by Taylor Kole
Virtual Heaven, redux
by,
Taylor Kole
To Gregory Kompes, a teacher
who helped me with more
than prose alone
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Chapter One
Like most of his adult life, Alex Cutler was bent over the latest computer monitor. His black hair swayed against his smooth jawline as he rocked in sync with the keyboard’s rhythmic clicks, entering commands for the latest program.
His coworker, Sean, knocked on the open door to Alex’s office. With long thinning hair, a happy-stoner personality, and an inflated belly, he reminded Alex of an alcoholic skate-boarder from the early two thousands.
Alex read the prominent white font of Sean’s shirt: 99.9% CHIMPANZEE. He laughed to himself and thought, if Sean ever wanted to be famous, all he had to do was post a daily shot of his eclectic T-shirts. He’d have millions of followers in no time.
And, if Alex ever got rich, he would hire Sean as a wardrobe consultant, or at least bribe him for his T-shirt source. Until then, he would dress similar to today: slim jeans, a snug V-neck under a loose fitting flannel, and shoes with fat laces.
“Today’s the big day?” Sean said from the doorway.
Sean’s presence always comforted Alex. Even more so today. “I guess we’ll see. Come in.” He hadn’t seen much of Sean the past few days and had worried his decision to leave Vision Tech bothered Sean. Despite never meeting outside of the office, he was Alex’s closest friend.
“Stop typing, man. You don’t work here anymore,” Sean said.
“I do for another…” He looked at the digital wall clock and furrowed his brow. He was supposed to have left the office twenty minutes ago.
“Even being our rock star, I’m surprised you have system access on your final day.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, when a max-level sorcerer leaves the guild, you don’t give him the ability to nuke the kingdom on his way out.”
Alex harrumphed and increased his lightning fast typing.
Sean plopped in the chair across from him, set a few stapled pages on the desk, and grabbed the lone knickknack—two metallic stick figures on a seesaw—before leaning back.
“…Aanndd there,” Alex said. A few clicks, followed by a series of musical notes, and he shut down his computer for the final time as a Vision Tech employee. Remembering that he was deserting his coworker; his eyes darted from Sean’s as he gathered the random flash drives left in his desk and placed them in a box on the floor.
“You can keep that,” Alex gestured toward the knickknack. Once tapped, the seesaw rocked for an exorbitant length. Every time someone activated it, he thought of his childhood—of happy times gone forever. “Something to remember me by if I’m never seen again.” He spoke in jest, but the words stung as they slipped out. Perhaps his subconscious was sending him warning signals. Beyond “somewhere in the northwestern United States,” the exact geographic location for his new employer, the Broumgard Group, remained a mystery. His grasp of Broumgard’s business model could be surmised in one line: Broumgard provides solace for the suffering and leisure for the affluent.
“Thanks, bro.” Sean inspected the knick-knack. “Now, if you save the world or something, I’ll auction this off on eBay for a couple thou.” Apparently satisfied, he placed it on the desk and set it in motion. “I’ve done some digging on the Broumgard Group.” His voice sombered as he nodded to the stapled pages. The change in demeanor ignited fire under Alex’s skin, until he noticed Sean’s mouth twitch, struggling to suppress a smile. “You’re not going to like what I found.”
Even with the knowledge of some impending gag, Alex hesitated. He had scoured the Internet, yet still knew little. “What did you find?”
Sean placed his fingers on the stapled pages and rotated them for Alex’s viewing. “The Devil, my man. You’re going to be working for Satan. Like you always have.”
Alex chuckled, relieving tension. “Is that so.”
His friend motioned for him to look at the document. “I’m serious. It’s total mind-fellatio. You’re going to be working on a computer, right?” He pointed at the printout. “And computers are here to usher in the Antichrist.”
Alex focused on the apparent farewell joke. A simple bar graph constructed the black header, Youplaywiththedevil.com, accentuated with orange flames. He appreciated the gesture, but…
“It starts with them breaking down the book of Revelation.” Sean scooted to the edge of his chair. “How the first communication between artificial life is a sign of the end times, known as the abomination of desolation. That was accomplished in 1969, when computers from Cal and UCLA spoke to one another. And how their mascots, the bear and the tiger, match the Bible’s prophecy.”
“That is pretty strange.”
“I mean, you’re into computers, but I bet you didn’t know that the first Macintosh personal computer, the Apple 1, retailed for six hundred sixty-six dollars?”
Alex located that notation and frowned. He wasn’t ready to bathe in holy water, but six hundred sixty-six dollars seemed an odd price point, and he thought it would’ve been a terrible marketing strategy, but Apple thrived. Alex read a recent article claiming that Apple teetered on the brink of becoming the first trillion-dollar company.
Noticing his consternation, Sean hummed a satisfied, “Mmm-hmm.”
Despite the strange subject matter, Alex warmed with nostalgia. Part of him wanted to stay at Vision Tech. Keep life simple. He knew this world and would miss Sean’s antics, but something else pulled him forward, toward a grander fate.
Broumgard’s impressive salary held little sway. He had been headhunted before, especially after the success of his program, Plow Straight, which had become universally adopted software for code writers. The secrecy of Broumgard meant less. During his freshman year of college, the NSA extended him an offer to apply. He tossed their information packet in the trash. Nothing could induce him to disregard the masses in favor of politicians. No, he chose medium pay in the private sector at a firm close to his vexing mother. But the Broumgard Group offered riches, secrecy, and the promise to work on a project of benevolence—who could resist that?
“That’s not all,” Sean leaned forward and flattened the stapled edge before tapping halfway down the paper. “If you take the word computer, and assign each letter a numerical value based on its alphabetical positioning, like A equals one, B equals two, C equals three, etc, add up the letters, then multiply that by six, the word computer totals six hundred sixty-six.” He paused for effect. “The Devil is rubbing it in our faces, my man.”
Concluding that in the Internet era, a person could find data to support any argument, Alex relinquished his interest and said, “Pretty compelling stuff.” He then resumed his packing, knowing, that despite the absurdity of computers as the chariot for Satan’s son, he would check the math at a later time.
Grabbing the cardboard top to his box, he slowed at the sight of a plastic-protected copy of Computer World magazine sitting atop the items. A younger version of him adorned its cover—an eighteen-year-old misfit wanting nothing more than to escape the madness of Roger’s Park, his lower-class neighborhood.
The photographer had given him a Vision Tech sweatshirt for the photo shoot. Recalling the ratty condition of the gray, coffee stained V-neck underneath, he grinned.
In the six years since that photograph, Alex’s ability to visually encompass an idea, take all of the many possibilities, and transform them into lines of codes, sequences, and commands, had grown exponentially. His hair hung farther down, too. But Alex
knew, behind that smiling young man’s eyes lay an inner confusion, an uncertainty regarding the point of life.
His job had taken away most of that angst, for a time. His returning bouts of anxiety argued he was regressing. He started having that same old thought: that he busied himself each day to avoid thinking about the final one. Perhaps needing a change was the main reason he accepted Broumgard’s offer. Maybe, if their definition of benevolence aligned with his, he would once again find salvation in his work.
Sean stretched his neck to see what held Alex’s attention. “I kept a copy of that too.” His sincerity caught Alex off-guard. When their eyes met, Sean bobbed his head. “Always knew you were special, bro. For real.”
Alex shimmied the box lid on tight, leaned over, and stopped the seesawing stick figures.
“So, what’s next?” Sean lifted the knick-knack as he rose.
“Well, I’m all packed and my household items have been picked up. I’m gonna stop by the condo for a final inspection and then that’s it for me and Chi-town.”
“Wow.”
“Wow is right,” Alex said, and breathed deeply. The banter had soothed his nerves, but, as he approached the point of no return, the trill crept back in. Hefting the box, he rounded the desk, where Sean stood stiffly, chewing his bottom lip, his face crumpled in concentration.
Unfamiliar with seeing his friend ill at ease, Alex said, “I’ll stay in touch.”
“That’s fine,” Sean said with a wave, “But I want to ask a favor.” He locked eyes with Alex. “No, I want a pledge from you.”
“Sure, man—whatever.”
“It might be unethical or whatnot, but I don’t care. You have to promise me: if you find out the world’s about to end, and you’re working on some Noah’s-Ark-type deal, you’ll get me a ticket.”
Over the weeks, Alex had spent a lot of time thinking about Broumgard, and what they would want him to program. He had considered bionic prostitutes, text messaging God, or aliens, or the dead. One of his favorites involved programming robotic dolphins that could spin at tremendous velocities, allowing them to sink multiple enemy vessels. He hadn’t considered any doomsday scenarios.
Seeing Sean’s expectant face watching his, Alex nodded.
Sean’s gaze lingered, possibly gauging Alex’s sincerity. Once accepted, Sean cracked a sly smile, they bumped fists, and he left.
Alex’s soon-to-be ex-boss, Vision Tech founder Robert Stetson, waited halfway down the center aisle that split the cubicles. He was the only person on the floor who dressed formally. The sight of the dapper man saddened Alex.
Alex’s queasiness mounted with each step. Reaching Robert, Alex balanced the box on his hip, and they shook hands.
“We’re going to miss you something fierce here at VT,” Robert said.
A few employees gathered around to share in the farewell speech.
“We all wish you the best of luck wherever…”
As Robert spoke about Alex having a job here if his new employment didn’t work out, and them being family, things Alex appreciated and agreed with, he retreated internally. Before completely cocooning himself, he glimpsed a screensaver behind Robert. The green mask from Jim Carrey’s movie The Mask floated across a black monitor: dominating eyes, oversize teeth, a demonic bone structure. The periodic animation of the green face bursting into a cackle recalled his earlier conversation about computers being tools of the devil.
A thought chilled Alex enough to make him shiver. If he somehow discovered that computers were harbingers of the end times, would that be enough for him, or anyone else, to forsake the beloved device?
Chapter Two
“Am I coming through, sir?” Victor, Alex’s electronic assistant asked him through an earpiece.
“Loud and clear,” Alex said.
Two-and-a-half days later, Alex was still adjusting to the helpful voice that came from speakers in his home, and from an earpiece when venturing into Eridu, Broumgard’s compact city nestled in the mountains of Montana.
His weekend passed in a hum of shock and amazement. Stepping from a private jet at a private airport in a private city and experiencing ultimate luxury—touring a towering glass hotel packed with amenities, riding a magnetic rail, visiting recreational parks and trails, moving into one of many stone residential buildings more appropriate to Park Avenue—had been like stepping into a futuristic backdrop for the chosen.
Alex’s two-story, six-thousand-square-foot condo blew away all notions of fancy, starting with a glass-encased leather trench coat in the foyer. The coat was actually worn in the movie, The Matrix. The rest of the place was equally badass.
His lone neighbor on the top floor, Brad Finder, worked as a biomedical engineer. How smart does someone have to be to do that? Learning Brad helped found Broumgard and design their hidden oasis amplified Alex’s respect for the man, and this opportunity.
Exiting building A, the easternmost structure of Eridu, he scanned the high-tech compound. It stretched roughly two miles from end to end. At the early hour, the morning sun chased shadows from the long road. A person could be seen here and there, crossing the street to one of many tram towers, riding a bike toward the center of town, or walking in pairs.
His breath plumed from the morning chill, making him thankful he had worn a green flannel over his maroon dragon T-shirt. He saw a pair of young men enter a cylindrical tram tower near him. The tower rose three stories. It’s shape, along with a shimmering chrome surface, made it look like a recently buffed spacecraft set to launch.
Feeling motivated by a building eagerness, he ignored the elevator at the tower’s base, found a set of zigzagging stairs, and attacked them two at a time.
Near the top, he heard voices and slowed. He didn’t want to be the guy who ran to his first day of work, despite its truth.
He stepped onto the concourse and winced that there were already over a dozen people gathered. It must be close to a dozen. He’d wake up earlier tomorrow. The boss—which was soon to be him—had to be the first to arrive, to make sure people knew he didn’t think he was better than anyone else.
There was a group of people wearing white button up shirts and black pants, as if waiters; a mismatched crop of slackers he assumed were the programmers; two men and a woman in business attire; a dash of lab coats; a sprinkle of hospital scrubs. His gaze lingered on a woman in hospital scrubs.
She waited with crossed arms between the programmers and medical professionals. The world around her lost focus.
She had shoulder-length black hair, which was currently tied behind her. Her loose fitting scrubs accentuated shapely hips and an ample chest. Her casual morning countenance sparked to life, as if a profound thought surfaced. The sudden change made her large brown eyes more attractive. She turned in Alex’s direction and met his stare.
Caught peeping, he pressed his lips together, raised his right hand flush, and waved.
She lifted her four fingers from the grip they previously had on her opposite arm, rolled them in a wave, and then looked away.
Alex felt stupid. He was super far from being a ladies man, but psychotic staring was a common sense no-no. Even at twenty-seven years old, he’d never had a true girlfriend, but instincts told him he’d piqued this woman’s interest.
A minute later, he spotted the tram. It arrived and stopped in a near silence.
As employees boarded the tram, the woman added evidence to his suspicions by looking at him a final time before entering a car three ahead of his. He considered racing to join her, but quickly found himself alone on the platform, so he dashed into the rear car.
Well-spaced, sanguine-colored booths lined the interior. A television between the windows displayed the morning news, which recounted yet another strain of avian flu, one that scientists feared would soon mutate and decimate the human race. He wanted to turn off the program, but an acrylic screen guard denied access to the controls.
He avoided the news as if it were the contagion. If ever a day a
rrived when he found himself one of the throngs salivating for the national news—which had become mouthpieces for powerful bastards—he would fill a bath and pull the television in with him.
Before he could query Victor about changing the channel, a stainless steel cart grabbed his attention. Trays were filled with fruits, yogurts, and protein bars. Considering the cost of these in Chicago, them appearing free was a nice perk. He selected a bottle of Evian water.
Like George Carlin and a thousand others, Alex found it interesting that one of the first major water companies chose to invert the word naïve, and market a previously free product to consumers. Bottled waters continued success was more quizzical. The highest selling companies openly admitted to using city tap-water, yet we still paid them absurd millions.
Finally, and only in the Land of Oz, a quaint condiment section offered bins of pills representing every color, size, and shape.
Alex peered closer. Cognitex/cognitive function, Glucosamine sulfate/joint health, Kyolic/improved artery efficacy.
“What’s up with the pills, Victor?” he asked as he traced his fingers over a pile of fish oil tablets.
“Vitamins and minerals, sir.”
Alex grabbed two for brain function and one for intestinal integrity, then said, “When in Rome,” before washing them down with water whose name mocked its customers.
Not a screech sounded as the tram glided to its first stop at the second tower. Judging from the employee uniforms, this tram was near the security housing. A half-dozen men in gray and black police-like uniforms entered the cars ahead of his. None joined his cabin, which brought a little relief. Commoners knew to avoid Roman soldiers. It also added to his disappointment. This was his big day. He wanted to acclimate. He wanted to chat with someone, but it was like his maroon dragon T-shirt was an Eridu scarlet A.
At the next stop, Hotel La Berce, passengers exited and a few boarded. Alex’s mystery woman waved goodbye to someone staying on the tram and sought out the back car before she followed the group inside.
