The Unincorporated Man (39 page)

“As a matter of fact, we did,” answered Neela.

The employee made a few more adjustments and got out from behind his holodisplay. “Right this way, Mr. Cord, Dr. Harper,” he said, indicating that they take the third escalator from the left, which was now well lit. Both Justin and Neela got on. Justin, out of habit, began walking down the already moving escalator until he noticed Neela. She’d picked her step, grabbed hold of the rail, and was now leaning against it. Though the escalator was moving slowly, Neela’s pall was that of an unwilling passenger being strapped into a roller coaster.

“You go ahead if you want,” she said. “They won’t start without me.”

Justin smiled and climbed back up the steps.

“That’s OK,” he said, taking her hand. She gave it over, too anxious to argue.

As soon as they were through the clouded veil, things, as the employee’s button said, really did start to look up. It appeared that they were descending into an early-twenty-first-century shopping mall, complete with cheerful music and busy shoppers. The only thing wrong with the scenario, noted Justin, was that there was entirely too much cheer for what he knew was meant to be a cheerless place. Nevertheless, he was in it for the ride, and he’d take whatever experience the museum decided to throw at him at face value. He couldn’t help but notice a large back-lit sign advertising that the latest in VR technology had just been installed. The sign also indicated how to find the store within the mall.

“We going there?” he said, pointing to the sign.

“Yes,” she said, “unless you feel like having a Starbucks.” She pointed over at the café with a logo Justin recognized.

“You mean I can just stay here and shop and drink if I like?”

“If you like,” she said. “But you won’t be able to leave until you visit the VR center.”

Justin laughed. “Starbucks or hell. You people are too much.”

Neela stood silently, waiting for Justin to decide.

His eyes narrowed with shrewd intent. “Let’s go to hell,” he said.

As they made their way through the mall toward the VR center, Justin struck up a conversation.

“You know, Neela, I might not have liked malls, but this place doesn’t really seem all that scary.”

“Justin, the mall’s not scary… it’s what you can buy here.” Justin was already sure this experience would be about as pleasant as a weekend at a Taliban resort, but that last statement unnerved him. It was the old “careful what you wish for” mantra.

“It’s also not like any museum I’ve ever been to,” he continued, “unless, of course, this mall here is part of the exhibit.”

“I guess you could say it is,” she answered, “or it just might be the whole exhibit. You never really know.”

Justin looked at her quizzically.

“It’s different for everyone,” she said.

“Ahh.”

After a five-minute walk, they arrived at a large glass-fronted store occupying one hundred feet of mall front. There in front of them was a large sign spanning the windows that read VIRTUAL REALITY BOOTHS, FIRST TEN MINUTES FREE! Not wanting further delay, Justin walked in first and was greeted by an overly cheerful hostess. Neela shuffled in behind him. The hostess looked to be about seventeen or eighteen and had the well-worn demeanor of a high-school kid working her way through a summer job. She welcomed Justin professionally if not a bit stiffly, as is always the case when nonprofessionals are forced to go by a script. At the end of her brief monologue, she made sure to assure both Justin and Neela that they were about to have the experience of their lives. When Justin started to ask questions, Neela gently laid a hand on his arm to quiet him. The hostess took the both of them to another room marked with a sign that read CALIBRATION.

Neela began to shake.

“Are you all right, Miss?” asked the hostess.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she answered, “just a little cold.”

“Neela,” said Justin, “not only are you
not
cold, you’re also a terrible liar.”

“I’ll be all right,” she said in a small voice.

“You plan to go through this
again
. . . on my behalf?”

Neela nodded. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone, Justin.”

“Neela, even if we did this together I’d probably end up doing it alone… I very much doubt they’d let you interfere in my experience.”

“I… I could arrange something… make sure you weren’t in too deep.”

“Pass.”

“Justin, no adult has ever done this before… at least, not in my day.”

“Stay here, Neela,” he answered, ignoring her.

“But—”

“—no buts. You won’t do me any good if you’re in shock. One of us will need to talk to me with a clear head afterward. You’re elected.”

“Dr. Gillette—”

“—probably has no idea you were even thinking about this, does he?”

Neela shrugged. “And if he did,” continued Justin, “I suspect he’d have your head. No, Neela, it’s you I’m going to want sane when I wake up…
again
. And it’s only you who I trust to see me through whatever it is I’m supposedly about to go through. Now do me a favor and leave.”

In the end it wasn’t that difficult to convince her. They stepped outside the store, alone. Neela agreed to wait and Justin suggested she try the Starbucks. “I prefer the nonfat venti latte,” he offered, “but I suppose,” he said, grinning, “you can go for whole milk in this day and age.” She agreed to give it a try, laughed nervously, and then wished him luck. But before Justin could turn around and head back into the VR store, Neela pulled him toward her and kissed him powerfully on the lips. He stood there, stunned, knowing he should have been overjoyed. He’d been waiting for this moment from the time Neela first put her hand on his in the pawnshop. Had fantasized about it even. But not like this. Not this kiss. Neela’s look as she pulled away from him and stared sadly into his eyes told him what he needed to know. This was the kiss of the desperate sending a loved one off to war. This was the kiss of someone saying good-bye.

As Neela departed, Justin went back into the store and followed the teenager into the calibration room. There it was explained to him that the process was the equivalent of a head MRI only with much, much better scanners. The reason, he was told, was so that Justin’s virtual reality encounter could be a “hyper” experience. In other words, the hostess patiently explained, once the machine knew how Justin’s brain experienced sight, sound, taste, and smell, it could better create those experiences by using his brain as the architect and driver of the newly simulated experiences.

“No single piece of pizza tastes exactly the same to two people,” she explained. “We might all agree that it tastes ‘good,’ but until we know what constitutes ‘good’ in your brain, we can’t really give you the ultimate experience. With this machine,” she said, pointing to a large box seated next to a recliner, “we can.”

It took ten minutes. Basically, it boiled down to Justin sitting in a large, comfortable recliner and having a small dome placed over his head. Once the dome was removed, he noticed that the other couches in the room were all made for children. They were not only smaller; they were also brightly colored and more pleasing to the eye. It was explained to him that his VR rig had been specially installed.

When he was settled in, the hostess departed the room. Now he was alone. He felt tired. His vision began to fade and his fingers and toes went numb. Then his vision ceased entirely and he was effectively blind. Next, his sense of feeling faded away. It was akin to a controlled blackout. But before he could panic he felt something. Very quickly his vision and all his senses came back. But he was not where he had been. In fact, he was not
who
he had been. He was a tall, bearded, and very muscular man standing in front of a polished brass mirror. He was half dressed and in the process of putting on a shirt—linen, of course. He looked around and saw that he was in a tent. On a rough-hewn bed was a vivacious dark-haired, olive-skinned, and very naked woman. Justin looked her over. If he didn’t know any better he’d have to say that she appeared to be sleeping the sleep of the sexually exhausted.

“This I could get used to,” he said to himself. But the voice he said it in sounded deeper and more menacing than anything
he
had ever sounded like. He noticed a riding crop and a sword next to the bed. Deciding to play along, he put them on and walked outside. His chin dropped as he gaped in awe while an an entire army of similarly dressed warriors raised their weapons in salute. Thousands of voices from a chorus of Viking throats greeted him, shouting in unison, “
Justin king! Justin king! Justin king!
” An old, grizzled, yet vigorous-looking man sidled up to him.

“My king,” shouted the old man so that all could hear, “shall your men ride today?”

The horde silenced itself, awaiting his word.

“Um, sure,” Justin muttered, and then, catching himself, got more into the spirit of the affair. “By the gods, yes!”

The Vikings let loose with another massive roar, and as a man turned to run over a nearby rise. Justin and the old man followed at a manly gait. When Justin glimpsed over the hill he saw a vast plain filled with… he blinked and rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked again.

His companion spoke up. “Aye, my lord and king, your father would often do the same thing. It seemed no matter how many times he went to ride, the sight would still fill him with wonder. You are your father’s son. Come, my lord, your mount awaits.”

Justin blinked again and tried to “see” what his eyes were showing him. Covering the plain in front of him were dragons—thousands of them. Each had a saddle and handler, and many had Vikings already in the saddle, ready to ride. Justin realized what had been bothering him from the second he “woke up.” This world he was now in did not feel like a dream. In fact, it was as real as anything he’d ever experienced. The clothes, the hair, the feel of the grass beneath his feet, all of it, down to the scent of jasmine in the air mixed with the distinct smell of… fire-breathing animals, was real.
How could it be this real?
he wondered.

They approached Justin’s dragon. The attendant bowed formally and handed him a rope that led up to the saddle. As Justin touched the animal’s scaly skin, it cooed. The sound was loud and accompanied by a gust of smoke from the great beast’s nostrils, but it was unmistakably a coo. Justin was further mesmerized by the sight of the dragon’s huge belly heaving in and out.

“A sword for their necks and a fire up their arse,” cried the attendant.

Justin ascertained the phrase to be some sort of war mantra. He repeated it back, to which the attendant and Justin’s elderly companion responded with a hearty, “Aye.”

Justin climbed up the rope and into his saddle. It was simple to put his boots into the stirrups, and as he did so the attendant tossed him a bridle. Before he knew it, the dragon was flying off into the air. He could hardly believe it, but the vision was clear. Justin Cord, Viking king, was leading a squadron of fire-breathing dragons straight into the clouds.

“But what if I don’t want to fly a dragon?” Justin shouted out to the sky, wondering if somebody could hear him. His vision immediately began to fade, and his extremities went numb. Soon his mind was again in the black empty void that had begun his journey.
What do I do now?
he thought. And again, as if on cue, another vision appeared before him. It was dazzling yet simple. He thought he saw ten glowing gems. They spun and glittered in front of him, and he thought that one looked prettier than all the rest. The one that his eyes focused on grew brighter, and in a flash of light, the void Justin experienced faded away as his senses returned. He found himself sitting at a desk in some sort of rustic wooden cabin. He looked down at his hand and saw that he was holding a shiny metal five-pointed star. It appeared to be a badge. As soon as he registered the badge, there was a loud knocking on the door. He didn’t answer at first.

“Sheriff! Sheriff!” someone cried out. “They need you down at the saloon! Miss Kitty is in a powerful lick of trouble!” Justin got up and found his hat. It was, of course, white.

Justin didn’t make the same mistake he’d made in the first fantasy. Which is to say, he didn’t repeat the words “But what if I don’t want to.” He needn’t have bothered. The VR machine was calibrated to know when the subject was ready to move on. The only way the fantasy was going to change was when Justin truly wanted it to change. And the second that feeling—not thought—occurred, the fantasy would end. So even though he
thought
he should try a different fantasy, his
feelings
told the machine he didn’t want to. For days he ate, slept, shit, screwed, fought, and had fun like he did in real life, only here he was doing it in the Wild West. Finally the day arrived when his thoughts of moving on matched his feelings. His vision dimmed, his extremities tingled, and he was soon back in front of the spinning, shimmering crystals.

The next crystal that he chose took him to a subtly different program. It faded in like all the others. But this time, Justin realized
he
was not in control. He saw and felt all the things that the person whose body he was now occupying saw and felt, but he couldn’t control the scenario. Even more to his surprise, he couldn’t leave it—couldn’t even think it away. Justin saw that he was a good-looking man, because the man he was “being” was shaving in a mirror. He was thin and seemed to be in good enough shape. After getting dressed in an executive suit, Justin was amused to see that the man’s name was Preston Sinclair and that he worked for, of all companies, Cord Industries. With a deep shock Justin realized that he knew this man. In fact, he’d hired Preston straight out of college about four years before he’d had himself frozen and buried. As Justin recalled, Preston had been a damned knowledgeable kid who did his job well. From looking in the mirror, Justin figured this Preston to be about forty. What followed was the simple day of a man who was a good quality-control manager of a cutting-edge software-development team. Justin recognized the type: competent, loyal, and willing to work hard, but at the end of the day, more committed to family than career. He was proven correct when he/Preston returned home from work and was immediately pounced upon by two small children—a boy about eleven and a girl around six. His wife was a fun, lively, and flirtatious woman with curly red hair and a smile that could warm an Eskimo. Justin was aware that, while she may not have been a “looker,” seeing her at home surrounded by her family made her beautiful nonetheless. So much so that he was finally beginning to understand why this man, or any man for that matter, would put his family first. It was only after a moment that Justin realized his/Preston’s wife was noticeably pregnant.