Virtual Heaven, Redux

by Taylor Kole

  Upstairs, the smile of a young woman acted as a beacon. Gravitating toward her, he allowed himself to be guided to an access room. Once inside, the closed door sealed off the chatter.

  “What’s your take on all of this?” he asked.

  “Me?” She glanced away from the control panel, looked him up and down as he sat. “I think… what you have built is a wonderful escape.” She honed in on the timer and initiated its thirty-second countdown with an extravagant push of the button. “But it has become… uncontrollable. You people will figure it out, but give me all the power…and I would shut it down. Destroy it all.” She shrugged.

  Her candor surprised him into silence. He had hoped for a reply that aligned with his actions.

  “Sorry.” She gave a half-smile. “But you asked.”

  That I did, he thought as the timer hit five, four, three…

  Popping into the Lobby decompressed his chest, and lightened his entire aura. Had I actually harbored that much tension? The expulsion of stress was like being pulled from a tar pit. He kicked a leg, rotated an arm, and smirked at the notion that people wanted to destroy this.

  Taking a deep breath, he surveyed his white surrounding. Instead of the calming tranquility he expected, his yelped in fright. The remaining CO2 leaked out of him in a slow stream. His vision blurred, then returned. He’d never seen anything like this, in the Lobby.

  People—strangers not invited to the summit—were clustered close. They stretched for miles, talking in low tones.

  Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he was seeing an optical illusion? Turning to face the opposite side, he found the same sight. Innumerable people of all races, but heavily Asian in appearance, stretched into infinity. Have I entered the mirror room in a loony-bin funhouse?

  A message sprung to life before him. President Tanner sought Alex’s permission to come to his location. Absentmindedly, he okayed the request.

  The president appeared a few feet away. After locating Alex, he stared beyond him with wide eyes and a craning neck. Three inches taller than Alex, the president’s view probably encompassed even more people.

  The hushed voices of the crowd carried an ominous feel. With a population a ten-thousandth of the visitor present, the Lobby echoed with boisterous talks and jeers, vacationer excited about their upcoming experience. The loudest sounds in this populated room were the nervous queries coming from the New Age Allies, as they appeared near him. One voice, considerably louder than the rest, attempted to gain control by starting a roll call.

  Each barked name drew more of the crowd’s attention. People whispered, as they studied the continuing manifestation of politicians and officers around the president.

  Alex heard his name mumbled more than once in the crowd and felt a fright so deep, pertaining to his global work, that it threatened to morph into madness. He could have avoided this moment, these people’s presence, a dozen times over. Standing here, with his deed done, he worried that a malevolent force had guided him to this fate.

  The endless crowd formed rows and focused on the congregation. They padded silently toward him.

  “Alex Cutler.”

  He turned toward the President of the United States, who wore an impeccable suit with a red and white tie. The president’s voice remained steady, but with an undercurrent of concern. “Do you have any idea who all these people are, and what they want?”

  At the mention of Alex’s name, the crowd zeroed in on him, and the chatter expanded. The mass shuffled closer, like an army of dazed zombies.

  “That’s him.”

  “Alex Cutler is here.”

  “He’s arrived.”

  “Thank you, Alex.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cutler.”

  Similar sentiments created a ripple effect in both directions.

  The hairs on Alex’s neck stood on end.

  As people ventured into his personal space, Alex reacted. “Employee command, Alex Cutler. Space, thirty feet, forward direction, full width.” Upon completion of his order, the wall of people slid backward as if they stood on a patch of ice and were pushed by an invisible plow.

  The shouts of gratitude and praise increased, all directed at Alex. The voices reached a roar.

  “Employee command, Alex Cutler. Volume decrease, fifty percent.”

  The sounds muted.

  “A little help, please, Mr. Cutler.”

  Turning, he found the mob engulfing the president and his men. A few of the entourage who were familiar with Lobby commands had evoked their ten feet of personal space, but lacking Broumgard managerial status, that limited their capabilities.

  At the opposite edge, Alex stretched out his arms, repeated his space command, and granted the group thirty feet of space on that side. Once done, he overrode the personal space commands, so their party members could rejoin as a group.

  Having sufficient area between them and the surrounding mob allowed everyone to catch their breath, and compose themselves.

  “Well done, Mr. Cutler,” the president said, speaking loud enough to be heard above the polite chaos. “Now, do you have any idea who these people are, or why they’re here?”

  “These are the sick freaks,” a man in military accoutrements said as he strode closer. “The suicidal nutjobs from around the globe.”

  “No, it can’t be,” a man with gray hair, who looked somewhat familiar to Alex, said. “There’s way too many for that. This is like an entire city.”

  “Why are they here?” asked another.

  “It’s a sad world we inhabit. Wouldn’t you say, Mr. Cutler?” President Tanner said.

  Alex surveyed the crowd. Thousands, tens of thousands, possibly more?

  Had this many people dedicated their future to the Lobby?

  Since he hadn’t included the word “personal” in his command of thirty feet, the space started from where he’d previously stood, creating a flat wall of bodies. He crept over to an Asian woman in khaki pants and a teal blouse.

  Noticing Alex, she slowly dropped to her knees, bowed her head, and stretched out her hand.

  A wave of euphoria paused Alex.

  “Please stand,” he reached down to assist her.

  She rose bashfully, glancing left and right. A man next to her sunk to his knees and placed his head on the white.

  “What are you doing here?” Alex asked the woman. To the man, he said, “No, please stand.”

  The man ignored him. People to both sides of the man followed suit, setting off a chain reaction—a wave of people dropping in supplication.

  “What is this horseshit?” The military man blurred by and forcefully lifted the first kneeling man.

  The man allowed himself to be pulled up, but hung loosely. As soon as the military man released him, he dropped back down.

  “Stop this nonsense, you demented freaks.”

  “It’s okay, Don,” the president said.

  “No, it is not, Mr. President,” the military man said as he yanked a petite woman up. She kept her head bowed and dropped back down when released. “Make these freaks stand up,” he yelled at Alex.

  “Don, leave it alone,” the president said. He scanned the miles of people falling like dominoes. “Let’s…let’s get on with this. Mr. Cutler, are you ready? Our Japanese counterparts are excited about your participation.”

  Enthralled by the woman’s fascination with him, the trust and love on her face, Alex barely heard the man. Releasing her hand, he insisted that she stay standing, and bent to lift the man next to her, the one next to him, then another one beyond. Four uplifted people later, the process of people kneeling reversed. The people in the front rose on their own, the people behind followed suit.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of their prophet, Sung Yi,” the president said a little louder.

  Alex didn’t reply. Instead, he looked past the president, guestimating how many miles the hall would extend if a hundred thousand people populated it.

  “He’ll be in attendance today,” the p
resident continued. “He’s basically the opposition leader. And despite the misconception, they view you as ours. I pray we can use that to our advantage, persuade them to agree to our fair terms.”

  “Mr. President, we should get going,” a short woman said.

  “Sung Yi has been preaching all month that on this day, you’ll provide answers to solve our differences,” the president said. “What do you think, Mr. Cutler? Are you going to push our agenda, or are you keeping an alternate answer up your sleeve?”

  Alex smiled as wonder mixed with shame, as a lifetime of uncertainty and self-conscious thoughts floated from his person. He pushed aside regret, and replaced it with hope. “I do, Mr. President.”

  “Sir, we need to go.”

  The president turned to the woman, but he seemed to ponder Alex’s words.

  “It should be you who opens the door, Mr. President,” the woman added.

  The president nodded. “World select, Honest Meeting Room, Seventeen Seventy-Six.”

  A door appeared twenty-five feet from where the president stood.

  He looked expectantly at Alex. “Well, are you going to share this plan of yours before we head in, or just spring it on us?”

  This was Alex’s moment, a resetting of his life. He affirmed his resolve and spoke, “I won’t be attending your meeting.”

  A million fears fluttered off of him. The universe seemed to brighten. He smote his anxiety and uncertainty.

  The president furrowed his brow.

  “Whatever game you think you’re playing,” the military official said, “You can bet—”

  “Silence aggressor,” Alex said. A green halo displayed above the military man, and when Alex confirmed him as the intended target, the man’s voice cut off mid-gripe.

  The president looked at the man and then back at Alex. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m bowing out, my friend. Relinquishing your, and everyone else’s, authority over me.”

  “That’s not possible,” the president said in his most commanding tone, but he swallowed twice before adding. “You will attend this summit as our ally or face imprisonment.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Alex smirked. “I’m out of your world. The truth is, you’re standing in mine.”

  The president shook his head. “You couldn’t have harmed yourself after entering. We’ve had eyes on you since you exited Legion, so whatever you were planning, it’s not going to happen.”

  Perhaps the president believed himself to sound authoritative, but his words rang hollow to Alex. He pitied the man. In the Lobby, President Tanner was just another visitor. Alex’s life of being threatened and labeled, being told what was right and what was wrong and what he should believe, had ended.

  “Time-release cyanide,” Alex said. “It won’t kick in for another ten minutes or so, but there’s no stopping it. I’m free, Mr. Tanner.”

  The man in the military uniform looked ready to burst. The veins in his neck bulged.

  Alex resisted an urge to laugh. He was finished with cruelty—receiving or giving. With a conciliatory frown to the president, he shrugged.

  “We don’t need him, Mr. President,” the woman said. She eyed Alex, and he detected something in her gaze. Envy? “We must go,” she added.

  He ignored the comments of him being a traitor, or worse. This was his rise to power. His resurrection. Alex’s inner child wondered how these complainers would like his other surprises.

  “I still must insist that you accompany us,” the president said.

  Alex nodded sympathetically. “Employee command, Alex Cutler. Corral participants of Honest Meeting Room Seventeen Seventy-Six, exclude self, move to entrance.”

  At once, and from all angles, the congregation of summit attendants slid along the white toward the awaiting portal, ending as a huddle near the world entrance.

  He wouldn’t be attending their conference, living their rules, or swallowing their lies. For the first time, he considered Sung Yi a true prophet, and felt remorse that they had never met.

  Someday, he thought as he smiled. After all, he had eternity.

  Using one final command, he silenced the grumbling crew, knowing that once they entered their world, his restrictions on their speech and movement would fall away.

  They would get over what Alex had done.

  He faced the swell of people who, having risen, had watched everything in awe.

  Taking the closest woman by the hand, and wanting to converse a while before deciding how to spend his first lifetime, he led her through the parting crowd.

  People summoned worlds and vanished. Others followed Alex Cutler, the defacto creator of the Lobby.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Sitting on the bench where Alex had left her an hour prior, Rosa watched the busy people pass her by as if she were a shade. Having grown accustomed to the indifference, it surprised her when a man, whom she’d pegged as working for the secret service, approached her.

  “Rosa Cutler?”

  “Yes.” She adjusted her posture.

  “This is for you.” He handed her an envelope, and once it was in her grip, he disappeared into the wash of activity.

  She examined the envelope from all sides. Sealed. Normal white. Her name written in ink. Alex’s handwriting.

  Her hands trembled as she tore open the envelope.

  Quickly unfolding the letter, she made it through the first sentence before she released the paper, covered her face, and sobbed.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  From the office of his Victorian home, General Koster stared through the rain at his well-manicured lawn. The faded wooden playset and sandbox always caused him to question his parenting—ask why he counted himself lucky to see his grandchildren twice per year. Behind the play area, a patch of Indian laurels and a lone queen palm created a natural blockade, granting privacy. Rain dived at a forty-five degree angle, and pelted the pane of glass, as if each drop were piloted by an enemy determined to reach him.

  His hands had been clasped behind his back for an hour, separating only to pour and slam shots of scotch from the bottle atop his desk.

  With the world summit underway, and the United States intent on dealing with heathens, Koster waited for a miraculous outcome. Otherwise, he’d commit treason. It’d be done in the name of righteousness, to save humanity, and ensure civility. That didn’t soothe the friction in his chest, which increased by the minute.

  Tomorrow morning he would initiate airstrikes on Moscow, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and Ho Chi Minh City.

  His fabricated orders would be traced back to him. He’d be executed for high treason, or if he were lucky, he’d die in prison.

  A rap sounded on his office door, startling him. Linda knew not to disturb him in here. When she poked her head in, his anger diminished. They’d been a great unit for more than four decades, and guilt for what his actions would mean for her weighted him the most.

  “This just came for you,” she displayed a white 8x11 Tyvek envelope. He often used them when mailing important documents, since they were waterproof and nearly impossible to tear.

  “Just put it on the desk.”

  She did.

  As she neared the door, he added, “I’ll be out in a little while. Maybe we can watch a movie tonight?”

  “That’d be nice.” She closed the door.

  She’d left the envelope face up, displaying the cursive handwriting on the front. He’d thought the use of ink pens to be a lost art. Curiosity about who still penned addresses intrigued him.

  The package felt light, as if empty. No doubt it contained some parable about loyalty to country sent to him by a bitter, but cowardly, colleague.

  Using his gold-plated letter opener, he slit the envelope bottom and extracted a single sheet of lined paper.

  Scanning to the end, he identified the sender: Alex Cutler.

  What in God’s name does that bastard want?

  With his temperature spiking, he poured, then gulped, a sh
ot of scotch, and read the letter:

  General Koster,

  You know who I am, but you may not be aware that I know you, and the majority of your recent activities. I simply lacked the evidence and time to convince authorities of your plots. Also, I was preoccupied with my own agenda.

  My recent tasks have absorbed over six billion dollars from the US treasury. I have completed my goal of saturating the globe with outposts, in an attempt to introduce state-of-the-art software and implement new training—both involving pirated access points and their macro servers.

  I write this letter to notify you that your hopes of destroying the Lobby have no chance of success.

  For the past three weeks, I have not trained a single person on how to detect pirated access points and macro servers. In actuality, I have trained thousands of the Lobby faithful on how to construct more efficient pirated access points and macro servers. These individuals are in turn sharing these techniques with the people they trust, creating an irreversible proliferation of free access to the Lobby.

  I realize this is unwelcome news for you. My purpose is to give you the proper information, so you can make the best decision as to your next move. I no longer have a personal interest in your game, but there is a new fact, one you must accept: the Lobby is here to stay. It cannot be eradicated. So any criminal acts you commit now will be motivated by your own spite, with zero justification beyond cruelty and terrorism.

  Again, I am sorry things happened as they did. My advice is to accept the changes and find a way to adapt.

  Whether the Lobby is a gift from some deity, a machine created by the intellect of man, or the Devil’s ultimate temptation will be for each of us to decide.

  I have made my choice.

  The world has changed. Are you mature enough to deal with it?