A doctor returns to the virtual reality community he left behind to say goodbye to his dying daughter. [Writers of the Future 2020q4 Honorable Mention].
“What’s up, Doc?”
It’s a joke that Sal had to explain to me once before. He loves old pop culture references, but I strongly suspect most of his out-of-date humor wasn’t that funny in its own time. It is certainly not funny now, but I still smile.
Sal is the gruff-looking proprietor of the Orbit Pawn Shop. It is musty, dirty, and so cluttered that walking straight to his counter is impossible. Sal calls it “authentic” New Jersey. We’re in San Antonio, and there hasn’t been a community resident asking about a pawn shop in decades. Sal’s love for nostalgia keeps the Orbit open, but the information trade keeps it in business.
“I heard the Administrator is looking for you,” Sal says as I let the door close behind me. I walk up to the counter, passing relics of bygone days littered all over the shop—televisions from the 1950s, game consoles from the 2000s, and virtual reality terminals from the 2040s. He certainly has a fondness for the old electronics.
“He can wait,” I reply. I left the facility without clearing it with the one man who controls everything Inside. I can’t think about the Administrator right now. “I don’t have time to deal with him.”
Sal smiles and glances at me. I can’t tell if it’s out of pity or genuine concern. I don’t push him. I just wait for him to secure a datalink while we stand motionless across the counter from each other. His body is nearly rigid as his mind goes to work establishing a direct connection to the servers. Only the rapid motion of his eyes behind his closed lids reveals his nervousness about bypassing the Administrator’s standard protocols.
“Then we better get you on your way,” he says. “What do you have for me?”
“An update on the Outside.” I blink unconsciously as I mentally transmit the files. I felt the tingle of Sal’s connection in my head, but I’m not as natural as him or anybody else who lives Inside. I must concentrate each time I need to exchange data, which always gives me a headache. “Nothing changes out there, Sal. I don’t know how you manage to monetize any of this.”
I still have no clue why people would spend so much money to be Inside only to pay more to see what they left behind. I stopped analyzing motives years ago. Drone images, news streams, and feed updates from outside the community give me enough to barter with when I am Inside, and Sal is one of the more reputable brokers. I’ve been going to Sal exclusively since I left the Inside.
“Information is power, Doc. I’ve got clients that pay top credit for your updates. They can’t get enough of how bad it is. I think it makes them feel better. Maybe they get off on other people’s suffering. I don’t know, and I don’t care. It ain’t illegal—”
“But it is controlled,” I interrupt.
“It ain’t illegal, so the way I see it, you’re doing us a service by providing this ‘controlled’ data.” He smiles after effortlessly acknowledging the file transfer with a casual blink of his eyes that looks more playful than transactional. The buzz in my brain disappears, but not the headache. “How can I repay the favor?”
“I heard Phillipa upgraded her security after my last visit. I need to bypass it.”
He gets to work immediately. He stands paralyzed for a few uncomfortable seconds as his mind phases out. With nothing controlling his body, he stands as a lifeless marionette.
It gives me an uncomfortable moment to remember my arguments with Phillipa. The fighting initially started with simple disagreements about how to address our daughter’s condition. The yelling escalated through the years as we found different ways to cope with something neither of us thought possible Inside. She will do anything to avoid reminders of our daughter’s condition, and I am obsessed with it.
“Dude,” he says when he returns with wide eyes of disbelief. He stifles a chuckle out of respect for me but can’t hide the surprise of seeing what she has done to keep me away. “Your wife doesn’t want you to come home at all. What happened?”
She didn’t trust that I would stay away, I thought to myself.
“I just want to talk to my daughter.” I’ve never explained my home life to Sal; he never pressed. That may be one of the reasons I like Sal.
“No worries.” His expression changes quickly. His furrowed eyebrows reveal a genuine concern that touches me more than I thought it would. “She used her contacts as the doctor’s wife to upgrade your home with a Sentinel home security system. That’s a little too advanced for me, and no offense, but you ain’t worth the attention it’ll bring me even to try. You want me to reach out to a few contacts that might be able to help you deactivate it?”
“Please.” I try not to sound sarcastic. I remind myself that he is doing me a favor.
“Give me a few, and I’ll send you a private message with a name. I just need to see if he is interested.”
“Thank you.” I turn around and head for the door. “You’re a good guy, Sal.” I raise a hand to show appreciation as I walk to the front door.
“Welcome back to the Real World,” he shouts as I open the door. The bell above the door jingles annoyingly—one more touch of authenticity.
“It won’t be for long, buddy. I’ve come to hate this place,” I reply as the door closes. It was too bright outside the shop, so I put on some sunglasses and started walking towards our home, which was now heavily fortified and designed to keep me out.
The walk along the city’s sidewalk does me some good. My trips back Inside are brief and focused, and I only now realize that I haven’t taken time to appreciate the beauty in so long. Everything is so colorful. The sun shines brightly in a near-cloudless sky with a perfect spring temperature.
Each community looks different in terms of design, aesthetics, and Administrator.
This is the only community that I’ve ever known. Reminiscent of a Texas downtown shopping district, it is beautifully rendered based on old photos of the 1950s. I do not see a lot of people on the streets. Those visible are casually milling around shopping or strolling with loved ones. They all appear like they belong, but I realize it is a trick of Viz-A-Real, the augmented reality that comes standard for every resident. It is hard to imagine that I forget that significant detail when I am Inside. Clothes, cars, buildings, and landscapes are shown to me with the precise period realism of the historians’ textbooks and the Administrator’s memory.
Thanks to the Viz-A-Real enhancements, visible anachronisms are not tolerated and are impossible to see. It does not feel like 2189 and doesn’t look like the world outside. I stop momentarily to feel the sun warm my body and hear the birds chirping.
After I graduated from medical school, I found the artificial surroundings pleasant enough to visit regularly. That changed when I met Phillipa. Everything she believed and did was with such intense ferocity that I couldn’t help but be drawn deeper into her world. She was completely immersed in everything that the Inside had to offer, so there was never a question about where we were going to live when we got married. I loved it all because she loved it all.
The solitude is short-lived. I receive Sal’s private message as I reach the town’s central park, only six blocks from the pawn shop. It was a lot quicker than I anticipated. I have to stop to read the message. I hear a distinctive ring of an internal message only audible to me, followed by a small mail icon flashing in the upper left of my field of vision. I find walking and reading the augmented reality display disorienting. It is part of the Viz-A-Real package that uses eye motion and mental keywords to activate and control all the possible functions. I can’t read the messages, manipulate the control screens, and walk simultaneously. I can’t even mentally trigger the keywords without moving my lips. I wish we still had headsets with straightforward controls on the sides. Yet another sign that I’ve been away too long.
Sal’s message is short: TY 4 stopping by. Nice 2 cu again. Look for Shark. TTYL.
I did a quick internal scan through the web and learned all I needed to know about Shark. He is one of the undesirables who burrowed their way Inside. They don’t have the skills that society needs, but they fill a necessary role.
The Architects set up the gated communities with exclusive membership. Money was a primary requirement, but they didn’t want the wealthy warlords and gang bosses setting up shop in their utopia. They created rules to keep out the undesirables. Unfortunately, they discovered that people’s darker desires were not as easily repressed as the idealist creators had hoped, nor did they anticipate the entrepreneurial spirit of the criminal class. It proved impossible to cut out vice, so the Architects reluctantly set up walled districts within the gated communities where anything goes.
I look at the town park with its lush green grass. I remember my first date with Phillipa here. We had a picnic on a blanket with a community band playing family favorite songs from the gazebo that sits in the park’s center. I smile as I recall our daughter’s laughter and giggles when I chased her around that gazebo years later, and I feel a tear fall when I picture Brook’s face lighting up the first time she found a ladybug here.
Locations and memories are tied so tightly together that it is impossible to separate the two, so I silently say goodbye. I will not return Inside after talking to Brook, but I will miss this park. I will also miss the birds chirping.
I stare at the entrance of a large building with an Art Deco design. Going directly into any of the walled districts by transport is impossible. You have to go through a controlled gateway like this building. It is one of the many rules of the walled district. The gateway to these unrestricted zones must look unassuming and part of the natural landscape of the gated community in which it resides. The only hint of what might lie inside is an engraved sign above the big revolving door that reads “The Playground.”
I walk into the door, but it will not rotate. A red-hued legal consent form completely obscures my Viz-A-Real augmented reality display. I can’t see anything except the text: The Playground is restricted to persons at least 18 years old. By signing the consent form provided, you acknowledge that you are at least 18 years old; understand that you are entering a restricted zone that allows gambling, sexual deviancy, drug use, and violence; and that [The Community or The Playground] is not liable for any damage(s) (physical or otherwise) sustained for the duration of your visit.
I sign the consent form with a blink of my eye and a vocal “I consent.” The Playground door unlocks, allowing me to enter a completely different world.
It is much bigger than it appears from the outside. It has become a city within a city, which appears to go on forever. Its permanent night sky always looks overcast, yet the entire place is brightly lit by endless neon lights and giant holographic advertisements.
Commerce rules the Playground. Just about anything you want can be found and bought here, and it is all easy to find.
I head straight for Shark’s club through the crowded streets. When I entered, the Viz-A-Real community software was automatically disabled. Inside the Playground, everybody can use custom imaging software to appear how they present themselves without adhering to the community’s visual code. My eyes see everybody as they want to be seen. It is a jarring experience since few people choose to appear normal here.
I reach the popular hangout without incident. My focus on the mission makes it even easier to pass the barkers, indecent proposals, and panhandlers. It is a dance club with pulsating strobe lights. Techno music blasts to a cheering crowd that is either dancing or snorting.
Shark is easy to spot in a private booth on the second floor. He can see everything in his little empire from his perch, and my arrival is quickly noticed. There is illegal, hard-to-get software that will alert you when an Administrator, Doctor, or Enforcer is nearby.
His imaging software is impressive. I can see the outline of his hulking body under his clothes. His hands are unnaturally smooth, but what he reveals above the collar of his expensive suit stands out. His neck is enormous, with gills opening and closing slowly. His head and face are that of a shark. His prominent snout separates his dark, beady eyes so they are more to the side of his head than facing front. More alarming is his large mouth filled with more teeth than could possibly fit without digital assistance.
His large, rictus grin of recognition is made more sinister coming from an actual shark. I stop and wait. He nods, and two unnaturally burly bouncers approach to escort me to their boss. They lead the way as we walk single-file through the packed dance floor. An overly cheerful pixie with freckles on her face and gossamer wings on her back hugs me and kisses my lips as she tosses glitter above our heads. The encounter ended as abruptly as it started when my new partners pulled me away. They push me in front of them and ensure I make it to the stairs without further interruption.
“Welcome,” Shark says in a gravelly voice. “What brings you to the Playground? Looking for some Sweet Oblivion Pills to forget about the Outside?” Many people who return from the Outside prefer to forget what they see while Inside. The tightly controlled Sweet Oblivion Pill software erases unwanted memories. The lure of resetting your own life is so appealing that it has become the most extensive illegal market within the community.
“I need to get past a Sentinel. I heard you might be able to help me.”
The DJ transitions to another song, and the crowd erupts as a new driving beat pounds through our bodies.
“I heard that the Administrator is looking for you,” he counters. “I think you don’t have much to bargain with.” He sits down. His imagining software slowly transforms into a good-looking man. It is impossible to tell if this is what he looks like. He pours himself a glass of champagne from the coffee table.
Word spread fast, but if the Administrator wanted me, he would have already gotten me. Easily. He just wants me to know that he is aware that I am Inside. The Administrator’s reach into the Playground is unexpected, but I am not completely surprised.
“It isn’t anything. He just wants to talk. How much do you want for the information on how to bypass the Sentinel?” My impatience is too apparent, and I quickly realize he will toy with me.
He smiles slowly and stares at me. “You want to get back to your wife and…..” his brows furrow, “…daughter, is it? Is this a lover’s spat?”
“It is none of your business.” I take a quick scan around the room. Every resident has a Unique Locator ID, or ULI, that Administrators, Doctors, and Enforcers can read. It is built into our Viz-A-Real, so I mentally note the ULIs of the two girls and two bouncers in the room. I can’t read Shark’s ULI, and that is a problem. His illegal security software includes ULI blocking, so I won’t be able to touch him.
“The only thing I want from you would be drugs.” He visibly relaxes like a man who knows he is holding all the cards. “Real drugs given to my body by a real doctor. None of this synthetic crap on the Inside.”
“No. I will pay you in credits. How much?” I can give him what he wants, but I might be able to use the ULIs to force his hand.
“I have a bonafide Doctor in my club desperately needing information, and all he offers is money?” He talks to the four in the room, but his eyes never leave me. “I don’t want your money. I want the drugs, or I can just report your whereabouts to the Administrator — and tell him how much data you provide Sal. I think there is a nice reward for all that, don’t you think?”
I should’ve guessed that he would be so well-informed, but there is no way the Administrator will pay Shark for information about my whereabouts since he has likely been tracking me this whole time. I also guess the administrator knows about my information-sharing agreement with Sal. I just don’t have time left to play any games with Shark.
“I think that the carrot isn’t working. Maybe it is time for the stick.”
I use the ULI of one of the bouncers and make a few mental changes to his medical chart. Doctors have direct access to the medical monitoring servers that monitor every resident. All I need is the ULI, and I can make changes to the medication going to the physical body. In this case, the effects are immediate. The bouncer bends over, crying out in sheer pain as he falls to his knees. I quickly review his stats displayed on my Viz-A-Real display to make sure there is no permanent damage.
I hope that the gambit scares Shark enough to negotiate. It doesn’t. He knows I can’t read his ULI.
“None of these guys have enough credits to come back Inside,” Shark says with a strange mix of anger and sadness. “You are screwing with them when what you want is for me to do what you want. Pathetic.”
Shark lunges from his seated position, changing his features to those of the predatory fish. His lips pull back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. I didn’t envision that this was how my life would end—eaten by a land shark. A shrill alarm shrieking the word “Enforcer” replaces the dance music as the club’s lights flash bright red.
The cacophony is overwhelming, and Shark is almost on top of me. I try to jump back, but a large, muscled, bald, handsome body blocks me. He must’ve materialized behind me. This new player uses his left hand to keep me on my feet in front of him while raising an energy pistol with his right, aiming it directly at Shark.
Weapons are rarely seen on the Inside, so it is a shock for all of us to witness one being used with such calm deliberateness—even for Shark, who manages to stop dead in his tracks.
The bouncer, still on his feet, rushes to protect his boss. My mysterious benefactor doesn’t hesitate. He quickly and smoothly shifts his aim at the charging threat and pulls the trigger. There is no sound, no smoke, and no more bouncer. The entire room freezes in stunned silence, fixated on…well…nothing now. The bouncer was simply gone.
“I am here for the Doctor.” The shooter announces. Time slows for me even more. There is no doubt about how this will now go. I lost the only chance to see my daughter.
I wake up in my sterile white lab as a nurse pulls off my Real World Emersion Helmet. The interior spikes that press against my scalp leave small pointed imprints that I still feel and instinctively scratch. Time is subjective, but based on the clock on the wall, I was Inside for two hours.
“Welcome back, Doctor Dickerson,” says the familiar voice I just heard Inside. It isn’t booming here. It sounds deep but gentle and calm. I don’t even need to open my eyes to confirm.
“Thank you for the save,” I replied. “But I had it under control.”
He may have an ominous appearance, but Bronson is one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. He chuckles at my joke. “I had to speed things along.” His smile disappears. “The Administrator didn’t want you to visit, and you were getting into trouble. He wants to see you.”
I get up and change back into my work scrubs. I take a look at myself in the mirror and pause. I look exhausted; no software is out here to help me improve my appearance. The physical world sucks like that. I take a deep breath and finish getting ready.
I walk along the corridors to the Administrator’s office. The entire facility is utilitarian at its finest. Everything seems dull. Even the lighting is barely adequate after spending time in the vibrant color palette of Inside.
I don’t know what the Administrator is going to say to me. Going Inside wasn’t against the rules, but he didn’t want another high-volume yelling match between his Doctor and a resident. He knew why I wanted to see her again, but he was clear the last time we spoke that I was being selfish. Maybe he was right, but time has run out.
I knock on the door. It slides open soundlessly, revealing the Administrator staring out the window with a glass of bourbon. He looks in his 60s with long, shoulder-length, untamed, salt-in-pepper hair and a thick mustache. Is this how cowboys used to look?
“Ayn Rand may have been right,” he says in his deep Texan drawl. He looked lost in his thoughts.
I step into the ornate room.
“Who, sir? Is she the new member of the staff?”
“No, no, no,” he said, chuckling. “Rand was a 20th-century political philosopher of sorts. I didn’t care much for her stories, but I’ll be damned… ” his voice trailed off. He took a drink while still staring out the window. He asked himself an almost inaudible question: “What happens when all the industrious people disappear?”
“I am sorry, sir, but I don’t understand what that means,” I said with too much irritation. I regretted the comment immediately after I said it. He may be eccentric, but the Administrator has always been fair and understanding. My emotions are getting the better of me.
“I am sure that is what those poor souls out there are saying too, son.” His eyes never leave the deserted San Antonio landscape. It is abandoned and overrun by nature. Camps of people survive where they can in crumbling buildings and neglected infrastructure. They are the people who can’t afford to live Inside. They were not part of the Real World.
“This used to be a magnificent hotel. It was one of those swanky places that held lavish parties with actors and politicians.” He cracks a smile and says almost to himself, “I sure do miss those days.”
I have no idea how long ago that might have been or, for that matter, how old he is.
He then turns to me. “I remember when the Real World was just a computer program. I was an early investor. I used all my influence to promote the hell out of the technology.”
He walks over to his desk and sits down. The ice clinks in his now empty glass as he puts it next to a vintage Old Rip Van Winkle bottle. I’ve always loved his office. It is filled with so many artifacts…memories of what we left behind. An old baseball in a small glass box sits prominently on his desk. Actual books line the bookshelves along each wall. There are so many that they form piles along the base.
“I was already rich by then, but this,” he spread his arms out to indicate the entire building, “made me one of the wealthiest people in the world.” He pauses to light a cigar, knowing that it is dangerous and against the corporation’s no-smoking policy, but who’s going to stop him? I haven’t seen anybody from the Board of Directors directly challenge our Administrator. This is his fiefdom.
“We could go Inside, have an adventure, and come back to share a drink and a story. Even more impressive was how much we could learn and do in those virtual labs. Son, it was the dawn of a new age.” He smiles at me with a twinkle in his eye.
“You already know the rest. People became addicted to hyperrealism, but more importantly, they noticed that they didn’t have to deal with the messiness of the physical world. There was no war, disease, or destruction. There was no underclass. Whatever managed to seep through, people could just filter it out.” He takes another puff of his cigar to let it sink in.
“We created a gated community where people could live as they saw fit,” I replied absentmindedly.
“Those that could afford it,” he corrects. “That was the sales pitch.”
He takes another puff.
“I stopped going Inside once I saw the damaging effects during the Real World Migration. My capitalist ideals were challenged when I saw people turning a blind eye to the society that made this all possible. I mean that both figuratively — and literally.” He nods his head towards the window and the people who live out there.
I’ve seen this before. He gets melancholy as he remembers the past to whoever happens to be in the room, but it is also a great time to learn more about how we got here. At best, I have a few days, so I try to move him along.
“Sir, I want to see my daughter.” I pause and wait. “That’s all,” I added.
He puts his cigar down and leans forward. He looks into my eyes, and for the first time, I can see the years of anguish and regret he must feel for his role in changing the world.
“Here is what I learned, John,” he never uses my first name. “People don’t go Inside to live a new, more fulfilling life. They go Inside to hide.”
The words hang in the air until I break the silence.
“Phillipa still won’t let me see Brook.” I hold back the tears.
“So you are going to force your way in? That won’t work, and you know it. I told you before you went Inside the last time. You can’t make her see things your way. Hell, son, I can’t make her see things your way. Each time anybody tries, she digs in deeper.”
“I have to do something. Brook doesn’t have as much time as I originally calculated.” My desperation is palpable.
“I see.” He sat back and thought about it for a moment. And then, with a sudden burst of energy, he sits up. “I will help you, but you will do it my way. You are not going to press your wife to deal with this.” He reaches over to this desktop keyboard and begins typing. “You can’t make people face what they don’t want to face. Being Inside makes that truism even more true.”
“Then how….” I start.
“You are going to show compassion,” he says without looking up from his keyboard.
It isn’t long before I am back Inside. This time, I have the Administrator’s blessing and clear orders on what to do (and NOT do). I also have Bronson at my side. I am not sure if he is here to help me or keep me in line, but I appreciate his company in either case.
We begin walking down a suburban cul-de-sac. I hear the birds chirping again. I am going to miss hearing that.
“You saved me in the Playground when I needed you. Were you stalking me?” I ask as a playful joke.
“The Administrator knew you were going to try something, so he had me keep tabs on you.” He keeps walking without looking down at me. I can see the faint outline of a smile on his face. How can such an imposing figure also be so — not imposing?
“It is not like you to use lethal force,” I said, a little concerned.
“I did not.” His smile fades, but he continues walking. “I eliminated his avatar from the program. It is unfortunate that he did not have enough credit to purchase another avatar.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was removed from the Real World and given food and clothing before being escorted out of the facility. If he is lucky, he will find a community that will accept him.”
“If he doesn’t?”
“The physical world is less forgiving than the Real World, Dr. Dickerson.”
We walk a little longer without saying a word. It isn’t his deep voice that makes me shudder. There is a harsh truth of permanency Outside that I sometimes wish I could forget again.
I spot the space where I made a life with Phillipa. Like everybody else who walks by the lot, Bronson sees a beautiful two-story family home. My Viz-A-Real augmented vision prevents me from seeing anything but an energy barrier. There is a warning flashing for me: DO NOT ENTER! COMPLETE AVATAR ELIMINATION!
We stop a few feet from the barrier that only I can see.
“Can I see it through your Viz-A-Real?” he asks.
“Sure.” I open up a port to allow him access to my vision. His eyes close so that his mind can see through my eyes.
He whistles loudly. “That looks dangerous. I heard it gives off an environmental charge as a warning. Do you feel it?”
“Yes. My skin feels tingly, and I hear a buzz. The Sentinel system is designed to inform specific targets they are not wanted.”
“Couldn’t she just use a filter to prevent you from seeing anything and erect an impassable barrier to keep you out?” He asks a fair question since that is how residents keep out unwanted visitors.
“Sometimes…..” I just stop. It hurts to think it has come to this. I started this final journey when I heard she went beyond the routine measures.
“Sometimes,” I continue, “we want people to know we are avoiding them. We want them to feel the exclusion and our anger.”
Bronson lets go of my vision and opens his eyes.
“Why is he doing this for me?” I ask hesitantly.
He answers cryptically as he steps forward through the barrier. “Every life needs to be remembered.”
I can only wait. That was probably the best answer I could’ve hoped for.
The Sentinel Security System is impressive. It locks onto specific UIDs and completely obscures their view of the property. Its biggest selling point, however, is that it comes with a license to eliminate the avatar.
The barrier disappears without warning, and I see my home. Bronson and Phillipa are looking back at me from the front door.
She looks nervous as I approach, but I hear Bronson reassuring her. “Dr. Dickerson is not here to argue with you, ma’am. He is only here to talk to Brook. He will not mention the past or the future with her. This will be his last visit, and you will not see or hear from him again.”
He turns to me with calm eyes. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Dickerson?”
“Phillipa, I’m….”
I hear a single word from the Administrator in my mind: compassion. I don’t know if he implanted some software into me for my trip back Inside or if his words got to me, but I now notice the pain in her eyes. I see her, and it saddens me. I’ve been so wrapped up in shaping my version of the Real World that I never stopped to see her struggle. She is scared of what I might say to Brook. She is petrified that I will undo her version of the Real World.
“Bronson is right, Phillipa,” I say, starting over. “I am here to talk to Brook before I go. I promise not to bring up anything that will disrupt your life.”
I reach out with one hand, and she grabs it. Her other hand covers her mouth as tears stream down her face. Our fingers lock onto each other for a moment longer than either of us anticipated. My heart is filled with love as I remember our life together and anguish as I feel the flood of unresolved emotions wash over me.
I look down. I reluctantly let go of her hand and walked into our home one last time.
“Daddy!” Brook’s reaction to seeing me is pure joy. She loves both of her parents and can’t figure out why we are no longer together. Fortunately, she has other things on her mind right now. It is playtime.
I spend the next hour letting her choose what we do. She shows me all her new toys while talking about her friends at school.
“I tell them that you are a doctor, but they don’t believe me,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Why don’t they believe you?” I color in her book while I wait for the answer. Her face is only inches from mine while she colors on the other page. We don’t need to look at each other. It is enough to be this close to her again.
“A doctor helps people who are hurt. Nobody gets hurt anymore, so we don’t need doctors.” She says it as a statement of fact rather than a comment from any schoolmate. She stops coloring and looks at me. “I think they are right, and that means you can come home again.”
Her smile is radiant and infectious. I know it isn’t real, a projection based on her thoughts and personality, but it still fills me with a warmth that I don’t think I could ever feel on the Outside.
“Why are they right?” I stare into her eyes. They are so full of life, and I know this moment is more real than any other interaction I’ve had in years — Inside or Out.
“Because nobody sees anybody get hurt or get died in like…..” she closes her eyes tightly, trying to think, “…..forever!” And with that, she resumes coloring.
“People sometimes want to forget bad things. That means they may choose not to remember when they get hurt or people that died.”
Brook giggles, forcing her crayon to color outside the line. That makes her laugh even louder.
“That’s silly, Daddy. Who wants to forget somebody they loved?” It is an innocent remark that weighs down my heart. A tear escapes, but I brush it away before she looks back at me.
“You are right, Ladybug.” It is the only thing I can say.
I spend the rest of the time enjoying her company in a way I haven’t since she was diagnosed. She is right, of course. Nobody should want to forget somebody they loved, but I can see now why it is so hard to live with just a memory to hold on to.
When we return to the lab, Bronson moves with practiced speed and efficiency to get us back on our feet. It is not long before I am sitting next to Brook’s physical body, holding her hand. She is sleeping peacefully, unaware of the disease that we couldn’t—that I couldn’t stop. Bronson followed me to her pod, but he remained respectfully silent as he went about his duties. The only sound we hear is the beeping of her heart monitor.
“I remember when the system flagged her for doctor’s review.” I know he knows this, but I can’t stop retelling the story one last time. “I remember thinking how routine this was going to be. I was so filled with confidence and hubris that I would figure out how to beat this cancer too, but…”
I couldn’t finish. Bronson stops what he is doing to give me his full attention.
“It is surreal. I’ve only touched her physical body a handful of times. Out here, she is a patient who I’ve never seen awake. Inside, she is my giggling daughter, who marveled at ladybugs. So how can something that isn’t real hurt so much?” I look up with tears streaming down my face.
“It was real to you, and that is all that matters,” he says softly. He gently places a hand on my shoulder. “Your heart is unaware of words like physical or virtual. It only knows love.”
“Phillipa?” I ask, suddenly remembering that I am not the only one who is hurting.
“The Administrator authorized Sweet Oblivion. She accepted. She will not be in pain.”
“But she won’t remember Brook!” I scream louder than I want.
“We all deal with grief in our own way. It is not for you to decide her path.”
I look back down at Brook’s body. The Real World Emersion Helmet does not hide her angelic face. She looks so tranquil. I kiss her forehead for the first and last time. I pause again and then press the button that ends her life support functions and inject a painless sedative to let her pass in peace.
Bronson pulls his hand away, and he leaves me to grieve. “She will exist for as long as somebody remembers her.”
The beeping that kept time with her heart stopped. I know that the flatline triggered the software, quietly removing any trace of her existence Inside. She is gone both here and there.
I can never return Inside knowing she will no longer be there with her smile. “I will remember her, but what happens to her when I die?”