“You have reached the Escapade Hotel,” the car announced.
“Thank you for the ride and have a nice evening,” Robin said.
“I'm sorry if I offended you. I'm sure you're a successful writer and all that. I'm going to keep an eye out for your books. Good luck!”
Robin watched the car flying off, and swore not to let his ego get the best of him. He was above all that. He took long deep breaths and walked toward the entrance to the Escapade. He wasn't going to let anything rob him of his sweet and pure moment of fame.
He stood at the entrance to the dazzling hotel and gazed at the spectacular display of lights and 3D projections. There was a huge window on the middle floor through which he could see figures passing and emptying glasses of wine, but the window was sound proof and he couldn't hear anything. The hotel was designed in the shape of an eye, and among its regular guests were world class VIPs. The design of the entrance took his breath away; sparkling, engineered flowers brought out the romantic in him. Every detail was carefully penciled in, and so refined. Night lighting accentuated the effect of the bright, polished-diamond flowers that shone their light on every incoming guest.
But the door did not open as he approached, like it always did after identifying and checking against the guest list.
“Good evening, Escapade. I am Robin Nice,” he said in a tremulous voice and stood with his hands in his pockets while an electronic eye scanned his face and body.
But he could hear no sound and the door did not open.
“Good evening, I am R-O-B-I-N N-I-C-E,” he said, spelling his name out slowly, leaving no room for chance. He looked around, embarrassed by the situation. He was not going to repeat it.
“Hello? Hello? Please check it, I'm the guest of honor, and I'm meant to receive an award tonight! What’s the meaning of this?”
Nothing moved. He was standing outside, frozen, and heard no sound except for the whistling wind and swaying trees. He could stab himself with a sharp stick to the head, and no one would be bothered because he was already a non-person, as good as dead. Even if someone should search for him - if there was anyone left with a recollection of a man by the name of Robin Nice - not a shred of his existence would be found on Minds. Without any means to transfer money, without friends, without a past or recorded history, his existence was pointless.
“I am leaving the Escapade,” he said firmly, and with measured steps began walking into the cold mist that covered the city. In the distance stood two narrow silver towers, carving the night sky in the bright moonlight. Robin walked between them until his outline merged with the darkness. A moment before he vanished, his face began to pixelate. He did not know it yet, but he was now one of the Neverminds, a virtual dead man in the twilight of the off-grid.
2
Ferrari Kid
“What's on your mind?” Claudia interrupted her husband's brooding.
“Christoph,” Johann answered and looked away, apparently upset with himself for remembering his son.
The Müllers were standing atop the highest mountain in the region, with a view extending toward the green forest. The rain stopped, but they were both drenched and freezing.
“We're not on his mind, you can be sure of that,” she answered and put her arms around Johann.
“I know. He probably spends most of his day lost on Minds. I suppose he never leaves his room, just like everyone else. What baffles me is that he can't see himself being sucked into that black hole. He should get it into his head that Minds is a slow but certain brain death.”
“Did we leave too soon? If we’d stayed longer, could things have been any different?”
“Different how? They're toying with everyone. It's a pseudo-life, not a life, a depressing simulation no free person should accept. I won't spend my life wasting away inside a network. Maybe someday he'll remember us.”
“I doubt it, especially after we butchered him in that interview,” Claudia said and tossed a rock. She followed its trajectory until it disappeared into the trees below.
“We told the truth. He is spoiled, egocentric, and he hates crowds. I don't regret any of it, not a word.”
Claudia just stared at her husband, and a suffocating, stinging desire to see her son crept into her. She felt burdened, as if a weight she needed to be lifted was sinking in and pulling her down.
Johann was a bitter man. His company, Bubble Game, was turning in a nice profit through Minds, but it had also turned on its maker. When he realized the network was sucking more and more out of him, he decided to pull out and take his wife along with him. He left the running of the business to his connected VPs. By choosing to disconnect, the couple also came to terms with having to disconnect from their son. They knew Christoph was feeling betrayed; his parents had walked away from the network he believed in and into which he had sunk most of the family's funds.
The mutual silence and alienation from his only son were hard on Johann. He missed their shared thoughts and the field days they spent together at the office, walking the halls and looking at his various inventions. Christoph loved holding the neopets they talked about on their walks, and everyone would stand staring at the father and son team, their eyes bright with envy.
***
In weaker moments, an intense feeling of longing struck Christoph as well, and he would miss his parents and childhood days, way back before Minds. The first memory he asked the network to loop on Re-Minds until he fell asleep was the launch event for the Ferrari Kid 1. He curled up in his bed and closed his eyes, his heart pounding and his breathing accelerated.
The anticipation stretched for hours. His parents were ecstatic about the launch of the Neocar Junior, the first flying car for kids made by the successful and world famous Bubble Game Corporation. It was a model designed specifically for seven- to fifteen-year-olds.
The first of the series to come out, the Ferrari Kid 1 neocar, was a stylish flying car that made it possible for children and teens to jet through pre-programmed aerial lanes that were remotely routed by the network.
The Neocar Junior was a pretty and safety-minded toy that helped develop motor skills, and no parent or child was left indifferent by this latest wonder. Claudia and Johann Müller, owners of the thriving toy empire, were as excited as they were the day Christoph - their only child - was born.
“What if no one shows up?” Claudia asked.
“How is that even possible?” Johann wondered and caressed her face. “We worked so hard. And you know kids call the shots in this world. There isn't a parent in the world that wouldn't want one for their child. What kind of parents would let their poor, sad kid watch friends flying in their new cars?”
“Shitty ones, or poor ones,” she answered.
“Exactly,” he concluded, and seemed pleased with getting his point across.
Christoph liked listening to his parents' conversations and making remarks when no one asked for his opinion.
“It’ll be a success because people are dumb enough to buy anything, that's why.”
“Why do you talk like that and upset your mother?” his father said angrily.
“It's alright. He should say what he thinks,” Claudia softened the tension and turned to Christoph. “You think it's a bad idea, Ferrari Kid?”
“It's not a bad idea. You're just worried that people won't show up. People will always show up for anything.”
His parents nodded in satisfaction. Johann stroked Christoph's head and they resumed their preparations.
His parents had previous successes on their record, mainly with neopets, which were instant hits and a staple of every household. Artificially intelligent and absolutely realistic, without the annoying maintenance of flesh and blood pets – who could pass up something like that? After all, what was the epitome of human desire, if not having the good without the bad? People could not be bothered with the feeding, the walking and the cleaning up after pets. The creators of neopets read the pet market perfectly, and changed it forever. An
d so, with the proliferation of neopets, cats and dogs and all other domesticated life forms had lost their places in homes, were relegated to the streets and were finally on the verge of extinction.
The Müllers realized parents develop attachments to quality luxury toys no less than their kids, and so every year saw a further evolution of the furry animals, with newer models, added features and expanded options for customization. Many years later, the Minds Network announced a new advanced generation of neopets, now shipped with a capacity for autonomous learning and a closer approximation of the authentic animal's behavior, while maintaining the highest standards of care for the wellbeing and needs of their owners, thus securing their place as natural companions. ‘A best friend expects no rewards’ became a long running neopets campaign slogan.
The Bubble Game Company proved it could ‘produce and market dreams for the masses.’ It was only natural that their next product should generate curiosity and a global buzz. The employees, developers and tandem owners of the corporation were poring over every detail of the elaborate event. The chain's flagship store was turned into a wonderland. According to plan, kids were to take off on aerial test drives aboard the celebrated Ferrari, while a crowd of parents looked up at the height of their own creation, and cheered. At the conclusion of the event, and not one second before, an announcement was to signal the opening of sales for the first batch at a price reflecting immediate demand.
“Bubble Game has something big in store, and they're not ones to disappoint,” went the line on the forums. “Just when the world thought it had already seen everything - 'TA DA!' - the couple make their appearance with yet another thrilling invention.”
Being a handsome couple didn't hurt their soaring popularity. Claudia and Johann used every media event to assure the world they intended to bring benefit and pleasure, and to make themselves comfortable in the process. When the Ferrari collaboration had been announced, they did not foresee the extent of imminent demand, which would eventually force them to set up a subsidiary for the exclusive purpose of handling car sales and developing a whole line of models to meet global demands. Business and pleasure never fit better together.
Christoph resumed the Re-Minds. The scene playing back in his memory showed the exact positioning of every newly launched toy, like pawns on a chessboard. Refreshment trays were floating around carrying bites of deliciously healthy sweet potato and kelp. The walls projected clips of the toys in action, and the centerpiece, the Ferrari Kid 1, took center stage midair and cast a white light across the floor. Sounds of laughter and rejoicing came from groups of dedicated employees, and the satisfied couple - his parents - stood by, watching the winding queues outside.
The Re-Minds added a pale yellow tinge to replayed memories, to remind viewers that they were inside a memory and not the here and now. That same tinge added bite to the burning sensation already bubbling in Christoph from watching the images, photographic evidence of something forever lost to him.
“Claudia, get him to calm down… there are people coming,” Johann said when he saw his son kicking the toys.
“Christoph, what's going on? Why are you acting like this?” his mother shouted, annoyed.
“I'm tired of this, all these people can piss off.”
“Behave yourself,” Johann scolded the boy, “we don't have a launch every day. Don't be an embarrassment!” Time was pressing. They were neck deep in final preparations.
If not for Christoph, the whole thing would probably have never happened. The idea of making a flying car for kids was his own, having occurred to him in a dream when he was eight years old. In the dream, he saw himself cruising in a red vehicle several feet above the ground and his parents, and the thing he remembered most was the feeling of confidence it gave him despite the altitude and his tender age. He made a drawing of the dream on a flexiboard, and seconds later he had a short clip to show his father. At first, Johann dismissed him with a smile, but Christoph was not aiming for compliments. Again and again he pestered his parents to build one.
Johann and Claudia had their concerns. What was the deal with a flying car for kids, they wondered, and how exactly were they supposed to make it happen? In the end they succumbed, and after years of research and development, there it was, the dream was about to become reality on a world stage. Only recently the Müllers had been granted permits to run the autonomous network controlled transit routes. Now everything was ready to go, and it seemed that nothing was left to chance.
Outside the gigantic Bubble Game flagship store, tens of thousands were waiting and blocking all access to the area; some were curious folks who could not withstand a child's pleading, others longtime fans of the brand. When the emcee announced the commencement of sales, the throng stormed the doors and rammed them. Hundreds of security personnel stationed outside could not keep the masses from clutching their way inside. They smashed display windows, trampled over each other, shouted and cursed, pushing onwards and backwards. The screams were ear-splitting, and the mob was out of control, stupid, and lacking any basic human courtesy. In seconds, the riot at the entrance escalated into a horror show. The mobbing parents had their sights set on the Ferrari, and as they were determined to not let their kids down. They did not notice that some of their kids were also being shoved and packed on top of each other.
The Müllers stood in the middle of the pandemonium trying to calm the crowd down, but it was no use. Claudia was the first to fall, and got trampled underfoot by an onslaught of aggressive fathers. Her cries were drowned in the deafening clamor. Her red stilettos detached from her feet and got kicked to the center of the floor. No one heard her screaming. Bruises were connecting all over her body. Her skull was thrashed beyond measure by the boots of shoppers stepping on her face. When one particularly heavy customer mounted her, his shoes almost split her ribs and punctured her lungs.
In a remote corner of the room, Johann shouted, “Claudia! Claudia!” but no one was listening. They all wanted to reach the shining white Ferrari, and paid no mind to the man on the floor wearing a fine suit he had tailored especially for the event. The couple were separated by a human wall of shoppers who were clamoring to get the latest thing.
The terrified Johann darted a glance up at Christoph, who was sitting quietly inside the car hovering just under the ceiling.
“Take care of him, bring him down! Christoph! Claudia!” he shouted, but his shouts coincided with the shrieks of overexcited children. At the conclusion of the event, home viewers watched the Müllers being loaded into a flying ambulance.
The entire time Christoph was watching the catastrophe from inside the Ferrari Kid 1 with his eyes transfixed. He saw his mother tossed like a rag, and his father crushed and smashed inside his designer suit. He watched, speechless. “Take him away!” one marketing executive shouted to another employee. “Get him out of there!” When the horrified Bubble Game personnel finally took notice, they remotely landed the Ferrari and pulled the boy out, already traumatized.
The spectacle had been dubbed The Ferrari Massacre. Network broadcasts showed a battlefield strewn with smashed toys, countless wounded, including Christoph's mother and father. Somehow, there were no fatalities, and in the face of it all, the event notched record sales.
Bent over his injured parents, Christoph said, “They stepped over you for a Ferrari.”
They’re going to pay for it! he told himself as he lay in bed that night, repeating the promise until he fell asleep.
Müller Junior inherited his father's looks. His porcelain paleness contrasted strikingly with his smooth black hair. He took care to fix every hair in its place, and anyone who dared disturb his hairdo got hit with a barrage of swearing and shoving.
His parents had a hard time educating him and, as their work kept them extremely busy, it was suggested that he should live with his Grandmother Kelly. Despite all the love his grandmother lavished upon him, it seemed that Christoph's personality was already set, and the little punk became a fully-fl
edged misanthrope. The rise of the Bubble Game Empire, which rode the success of record selling neocars and high flying company stock, left him largely unimpressed.
Many things would tick him off and his parents would not know why. Sometimes even he didn't know why. His mother said he was born like that - dissatisfied. On one occasion, he hung an entire new line of experimental neopets from the roof of his school, strung by their necks and staged as a scene of collective suicide. Parents and children who came across the sight shrieked in horror.
“Christoph, what have you done?!” his mother shouted, having been rushed to the roof to witness the horrific installation of hanging animals.
“Can't you see how lovely they are, all lined up?”
“No! Take them down now!” she said, livid.
“I won't, this is stupid! It's not like they're real animals. It's art! So what?”
“They come down now,” she ordered him.
The grim Christoph took the neopets down, but instead of putting them back the way they were, he snapped their flexible necks and let them drop to the ground, to a chorus of shrieking parents and children.
“Idiots,” he muttered and went back inside.
Christoph was reprimanded for hurting the company's reputation and causing an embarrassment. But the next day when toy orders increased, he learned it was all about brand recognition. There was no such thing as bad publicity. In the end, his performance had become the talk of the day and got translated into sales.
In time, he came to nurture an affinity with patterns, codes, hacking, and gadgets he invented, built and took apart. Human beings did not pique his interest much, and he would make a point of avoiding congregations and despised any marketing event that swept over the public. On the odd occasions that his parents dragged him along to business meetings, he would spend hours loitering in the offices, and one time almost caused an explosion in an unfortunate accident while putting together a bomb.
Netopia: A Thrilling Dystopian Novel (Science Fiction & Action) Page 4
