Mary sighed and held back a tear as the many accomplishments of her grandfather were repeated by the priest. He had been just sixty-five, hardly an old man, but the cancer had finally taken its toll. A tragic waste, really, because the nanomachines that could interface with, and be controlled by, any medical database via the Mind-Plug had been available for months now, and searching out and destroying cancers was one of the main reasons they were invented. But Carl Williams was always a very stubborn man, wanting "nothing crawling around in MY body!"
One life ends as another begins, she thought, with a reassuring pat to her bulging stomach, and you will never have to suffer what my Grampa did, my darling. I promise you that.
She turned around then, turning her back on the past, and looking forward to the future, as she had always done.
* * *
"Are you CRAZY?" Joseph shouted. "This kind of thing has never been done before!"
"I know that, honey, but someone has to be the first. Besides, this is my baby too, you know," Mary quietly replied.
"Are you talking about the Mind-Plug, or our son?" Joe spat back, meanly. He had always been the Angry Young Man, quick to anger, quick to forgive. And he loved his family more than anything.
"Both, Joseph, both. Our son needs to have every advantage we can give him. I know that my Mind-Plug interface can give him a head start into life. Be reasonable Joe. You and I designed and built the thing. You wear one yourself! You know that it can be inserted into Lyle without any danger to him. Why are you so dead set against it?"
"I don't know Mary," sighed Joseph, calming as he usually did under the effects of Mary's logic. "I just don't want anything to happen to our son. I ... " he paused. "I love him. And you. I couldn't bear to lose either one of you."
"I know, my love, and that's why I want to do this. I want my son to be the healthiest and the happiest he can be. And this is the only way I can guarantee that." Mary sighed, thinking again of her Grandfather. I miss you, Grampa.
They embraced, and Joe's pessimistic final statement was almost lost, "Nothing can guarantee happiness, Mary."
* * *
The papers had a field day. "FIRST BABY BORN WITH MIND-PLUG", "DESIGNERS OF HIGH-TECH COMPUTER INTERFACE INSTALL ONE IN THEIR OWN CHILD", "'I JUST WANT HIM TO HAVE EVERY ADVANTAGE' SAYS MOM." The actual operation went with out a hitch. In the fourth month a small incision was made in Mary's uterus and a very tiny device, about the size of a dime, was inserted. Then, operating on built in instructions, the miniature computer found it's way to the still developing brain of the infant and began to link itself into the neural pathways. Other microscopic robots were assuring the baby's still immature immune system that everything was okay.
"In a way," said the doctor, after the wound was stitched up, and all they could do was watch, "It'll be easier for him to adjust to his mind plug. No immune reaction, no interface confusion, or any of that. As far as he will be concerned, the mind plug is as much a part of him as his arm, or eyes. I wonder how that will affect his life?" No one had any ready answers to that.
Mary was up, and ready to return home within a few hours.
* * *
"Mommy, mommy, I'm scared!" screamed Lyle, tearing into the kitchen.
"What is it, dear?" replied Mary, knowing that this outburst wasn't true fear, just another one of childhood's many short-term all-important emergencies.
"Jeffy said that her mother said that everyone thinks I'm a freak!" Lyle said, bursting into tears. "I'm not a freak, am I mommy?"
"No of course not, dear," Mary said calmly, but with fire in her eyes.
"I knew he was lying!" Lyle stated, with the quick confidence of the very young. "Mommy, what's a freak?"
"Well, dear, it's what not very nice people call someone who is different. It's very mean, and never true. Some people cannot understand someone who is different, and so they call them names. Don't worry, love. Names don't mean anything, and they can never hurt you." God, was she spouting the same platitudes her mother used to thrive on, so many years ago? But, Lyle seemed to calm down, and nodded, very solemnly.
"I understand, mommy," he said, and then his eyes glazed over for a moment. "Jonny says that freak means 'A person, thing or occurrence that is abnormal or unusual'." Lyle never thought of the computer link as that, a computer link, but rather referred to it as "Jonny" his invisible friend that spoke to him alone, and answered his questions if he asked them right.
"Well, Jonny is right, as far as that goes. But remember, Jonny is just a computer, not a real person. Sometimes he only tells you what you ask, and not what other people think." Mary tried very hard to temper her son's growing use of his implant, and the advantages it gave him, with reminders that his implant did not make him better than other kids, just lucky. It was difficult sometimes, and when he started school next year, it was going to be very difficult. Fortunately, the computer uplink was only programmed as a reference tool at this point, with special age and knowledge filters installed so that he couldn't cheat on any of his work, but it was still difficult to imagine what a boy with a dictionary, encyclopedia, and complete library in his head was going to run into.
"I'm going back outside to play now mommy," Lyle stated, as he gave Mary a hug, and then skipped back into the street.
Oh sweet one, Mary thought, I'll never regret what I've done, but I wonder if I was right letting you have access to the reference files so soon. At least we've blocked off the games and simulations for now. Wouldn't do to have her son spending all his time in a virtual world where everything molded itself to a young child's slightest whim. Better that he learn to play and get along with other children. That will stand him in better stead in the tough world of school. Everything is more difficult now, she mused, I just hope this is enough to give him a good life.
* * *
Lyle was sitting in his room, studying for a report he had to give in front of his class. Joe smiled to himself as he stood in the doorway, watching his son. So studious for such a small child, he thought. Just barely eight, and he takes all his assignments so seriously. His report was on those creatures that still fired the imaginations of young kids everywhere, dinosaurs. He sat with a pencil in hand, writing down information and then pausing for a few minutes, as if in contemplation. Having lived with his son for eight years now, and also due to personal experience, Joe knew that his son was looking up some pertinent information from the virtual encyclopedia. But, he didn't have the glazed look that usually accompanied interfacing with the system. No, what usually was a dead give away that an adult was using their interface, Lyle had outgrown at seven. Everything comes so naturally to him. I don't regret that choice Mary made, because I made it too, Joe rationalized, and the fact that his nano-interface fended off that bout of mumps last summer makes me very happy we did it, but I still think that implantation at birth was too soon. The boy doesn't know what life is like without the plug. How can he adjust to normal life? Of course, what was normal was soon about to change. The Thompson family had once more been in the spotlight after the birth of their son, and the press still came around to check on their son, but the lack of any negative indications on Lyle's part had given the world a tacit go ahead. Joe remembered reading where three mothers in England had their children implanted three years ago, and it had been only a matter of time before others followed. Oh what a brave new world we have created, he thought. Remembering vaguely something read in his youth.
"Aldous Huxley," his son piped up, not even looking up from his page.
"What," said his father, unaware that he had spoken out loud.
"You misquoted Huxley just then, dad. I looked it up." Lyle stopped writing, and looked up at his father.
"Uh, yeah. Thanks, son." How could he do that? Joe had helped invent the plug, and had been wearing one for the last ten years, but he still couldn't access two books at once, and certainly not while writing something down. Once again, his son's offhand handling of what was, to him, an impossible task, had taken Joe by surprise. Probably better get used to it, he thought. I'm sure my son will be surprising us all the time now.
"Come on, Rugrat. Time to wash up for dinner."
"Okay, dad."
* * *
Lyle sat in the back of the classroom, as usual only half listening to the lecture being given in Mr. Hayle's Modern Government class. He had the auditory receiver in his 'Plug set to record, and would go over the lecture again later. What was taking all his attention was the latest version of Virtual Dungeons and Dragons that he had running in background visual mode. Not as much fun as much fun as playing in Full Sim mode, but getting caught "in sim", as they called it, was a sure fire way to get detention. Supposedly no one was should be able to use a 'plug in school, but Lyle had cracked that ICE last year.
In fact, it was only because he was basically an honest kid, and enjoyed the challenge school work gave him, that he didn't just fix his grades in the computer and goof off all the time. But, even the most honest kid could get bored by school, especially in Mr. Hayle's class. Just then his mind link beeped. {Match found} a voice inside his head intoned. The automatic filter program then played back the last few seconds of conversation, having been triggered by the key word "Thompson".
{"... can be assured that the fall of oppressive regimes is inevitable, being most recently displayed by the ... Mr Thompson?"}
Trying to catch him off guard again. Well, he had failed again.
"Probably the most obvious would be the breakdown of the government in China, but with the recent uprisings and the person who is calling himself the 'reincarnation of Emperor Ming', I wonder if it's really going to last." There. Informed enough to show I was paying attention, but just enough extra information to show him that I really don't need this class. Lyle didn't intend to antagonize his teacher, but sometimes Mr. Hayle's domineering manner and autocratic style made Lyle wonder if the class shouldn't stage a revolution.
"Very well rehearsed, Mr. Thompson. Now, since that was such an 'obvious example' as you so eloquently put it, can you perhaps give us a not so obvious example?"
Lyle paused the game and looked his teacher straight in the eye. "I think the fall of the Berlin wall in Germany is probably a very excellent example. After some time of readjustment, the group known as the 'Skinheads' came in to power, engendering what has been termed by some to be the Third World War, although hardly the whole world participated. But, their 'Fourth Reich' was short lived, and again there seems to be peace in this troubled country." Lyle sometimes worried that he may go too far with one of his lectures, but Hayle rubbed something in him the wrong way.
"Very opinionated, Mr. Thompson, but also correct, as far as it goes. Now class, if we could move on to a further discussion of Mr. Thompson's 'obvious example' we can see that ..." Lyle tuned him out, and once again entered the world of Dargo, the fabled wizard.
* * *
Lyle closed his eyes and accessed the Internet Up-Link. As he went "Full Sim" and called up his node form, a gleaming silver man-shape with sharply pointed wings sprouting from the middle of his back, he thought about how long it had been since he had accessed the 'Net.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the link, or that he thought he was better than his friends in the Birther conference, it was just that he was already twenty-two and the oldest of the others were only sixteen. Although his age and status as the first of the ones born with a Mind Plug made him almost worshipped by the other Birthers, he still wanted the company of people his own age sometimes. The adoration of the others used to be all he needed in the way of companionship, but for some reason he found them unusually shallow lately, only concerned with what was happening in their virtual worlds, and rarely, if ever, talking about the real world. In fact, Lyle was one of the few who even referred to it as "the real world", most of the others simply opting for "Out There."
As he flew along the path into the main flow of the data stream, he wondered what the others had been up to since his last log-on. It had been nearly two months since the last time, and in a virtual world things could radically alter in two months time.
Sure enough, when Lyle came to the access path that lead to the Conference, there was a brand new watchdog program, along with some very thick ICE completely blocking the input. Although, as one of the charter members of the Conference, Lyle could use his override code, that wouldn't be sporting. All of the birthers were naturally great hackers, and they would expect him to break in. Besides, it was more fun that way, too.
Lyle paused and took a close look at the Dog. It sniffed at him, looking for the distinctive "scent" of the newest code. Appearing about three feet long, it's coppery, cylindrical body quivered with what seemed to be anticipation at the prospect of off-lining an intruder. Walter's work, thought Lyle. Always eager for the kill. But, Walter sometimes made critical mistakes.
Pulling up a menu with his left hand, Lyle made a complete body copy of himself, but left it in a memory buffer. Then, he set a simple program in the copy which would attempt a simple incorrect code access, and then run when the Dog pursued. Any protector with any intelligence would not be fooled into such an obvious trick, but Walter liked to build his programs with mindless efficiency, and the dog would chase mindlessly what it thought was the culprit. Then, Lyle made a copy of a section of the empty data line, and placed the body copy within it. The copy was now not visible at all. A simple swap later, and the Dog was watching his Doppelganger intently. Lyle activated the Doppel, and watched in amusement as the Dog checked its scent, and then chased it after its failed access attempt.
Lyle knew that he only had about 20 Microseconds before the copy was off-lined and the Dog returned to its post. But, that should be plenty of time to crack any ICE.
Now, a simple JackHammer could crack it eventually, but that took way too long, and besides, any competent programmer would have built in safeguards against the noise something like that made. Even Walter would have thought of that, but this didn't look like anything Walter had done. He didn't like protective walls anyway, preferring autonomous constructs. No, this was the work of someone new, someone whom Lyle hadn't run into before.
He approached the wall and attempted a simple data sample. It resisted his attempts, sending off two alarms because of his meddling; the last of which he was barely able to intercept. Whoever was behind this was VERY good. His test didn't reveal the access code, but it did show that this was a BRICk wall, Basic Relational Identity Controller, which used many different features of the entering Runner to control access.
Well, well, let's see how smart it is. Working again from his construction menu, he put together a much more complicated Automaton. From the memory files he pulled the individual traits from a number of the others in the Group. Walter's head, Allison's torso, Brian's arms, Richie's abdomen and legs, as well as assorted parts from a couple of the others, to make a truly Rag-Man looking thing. Making a complete body copy of someone else was not only considered the height of rudeness, but it was also illegal, being the Virtual equivalent of Felonious Impersonation. But, no one said you couldn't use pieces of them, in fact, a number of Runners made composites of people who's bodies they admired.
Placing the Construct over his own "true" form, he approached the wall. If he was correct, the wall would check all of his individual components, and find that they were all OK, and thus, let him in. Approaching slowly, the first layer seemed to check his legs, and softened to let him pass. The same with the next layer, his head, and the next, his body. After about six layers of this, he broke through. Removing his "disguise," he entered the room.
The Conference room was large, seeming to take up about 3000 square meters, with most of the space used by Virtual Constructs of many and varied form. Just like a group of kids to leave their toys out after they were done playing. The walls and ceiling appeared constructed of solid gold, a overly pretentious gesture as far as Lyle was concerned, but Richie was very concerned about appearances.
"Lyle, you made it! I told you guys, you can't keep out the master! How did you do it, man? Feydra said her new wall was impenetrable," Brain enthused. He was the worst of Lyle's groupies, believing him capable of doing no wrong.
"It was," came a new voice. A small female shape of many shifting, shimmering colors floated over from the area where the others were grouped. "At least, it should have been."
"Lyle Thompson, meet Feydra Pierce."
"Hi there, Feydra." Such a lovely voice, thought Lyle. Of course, it could be completely virtual too, but Lyle had a knack for telling the difference, and this seemed to be the real thing.
"How did you get past my defence?" demanded Feydra. "It should have been impenetrable by anything less than a Jackhammer, which would have set off about a dozen alarms in here. There should have been no possible way you could have defeated my BRICk." She seemed almost angry, as if his penetration had been a personal assault on her. But, he noted with pleasure, she didn't once think to accuse him of impersonation. Either she is innocent, and would never think that of someone, or recognized him as a fellow hacker, and knew that he respected the rules of the game.
"And a good day to you too. Is she always so direct, or is it just something about me?" Lyle asked Walter, who had come up with the rest of the group to greet the newest arrival.
"She is what you might call, ... direct," Walter replied. "Another birther who just recently joined the ranks of the few, the proud, the Gangrenes." Another of Walter's attempts at humor, which, also as usual, failed miserably.
"You still haven't answered me. How did you crack my ICE?"
"Well, the thing you have to remember about BRICks is that they have to be put together with mortar. And, where there's mortar, there's cracks. And, where there's cracks..." Lyle was teasing her, and she knew it. So, to end the suspense, he pulled his Rag-Man out of the buffer into which he had put it.
"Although I wasn't going to impersonate any of you, not because of any 'unwritten law' but just because I couldn't stand being mistaken for any of you ugly putzes." This elicited a laugh from most, a glare from a few, but nothing from Feydra. She was simply waiting patiently for him to get on with it, clearly only interested in his break-in.
"So anyway, I took all of the best bits from each of you and tried to put together the stupidest looking construct possible. And, I think I succeeded. But, the beauty of this dude is that each of his parts are a perfect match to each of you. So, although the wall wouldn't recognize me, it only checks individual parts. It checked for a match on the legs, and found it, ditto for the arms, torso, etc. Thus, I slipped in through the cracks in the wall. For, as I've often said, any wall that lets someone through, will let anyone through if they're determined enough." Lyle had slipped back into lecture mode, a problem that had seemed to follow him throughout his entire life. But, the others just stared in rapt attention, except for Feydra, who looked confused at first, then upset, and finally laughing at the tone he was taking with the others, as if they were little children.
"So, basically what you are saying," Feydra began, with a smile on her computer generated face, "is that some of the parts were greater than the whole."
Lyle burst into laughter, while the others desperately accessed their links to look up the joke.
It wasn't love at first sight, but it was love at first pun.
* * *
Again the tabloids were working overtime. "VIRTUAL WEDDING: FIRST OF IT'S KIND," "THE BRIDE AND GROOM HAVE NEVER SEEN EACH OTHER," "LOVE AT FIRST BYTE: THE FIRST COMPLETELY COMPUTERIZED NUPTIALS"
Lyle sat in his easy chair in his apartment, looking at the grey, drab walls, and the simple furniture. He clicked the 'sim on, the one with the Taj Mahal motif, and noted the contrasts. Then, he shut it off. Lyle had always preferred the simple truth of reality over the alluring fantasy of virtual reality. And yet, here he was, about to take the single most important step in his twenty-six year old life, and he was doing it completely in a virtual world. Not that he believed Feydra to be just a fantasy, far from it. It was just that she seemed to prefer life in the net, while he liked to spend a good portion of his time experiencing the world.
Of course, since he had met, and fallen in love with, Feydra, he spent most of his waking hours logged on to the net, and didn't see much of the world as he would like. Add to that the fact that his job as head of programming for Microsoft Interplanetary required him to keep up with the various teams of programmers all over the system, most of whom were also birthers, and he seemed to spend all of his time logged into the machine. But he did get out enough to keep up his regular exercise program. He wasn't going to let his body slide just because he spent most of his time out of it.
So here he sat, basically biding his time, waiting for the timer to go off telling him that it was time for the wedding. A virtual wedding. Lyle didn't really like the sound of that; made it seem like they were just playing at getting married, not actually doing the deed. But, Feydra had practically begged him; said it would be 'Just what she always wanted.' It was to be the biggest wedding in recorded history, the biggest ever. Thanks to the wonderful magic of virtual reality, anyone with a mind plug was invited, and everyone could have a front row seat. There was a planned attendance of almost six million, with another four to five million expected. There was no catering problems, because the reception was going to be a small gathering of family and close friends in Brooklyn where Feydra lived. Right after the ceremony, Lyle was going to fly out, and actually meet Feydra face to face.
That was what Lyle was really looking forward to. He loved Feydra very much, as much as he thought any man could love a woman, but they had never actually seen each other. Oh, they each knew what the other looked like; trading pictures and images was a simple thing in the net. But they never had actually come face to face. It seemed they had always been planning a get together, but something always came up, and since he "saw" her every evening anyway, it had never seemed very urgent. But now, on the eve of his wedding day, he wished he had actually touched her, at least once.
BEEP. {Lyle, you have to get going,} intoned the appointment scheduler. Lyle shook off his melancholy, and readied himself for link up. No need to get morose, he thought, in just a couple more hours Feydra and I will be together, forever.
* * *
"TRAGEDY STRIKES CYBER-COUPLE!"
"AP Denver - The now famous couple Lyle and Feydra Thompson suffered a tragic blow today. Lyle Thompson was killed in a plane crash while flying to meet his new bride. The two were married in an amazing ceremony yesterday that was a first in many ways. Everyone was invited to the virtual wedding, and the couple had actually never met in the flesh. Lyle was flying from his home in Bellingham, Washington to meet his new bride for the first time. The plane malfunctioned for an unknown reason over the Colorado Rocky Mountains. The investigation has not yet revealed anything, said Lt. Yurick of the Federal Aviation Administration.
A small ceremony will be held in Lyle's home town."
* * *
"... not so much in what he had done, but who he was," a sonorous voice intoned.
Lyle started, realizing that he had been screaming. But, no one around seemed to notice, and he shut up quickly. What's going on here? Lyle wondered. The last thing I remember is flying to meet Feydra, and being nervous like a schoolboy on his first date, and then a bunch of screaming, and ... Lyle cut off that train of thought quickly, shaking. He couldn't tell where he was, and everything seemed washed out, almost as if the color on an old movie had faded. He rubbed his eyes and tried to get his location from the satellite.
That's strange, he thought. The locator can't seem to find the tracer that I had implanted last year. Well, no problem, I'll just look for this building. He stepped out to the lobby and found a sign reading "St. Martin's Church." Accessing the database, he found 9,356 churches with that name in the country, so he narrowed the search further. Glancing outside, he saw that the building sat on the corner of Fifth street and Rose avenue. Adding this narrowed the choices to about 25. Looking closer at the outside, he noticed that the church was across the street from a place known as "Bob's Quik Mart." With this piece of information, there were only... two choices.
Lyle laughed to himself. What were the odds that two churches with the same name would both be across from a quick mart?
{Two to the power of twenty five thousand to one against,} came the ubiquitous voice. Gotta stop doing that, thought Lyle.
One of the churches was located just outside of Brooklyn, the other in a small town named Odessa somewhere in Iowa. A longer look outside at the many buildings confirmed his earlier suspicion. He was not in Iowa.
He wandered back into the room, where the man who was obviously a priest continued his oration. Looking around, Lyle noticed that everyone was in black, and that he thought he heard him Mother's muffled crying. Then his eyes caught on the casket in the front of the room. He was at a funeral! Then, all the facts came crashing together in his head. Funeral, Brooklyn, Mom crying. OH MY GOD...
"FEYDRA!!"
He screamed and ran to where the coffin lay, not noticing that no one had reacted to his outburst. As he approached the infernal box, he hesitated, fearing the worst. But, steeling himself, he looked inside.
There was a terrible rushing sound in his ears, and he fell back, more frightened than he had ever been. The body in the casket was wearing HIS FACE!
Just then, the priest asked if anyone had anything to say, and a familiar voice haltingly uttered, "I do," and then began crying as she moved up onto the podium.
Lyle was still in shock from the unbelievable sight he had just witnessed, and didn't hear what the figure had to say, until these words came ringing in his ears like the sudden blast of a fire siren, even though they weren't much louder than a whisper: "I never thought that on our honeymoon I would be attending his funeral." Then, she gave way to tears completely, and a person who Lyle now recognized as his mother-in-law came up and helped her only daughter back to her seat. Lyle ran from the room, unable to speak or do anything but run in utter terror.
* * *
After running for what seemed like hours, Lyle stopped at a park bench and merely sat and shook. Another hour of this, and he began to regain some sense of reality. Of course, at this point, he wasn't;t exactly sure what reality meant.
He sat quietly, ignoring the many people who moved around him in the pallor that seemed to hang over everything. No one noticed the odd looking fellow sitting on the bench, but Lyle was starting to fear that this might be normal.
To take his mind off of what he just thought he saw, he reviewed what he knew happened. I know I left from home on a shuttle flight to Sea-Tac International Airport, and from there caught a connecting flight to LAX. The extra cost want important, but getting to see Feydra was, and waiting for an east-bound flight from Sea-Tac seemed to be too long. Out of LAX, I tried to relax, as I knew every moment was bringing me closer to Feydra. But, I failed in that, along with my attempt to play Space Warriors. So, I merely sat and fidgeted. Then, while flying over the Colorado Rockies, I noticed that the plane seemed to be a bit shaky, but didn't worry because I knew there were sometimes some turbulence above the mountains. And then, a horrible wrenching sound, and screaming, and the plane falling and, ... and, ... Lyle stopped exploring that train of thought. Everything seemed to turn bright white, and looking too far that way seemed almost to hurt. Lyle instead thought about after his "awakening."
After I awoke, I wasn't sure where I was, but I checked and realized I was in Brooklyn. When I realized I was at a funeral, I though that it might have been Feydra, and that my grief had somehow disoriented me. But then, I saw ... Come on, have to face it, that WAS me in that casket. So, I must be dead. Strangely, Lyle found this easier to accept and face than that time when he must presumably have died.
Lyle checked the World Database for any factual accounts of life after death, but found only myths, supposition, and the ravings of sincere but clearly disturbed people. But he did find out some interesting things. Supposedly the dead remained on Earth instead of passing into "another plane" if they had unfinished business, or some great wrong had been done them. Well, that certainly fits me, thought Lyle. I don't think my business with Feydra was anywhere near finished. Also, the dead, or ghosts, were able to chill people to the bone, and move objects, and all sorts of other mystical things.
Well, I don't feel like a ghost. But, perhaps I could experiment.
Looking at the passing crowds, Lyle saw that it most have been nearing lunchtime, for so many people to be out on the street. Gathering his courage, he stepped out into the crowds.
"STOP!" he bellowed at one fellow who was obviously in a hurry. The man continued on by without even looking up.
"HEY! HEY!" Lyle tried again, this time to a small, distracted looking woman in a severe jump-suit. She didn't so much as twitch, just continued on, lost in thought about some high-powered corporate deal.
"AAARRRRGGHHHH!" he screamed at another man, standing right in front of him. The man didn't even stop, but simply walked through Lyle.
Lyle shuddered terribly, and quickly move out of the way of the crowd. The experience was quite indescribable, but could be compared to having every bit of your body passed through a sieve. But, it wasn't exactly painful, just very, very peculiar, and unnerving.
Lyle sat down again on the bench, and wondered about that. I, or rather he, passed straight through me, without even noticing. But, if people simply pass straight through me, then how come I can sit on this... abruptly, without a sound, he was sitting on the ground, the seat of the bench around his chest.
"Ugh!" he said, standing up and quickly moving to the side. As soon as I though of it, the bench was no longer solid. But then why can I even stand on the... He cut himself off. Although he didn't think he would sink thought the Earth, he figured he'd better not tempt fate.
I can't react or get any living person to respond, but some of the stories say that those who were especially close to the dead are more attuned to them, and might be able to perceive them. Well, I really want to talk to Feydra, to tell her I'm okay, so I guess I'd better start.
Taking stock of where he was, he again tried, without success, to find his transponder. Giving up, he looked around, plotted the best course back to the Church, and then stopped, in wonder.
I checked the location of the Church at about 9:00 am. And it's now about 12:15 pm. But I'm over 50 miles from where the church is. How is that possible? That would mean that I had been running at about 25 miles an hour for about two hours, considering the hour long "rest" I took. But, the best marathon runner in the world takes about 2 hours to run 26.2 miles, and I'm not, or at least wasn't, a marathon runner. And, even if I had run that fast, that far, I should be dead tired. Lyle smiled at his own morbid joke. But, I'm not even breathing hard. In fact, I'm not breathing at all! He suffered a nasty turn at that, his lungs involuntarily gasping for air when he realized that he wasn't feeling any ill effects. Other than being dead he thought ruefully.
That must explain it. Because I'm dead and have no physical form, I have no body to tire out. This form must just be created entirely by my mind, which is why I couldn't talk to those people, or touch them. But then, why could I sit on the bench once, and then not another time?
Carefully lowering him self down, Lyle thought of the bench's firmness, it's solidity, it's ability to hold him up. And amazingly, it did.
Joyfully, Lyle sprang up and decided to run back to Feydra. I'm sure she's gone back home by now, but I've got her parents address in my database, I'll just plot a new route to her house. And, having said that, he did.
The run back was much more enjoyable than the run there; Lyle was exulting in a "body" that never got tired. But, then he stopped short. What good is it going to do me if I can never interact with anyone? I can't even kill myself, because I'm already here. From then on, Lyle ran just as fast, but now everything resumed its gloomy pallor.
As he approached the house, he wondered what he was going to do, to make Feydra see him. He supposed that he would just stand and concentrate on her, and his love, and she should be able to see him. Thus heartened, he strode up the stairs leading to the front door.
Since he couldn't knock, he steeled himself for what was, to put it mildly, an unpleasant experience. Approaching the door, he slid his hand slowly through, thinking all the while of how light and non-existent he was. His hand passed through without meeting any resistance, so he continued to move very slowly and noticed that the sensation was not nearly as bad when done in this manner. A strange thought occurred to Lyle at that moment, realizing the similarities this situation had to the first time he had met Feydra. Except this time the door is real, and I'm the one that's virtual.
Entering the entry way, Lyle turned left and followed the sound of sobbing. Pulling up a map of Feydra's house from a virtual tour she had given him once, he found that she was likely in the kitchen. He followed the voice, and saddened at the grief she was feeling. I have to ba able to get to her, I just have to. I don't think I could handle knowing she was in such pain.
The sobbing seemed to be getting louder to Lyle, and he wondered what was happening. Then he heard another voice, obviously Feydra's mother's.
"Dear, now you must eat something. You haven't eaten hardly anything since you heard about his death. You can't go on like this. Now, the funeral is over, and you have to go on with your life," Betty said. Although her words were meant kindly, she didn't realize how deeply they cut Feydra.
"I don't want to go on with my life, mother. It's my fault Lyle is dead!" Feydra replied between sobs. Lyle had entered the room at this point, and was watching with concern.
"What do you mean, it's your fault?" asked Feydra's mother, reflecting Lyle's thoughts.
"If I hadn't insisted on that stupid virtual wedding, we could have had a normal wedding somewhere and have been on our honeymoon now. But, instead, he had to fly out here, and, I..." she broke into tears again.
"It's not your fault!" cried Lyle. He walked over to where Feydra was sitting, and kneeled down to look right in her face. "I don't blame you, my love. It was just a freak accident. Nothing else!" But, she didn't even look up.
"FEYDRA!" he yelled, right at her. "CAN YOU HEAR ME? IT'S LYLE!" She didn't respond. Then, she looked up. And straight through him to where her mother stood. Lyle realized that Betty had continued talking.
"I don't care mother! Just leave me alone!" With that, Feydra ran out of the room, crying.
Lyle followed, all the time trying to get her attention, but failing. When she reached her room, she slammed the door through Lyle, but he was too concerned to notice. Finally, she threw herself on the bed and began to cry.
Lyle steeled himself for what was going to be a supreme effort. Focusing on her, the soft touch of her, how (he imagined) she would feel under his arm, wrapped in his protection, he reached out, and touched her arm.
And slipped through to the bed below.
Screaming, he again tried, using more mental strength than he thought he possessed.
Still, he couldn't make contact.
Panicking, afraid that he'd never be able to touch her, to feel her presence, Lyle began to bellow and grasp desperately at Feydra, but she continued to cry to herself, and, if she sensed anything unusual, she kept it to herself.
Lyle ran from the room, through the wall and continued for about five minutes in mid air, until he realized what he was doing, and plummeted to the ground.
"Why? Why can't I touch her? This is like some kind of Hell, which I can't get out of!" Lyle continued to rant and scream, and tried to scare, or startle, or contact in any way, the people on the street, but to no avail.
Finally, Lyle calmed down again.
"Since no one can hear me, it doesn't matter if I talk to myself. I have got to get a hold of myself, or I'm going to go crazy." In fact, Lyle thought he might be half mad already. To be able to see Feydra, to hear her and be near her, only not to be able to touch her, or make her know he was there, that was the worst possible punishment any God could have proscribed for Lyle. He wasn't exactly thinking straight, but he tried to gather his thoughts toward a coherent whole.
"I've been dead for," he checked his internal chronometer, "two weeks now, and although I can't remember much about it, I must have died in a plane crash. Now, although I have what seems to me to be a physical body, no one else, not even Feydra," he paused, but went on without breaking down again, "can touch, hear, or perceive me in any way. I can use material objects such as chairs, but haven't been able to manipulate any objects. Although, now that I think of it, I don't think I've even tried." Concentrating on a piece of paper that had blown into the field he was now sitting in, he tried to pick it up. Nothing.
"Although I don;t understand it, there are no other dead people around either. Am I the first? Or does everyone when they die enter their own private hell? None of the literature I've checked has had any thing to say on what seems to have happened to me. But, if this is what happens to everyone, it's no wonder. They couldn't have exactly wrote a book about it. Cannot touch, cannot feel, no way of reaching the ... outside ..." Lyle stopped.
Had he really been so blind?
It was staring him right in the face. Or rather, in the little chronometer display that was still blinking in the upper right hand corner of his field of vision. The chronometer that was linked to WWV time through his MIND-PLUG!
Lyle jumped up, then sat down again. Could it really be so simple? I thought that I was completely cut off, but no, I've never been cut off, have I? And then, because it was habit, he lay down and closed his eyes, trying to access his link-up.
Almost afraid of what he would find, he hesitantly logged in. And there he was! Reflected in the surface of his own hand! His gleaming silver body had never looked to wonderful to him, as he reached out and played in the data stream, just for the fun of it!
Then, he began his dash down the stream, looking for the familiar branch that led off into a certain terminal that he knew very well.
There it was! And there was the ICE that he knew so well! He had never been happier to see data protection in his life! This was a new version of an old BRICk program that he had once broken, what seemed like lifetimes ago. This new one checked the whole construct now, and was much harder to break, because it had been designed by TWO crack programmers.
Lyle passed through easily, being one of the first constructs this particular ICE had learned.
Lyle accessed the data terminal in the network, and fired up the screen in the upstairs bedroom. If this was Hell, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all.
He entered the alert code into the monitor, to get the attention of the person lying on the bed, crying her eyes out in grief.
He keyed a simple message into the display.
"Hi honey. I'm home."
Copyright © 2003 by Eric Wright