The inside of the shopping district wasn’t what John had expected. He was forced into a quick walk along winding paths, intersected with other paths. His eyes darted back and forth as he followed a woman who, thankfully, was significantly shorter than John so he was able to view everything easier. People were turning into the shops continuously, left and right. Similar to the streets he was used to, there were little signs at the intersections, stating which path was which and some even had four or five signs to include the ascending paths. Out of all the signs he saw, nothing came even close to resembling a restroom, or what had that fella called it? Sanitary? No sanitary signs either. Quite overwhelmed, John spotted an advertisement ahead that read simply ‘NetWorx’ and decided to dart into the shop, entering the open doorway to stand off on the side to assess everything. There was another open doorway on the other side of the business through which John could see a different flow of people passing by. The store itself was brightly lit with pink and orange neon that lined mirrored walls and there was a familiar smell here, reminding John of a cheap movie theater. Several people were inside, looking to be a few years younger than him, browsing the goods displayed on glass counter tops – an assortment of objects that John had never seen in his life.
One browser picked up a slightly curved, grey piece which bristled with tiny projections on one side, a smooth surface on the other. Slicking down the rooster comb of his hair with one hand, the browser placed the object onto his head. ‘Did people wear hats like this?’ John thought.
“Oy-oy,” said the rooster’s companion, a man of short stature wearing a bright red shirt that read Overton Heights ’37, “you’re gonna want a harness for that one, there’s no way it will stay on!”
The browser cautiously lifted his hand and the object began to slide off the side of his head. Catching it, he replied, “I do believe you are right, good sir, thank you for that kind input.”
John couldn’t place the accent that the guy spoke with, but the sarcasm was unmistakable. “Hey, mate,” Rooster addressed the proprietor. “Sell full headsets here or just these makes?”
The man behind the glass counters, appearing to be in his early 60’s, set down an opaque piece of flat plastic. “What you see is what’s stocked,” he said lazily. “Take a walk if you’re looking for full sets, they don’t get used much anymore.”
By this point, John had forgotten about his full bladder due to curiosity. He approached the counter and looked over the equipment. They were all variations of the same basic design, a curved piece, smooth on one side, bits of electronics on the other. He gestured towards one of them, “May I?” he asked the shopkeeper.
The keeper looked at John for several seconds. “Help yourself,” he finally said, then picked up the flat piece of plastic again. John noticed images and text start to crawl across the plastic as soon as the keeper had put his hands on it.
“Incredible,” he thought before picking up one of the devices, turning it over. On one edge was a logo of a sun with the words Dias Corp stamped into whatever material it was made from. John looked down the counter to the guy with the red shirt, who was now placing one of them on his own head. The thing seemed to adhere by itself and he stood stock still for a while, then took it off again. “Rez ain’t too great with this one,” he said to Rooster.
John raised the one he had up to his head, then paused, remembering the thing that Jesk had placed on him, scrambling his brain. He hoped that this wasn’t something that the people here enjoyed doing recreationally and took a breath as he pushed the object onto his skull. It seemed to come to life, gripping down on John’s head, making him not a little nervous. He was looking at an area behind the counter and a pinpoint of light appeared, rapidly growing in diameter until it took up his entire field of vision. From the whiteness, several symbols emerged, floating in space.
Just as sudden as it had happened, John’s vision became normal and he found himself holding the head piece. “What the hell is this thing?” he asked the man behind the counter in a shaky voice. The other looked at John over the top of the plastic sheet. “What, are you kidding me? Get the hell out of here if you wanna play games.”
John steeled himself and put the device on once again. As before, a spot of white swallowed everything and the symbols settled into their places. One of the symbols looked curiously like the World Wide Web icon which John was familiar with. Following this thought, the symbol glowed and a box appeared, not unlike a search function box.
“Jesus Christ,” John thought. And those exact words appeared in the box. Then the whiteness, symbols and all, folded in on itself like imploding origami, to open again with a list of references to Jesus Christ: history of, religion, etc. John assumed they were all links. This was the goddamned internet. Excited, he thought to search something else and his vision crumpled in and out again, the search box in place. ‘Google’ appeared in the box, after which a multitude of links were shown, number one being the apparent undying search engine.
John took the head piece off, amazed. “How much for this?” he asked the proprietor.
The older man frowned. “3000.”
“3000? What, dollars or cents? Rubles?”
“You’re all about funny business, ain’t you? I’m this close to throwing you out on your fucking ass,” the man said, standing up.
“No, no,” John stammered. “I’ll take it.”
“Right,” the man grabbed the handle of a large electric eye that hung on a thick cable from the ceiling. He pointed it at the left side of John’s chest for a moment, then shook it. “Damn thing.”
John remembered the small plastic square that Jesk had mentioned to buy things with. “I’m sorry, hold on,” he said and took his backpack off to retrieve his funds from one of the smaller pockets.
“Here, it’s here,” he said, holding up the flat square.
The shopkeeper looked at him, “Goddamned kids.” This time the scan went thru, a light beep sounding. The man sat down and went back to reading.
“Excuse me,” John said. “Can I get a bag for this?”
“You little wise-ass,” the old man stood up surprisingly fast, knocking over the stool he had been sitting on. Rooster and his crony stopped browsing, eagerly awaiting John’s forced eviction of the premises.
As John backed towards the door, an obnoxious buzzing sounded loudly. “They’re rolling!” Rooster screamed out of the doorway into the traffic of people. The shopkeeper grabbed a long pole from the floor behind the counter and as he ran out from behind them, John noticed the pole was topped with a hook.
Sonofabitch, John thought. He’s going to kill me with that thing. I’ve been here under an hour and I’m going to die. He shrunk back as the old man ran past him, towards the door.
People from outside were filling up the shop, packing it from wall to wall. The owner used the hooked pole to pull a makeshift door from the ceiling. It clapped down, lessening the buzzing sound by a slight degree. He then started towards the other doorway, which Rooster was already yelling from.
“Rolling! They’re rolling!” he shouted out before that door was closed as well.
John was pushed into a corner by the mass of people. This is a worse crowd than the ones waiting in line for the Spider-Man ride at Universal, he thought. The shopkeeper had pulled down the other door and waited there, head cocked, listening.
“What’s going on?” John asked the person directly in front of him, a teenage girl with jet black hair. “Who’s rolling? What does that mean?” He caught an elbow to the ribs by another girl beside him and decided to keep quiet like the rest of the group.
Five minutes dragged by, people stifling coughs, shuffling feet. The buzzer outside stopped, yet nobody moved. The shopkeeper made his way back behind his counter and pulled one of the head pieces from behind it, a much more elaborate looking one. John figured it must be his personal set. Placing the gear on his head, the old man went into the net-trance, eyes staring, mouth moving as if he were talking to himself. John glanced around to see if anyone looked like they would go about their business, but everyone stood still, watching the shopkeeper.
“Alright,” the keeper finally said as he took off his set, placing it back behind the counter. “We have the all-clear, it’s been confirmed by the Kip Fellas. Now get the hell out of here!”
There was an almost collective sigh and Rooster began pushing up one of the doors, people already streaming out of the shop. John made his way to the door, then stepped off towards Rooster.
“What was all that about?”
Rooster’s friend leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Funny guy, eh? Giving the business about netgear, now asking about upworlders? What’s your game then? On the blue, is it?”
John looked at Rooster, then at his red shirted friend, both of whom were staring back. “Honestly,” stated John. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not from around here.”
“Let’s humor this jack,” Rooster said to his friend. “Maybe he’s creating a novel or sumfin’.”
“Well olright, blueman,” the friend said to John. “If you’ve been frozen for a thousand years, here’s the dig: the upworlders have been doing some pretty nasty experiments on the human race for some time. Nobody knows exactly what, just that they don’t use their own. Why would they use their own when they can come visit us dreggers and snatch us up, ten or fifteen at a time? Poor bastards, gone and never heard from again.”
John took all this in and then remembered his brief conversation with Jesk. “Is it the Cypher Facility?”
Rooster began an exaggerated clapping, “The ‘ol boy can be taught!”
“These experiments, do they have anything to do with…” John had to think. “With the Lesser?”
Rooster’s friend frowned, “I don’t know anything about that, Sunny Jim, but enough of the talk.” He turned towards Rooster, “Let’s get down to the Bazaar Ink and see if Val’s okay.”
Rooster grunted, then followed his friend out the door. John turned back to the shopkeeper, who eyed him with contempt.
“Look,” said John. “I promise, you won’t ever see me again if you can tell me where I can find a bath- I mean, the sanitary.”
“Out the door you came in. Left. Follow ‘til you pass Pallor Peak. Next Right. Can’t miss it.”
John decided it would be wise to not wish the guy a good evening and left the shop.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He sat in an oversized Zega chair, which hummed quietly as its pumps inflated the chair slightly and deflated it again, repeatedly. It was supposed to have something to do with your well-being; circulation, mind-body-spirit, all that stuff. But he enjoyed it for the massage feeling it gave while he was in net-trance. After being hours in, he was usually inclined to feeling as if he were filled with electric emptiness, a raw, hollow thing. Mechanical even. This feeling was lessened by the Zega’s ‘purilift’.
Aside from the chair, the room was devoid of furniture and fixtures of any sort. There was no need for them, no need for light. It was his place of work and he put in more hours than not, many within a day, monitoring Interspace. Although the chair helped, he still came out feeling a tad drained afterwards. It was to be expected, for in a world where information was power, he might be a god. After all, he was an omnipotent being in a way; any new information or found knowledge that crossed into the ether of Interspace was immediately stored into his memory cache. Searches, inquiries, all were made known to his awareness. Of course there were others who strived to reach what he had attained. ‘Netters’ they were called. Catching whatever information they could to try and make a profit from it. He was really just a glorified Netter. Albeit one who had the resources and capacity to know everything.
Tonight was slow. Someone was searching for material on Lunarium for an academic paper. Can pho tai be made with a beef flank substitute? The chemical composition of liquid blue nitro? They were all common things and nothing special had been in the works for this particular shift.
He was about to switch out. Omnipotent or not, in the end he was still human and sustenance would always be an issue. Hunger and thirst were the things he couldn’t control while in trance. Years of trained practice had allowed him to do without the lap towel used by most Netters. Inside for more than an hour and you tended to go completely slack, jaw hanging and drooling on yourself. The lap towel had solved that problem and if one were so inclined, the use of absorbent diapers were employed to handle the bladder and bowel problem, another issue he had solved; Faculties remained in check. He was able to switch into and out of Interspace without removing his netgear, which he wore constantly. It was a custom piece and cost more than what some of the One World employees made in a year.
‘And the hunger bests me again,’ he thought, switching out. He started to toggle the off switch to the Zega, but then paused and switched in again. ‘Jesus Christ’. Who would be making a search on that particular matter? An iconic religious figure of the Christian faith quite some time ago. Not a book written, paper submitted or discussion uttered over Christ in the past 900 years or so. 723 years since a search was even made. Now all of a sudden the subject comes up? Not impossible by any means, but it was very unusual he thought. Very unusual indeed. He traced the search back to an old Dias Corp set in a place called ‘NetWorx’ over in New Haven. It wasn’t homemade gear because he was able to get the ID and serial. Past searches on that particular model never included anything having to do with religion. Or different slang terms, past and present. This had turned out to be an interesting night after all, his curiosity definitely piqued. He staved off the hunger a bit longer, to acquire the user’s identity and was amused to find there was nothing to identify. Whoever it was, they weren’t tagged. He reached out into NetWorx retail system – the Dias gear had just been purchased by… Alain Jesk? Head of Discovery Science at One World’s Cyper Facility in New Haven, he saw. Why would this guy be shopping in the dregs for a beat up set, but not be tagged? It was something worth getting to the bottom of and it might be worth quite a bit to the right people.