It was clear to her where she had to look. It was just a matter of verifying her suspicions. While she sank her spoon into the contents of the Gourmet box, she read at speed to find the date and time of the last session of the avatars on Cf. It was as expected. The data of the past four months showed that they played regularly. Two or three times a day. Not a day had passed that they had not logged in to play, but by the end of four months the Cf session logs came to a sudden halt. This was another piece of information she verified without surprise. Once they had left their terminals at Vatican Inc., none of the three operators played again, either on their own against the machine, or in a group competing against each other. She knew that the next step was to look online. She took in details of the death of each one with little surprise: one had suffered multiple injuries with brain haemorrhage due to a fall from a height of fifteen metres. Another death: barbiturates overdose. The third, cause of death: external bleeding, slashed wrists.
The online lists published by The Other One confirmed that the operators who had left the processing room had killed themselves. Even though it was inevitable to her that Galo’s name would appear on The Other One’s lists, seeing it among so many others shocked her.
The Other One blamed the world and its commercialisation of life. To preserve a world in control of itself. Entrenched in its precise, imperious vision of itself. ‘We buy things with our eyes closed, it reported, seeing nothing but a thumbnail photo. Even if the product is unknown to us, the brand certifies its quality. Once we start on a series, we don’t give it up. We buy in a chain: versions of a game, the next season’s fashion in clothes, cosmetic trends, fashionable drugs, art, lunch boxes, membranes, electronics. The brand name is a sacred cow.’ The Other One shouted to the world what everybody knew already. Only a few tuned in to listen. Only a few refused to participate in a market driven society. Life was made difficult for them but they continued to broadcast. They hoped for an unlikely awakening: ‘We’re survivors. Our descendents are as dead as the thousands of millions who fell in the times of terror. Don’t let them alienate you from a life you don’t understand. Governments continue putting human ingenuity to the service of killing off ingenuity. The protection technology affords you is not real. Government arguments recycle phrases to the same end. Life’s proposal has been declined. Come to The Other One to hear the real truth.’
In spite of The Other One, the World Government had succeeded in achieving their goals: there were no debts to settle or crusades to defend. Humanity lived in freedom. Like a huge ball tied to an invisible chain, immaterial, unlimited. The chain of surveillance. The Other One asked ignominious questions from a dark basement: ‘Is this what the population escaped death for? Is this what you are fated to be? What you should aspire to? Satisfaction from products one generation to the next. Developing the perfect product for the perfect action, the perfect result. Is your development the development of the product?’ The voice emerged with all the depth of an invocation. While the few dissatisfied voices were easily dismissed as alarmist. It was natural that not everybody would be satisfied. Even if life were almost perfect, discontent was part of human nature. The World Government had an explanation. It was condescending and understanding. Everybody had a right to their opinion.
For Vera there was nothing natural about the disappearance of the operators. Carda’s behaviour was even less so. He had told her they had probably gone to work for another company. Either the organisation had not notified the bosses or… Either Carda did not know that the operators were dead, or he knew something which she had to find out. The Other One was right. The intention was to hide the suicides which were increasing alarmingly. If Zillo knew about them, she could understand him refraining from mentioning them. He would not want to sound the alarm among hundreds of essential operators.
She felt a furtive satisfaction which was at odds with reality. There were others who shared her perception of life. Others also resisted being absorbed by the marketing maelstrom. Just like Galo, Vera spent hours listening to the news. Even if The Other One was right, she could not attribute those reasonings to Galo’s suicide. She knew Galo’s soul. Or not. Up to what point could she say so? Could she be so wrong about what she knew best? If she were, any certainty could vanish. The doubts that had taken her through dark paths had not been dissipated.
She restarted Galo’s membrane with a nervousness that was new to her. She had to begin by systematically discarding one by one the possible answers, demonstrate that Galo had not been one of the despairing, ‘empty souls with no essence’, The Other One called them.
This time she worked in reverse order. She had the full name. To be able to access the data the variables were more predictable in following blocks of information on Galo to which she had access. The passwords were not difficult to discover. Vera quickly found the less intimate, although better hidden, information. Colder but burning. There it all was in thousands of pages. Vera began to browse quickly, as if jumping from block to block in her search. She read Galo’s data as if she had not known him. Name, address, e-mail, profession, company, mobile phone, PEC number. Further on, each section detailed the person with whom she had lived almost since the beginning. She paused briefly at what had been registered before she knew him. His family, his schooling, his medical history. There was so much she had not known. Details they had never talked about; he had polyps when he was two and then at the age of five had forced some seeds into his ears, which had begun to germinate. They had had all the time in the world and at the same time so little. What she now learned about him could fill a magical place where she could imagine him and make him present. She would leave that aside to later return to those moments and savour them. Vera scrolled down through the information on the membrane to reach recent data. Work, finances, medical, leisure.
When she saw the new name in the last section, she knew straightaway that it was an avatar. Neither Vera nor Galo had created avatars. Neither Vera nor Galo had ever played as users. Perhaps Galo had created it for work as an example and had left it there. Vera’s wishful thinking ill-prepared her for the surprise. The login pages scrolled endlessly upwards and downwards. She opened them at speed on the membrane with her thumb and index finger while barely comprehending what was being revealed. There were hundreds of pages of daily sessions. The detailed log of hours of play. It was no different from the pages of the avatars she had investigated. Galo was one player more. His avatar: Lark.
She sat at the screen as if not caring that she only had a few seconds left before being traced. Although the alarm was screaming at her to exit, Vera could not hear anything other than the pulse at her temples. She went back to the first page to search for the games log. Only one was listed. Lark was registered for just a single game. Vatican World Cf. Vera saw the name repeated, mirrored to infinity. Despite her perplexity she managed to quickly download the file. In a reflex action she closed the membrane on zero seconds. She was left with a hissing in her ears in front of the flickering protector of the membrane. Once her discomfort lessened, the feeling of panic vanished. If she continued systematically she would get to the truth. She was convinced that the explanation would be so simple that she would later feel ashamed of having doubted Galo. Somebody must have used his identity. Identity theft for online avatars was not uncommon. Somebody who could not provide their own data to the system, perhaps due to problems with the law. Stuck in her seat, Vera reviewed the alternatives that would avoid that scenario. On the other side of her intense mental perseverance she found a long empty space. Conjectures were worthless. What she needed was proof.
As if propelled out of her imperfect serenity by a spring, she rushed to the trunk. Without exception, all the games had been buried there. Those that had come into the house as a promotion or company gift and had never been opened. She recalled the night they had dropped Vatican World Cf in like so many others. She reviewed it in slow motion: the box in the air, crashing onto the other unused packages. Then the lid of
the trunk entombing it to lie forgotten under the red cloth. The cloth with which she had covered Galo until the police came. She rummaged frantically knowing that it should be at the top. Maybe it had slipped to the bottom of the pile. Vera was deluding herself. Not for long.
She rose from what she knew to be a vain search. She rushed into the room where she kept Galo’s clothes still intact, as though he were to come home at any moment. Nothing had changed in the room where Vera no longer slept. She very seldom went in to fetch some garment or other. A place to enter and leave soon after. A limbo in which stopping meant letting herself be absorbed into an unfamiliar, lonely world. Everything in there could be transformed into an abyss where it is not possible to live. Rather than letting herself fall into it, she spun into an uncharacteristic frenzy. She pulled Galo’s clothes out of the wardrobe and emptied the drawers all over the floor. She reclaimed the orderly, occupied spaces, to divest them of their meaning. Vera had lost her cool in a way that was exhausting. She emptied the walls of the photos of places they had visited together, memories hung as a window to the natural world. Places forbidden for their beauty. The room was no longer theirs. There was nothing she could recognise other than scattered bits and pieces spread around the floor, as if a gale had rushed through to void the memory.
Lastly, she climbed onto the chair where Galo would sit to work. There was one last shelf. Right at the top, reachable with a decisive effort. The shelf to which unneeded articles were relegated. At the back, in the dark, Vera’s hand bumped into the box, recognisable by touch. So many times at work she had held it in her hand. This would not be the last time. Vera got down from the chair holding Vatican World Cf. She stared at it as if she had never seen it before. It had clearly been opened several times, too often. Galo had opened it time and again to remove the access key, glove, special control and projection card. Sitting on top of the pile of clothes, she held the Cf box as if she had found a bomb which had to be deactivated but did not have the strength to do so. There she remained, motionless on the floor without caring if the bomb might be about to go off.
The passage of time became evident only from the darkness of the room. When the pale moonlight became visible on her hands Vera stood up and switched on the lights. She went back to the membrane. The disappointment on seeing that stark information disintegrated as the idea came to her that it was not Galo who had experienced it all. The avatar which entered impossible situations was not remotely like the person Vera knew. It was easy to dissociate herself from the awareness that Galo had created that character. Now Vera had to find a reason for him doing so.
According to the records, Galo had logged into Cf every afternoon for four months. Five hours each time. From the moment when Vera had left for work until minutes before her arrival back home.
In the box she found the messages she had left him in his pockets over the time when they were not there for each other. The messages that had been written as a sign of understanding had become a poignant recrimination. The only antidote that took the sharpness away was the truth she had just discovered. Not only had Galo not visited the places which united them, he had lied to her. To seek a reason for this became increasingly urgent. He had not left a note. There was no sign at all. What could she remember of the day before his death? Perhaps Galo had been distant. Everything or nothing could be a hint of what was to come the following day. At best, it pointed to a tendency. It did not explain why.
If she looked at the events of the previous day, there was nothing but the strangeness of not being able to change anything that had already been consolidated in the past. Reality was made of different material than dreams where anything that one wished for could happen. She was annoyed when she realised that the material of which dreams are made was so similar to that of the games. She would think about that later.
Galo had taken any answers with him. He had not been enticed to play the new game out of curiosity but a certain despondency. He knew Vera would be deeply disappointed. He had no other way than to hide the afternoons he spent immersed in Cf. Like many others he spent his free time, the free space and its mechanisms, on games created to fill it. Vera had not been by his side to save him from that intricate, absorbing forest. Just like everyone else, he had become addicted to games. Galo only logged in to play Cf. What had become of the plans they had together? There had been only a month to go before they could start spending their mornings together again. Perhaps to begin a life elsewhere. She had no way of proving it but felt that there lay the key to what she wanted to know.
PART VII
On the following morning Vera knew she had to go straight into the inner workings of the game. She closed her office door and inserted the interface card. She opened the update file to access the mother program. The programming code she had written had not been changed. Neither was there anything unusual in the code within the sections programmed by Carda. The settings and the equations showed nothing untoward. Nor did the features or their variables. The node definition. Attributes. She checked the systems and particle formation, integrations. Inertia start-ups. Physical and mental response initiators. Sensory and magnetostatic convectors. All the sections of the game to which she had access were in order. To ensure confidentiality, the system would not let her access those sections with their password protection. If she tried to access areas for which she had no authorisation, she would be immediately found out. She had reached the end of the road. She must find another way. The only one that could lead her to the truth.
No matter how many twists and turns she took, she could not get to the solution. There was only one direct way. After weeks of research, there it was, staring her in the face. With no barriers, only danger ahead, she would follow the same route taken by Galo till the end. She would play Vatican World Cf every afternoon for hours. She would follow in his footsteps. She would try to find where he had become lost. With her senses sharpened she must seek in the game’s virtual reality what she had not found in the mathematics and quantum science of its programming. Vera would have to become a ‘games addict’ as The Other One had named the population. ‘The splendour of leisure’ was the World Government’s preferred term to refer to the games.
That afternoon when Vera went back to the flat something had changed. She had regained the balance she thought she had lost. She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply just as she would do before setting out to climb Monte Mario on her bike. To Galo, the views from the top were not spectacular but still the most pleasant of Rome. Vera opened the membrane. She registered her details under the same serial number as Galo’s. A voice warned her: ‘You are about to register the second user of your personal version of Vatican World Cf. Remember that this product will not be able to accept any more users. Please confirm the second registration or exit.’ Vera confirmed the name Clarissa50.
Her work had become so automatic that she could barely remember the meticulous details of Cf. She had tested version I. She knew that Cf had far surpassed the original version. Vera personally had not incorporated any major changes in the programming, HUD or gameplay. The main difference she knew of was the huge number of fans who had been netted from Islamic World, Earth in Peace and New Horizons, the most widely accepted games of speculative strategy. Cf had also managed to keep its new and old followers in absolute percentage terms. Zillo had achieved what he had promised, with Carda’s expert help. Vera had been instrumental in providing technical and scientific tools, giving expression to the design and some of the game’s new elements. Now she would have the chance to experience herself what she had crafted using quantum theory.
She closed the curtain. Out of the box she took the glove Galo had worn so often in her absence. She inserted the card. There was Vera, before the magic of virtual reality in which she had so often declined to participate. She was no longer herself. Even if her avatar Clarissa had her same inquisitive glance reflected in her big eyes, in essence she felt she did not want Clarissa to be the same as her. She was suppos
ed to be bolder, stronger, fearless. Fundamentally, Clarissa should make no mistakes. The holographic projection took up the entire room. It invaded the space and made a new location of it. The vast virtual territory of Vatican World Cf where Vera or Clarissa or both now had to act. To change the circumstances which materialized, to avoid any mishaps, investigate clues, face challenges, seek the truth. Essentially, to survive. There were countless routes to choose from. Vera only cared about progressing through the levels as soon as possible, reaching the highest to where Galo had gone. Clarissa would take her where her own body could not go. If what had affected Galo and the others were there, Vera would have to explore it. She did not yet know how. But she would soon know if what she was seeking was only in her imagination.
The avatar Vera had launched in her place had the simplicity of a beginner. She did not want to overload Clarissa with gadgets she would later not know how to use. Clarissa’s boots were no doubt special, like the ones Vera used to tread firmly in her natural world. The fewer gadgets Clarissa used, the more points she could accumulate. Courage was rewarded. Clarissa jumped from the shelf to St Peter’s Square. She looked at her hands, torso, legs. She scanned her surroundings and smiled. She was ready. Before embarking on her task she turned to Vera so the two could look at and recognise each other. Vera had not stopped to think it over. She had chosen Clarissa’s features in a hurry. The blond long hair, the dark eyes, the chalk white skin. Now face to face, Clarissa looked like Vera’s negative image. Her long toned legs appeared to be the same, as well as her agility. One difference stood out. Clarissa had a demeanour Vera did not recognise in herself. Her avatar made her feel protected.
The Vatican Games Page 14
