Virtually Dead

by Peter May

  Chas: I know. I’ve played against myself many times these last months.

  She turned to look at him.

  Doobie: Have you: why?

  Chas: Because I have no one else to play with.

  She seemed to think about that for a moment.

  Doobie: Would you like a game?

  Chas: I’d love a game.

  And so they sat with the sun setting between them and made their first few moves across a virgin board.

  Chas: It’s strange, I haven’t been here that long today, and yet it seems to have been light and dark, light and dark.

  Doobie: Well, SL like RL, has time zones, and we’ve been teleporting back and forth across them. But a Second Life day is only two hours long. So we cram a lot into a day here. And we don’t waste time walking or driving or taking airplanes. Or eating and sleeping. It makes the whole SL experience that much more concentrated, that much more intense. Things come and go more quickly, including people. And all their human emotions—love, hate, jealousy, envy—are like the light that burns twice as bright but only half as long. If you stay in SL, Chas, you’ll experience much more than you ever expected.

  They played, then, in silence, a game so evenly balanced that they were each down to their last few players before she finally chased his king into a corner and forced his surrender. He was glad that Doobie couldn’t see the tears that moistened his eyes behind the screen. She played just like Mora. Not with great flair, but with a relentless, intelligent pursuit that finally ground down her opponent. And he was reminded so strongly of Mora that it almost hurt.

  They sat for several minutes without talking.

  Doobie: Bad loser?

  Chas: LOL. No, Doobie. Just replaying the game to figure out how to beat you next time.

  Doobie Littlething smiles.

  She stood up suddenly.

  Doobie: I promised you could take me out to dinner. I’ll send you a TP.

  And she was gone in a sprinkling of fairy dust.

  ***

  Chas followed Doobie’s TP, and found himself in a circular terrace just like the one they had left. Except that the chess board had been replaced by a dining table for two, with candles and a chocolate and strawberry fondu, and white wine chilling in a bucket. There was no sea view here. They were almost completely enclosed by tall conifers, and the columns supporting the dome were draped with wreaths of pink and white roses. Somehow, in the time it had taken to teleport from one location to another, Doobie had changed her clothes again. Now she wore a flowing, full-length black dress with a daringly low cut neckline revealing full, sensuous breasts. Chas found his eyes being drawn by them, and wondered how he could possibly be turned on by a cartoon. But somehow the personality behind the image was transcending the visual. He thought that Doobie was incredibly attractive.

  He glanced down at his own newbie clothes.

  Chas: I really need to get myself a new outfit.

  Doobie: Need to get yourself some money first. Then you can build as big a wardrobe as you like. I have so many clothes in my inventory, collected over nearly three years, that I know I’ll never ever wear them all again.

  They sat down and were immediately animated to eat from the plates of steaming virtual food in front of them. Chas seemed to be carving his way through a thick steak.

  Two chings in rapid succession drew Chas’ eye to the fact that he had an incoming IM. It was from Twist.

  Twist: Goddamned SL! I only just got back in. What happened?

  Chas: Oh, me and a beautiful exotic dancer chased Tommy Tattoo to Crack Town, caged him, shot him, and sent him crashing into orbit.

  Twist: Jesus, Chas. How on earth did you manage all that?

  Chas: Easy, Twist. When you know how.

  Twist: Pfffff!

  Chas: Anyway, I’m kind of busy right now. Having dinner with a lady.

  Twist: What!?

  Chas: I’ll explain later. But just to let you know, Twist, I’ll be looking for my share of the fee for getting rid of Tommy. Fifty-fifty, although I’m not sure it shouldn’t be more, given that you weren’t even there. How much do we charge, by the way?

  Twist: 100 a day, plus expenses

  Chas: Lindens?

  Twist: LOL. What else?

  Chas: Gees, Twist, it’s hardly worth showing up for that.

  Twist: Well, big shot, maybe you should take it up with your union rep. I have to log off now. I’ll see you at work.

  Chas looked up to find Doobie watching him.

  Doobie: IM?

  Chas: How did you know?

  Doobie: Well, when someone takes nearly a minute to answer a question, I have to figure they are a little distracted.

  Chas: Oh, I’m sorry, Doobs. It was Twist. What was the question?

  Doobie: I was offering you Landmarks to stores where you can pick up decent clothes at reasonable prices. You interested?

  Chas: What’s a Landmark?

  Doobie: A teleport link. There’s a folder for them in your Inventory. I’ll look out some LMs for interesting places for you to visit in SL. Pass them on to you next time. And I know there’ll be a next time, because you still owe me 500 Lindens.

  Chas looked at her speculatively.

  Chas: How much time do you spend in here on an average day, Doobie?

  Doobie: Pretty much all my waking hours. Except when I’m eating. Although sometimes I eat at the computer, too. LOL.

  Chas: Well, what does your family say?

  There was quite a long silence.

  Doobie: I don’t have any family, Chas. None to speak of, anyway.

  He decided not to probe any further. It was odd how it was possible to divine reluctance, hesitation, embarrassment, amusement, without ever really seeing someone, or hearing their voice.

  Chas: So what else do you do with your time? I mean, when you’re not dancing or…entertaining clients?

  Doobie: I hunt griefers.

  Chas: What’s a griefer?

  Doobie: LOL. Well, what does it sound like, Chas? It’s someone who causes grief. You get them in RL. Troublemakers. Vandals, criminals, people who infect computers with viruses…Folk are just the same in the virtual world as they are in the real one. Only here, it’s gloves off. They get what’s coming to them. If Linden Lab don’t deal with them, then citizens take the law into their own hands. We go after them where they hide and gather. Free damage areas where there are frequent pitched battles. That’s why I have my armour and my weapons. I usually go griefer hunting at a place called Sandbox Island. Anything goes there. And you know what? It’s fun.

  She suddenly stood up.

  Doobie: I’m not hungry any more. Do you wanna dance?

  Chas felt that he had barely begun his meal. But Doobie was clearly restless. She didn’t seem to want to remain in one place for more than a few minutes at a time. And, besides, he was curious to know what it would feel like to dance with her.

  Chas: Sure.

  He stood up.

  Doobie: I’ll TP you.

  And she vanished.

  ***

  The poseballs for Slow-dance v3 were set in the centre of yet another terrace ringed by columns. Petals fell here, too. The night sky was only just visible through the trees that grew all around, swaying in the cool night breezes that blew across Midsomer Isle from the ocean. Discreetly placed lamps threw the long shadows of the columns across the dancefloor, and Doobie was already attached to her poseball, waiting, with arms extended, for her partner. Chas clicked and joined her.

  The dance began formally enough. Chas had his arm around Doobie’s waist. Their left and right hands extended together.

  Doobie: On your toolbar, at the bottom right, you’ll see a musical symbol. Click on it.

  Chas did as he was told, and immediately soft, seductive Celtic music filled his ears, transforming the atmosphere of the night.

  Almost at the same time, Doobie’s arms slipped up around his neck, drawing him closer, and he watched as his hands slid be
hind her to glide over the curve of her buttocks. He felt a strange, unaccountable thrill. How was it possible for animated pixels on a screen to have such an effect on him? The AV’s gazed at each other in the night, a strange intensity in their eyes, and Chas felt the beginnings of butterflies in his stomach.

  Doobie’s hands slid over his chest, and she buried her head in his shoulder as his arms moved around her waist to hold her tight. Chas felt a stirring in his loins and had the oddest urge to kiss her. An urge frustrated by the limitations of the animation.

  Chas: This is nice.

  Doobie: Mmmm. Yeh. Can you feel my breath on your neck as you hold me?

  Chas: Yes, I can.

  And he almost believed that he could.

  Doobie: Then feel my hands as they glide over your chest, slipping beneath the cool cotton of your shirt to touch the heat of your skin.

  Chas: OMG Doobie, should we be doing this? I hardly know you.

  Doobie: Don’t worry. You’ll get my bill tomorrow.

  Chas: Hahahaha.

  Doobie: He laughs!

  Chas: You’re not serious?

  Doobie Littlething smiles.

  Doobie: Of course. Not. LOL. Thank you for brightening up my day, Chas.

  She paused.

  Doobie: So, tell me, how does a newbie get to be so good-looking on his first day in SL?

  Chas: I had inside help.

  She was silent again for a while, and they listened to the music and wrapped themselves in each other’s arms.

  Doobie: Will you play chess with me again sometime?

  Chas: Well, as long as you hold my marker for 500 Lindens, I guess you can ask me to do anything you want.

  Doobie Littlething smiles.

  Doobie: I like a man who plays chess. Never yet found one who could beat me, though. And never will fall for one till I do.

  Chas: I’ll have to practise, then.

  Suddenly she detached herself from her poseball.

  Doobie: I have to go.

  Chas was disappointed. He clicked to stand up and detached himself from his now solo dance, standing awkwardly, wondering how to say goodbye, and how he would ever find his way out of here.

  Another invitation appeared. This time Doobie was asking permission to animate his AV. He consented, and she advanced toward, him, placing her arms around his neck and giving him a long, slow kiss. It was bewilderingly exciting. Then she stepped back.

  Doobie: I’ll look for you next time. You’ll find me on your Friends List now, if you ever need to IM me. Bye.

  A shower of lights flared and died in the night. And she was gone.

  ***

  Michael sat staring at Chas on the screen, and made the slow transition from night-time Second Life to the morning sun of real life streaming through his office window. He looked at the clock on the wall. He had spent nearly three hours in this other world, where he had become someone else. For the first time in months, the pain of losing Mora had not been the foremost thing on his mind. What surprised and disturbed him most, however, was how Chas had in some way taken over, like some hidden part of himself that he barely knew existed. He was not Chas, and Chas was not him. But they shared feelings, and memories, and pain. They were one and at the same time two. It had been an extraordinary, whirlwind experience, and it was a little scary.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was the following day before Michael had the chance to dig out the photographs he had taken at the Arnold Smitts crime scene. He sat in what had once been the darkroom, from the days when they still used film, and scrolled through the digital images downloaded onto his computer.

  They brought back very vividly the warm scented air of that California night when morose thoughts had been interrupted to call him out to a murder. He looked at the images of the dead man with a new eye. Here was someone who, like him, had been a denizen of Second Life, and Michael wondered how a bald, ageing accountant, rumoured to have connections to the mob, had spent his time in there. Had he danced, like Chas, with an exotic escort, or chased griefers through Carnal City? Michael found it difficult to imagine that the experiences of Chas’ first few hours in SL had been in any way typical. So what had drawn Smitts to this virtual world? What had there been there for him?

  Eventually he came to a shot that included Smitts’ computer monitor. And there it was. The Second Life welcome screen. That now disturbingly familiar green hand and eye. He gazed at it thoughtfully, then made several prints of shots he had not previously turned into hard copy. He slipped them into an envelope and left the darkroom to make his way through an office divided and subdivided into open-plan cubicles where fellow CSI officers huddled over desks and surrounded themselves with personal knick-knacks and family photos.

  Janey’s head popped up from one of them. “Hey, Mike.” She smiled, as if at a fellow conspirator. “Will you be ‘in’ later?” Her special emphasis on the word ‘in’ conveyed its meaning clearly enough. He understood why she would not want to confess openly to her coworkers that she spent all her free time in an online virtual world as a private dick.

  He nodded. “Maybe tonight.”

  “Catch you then, then.” She winked and grinned, and disappeared from view.

  ***

  Michael found the Hardy half of Laurel and Hardy at his desk in the detectives’ office. He watched Michael approaching with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “I’m busy, Mr. Getty; what do you want?”

  Michael stopped by his chair and dropped the envelope of photographs on Hardy’s desk. “That’s a few extra prints I ran off, Ollie. From Smitts’ house.” He saw the Smitts file open in front of the fat detective, spread across an untidy avalanche of paperwork that looked as if it might have been accumulating there for months. “Any progress?”

  “Well, maybe there would have been if you guys had come up with something better from the crime scene.”

  “Can’t give you what’s not there, Ollie. Did you establish a mob connection?”

  “Hah! Turns out the FBI had a file on him as thick as the bible. He was bookkeeping for the Mafia out here for at least twenty years. They’re pretty damned sure of that.”

  “How come he wasn’t behind bars, then?”

  “A little thing called proof, sonny. You know: evidence? What we need to take to court to get a conviction? Best they could get him on in all that time was a couple of unpaid parking fines. He was squeaky clean.”

  Hardy pulled Michael’s prints out of their envelope and gave them a cursory look. “Nothing much new in these.” He tossed them to one side. “Why did you think I’d be interested?”

  Michael shrugged. “More’s better than less.” He paused, and then added casually, “I noticed the Second Life welcome screen on his computer.”

  Hardy glanced up at him, one skeptical eyebrow raised in surprise. “What would you know about Second Life? Goddamned refuge for sad fucks and perverts.” And then he managed a leering sort of grin. “Unless, of course you’re in there yourself. Which wouldn’t surprise me. And if you’re not, then maybe you should be. I’m sure you’d feel right at home.”

  Michael ignored the barb. “I know someone who spends a lot of time in SL.” He paused. “So was Smitts a citizen, then?”

  “Well, yeh, as far as we can figure. But, then again, no. Because there is no record of him on the Linden Lab database.”

  Michael frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, he had an account. An AV called Maximillian Thrust. Jesus, these people give themselves some stupid fucking names! Anyway, that was the name entered on the welcome screen for logging in. And we found mails in his computer forwarded to his email address from IMs and Group Notices issued from within Second Life.”

  “What Groups was he in?”

  “Aw, jees, I dunno.” He riffled through some of the papers in his file. “Nothing that makes much sense to me. Black Creek Saloon. AAA Club. DJ Badboys Fans. Gurls Rock. Virtual Realty. Whatever the hell any of these might be. But here’s the weird sh
it. When we asked Linden Lab for access to Smitts’ account, they said there was no such account. And never had been. No record of it in their computers.”

  “That is strange.”

  “Damn tootin’ it is! Because there’s no doubt he had an account. It’s as if someone just erased all record of it from the server.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Chas crouched for a moment and then stood up. Twist’s office began to rez slowly around him. He could see green text hovering above the Agency sign outside the door. Twist O’Lemon is offline. Click to leave an IM. A blue pop-up informed him that Doobie Littlething had offered him Inventory items in his absence. They were the LMs she had promised him, and when he accepted, they went automatically into his Landmark Folder. They were teleport links to various locations around SL, and one of them, he saw, would take him to Sinful Seductions Night Club.

  He saw, too, that Doobie was online. He thought about sending her an IM, but decided instead to try out one of his new Landmarks. He double-clicked. His screen went black, and a sound like wind rushing through a tunnel transported him across Second Life continents to the walkway that ran around the exterior of Sinful Seductions Night Club. A rail prevented him from falling off. He peered over it to the tops of clouds far below, and the distant glitter of sun on sea. He walked through the woman with the sword and into the club. It was empty. Not a soul there. He checked the time next to his Lindens total. It was 7.32PM, SLT, which he knew to be the same as Pacific Daylight Time, and he wondered when things got going at the club. It was early for California, late for Europe, and he had no idea which nationality of clientele the club catered for.

  Then he remembered the radar system that Doobie had made him buy the previous day. He found it in his Inventory and installed it on his screen. Two names immediately appeared. Doobie Littlething and Jackin Thebox. Both, apparently, exactly ninety meters away. But where? Not in the club, it seemed. He went back out on to the walkway. Twist had told him that the club was in a skybox 595 metres up. So the chances were that Doobie and Jackin were either somewhere above or below.