by Neil Clarke
“But it’s private!”
“Ha! Having the whole world watch you enjoy yourself is a pretty fantastic feeling.” Charles winked at her. “Masa told me she adores it.”
“Of course she would! That’s how she makes her living.”
“Well, it wouldn’t kill you to try something new. I’ve heard that nudism is gaining popularity in Japan, and I—”
“Listen, Mr. Charles.” Homi’s gaze was now infused with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “Not everyone subscribes to your life philosophy. I’m here because my superiors asked me to be polite and play the hostess, but after this meal, we will never have anything to do with each other again. Do you understand?”
I understand that you’re playing hard to get. Charles spread his hands in a conciliatory manner. “Of course. You’ve got to do what feels right to you.”
You’re certainly not the first woman to say something like that to me, Charles thought. Many seemed to have an instinctive fear of being exposed before strangers, but soon, his lovers learned to crave the delightful sensation of being the center of the world’s attention. They fell in love with this way of life and abandoned their old prejudices. Maybe Homi will be like that . . . but if she isn’t, maybe that will make things even more exciting . . .
Three boys about eight years old approached the pair excitedly and broke the awkward silence between them. They said to Charles, “Konbanwa, Charuzu-sama!”
“Konbanwa!” Charles replied to their greeting happily. This was about the extent of his Japanese, however.
The children continued in rapid-fire Japanese. Charles looked at Homi helplessly, and she was forced to play interpreter. “They said that they saw you win the race this afternoon, and they really like you. When they grow up, they hope to become just like you, a great aviator and author.”
Charles gently patted one of the boys on the head. “Kid, it’s not that important to fly very fast or publish a book. What really matters is being yourself and doing what you desire in your heart.”
The boy replied, and Homi continued to translate. “But I want to be an aviator. So cool!”
“Then start as a junior aviator. You can first try a full-body simulator and race in VR.”
“Virtual reality is pointless. I want to fly the real thing, just like Pegasus.”
“Slow down, kid.” Charles explained patiently. “If you really love the sport, you’ll enjoy learning what the simulator can teach you. You can also subscribe to livecasts from me and other aviators, and you’ll learn a lot—well, except the parts that require parental approval to view.”
After answering a few more questions, the children left happily with autographed pictures of Charles.
“You’re certainly good at dazzling children,” said Homi.
Charles laughed. “I’m just saying what I really think. This has always been my belief: everyone should be themselves, and realize their own worth. I’m not some idol on a high pedestal demanding to be worshipped. I started a livecast for a reason perhaps different from most: I just want everyone to know the real Charles.”
“That’s a bit rich,” said Homi. “Don’t you depend on your subscribers for your income?”
Charles frowned. He hated this kind of cynicism. “You’re wrong. Whether it’s from my racing or my writing, I make more than enough to live comfortably. My livecast is completely free, and I’ve never earned a single cent from it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s all right.” Charles shrugged. “Many people think like that, and I can’t change their minds. I just don’t want my friends to misunderstand me. If you know me, you’ll know that before I started the livecast, I had already been published and won third place in the Trans-Pacific Championship Race. I didn’t need a livecast to increase my fame at all.
“It’s true that these days there are millions tuned into my stream at all times, but I’ve always believed that I’m not very important as an individual; rather, I represent the concept of livecasting. The practice isn’t about destroying personal privacy, but about sharing—sharing of information, sharing each other’s sufferings and joys, until the entire human race becomes one Man. As subscribers enrich their own lives with livecasts, they gain a deeper understanding of themselves and discover their own worth.”
“That does sound . . . reasonable.” Homi was thoughtful. “But having so many people watch every move you make must make you feel . . . not free.”
“That kind of thinking is evidence of lack of self-confidence. I’m Charles, the one and only. Even if billions are watching me, my freedom isn’t diminished by one iota.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re an American,” said Homi. “Americans are always brimming with self-confidence. This is not the Japanese way. From childhood we’re taught by our parents to live within rules and expectations, to learn to regulate our behavior in anticipation of what everyone watching us may think. The desire for privacy is thus even stronger.
“I remember playing with my friends every day in a tiny garden when we were in kindergarten. I say ‘play,’ but in reality we still had to follow all kinds of rules. At the end of the garden was a row of trees, and behind the trees was a wall. But there was a gap between the trees and the wall, though most people did not notice it. I discovered this hidden space one day, populated only by a few clusters of wildflowers. Even though it was a patch of grass no different from the rest of the garden, my joy was indescribable. Every day, I made my way there in secret to play by myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to share my discovery with my friends, but it was only when I was there, alone, that I could relax and feel at peace. I could laugh or cry without anyone bothering me.
“Unfortunately, not long after that my refuge was discovered by others. Many came and trampled over the grass and picked the wildflowers. That tiny world I had to myself was ruined.”
Homi felt depressed. She had no idea why she chose to say these things to Charles. She had never told anyone else about this memory from childhood, and now the whole world knew her secret.
Charles was moved. After a moment, he said, “The others did destroy your secret garden. But they weren’t motivated by the desire to watch you.”
“No, you don’t understand. It didn’t really matter whether they wrecked my garden. The moment they were in that space, my peace was gone, and I was no longer myself. Have you never felt that way?”
“I . . . I suppose I did when I was very young.” For the first time, Charles had trouble coming up with what to say. “But I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”
Homi gazed at him, a complicated set of emotions flitting through her eyes. “Then I have a suggestion: turn off your livecast. Try to experience your individual world, where every sensation belongs to you and you alone. I believe you’ll feel a distinction.”
“Turn off the livecast?”
“Maybe you just need a minute to feel the difference.”
“No. That would be a breach of my promise to my subscribers—”
“Charles, I thought you advocated for the belief that you should do only what you want to do.” Homi’s tone was now mocking. “It wouldn’t kill you to try something new.”
“Maybe if I—”
Charles, ignore her! A translucent text window popped into his view. This was Lisa communicating with him directly over the cranial implant. The text was only visible to him as the livecast software filtered it out from subscriber feeds.
I was thinking of trying it for just a couple minutes. Charles sent his thoughts back to Lisa over the cranial implant.
Not even one second. You’re being watched by the planet! This could severely tarnish your image. Charles could practically see Lisa’s no-nonsense scowl.
Homi noticed Charles’s subtle shifts in gaze and guessed that he was communicating with someone over his neural implant. She challenged him, “I’m guessing your boss is telling you no, right? Oh well—”
“Boss?” Cha
rles instantly felt his cheeks heat up. “I’m my own man. No one tells me what to do!”
He commanded his implant to cease livecasting, and mentally recited the passcode to confirm the order. Instantly, it seemed as if a background buzz had stopped, and everything seemed extra quiet. This wasn’t the first time he had ever halted the livecast, of course, but it was the first time he had stopped livecasting for the sake of experiencing what it was like to be by himself. The sensation was distinct. Now, no matter what he said or did, only the woman across from him would be his audience. There seemed to be a marvelous, intimate bond that drew them closer.
“How do you feel?” Homi asked.
“It’s no big deal,” Charles said, deliberately trying to underplay it. “I’m okay with it.”
But it wasn’t that simple at all. The world seemed to have vanished, leaving only him and her, but it also felt as if a new dimension had been opened up to him, leading into a new space that extended into infinity.
8.
Takumi Naoto panted as he scampered through a dense fern jungle, a rampaging T-rex in hot pursuit. The very ground quaked with the massive beast’s every step. The dinosaur wasn’t running very fast, however, just keeping pace with him like a cat playing with a mouse. Naoto could almost feel the hot breath of the saurian on the back of his neck.
Naoto struggled to put one leg in front of the other, desperate to escape from the monster’s jaws. He was winded, sweat-drenched, and his legs were filled with lead. Soon, the T-rex took a giant stride and overtook him; it turned its gigantic body around and opened its colossal jaws, aiming to crush Naoto’s skull with its dagger-like teeth. Naoto screamed and collapsed into a heap on the ground.
The jungle and the T-rex vanished; floating lines of data took their place. Total distance: 546 meters. Time: 116 seconds. Average speed: 4.7 meters / second. Measured lung capacity: 1250cc. Health rating: B— . . .
Minami’s round face loomed before him. Naoto was draped over the guardrails of the three-dimensional immersion treadmill, so exhausted that he couldn’t speak a word.
“You couldn’t even manage 600 meters?” Minami giggled. “Even I can run a kilometer with no problems. Naoto, you really need some exercise.”
Finally, Naoto managed to climb up. Gasping, he said, “It takes . . . time . . . for anything . . . ”
“Then let’s keep going. I’ll make the dinosaur even slower this time. Ready?”
“No! . . . I’ve got to . . . take a break . . . ”
They went over to the lounge chairs. As soon as they sat down, a cool breeze caressed their faces, and the immersion displays around them showed a turquoise ocean whose gentle waves caressed the cerulean sky. Next to the chairs were two chilled glasses of lemonade—the real deal, not simulation.
The lemonade and the breeze relaxed Naoto so much that he felt as if all his pores yawned. “I haven’t felt this good in ages. It feels amazing to drink something cold after physical exertion.”
“Didn’t you also exercise when you were tuned into Charles’s livecast—no, let me rephrase: didn’t you also experience the sensations of exercise?”
“Yes . . . But Charles has so much energy and such a toned body—nothing like mine. Also, because of the safety filtering that tamps down extreme sensations, I never felt very tired.”
“You should definitely come with me more often.” Minami laughed guilelessly. “Let’s go swimming!”
But before Naoto could reply, a loud cry arose to the side: “Hey! It’s that bastard Charles! He’s finally shown himself!”
Naoto looked over to the source of the commotion. The projection screen on the wall was showing the news. “After disappearing in Akihabara yesterday and being incommunicado for over seventeen hours, the renowned American aviator Charles Mann has reappeared today at noon, accompanied by his rumored new flame, Miss Hosokawa Homi . . . ”
Charles is back!
Last night, Charles never resumed his livecast after turning it off at Homi’s urging. Completely at a loss, Naoto finally decided to go to Akihabara. But as soon as he emerged from the subway, he saw countless other fans had had the same idea and all the streets leading to that roadside stall were jammed. Eventually, he saw Pegasus taking off and disappearing into the night sky. Rumor had it that Charles had taken Homi away on a pleasure cruise in space, just the two of them. All night, there was no more news. Naoto waited and waited without any result, and finally, utterly bored, came to the gym with Minami. He certainly wasn’t expecting to receive news of Charles now.
“… Charles is declining all interview requests. His only statement is that Pegasus lost power. But according to media sources, his ship had been in low-Earth orbit overnight, and Miss Hosokawa was aboard as well . . . ”
“Do you think they did it?” Naoto overheard someone ask.
“Are you an idiot? Of course they did it.”
“What difference does it make if they did it? The bastard isn’t casting, and so we can’t enjoy it anyway.”
“Maybe the girl is just shy . . . ”
“Let me tell you, this has finally shown me the truth. Charles may talk all the time about sharing and freedom and all that bullshit, but in the end, he gets to turn off his livecast anytime he wants to. He doesn’t think of us at all. In the end, he’s no different from the rest of the celebrities.”
“I don’t agree with you at all.” Naoto had finally had enough. He jumped up to defend Charles.
The man who criticized Charles was also in his twenties. He gave Naoto a contemptuous look. “Mind your own business if you know what’s good for you.”
“If you are really a fan of Charles, how can you talk about him like that? Don’t you know him at all? This was most likely the result of an implant malfunction.”
“Oh, you’re one of those fans. A malfunction? Please. Weren’t you tuned in yesterday? He said he stopped the livecast on purpose.”
“Yes, but . . . it’s only temporary. There had been pauses in the cast before, when he was visiting Prague and Yangon, for instance. Don’t you understand that everyone needs some privacy from time to time?”
“I don’t worship that poseur like you do.” The young man harrumphed. “The only reason I subscribe to his cast is to see him in bed with those supermodels. But not only did he not sleep with Masa, he went and found himself a chick cop and didn’t even have the decency to cast the bedroom scene. What’s the point of watching then?”
“You are not fit to appreciate Charles’s livecast. How can you understand his ideals and beliefs?”
“Oh, I see, you understand him, do you? Well, looks like he kicked you to the curb when it suited him just the same. I’m through with wasting my breath on dumbasses like you.” The young man turned around and left.
Naoto sat down, full of rage that he didn’t know where to direct.
The news broadcast continued. “ . . . Charles’s manager, Lisa Goldstone, released a statement that the interruption in the livecast was due to a technical glitch. Full livecasting has been resumed, and on behalf of Charles, she apologizes to all the fans for the inconvenience . . . ”
“Naoto, are you going to rush home for the livecast?” Minami asked, careful to keep her tone neutral.
“Leave me alone!” Naoto shouted at her. “I don’t know!”
“I was just asking,” Minami muttered. “Why are you screaming at me?”
“I’m sorry.” Naoto forced himself to calm down. “I’m just . . . ” He didn’t know what to say and collapsed back onto the lounge chair.
Silently, Naoto fumed at Charles. Why did you stop the livecast? Why did you cut off the psychic link between us? Recently, he could almost feel himself completely melding with Charles soul to soul, and when Charles said that he wanted to stop the livecast, Naoto had almost wanted to cheer, not realizing that it meant that he would also be shut out. And a second later, he had been tossed back into his bare efficiency apartment, all alone.
Only then did the painful realizat
ion come that he was never going to be Charles, just a ghostly parasite attached to Charles.
For the last three years, Naoto was tuned into Charles’s cast almost continuously. Every day, he lived Charles’s life, facing everything he faced, participating in his races, planning and drafting and revising his books, until he could speak American English better than Japanese, until he had almost forgotten who he was. As long as he thought of himself as Charles, it was possible to scale one life’s peak after another, be a guest at the world’s most exclusive parties, travel the world, live in seven-star hotels, bathe in the fervor of fans, hop from the bed of one hot woman to another . . .
But these were not the most important. The real joys were the sense of personal worth, the spirit of freedom, and a lifestyle enabled by boundless self-confidence embodied by Charles Mann. Only when he was in Charles’s body did he feel he was alive. In his own life, he was just Takumi Naoto, a programmer in a dead-end job, a failure whose life was devoid of excitement, who was estranged from his parents, whose girlfriend had left him for another man, who didn’t even have a single real friend. A few years ago, he had contemplated suicide. If Charles’s livecast hadn’t come along to save him, Naoto would have long passed the slope of Yomotsu Hirasaka and entered the underworld.
Charles gave him a new life and hope, and resculpted his soul so that he believed that he could possess a life with value and dignity. But everything had changed. Yesterday made Naoto realize that Charles could cease livecasting at any moment, cut off this link that to him was inseverable. Everything he had thought about Charles had just been his own fantasy. Even if he possessed a soul just like Charles’s, he could never have his life.
He was still just Takumi Naoto, just himself. However, today’s experiences made him feel that being Naoto from time to time wasn’t so bad. Of course, he would still tune into Charles’s cast, but not right now.
Having made his decision, he got up and stretched. “Minami, let’s run some more. My goal is three kilometers today.”
“All right!” She laughed in delight.