by Taylor Kole
“So you guys can’t follow a person’s digital trail, and see what they’re doing?”
“No. Once we transfer in, the chemical component to the digital interaction makes decoding a client’s actions impossible.”
“In that case,” she said, gripping his hand, “I’m ready to step into one of your worlds.”
He squared his shoulders and announced, “San Francisco 1968.”
An image appeared fifteen feet to their left: an aerial view of the Bay lit by a bright sun, the Golden Gate Bridge under a single cloud, a flock of gulls, white caps on the sea, all in motion.
They stepped through.
No physical pain accompanied the passage, something he appreciated—and not only because he’d been the one to add the enhancement. Not feeling hella-pain was nice.
Alex visited San Francisco 1968 often. Mainly to track down Roy, who spent most of his waking life inside the replica of his home city. Most times, when Alex found him, Roy convinced them to stay.
Stepping from the barren, white lobby into a sunny, breezy afternoon always stunned the senses.
Clients arrived on a patch of healthy grass in Golden Gate Park wearing sandals, khaki shorts, and a tie-dye shirt for men; flip-flops and one of three knee-length summer dresses for ladies.
With the world running continually, clients’ alterations sustained through log ins and outs. Clients had repositioned and conjured picnic tables to form rows near the entrance, giving them a line of sight to inspect each arrival.
Eight of the roughly twenty tables currently held clients. Most glanced in their direction. A few of those present might have been NPCs (nonperson characters), selected to play any of the offered board or card games. Since this world’s popularity focused on socializing, finding a real-life player was easy.
“There are more people here than during my last visit,” Alex said.
Rosa stretched out her dress for inspection. Blue cotton top, a canvas bottom. “Do I have to wear this the whole time?”
“See that store over there,” Alex pointed outside the park. “We can swap clothes in there. I’d prefer some swim trunks myself.”
A golden retriever ran past, chasing a tossed Frisbee. When Alex followed the arc back to the owner, the owner waved.
“They have dogs?” Rosa said.
“Dogs, birds, fish in the sea. No sharks though. Nor jellyfish, or stingrays. An environment free of dangers. A place focused on pleasantries.”
Rosa huffed, in a good way, and took his hand. “This could be nice, once we get somewhere private and I unwind.”
“Alex,” a man yelled.
The couple stopped as a handsome man near Alex’s age jogged toward them.
“Alex, what’re you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t have more credits for another eight days.”
“Adisah granted me unlimited access.” Alex wiggled his eyebrows. “Have you met Rosa?”
“No,” Rosa replied. “I would have remembered someone so…”
“Handsome,” Alex finished.
“I would have said debonair,” Rosa said.
“I used to look like this, too. Wavy black hair, a baby face, thin body with muscles. My first wife always called me irresistible.”
“Used to look?” Rosa said, and checked Alex’s face. “I’m confused.”
“You don’t recognize him?” Alex asked.
Rosa inspected the man. “I don’t.”
“It’s Roy. Roy Guillen.”
“Most people don’t recognize me without my wheelchair, but I prefer this version.” Roy tapped his chest and extended his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Oh my word,” Rosa said. “I’ve only seen your face in pictures, but now up close, knowing it’s you, I see the resemblance. It’s the eyes.” She glanced at Alex. He hoped her wide gaze and thin smile represented respect for Lobby enhancements, not an expression of mild horror.
“Come, join us,” Roy said. “Prince Bandar needs a partner for the euchre tournament.”
Alex checked Rosa for interest, and saw none. “Nah, man. We’re here to go sailing.”
“That sounds like a good time,” Roy said. “I’ll get Charles. We could race around Alcatraz and back.”
Alex liked that idea. He’d put Rosa on the jib while he worked the sail. Unless—
“Alex and I have never sailed,” Rosa said. “We kind of want to just putter around and get the feel of it.”
“Nonsense,” Roy said. “We’ll make it a race. Charles and I have experience, so we’ll use one of the slower boats, allow you to have an instructor on board, maybe a little head start.”
Alex looked at Rosa and saw an expression he knew well: wide eyes, pursed lips, jaw muscles flexing. No dice.
He didn’t get it. How could she not want to beat these guys at their own game? He gave her a second, recognized her determination, and conceded. He addressed Roy. “We’ll probably just keep it the two of us. It’s Rosa’s first Lobby visit.”
Roy’s smile faltered as he inspected Rosa, saw her watching him with a blank look. “Another time, then. Make sure Alex takes you to see the whales. They stay a little east of Alcatraz.”
“That’s a great idea,” Alex said. “We’ll race another time.”
“You’re on,” Roy said. “I’ll leave you two so you can enjoy your date. How long are you going to be here?”
“Four hours,” Alex said.
Roy checked his watch. “I’ll still be here, if you want to stop by before you go.”
“We’ll do what we can.” Alex shook Roy’s hand.
“I’ll see you around, Rosa,” Roy said. “I hear great things about you all the time. This one,” he pointed to Alex, “head over heels for you. Take care of him.”
Rosa relaxed. “I’ll do my best.”
The clothing store in San Francisco 1968 delivered a warm and fuzzy feeling everytime Alex entered.
Everytime he entered this store he had the same thought, had the pre-gadget world really been this chill? Incense scented the air. T-shirts hung from ceiling wires and on round metal racks. Rosa selected a white-and-red paisley, two-piece bathing suit, shorts, and a loose-fitting, yellow T-shirt that said Jesus loves you, to wear over her suit.
Alex wondered which of his programmers had the Christian leaning to insert that. More likely, they intended it as a joke. Who really believed Jesus loved them?
A teenager with short brown hair, thick and tapered in an era-appropriate style, watched them from behind a counter. Perry Mason played on a small television behind him—same as on every channel in the city, unless a client changed it. Again, who was the Perry Mason fan? Mysteries upon mysteries.
“What’s the best way to get to the docks?” Alex asked.
“The trolley makes for a groovy ride. It’s one block up,” the young man said. “We pass out loaner bikes, too.”
“How far is the Pacific?” Rosa asked. “I can smell it from here.”
The NPC youth’s eyes lost focus for a moment as he processed her question. “Three point two miles.”
Rosa beamed at Alex. “That sounds like the perfect length for a bike ride.”
In the absence of real-world muscle fatigue, Alex agreed. “Can you teach us how to sail?” All NPCs in this world possessed full information of every option. Starting with Golf Retreat, Alex compartmentalized information, assigning it to those in the know. Caddies assisted with your golf game. Clubhouse employees knew mixed drinks and the menus. Losing the “each person knows-it-all” added realism.
“I can teach basic techniques in steering, knots, and ship safety.”
“We’ll take the bikes from you, and find an instructor on the docks,” Alex said.
“Far out.”
Their matching 3-speed Schwinns had wing-shaped handlebars with plastic grips.
Rosa rang the bike’s bell as she mounted. The old-fashioned sound drew laughter from them both. Pedaling through sidewalks populated just enough to avoid the feel of a gho
st town, Alex and Rosa shared many smiles. Powerful winds near the docks amplified the smell of the sea. An army of seagulls, speckled with pelicans—drawn to the docks by discarded fish guts—added a cacophony of caws to the sound of breaking waves.
They continued past the wharf to the better-tended slips of Fog Bay Marina.
Dismounting, Rosa approached Alex, her hand on her chest, a look of exuberance, possibly disgust on her face. “It’s so strange to do all that pedaling, up those big hills, and never get tired.” She slapped her thighs. “I felt the strain here, but it’s gone now…” She shrugged. “If I grew tired, maybe I’d forget I’m conked out in a chair.”
“That’s a great point,” Alex said, hiding his disappointment at her negative comment. “Fatigue plays a major role in Gettysburg, particularly if you get shot or blown up.”
Rosa winced.
Alex made a mental note to avoid discussing Gettysburg with Rosa.
“We need a world for just us,” Rosa said. “A simple world where people and couples can have quiet, alone time.”
“This world is kind of like that.”
Rosa scanned the Pacific, the sky, turned back and faced the city. “I guess so.”
“No phones, no planes, no five o’clock traffic. It’s the unspoken appeal to the place.”
“It’s funny. Most of us are happier without all the gadgets, yet we choose to use them.”
“Marketing is becoming too exact of a science. You’re not one of the brainwashed masses, though. I rarely see you with your phone out.”
“I’m not distracted, Alex. When you understand God’s love, even a tiny bit, you can push aside the noise and be happy in the present.”
That sounded nice, but sometimes Alex felt like distraction was all he had.
They stood at the base of the dock. Almost all of the slips held boats. Smaller, one-man sloops and catboats started near the front, building out to larger cutters and schooners. A forty-foot, Olympic-class Soling waited at the end.
Alex had never been on a boat, in life or the Lobby. Standing under a bright sun on a temperate day, it sounded like the ideal activity.
A man in his thirties approached from the marina, and said. “Can I help you?” He possessed a swimmer’s trim waist and broad shoulders. Sandy-blond hair poked out from under a cap that read U.S. Navy. “We keep sailing vessels down these two decks, motor boats docked the next one over.”
“It’s our first time,” Rosa said quietly, looking from the NPC and back to Alex, as if unsure of the man’s authenticity. “Are you a computer program?”
“My name is John. I’m here to help.”
When she looked at Alex, he shrugged.
“Should we do some fishing?” Alex asked Rosa. “Go swimming.”
“A swim, yes. Perhaps some fishing.” Rosa surveyed the rolling waves.
“What about that boat there?” Alex pointed to the fourth slip.
“A twenty-two foot Lark, centerboard. Light weight, good speed.” John spoke without looking at the boat—another tweak Alex had corrected in the newer worlds. “Single rudder and tiller for steering. Twelve-foot sail, perfect for a smooth ride on a day like today.”
Climbing in, Rosa stepped gingerly into the cockpit and sat next to the long tiller. She worked it in and out. “This is going to be fun.”
John untied their moors and guided the boat back before he stepped onto the bow, rocking the vessel. A motor puttered them onto the bay. John showed them how to set the main and tie off the sail. He watched Alex repeat the duties two times each before declaring him “fit for sea.”
With a nice breeze pulling them along, Alex sat next to Rosa, who steered in the ninety-degree, stair-step method.
“Guess we’ll save sex for another time,” Rosa whispered, with a nod in John’s direction.
“What? Oh, no, no, no.” Alex had become so enthralled by their activities, he’d forgotten about the promised end to their date, and his curiosity about coupling inside the Lobby.
Mentioned anew, his interest spiked. “Because of John?”
Rosa nodded.
“He’s not even real.”
“I…I still couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t think I could either.” Alex chuckled. “Hey, John.”
“Yeah, Skipper.”
“Do you mind heading back to the docks?” Alex said.
“Would you like me to steer us home?”
“No—just dive over and swim back.”
“Alex,” Rosa admonished.
“No problem, Captain,” John said. He turned his Navy hat backward, stepped to the rail, and jumped in, shoes and all.
“Man overboard,” Alex said with a laugh.
“That’s not funny,” Rosa said.
“He’ll go right back to his previous loop.” Seeing her concern, he stopped grinning. “I don’t mess with the NPCs, Rosa. Some clients harass them, but I don’t. I’ve always found it… ugly. But he’ll be fine.”
Watching John head to shore pitted a knot in Alex’s stomach. The man didn’t stroke like a normal swimmer. He simply pushed through the water, his shoulders and head visible, as if propelled by an underwater force. Alex made a mental note to adjust that and said, “Him just hopping in was kind of cool though.”
“It was ugly,” Rosa said, her eyes watching the man, “and unnatural.”
A few minutes later, Alex dropped the sail, then the anchor. He was telling the truth about issuing commands that demeaned. He never did it. With his first command under his belt, he saw the appeal.
It was thrilling to be obeyed without thought.
“Should we swim?” Rosa asked as she removed her shorts and Jesus shirt.
“Sure,” Alex said. Drawing her close, he kissed her neck, then her cheek, then her lips. “After.”
The fatigue metrics might not accurately reflect exertion in this world, but Rosa’s breathing accelerated, which accelerated his own. When she opened her mouth to him, he was fully in this moment.
Lovemaking in the Lobby exceeded his expectations, in all sensual measurements.
Perhaps the romantic setting played a role. Perhaps his anticipation helped. Perhaps the novelty of sex in a machine amplified the feeling. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t help but think everything in his life was perfect.
Chapter Nine
Despite having to exit the Lobby—something Alex always dreaded—he often enjoyed the mild disorientation of returning to the real world. He likened it to waking from a restful night dreaming of angels, love, and beachside bonfires.
On vacations of three hours or longer, staff attached a non-invasive catheter once a client entered the Lobby, and removed it before they exited. Maybe that knowledge forced Alex hold it. Each time he exited, he needed to pee. Three hours were not so long, so the urge this time was minimal.
Remembering Rosa, he stretched and couldn’t help but smile at the thought of greeting her as she returned.
Her Lobby reservations never fully abated, but he knew when she came to and noticed the subtle difference between enhanced reality and this one, she’d be more inclined to go back. Her needling questions about the soul and morality—two things unrelated to the Lobby—clouded their afternoon. The swim brought further complications.
The water had detectable salt content, a proper current, and was cooled to a perfect degree, so that part was fine. Alex loved swimming in the ocean without fear. Each time he dove under then broke the surface, he felt reborn. Rosa’s problem came with water run-off. Instead of soaking a person, water beaded and rolled off the body or material. An improvement, in Alex’s opinion. Rosa’s hair drying in under two minutes, without use of a towel, should have pleased her. It hadn’t. They argued about it for thirty minutes.
She had some good times. He intended to focus on those to avoid Marker debate. He’d convince her to go again and try a different world.
Before rising from the access chair, he saw Claire, the first-shift access room supervisor, hovering ne
ar him, wringing her hands. Knowing her as an excitable woman quelled some of his concern, yet he’d never seen her actually worked up. And now, her features were scrunched into displeasure, almost as if she let slip an audible fart, and was about to say sorry, or, excuse me. Instead, she cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder.
“Hello, Claire,” Alex said.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but some serious shit’s going on downstairs.” Her cursing increased his confusion. Claire was a polite introvert.
“Something with the programmers?” He stretched his back as he stood.
“Oh no, sir. They’re no longer in the building. They’ve been ordered back to their residences. Everyone has. You just missed the umpteenth announcement.”
Announcement? Workers sent home? Alex could think of nothing to cause either of those. With a rotating schedule, programmers worked seven days a week. Everyone with Lobby access encouraged the creation of worlds, which gave programmers mild celebrity status. Everyone’s favorite programmer was always the one most dedicated. Alex’s weekend and after-hours crew often had more programmers than a full shift.
“You’re not making much sense. Is there an avalanche or something?”
He went to Rosa’s chair with Claire a step behind him.
He drew back Rosa’s green divider. She sat with a leg on each side of the chair, massaging the back of her head, where the marker was. He exhaled. So much for avoiding Marker debate.
“Mr. Cutler,” Claire urged, “you and Miss Newberg are to head to your residence, immediately. They have a car waiting for you downstairs.”
“Who’s they?”
“Security, Alex. I told you it was serious. They’re grabbing people, pushing them toward the door. Just tell me you’re leaving, now. I have other people to evacuate.”
“Okay. We’re going right now.”
She turned to leave, stopped, and faced him. “Dalton told me to prep for emergency evacuations. We almost did that to you.” With a frown, she marched down a row and disappeared behind a curtain.
