by Doug Welch
The Reality Plague
Doug Welch
Published: 2010
Tag(s): "science fiction" "adult content" cyberpunk romance
The Reality Plague
by Douglas R, Welch
Feedbooks Edition
Copyright © 2010 Douglas R, Welch.
* * *
Feedbooks Edition, License Notes
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, places, character names, incidents and concepts are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Caution: adult content. May not be suitable for young adults and is not suitable for children.
Chapter 1
Chance
Imminent death, they would have you believe death hovered above you, poised to strike, if you lived life on your own terms. The swish of the tube train arriving brought Jake Harrison out of his black thoughts and back to the hopeless reality he despised.
His feet moved automatically toward the sliding doors, as an abrupt **Mime-mail has arrived** message flashed in the corner of his eye. Irritated, he tongued his nav-tooth to archive the message, and then touched it again to block further mail. It could wait; he had more important things on his mind. Two hours of an on-site face-to-face meeting today, then home to pretend to live. He brushed the tooth again to access the mail archive to review the failure reports from last night's company mail.
The train's doors slid open. He entered and looked around for a relatively clean place to sit. Dirt caked the surfaces of the compartment and the seats. He would have to bring something to cover one if he continued to commute.
No one cleaned the trains anymore. No one cared.
The doors automatically glided shut and the train accelerated toward the center of the city. He sat in the empty compartment, and viewed the messages.
An image of a grossly fat woman with an angry expression, and a slumped **Sen-U-Chair **, the back obviously broken, accompanied the body of the mime-text. Filth littered the vicinity of the broken chair, and he mentally cringed.
Garish neon colors accompanied the product name, obscuring the woman's image. I need to have the neuromechs reprogrammed. Net-trash is leaking through.
* * * text follows:
-Ultimate cause- structural failure, back seat braces.
-Probable cause- stress failure.
-Action- provide corrective action via re redesign back seat braces, PN br102.346
The sight deepened his depression. She obviously hasn’t stirred from her cube for months. She must be immersed in a **Sen-Si-Surround **, and she likely doesn't even know what it looks like.
Anger shaded his already dark mood. Rage at the disaster that had brought the human race to this point. Maybe the sight of the neglect had triggered an irrational reaction, but it shouldn't have affected him so strongly, because he knew that apathy became more common as people refused to leave their cubes. He credited that problem to the company he worked for.
Ever since the plague, people cowered in fear of contamination, and seldom ventured into the real world. His company pandered to the hermit market. He didn't blame the recluses; he might become desperate enough to join them. **Sens-U-Environ**, the gaudy company logo, flashed blue and gold in his vision. Again, the net-trash irked him; he had to get the programming fixed.
A memory of his youth with his parents and brother emerged sharp and clear. It reminded him of the pain of their loss and the world that had vanished. No! No going back dummy, we're here to stay. Make the best of it. At least the trains run on time, the AI’s make sure of that.
Ten years – Ten years ago things seemed to change for the better. Mass transit here in L.A. Oil burning cars banned from the city. Sterilized and surgically injected, self-replicating, nanomachines that merged with neurons in the brain, provided direct data interfaces to the vast mime-net. No more trees killed to make paper. Entertainment and communication flowed directly to the brain and eliminated cell phones and display screens, causing the crash of many big name companies.
Less energy usage, cheaper energy, a bright future, and more leisure, created a new baby boom, defying the predictions of the sociologists, but not enough food. “No problem”, the governments assured the public. “We'll solve this.”
But then some previously unknown virus mutated to a virulent killer, spread like the common cold. It seemed that nature had found a solution to the world's food problem. Kill the species that caused it.
Africa nearly depopulated, India in chaos, South America incommunicado, Europe and North America cowered in terror in their cities. The Chinese closed their borders. The Russians fled to the old bomb shelters.
Medical professionals died by the score. No one escaped, not even heads of governments. In desperation society turned over the running of the essential services to the ubiquitous artificial intelligences that had been running things anyway. The world's remaining population, wounded, but still relatively sizable, limped along and held its collective breath.
World Health warned the world. “It's a death sentence to have physical contact or procreate the species. The only solution for now is to isolate yourself until we can find a cure.”
Yeah they meant, don't get near each other, don't fuck, don't do all those human things you're born to do.
“We can't live like this,” the public complained. “We need food, work, sex, and love, eliminate those, and family dies along with the future of the race, so where's the answer?”
But then the net companies offered a solution. “Don’t worry, we have the technology. Can't commute to work for fear of the plague? Use your brain’s neural interface and telecommute. Want sex? Use a sex doll and find a virtual partner on the net. Not satisfied with your life? Live a new one on the net.” A whole new set of industries grew from the new reality.
The train arrived, bringing Jake out of his thoughts, and he exited to the vacant terminal platform. He emerged from the underground to an empty street. Dry grass sprouted in the asphalt. Leaves and other debris blew down the canyon-like boulevard – no paper at least. The sight painfully reminded him of what humanity still had to lose, so he avoided looking, staring at the sidewalk, his shoulder length black hair shielding either side of his face. He passed tall, closed buildings with fouled mirror glass fronts, towers which used to gleam to the eyes of the millions who worked in them, and now stood idle and empty. He stopped at the massive office building housing **Sens-U-Environ ** and approached the sliding glass doors. Fortunately, they still opened, but how much longer?
Jake knew that unseen net-comm technicians constantly monitored the power sources. They remained a necessity for a net-consuming population, but no one maintained the equipment. If it failed then what? “Back-ups, redundancy, fail-safes,” the government replied, “the AIs are running things, don't worry.”
He found a working elevator and selected his floor. Two hours and then home to an empty cube. The doors slid open and he walked from the bank of elevators, across the faux-marble floors, to the reception area. A familiar woman, fully enclosed in a bio-hazard suit, tended the curved reception desk. “Are they here yet, Judy?”
She looked up from the bookslate she studied. “All but Allan Foster, Mr. Harrison. They're waiting in the meeting room.”
Fogged by her breath, the tr
ansparent plastic hood she wore nearly obscured her brown hair and plain, unadorned face. The cosmetics industry had vanished long ago when the net made it superfluous. The fashion industry had died along with it when people couldn't emerge from their living cubes and the net took hold. When anyone on the net could look like anyone or anything their imagination could conceive, of what use was clothing? With climate controlled dwellings, nudity became normal. Anyone who dared to venture from their cube wore haz-suits or rugged unisex jumpsuits. Footwear served to prevent possible contamination hazards, not as a fashion statement.
“Send him in as soon as he gets here.”
“Yes sir.” She returned to her slate as he turned to walk to the meeting room, but then glanced up. “Sir, I'm just wondering. Why don't you wear a suit?”
Jake looked away. “I don't think I care anymore, Judy. If the virus kills me, it will be doing me a favor.”
“Oh – Well. OK – I guess. I was just curious.” She looked alternately anxious and bored, resigned to another two hours of useless sitting.
He made a quick decision. “You can leave when Allan gets here.”
She seemed relieved and smiled. “Thank you sir.”
He continued to the room and opened the door. The whole engineering department of **Sens-U-Environ ** sat around the massive conference table, all ten of them. He greeted them. “Good morning everyone.”
A few grunts, a sprinkling of 'morning Jake', and some sullen silences rippled through the room. Everyone wore haz-suits and reclined in **Sen-U-Chairs **, widely spaced around the table, carefully avoiding each other.
Wade, one of the software engineers, spoke first, his voice muffled by his biohazard hood, “you got a death-wish Jake?”
Jake could barely discern Wade’s appearance behind the distortion caused by the covering. His dark-brown hair looked disheveled, like he had just gotten out of bed. “Why do you ask?”
Wade crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “You're still not wearing a suit, when are you going to start?”
Jake sat in one of the empty chairs. “Old fashioned I guess, I just want to live normally. Besides, you're all wearing them, so I'm not in any danger.”
Wade grimaced. “Maybe, but what about the underground?”
Jake threw his hands up. “No one seems to ride the trains anymore. There are a lot of empty compartments.”
Wade tried again. “Did you net the news this morning? Seems like the virus is mutating. The talking heads say the disease can remain dormant, and real-sex re-activates it. They say they don't know what it'll do next. We're screwed, and you should wear a suit.”
Jake lifted an eyebrow. “I'll take it under advisement.”
Wade looked away. “You do that.”
Jake turned to the others present at the table. “We're waiting for Allan. Did everyone scan the overnight mimes?” Silence greeted his question all around the table. “We're wasting our time, folks, if you don't do your homework.”
One of the female engineers spoke. “What's the use, Jake? Why are we here? It's a waste, and it's dangerous. We could do this at home, safe in our cubes.”
Jake tried to see her features through the frustrating biohazard covering. She's right. Why do I persist in exposing myself? He didn't have an answer, only a feeling. As long as people were able to come together, he had hope, hope for his sanity and the human species. But she was right, it could prove dangerous.
He knew the answer to her question. It was that he just didn't want to let go of the past, so he lied. “Sally, The reason I insist on a face-to-face, is precisely because you won't do your jobs otherwise. Maybe I could cut down the meetings, if you didn't slack off. Now has anyone mimed the overnights?”
A male voice came from the vicinity of the door. “I have. What do you want to know?”
Jake turned to look at the door. Allen, his chief engineer, stood framed at the entrance. Secretly, Jake was happy to see him, Allan was the only person he could truly call a friend, but his angry mood prevented a warm response. “Ah, The tardy Mr. Foster. I'm glad you decided to join us. Take a seat.”
“Why are the chairs failing?”
Allan Foster entered the room, and sat down. Like Jake, he didn't wear a bio-hazard suit. His short dish-water blond hair topped a long horsey face and narrowed brown eyes. He looked annoyed. “Cut the sarcasm, Jake, it's not your style. Let's just get this over with. Yes, the seats have a structural flaw in the supports. No, they weren't designed wrong, I cross-checked the specs. They should support an elephant if you can find one. The problem is at the factory. The carbon fiber spinners are out of calibration, and they're under-sizing the wall thickness.”
Jake knew a fully automated plant made the chairs. If the machines lacked the ability to meet the specs, the solution required human technicians. “Did you mime the plant manager?”
“Yes. He says that he can't get a tech to calibrate the machines. Something about someone dropping dead on the site, and everyone he contacted is afraid to go near the plant. He swears the death had nothing to do with the plague, but no one believes him.”
One of the design engineers broke in. “So why don't we contract another manufacturer?”
Allan looked at him like he had lost a few brain cells. “George, we would have to recreate the tooling. Do you know how much that would cost? Assuming we could get it done.”
Jake became impatient. “Increase the spec for the wall thickness until we can get this straightened out. That will make the machines spin more fiber. I'll mime the plant manager and tell him he'll have to eat the extra cost. Clear?” No one answered “Next topic. How is the roll-out for the new chair coming?”
Allen cleared his throat. “It's delayed until the software is done… ”
* * *
An hour later they all filed out of the meeting room and dispersed to the elevators. Jake left last. He felt guilty about his behavior during the meeting and caught up with Allan. “Sorry about being such an asshole this morning. I'm just depressed.”
Allan stopped and turned back to look at him. “Not to worry boss, everyone is on edge.”
Jake just nodded, relieved that he hadn't alienated his only real, human friend. “Why aren't you wearing a haz-suit like the rest?”
“Why aren't you?”
“I don't know. It’s difficult to explain.”
He grinned. “You've got your answer, Jake. I guess I'm just pissing into the wind.”
Jake laughed. “That's a dangerous way to take a pee.”
“You should know, buddy. See you next week. I'll mime-mail you.”
“Till then, Allan.” Alone again, the lobby deserted, he went to his office. He didn't know why, the place looked as deserted as the rest of the city. He ran his fingers across the surface of his desk. They came away coated by a thick layer of gritty dust. He opened the desk drawer and removed a picture of his parents, his brother, and himself.
A gray-eyed, smiling, younger Jake stared back. His older brother had died during the early stages of the plague back when no one recognized it for the killer it became. “Unknown causes,” the doctor said. The doctor died soon after, not suspecting he'd become contaminated, along with Jake's parents. Now, everyone knew; don't touch and you won't die. He didn't have a place in his cube to display the picture, so he put it back in the desk drawer.
The trip back worsened his mood. As he rode the train, he brooded. His mind wandered back to a time before the plague, when real human contact had been a way of life. The embrace of his mother, the firm clasp of his father’s arm on his shoulder, and wrestling with his brother on the front lawn, those were the memories he treasured. It seemed so unfair to be denied human contact. This loneliness is likely to drive me insane. Just one person to share my life with, to help cope with the misery that it has become, that’s all I ask.
The train stopped at a new station. Curious, he glanced out the dingy train windows at the platform and saw a shapeless mass, huddled against one of the supp
ort pillars. When the train stopped, the object unfolded itself and approached the train. He became excited. The form revealed a person, a real, live human being. One who didn't wear a haz-suit, but a hooded jacket which hid his or her face. Choose my car, let me see you. Let me speak to you – Please. The person scanned the train, and then recoiled upon seeing him alone in his compartment. The figure paused, as though considering entering, then walked to the rear of the train, and disappeared from sight. The doors closed, and the train continued its interrupted journey. He felt snubbed, and a tight ache constricted his throat. He wanted touch, a handshake, even a little brush on passing, anything to indicate he was human and his humanity mattered.
Finally the train stopped at his station. He exited, and walked toward the escalators leading to the surface. In his peripheral vision, he briefly saw a figure as he ascended with the glide of the steps. It must be the one I saw boarding the train. His imagination conjured multiple scenarios. Did the individual live near him? Could they meet? Was he or she following him?
The last thought brought an unexpected flush, and his spine tingled. He recognized it as a thrill of fear and he shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling. He continued up and exited from the underground.
When he reached street level, he turned toward his cube tower, deliberately walking slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of his fellow traveler. Soon the individual emerged from the underground into the deserted street, and turned to walk in his direction. He slowed still further. The person continued to walk at the same pace, closing the distance between them. He stopped and waited, hoping the hooded figure would come nearer. The traveler walked head down, staring at the pavement. When the distance narrowed to a safe one, Jake cleared his throat loudly.
The person's head snapped up, obviously startled, face still shadowed by the hood. The bulky jacket made it impossible to discern the sex, male or female. The shape, slight, shorter than Jake, and slender, could be a woman's. “Hi, do you live around here?” When the hooded figure didn't answer, he tried again. “My name's Jake Harrison. I live in that tower over there,” he gestured toward his cube tower. “On the thirtieth floor. I work for **Sens-U-Environ**” He felt reckless, as though he wanted to pour out his whole life story. He waited in vain for a reply. “What's your name? Do you use the subway often?” His questions elicited only silence. He cautiously moved closer.
