MD looked around. To the right was an enclosed oversized shower with a bench in front of it, several very comfortable looking towels and a folded robe laying neatly on it. To the right of the shower was a doorway leading into a bathroom. To the left of the shower was a door that went into another room. A door that separated both rooms was closed. The large printing on the door made clear what was behind it. “Caution H-Pod in use.”
Robert rolled around to the front of MD as he brought up a tablet and began to tap on it. MD always thought it odd that the designers of such animatronic devices believed it was necessary to imitate human activity. Robert was already synced with the device and did not need to do anything physically to operate it. The machine could have just as easily left the tablet on his desk or bypassed it altogether.
MD was a practical man who admired intricate design and efficiency. He saw no need to devote any amount of energy or programming to accomplish a silly redundancy to give this device a more human touch for the benefit of some people who thought such things necessary. MD preferred to be around the Sentient Digital Beings or third-tier AE’s that used all of their processing power to think, learn and be sentient. By contrast, the rolling monstrosity in front of him was an inelegant bastardization.
“Mr. Richards, I see that you are here for an indefinite amount of time and are going full emersion. Is this correct?”
MD knew where this was going. “Yes, that is correct.”
“Very well, sir. Then you have properly purged and are currently only passing urine?”
MD was always glad he was talking to robots at times like these. What Robert wanted to know was did he need to evacuate his bowels before entering the pod.
“Yes, I have. I’ve been on straight Nutrient for a week now, make that about nine days.” MD corrected himself, adding the last two days that he had mostly been on the road.
MD had been on and off Nutrient for the last few years as his work involved being in-world a great deal of the time. If Robert had been an actual human, he would have taken note of MD’s lean physique and gaunt facial features. While MD appreciated the discretion that such animatronic devices provided, it was tiresome to converse with them. They always asked the obvious and never varied from their scripted questions.
“And your protein and hydration levels, have you had a chance to monitor and review those?”
“Yes, they are all fine.” MD lied.
He hadn’t for the last 48 hours, but previously they had been all in the nominal range and still should be. He knew this question was a formality and standard practice to ask. Once in the pod he could hydrate up and adjust his protein levels if necessary. He was an otherwise healthy 29-year-old male with no history of health problems.
Robert asked a few more health related questions before moving onto the next section.
God, this is getting tedious, damn lawyers. MD seethed as he listened to Robert drone on about this or that possible risk.
“You have reserved a fully functional male anatomical pod. Is this correct?”
Again, MD found himself glad Robert was a robot. Still, he was surprised by the question. These types of enterprises all had fully functioning anatomical pods. That was the main reason they existed.
This facility was no different. An out of the way, nondescript building where privacy was a premium. Unlike other places where you could rent an H-Pod by the hour, by the week or month or longer, these “black” operations filled a niche. A rather popular one.
A person could come here and pull into a garage discreetly. If he or she chose, the GPS would show the vehicle at another location. Something that was not strictly illegal, but also just about the easiest hack to perform, right from your cell phone. The car companies did this by design so someone wanting more security could just add an aftermarket software upgrade. Many of those upgrades included options that could make the vehicle both report and record that it was somewhere else. A convenient option for a cheating spouse, or someone like MD who had other secrets to keep. The car was safe, discreetly parked in a garage invisible from any drones or satellites that might spot it.
Black Digital-Life facilities were independent operations where you could go with absolute discretion, never even see another live person and carry on your secret on-line life in total anonymity. You went in under an alias if desired and utilized the account of the owner who generally had a dozen or more H-Pods available for rent keeping your movement into the Metaverse hidden from an employer, spouse, or the government.
What you did, who you did it with, where you went and when was encrypted information that you the client controlled and stored on your membership account and backed up on your mobile device if you were prudent. The facility was a conduit into the Metaverse and kept no records beyond your membership under that alias and that your payment cleared. Even your payment made from a Metaverse bank had no connections to a real person or an actual real world financial institution.
This type of anonymous freedom of movement would never be allowed in the real world but was in-world. As it evolved, the Metaverse granted people more freedom than they ever experienced in their actual lives. As a result, few things were initially regulated or controlled by the government which like in the real world was far behind the times.
Individuals, companies, and organizations were so vested in this freedom that it was difficult to bring any regulation in-world now. An unintended side effect was a spike of bad behavior. Mostly cyber theft, stalking, or hacking into areas where you were not allowed. “Cyber Trespassing” had been one of the most common offenses. Breaking into and using someone’s home, yacht or other property for example.
The Digital-Life Corporation and the subcontractor vendors that worked in the Metaverse like the Silicon Data Group, MD’s former employer, worked hard searching, scrubbing and ejecting hackers who engaged in that bad behavior. Being profit driven entities, their security divisions were primarily focused on hackers who managed to get online for free, stole account information or engaged in some other activity that affected the brand name or negatively impacted the bottom line.
Black Digital-Life businesses were not called that because they were outlawed. They gained that name because they were underground in the sense that the Human-Element could enter the Metaverse anonymously. Exist in it anonymously. Then leave it anonymously, as opposed to using your personal pod and account.
Someone using a BDL portal need not worry about their online activities. No master file or program could be brought up to backtrack where you had been or even where you currently were. No tag or other code that someone could track. That was by design. In the Metaverse you were a free citizen.
Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, Artesia, New Mexico
Argosi stared at the package sitting on his desk. Officer Everton, the training facility Doc had delivered it. He wasn’t an actual Medical Doctor; he was a paramedic but a damn good one. Everyone trusted him when it came to medical issues and so, of course, called him Doc. Everton had long ago quit objecting to being called that, since most people didn’t know what his actual name was anymore. Even his nametag just said “Doc.” It was just easier to be known for his role than by his name.
“Any questions, Commander?”
Argosi had never taken Nutrient before. “I don’t suppose I can run out to the Artesia Cafe and have the spinach and bacon omelet I was going to eat before you arrived with this crap, can I?”
Doc smiled. “I wouldn’t recommend that. Ideally, you should fast at least 48 hours before beginning the regimen, twenty-four-hours minimum.”
Argosi frowned. “A man can starve to death in forty-eight hours. Stezno is expecting me to be in Denver this afternoon and in-world ASAP.”
Doc consulted his phone. “How long has it been since your last solid food?”
Argosi didn’t like where this was going. “I had some apple slices this morning, about 6 am before I went for a run. Before that, it was last night around 6 pm. Steak potatoe
s, salad, bread—you know, the stuff real men eat.” Argosi said with a grin, trying to put Doc at ease.
It wasn’t his fault that he had to go on the Nutrient regimen; he was just here to help.
“There’s always a colonic,” Doc said, glancing again at his phone, not sure how Argosi was going to react.
“You are just a wealth of information. Doc. You’re telling me, if I starve myself for a day, preferably two, then I can drink this shit? It will work like it’s supposed to?”
Doc just shrugged.
“Ok, so how long before I can go full immersion?” Argosi asked.
“With or without a diaper?” Doc answered with a straight face.
Oh my God, I think he’s fucking serious! Argosi fought down his disgust before giving his one-word answer. “Without.”
Doc set his phone down on Argosi’s desk and leaned forward in his chair. “If you take the purging solution, then go on the Nutrient for twelve hours with no cramping, no diarrhea, and your hydration is within the norms. Then by tomorrow afternoon you should be ok, but everyone is different.”
Doc paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “No food and only clear liquids. When you are home for the night, or wherever you will be this evening, start the solution. You will be in the bathroom a lot until you’re empty. If you start by five tonight, hopefully the purge—which is the worst part—will be over by midnight and you can get a good night’s sleep. Then start on the Nutrient first thing in the morning and continue the feedings as prescribed. If you have no side effects by eighteen-hundred-hours tomorrow, you should be good to go.”
“So taking a shit is a side effect I’m guessing?” Argosi said.
Doc suppressed a laugh.
“The idea is not to... so yeah, if you do then your system hasn’t gone into proper equilibrium yet. That’s why you need to go on it for a good 12 hours before you seal yourself up in a pod.”
Argosi was just amazed at how the human race was de-evolving. Now we have feedings, like a plant that gets watered at certain intervals for optimum growth. Going digital was giving a whole new meaning to becoming a “vegetable.”
“Look, Commander, I don’t take this ‘shit,’ as you call it, myself. But I see a lot of the guys who do, most younger than us. They seem healthy and fit enough. Some even thrive on it, mainly the guys who lift; they get all the nutrition they need, and they can work out in-world, even grow muscle. With a zero-net gain in carbs or calories of any kind, it’s precisely balanced. You burn the carbs only that you need and use only the protein you need; the rest gets pissed out. Seldom are there side effects and when there is, it generally has to do when you are just starting out. Or if you have some underlying gastrointestinal condition, which you don’t. Besides don’t you want to be down to around six percent body fat?”
Argosi Sighed. “Thanks, doc.”
Taking his cue, Everton got up and started towards the door before stopping and turning around. “Congrats again Commander, do some good up there.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’ll try to.”
Everton gave a quick half salute and continued out the door.
Argosi sat there for a few minutes trying to let all the new developments set in.
It was nice to be promoted. But before he could even pack up his office, Argosi needed to high tail it up to Denver to get into his new assignment pronto. To deal with some maniac running around with a chainsaw promising to kill more people if they didn’t pay a ransom for safe passage into the Metaverse.
Worse, he had to go in-world to work with the team assigned. That necessitated his having to fast and then fed like a plant. Well, at least he could talk to the local law enforcement guys who handled the initial call. Visit the scene, examine evidence—real cop stuff.
Why can’t they just give me some real world bank robber? Argosi sighed.
It was already after 0930. He’d have to leave soon to catch the plane to Denver. Argosi backed up all his files to his mobile tablet and then removed the digital pictures of his family from the monitor. He would need to be back at some point to not only clean out his office but his home on the ranch as well.
He voice dialed his wife. Argosi listened as it went to voicemail. He wondered if Christine wasn’t picking up because it was him? The job had been hard on her. She had her career in Dallas where they based their home.
They had made that decision so as not to interrupt the kids schooling or her position at the law firm where she had recently made partner. Argosi usually worked four ten-hour days and tried to be home on his three-day weekends if his family, mostly his kids, didn’t visit him here. It was a seven-hour drive to Dallas or less than a half hour by a Bureau FastJet, if one was available. More often than not they weren’t.
FastJet was a moniker for a certain type of aircraft that flew at two to four times the speed of sound. A combination of high altitude, shape, and geometry eliminated the crack of the sonic boom at ground level so they could fly supersonic over populated areas. They were slow compared to the hypersonic aircraft that could cross entire oceans or continents in less than an hour.
At least Dallas was on the Hyper-loop with Denver. With it, Argosi could practically commute between Dallas and Denver, although he doubted the Bureau would allow that.
The “loop” was a tube-train that, as the name implied, ran through a tube. Sometimes below ground, sometimes above it. Usually, it was in the middle, below or adjacent to an Interstate Highway. These trains riding on a magnetized field were nearly as speedy as the FastJets.
Argosi waited for the end of Christine’s voice answering message and the beep before speaking.
“Hey babe, it’s me. Good news. I’ve been promoted. New station is Denver. Not sure how you feel about that. It will be easier to get to Dallas and vice versa. They got me bugging out today. In an hour in fact, some local crisis but don’t worry. I’m officially a POG now. By the way, do not, I repeat do not, let the kids go into any H-Pods or go in one yourself. I can’t give you the details, but hopefully, it will be wrapped up pretty quick. Love you! Give the kids my love too! Bye for now.”
Argosi fiddled with his phone. The fact of the matter was that he and Christine were leading separate lives. There was no big fight or even a single decision point. They had drifted apart, each pulled by their career, neither wanting to give it up or wanting the other to give up theirs.
Maybe this move will make it easier. Who knows, I might get back to the Dallas office. Argosi twirled his phone in his fingers, still perturbed by the video and this Alex fuck. Argosi typed a quick text to his wife.
“Hey babe, just left you a message. Call me when you can. Also please make sure no H-Pod activity. It may not be safe. XOXO.”
Argosi threw his tablet, the supplies of Nutrient that Doc had given him, and a few other items into his “tactical purse,” or as some would call it, a briefcase that it resembled in name only. Argosi’s had slots for extra magazines, handcuffs, comm equipment and even a ballistic shield on one side of it. A small arrow on top stenciled with “This way toward bullet,” let him know which way to point it before a slug tore into the interior. The idea being to protect the contents as much as himself.
Argosi filled the purse up with extra ammo, radio, a sat-phone and of course his backup gun. His duty weapon he wore on his hip along with some more magazines and a handcuff case.
Argosi opened his larger “go-bag” and threw in some more ammunition in it along with a few of the pictures and plaques from his wall. They joined his rifle, tactical ballistic vest, and helmet, extra boots, clothing and inclement weather gear along with a backpack which itself held a myriad of other supplies including a hydration pack.
As Argosi struggled to get the go-bag zipped up, a low whistle came from his doorway. Keyton leaned against the door frame, arms crossed in front of him. He was similarly dressed, with sidearm, extra ammo mags on his belt and a handcuff case. Like Argosi, he sported a black polo shirt and green utility pants with oversized
cargo pockets.
“Now, Commander, this may come as a surprise to you, but where you are going you don’t need all that ‘gun-bunny’ gear.”
Argosi snapped the go-bag tight. He hefted it from the desk and threw it at Keyton, who moved quickly enough to catch it, despite its weight.
“Damn, what all are you packing?” He said, startled that Argosi had thrown it with such ease and even more surprised that he caught it.
Argosi grinned as he slung the strap of his tactical purse over his left shoulder and shoved passed Keyton.
“Make yourself useful and drive me to the bird.”
Port Arthur, Texas
“I see you will be using a personal skin interface. Is this correct?” Robert asked.
“Yes, yes it’s all correct. I have it right here in my bag. Can we just get on with this please?” MD asked, exasperated by the constant questions.
Every time with these things! MD fumed to himself. Nothing is inferred or anticipated or even observed. Robert was nothing like Alex or any third-tier, which grated on MD’s patience.
“Of course, sir. It will just be another moment or two.”
MD had enough. “What is the definition of a moment? What is that in actual time?”
Robert paused for second or two before responding, a blank expression on his face which MD just thought made him look stupid, although that was impossible.
“Sir, a moment is a medieval unit of time equal to one-point-five-minutes or one-fortieth of an hour. This reckoning derived from the work of Bartholomeus Anglicus, writing in 1240, that each hour divided into four points, each point into ten moments, each moment into twelve ounces, and each ounce into forty-seven-atoms–”
“Enough, Robert! It was a rhetorical question to impress upon you that I am in a hurry and that you should work more urgently to provide a better customer experience!” MD all but shouted.
“Of course, Mr. Richards. I will complete this process in two minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”
The Metaverse: Virtual Life-Real Death Page 13
