Analog SFF, December 2008

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "I was beginning to have lunch,” I said, slipping on my sneakers. I'd been wearing sandals from doing yard work when Ramathustra's call came, and hadn't had time to dress for action. And Ramathustra had stressed there would be action.

  "The university information technology chief is most anxious."

  Stowing my carry-bag under my arm, I hopped out of the elevator, still tugging on the heel of a shoe. I was standing erect in a semblance of professionalism by the time I entered the conference room, whose main plasma wall screen was filled with an inflated glare that followed us as we slipped into our seats at the table.

  "This is our best simulation software consultant,” Ramathustra said to the guy on the screen. “He will be able to resolve any issues in short order."

  Suppressing a blush, I nodded toward the camera, but the swollen image only boiled. The voice was terse and low: “This situation is under warranty, you know."

  Ramathustra finished a sip of his coffee and placed the cup next to his computer pad with the deliberation of a chess grandmaster placing his queen upon the board.

  "Lives are at stake,” he said. “Time is short. Please summarize for him."

  The IT chief trained his full glare on me. A career-threatening crisis had come, I sensed, and he wanted desperately to make it seem that we were obviously to blame.

  He recited from his pad: “At 1:13 PM, a professor and two students from the literature department entered the Moby Digital simulation and—"

  "Excuse me,” I blurted. “Moby Digital?"

  "That's the name of the virtual reality simulation.” He gave me the what-kind-of-idiot-are-you look. “You're going to troubleshoot, and you're not familiar with it?"

  "He is certified in Real Life Technology's Virtual Reality Operating System Version 6.1,” Ramathustra replied smoothly. “He is the best freelance consultant available. We are fortunate to have him on short notice, as he was about to have lunch. Please continue."

  I returned the IT chief's stony stare, for my first response to confrontation has always been paralysis. For better or worse, in the business world, this is interpreted as being the “strong, silent type."

  Finally, he resumed reading. “The university central VR system conducted a routine status check at 1:30, which pinged normal. Around 1:43, however, the university master control program reported a breach of the university computer system firewall, in which several hundred gigabytes transferred from the internet—"

  "Can you determine the exact amount of data transferred?” Ramathustra asked. “It is relevant."

  "I'll get it. Let's see—the data stream transferred from the internet, replicated and vectored into the VR system, infiltrating the School of Medicine's heart, brain, and lung surgery simulations and several School of Engineering factory environment simulations. They were shut down and rebooted without incident.

  "However, during the 2:00 PM status check, user IDs within the Moby Digital simulation failed to respond. The sys admin undertook manual pinging, no response. At 2:11 she contacted me, and we determined to evacuate all other users from the entire system. At 2:17, I contacted RLT Customer Service—and here we are."

  According to geographical coordinates provided by the screen caption, his “here” was actually over a thousand miles southward, though still in the same time zone.

  "Out of contact for over an hour,” I said. My legs shifted unconsciously as I tried to diplomatically frame my next question. “Do you know if, if they're still, uh..."

  "Breathing? Yes, we're still registering biotelemetry."

  "Have you, uh, verified that it's not, uh, bogus?"

  He stared blankly. “How would we do that?"

  Ramathustra interjected: “Let's assume the users are yet unharmed."

  "Agreed,” the IT chief said. “Now, could we get them out before membrane fatigue squeezes them all into a puddle of blood?"

  Ironically, he still wanted to talk, but mainly to assert that it wasn't his responsibility, and RLT would be liable for injuries. Ramathustra courteously but hastily bade farewell. In the corridor, he said, “The company will pay a double bonus."

  Don't get me wrong, I like money. But as head of RLT's Customer Service Field Response Group, Ramathustra is notoriously frugal. He doesn't offer added financial incentives to freelancers unless there is, as he phrases it, “a significant challenge."

  Perhaps I should have asked for triple. But it was all I could do to keep my curiosity from betraying me. Ramathustra has been known to reduce payment offers if he knows you're attracted to an assignment by more than the money.

  "Moby Digital,” I said casually. “In a university literature department. This sim wouldn't have anything to do with the novel Moby Dick would it?"

  "I have been informed that it does,” he replied. “I trust that as a native-born citizen of America, you are intimately familiar with this literary icon of your culture."

  "Uh, it was written in the nineteenth century by Herman Melville. It's about Captain Ahab, who hunts a white whale named Moby Dick. You know anything more?"

  "Just that the whale kills everyone.” Ramathustra drained his coffee and gazed toward the Immersion Unit Room. “Make a point to stay out of its way."

  * * * *

  Ramathustra wound through the nine-foot-wide spheres within the IUR toward the control console, where the operator spoke via video screen to a woman whose immaculate clothing clashed with hair that had become unkempt since coming to work.

  While Ramathustra addressed them, I bee-lined for the restroom. Like the man says, I'm experienced. Go before you go, as my parents used to say on road trips.

  After that, I washed off the sweat of yard work to make way for the sweat of whatever VR activity I was about to encounter, for I knew that Ramathustra almost always selected me for the grunt jobs. The man seemed to think I was invulnerable, an impression I'd love to disillusion him of, except that it brought me more assignments.

  Stay out of its way, I thought. Did he suspect the physical-safety programming was compromised? That would explain the double bonus.

  With a sigh and headshake at the mirror, I opened my carry-bag. I slipped on my personal pair of sky blue VR coveralls and returned to the IUR.

  Ramathustra was flitting his fingers across the control console keyboard. The operator frowned at the movements and said, “You can't do that, it'll override—"

  "Thank you for your input,” Ramathustra said. “It is most appreciated and valued. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? Please lock the door on your way out."

  The console squeaked like annoyed mice. Behind me, I heard the door click. Ramathustra ignored my rapidly respirating presence and said to the woman on the screen: “Okay, ready to transfer control of our unit to your system."

  The woman, whose badge identified her as the university VR system administrator, replied coolly, “You do realize you could be walking into a trap."

  Ramathustra met my wide-eyed gaze. “You do realize that, don't you?"

  "Yes,” I said. Now, I thought.

  He observed me carefully, but not well enough to hear my pounding heart.

  They worked in tandem. Across a thousand miles of fiber optics, control of Immersion Unit One was transferred to the university VR system. The unit hummed and chugged for a few seconds, then was quiescent.

  "Before we go further,” the system administrator said. “I want to check on user status. Is there a back up procedure in these situations?"

  "Certainly,” Ramathustra said. “Go over to the unit and listen."

  "What?"

  "Go over to one of the occupied units. Press your ear against the side. Listen."

  She raised an eyebrow. While we waited, Ramathustra unlocked a cabinet and took out a pair of microphone-earphone headsets, sprayed disinfectant, and wiped.

  The sys admin returned. “I heard their voices!"

  "No groans or shrieks of agony or terror?” he asked.

  She blinked. “No ... just voices. C
onversational tone, I'd say."

  "Good.” Finished with the polishing, he handed one of the headsets to me. We inserted earplugs and adjusted mikes. Facing me, he said: “Communications check."

  "Loud and clear."

  The sys admin squinted. “Mind if I ask what you're doing?"

  "Given that we have lost conventional intersystem communications,” Ramathustra replied, “we must improvise with our own independent method of communication."

  "Won't the membrane block the signal? I was told phones wouldn't work in the IUs."

  "Cell phone and immersion unit operations interfere because they transmit in the same multi-gigahertz frequency band. These devices transmit in kilohertz, at which the membrane is quite permeable."

  "We should get a pair of those. How much do they cost?"

  "I don't know. My wife bought them for our children. Check the toy stores."

  He jabbed a console control. On the sphere with the big red “1” on the side, the indicator lights lit. The hatch swung open, revealing the membrane-swathed interior.

  "In you go,” Ramathustra said. “Break a leg."

  His tone was so light that in I went indeed, forgetting to ask for a bigger bonus until after the hatch closed. By then it was too late—and I was curious anyhow.

  * * * *

  Once the immersion unit sealed, I waited while Ramathustra continued to hack the system in ways that I probably didn't want to know about. Eventually, the gray membrane walls rippled and oozed, covering the hatchway.

  The compartment light faded and the tricolor laser mounting began tracking my head movements, always positioning itself to be just out of reach. Then the red, blue, and green beams flashed, painting my eyeballs with computer generated imagery.

  To my sight, the syrupy membrane vanished, replaced by a circular platform beneath a black sky filled with stars.

  "Okay,” I said. “I'm in."

  The sys admin's disembodied voice spoke: “No, you're not. You're only into the university VR system, not the Moby Digital simulation itself."

  "How do I get there?"

  "Before you do that,” Ramathustra said, “I wish for you to try the Tilt Test."

  "Roger. Here goes."

  I raised my hands in front of my chest, palms outward. I leaned forward. My fall accelerated until my body reached a forty-five degree tilt—and then the membrane mushed about my legs, torso, and head, and gently set me erect once more.

  "You all right?"

  "The operating system kept me from hurting myself, if that's what you mean."

  "'And in their hands they shall bear thee up.’ Good."

  "I can communicate with you but not with the users in the sim,” the sys admin said. “That could mean the safety routines work outside but not inside."

  "Suspension of safety routines is an extremely rare occurrence,” Ramathustra replied, “and exclusive to military and police simulations."

  "What about that item in the news, about a heart attack at a theme park?"

  "That person might have had the same heart attack while driving a car. It was a matter of timing, not software."

  I thought—and hoped—we'd get down to business then, but the sys admin blurted with vigor: “Well, I just don't like your company's whole approach to immersive VR. A system crash could be fatal, since the default mode of your membrane cells is to expand to maximum size and crush the user. It's insane, if you ask me."

  Ramathustra said in a tone as measured as the sys admin's was emotional, “I do not see how we can engineer otherwise. Each cell in the membrane is simply a tiny spring, which is compressed by a tiny electromagnet. Depower the magnet, and the spring uncompresses. It is very simple, and therefore inexpensive, which is why it is popular."

  "But not safe, if all the magnets depower at once."

  "There is risk in every mode of transportation, even virtual. Now, let us proceed with deliberate haste, as your supervisor expressed concern about membrane fatigue."

  "I thought that took several hours to—"

  "Let's not cut our time margin more than we must."

  No doubt he was also thinking of my billing rate, but membrane fatigue was no joke. Unless the system depowered, the spongelike cells of the microprocessorlike membrane would eventually bloat. As IU occupancy volume shrank, all virtual transport tickets would be downgraded from First Class to Squish.

  "Follow the arrow,” the sys admin said, with resignation.

  On the platform at my feet, a large “painted” arrow pointed toward the ledge. I followed it, the membrane underfoot gliding smoothly backward with each step as if I were on a treadmill, so that in the real world I remained centered in the immersion unit.

  At the edge of the platform, I came to a walkway. I took a couple of steps, then looked down at the image of Earth that someone had aesthetically placed there. Big mistake. My head spun and my stomach tossed, and I staggered back.

  "What's wrong?” the sys admin asked. Evidently she could see me too.

  "Sorry,” I said, massaging my temples. “A little vertigo, that's all."

  "Don't tell me you're susceptible to Evocation."

  "Well..."

  "How can you be a VR troubleshooter and be susceptible to Evocation?"

  Before I could answer, Ramathustra replied, “It is because of his enhanced sensitivity toward his environment that he is good at his work."

  Only an illusion, I thought. Not looking down, I stepped off the platform again.

  The walkway branched toward translucent globes that shimmered among the stars, like planet-sized eggs deposited by a cosmic Easter bunny. Beneath the domes played images of factories, jungles, gargantuan human organs. In the astronomy section, a larger-than-average globe was filled with pinwheels of ghostlike luminosity, and modestly labeled THE WHOLE ENTIRE UNIVERSE.

  The Literature Section had only a single globe. Approaching, I realized that Evocation had deceived me; the globes were only room-sized. The path terminated at the equator of the globe. Above, the hovering sign read, MOBY DIGITAL (AKA MOBY DICK, OR THE WHITE WHALE). Through the aura of the dome, I peered down a thousand-foot drop at a sail-masted wooden ship plowing across a choppy sea.

  "How do I get inside the sim?” I asked.

  "Step forward,” the sys admin replied.

  I was afraid of that.

  * * * *

  Stars spun during the fall. It was as if I were tumbling head over heels, though I stood straight the whole time. It was dizzying and I came close to throwing up, which concerned me, since there's no safety routine to prevent that.

  In my nausea, I lost count of how many revolutions. Got to get a desk job, I remember thinking. Then wooden planks ascended to greet me.

  Smack! The ship's deck (okay, the membrane) struck hard. So much for the Tilt Test, I thought, as pain stung my kneecaps.

  I steadied myself and reached for the rail. Alerted by the VR system of the approach of my fingers, the membrane's microscopic cells mimicked the shape and texture of the wood with perfection—at least to my Evocation-distorted touch.

  I propped myself and examined my physical transformation. My jumpsuit was concealed beneath a computer-generated coat, trousers, boots. Being part of the simulation, my body was painted by the immersion unit's laser projectors, my computer-generated skin matching the pixel resolution of the rest of the environment.

  I looked around, absorbed my surroundings, and almost gasped.

  The imagery approached photorealistic. I saw the grain of the planks, the ripple of sunlight upon the sea, the delicate shading of the sky from deep blue at zenith to misty white at the horizon. With all but a handful of users evacuated, the entire university VR system was churning out polygons for just this one simulation, and it was more detailed than anything I'd experienced short of prototype.

  I almost got seasick. I reminded myself it was the horizon, not me, that swayed.

  "Hello,” I said. I lifted my eyes unto the clouds. “Anyone out there?"

&
nbsp; "Yes,” Ramathustra said, but only faintly through my earplug. “We have lost system communications, and the sys admin can't monitor you. You're all right?"

  "Been better,” I said, still feeling the quease. “Shall we try Administrative Eject?"

  "I shall prepare to flip the switch. On this count: three, two, one—eject!"

  The deck creaked, the waves tossed. The IU ventilation system blew a cool sea breeze and I swear, I smelled seaweed. That's Evocation for you, but I had other matters on my mind just then. Like how I had become trapped in a machine that could kill me.

  Ramathustra said calmly: “Try again. Three, two—"

  Not a flash, not a glimmer. “This ain't good."

  "We'll get you out. I have tried the authorized way, now I'll try some not-so-authorizeds. Why don't you attempt User Verbal?"

  "Karma Eject,” I said to the mast. “Karma Eject,” I said to the sails. “Karma Eject,” I said as succinctly as possible, to the sky. All refused to vanish.

  From another world, Ramathustra mumbled: “Nothing seems to work...."

  "Well ... should I go ahead and blow my brains out?"

  "Hold off for now. Let's find the users first."

  I had sensed the sim characters as mere blurs, but on close look the detail astonished. Maybe not every strand of hair was numbered, but—wrinkles, warts, the dilation of pupils with lighting—each sailor was unmistakably individual. I recognized only a few faces from the Virtual Basic stock character set. Someone had been creative.

  The sailors swabbed decks, pulled ropes, milled about. I doubt a real ship would be half as busy. With the deck crowded, the users—undoubtedly in costume and rendered at sim-resolution—didn't pop out. Which normally was the whole idea.

  The utility satchel was clipped to my hip, just like Ramathustra always programs it to be. I delved my arm deep within the larger-on-the-inside interior and sifted through the tools of my trade: the Golden Dragon Slayer sword, various projectile weapons, grenades, the action-hero thingy that shoots a grappling hook. Floating at the side was the Tablet of Destinies—i.e., RLT's standard In-Simulation Diagnostic & Control Device.

  I pulled on the ISDAC's frame, expanding the device to notebook size. I tapped buttons and held the screen at arms length. In that mode, the screen was a window, and virtual objects seen through it were color-coded: blue for inanimate, green for AI, red for avatar. I glimpsed red near mid-deck and walked over.