by Taylor Kole
The second world, Triassic Park, combined bright colors with a daring concept: the completed, nonlethal version of the dream envisioned by Dr. John Hammond, the scientist from Michael Crichton’s novel Jurassic Park. The twenty-two-square-mile island offered eighty of the most exotic extinct plants purported to have existed, forty-seven modified insects, and twelve absolutely docile dinosaur varieties.
The extensive research wore down the entire team. Even with twenty-seven dedicated, highly competent workers and four new hires, they spent half of the project on authenticity. Thanks to their prideful determination, a client could now interact with a timid anspeodite, a fictional, cat-like reptile with a monkey’s characteristics. Their mischievous creation would hustle up a tree then swing loosely from branch to branch, dangling with a scaled tail while inspecting the humans below.
The previous five months had been spent toiling 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 an as-yet-undetermined battle for the infamous town.
In keeping with the historic nature, the program involved a user-specific memory that spanned four days, the same duration 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 to discover what it felt like when a cannonball tore off a leg, and life pump out of their femoral artery. When a client died, they would be kicked into the lobby section, with the option 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 re-created. On the plus side, give those in power a flash of this horror, and Alex knew they’d be less likely to engage in armed conflict.
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. The psychological reasoning behind that continued to elude him.
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 coat still acted as the centerpiece when a guest entered, but a series of paintings, themed around Rome’s open fields and urban alleyways, had replaced the movie posters.
A candlelit feast for two sat on 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, her necklace’s gold crucifix resting on her chest. Her luminous hair spiraled onto her shoulders. Dim lighting and a quartet of three-wick candles enhanced the ambiance, all accentuated by Rosa’s flowery perfume.
“What’s all this?” he asked, approaching her and giving her a kiss.
“Well, we have a lot to celebrate,” she said, motioning for him to sit next to her.
They did have a lot to celebrate, he thought, but how could she know? Confused, and concerned she’d somehow learned his surprise, he decided to stay quiet—discover her agenda instead of spilling his surprise.
“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 you a gift to prove it.”
She sipped her wine and inspected his empty hands. “Is that so? By all means, expand our reason to celebrate.”
He didn’t have the spine to tell her he’d celebrated every day since meeting her.
He separated the two stacked plates, sliced the roasted chicken, placed a slab of succulent meat onto 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?”
He scooped a serving of green bean casserole on each plate, then a pile 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 was a mythical figure, even more to those who lacked proper clearance. “He gave me a substantial 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 wasn’t a driving force for either of them, he wanted her to consider the idea that his pay increase was all he had to share. Once that possibility settled, he continued, “More importantly, I’ve been granted unlimited use of Eridu’s amenities, and another small bonus.”
Rosa stayed silent. She attempted to hide her interest by cutting the chicken into bite-size cubes. She’d abandoned questioning him about what went on in the Atrium, 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 his 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, but 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 that nothing else could make people so happy, so guarded over its 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 horndog out banging robots.” She drained the last splash of wine and set her glass on the table. “But now you’re saying I get to be in the know?” She smiled, then slumped her shoulders and looked defeated. “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 I 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 possess much luster to begin with, he’d say no, but dozens of times a day, he fantasized about being in the Lobby. 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 have sex.
Everything seemed a little better when inside the Lobby. He’d never considered playing golf before. 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 angle 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, 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’d expected. She s
tarted 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, the discussion became a squabble, bordering on an argument.
Thirty placating minutes into that, Alex understood why Tara 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 a champ. He returned to the table and picked at the cold food. Her many points of opposition added to his confusion. What was wrong with perfect living?
Per the norm, they showered in separate bathrooms and climbed into bed together. On that night, however, the space between them was like 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 Lobby’s engulfing white.
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 the lobby’s walls impossible to detect. Once in a while, a client arrived down the hall, creating a distance marker. Otherwise, Alex often felt like he stood in the center of a cloud.
“We hope to be finished with Gettysburg by Thanksgiving,” Alex said. “People are saving their Lobby credits to binge war over the holidays.”
“You plan on visiting that world?” Rosa asked nonchalantly. He knew her well enough to detect her subtle rebuke.
When caught between telling Rosa a lie or losing faith, Alex chose honesty. “I’m curious to find out how I will react in such a crazy environment.”
“Hmm. What worlds are planned after that?”
“Gettysburg is so much more involved than we expected. It’s draining my team. When we’re done, I’ll give everyone a week off. After that, we’ll knock out a handful of simple projects. Possibly a scuba diving world, where clients can learn about aquatic life; have an option for human gills or webbed hands. Maybe big-game hunting, or an equestrian world with trails, and obstacle courses. I’ve also been thinking about 1860 Japan.” Alex’s excitement rose just from thinking about it. “Samurais clashing with the Western world, but to make things fair, toss in a pinch of magic on the shogun’s side.”
“Another war world.” With her back to him, Rosa balled her hair in a wad and squeezed—the equivalent of a horse raising its tail and dropping a load.
Waking that morning, she’d seemed more willing to enter the Lobby with an open mind. Still, she fell short of the hyper-giddy he originally pictured when he daydreamed about them enjoying this together. At least they were here. She seemed resigned to getting through it, as cordially as possible, and he still believed by the end of this trip, she’d be hooked.
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 around, and entered. But it seemed each new world increased traffic in the Lobby.
Alex wanted to share this with the world, but the number of new clients continued to rise and current clients never left. Soon, that would create a problem.
The modified clothing identified these men as regulars. It usually took three or four trips before a client learned how to use the voice command menu and swap out the standard-issue Broumgard attire.
One of the men said something in a voice 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’d 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 cute 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.
Alex had never visited that world, and he never would. Some life experiences were best avoided.
Broumgard estimated seventy percent of vacation minutes were spent in Pleasure House 101. Playing out sexual fantasies would undoubtedly bring pleasure, along with reality distortions. Drugs like cocaine and heroin probably made you feel great, too. Their drawbacks were just better known.
Alex didn’t judge any of them. People had to establish their own moral code. Alex had made mistakes, but he was proud to say things like, ‘he’d never stolen, or been in a fight, or purposefully deceived anyone. Granted, he normally avoided interacting, so it wasn’t the most accomplished list.
This job was forcing him to make more difficult decisions. Some of those conflicted with his boast about deceiving people. He might tell someone they could move on to an easier task once done with their current one, knowing they wouldn’t. He often told people he would consider their idea for their next world, knowing he wouldn’t.
“How much do they charge clients to spend eight hours in here?” Rosa said as she paced a few steps across the white floor, her sneakers leaving dimples with each step.
“I guess that really depends,” he said as he tried to remember if he’d ever heard or saw a pricing chart. He had always earned enough credits to vacation before the urge overwhelmed him. With his new promotion, he could now visit for an unlimited length. Rumors abounded that when they first opened, with only two worlds—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 million? Then divided by two, then again by two-hundred and fifty months.
“I guess the cost fluctuates,” Alex answered, “but it’d still be more than we could afford.”
She turned to him. “Have you checked your bank balance lately?”
“I guess not.” His saving probably neared six figures. He’d established direct deposit shortly after being hired. Donated ten percent of his income to St. Jude’s and five percent to a place called Morgan’s Wonderland in Texas—a significantly underfunded theme park for children with mental and physical disabilities. He sent his mother her original five-hundred dollar a month allotment plus fifty percent, spent as needed, and hadn’t glanced at the balance since.
Some quick math helped him realize that he warmed a healthy nest 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 fist 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 go sailing in San Francisco?”
“Of course, there are dozens and dozens of boats. We can take them as far as a quarter mile beyond Alcatraz.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn to sail.” She pondered a moment, then added, “What do you think?”
“I think San Francisco sounds great. I’d really like us to take the official tour in Triassic Park. I’ve never been. They have flowers with petals 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 creations.”
Alex pursed his lips.
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, and totally unnatural. I can’t stop thinking that I’m sitting in a chair, being deceived.”
“You’re not being deceived.” He gently shook her arm. “This is you, and me.”
“It’s your thing,
Alex,” she said as she tugged her arm free. “It’s great. It’s unreal. I’m having fun, and it’s exciting, but… it’s just a bit much. You know? Maybe I’m just not used to it.”
He somewhat understood. Not personally. He’d never heard of someone not loving the Lobby from their first moment inside, but people were different. Rosa was the first openly religious person he knew. She was definitely the first to accuse the Lobby of siphoning her soul. Maybe she took all the Bible stories literally.
Leaving the topic alone, he said, “Sailing in San Francisco, with you, will be wonderful.”
“Another thing has been nagging me.”
“What?”
Pivoting to the white and back to Alex, she said, “Is all of this legal?”
Alex exhaled.
All talk about 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.
Eridu prohibited internet access, 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.”
“Happy anniversary,” he said with a downcast turn of his mouth
She kissed him again, dissolving more of his worry. Another kiss leveled out his frown, the fourth brought a grin. When he met her eyes, she raised her eyebrows. “Can we, umm, do it in here? Without anyone watching?”
“Do… it?” Alex considered Rosa’s suggestion. “Sailing the Bay just became way 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 have limited controls on clients. We can restrict movement, lower people’s voices, lots of things, when in this lobby section. Of course, as the big boss, I have supreme override on all commands. In a world, however, the settings of that reality rule. Broumgard employees became just regular clients.