"Can’t we go any faster?"
"I am sorry, Mr. Briggs, this vehicle is proceeding at the maximum safe speed for intercity transit," replied the cheerful MIAI voice from the dashboard display. "If this is an emergency I am permitted to exceed that limit under municipal code 6.8. Do you wish to declare an emergency? If so, please be advised that a false declaration of an emergency condition of personal or communal nature is a violation of Bureau of Transport regulations, which can result in a fine of no less than ten thousand international credits and 90 days interment in a state work colony. What is the nature of your emergency?” it asked brightly.
Pete dropped his head back against the seat of the company van with an impatient scowl. That voice was so damned annoying. It never wavered from its perpetually chipper tone. "No, there's no emergency," Pete sighed. "I’d bet you could announce the end of the fucking world without losing your happyville-ness, couldn't you?"
"I am sorry, Mr. Briggs, I do not understand the query. Please rephrase."
Pete huffed a frustrated sigh. "Never mind. ETA to home?"
"Twenty-two minutes, factoring current weather and traffic conditions," MIAI responded cheerily, "Please relax and enjoy the view!"
Pete snorted and looked out the driver side window — not that there were any actual drivers anymore. Every one of the vehicles around him were going exactly the same speed, with precisely the same spacing between them. Some carried passengers, some transported cargo, and they all formed an endless cavalcade that cruised past countless buildings with bright electronic store fronts garishly advertising the various delights they were selling within.
He shook his head and scoffed at his own cynicism. "Darken windows and dim interior lights."
He gazed at his reflection momentarily as the windows went opaque and the light went dim. A balding head, fringed around the sides and back with short-cropped silver-white hair, topped his lined and weathered face. He smiled to himself. Jina often remarked that she liked how his hair — what remained of it, at any rate — had gone silver instead of a flat, plain gray. His high forehead creased, and the lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he noted absently that the white goatee framing his generous mouth was perpetually in need of a trim. It was a mobile face, one that displayed emotion just a little too well as far as he was concerned. Dark, intelligent eyes mocked him as the mouth quirked in a familiar sardonic grin. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
Going from reflection to reflection, he thought briefly about the years when he was a little boy — back before Motor-vehicle Interactive Artificial Intelligence was perfected and took over all of the driving, before AIs took over the homes and factories, and before... well, just before. And now, IRCorp had paid him a salary to "fix" AIs. Although fixing was a long stretch to call what he did. He interfaced a portable diagnostic AI with the malfunctioning AI, and replaced whatever soft- or hardware it told him to. Still, people felt a lot better having a human doing the work, at least according to the company’s analysts. On the bright side, without the AIs there wouldn’t be an Otherverse.
Pete smiled at that thought. Otherverse, where people could still carve out a name for themselves and become legends! Where the strength of one's arm or the power of their magic decided their fate! Or so the ads would have you believe, at any rate. But Pete had always loved the old VR role-playing games, where you wore a clunky VR headset and used a pair of hand-held controllers to manipulate the virtual world. How long ago was that even? Pete was just now observing his 65th birthday, so that must have been somewhere about 50 years ago. He’d been 15 when the first true AI was created — was it Lisa? Lucy? Something like that. It wasn't much back then, but it had sure as hell started the evolution and revolution of machines! And now, Otherverse was produced and maintained by the Otherverse Corporation, which was in turn owned by AI Unlimited, Inc., which, after several investment firms and other dummy enterprises, was ultimately owned by IRCorp. Pete grunted. All roads don't lead to Rome, they lead to IRCorp!
Exactly 22 minutes later MIAI piloted the IRCorp company van smoothly into Pete’s driveway. The quiet hum of the electric motor died into silence, and the AI unlocked the door and swung it open.
“We have arrived at your destination, Mr. Briggs. Please step carefully when you exit the vehicle, and have a pleasant evening!”
Pete stared at the dashboard for a few moments, shook himself out of his reverie, and slid his stocky frame out of the seat. He stood and stretched, leaning backwards to work the kinks out of his back. As he stepped away from the van he heard the door whine closed behind him, and the vehicle rolled silently out of his driveway for the last time, on its way back to the company motor pool. He stood staring after it with a faint pang of regret, feeling the weight of many years’ passing. Shrugging off the sense of melancholy, he crossed the driveway up to the house. The entry door retracted in welcome as he approached, and he was greeted by the friendly voice of Jerry, his household AI.
“Good evening, Mr. Briggs, and welcome home! Mrs. Briggs is currently in the kitchen overseeing the preparations of the evening meal. She has programmed the food service for your favorite meal tonight in celebration of your birthday! Meatloaf with all the trimmings, and apple pie for dessert!”
Pete grinned, mouth already watering in anticipation of Jina’s incomparable cooking. But first things first. “Sooo... any deliveries today?”
“Yes sir. The Otherverse corporation made a delivery today at 9:37 am. The initialization technicians remained in the house for five hours and 17 minutes before leaving. The immersion chair that was ordered on March the 3rd has arrived and has been installed in the upstairs game room.“
A broad smile broke across Pete’s timeworn face. He’d been waiting eagerly for the new immersion chair ever since Jina had told him that he was getting one for his birthday. The chair was ridiculously expensive, but they had come into an astonishing windfall when his mother passed away. Unbeknownst to Pete, she had apparently foreseen the future potential of a fledgling industry and invested in several of the early AI companies back when the technology was still new. A few of those companies had folded, but a couple of them did indeed turn out to be powerhouses in AI technology. Her stocks had gone up, split, split again, and then went up even more. Finally, both companies wound up getting bought out by Otherverse Corporation, leaving Mom a respectable chunk of stock in the company.
Pete had been oblivious to all of this until after her passing, when her attorney had contacted him about the transference of stock. After paying for expenses and services, and getting split between him and his sister, Paula, the inheritance income wound up being enough to allow him an early retirement. Jina had insisted that they cash in a small bit of the stock, and that each of them buy themselves something they really wanted. Jina, who loved to cook, had bought the latest kitchen upgrades, which allowed her to program new meals she hadn’t been able to prepare before. She’d urged — no, demanded! — Pete to buy the latest immersion chair for playing in the Otherverse. He’d resisted at first, protesting that he was too old for kid’s games, objecting to the exorbitant expense, until Jina had just put her hands on her hips, cocked an eyebrow, and stared at him. Finally, he’d smiled and caved in, admitting that he really did want to play. Which, of course, she’d known all along. And since they were now shareholders in the company, they’d gotten the immersion chair for a considerable bargain. Well, if you consider what would have been nine months’ pay before taxes a bargain, that is. His subscription also got upgraded from the bronze account to the silver account for the same cost. Being a stockholder decidedly had its benefits! Pete still missed the old VR games, but those were poorly supported anymore since full immersion had become widespread. Still grinning, Pete strode through the door and made his way to the kitchen.
Jina was there, humming happily to herself and bustling from food creation console to dining table carrying a sumptuous looking assortment of serving plates. The enticing aroma of fresh meatloaf permeated the bright, cheery kitchen. He stood quietly for a few moments and watched his wife at work. Her ample figure mirrored his own, since they both loved to eat just as much as she loved to cook. Shoulder length magenta hair, blended to violet at the ends, framed a round face creased with well-earned laugh lines. She had a wide snub nose and full lips, but her face was dominated by her beautiful hazel eyes, in which sparkled intelligence mixed with impish humor. To his continual delight, that face nearly always bore an artless and welcoming smile. Forty-two years together, and the sight of her still brought a smile to his face and warmth to his heart. She turned and caught him watching her. Her happy smile grew even wider, and she came over and gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“Happy Birthday, my love! Sit down and eat, and then you can go play with your fancy new toy,” she grinned, as she pushed him towards the table.
Pete leered at her and waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe I wanna play with you instead!”
Jina mock-glared at him and snorted, “Let’s see, me or that thing you’ve been waiting on and asking about daily since your fitting? While my ego wants to say it’s me, logic tells me otherwise.” She gave him a fond kiss on the forehead before she sat down across the table from him. ”Besides, I told the girls I’d come babysit tonight so they could have a night out. You and your new mistress will have the entire night together.” She grinned and winked at him as she sipped on a cup of coffee.
“Ah, my dear, no one could ever replace you as the love of my life and light of my heart.” Pete placed both hands over his heart to demonstrate his sincerity. ”I just hope the house doesn’t ever catch fire and require me to choose between rescuing you or the chair!”
Jina threw back her head and gave off her infectious laugh, ”You are such a complete asshole!”
“Yep,” Pete agreed around a mouthful of savory meatloaf, ”but you foolishly agreed to marry me of your own free will.”
“I was drunk at the time, and you had those killer abs back then.”
Pete looked down at the belly that was pushing out against his shirt. “I still have them,” he protested, “I’ve just put a protective cover over them.” He smiled mischievously at her.
Jina giggled and shook her head at him. ”Finish up your dinner and go play. I have to leave in a few more minutes.”
The rest of the meal elapsed in companionable conversation, until finally Jina gathered up the empty plates and fed them to the smart washer. Pete leaned back, patted his ample belly, and uttered a profoundly satisfied belch.
“That was amazing, my sweet! No one can program a food rector like you!” He pushed away from the table and stood up, and walked over to give Jina a bear hug from behind, ”And thank you for talking me into the chair. I really did want one.”
Jina grinned and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no kidding. I kind of figured that from all the ads and write-ups cluttering the digitainer about Otherverse. Most women have to put up with porn, but me, I gotta put up with game ads! Go, get out of here and go have fun.” She turned around and shook a fist at him. “But so help me, if you get a virtual girlfriend, I will do very unpleasant things to you while you’re in that chair!”
Affecting a look of mock horror, Pete backed out of the kitchen with palms out in a warding gesture, then turned and hurried upstairs to the game room. Entering the room, his eyes eagerly apprised the new immersion setup.
The IMC 3000 was the latest generation of full body immersion chairs. It looked like a huge overstuffed recliner, with a form-fitting lid that swung down over the top of it. The chair and lid were both filled with an aqua colored gel-like material that would conform to Pete’s body. When immersed, the gel was designed to slowly pulsate and move in a continuous rolling motion to keep the blood circulating correctly and skin and muscles stimulated during prolonged immersion. The armrest had indentations that were fitted to his arms, and his fingers would be poised over a small keypad that was used to initiate the immersion sequence. The space reserved for his head had countless tiny probes that would extend out when activated, pressing against Pete’s head in order to sync his brain with the hardware. The chair and lid also contained a network of small contacts all around the body, which would stimulate his muscles with gentle bursts of low voltage electricity, much like a TENS unit, to keep them from getting stiff. Reviewers claimed that when you came out of immersion, you actually felt like you’d just had a nice full body massage.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Before Otherverse Corp. would consent to deliver the chair, Pete had been required to attend a special company sponsored fitting and training session, because each chair was custom built for each individual user. They had measured his dimensions from top to bottom, side to side, up, down, and around, and a few other measurements he didn’t even want to think about. They’d recorded an EEG monitor of his brain activity. They had even taken a complete mold of his head and a neuroimage of his brain as a means to determine accurate probe placement.
A tightly wrapped harness of cabling led from one side of the chair to a sleek synthetic enclosure roughly the size of an old-fashioned cooler, which bore a touch pad control panel faced with merrily blinking multi colored LEDs. This control module served to provide the chair’s interface to the internet, an emergency power backup in case of a power failure, and critical body health telemetry. If Pete should happen to experience any manner of medical emergency while he was in the chair, the controller would remove him immediately from the Otherverse world and alert emergency medical services. He’d been told that the chair could even act as a defibrillator if needed, although the sales literature took great pains to point out that the function had never yet been required.
A small paperboard box sporting the Otherverse logo rested on the seat of the chair. Pete opened the box and pulled out a pair of the specially designed shorts he’d been told he would need to wear during immersion. They were form-fitting and high-waisted, with legs that would extend about midway to his knees, somewhat reminiscent of a cyclist’s shorts — if cyclist’s shorts were made of an iridescent, metallic-looking material. He had to wear nothing but these conductive shorts in the chair to ensure proper contact for the electrical muscle stimulation. He was glad to see a couple of spare pairs of shorts in the box to account for laundry cycles and hygiene. Speaking of which, Pete had been warned during his training to be sure to “evacuate bodily wastes” before entering the chair, so he took a pair of the shorts with him to the upstairs bathroom to take care of that little detail before stripping off his clothes and donning the shorts. They felt peculiar on his skin, at once silky smooth and yet faintly rough, like sliding into a dry snakeskin. Once he had the shorts on, he looked down at himself and observed that the years had not been kind to his body. He snorted with derision. Who was he kidding? It wasn’t the years that had done this to him, it was the love of food and the avoidance of exercise. He’d even tried to joke with one of the techs at the fitting, saying that he hoped the chair would hold his weight. The tech had fixed him with a level stare completely bereft of any humor whatsoever, and replied in an emotionless monotone, “Each unit is rated to bear up to 1000 kilograms, sir.”
After that, he’d remained silent during the rest of his fitting.
And now, he was truly looking forward to the leisure of his retirement. Jina was always on the go, running around with the kids, and the grandkids, and her friends, so he anticipated plenty of time to enjoy the adventures to come.
He eased himself carefully over the lip and into the chair, and rested his arms in the provided indentations. Even though he knew it had been built specifically to his personal dimensions, he was nevertheless amazed at how well it formed to his arms, placing his fingers comfortably over the chair control touchpad. He’d trained in a dummy chair at the fitting, to get familiar with the controls, the startup sequence, and what to expect. That had been a remarkably comfortable chair, but it was like sitting on a cactus compared to this! They had also sent him home with an exhaustive e-book manual on the chair’s operation, the do’s and don’ts, and — of course — the required liability waivers. Pete, overcome with enthusiasm, had loaded the micro on his digitainer at home and read the manual from end-to-end... twice. He knew how the chair worked, how to manipulate the controls, and he also knew that if anything unfortunate happened to him Otherverse Corp. really didn’t give a damn. With a sardonic twist to his lips, he laid his head back and pressed the power-up touchpad.
The chair hummed to life around him, and the gel in the lower cushion started circulating until it provided his body with precisely calculated optimal support. After a brief startup period, a soft female voice assured him that all systems were now functional, and informed him that the connection to the internet was established and stable. His finger hovered over the initiation icon for a reflective moment as he looked up at the lid above his head. He imagined that it seemed like he was sitting in some strange cybernetic monster’s mouth, and it was about to swallow him whole. Or maybe it was going to digitize his atoms to transmit across the network, like in that old classic 2D vid he’d seen long ago. Doing his best to put those thoughts out of his mind, he pressed the initiation pad and forced himself to relax. The lid lowered slowly down over him with a faint whirring sound and encased him completely in the gel, save for a small pocket where the faceplate sealed gently against his face and put him in total darkness. Pete fought back a moment of unreasoned panic when he felt the probes extending, pushing through his hair in places, and resting lightly against his scalp. What if they kept extending? Could they poke right through his skull and into his brain? Just because he’d never read about it didn't mean it had never happened. He blew out the breath he had unconsciously been holding, relieved, and berated himself for a fool when the probes stopped precisely where they should, applying only light pressure against his scalp. Suddenly, the darkness before his eyes burst into a rainbow of colors, accompanied by a loud fanfare of music. The colors began to whirl, like a multi colored pinwheel, until they finally coalesced into a large banner rippling in front of him, as the music built up to a dramatic crescendo:
“Welcome to Otherverse, the most immersive Virtual Reality available anywhere on earth! Will you be a powerful warrior or a great and wise mage? Perhaps you will practice the healing arts, or instead become a stealthy rogue? Hero or sea captain, mercenary or spell-slinger, embrace your destiny now, and shake the Otherverse to its core!”
“Wow," he thought, "that was actually kind of cheesy," as his vision went dark again. Then, almost as if he had just awakened from a nap, he abruptly found himself in a small, tastefully decorated room, sitting on a couch in front of a crackling fire in a stone fireplace. Pete realized with a sense of awe that he could actually feel the warmth from the fire and smell the pleasant scent of woodsmoke. Burning real wood, what a scandal! He ran his hand across the fabric of the oddly shaped couch — he thought distractedly that it was called a fainting couch — and he could actually feel the texture of the cloth and the patterns woven into it. Just in front of him there was a massive, dark stained wooden desk, on top of which there were several stacks of paper — paper, mind you! — and a small fuel oil lamp that gave off a warm amber glow. Pete couldn’t suppress the irrelevant thought that the enviro-cops would have a screaming fit in this place! He leaned forward and rapped his knuckles on the desk, marveling at the solid feel and sound of it. Behind the desk was a large, comfy-looking office chair, and behind that was an impressive and ornate door.
“Ho-o-oly shit,” he whispered, ”this is amazing!”
He started to stand up and explore further, but just then the door swung noiselessly open. A slender man roughly Pete’s own age strode into the room. He wore a vintage dark grey suit, reminiscent of a style from the ancient 1800s, right down to the waistcoat and watch chain. His dark hair was oiled and combed across a balding head, and his narrow face was dominated by a generous hooked nose. Inscrutable dark eyes seemed to take in every detail about Pete the moment they landed on him. His mouth, surrounded by a carefully groomed white-haired goatee, broke into a small smile.
“Mr. Briggs, isn’t it?” he asked in a quiet voice with a faint German accent, ”I am Sigmund, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” The man extended a hand across the desk, and Pete took the proffered hand to shake. The man's grip was cool and firm, and Pete could even detect a faint pulse in the man's fingers.
“Ho-o-oly shit again,” Pete exclaimed. ”Sigmund, as in Freud?”
The man chuckled softly as he released Pete’s hand, “Ja, one and the same. I see that reaction quite often.” He sat down in the overstuffed office chair and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers.
”You are a silver account holder, yes?” Pete nodded, and he continued, "Very good! As a silver account member, you will have a few additional benefits when you generate your in game persona. Those will be explained to you a bit later. But right now I would like to inform you that you have been chosen to take part in an optional study. I would like to conduct a short psychological evaluation of you, with the end goal being a better and deeper immersion in the game for you. Are you willing to submit to this evaluation? It is completely voluntary.”
Pete cocked his head at Mr. Freud inquisitively. “It’s supposed to make the game more realistic?” The man nodded. ”Can I stop it anytime I like?” Freud nodded again. ”Well then, let’s do it!”
Freud gave a pleased smile of anticipation. “Excellent, Mr. Briggs! This evaluation consists of a series of scenarios in which you will engage, and I will evaluate your responses. Please try to react as you normally would outside of the immersion. Let us begin.”
Darkness fell over Pete’s eyes.
He abruptly found himself standing in a dimly lit urban alley, with a light drizzle falling. Ahead of him down the alley, two men were cursing loudly and viciously kicking a third man who was sprawled helplessly on the grimy alley floor. On the ground nearby, there was a young woman in a pair of jeans and a dingy t-shirt. Her clothing was dirty and torn, and the woman was curled up in the fetal position, crying hysterically. Pete stood momentarily frozen in shock. He could smell the stench of the garbage in the dumpsters, hear the sickening thumps of the kicks landing on flesh, feel the cold rain soaking him. Shock transformed to anger, and he knew he had to do something to stop this atrocity.
“Hey! Cut that shit out!” he yelled, moving closer to the fight, ”you’re gonna kill him!”
The larger of the two men glared up at Pete, eyes blazing with anger. ”Mind your own fucking business, asshole!” he snarled, then resumed kicking the man on the ground again.
“Damnit!” Pete shouted. He rushed forward and slammed himself into the big man’s side, driving him back from the victim. ”I said knock that shit off!” He turned and shoved the smaller man back, too. The man on the ground was moaning in pain, and the young woman, who appeared to be in her early teens, heedlessly continued to cry. The big man balled up his fists and started back towards Pete.
“This piece of shit here was tryin’ to rape her when we seen them. He was over on top of her, pawing at her!”
“No!” the man on the ground gasped out through swollen and bloody lips. His voice was barely audible. ”I stopped the guy that was trying to rape her. He run off when I yelled. I was tryin’ to help her, but she started fighting me… .” Pete could see the man's eyes pleading with him to believe. Pete held his hands up, palms out at the two standing men.
“Hey, c’mon, let's just let the cops sort this out. That’s what they get paid to do.” Pete was looking at the smaller man when the other guy's fist crashed into the side of his head. He felt the nauseating crunch of his jaw bone breaking as he fell to the ground, his head exploding in pain.
“How about we just kick your ass too, dickhead!” the man growled as he kicked Pete brutally in the head. Everything went black.
Pete opened his eyes to find himself back on the couch again. It seemed that a fainting couch was appropriate to the task. Sigmund was gazing at him from behind the desk, his fingers steepled under his chin.
“Interesting,” was all he said.
Pete sat up in a panic and felt his head, expecting to feel blood and a broken skull, but found only his undamaged scalp. He worked his jaw back and forth, but there was no damage or pain.
“Oh crap!” he blurted. ”Please tell me they aren’t all going to be like that. That hurt... a lot! I didn't realize that the pain would be so real.”
“No, Mr. Briggs, that was one of the more intense ones. As for the pain, it is a necessity. Without it, players would feel free to do anything at whim, without hesitation, and the feeling of reality in the immersion would be lost. There must be consequences for our actions, nein? In game, pain will be limited to a smaller percentage of actual.
“But tell me, whom did you believe?” Sigmund leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers across his chest.
“I’m honestly not sure,” Pete mused, absently rubbing at his head again. ”I have no doubt the two attackers believed what they thought they saw, but the guy getting his ribs caved in seemed pretty sincere too. It would have helped if the girl could have talked.”
“Undoubtedly, but often we must make snap decisions based on very little information.” Sigmund spread his hands out, palms up, raising first one, and then the other. ”Sometimes we are correct, sometimes we are not. You chose to offer to let another party — the police in this case — make the decision. In that event, a rapist, if the man on the ground was one, would have been caught, and if he was not the rapist, the murder of an innocent man would have been prevented. Do you believe in law or justice, Mr. Briggs?”
Pete quirked an eyebrow at the man. “Do you mean law and justice?”
“No, Mr. Briggs, law or justice. When someone is prosecuted for a crime, is the sentence that is given just? A man convicted of killing another man might serve only a few years of time in prison. Meanwhile, the victim’s family is deprived of his presence forever. Was justice served? The law was upheld, ja, but what about justice?” Sigmund asked.
Pete slowly blew out a mouthful of air as he considered the question. “That’s a hard call. I guess a lot depends on the circumstances. If it was out and out murder, then no, I don’t think justice was served. If it was an accident, then I would say yes, it was,” he answered.
“Interesting,” Sigmund said again. ”Well, Mr. Briggs, shall we continue?”
Pete grimaced and rubbed at his unbroken jaw. ”Um, sure… ?”
It seemed like interminable hours had passed, but the testing finally came to a conclusion.
“Well, that was quite enlightening, Mr. Briggs. As a reward for being so helpful, you will receive a little bonus during your character generation.” Sigmund stood and held his hand out to shake. As Pete took it, Sigmund enfolded Pete’s hand in both of his own and looked earnestly into his eyes. ”You will be faced with some very interesting choices in Otherverse, Mr. Briggs. Follow your instincts. I believe they will guide you well.”
As Sigmund turned to leave, Pete blurted one last question. “Are you an AI?”
Freud looked over his shoulder and smiled, ”You tell me, Mr. Briggs, you tell me.” Then he let himself out the door, and the room faded from view.