Cole Perriman's Terminal Games

by Wim Coleman

  Tough luck, Elfie. Better luck next time.

  She clicked out of the planetarium and logged off Insomnimania.

  Insomnimania Manual Addendum: The Pleasure Dome

  Sure, we’ve always had a library of erotica and a sex room—what self-respecting computer network doesn’t? But we knew early on that you out there with your high-end personal computers, near-light-speed modems, and wonderful imaginations would never be satisfied with ordinary words-only entertainment.

  We knew that, sooner rather than later, you’d want fully realized animations of your sexual interactions. You’re all adults, after all, and when you want network sex you don’t want it watered down by prudery and censorship.

  So when our members made the request, we were ready. Our own team of hot programmers animated and expanded the library and also put the weightless chamber game online within days of your first expression of interest. Then, urged on by your cheers and demands, we went right ahead with even more participational activities. All these new sex rooms and games can now be found in the Pleasure dome, a palace devoted to deliciously sensual adventures.

  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

  A stately pleasure dome decree …

  —Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  “Kubla Khan”

  So go ahead. Wander over to the Pleasure Dome on your Insomnimania desktop maze, and here’s what you’ll see:

  La Bibliothèque Érotique

  Frankenstein’s Meat Market

  Aphrodite Escorts

  The Tunnel of Love

  The Weightless Chamber

  Motelibido

  WELCOME TO THE PLEASURE DOME!

  You can enjoy the burning pages at the Bibliothèque or the challenging game of the weightless chamber without changes to your animated alter. Other activities require special alternations for full participation.

  note: For step-by-step instructions on the use of each Pleasure Dome area, turn to the reference section at the back of this addendum.

  RULES FIRST!

  There are only two rules:

  No births. We’re not telling you to use proper birth control. We’re telling you pregnancies just can’t happen here. Strictly verboten.

  No deaths. Beatings, torture, maiming, sadism, and any sort of verbal or physical abuse is fair game. Also permitted are nonfatal venereal diseases—of your own creating, if you wish. But nobody gets out of here dead.

  That’s it. Those are the rules. No birth, no death, just sex, sex, sex—immoderate, immediate, immemorial, and immortal. Oh, yeah. And violence, too … if that’s you’re thing

  You don’t like these rules? Go start your own room!

  CYBERNETIC CROSS-DRESSING

  Be honest, now. If you were perfectly happy with your meaty form, you wouldn’t be stalking cyberspace in search of a virtual sexual alter. So don’t be shy. Get kinky.

  Tired of belonging to that same old lifelong gender? Switch! Or make up a new gender altogether! Remember, you’re anonymous. Nobody has to know.

  Tired of belonging to that same old lifelong species? Be an interplanetary mutant! As long as you’ve got genitals and orifices (entirely of your own specifications—including size, shape, proportion, and quantity) you’re in the show.

  On your way in, stop by Frankenstein’s Meat Market. This is where you’ll assemble your erotic alter.

  The Colin Clive look-alike is the good doctor himself. He’ll help you turn those sides of beef into the body of your choice. Our clip-art library is also at your service. Unless, of course, you just want to be a voyeur. If so, grab a flashlight on your way in. Whatever screws your socks on.

  HOW ROUGH DO YOU WANT TO PLAY?

  Hold it. Don’t answer too hastily now. This is the Pleasure Dome and you’re playing a role, so the choice is yours. No matter how much of a jellyfish you are in real life, you can be a sexual powerhouse in the Pleasure Dome. And no matter how explosive your libido may be in real life, you can be a cowering, helpless waif in the Pleasure Dome. Just follow our simple formula:

  EROTIC HANDICAPPING

  Your erotic handicap is based on a ratio of desire over aggression. The scale goes from -10 to +10.

  -10 on the DESIRE scale indicates a total revulsion toward the sexual act, while +10 indicates Olympian horniness.

  -10 on the AGGRESSION scale is the very nadir of helplessness, while +10 puts you in the same league as King Kong.

  A ratio of +10 over +10 is the epitome of both willingness and strength. You are the ultimate beast, the last word in dominance. You may or may not want that.

  A ratio of -10 over -10 makes you a guaranteed victim. You are the ultimate prey, the last word in submission. You may or may not want that either.

  Sound limiting? Hardly. For those of you who don’t have your pocket calculators handy, there are exactly 400 possible handicaps available. What’s more, handicaps are entirely distinct from gender or sexual preference. And your handicap is strictly confidential. When somebody approaches your alter in the Pleasure Dome (and you can be sure somebody will), he, she, or it may be in for a little surprise. The choice is yours. Fill in your erotic handicap in the blanks below:

  Desire quotient: _____________________________

  Aggression quotient: _________________________

  10011

  WHORE

  Marianne scanned the computer manual and other materials that described Insomnimania’s rooms. She was proud that Elfie was getting more proficient at socializing in the cyberculture, but she could see that there was a great deal yet to be explored on Insomnimania. Since she thought Auggie was sure to be a pro network navigator, she wanted to make certain Elfie could handle any activity that he suggested. To her amusement, she was already thinking of Elfie as a courageous little spy who was bravely placing herself in bizarre situations to track a killer.

  A heroine, that Elfie. It was a designation Marianne had never considered for herself.

  However, even though Elfie had looked in on some of the other Insomnimania activities, she had only entered the planetarium, the bar, and the casino in person. And Nolan had done most of the decision making in the casino.

  The Insomnimania labyrinth was so large now that Marianne knew she would never have time to explore all of it. Of course, she had no qualms about taking Elfie into any of the game rooms or to vacation spots such as Babbage Beach or the Amethyst Mountains. But she and Elfie might as well face it—they were completely unprepared to visit some parts of the Pleasure Dome.

  Marianne had played around casually and anonymously in the Weightless Chamber, where pre-built bodies were provided, and she had read freely in La Bibliothèque Érotique, but she hardly expected Auggie to want to go to either of those places. She might try signing up with Aphrodite Escorts, but vaguely doubted that Auggie would go for a call girl, however kinkily got up. The Tunnel of Love and the notorious Motelibido seemed Auggie’s more likely choices. But Marianne had only visited the Tunnel of Love as an observer, and she had never even been in the Motelibido.

  The places of deeper disguises. What was Elfie going to do if Auggie wanted her to join him in the tunnel or the motel? Would she just tell him to take someone else? She would never find out anything that way. A real spy must be ready, with appropriate costumes, for every situation.

  And who hides behind Auggie’s everyday costume? Did the clown suit conceal the woman murderer? Marianne knew that she had no way to tell. Auggie presented himself as a male, and Elfie had to continue thinking of him that way. They’d better get prepared this very afternoon for possible Pleasure Dome activity. Even when Insomnimania was not online, software was available on members’ own computers for creating alters.

  Marianne turned on her computer and got out the addendum to the Insomnimania manual that explained the use of the
Pleasure Dome. She took Elfie to Frankenstein’s Meat Market, one of the areas that was not limited to network hours.

  A deranged but salesman-like mad doctor, replete with white coat and disheveled hair, appeared on the screen, standing inside a forced-perspective walk-in freezer. A row of identical sides of beef hung on hooks. The speaker on Marianne’s terminal crackled as the animated Dr. Frankenstein spoke in a synthesized voice. Crudely animated frost emerged from his mouth.

  “Welcome to Frankenstein’s Meat Market!” he said with a maniacal, old style horror film cackle. “Live cybermeat for sale! Some assembly required!”

  Marianne clicked one of the beef sides hanging in the doorway of the market. Elfie vanished, and the view switched to an editing screen—similar to the one in the Factory. In the center of the screen was the image of a slab of beef. Aligned at one side were the tools and pre-built selections that Marianne could use.

  She saw a menu with standard computer graphics tools—pencils, brushes, palates, colors, and the like. With these tools, one could reshape Dr. Frankenstein’s beef sides into limbs, sex organs, or entire bodies. Also available was a grotesque variety of clip-art, including engravings from nineteenth-century books and catalogues, excerpts from Gray’s Anatomy, scanned-in pornographic photographs, comic book and movie magazine science fiction creatures, and a wide selection of wildlife pictures.

  Marianne wondered what Auggie might find attractive. A lady clown? One of those with big padded boobs and a wild red wig? No, it seemed too obvious. Auggie might not even be a clown in his Pleasure Dome incarnation. In fact, there was no way to guess what he would look like.

  So she was left with the question of what form she would like to use for sex with Auggie—or maybe even with others. Her first mental image was of something like a turtle, shielded from touch.

  Or maybe a woman in armor. How about a Joan of Arc?

  Then she remembered her mental picture of the female murderer in a silver dress. With a sudden qualm, Marianne wondered if she were trying to create some sort of mirror image—to make Elfie into a warrior woman to match and combat the villainess. The Pleasure Dome was no place for that kind of battle. Besides, armor would just he a waste of time—it would have to come off anyhow.

  A cartoon for sex ... what should it be? The question made Marianne feel uncomfortable, as though she were about to turn Elfie into a hooker. At that thought, sounds and images from her adolescence filtered into her memory.

  Although her immediate family had been Quakers, a concerned West Virginia aunt had taken her several times to hear an evangelist—a handsome young preacher who had ranted against the sins of the body. Marianne had just been entering puberty, with its physical and emotional imbalances, and the preacher had made her feel that she was probably already soiled and potentially very dirty, indeed. When her parents had realized the nature of the sermons, they had rescued Marianne from the aunt and taken her back with them to their own more peaceful Sunday services. She had not thought about the frantic preacher in many years, but now she seemed to hear his voice, as though he still raged on far away in the distance.

  The Whore of Babylon walks among us here today, she “with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her fornication.” Watch for her within your hearts, my daughters. She parades before you, my sons and brothers, she yearns to steal your souls. Yes, yes, I can see her now, the great and evil bitch in her red-and-purple robes and wearing her fine golden jewelry, her precious stones and pearls. She is an abomination, sisters, and she seeks to bring herself to life within you.

  “The Whore of Babylon,” Marianne repeated to herself. The preacher’s image seemed silly to her now. He had gone on at length about the whore’s fine jewelry, she remembered. Doubtless some of that congregation had given up their jewelry in the offering tray that day—and perhaps some of them went out and bought new bangles right after the service. She decided that the Whore of Babylon would be quite at home in the Pleasure Dome. And then it would not really be her innocent Elfie venturing there, it would be another personality entirely.

  Marianne looked through the library of images and selected a standard pin-up type female body. The form immediately stood before her, pink and naked, replacing the side of beef in the editing window. That’s the whore. She gave the image black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes with heavy mascara and blue eye shadow. She rouged her cheeks and then the nipples of her breasts and put more jewels in her hair and one in her navel. She used the special programming tool to give her the standard orifices.

  She should wear something—a little something, anyhow. Marianne looked among the costumes and found a gold skirt that was slit up the front. She added several veils and made them red and turquoise. Then she drew in heavy gold jewelry set with colored stones. She left the breasts bare. In the name box, she typed “Babylonia.”

  Now she had to choose an appropriate erotic handicap for Babylonia. The numbers she picked would affect the way any two alters interacted in the Pleasure Dome. Marianne studied the explanations of the ratings. What would be most dominant in Babylonia, desire or aggression? Desire, surely. She typed +8 in that space. And just how aggressive would Babylonia he? Probably not as much so as Auggie, but of course, she had no idea how the clown had rated himself.

  Well, Babylonia wasn’t going to be a victim. She would certainly not be in the negative numbers. Marianne typed +4 for aggression. She hoped that Babylonia’s rating would mesh well with the clown’s. She would probably find out tonight.

  “Well, Baby, you certainly look right for the scenario,” Marianne said aloud. “But remember, now, that you’re a spy. You’re on a mission. Don’t get carried away with the role of whore.”

  Making plans for a cybernetic affair brought Marianne’s mind hack to her real one. Suddenly she very much wanted to see Nolan again. She picked up the telephone and hesitated for a moment. He had said that he’d be working today even though it was Sunday. She dialed his division number and waited while the call was connected to his extension.

  “Grobowski,” the voice answered, rather gruffly.

  “Nolan,” she said, “am I disturbing anything important?”

  “Not anything that couldn’t use a little disturbance. I’m glad to hear from you.” He sounded surprised. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I mean, there’s nothing wrong. But I just had the tremendous urge to see you.”

  “That’s terrific! I’m sure glad to hear it.”

  “Look, my schedule is more flexible than yours. How would it be if I came to the city tomorrow and stayed a couple of days?”

  “That would be great. But you know I’ve got to work, maybe long hours.

  “I have a lot of work to catch up on myself. I’ll just keep everything going during the day. And I have to be back here on Wednesday for a meeting at the office.”

  “Listen,” he said, then hesitated before continuing. “I’d love it if you’d stay at the house with me if you don’t mind being alone there during the day.”

  The invitation pleased her more deeply than she would have expected. “I’d like that very much,” she said. “I’m sure I can work as well there as in a hotel—better, probably.”

  She made arrangements to meet him at his house tomorrow evening. When she hung up the phone, she felt giddy and silly again. She laughed out loud when she remembered the boyish delight in his voice.

  So Babylonia was ready for sex with some cartoon character tonight—or was it more accurate to say that Elfie would have sex with Auggie, with both of them in disguise? Of course, in another way of thinking, Marianne would simulate sex with whoever was behind Auggie. However she chose to look at it, somebody was to have sex with a stranger.

  But tomorrow night would be much less complicated and much more desirable. Tomorrow
night Marianne would make warm and pleasurable love with a very real flesh-and-blood man.

  *

  That evening, Marianne logged onto Insomnimania at eight o’clock, as soon as the game came online. She had decided to practice taking the new cartoon alter into the Pleasure Dome at least once before she met with Auggie. He usually didn’t show up in Ernie’s until later at night.

  This time, when she typed her password, she got a message box instead of the usual opening of the Insomnimania desktop maze. “Incorrect password, try again,” it said.

  That’s odd. She was almost sure she had typed in the right letters. Don’t be so eager. You’re getting sloppy. She typed her password again, more carefully this time, and the network came up on her screen just as it should. Marianne took Elfie to the diagram of the Pleasure Dome and selected Frankenstein’s Meat Market. She exchanged Elfie for Babylonia, and then took the whore deeper into the Pleasure Dome.

  On her screen appeared a small arched entranceway, garishly decorated with blinking colored lights that formed hearts, flowers, and the words “Tunnel of Love.” When Marianne selected “enter,” the archway seemed to rush toward her, looming larger and larger on the screen until the lights finally vanished beyond the edges of her view. Now there was only the darkness of the tunnel.

  Out of the blackness came a cacophony of voices that sounded like sound effects for a Tarzan movie—yelps and shrieks and prolonged, eerie outcries. The effect was alarmingly potent and suggestive. But Marianne still could see nothing except three pairs of alert, nonparticipatory eyes hovering near the top of the screen. She wasn’t sure she was ready to plunge into that maelstrom—even disguised as the Whore of Babylon. But she was determined to go ahead with Baby’s training.

  In order to witness anything in the noisy gloom of the Tunnel of Love, Babylonia had to use a “flashlight”—a device that made the act of observing seem almost as sordid as actually participating. Marianne clicked on the light, moving Baby through the clamorous blackness past various ensembles “in the act.” She caught fleeting glimpses of moving figures, their grotesque body parts flailing wildly. Marianne nervously hurried Baby’s flashlight along, deliberately traveling too quickly for the beam to dwell upon any particular scene. It was an unwholesome and unsettling journey, rather like descending into the unpredictable darkness of a carnival funhouse.