I closed my eyes and counted to three. Hopefully a good name would occur to me within these four weeks.
“What sort of game is this exactly?” Strange tests and altered programming was only the tip of our insanity iceberg. Trillium and ARC had really done an amazing job with this setting. Continue absolutely deserved all the praise it received in reviews for throwing me off enough to make me doubt myself.
“It’s no game. To us, it’s very real and very serious,” James said.
“Yeah, that’s not ominous or anything.” I scratched my head. A gentle tempo floated through the recesses of my mind, almost setting me to dance. Keeping in motion and drowning my thoughts in the music helped me cope with the darker thoughts.
“Do not be mistaken. There is no intent to do you harm in here. What you do in the world is entirely up to you.”
“Aside from this.” I gestured to the doorway of white.
“This too is your choice. Be one of ours—a man named William Carver—and if you do well enough, you’ll get answers,” he responded with that almost-sly smile.
Again I idly scratched my head and tried not to mutter an angry reply. All the details would have to be figured out later. My next step was simple—step through the door and get a lay of the land. Afterward, I would log out and cool down. Maybe that hot tub program should be put to more use.
My amazing restraint, built over two years of therapy and meetings, succeeded. Instead of having to deal with more of James’s half answers and annoying responses, there was this other option. I could step through a door into nonplayer character land. If nothing else, it was a distraction. I walked through the cheap doorway effect while wiping my eyes.
Interlude — Everyone gets a Story
Approximately 2.5 Years Ago
Some things hadn’t changed over the years. Video recordings were restricted; projections, Bio-Watches, anything modern had been dialed back to keep the setting classic. We had a single publicly-owned camera rolling footage for security reasons. Metal chairs, all in a circle, held guys and girls, all shapes and walks of life, here to share their stories.
Next was my turn. To finally share my hand-wringing story. Like the others before me, and the others after me. This was the circle intended for support. Support required sharing oneself in a room of near strangers. I didn’t like it, but eventually we all talked.
“My fiancée had taken a trip to Florida that morning. Part of her job application process, some tests. She left a day early and took the train because they were going to retire the public rail program to make room for the TRANS Tunnels.
I dropped her off, kissed her good-bye, and said ‘I’ll see you soon.’”
Those who’d shared before me all followed the same pattern. Final words to the departed mattered more than air.
“I didn’t know exactly what time the call came in, not until later. Four oh seven p.m., for seven minutes, thirty-two seconds.” I had stared at my phone call log absently until the numbers were burned into the back of my retina.
“The woman on the phone told me that there had been an accident with the train. She was clinical. Maybe a robot.”
I shook my hands from where the rubbing had pushed out too much blood.
“The train had crashed. Spilled over onto the interstate. Cars, passenger carts, just-just chaos everywhere. Casualties and unidentified bodies. The woman on the phone said they were calling all family members.”
“I got in the car, set a destination, and let the Auto NAV take me cross-country. You know, normal tragic mind-numbed-beyond-belief stuff.”
The actual ride had been much more complicated. I made calls to my sister and parents, called my fiancée’s mother and broke the news, looked up news articles. All the standard robotic actions required in order to keep everything neat and compartmentalized. My attempts at sanity were completed between bouts of screaming and raging denial.
“So I get there, identify the remains; there was no doubt. Her parents had asked for a cremation, which I told them.” That was before the bomb that had hammered the news to a worse level.
“The person, uhh, a doctor, I guess, he was wearing a white coat, he told me she—my, uhh, fiancée—had been pregnant. Had. Wasn’t anymore. Almost three months.
“I nodded, tried to smile, and did, did all the paperwork. The uhh, cremation took only a few hours.”
Modern technology painted a very clear picture of what had happened. A simple turn gone wrong on the tracks. Not even slightly malicious, no murder plot, just one stupid accident that ended so many lives.
“A technician handed it to me, the remains, and I sat there, uhh, thinking to myself, ‘How neat. The sum of her life and our unborn child is smaller than a breadbox.’”
A broken chuckle escaped me.
Someone muttered that the attempted humor wasn’t funny.
I looked around, trying not to break down while avoiding eye contact.
“No, it’s not is it.”
There was a pause while I tried to piece myself together once again. Something I’d done over and over since she passed six months prior. In front of these people, I couldn’t do it. Everything slipped.
“You know, I thought I’d be stronger. I’d always thought I’d be cool as a ship in clear waters. I wasn’t. I went back to the hotel room I’d rented, crawled into a bottle, and life went downhill from there.”
Someone handed me a cloth because heaving sobs were all too common during these meetings. I thanked them and wrapped up so another story could be shared.
“So here I am, uhh, like you guys, trying to not need a bottle to get through the night.” I gave a weak smile and covered my face, dabbing my eyes and wondering how snotty my face was going to get this time.
They let us take a sorely needed break. Some people’s stories were harder than others. I took a breather and walked to the bathroom to compose myself. It had only been six months since she passed, but every day was a short hop away from mental Hell. The wrong thought would cause my chest to seize. Moments later, I’d be fighting to unclench my hands from curled fists. A deep pain that felt like a knife would jab into my heart.
This meeting was meant to be the start of my attempt at self-repair, to make myself something resembling a whole human being. All these technological advances and still the human heart was a frail thing.
Two months ago, I’d tried to kill myself.
Six months after that introductory meeting, on the anniversary of my fiancée’s passing, I tried again. That was my lowest point.
Approximately 2 Years Ago
“Goddammit, Grant!” My sister, Liz, was storming around the digital representation of a tranquil riverside camping spot.
We were currently engaged in an online conference call because the doctor thought it was the safest thing for my recovery. I was on all sorts of drugs, so it was hard to focus on anything but the sound of water.
“Seriously! Again! You did this to me again!” she shouted, but all that made it through was a slow drip. Her words took time to catch up.
“I didn’t do it to you,” I muttered. I had no good defense for trying to end my life. Intellectually, the idea was absurd, but suicide wasn’t about thinking. It was about feeling. “I did it to me.”
“Get it through your thick head! What you do affects me,” she said. I slowly managed to tilt the virtual headset up, and Liz’s face came into view. My sister was waving her arms around rapidly, then crossing them. One lip was being chewed on while she thought. “God, I don’t know if I can explain this to Beth.”
“Don’t.” The drugs made the word slur a bit.
“What am I going to tell her then? That her uncle, the man who basically acted as a father when she was young, gained a new scar by accident?” Liz glanced at me sidelong, then looked away. That brief glance felt both accusing and ashamed.
“Don’t tell Beth,” I said.
“Of course not, Grant. Of course not. But I thought we were doing well. We had the meet
ings set up. Your counseling is going well still, right?” Liz continued pacing around. She managed to keep both hands under control by tucking her fingers into her armpits. Every so often, Liz stared at the digitally rendered sun slipping lower over the camp’s treeline.
“I guess.” I may have missed a few meetings. I may have ignored a few calls from my sponsor, who was a glorified babysitter. The thought made me frown. Thinking badly about him was uncharitable. Leon, the man who checked in with me once a week, had been trying hard.
“I swear to God, when you get home, I’m going to rattle all your teeth until some of this nonsense leaks out of your head.” Liz stood still for a moment before stomping around again.
“Okay,” I said.
“Goddammit, Grant!”
“I know.” I kept the tone low. Longer sentences were hard to get out.
Drugs had an adverse effect upon the digital software used by ARC devices. Being sedated was bad enough, but the hospital had put me into a Second Player helm. This wasn’t even a full Alternate Reality Capsule.
Somewhere in the virtual landscape, a bird chirped happily. Crickets and frogs made noise to fill the silence. None of them were real. I wasn’t comfortable in the wild anyway. Like most children of my generation, I was a city kid who’d rarely visited nature. There was a bench nearby that I could sit on. Liz kept weaving around it in her endless pacing.
“Okay. Okay. We can do this. Like last time. The doctor said you’ve got two days under observation. Then we have to put the band on you again.” Liz turned and walked back toward me.
Having a plan made it easier for her to focus. We both had that in common. At least we used to.
“I know,” I said slowly.
“Then after the band is on and working, you’re clear to come home.” Liz looked down at my foot. That was where they would put on the ankle band. Anywhere else and it was too easy to disrupt. The device would monitor my vitals from now until a court deemed me healthy
“I know.” I hated the band, but it was part of my insurance plan. God knew what those people would have to say about all this. Tests, price hikes, rules would change. Everything would go together and cause me a headache once these drugs wore off. Right then, I wasn’t coherent enough to have a headache.
“And we’ll make sure there’s a car available for your meetings. I’ll start working from home a few more days a week. We can do more dinners.” Liz pulled one arm out and looked at it. Her hand was shaking. My twin sister shook her head and arm rapidly, then tucked her arm back in again.
“Liz.” I had to tell her.
“Then we’ll have to watch things carefully again. Shit, Grant, do we have to do this every year?” Liz responded.
“Liz.” I tried to get through to her again. Maybe the Second Player helm was running poorly. Maybe the internet in my room had dropped in and out of service.
“And what am I going to say to Beth? She’s a teen, but she isn’t stupid!” My twin sister had gone back to pacing. Her footsteps were heavy enough to clomp on the grassy riverside.
“Liz!” I shouted.
“What, Grant?” She was only interrupted for a moment. My sister had a wild look to her eyes. “Jesus. I don’t know.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say. There wasn’t enough in the world to repay her for even trying to help me pick up the pieces. Only the drugs in my system kept the feelings of absolute powerlessness away. Every time I thought about the loss, it clenched my heart. The cracks of my life became that much more obvious. And it felt as if those thoughts crossed my mind all the time. Grant, the Broken Record.
“Goddammit, Grant. Goddammit.” Liz was crying. God, how badly had I messed up? “No. No, I’m sorry. You’re recovering. I know, they said I shouldn’t take it out on you, but, Jesus!” My sister was shouting by the end.
“Thank you, sis.”
“Just-just sit tight. I’ll be there in a few hours.” Liz still couldn’t look directly at me.
The first time had been bad enough and here we were going through the whole process again. I watched my sister wave an arm, and her image started to fade.
My own interface faded slowly. Both eyes were unfocused as a disconnection screen came into being. It counted down from ten. Each second was like a funeral march celebrating reality’s return. Finally, the world was mostly dark, with the smallest bit of light piercing up through the helmet’s bottom. I slid the device off my head and set it on a table next to the hospital bed.
Approximately 18 Months Ago
After months of searching and calculations, I had managed to get some things straightened out. Not myself, not perfectly. My life was too far gone. Not even an entire roll of duct tape would solve it. I shook my head while trying not to think about the missing piece of my life. It was nearly a year and a half since my fiancée passed, taking our unborn child with her.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Liz asked.
I was staring at a series of spreadsheets across her kitchen table. They were digital projections, like so many things in life. It was easier to clean up a computer image. Plus voice commands worked when the program was well done.
I nodded. “It is.”
“And you’re okay with this new job?” Liz sat there with a coffee mug in her hands. That was her comfort method. Often the aroma of coffee beans mixed with vanilla would spread throughout her home after a rough day. My sister didn’t like her bosses.
“The hours are flexible. I can work as much or as little as I want.” I kept my voice positive.
“I’m still not sure you should work for them.” Liz shook her head over the mug of coffee. She wasn’t even drinking, only sniffing it. “You know how much I don’t like those machines.”
“They’re here to stay, plus this way I have job security. My old market isn’t what it used to be as the AIs improve.” The degree I had in accounting and business was absolutely useless now. Machines could predict market trends and stock changes faster than any human. Their accuracy was often off the chart.
“So you go from managing all that money to being a grease monkey for the machine?” Liz set down the cup and stared at the images scattered over her table.
“Not even that,” I said. The job was more like being a mouthpiece for the machine. My part of the work was minimal.
We both turned as my niece, Beth, bounded up the stairs. She had come in from visiting a friend or something. It was hard to believe that she would be eighteen soon.
“Are you still going to visit us, Uncle Grant?” Beth said while going straight for the fridge.
“I’ll drop by a lot. I need to find my own space.” I smiled at Beth. She was so carefree compared to her mom and me. It was amazing to think that we had ever been that young.
“All right, I’ve got to log in for school.” Beth had buttered bread in her mouth and a container of water in each hand. She managed to wave good-bye with a few free fingers.
“I’m glad the ARC is working for you.” It had been my first purchase with this new job. Ten thousand dollars up front for something the size of a twin bed. The price point would have been higher, but Trillium had given me an employee discount.
“Oh, it’s great, I don’t have to commute anymore! Mom kept making me take the bus,” Beth said while chewing on her bread. She was walking backward toward the stairs while talking.
“It’s good for you.” Liz wiggled a finger at her daughter.
I tried not to laugh as Liz sounded more and more like mom. Soon she would be nagging Beth to find a good husband who would be a doctor. Not that doctors actually performed operations anymore. Most operations were done by machines and computer programs that reacted faster and with more precision.
“Bleh to that. I’ll be eighteen soon, and I can’t be taking a bus,” Beth said as she approached the stairs.
“All right. You go to class, let your uncle and me talk.” Liz waved her daughter off, and Beth nodded happily. Soon she was down the stairs
and in her room.
My sister turned back to me. “You know that the monitors will still be in place, right?”
“I know. I’m okay, Liz.”
The doctors had told me all about the rules for moving out on my own. There was a long list of do’s and don’ts in order to meet insurance requirements. Part of me longed for the days when a person could vanish into the hills and never be heard from again.
“No, you’re not,” Liz said slowly.
“I need time away from everything,” I said. Every damn thing on the planet reminded me of her, and it was killing me. Staring at the ceiling at night, going out to our old car, driving by the old house to talk to renters.
“That’s avoiding, Grant. You’re avoiding.” She had gone through all the courses with me. Liz often talked trash about other people and got mad at the drop of a hat, but she was nothing but supportive in the long run.
“I’ve got to do something though.” I put a hand on the pile of images and pulled up the small house’s image. This was where I would end up once everything cleared. Would my past keep haunting me there?
“So what, you’re going to sit at this new house and work yourself into oblivion and hope everything gets better?” Liz was back to her coffee. This time, she was sipping it.
“I’ll still do my meetings. I’ll still make my sessions. I’ll show up at work. What else can I do but try to go on?”
“When Beth’s”—her lips curled distastefully—“asshole father ran off, I cried for weeks, Grant. Weeks.”
“I know.”
“And I would have never survived it you hadn’t stood up for me to Mom and Dad.” She took a big gulp of coffee, then stared down.
I spared her a quick glance and smile.
“You were in pain. Of course I would help.”
We had been seventeen then. Neither of us knew a damned thing about life at that age. Twenty had been so long ago too. I wasn’t engaged, didn’t have my degree, hadn’t even bought a house. There were so many differences.
“And I had to face the reality that Beth wouldn’t have a good father figure in her life.” Liz was quiet. She gazed off into the distance before she took another gulp of coffee. “Not that any of the others were worth much either.”
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