glancing at the code, Alex chewed his upper lip and considered the pros and cons of leaving to find a vending machine. He asked Carl, “You want to split a pizza?”

  “Cheese only.”

  Alex had been hoping for a deluxe, but compromise ruled the civilized world, so he said, “A medium cheese pizza, two liter of Coke, and onion rings. Can you do that?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Thanks. And Victor, please don’t call me sir.”

  “Yes, Alex.”

  Alex removed the earpiece, stretched, used the lavatory, and found the breakroom. Free snacks propelled him to drop two Almond Joys bars from the vending machine, for a light dessert. The real food arrived as he returned.

  As Carl filled their paper cups with soda, he gestured toward the monitors and asked, “Are you understanding that?”

  “Mostly,” Alex answered truthfully. “A few things more than others, but I’m compiling a list of questions.”

  They ate for the next fifteen minutes, while talking about games, programs, and Carl’s love of Plow Straight.

  Carl left for the restroom, returned, and surprised Alex by asking, “Do you mind if I call it a day?”

  Alex hadn’t expected to assume the management reins this quickly. Understanding this was part of his new position, like it not, he answered as he hoped he always would: “Not at all.”

  As Carl reached the door, Alex remembered something and said, “Before you go, come look at this spot here. Tell me what you think.” He scrolled up to a questionable section of code.

  Carl stood behind Alex.

  “Just this part from here,” Alex clicked down a few pages, then tapped the bottom of the screen, “to here.” He then scrolled back up and allowed Carl to operate the computer.

  “It’s part of transfer code for when a user goes from the lobby to a programmed world, but that’s all I see.”

  “Anything seem… off, to you?”

  A few moments later, Carl relented. “Not to me, no. But, I like to take the code in and think on it. When I come back to it, I’m able to understand code better than most.”

  Alex nodded.

  “I just need a little more time, Mr. Cutler.”

  “It’s not a test or anything.”

  “Okay, Mr. Cutler.”

  “Let’s stick with Alex.”

  “Okay.”

  “This part feels buggy, but it’s probably me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  A few doors down from where he was, Alex knew his future programming team toiled. He just wasn’t sure what, exactly? Alex kept an eye on the clock until four p.m., at which time he heard the commotion of exiting programmers in the hallway. Wanting to blend in with the group, he inspected his area in preparation of joining them.

  He’d compiled two pages about the program itself and typed a mock alteration for the transfer code portion he interpreted as buggy. To come in on day one and rewrite an important section of code might be brash, but he liked shoptalk. So at worst, he’d be wrong and learn why. At best, they’d make a tweak improvement that no one would notice, and he’d feel that familiar satisfaction of inching toward perfection.

  After emailing his outline to the design department, he shut down his machine and exited double-time to catch his future team.

  He wasn’t a social butterfly, didn’t need to be the center of anyt
hing. But, being human, he preferred to fit in, be liked, and communicate. Yesterday’s experience in the Lobby had shattered his previous notions of splendor, and he wanted to express that. He now belonged to an esoteric sect, a brotherhood, and felt confident they’d want to share in his experience as much as he longed to discuss it.

  Catching the tail end of exiting programmers, he managed to ride the elevator up with three others, receiving congratulations for his hire and yesterday’s game. He blushed, and passed along the credit. Every spoken word granted more comfort. When Alex arrived at the top floor, the tram waited. Employees chatted as they entered their usual cars. Unsure which car to board, Alex sighed with relief when Kole leaned out of the second door and waved him in. Denise razzed his late arrival by rubbing his lower back.

  As the tram cruised along, Alex smiled, laughed, and received more positive comments pertaining to the most amazing day of his life, one where he played football, of all things.

  Staring at a group of programmers in a booth, Alex recognized their faces, but his mind blended the football versions with what he saw. The effect was dumbfounding and surreal.

  “Well, we all want to know,” Kole said. “How much Lobby time do you earn as management?”

  “I’m not sure. Guess I’ll learn all of that on Thursday,” Alex said.

  “Well, whatever,” Kole said. “Full disclosure, we all wanted your job.”

  Alex’s temperature climbed, and Denise elbowed Kole. He hadn’t considered himself a scab hire. He wanted to stimulate and inspire these people, not suffer their resentment. Kole’s friendly eyes, and the pleasant demeanor of those around him, killed most of that worry.

  “At first, we were bummed they planned to bring in an outsider,” Kole said. “Not now. Truth is, we’re excited to have you. No one wants to admit structure will do us clowns good. And our egos wouldn’t accept just anybody. Toss us Alex Cutler, however, and we’re good.” He smirked at Alex’s confusion. “Hey, man, we all use Plow Straight—brilliant stuff.”

  The tram slowed as they approached La Berce.

  “Thanks,” Alex said. “I want so much to help and have…” His voice trailed off as he saw her waiting in front of La Berce. Her light-blue scrubs looked the same as the ones from yesterday, if not more wrinkled. Her hair was draped across a shoulder, and her eyes were downcast in contemplation. Her beauty, coupled with the addition of a handheld purse, made her appear like a Duchess of York, out doing volunteer work among the common folk. Virtuous, strong, independent. Could he really read those attributes in a woman waiting for public transportation?

  “Oh yeah,” Kole said from next to him, following his attention. “Rosa Newberg. She lives in B-16. Talk about a solid chick, the complete package.”

  “You know her?” Alex asked without averting his eyes from Rosa, as she strode into the car next to them and dropped out of view.

  “Yeah, we talk. I’ve had lunch with her. Tried to make it more, but I’m a wizards, ab-wheel, and vodka kind of guy. She’s novels, yoga, and way too sober to fall for my bullshit.”

  Alex surged with pride at the strength of her conviction. A lot of women wouldn’t care if a guy who looked like Kole bullshitted them.

  “I’ll hook you up though,” Kole added as the tram resumed travel.

  “Thanks, but…” A nice gesture, but Alex knew he possessed average looks at best, with below-average spending habits, and no clue who the latest celebrity break-up involved. In other words, he wasn’t lady-slaying material.

  “No, it’s no problem,” Kole said. “I’m doing it for me anyway. I wanna checkout your place. I’ve been here two years, and you’re the only guy I’ve met who lives in one of those crazy penthouses. I’ll invite her, the other new hire, and a few others, including the hostess from Mountaintop Steakhouse,” he rubbed his hands together in excitement, “and use your place to wow my target.”

  Alex held back a wince. He wasn’t sure about targeting women, or strangers being in his home. Plus, he’d been instructed to limit time around anyone lacking a level-three security clearance—a suggestion he took seriously. However, Rosa Newberg warranted some risk.

  He took a moment and daydreamed of him wearing a tuxedo, the Duchess of York in a flowing gown, dancing a waltz together in a grand ballroom full of dignitaries. Of course, he had never waltzed before, didn’t know a politician, and the Atrium was by far the nicest building he’d ever been in. That didn’t stop his dreamed-up self from hitting every step in stride and whispering something in Rosa’s ear that caused her to tip her head back and laugh.

  “I can cook, mix drinks, deal cards, whatever,” Kole said, breaking the spell.

  The tram slowed to a stop, and Alex’s heart raced at the thought of glimpsing her one more time. Exiting first, he paused and waited for Kole, intending to agree. Instead, Kole pushed past him.

  “Hey, Rosa!” Kole shouted.

  She turned around and stopped as Kole ran to her, Alex followed.

  “How’s it going?” Kole asked her.

  “Good. I’m good.” The intonation of her voice was cautious, the sound tingled every nerve along Alex’s spine.

  “Hi,” she said to Alex as he approached.

  “H-hey.”

  After a brief silence, Kole said, “This is Alex Cutler. He wanted to meet you.”

  Alex’s heart dropped. Heat dimpled his skin. Why would Kole say it like that and make him look like some crazy stalker? Why not tell her he liked what she wore to bed the previous night? That he’d come up with some better methods for organizing her sock drawer?

  “He’s new,” Kole continued, as if he hadn’t already blown it. “He lives in one of those penthouses. We’re hoping to have people over for drinks and dinner. Kind of welcome him to our fair city, but he won’t open his doors unless you come.”

  Alex’s palms sweated. He should have let Kole do this by himself, or better yet, not at all. It had been mere seconds, but the suspense of her reply agonized. He had to refrain from running in the opposite direction and taking a header off the tram tracks.

  She glanced to Alex and smiled. “I don’t drink often or much,” she paused, “but dinner sounds good.”

  Alex exhaled.

  “Great. He’s in building A, penthouse two. Come by say… six o’clock? Invite a friend if you want, but only if your friend is female.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said and extended her hand to Alex. “Nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Rosa.”

  Finding her hand as clammy as his own surprised him. Unless his was such a sweat factory that it soaked her hand and exposed him as a nut job who secreted fluids from his palms like some bathhouse stigmata, and she would thus decline the invitation.

  Instead, she beamed and walked away.

  “That’s a pretty sight,” Kole said after she descended the stairs.

  “She is,” Alex replied absently, and then, realizing Kole meant her backside, he flashed with irritation. However, Kole was the reason he’d be eating with Rosa in a few hours, so he lightened up. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. Let’s stop by my place. I’ll drop off my bag, grab these cheddar bratwursts I special ordered last month, and we’ll do the rest at your place.”

  Alex welcomed the company. He hadn’t been this nervous since… well, since yesterday.

  Chapter Five

  “Keep staring out that peephole, and there’ll be a ring around your eye when they get inside,” Kole said from behind Alex. The cathedral ceilings and smooth design lines of Alex’s condominium granted a clean pitch to Kole’s voice.

  Alex bit his bottom lip. Prior to the ding of the arriving elevator, he’d paced the entryway. Holding his breath, he spied on the load of people who poured forth from the elevator: nervous Carl, Big Jason, a young lady he’d never seen who carried a covered dish. Denise whistled as she stepped out and yelled, “We’re movin’ on up, Weezy!” Rosa exited last and exhaled.

  As expected, the group gathered before the nine-foot
tall, nine-foot wide piece of moving art on display in Alex’s hallway, Patterned Creation, a massive globe that continually rotated. The vast oceans were crafted in dimpled, light-blue crystal, and allowed glimpses of the globe’s hollow center and opposite side. Each country was crafted with its national stone: a green, textured, high-polished granite for America. A plate-size section of cubic zirconia cast a rainbow of sparkle each time South Africa met the light. The red of Myanmar’s ruby outline shined enough to reflect the viewer’s image. Even with artificial gemstones, he imagined that Patterned Creation’s worth floated in the mid-to-high six digits and understood he might be short by a zero or two.

  “Did you watch me like that when I checked out your globe?” Kole said.

  “Yes,” Alex replied. Just not for this long.

  Rosa stood in the rear of the pack, a pink envelope in her hand. She wore a violet blouse and tight jeans. Her shapely hips accelerated his heart rate. She turned to the door. Alex jumped back and bumped into Kole, who gripped his shoulders, gave them a reaffirming squeeze, and moved him to the side.

  Kole peeked out of the lens, jerked as the knock arrived.

  “Go back there, out of sight,” Kole whispered. “Act like you’re coming from the deck.”

  The foyer in Alex’s condominium ended with two sets of six descending steps, splitting right and left around the seven-foot tall glass case that illuminated The Matrix trench coat.

  Out of sight at the bottom of the steps, voices clashed in greeting. Alex resisted his urge to meet them at the door. Heeding Kole’s advice, he raced to the open slider but stopped short of exiting to the evening sun. He wanted to listen to them and knew the strong winds of his fifth-floor balcony would drown out his guests’ voices.

  Alex perked his hearing as a couple of them oohhed.

  Kole proudly affirmed the trench coat’s authenticity. He told one of the women, “I’ll have you take a picture of me wearing that, and nothing else.”

  Shoes padded down the hard-tiled steps, bringing Rosa into view. Alex forced out a breath and moved toward her.