The Reality Plague
By Douglas R, Welch
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 Douglas R, Welch.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, places, character names, incidents and concepts are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Caution: adult content, multiple sex scenes between consenting adults. May not be suitable for young adults and is not suitable for children.
Chapter 1
Imminent death, they would have you believe death hovered above you, poised to strike, if you lived life on your own terms. The swish of the tube train arriving brought Jake Harrison out of his black thoughts and back to the hopeless reality he despised.
His feet moved automatically toward the sliding doors, as an abrupt **Mime-mail has arrived** message flashed in the corner of his eye. Irritated, he tongued his nav-tooth to archive the message, and then touched it again to block further mail. It could wait; he had more important things on his mind. Two hours of an on-site face-to-face meeting today, then home to pretend to live. He brushed the tooth again to access the mail archive to review the failure reports from last night's company mail.
The train's doors slid open. He entered and looked around for a relatively clean place to sit. Dirt caked the surfaces of the compartment and the seats. He would have to bring something to cover one if he continued to commute.
No one cleaned the trains anymore. No one cared.
The doors automatically glided shut and the train accelerated toward the center of the city. He sat in the empty compartment, and viewed the messages.
An image of a grossly fat woman with an angry expression, and a slumped **Sen-U-Chair **, the back obviously broken, accompanied the body of the mime-text. Filth littered the vicinity of the broken chair, and he mentally cringed.
Garish neon colors accompanied the product name, obscuring the woman's image. I need to have the neuromechs reprogrammed. Net-trash is leaking through.
* * * text follows:
-Ultimate cause- structural failure, back seat braces.
-Probable cause- stress failure.
-Action- provide corrective action via re redesign back seat braces, PN br102.346
The sight deepened his depression. She obviously hasn’t stirred from her cube for months. She must be immersed in a **Sen-Si-Surround **, and she likely doesn't even know what it looks like.
Anger shaded his already dark mood. Rage at the disaster that had brought the human race to this point. Maybe the sight of the neglect had triggered an irrational reaction, but it shouldn't have affected him so strongly, because he knew that apathy became more common as people refused to leave their cubes. He credited that problem to the company he worked for.
Ever since the plague, people cowered in fear of contamination, and seldom ventured into the real world. His company pandered to the hermit market. He didn't blame the recluses; he might become desperate enough to join them. **Sens-U-Environ**, the gaudy company logo, flashed blue and gold in his vision. Again, the net-trash irked him; he had to get the programming fixed.
A memory of his youth with his parents and brother emerged sharp and clear. It reminded him of the pain of their loss and the world that had vanished. No! No going back dummy, we're here to stay. Make the best of it. At least the trains run on time, the AI’s make sure of that.
Ten years – Ten years ago things seemed to change for the better. Mass transit here in L.A. Oil burning cars banned from the city. Sterilized and surgically injected, self-replicating, nanomachines that merged with neurons in the brain, provided direct data interfaces to the vast mime-net. No more trees killed to make paper. Entertainment and communication flowed directly to the brain and eliminated cell phones and display screens, causing the crash of many big name companies.
Less energy usage, cheaper energy, a bright future, and more leisure, created a new baby boom, defying the predictions of the sociologists, but not enough food. “No problem”, the governments assured the public. “We'll solve this.”
But then some previously unknown virus mutated to a virulent killer, spread like the common cold. It seemed that nature had found a solution to the world's food problem. Kill the species that caused it.
Africa nearly depopulated, India in chaos, South America incommunicado, Europe and North America cowered in terror in their cities. The Chinese closed their borders. The Russians fled to the old bomb shelters.
Medical professionals died by the score. No one escaped, not even heads of governments. In desperation society turned over the running of the essential services to the ubiquitous artificial intelligences that had been running things anyway. The world's remaining population, wounded, but still relatively sizable, limped along and held its collective breath.
World Health warned the world. “It's a death sentence to have physical contact or procreate the species. The only solution for now is to isolate yourself until we can find a cure.”
Yeah they meant, don't get near each other, don't fuck, don't do all those human things you're born to do.
“We can't live like this,” the public complained. “We need food, work, sex, and love, eliminate those, and family dies along with the future of the race, so where's the answer?”
But then the net companies offered a solution. “Don’t worry, we have the technology. Can't commute to work for fear of the plague? Use your brain’s neural interface and telecommute. Want sex? Use a sex doll and find a virtual partner on the net. Not satisfied with your life? Live a new one on the net.” A whole new set of industries grew from the new reality.
The train arrived, bringing Jake out of his thoughts, and he exited to the vacant terminal platform. He emerged from the underground to an empty street. Dry grass sprouted in the asphalt. Leaves and other debris blew down the canyon-like boulevard – no paper at least. The sight painfully reminded him of what humanity still had to lose, so he avoided looking, staring at the sidewalk, his shoulder length black hair shielding either side of his face. He passed tall, closed buildings with fouled mirror glass fronts, towers which used to gleam to the eyes of the millions who worked in them, and now stood idle and empty. He stopped at the massive office building housing **Sens-U-Environ ** and approached the sliding glass doors. Fortunately, they still opened, but how much longer?
Jake knew that unseen net-comm technicians constantly monitored the power sources. They remained a necessity for a net-consuming population, but no one maintained the equipment. If it failed then what? “Back-ups, redundancy, fail-safes,” the government replied, “the AIs are running things, don't worry.”
He found a working elevator and selected his floor. Two hours and then home to an empty cube. The doors slid open and he walked from the bank of elevators, across the faux-marble floors, to the reception area. A familiar woman, fully enclosed in a bio-hazard suit, tended the curved reception desk. “Are they here yet, Judy?”
She looked up from the bookslate she studied. “All but Allan Foster, Mr. Harrison. They're waiting in the meeting room.”
Fogged by her breath, the transparent plastic hood she wore nearly obscured her brown hair and plain, unadorned face. The cosmetics industry had vanished long ago when the net made it superfluous. The fashion industry had died along with it when people couldn't emerge from their living cubes and the net took hold. When anyone on the net could look like anyone or anything their imagination could conceive, of what use was clothing? With climate controlled dwellings, nudity became normal. Anyone who dared to venture from their cube wore haz-suits or rugged unisex jumpsuits. Footwear served to prevent possible contamination hazards, not as a fashion statement.
“Send him in as soon as he gets here.”
“Yes sir.” She returned to her slate as he turned to walk to the meeting room, but then glanced up. “Sir, I'm just wondering. Why don't you wear a suit?”
Jake looked away. “I don't think I care anymore, Judy. If the virus kills me, it will be doing me a favor.”
“Oh – Well. OK – I guess. I was just curious.” She looked alternately anxious and bored, resigned to another two hours of useless sitting.
He made a quick decision. “You can leave when Allan gets here.”
She seemed relieved and smiled. “Thank you sir.”
He continued to the room and opened the door. The whole engineering department of **Sens-U-Environ ** sat around the massive conference table, all ten of them. He greeted them. “Good morning everyone.”
A few grunts, a sprinkling of 'morning Jake', and some sullen silences rippled through the room. Everyone wore haz-suits and reclined in **Sen-U-Chairs **, widely spaced around the table, carefully avoiding each other.
Wade, one of the software engineers, spoke first, his voice muffled by his biohazard hood, “you got a death-wish Jake?”
Jake could barely discern Wade’s appearance behind the distortion caused by the covering. His dark-brown hair looked disheveled, like he had just gotten out of bed. “Why do you ask?”
Wade crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “You're still not wearing a suit, when are you going to start?”
Jake sat in one of the empty chairs. “Old fashioned I guess, I just want to live normally. Besides, you're all wearing them, so I'm not in any danger.”
Wade grimaced. “Maybe, but what about the underground?”
Jake threw his hands up. “No one seems to ride the trains anymore. There are a lot of empty compartments.”
Wade tried again. “Did you net the news this morning? Seems like the virus is mutating. The talking heads say the disease can remain dormant, and real-sex re-activates it. They say they don't know what it'll do next. We're screwed, and you should wear a suit.”
Jake lifted an eyebrow. “I'll take it under advisement.”
Wade looked away. “You do that.”
Jake turned to the others present at the table. “We're waiting for Allan. Did everyone scan the overnight mimes?” Silence greeted his question all around the table. “We're wasting our time, folks, if you don't do your homework.”
One of the female engineers spoke. “What's the use, Jake? Why are we here? It's a waste, and it's dangerous. We could do this at home, safe in our cubes.”
Jake tried to see her features through the frustrating biohazard covering. She's right. Why do I persist in exposing myself? He didn't have an answer, only a feeling. As long as people were able to come together, he had hope, hope for his sanity and the human species. But she was right, it could prove dangerous.
He knew the answer to her question. It was that he just didn't want to let go of the past, so he lied. “Sally, The reason I insist on a face-to-face, is precisely because you won't do your jobs otherwise. Maybe I could cut down the meetings, if you didn't slack off. Now has anyone mimed the overnights?”
A male voice came from the vicinity of the door. “I have. What do you want to know?”
Jake turned to look at the door. Allen, his chief engineer, stood framed at the entrance. Secretly, Jake was happy to see him, Allan was the only person he could truly call a friend, but his angry mood prevented a warm response. “Ah, The tardy Mr. Foster. I'm glad you decided to join us. Take a seat.”
“Why are the chairs failing?”
Allan Foster entered the room, and sat down. Like Jake, he didn't wear a bio-hazard suit. His short dish-water blond hair topped a long horsey face and narrowed brown eyes. He looked annoyed. “Cut the sarcasm, Jake, it's not your style. Let's just get this over with. Yes, the seats have a structural flaw in the supports. No, they weren't designed wrong, I cross-checked the specs. They should support an elephant if you can find one. The problem is at the factory. The carbon fiber spinners are out of calibration, and they're under-sizing the wall thickness.”
Jake knew a fully automated plant made the chairs. If the machines lacked the ability to meet the specs, the solution required human technicians. “Did you mime the plant manager?”
“Yes. He says that he can't get a tech to calibrate the machines. Something about someone dropping dead on the site, and everyone he contacted is afraid to go near the plant. He swears the death had nothing to do with the plague, but no one believes him.”
One of the design engineers broke in. “So why don't we contract another manufacturer?”
Allan looked at him like he had lost a few brain cells. “George, we would have to recreate the tooling. Do you know how much that would cost? Assuming we could get it done.”
Jake became impatient. “Increase the spec for the wall thickness until we can get this straightened out. That will make the machines spin more fiber. I'll mime the plant manager and tell him he'll have to eat the extra cost. Clear?” No one answered “Next topic. How is the roll-out for the new chair coming?”
Allen cleared his throat. “It's delayed until the software is done...”
* * *
An hour later they all filed out of the meeting room and dispersed to the elevators. Jake left last. He felt guilty about his behavior during the meeting and caught up with Allan. “Sorry about being such an asshole this morning. I'm just depressed.”
Allan stopped and turned back to look at him. “Not to worry boss, everyone is on edge.”
Jake just nodded, relieved that he hadn't alienated his only real, human friend. “Why aren't you wearing a haz-suit like the rest?”
“Why aren't you?”
“I don't know. It’s difficult to explain.”
He grinned. “You've got your answer, Jake. I guess I'm just pissing into the wind.”
Jake laughed. “That's a dangerous way to take a pee.”
“You should know, buddy. See you next week. I'll mime-mail you.”
“Till then, Allan.” Alone again, the lobby deserted, he went to his office. He didn't know why, the place looked as deserted as the rest of the city. He ran his fingers across the surface of his desk. They came away coated by a thick layer of gritty dust. He opened the desk drawer and removed a picture of his parents, his brother, and himself.
A gray-eyed, smiling, younger Jake stared back. His older brother had died during the early stages of the plague back when no one recognized it for the killer it became. “Unknown causes,” the doctor said. The doctor died soon after, not suspecting he'd become contaminated, along with Jake's parents. Now, everyone knew; don't touch and you won't die. He didn't have a place in his cube to display the picture, so he put it back in the desk drawer.
The trip back worsened his mood. As he rode the train, he brooded. His mind wandered back to a time before the plague, when real human contact had been a way of life. The embrace of his mother, the firm clasp of his father’s arm on his shoulder, and wrestling with his brother on the front lawn, those were the memories he treasured. It seemed so unfair to be denied human contact. This loneliness is likely to drive me insane. Just one person to share my life with, to help cope with the misery that it has become, that’s all I ask.
The train stopped at a new station. Curious, he glanced out the dingy train windows at the platform and saw a shapeless mass, huddled against one of the support pillars. When the train stopped, the object unfolded itself and approached the train. He became excited. The form revealed a person, a real, live human being. One who didn't wear a haz-suit, but a hooded jacket which hid his or her face. Choose my car, let me see you. Let me speak to you – Please. The person scanned the train, and then recoiled upon seeing him alone in his compartment. The figure paused, as though considering entering, then walked to the rear of the train, and disappeared from sight. The doors closed, and the train continued its interrupted journey. He felt snubbed, and a tight ache constricted his throat. He wanted touch, a handshake, even a little brush on passing, anything to indicate he was human and his humanity mattered.
Finally the train stopped at his station. He exited, and walked toward the escalators leading to the surface. In his peripheral vision, he briefly saw a figure as he ascended with the glide of the steps. It must be the one I saw boarding the train. His imagination conjured multiple scenarios. Did the individual live near him? Could they meet? Was he or she following him?
The last thought brought an unexpected flush, and his spine tingled. He recognized it as a thrill of fear and he shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling. He continued up and exited from the underground.
When he reached street level, he turned toward his cube tower, deliberately walking slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of his fellow traveler. Soon the individual emerged from the underground into the deserted street, and turned to walk in his direction. He slowed still further. The person continued to walk at the same pace, closing the distance between them. He stopped and waited, hoping the hooded figure would come nearer. The traveler walked head down, staring at the pavement. When the distance narrowed to a safe one, Jake cleared his throat loudly.
The person's head snapped up, obviously startled, face still shadowed by the hood. The bulky jacket made it impossible to discern the sex, male or female. The shape, slight, shorter than Jake, and slender, could be a woman's. “Hi, do you live around here?” When the hooded figure didn't answer, he tried again. “My name's Jake Harrison. I live in that tower over there,” he gestured toward his cube tower. “On the thirtieth floor. I work for **Sens-U-Environ**” He felt reckless, as though he wanted to pour out his whole life story. He waited in vain for a reply. “What's your name? Do you use the subway often?” His questions elicited only silence. He cautiously moved closer.
Startled, the figure turned, and walked rapidly in the other direction.
“Wait! Don't leave! I meant no harm.” His words had an unintended effect, as the figure began to move faster. He slumped against the wall of the building, as he watched his futile hope of human contact diminish in the distance.
He felt crushed. His eyes stung, tears formed in them. The hope had raised his expectations nearly to the breaking point. He trudged heavily to his building.
He ascended the elevator to his cube, unlocked the door, and entered his three cramped cubicles. Compared to others, his place seemed spacious, but humanity had lived for nearly a decade in the shoebox of limited environments. Who needed space when the illusion could be found on the net? The less space the human race occupied, the more available for agriculture and food production.
Some people wanted the wide-open, natural world, and the cramped confines of the cities didn't resonate with them. The majority wanted the fantasy without the disagreeable labor, smells and dirt of reality.
At least his rooms were clean, he saw to it every day. The walls were featureless, the only article of furniture, his expensive, massive ** Sen-U-Chair **, occupied the center. To his right, the door connected to the food preparation cubical. To the left, he could shower and eliminate wastes.
He had no need to venture out from his cube to buy food, ** World Fed Ex ** used automated trucks to deliver it direct via lift from the ground floor. It came from the automated farms and food distribution factories. His food choices were instantly communicated through the net, directly from his brain. What will happen to the inhabitants of the cities when the food production network starts to fail? Surely the government had planned for that. Or had they? To envision the chaos disruption of the food supply would cause sicken him, but it remained a frightening possibility. Millions would starve. He studied the ** Sen-U-Chair **. It constituted his world, his bed, and his rare opportunities for sex. The net offered abundant sex, one could always find a willing partner, but the release offered by a **Joy/Comfort ** doll occupied a notch just above masturbation. No matter how much the doll tried to mimic reality, it still left him feeling unfulfilled. He ached for human contact.
A soft, well-modulated, female voice finally intruded upon his mood. “Shall I activate the ambiance, Jake?” His cube AI, Alice, obedient to his commands, waited for a reply.
His morose voice echoed in the empty cubical. “May as well Alice, I've nothing better to do, but I need you to reprogram my neuromechs first, they're letting net-trash through, and then give me the street scene.”
After a few minutes, the whole room disappeared, replaced by a swarming mass of people and a seeming mile of nightclubs along a busy boulevard. Since the ambiance streamed directly to his visual cortex, via the neuromechs, the image mimicked reality to an exact degree. He stood on a sidewalk, as laughing and chattering people flowed by him on either side. The seductive sight satisfied him, and his depression started to lift. Alice stood by his side in the net illusion, blond hair, shapely body, her perfect beauty. She acted as his servant both in and out of the net and willing bed partner if he needed her, but she constituted only electromagnetic data in the real world. She quietly clutched his arm, and waited for any command. He turned to her. Mustn't think this is real.
The virtual world beckoned, seduced, and delivered. It promised, “be what you want, and experience anything,” it whispered, “abandon reality, come here, and live without consequence.”
Many submitted themselves to life experience in the virtual world and never emerged. They lived and interacted in their allotted space, oblivious to the physical world that surrounded them. Jake was not one of those people, but it became harder to differentiate the net from reality when most of your waking hours were spent connected.
“Any mime connects today, Alice?”
“Yes Jake, you have three, shall I summon the first?”
“Who is it?”
“Samantha.”
He hesitated. Sam was a decent net-friend, and an on again, off again, sex partner on the occasions he decided to indulge. He didn't have any idea if she used her real name and so far as he knew, could be the mirror image of the woman he'd viewed in the company mime-mail who had complained about the chair. But, on the net, Sam’s face would seem fantasy-perfect, with a body designed to excite even the most jaded male. She’ll be a cookie cutter female, everything perfect, eager to join in whatever world or entertainment I desire. If he called up the jungle ambiance, she would appear with a few scraps of leopard skin hugging her breasts and loins, even though leopards were extinct. Here, on the street it might be a brief micro-skirt revealing tantalizing glimpses of her thighs, and a skin-tight halter top which did little to hide her breasts. She could change any aspect of her physical appearance at whim. She liked to party. A night with her could be just the thing he needed.
“Connect to her, Alice.” She didn't arrive immediately, so he waited on the simulated sidewalk watching the mass of people passing by. A decent amount of time passed, and just as he decided to turn his attention to the next mime-connect on Alice's list, she emerged from the crowd. “Jake!” She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his virtego. He knew that if he sat with the Sen-U-Chair surrounding him, he would feel the press of her skin and the soft, moist feel of her lips on his, her tongue probing his mouth.
She drew away and pouted. “You’re not sens-connected. No fun.”
“I haven't eaten yet, Sam. I just connected to see what you wanted.”
“I wanna party. I feel a need for you.” Her eyes sparkled and she smiled with a seductive look.
He knew the look, she wanted sex. He didn't know if he could conjure up the mood. “Have you eaten? We could find a swanky restaurant.”
“Yes I've eaten, but I can wait while you do.” She grabbed his arm and started guiding him down the sidewalk.
“Wait a moment, Sam. I've got to warm up some real food, and settle in my chair.”
She gave him an exasperated look, but waited impatiently. “OK, but hurry up, lover, I want to get an early start.”
He commanded Alice to open up the food cubical, and he pulled out a random package. The food preparation factory irradiated the meal before distributing it. It would keep at room temperature indefinitely without spoiling. He knew from experience that if he just ate the meal without sitting in his chair, it would taste bland and unappetizing, containing food value and nothing else. However, if he consumed it in the chair, he could transform it into any form imaginable. Sensation originated in the brain, and the brain could add any taste he desired. The neuromechs nestled in the neurons of his brain, received the data from the net and stimulated the necessary brain centers to provide taste and texture.
He sat in his chair and tore open the package. Alice activated the sensor field and arranged the table, tucked at its side. He set the food containers on the table. “OK, Alice, reconnect.” His environment changed, and he returned to join Sam. They continued to walk along the sidewalk. Now, he felt the warm press of her body as she clung to his arm. Her perfume filled his nostrils, stimulating, but a little overpowering. “Where do you want to go?”
“I've heard of a new nightclub. Rumor is that the band is on sensor overload. I thought we might dance and hang. Maybe meet some people, do a few stims – you know, and then fuck ourselves into oblivion.”
He did know. A sense of sameness dampened his mood, but he blocked it out. Maybe if he partied hard enough, he could forget. “Let's stop in a restaurant so I can eat.”
They found a bistro with a cozy atmosphere and he ordered from the menu. He knew the meal wasn't real, but it would taste real and it would be tailored to mesh with the food he had on the chair table. The virtual table held spotless silverware, sparkling glasses, and shining plates on a snow-white tablecloth. The waiter who took his order originated in the net. No one occupied menial jobs like restaurant workers anymore. Samantha ordered wine. Her chair would substitute water, but her neuromechs would stimulate the proper nerve centers to provide taste and a pleasant buzz that simulated intoxication. Through the night, she could become a stinking drunk if she wanted, without any morning after effects. The meal arrived. Every portion enticed his vision with culinary perfection. The tastes were exquisite. They chatted about inconsequential things as he ate, neither of them touching on reality. Samantha's infectious enthusiasm lifted his spirits. Maybe this evening won't turn out so bad after all.
He finished his meal, and they left the restaurant arm in arm. “Do you want to walk, Sam, or should we just morph to this club you're talking about?”
“We've got lots of time, let's just walk. I've missed you. You haven't been connected for a while.”
“I've had a few things on my mind.”
“I think I know what's wrong with you. My mind-doc says it's wishing for shit in the real world that you can't have. You need to accept that the real world doesn’t exist anymore, and live in the net world. It's the only way to keep sane.”
Her words jarred him. Could it be that simple? Live out the remainder of your life in a simulated environment, never coming out to face reality? Abandon all hope of real human contact?
Something inside him rebelled at the thought. Maybe he resented the flawlessness of the net world, and longed for the world that existed before the plague. Maybe he wanted to lie with a human woman with her emotional warts and human imperfections. Race, sex, and beauty had no meaning in this world; anyone could take any form they desired. He looked at the women and men who passed them on the sidewalk.
Each female possessed a figure that would incite lust. Each had classic features and luscious lips that would stimulate passion. When the women willingly revealed their virtual bodies, they would all be firm and soft in the right places. Glossy, thick, colorful hair crowned their heads. Hair that a man longed to bury his face in.
Did he want mousy-brown hair like straw, and breasts that weren't perfect, thighs that were flabby, and the smells of real sex?
The thought of the fat woman in the mime-mail made him shudder. What was wrong with him? Jake knew that if Sam touched his virtual body, she would feel rock-hard abs, a muscular chest and large shoulders. She would be fulfilled by a massive penis that would satisfy her with orgasmic perfection. Although in reality, he wasn't out of shape and reasonably attractive, he didn't own any of those attributes, he had an average body of average height, so what's wrong with a fantasy? The fact that each of them would be having sex with a doll didn't change anything – or did it? When your brain experienced the sensations directly, how did that differ from reality? In terms of the mind, both experiences were the same.
“What are you thinking about Jake? You've tuned me out.”
“Sorry, Sam. I was just thinking about what you said. I'll stop. Let's just enjoy ourselves.” They continued on for a distance and then she led him to a club where the sounds of pulsing music issued from the door. Unlike the past concept of a night club, there were no bouncers guarding the place and no cover charge. The club could morph to any space required. Anyone who caused a disturbance would be ejected from the net. They'd be scheduled for a psychiatric evaluation by a mind-doc, and their net privileges suspended for a set time. They'd be isolated in their rooms, a perfect and effective jail sentence. Repeat offenders were few. The music grew louder the nearer they approached.
Sam started moving her body to the rhythm. “Wow! Intense! Let's get a drink, Jake.”
They shouldered their way to the bar. As they waited for their drinks, he looked around at the tables and the dance floor, at the crowed mass of people who were swaying to the sounds. The band was composed of real people who wanted to showcase their creativity and musical talents. Their virtegos performed here in the club.
Drinks in hand, they wove through the crowd to find an empty table. They sat close to each other and Jake put his arm around her waist, drawing her to his side. His hand slipped down to her hip. The volume of the music rose just loud enough to allow them to converse if they huddled close together.
The lead singer, a female, possessed perfect pitch and her emotional voice sent chills though Jake's body. He leaned toward Sam. “This group is really good!”
“I told you. Want to dance?”
He vigorously nodded in the affirmative, and they called their AIs to hold their places at the table.
They wound their way to the dance floor and immediately began to move to the music. Jake laid his hand on Samantha's hip. The rhythm of the music pounded through his ears, and the scent of Samantha's perfume triggered his neuromechs to stimulate the erotic portions of his brain. He drew her closer and slid his hand down to lay it on the flesh of her soft thigh under the micro-skirt she wore. His feelings of arousal increased. The club possessed a non-explicit sex rating and graphic sexual acts were forbidden, but that didn't stop him from rubbing his body along the front of hers, and pressing his groin against the apex of her thighs. They danced to the sensuous beat of the music and moved suggestively against each other for a while, strengthening Jake's erection. The band eventually completed the set and paused for a rest.
In anticipation of a night's pleasure, Jake decided to have Alice activate his Joy/comfort doll. He hesitated about using it, but sex with Samantha involved total immersion and would not be complete without the simulacrum.
Versions of the realistic, anatomically-correct sex-dolls had been around for nearly a century. Some companies had experimented with robotic versions, but the power of the machine could injure the user during vigorous sex. Killing a customer with an orgasm wasn't a good business plan.
The doll's synthetic skin, warmed internally, felt incredibly life-like. Its genitals, heated to a temperature a few degrees higher than body temperature, created erotic sensations no normal human's could mimic. Female users described the sensation as like a red-hot, educated vibrator. Jake's company manufactured them, and he had helped to design them.
Thinking about this doesn’t help my libido. I need to start feeling and stop analyzing.
Samantha finally spoke. “You know what I wish, Jake?”
He stroked the flesh along her back and replied, “What?”
She arched her back and closed her eyes with his strokes. “I wish this was real. I wish you were really here and I could cuddle with you and sleep with you.”
“I know what you mean Sam, I want the same thing.”
“I mean, I don't really know you. Maybe if I met you I wouldn't even like you. For all I know, you could be a woman in a man's virtego. You're not are you? – I mean a woman?”
“No Sam, I'm all male.”
“I feel good when we're like this, connected. But I know when I drop out of the net, I'll see that damn sightless doll laying beside me and I'll realize I just fucked a dildo, rather than a real man. I think I need to use the mind-doc again.”
He remembered the first time he had made love, back when the world teemed with people. She'd been his best friend, and finally, as they reached maturity, his first love. Maybe the first time always felt sweeter, more intense. They'd made love the night before he left for college, both of them virgins. He recalled how he had gasped with wonder when he first penetrated her. She'd died, along with too many other bodies to count, while he hid in quarantine far away from home.
He hadn't had time to grieve. But her memory terrified him, even as he felt the old pain. Because, despite the deep feelings he recalled, at this moment, he couldn't remember her name. He had to regain his humanity before the net consumed him and he stopped living.” If it's any consolation Sam, I feel the same way, and I'm sure if I ever met you in reality, I'd like you.”
She sat up in the chair, drawing slightly away from him. “I think I'd like you too. Do you think we'll ever be normal again?”
He removed his hand from her back. “I have hope, Sam, and as long as I hope, I'll never give up trying.”
“I think I'm out of the mood to party, Jake. Do you mind if I disconnect?”
He felt a little disappointed and sexually frustrated, but at the same time relieved. “It's OK Sam, maybe next time.” Her virtego vanished, and he sat alone at the table. Without a partner, his arousal had subsided, and he signaled Alice to disconnect him.
Abruptly, he felt a wrenching sensation. His virtego seemed to stretch and elongate like a piece of taffy and he found himself sliding at an incredible rate through the net. All sensation ceased. He swam through a gray void, and then a crashing, jarring feeling signaled the abrupt end of the journey.
He stood at the edge of a glade lit by a radiant full moon.
Surrounding the clearing, trees crowned by scintillating leaves, reached for the sky, and crowded each other for space. A gentle breeze carried the perfume of millions of blossoms that glowed in the moonlight, creating a luminous carpet on the ground. His feet were bare and he could feel soft grass under them.
At the center of the meadow-like area, on a slight rise, a strange woman posed like a ballerina, staring at the bright orb. She wore a diaphanous gown that glowed from the illumination, and revealed the silhouette of her obviously nude body. The light streamed through a halo of silvery hair that surrounded her darkened face. She raised her arms above her head and arched her back; thrusting small delicate breasts with nipples prominent, toward the sky. Simultaneously, she extended one leg, balancing on the other. The posture accentuated the curve of her buttocks.
Jake watched as she moved in a fluid set of motions, each intended to display the treasures of her slim, curvaceous body through the gown. He moved toward her, his feet caressed by the flowers. As he moved, he felt silk-like garments slide along his chest and limbs. He glanced down at his virtego and saw that he wore white, loose trousers and an open front tunic held together by a golden chain. He could sense his nude body beneath the filmy coverings.
As he came near the hill, she stopped dancing and looked at him. She wore a black half-mask that hid the upper part of her face. She smiled, turned, and fled toward the trees. She seemed to glide over the ground as though she barely touched it, and disappeared at the edge of the meadow.
Disoriented, Jake had no idea as to how he had arrived here, and who or what had caused it. He realized that the answers lay with the woman, so he hastened to follow her through the woods, chasing her white ghostly figure as it flashed between the trunks. As he pursued her, he could feel a soft carpet of leaves beneath his bare feet, and the smooth bark of the silvery trees beneath his hands when he touched them. The leaves exuded a resiny cinnamon-like smell. He slowed, moving carefully through the forest toward a golden-yellow glow that filtered through a stand of the woods.
He entered a clear area of the woodland. The trees arched on either side, their leaved canopies forming a cathedral-like ceiling above. Fruit that emitted golden light grew in their boughs, casting a candle like glow over a grass-covered ground. At the end of the glade the woman sat on a raised dais-like area, formed of an emerald moss covering that grew in profusion.
He approached her and stood before her. Her gown clung to her breasts and thighs, revealing some tantalizing parts of her petite body and hiding others. Her hair, which in the moonlight had seemed silver, now crowned her in gold. A slit in the long, filmy skirt she wore, traveled up to her hip and she extended one bare, shapely limb from it. The light caused her flesh to glow and her eyes behind the mask smoldered. She smiled at him and pointed to the ground.
He stood in front of her. “Who are you, and how did you bring me here?”
“I think you're the one. This is a fantasy, a dream,” she replied. “It's not real, neither of us exists. The world only consists of the pleasure we find with each other. Now, kneel at my feet.”
Jake dropped to one knee in front of her, and she extended her naked foot to his bare chest, kneading his flesh. She slid her foot down, lower, caressing him all the way, toward his abdomen and finally coming to rest upon his now painfully hard penis. She wiggled her toes on it, sending exquisite pulses of pleasure through his body. He knew that too much of her ministrations would shorten their time together, so he caught her foot and raised it toward his mouth.
He stared at her while he took each of her toes one by one and sucked them into his mouth, caressing them with his tongue. He licked and nipped the sole of her foot, tasting the cinnamon-like flavor of the leaves, her soft skin felt, smelled and tasted like nothing he had ever experienced on the net. He traveled up along her calf, kissing and caressing the velvety flesh, until he found her knee, where he tongued and kissed the tender underside.
Meanwhile, he ran his free hand up her thigh toward her hip and cupped one of her firm buttocks. She cocked her knee and opened herself to him, leaning back against the moss. He dragged his tongue slowly along the inner flesh of her thigh, until he reached the tender skin along her opening. At that point, he used just the tip of his tongue to tease the sensitive area, smelling the scent of her arousal, and tasting her salty perspiration along with moisture exuding from her core.
She reached to the hip of her split-gown and released a catch, causing the whole garment to fall away from her lower body. Jake took advantage of the freedom and used his grip on her hips to pull her toward his mouth. He used his tongue to part the silky golden hair surrounding her lower lips, and ran it along the edge, while he kneaded the firm roundness of her bottom. He could feel the breath catch in her chest, and her breathing quickened. He used the tip of his tongue to lightly touch the nub at the apex of her opening and she gasped at each touch. He felt the silky fabric of her dress slide across his face, and looked up.
She had bared her small, exquisitely formed breasts, and now kneaded them with both her hands; her fingers lightly caressed the nipples. Her body lay totally exposed to his view.
He returned to his earlier effort, and pressed his tongue along her mound, using the tip of it to quest for her opening. She began to make small sounds of pleasure, and reached down to unclasp the chain holding the tunic covering his chest. He moved closer to give her access. She slid the garment from his shoulders, and ran her hands along his ribs. He reciprocated, and slid his hands along her sides, eventually arriving at her breasts. He used both hands to cup and caress her firm breasts, pulling at the delicate nipples, while he slid his tongue up and down her opening. She bucked her hips against his mouth and shuddered.
He rose from his knees and pressed his chest to her breasts, capturing her mouth with his, and slid his tongue between her lips, while one hand crept down to cup her mound. He felt the silky hair with his fingers, and beneath it, the moist, hot flesh. Finding it, he slid one of them inside and pressed against the roof of her core, squeezing the liquid softness within. He deepened his kiss, thrusting his tongue further in her mouth, feeling the tenderness of her lips and her tongue alongside his.
She abruptly assumed control, shoved him away, and ripped the trousers from his hips, exposing him to her gaze. She pushed on his chest, forcing him to recline on his back on the soft moss. She straddled him, and gripped his erection, guiding it into her opening. He felt her sheath slide along his length as she slowly moved down to engulf him in her moist heat. She supported herself with her legs, and her hands on his chest.
She began to move her hips, sliding herself up and down his now, rock hard flesh. He saw her thighs and calves begin to quiver from the effort. She lowered herself until her mound pressed against him, grinding it against his groin.
Jake felt his orgasm start to build and he gripped her rear, assisting her hips as she started rubbing and bucking with him. She leaned down, pressing her breasts on his chest and kissed him, burying her tongue deep in his mouth. He sucked and nibbled on it, as the thrusts of her hips became more urgent. She drew back from his mouth, and her hot, fast breath stroked his lips.
“More,” she gasped. “Harder.”
He increased his effort, thrusting his hips in synchronization with her rhythm, feeling the ecstasy build. They both breathed in panting gasps, little moans escaping with each movement. His orgasm finally exploded, sending shock waves of pleasure throughout him over and over. At the same time, she arched her back and muffled screams accompanied the shudders enveloping her body. He felt the walls of her sheath squeeze his length with each quiver of her body.
She collapsed on him, burying her face in his chest. They lay like that for a while in the afterglow, recovering strength, their breathing slowing toward normal.
Jake finally stirred and began to stroke her back. “Who are you? How did you bring me here?” He reached up to remove the mask she wore. “At least let me take off the mask.”
She drew away from his touch, disengaged from him, and leaped up. “No, I am only a dream. This is only a dream.” She backed away from him towards the moss-covered throne, and vanished.
Jake found himself back in the club sitting at the table, disoriented, and still flushed from the strange encounter. He sat for a while, recovering his strength, like waking from a dream. How could it have felt so real?
Eventually he left the table and moved through the crowd toward the restroom, intending to clean up. His progress halted when a diminutive figure collided with his body. The figure wore a hooded jacket, and the hood had nearly slid off in the collision. The face of a woman peered out of the hood. She had wide round eyes, like an Anime character. Blond curls surrounded her face, and her hazel eyes opened wide in surprise. Her heart-shaped lips parted, “Are you Jake Harrison?”
For a moment, Jake didn't know how to reply. Then he recognized the jacket she wore, and realized that this might be the person he'd encountered in the subway. With her blonde hair, and kissable lips, could she also be the woman he'd made love to in the fantasy? He wondered what she wanted. How could she net-connect in her real persona?
Finally, he found his voice. “Yes I'm Jake, are you the woman in the clearing?”
A look of apprehension clouded her face. “Clearing? What clearing? – I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Well – never mind. OK – what's your name?”
“My name is immaterial.”
Jake grinned, he couldn't resist it. “Hello, Immaterial.”
“Wha –? No! I mean – All right! Liv. My name is Liv. – Satisfied? We're wasting time. I need to talk to you. – In person. Not on the net.”
“Fantastic! Wonderful! Where can we meet?”
She suddenly became nervous, and started glancing wildly around the club. “I'll find you.” She turned away, and darted through the crowd.
“Wait!” He moved to follow her, and frantically searched the dance floor, but she had vanished. With implacable determination, he plowed through the dancers, making his way through the front doors, and out of the club into the street. Scanning the crowds, he could not see her.
A strange feeling swept over him, as though he had lost part of his soul. He fought the efforts of the neuromechs to sooth his frustration. The result brought a punishing crash and a sense of defeat. No longer in the mood to party, he disconnected from the net and emerged to his empty cube.
Chapter 2
Liv. Her name rang constantly in his mind. A chance to meet and experience the nearness of a live human woman excited his imagination. He spent most of his waking hours frantically searching for her. He visited the club every night for the rest of the week, and waited for hours. He ventured out of his cube and traveled the subway often, heedless of his physical safety. He had to find her.
The work day meeting loomed and he had no heart to attend it, but driven by habit, and a desire for human contact, he prepared himself, and left his cube. During the trip to the office, he scanned all the stations as the train flashed by, looking for some glimpse of a slender figure. At the meeting, he sat silent, as the same frustrating problems elicited the same useless results. He closed the meeting early, and allowed everyone to leave. On the way to the elevators, Allan stopped him.
“What's the matter Jake? You're not your old self. You look like shit. Are you sick?”
Yes I'm sick, sick of living. “I guess it's just a case of indigestion. I may be partying too much. Maybe I need to stay away from the net. Give myself a rest.”
Allan looked dubious. “I heard on the news-net that suicides have increased dramatically recently. Maybe you need to consult your mind-doc.”
He felt touched by Allan's concern, but knew what to expect if he did use the mind-doc. His neuromechs would be adjusted, and all his real feelings would vanish. He rebelled at the idea. He had the conviction that his passion for living connected him to his humanity and Liv. He wouldn't abandon it for artificial euphoria. “I'll be fine Allan, but thanks for your concern.”
Allan paused, just staring at him. “I'd hate to lose you, Jake. There aren’t many people who try to live in the real world. It'd be a real tragedy if you checked out. You give me hope.”
“It's not that, Allan, at least not in the near future. I've got a lot of things on my mind. Maybe I'll follow your advice. – Check the mind-doc. – You know.”
“Yeah. I know. Well... See you next week. Take care.”
“Bye Allan.’Till next week.”
They exited the offices separately, each to individual elevators. Returning to his cube, he prowled the net nearly every day looking for her. He avoided most of the virt-worlds; instead concentrating on the last place he'd seen her. He walked the virtual streets, ignoring the huge crowds of virtegos who passed by. He'd met her while she existed in her persona or so he believed. It didn't seem possible. No one connected in physical form, or at least he had never heard of it before. Where was her physical body? Did she live near him? His obsession threatened to drive him insane, but fired his need to meet her. The questions circled repetitively in his brain. She asked to meet him in person. Didn't that imply something?
After a few days of restless searching, he disconnected from the net, his inert body still immobilized from the paralyzing effects his neuromechs had induced. He sweated. Although the neuromechs isolated his nervous system from his motor functions to prevent him from acting out his net fantasies, they didn't stop his emotions, or the sensations experienced when he exerted himself. He rested for a moment in the chair, still in the ambiance, but not experiencing it. He lay there thinking, as he watched the unending parade of virtegos stream by, staring, but not really seeing them. Where else could he look? Where in hundreds of virtual worlds could she be? Did she live in the net at all?
Finding her in the real world should have been easy. Not many people moved through the streets of L.A., or traveled the tube way. But he'd tried, walking the empty streets near his cube, and riding the tube train, without success. I'll find you, her last, departing words.
Jake decided he'd neglected his job long enough in his fruitless quest. He needed to check the progress of the new chair project and see if his engineers were doing their jobs. If he didn't supervise them nothing would be accomplished. “Industrial virtual, Alice.”
“Yes, boss.” Alice always morphed her appearance and personality to match the requirements of the environment. In the industrial virtual world, she became the plain, efficient, personal assistant to the engineering manager of Sens-U-Environ.
The world changed. Displayed before him, as he stood on a wide plain with a black featureless sky, spread the manufacturing heart of North America. The complex world contained hundreds of blazing virtual buildings that towered thousands of feet tall. They housed ten of thousands of companies, their corporate logos prominently blazing, creating a dazzling and intimidating sight. To walk to the site of Sens-U-Environ would consume unnecessary real-time, so he commanded Alice to morph him to his office.
He emerged in a wide, impressive office complete with massive executive desk, rich with gleaming wood surfaces. Alice stood in the room dressed in a plain, gray business suit, wearing glasses, her hair severely pulled back and fastened. Jake chuckled. “You don't have to do that, Alice.”
“Hey boss, it's business. Can't look like a street whore. Do you want me to connect you? “
“Configure the chair first.” Jake settled in the chair. Immediately he heard the soft sounds of humming office equipment and smelled the faint, subdued scent of Alice's perfume.
“The shift Operations Supervisor is waiting to see you.”
Jake wondered what the man wanted. Ordinarily, the supervisor reported to the Operations Manager. What did he want from him? “I'll see him, Alice.”
The man emerged, obviously upset, and promptly sat in one of the office chairs. “You're Jake Harrison?”
“Yes who are you?”
“Name's Carl Adams. I'm the shift supervisor for this shift, and we're in trouble.”
Jake studied Adams. His virtego reflected gray hair, brown eyes and a somber, nearly grim expression. His words caused Jake to reflect upon the whole manufacturing process. People who managed the actual production worked two-hour shifts, three days a week. Their job actually entailed monitoring the processes and making corrections if one drifted out of tolerance. They spent all their time at a virtual data input board, somewhat like the old computer keyboards in the museums. The real factory consisted of scores of general-purpose machines called 'fabbers'. An artificial intelligence, a factory level AI, controlled the overall plant. The fabbers took the design for a product from the AI, and used trash from land-fill mining and recycling to create the parts. Fabbers were a mature technology, more than a half century old. But the development of artificial intelligence by Olivia Carlson, two decades ago, had revolutionized manufacturing forever. Manufacturing facilities nearly ran themselves. What could be so urgent that the supervisor would bypass his nominal superior? “What can I do for you Carl?”
“You can get people to connect for their work shifts. That's what. I've got some people actually working eight hours a day to take up the slack. This can't go on much longer, Jake, we'll have to shut down some of the facilities if it does.”
“Why haven't you discussed this with your boss?”
Carl snorted and threw up his hands. “I would, if I could find him, he hasn't connected in months. You're the only manager who seems to give a damn, so I'm telling you. Something needs to be done. We can't run the plants without human oversight.”
Jake knew that some of the critical processes contained significant hazards, and if they ran out of control they could cause severe damage to the factory, or pose an environmental hazard. The AI that ran the manufacturing plant, although incredibly fast and efficient, possessed the emotional maturity of a four-year old human child. Stressful decisions that an adult human would take in stride, could damage the AI, rendering it inert. It required human guidance to function properly. An AI represented a significant portion of the cost of an installation. Human workers protected it at all times.
“Shift all the people to the most critical processes on my authority. Let the AIs handle the rest. I'll kick this problem up to my bosses and see if they can do something.”
Carl exhaled, and slumped back in the chair. “Thanks. I've already done that to a certain extent... Jake, this can't go on much longer. We're close to the breaking point.”
Jake rose from his seat and began to pace the room. “I know Carl, I know. I just don't know how to stop the slide.” He stopped pacing and looked at him. “Do you?”
Carl shook his head. “No. But I do know it's going to take more than the two of us. People have to stop hiding and start living.”
“Well, Carl, maybe if there's people like you and me still around, there's still hope. – Alice?”
“Yes boss.”
“Forward a full virtual of this meeting to all of upper management, and append me, asking for support.”
“Yes sir, it's done.”
“OK, Carl?”
“Thanks, Jake, I'll get back to work.” He disappeared from the office ambiance.
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