Alternative Dimension

by Kirton, Bill

  POLICE: You know bloody well what I’m asking about – that stripper’s body we found floating in the river.

  1337: The one with no arms?

  POLICE: No, the other one.

  1337: Oh. Well I had nothing to do with that. I thought you were talking about the Milton Street massacre.

  POLICE: The what?

  1337: The Milton Street massacre.

  POLICE: What’s that?

  1337: Oh, maybe your guys haven’t heard about it yet. Only happened this morning.

  POLICE: And you’ve got something to do with it?

  1337: Course not. I live in Denby Lane.

  POLICE: So what?

  1337: It’s miles from Milton Street.

  POLICE: OK, OK, we’ll get to that later. Where was Mad Mick when you were in the car park?

  1337: Well, as soon as he saw Dorothy wasn’t throwing up blood, he got the number 17.

  POLICE: What? The bus?

  1337: Yeah. Said he had a meeting.

  POLICE: Who with?

  1337: Some plastic surgeon. The one who did Dorothy’s breast implants. Mick’s always wanted to be a woman. He’s having the operation next Tuesday.

  POLICE: I’ve never heard such bullshit.

  1337: I know, but you try telling Mick.

  POLICE: Never mind Mick. It’s your bullshit I’m talking about.

  1337: It’s the truth.

  POLICE: OK. I’ve had enough of this crap. I’m bringing him in. Where is he?

  1337: Probably at Dorothy’s place.

  POLICE: Where’s that?

  1337: Milton Street.

  POLICE: That does it. You’re obviously taking the piss. You’re nicked.

  1337: Eh?

  POLICE: Article 213, Geneva Convention, reverse police harassment. Failure to acknowledge the legitimacy of procedural processes in investigative protocols. Concealment of substantive evidence of malfeasance and unwillingness to adhere to the basic principles of the fundamental human rights of a law enforcement officer in the service of Her Majesty.

  1337: Fair enough.

  As he clicked to push the paper into his personal files, Joe felt profoundly satisfied. This made no sense at all but that wasn’t the point. Here were people playing his game, living in his world, reshaping all the distorted trappings of their normality to live their dreams. And they kept coming back, week after week, to live more dreams, to spin their Englishness (or Welshness, or Azerbaijaniness for all he knew), into a new fabric. They lived and felt comfortable in their new dimension. It was normal. It was natural. It was a controlled anarchy.

  But there were other dreams, other anarchies, which were less communal and certainly less controlled. Many avatars found ways of using their AD powers to much more disturbing effect. Their exploitation of their freedoms was sometimes violent and revolutionary, but those were so structured that they were eventually as commonplace (and therefore acceptable) as sado-masochism and Anglicanism. But there were quieter, more sinister manifestations which never broke the surface. Individuals whose actions stayed submerged and yet overwhelmed those who experienced their effects. Individuals such as Vixen MacReady.

  4 VIXEN’S SECRET

  Vixen was the avatar of Jennie Dalgarno. Jennie was twenty-eight, single, and taught Computing Science at a school in the north of England. She’d had only one real relationship, which had turned abusive. Like most women in such circumstances, she’d hidden the effects from friends and colleagues but they all noticed the changes in her when her man disappeared. She was a committed, caring teacher, got good results and treated all the pupils in her classes equally. With other members of staff she was cooperative and polite but she didn’t consider any of them to be friends. Physically, she occupied that area between attractive and plain where only a lively personality can save you. Jennie didn’t have one and so passed through most of life unnoticed. But each evening and for entire weekends, she would lock her doors and shed her anonymity to become Vixen MacReady.

  Everyone at the beach club knew there was a mystery about Vixen. She had a friends’ file that split almost equally between men and women and each of them had a story of her kindness, consideration, willingness to help or maybe just listen when their various stresses were getting to them. But they also felt that, for all her openness, there was a part of herself she kept locked away from them. Some had tried to penetrate it, using clever, oblique questions to get her to talk of her life in her own dimension, her past, her family and friends there. She’d responded with her usual honesty and innocence but revealed little and simply suggested that her life was untroubled, ordinary, passive. However hard they analysed her or invented possible traumas, she always emerged with the same smile, the same confidence, and yet the same lingering implication that there was an untouchable part of her crouching in the shadows of her mind.

  ‘Have you noticed how often she uses the word “control”?’ asked an avatar called Scott one evening as he lay on some cushions with Azzura, his girl friend. Scott’s manipulator, Dan, was in London, Azzura’s was in Adelaide.

  ‘No,’ said Azzura. ‘Does she?’

  ‘Lots,’ said Scott. ‘Not in any weird way. It just seems to crop up pretty regularly. Once you start noticing it, you can’t miss it.’

  Azzura snuggled into him.

  ‘Well, I’m glad she’s a friend. She was so sweet to me when I broke up with Card.’

  ‘Best thing you ever did,’ said Scott, with a smile. ‘We’d never have been like this if you were still with him.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Azzura, ‘I’m lucky.’

  The break-up had come as a shock to Azzura. She and Card had been together for three months and, for some inexplicable reason, Card had suddenly started accusing her of infidelities. He’d invented secret assignations she was supposed to have had and seemed determined to punish her for these imagined wrongs. In the end, he’d just vanished – no goodbyes, no explanations. He just left AD altogether, leaving Azzura hurt and bewildered.

  ‘It’s not you, honey,’ said Vixen, when Azzura came to her. ‘It’s probably some reality thing. I think he said his wife was having a baby. That’s bound to make him … well, think differently.’

  Then she said all the things that Azzura needed to hear, made her laugh, turned her attention to all the other guys around who’d soon be hitting on her now that she was free again. They swam, surfed, lay about on the beach and sure enough, within a couple of weeks, she’d met Scott at a concert and fallen so much in love that she couldn’t understand what she’d seen in Card at all. Vixen laughed at Azzura’s excitement and infatuation when she started describing her new love to her.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘he’s a combination of Brad Pitt, George Clooney and the Wizard of Oz.’

  Azzura smiled. ‘Yes, and much more. He makes me laugh, he’s gentle – and when we make love …’ she ended the sentence by making a growling noise deep in her throat.

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ said Vixen.

  ‘Yes, and it’s great,’ laughed Azzura.

  She paused before adding, ‘There’s just one thing. He’s married.’

  ‘What, here in AD?’ said Vixen.

  ‘No, for real.’

  Vixen shrugged. ‘Most of them are. Don’t think about it. When you’re here with him, different rules apply. Relax. Go where your hunger leads you. And take him with you.’

  Two weeks later, they were lying under a parasol on the beach.

  ‘Haven’t seen Scott for a while,’ said Vixen.

  ‘No, he’s busy – things to do, his real job, that sort of stuff,’ said Azzura.

  ‘Hmmmm,’ said Vixen. ‘Well, I hope he keeps his priorities right.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I don’t want you going through all that Card stuff again,’ said Vixen. ‘I just want to be sure Scott’s heart’s big enough for you.’

  It was a seed planted. Azzura started asking Scott about his work, his home, his wife. He answered her openly
enough but he was guarded, too. Her anxieties about him made her more insistent, made her questions more intrusive. Before, their chats had been about the mysteries of AD, the incredible settings that people had created for wandering lovers, the colours of the perpetually changing skies. Everything had made it easier for them to fall more and more deeply for each other. But now, they sat in forests with glow worms, butterflies and humming birds dancing among exotic flowers, and Azzura could think only of the flat in Clapham he occupied with his wife and the women in the design studios where he worked. For Scott, it became more and more tedious, defeating the object of logging on. He became less eager to spend time in AD, their sessions together grew shorter, and the worm at the centre of their love grew and sucked away more of its substance.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happened with Azzura,’ Scott said to Vixen one evening. ‘Have you noticed anything?’

  ‘Not really, ‘ said Vixen.

  Then she seemed to reflect.

  ‘Well …’ she began.

  ‘What?’ said Scott.

  ‘Oh nothing.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Well, it’s just … I think it’s coming up to the anniversary of when she met Card.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ said Vixen.

  ‘She said she was over him. She couldn’t understand why she ever spent time with him,’ said Scott.

  ‘Well, there you are then,’ said Vixen.

  And so it went on. Azzura and Scott both brought their concerns to her, laid themselves bare and she, as usual, smiled, sympathised, made little suggestions, and was always there for them to use.

  The summer was fading into autumn when Scott sent Vixen a note asking if he could talk to her urgently. She was with a group of friends, playing a game based on old film titles, but she went home at once and translocated him to her garden. They sat on loungers under the chestnut trees and Scott recounted the last conversation he’d had with Azzura. It was an ultimatum. She wanted a greater commitment from him but he was already as deeply into their relationship as he could be. He was sacrificing aspects of his home life, making more and more excuses to his wife, and yet he couldn’t convince Azzura that he was serious about her.

  Vixen soothed him, promised to try to talk some sense into Azzura, and spoke of the difficulties of blending the needs of their two worlds, real and virtual. At one point, he asked if he could sit with her and they shared a lounger, Vixen leaning back against him, his arms holding her.

  ‘Do you still want to be with her – really?’ asked Vixen.

  ‘Well, said Scott, with a smile, ‘I could get used to being here with you like this.’

  ‘Tut, tut,’ said Vixen. ‘I think Azzura would be much better for you.’

  ‘If only she’d ease up,’ said Scott. ‘Just enjoy us as we used to be.’

  ‘Well, there is a way,’ said Vixen.

  ‘How? What do you mean?’

  ‘It would mean handing over your avatar to someone else’s control for a few minutes,’ said Vixen. ‘But it would give Azzura a different perspective on you.’

  ‘Hmmmm, not sure I like that,’ said Scott.

  ‘No, I don’t blame you,’ said Vixen.

  ‘How does it work?’

  ‘Just an app. It … well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll think of something else.’

  ‘Have you seen it working?’ asked Scott.

  ‘Yes,’ said Vixen. ‘It’s quite impressive. Fun, too, if it’s a friend.’

  ‘Have you done it yourself?’

  Vixen laughed.

  ‘Lots of times,’ she said.

  ‘Could you show me?’

  ‘No, let’s think of something else.’

  ‘No, you’ve got me interested now. Just show me. Just once.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. In fact, I command you to show me.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘OK,’ said Vixen and, almost simultaneously, a message appeared on Dan and Jennie’s screens with the words ‘Vixen MacReady wants to control you. Yes? No?’

  In his study in London, Dan typed ‘Yes’ and waited.

  He watched as his avatar got up, leaving Vixen on the lounger. He walked to her house. The door swung open and he went inside and down some steps at the end of the hallway. It was dark; he could see nothing. He stopped. Dan clicked his mouse button to change the environmental controls to midday. Nothing happened.

  Then, Vixen was beside Scott.

  ‘Welcome home,’ she said, and she flicked on the full light setting.

  They were in a long room. On each side, there were four cages suspended from the ceiling. In seven of them, naked male avatars knelt in submissive positions. None of them looked up as the light hit them. Vixen walked to the cage beside the empty one.

  ‘You never met Card, did you?’ she said. ‘Well, you’ll be able to get to know one another now. Compare notes maybe. He’ll be your neighbour.’

  And, at home, Dan watched helplessly as Scott undressed, stepped up into the empty cage beside Card’s and knelt on its floor. The door shut, Vixen walked along one side of the room, then back up the other, surveying her flock.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said.

  ‘Goodnight mistress,’ came the chorus of eight male voices.

  In London, the image on Dan’s screen faded to be replaced by a simple message. It read ‘Account suspended’, and darkness fell.

  5 STITCHLEY THE ENTREPRENEUR

  Today, Vixen has more cages, more cellars, and a bulging friends’ file. None of the avatars she mixes with could imagine the satisfactions her torments of the men in the cages bring to Jennie Dalgarno. The quiet teacher carries her darkness with a smile.

  There were others, however, for whom AD held opportunities and vengeances which didn’t need to sink to that darker level. They were content to exercise their freedoms in more conventional ways and acquire a level of confidence and satisfaction unavailable to them in ND. We’ve already met Stitchley Green and it’s his career which illustrates perfectly what can be achieved. Today, Stitchley is a rich man. No-one who knew him as a child would have believed it possible, but he’s made it, against all the odds, thanks to his decision, not so long ago, to log on to AD. It was the best move he ever made and now, in the world away from his computer, he has the flash car and West End apartment that yells big bucks to everyone he meets.

  Being unemployed gave him all the time he needed to read the papers, watch news programmes on TV and begin to work out the things that really mattered. Things such as money. So, the day he joined Alternative Dimension, his ambition was set. In real life, his last job had ended three years before. But, when he discovered AD, all the things that had made his life so dull and painful vanished. Mirrors didn’t matter because he could create, on screen, the person he should have been – an Adonis. Stitchley Green became Brad the Enigma and no-one ever asked for degrees or vocational stuff. Like all the other residents, he could be as free as he wanted, and progress to the highest levels of attainment. It was a miraculous place and the people there were doing things far removed from those which preoccupied them in their daily routines.

  So Stitchley decided that this was where he could make his fortune. He would become an entrepreneur, provide the things that people wanted, things that weren’t yet available in the various virtual worlds. At least, not as far as he could tell. He sat one night in his bedroom, his avatar reclining on a bench by the sea watching others surfing and sailing and coupling energetically behind the palms.

  On the day’s news bulletins, the main item had been about the number of Polish plumbers who’d come to live in Britain. Plumbers were in short supply. A few weeks ago he’d read that kids at school were being advised to forget studying Law or Medicine and stuff and concentrate on learning a trade – some practical skill. That was the future. As he watched the relentless waters crashing onto the beach, he knew in an instant what he would do, saw the path which would lead him to the riches h
e was denied in the real world.

  And, in AD, Stitchley became a plumber.

  He’d searched first of all to find out how many there were. There were none. Plenty of DJs, singers, writers, emperors, builders, executioners, pimps and club owners, but not a single plumber. Amazing. No competition. He smiled to think how easy this would be. He set up his store, put out his adverts and wandered about trying to meet householders who needed their pipes fixing or a new bathroom fitted.

  Business was slow at first. In fact, it was static. And, as the weeks went by and he built up stocks of virtual copper pipes, lavatory cisterns, straight and angled flanges, taps and overflow valves, he slowly began to realise that no-one ever needed a plumber. Indeed, the only customers he ever had all wanted the same thing. At least once a week, he’d welcome some male avatar or other, usually newcomers, who all wanted a ballcock. Some of them actually tried on the valve and flotation device he handed them, but none of them bought it.

  So he packed it all up, put it into a single box in his personal files called ‘Plumbing’ and went back to the beach to think again. But he was still the same old Stitchley, incapable of learning from his mistakes. He became a diligent researcher, checking the job vacancies in employment agencies in the Normal Dimension, reading the publications of marketing companies which outlined the latest trends in products and services, wandering through AD looking for gaps in the many market places.

  He tried selling ‘Stitchley’s Balsam’, using his ND name because he thought it conveyed a notion of reliable Englishness. And it was indeed a product you could trust. If rubbed on as an ointment, it could cure eczema; if dissolved in hot water and taken with rich tea biscuits, it was an effective treatment for nicotine addiction. He only sold two jars of it, both to dragons.

  His slimming treatments were even less successful. He parcelled them up with his anti-aging creams and made them part of a complete health spa package but somehow, they still didn’t catch on. He made them a different colour and called them anti-allergy tablets, crushed them into powder which, he claimed, soothed the worst effects of nappy-rash and, eventually, dissolved them in oil to make an effective lavatory cleaner. But it was all to no avail. There was no demand for any of them. Avatars never grew old or got fat. They had perfect skin, rarely smoked, were free from allergies and never went to the lavatory.