Virtual Solitaire
NATHAN:
Nichols
Ah, bolish. Fo-ral! Wha... ? Ahh. Ahn!
504639. - Audible tasking. - Respond. Clarence... ? (Immediately
exasperated) What o’tha tink ma fra? Sadorn 4am er klatch, whadaya? Obviolé, soy solo, whadaya? - So I'm alone, buftahump, whadaya opine? - I’m
nil corporeater metnal, that’s Proximate. Thursday. - Nono, nono, RL is
sequential, bio, feature next week! - Aw wendel, bio! I can't do this now;
sipona! - 'Cause I'm stringin', Clarence! I'm turtled! Shirkin’ a slatch, bio. I
haven’t upped without a mask in, sup... two months. - I can’t afford it! It's not
copiset, dicot? - But why they want my calibrations? Why me? - Bush, but…
how fat a pipe you talkin’? And wha’do I eat? (Awed by what Clarence has
said) - Whadaya LSV? - They gonna give me a personal sustain? - A full 87
fer a kilo? - Two months? You're not ballooning me bio, they'll up my
personals two months on a corporate account? - Well… stanch!, I’ll do it.
(Gettin up) Sign me on in 14, A-flat over nine. Convince you to give me a
dram flogiston or pop me an orgone tab could I bio? - I'll juice my deck. I'll be
in the first drawer.
 504639, soundprint: one, two, three, four. Confirm.  Bind up the deck for a
diagnostic.  Open a hail.  Dial Clarence. Put me in the first drawer. 
Unlace the gildorn.  String me a fibonachi display.  Float me a caliper. 
Fire the gimbals.  6DOF on the gauntlets.  Track. Tsss.  Go to default
settings.  Override.  Deck perimeter off my center.  Axes on 90's all
around, sliding scale.  Track.
(As Nathan begins walking the perimeter of the deck, Clarence suddenly logs
on, stage right.)
Oh, hey Clarence. I’m doin’ a diagnostic now—. - Well yeah, bio, but I’m not
finished; don’t you think—. – Bush, bush, stanch.  Cease the diagnostic. 
Launch the deck. (Becoming more excited as the lights intensify) I'm not
skating yet, bio. - Bush.  Unlock the flush pipe. How much am I gonna need?
- (Becoming still more excited) M-sats!  Dilate it all the way.  Punch a
cetylene filter.
(Nathan moves to the rear of the space again and takes off his headgear and
gauntlets. We now can see that his hair is bleached white and woven into
tight corn rows that hug his skull.)
Mask is off, Clarence. Go ahead and open the pipe. Up me in.
Oh. Ah... ah. Nice tincture, Clarence. This is good. Nice to be back up to
speed. Umn. I'm never offing again. I'll sell my internals to any fucking corp
1
that'll keep me throttled. - Sorry bio, it's just... it's good to be back at speed. (Going to the axis) Bush; stanch.  Bundle the vertical for a 2-trunk impact.
(Realizing that this bandwidth doesn’t require physical movements for most
tasks – it’s an entirely verbal interface) Ha ha ha. Slonge the counter. Lapse.
Clarence, there's something wrong with my third digit haptics here; it's a tactile
simulator. - 'Cause if I have to manipulate anything—and I will if you've got
me manholing—I'll need it bio, you know that. - Bush. Here:see how you feel
this .
CLARENCE: You'll have to void the signal from that digit; integrate the
signals from your second and forth digits and use that to ghost the third. I'm
getting a hail from our monitor. Why don’t you get your deck set up here; I'll
be right back to up you into The Man in the Iron Mask. - Well, this time we
have a monitor. And Nathan, will you talk to him normal? Quit the dingo
lingo, alright? Cooperate.  Suspend the first drawer .
 Gather his spring lines fore and aft at the axes.  Monitor his autonomic
systems. Have a second flood-tide ready to float him if he drops below nadir
peaks.  Reopen the hail to Coral Gables. (Taking a deep breath, steeling
himself to face Stanley)  - Stanley? - Yes, he’s up and running. - No, he can’t
tell the difference between VR and RL at this point. - I erased his last run and
did a generic continuity backfill; he won’t remember anything, just don’t ask
him about it directly, it might trigger something. - Nathan? No, he doesn’t
work for us; Nathan’s a stringer. We haven’t used him for quite some time;
he’s useless for undifferentiated calibrations. But now that we’re parsing we
can record just his emotionals, and they’re perfect for the asylum characters. –
No, his platform is fried, he can’t support that right now. I morphed his own
icons and masked us in through those. We’ll all just have to look like him. Sure. You should know, though, that there aren't any signals getting through
from his third left digit. - I don't know exactly, but the YR Bite did surge some
of his motor cortex. I’ll show you if you like. You want to step down onto your
deck?
 Stanley, just between you and me... do you really think this is... necessary? It
just seems... pointless to me to try to—. – Well, I think if we really wan—. Sure, sure. His digit should feel something like this .
STANLEY:
That'll be close enough for what I need.  Have you told him
who I am? - Good, I’ve got something worked out. Now, we’re masked in
through his own icons; you’re sure he won’t suspect anything? - Good.  I’m
going to stay on an observe channel, so I’m set up here; why don’t you up him
in.  First though, Clarence: I understand you’re using this man for more than
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
one of your calibrations, is that correct? - And how many profiles was he
scheduled to calibrate for this project? - I’m not accusing you of anything,
Clarence, I’m just trying to straighten this out. - Fine. Why don’t you bring
him in. (Turning to address Nathan’s icon) Hello Nathan, my name is Stanley
Fohrn. I’ve been asked to monitor this project for our investors. Now, this isn’t
my field, so I’ll be asking you to explain some things to me as we go along, just
for my own clarification. - (Indulgently) Thank you. Oh, and I understand
you’re having some sort of difficulty with your left gauntlet. May I see that
please. - No, there's nothing wrong; I just want to make sure that the
contiguous digits are signaling the ghost correctly. - (With a condescending
smile) No, it’s not my field; but I do know something about it. Go ahead and
bring your avatar over here .
NATHAN:
I don't know how it happened. I'm having it looked at next
week. - Bush, I will. - (Becoming excited) Now? - Bush! Stanch! Clarence,
now? - Stanch! Can you... bring it in? Start it? - Copiset. Copiset. (After a
pause, turning) So, to… to start the game you just dilate the pupil like this 
and pull it back  and then... you’re in the police station.
Ha ha ha. (Turning to Clarence) Bush. It’s copiset. Uh, (Turning back to
Stanley) this is the foyer for the prologue section of the game—entertainment.
They’ve already done all the graphics, environmentals, the logic platforms,
proprioceptors. They’re using this new Parsing System, and emotional
calibrations are done last, so I only come in at the end. - No, you won’t see it;
it’s still in development and it only vistas to the player. - Well see, that’s what
this new Parsing System is for. (Turning to Clarence) I learned this, Clarence.
(Turning back to Stanley) See: a player always wants to haunt the best, and the
person who gives the best logic response probably isn’t the same person that’ll
give the best emotional response, so they’re calibrating them separately now. I
do emotions. - Bush, bush. It’s called The Man in the Iron Mask; it takes
place back around the end of the 1900s. The host is this police investigator
who's looking into this crazy guy's murder and the player is the investigator’s
new sidekick; he’s meeting him here at police station for the first time. - No,
no, the investigator is a stock character; he’s not calibrated, he’s totally slaved.
I was only hired to do the four Asylum characters. Didn’t Clarence tell you? (Confused by Stanley’s seemingly ignorant question) This isn't even an
interactive section yet, it’s just the prologue. - Bush. Stanch. So, uh... the
player just watches for a minute as the people move all around the police
station. ‘Cause at this point the player doesn't even know who they are or why
they're here or anything. But then the investigator comes in—oh, this is him
here, see. He pauses there for a second, but then he crosses to his desk, and as
he goes he motions for the player to follow him.
2
HOLDEN:
What line's he on Godfrey? Come on over, sidown. Five?
Just grab a chair, pull it over. Five? I'll be wit ya in a second. (Picking up the
phone and punching the fifth line) Cleo? - Jesus, don't whine Cleo, I hate dat
shit. - I'm not squeezin' ya Cleo. (Covering the receiver) Coffee's over there,
ya want some. (Returning to the phone) I'm wit the good guys, Cleo.
Kimichan’s the one gave ya a 45 caliber wedgie. - You gonna tell me ‘bout the
Lazy S? - What is that, what is that: you're suddenly king a the stutter? You're
fartin' out your mouth Cleo. – Then you can sweat it out. You know what ta
do: just make sure ya duck around tha corner whenever ya see a squad car.
Keep outta sight: don’t go in any donut shops, don’t visit any your friends,
don’t go home. ‘Cause they'll bring ya to me they find ya. - A course that's a
threat Cleo, I'm a man a my word. - I'm hangin' up Cleo. Guhbye. - No Cleo.
Guhbye.
Name's Fiasco, Holden Fiasco. I don't like jokes, expecially about my
name. You're new around here, right? I mean, not just to me, to the whole
department. You don't need to answer that. Look: I work alone. I work fast
and I really don't need’a be giving piggy backs right now, so if you find me
abrasive or think you can't keep up, why’nt ya do us both a favor scoot your
little ass in there let the sarge know now. (Assessing the player as he takes his
first drag on the cigarette) Fine. You know Stuart Vintzen? Owns about half
the retail in town. His son Phil is dead. I wouldn't particularly care except for
the fact I been assigned the case, which means it's not Stuart's problem any
more, it's mine. And now yours. Phil Vintzen was a nut case; I don't have time
to explain it to ya, you can look at my prelims with his doctor. He’s out at the
Hubbel fucked farm—hush hush fer the family, and we still gotta deal with that
crap, understand. Two nights ago someone tried to make it look like Phil hung
himself. Amateur, botched job. We got a lot ta work on—too much. I’s out
there yesterday conducted prelims. Pretty straight forward, but I gotta head
back—... . We gotta head out there this morning, do some follow up. (Getting
up) Anyway, I gotta hit the can. (Gesturing to the manholes as he heads out)
Why’n't you look at the prelims ‘fore we head out.
NATHAN:
No, the investigator is hard-wired, he’s slaved. This is just
the prologue, none of it’s interactive, it just introduces the characters to the
player. Clarence, you tell him. - Bush. Stanch. So now the player can choose
which character they want to see first. (Pointing out the manholes) See, the
manholes show up after the investigator goes to the bathroom. The player can
just grab whatever manhole they want and pull it down and look at the
investigator’s interview with that character from the day before. Before the
player gets assigned to the case, see, so it’s all background kind of stuff. (Laughing uncertainly) Well no, they... they wouldn't have had anything like
this, but... (Looking toward Clarence for help) you'd have to ask the designers.
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
I don't think they were trying to be realistic, it’s just a game. - The manholes?
There’re two inmates there and there, and the night watchman there and the
head doctor there. - (Suddenly excited) Now? - Bush, bush. Clarence, now? Stanch! So, you just go to the manhole, whichever one you want. I guess I’ll
do this one first.  You unlock it and then you pull it down. He he heh .
KRISTA:
My head was awake. I saw. (Laughing at something to her
right again, she blows her cheeks out at it) It wasn’t doctor Frankson.
(Suddenly self-conscious, bending and playing with her fingers) I was afraid
my ear holes were growing shut with the voices still inside. I didn’t want that
because I like to be alone inside. The doctors said that I didn’t need to worry
because the ones that talk all the time, they’re not real. (Speaking loudly and
indicating right with her head) That’s how you know: if they never stop
talking, they’re not real. (Smiling and turning back to the investigator) I had a
visitation. My aunt. She has my papers, she can take me out. We went to a
cafe. She knows I like coffee. It makes me feel better. On the way we stopped
at an automatic teller. It only had one eye, like Hal. (Self conscious again,
going back to her fingers) There was a woman there playing a guitar. The
guitar case made a hollow guitar hole in the pavement. It was misty. She was a
waif... with a hooded sweatshirt. She was singing and playing with her eyes
closed. Something about a faraway sea. My aunt transacted and got back in the
car. Why didn’t you put some money in the guitar hole? ~I don’t have any
change sweetie, and I wasn’t going to give her a twenty.~ We left. I watched
the waif through the back window. I could see her through the moving water
beads. She got smaller and smaller. And she was still playing. Singing to the
automatic teller about a faraway sea.
We went to the cafe. There were computers everywhere and people were typing
at the voices inside. They were sitting on stools and chairs and drinking coffee
and bottled water and vegetable juices and... they were very different.
Vinyl, pierces, tattoos; docksiders, horn-rimmed glasses; poofy hair, big boots;
no bra, faded tie-die, no shoes; extra-baggy jeans, Fruit of the Looms, acne;
sport coat, big wrist watch; black turtle neck, slick hair, leather pants.
(Suddenly self-conscious again) Some of them weren’t real. I could tell
because they didn’t stop talking; and the ones that don’t stop talking,
(Emphatically, toward an imaginary person) they’re not real. There was a
man at the center of the room and he seemed to be in charge. He had a tall table
and there was a microphone attached to his computer. Whenever he called on
them, people would come up and speak into the microphone. And there was a
banner on the ceiling. It said: ‘Neuropoetics - On-line Poetry Slam.’
3
SID:
Alright Ned, you’re up first. Ned, ladies and gentlemen. For those of
you who are unfamiliar, Ned is our resident beatnik. He doesn’t really write
poems, he just sort of riffs on whatever topics he gets from the didiots out there.
So you didiots start sending me your suggestions for Ned. Ready? Alright, the
rest of you can just line up behind Ned. First though,  we do have a final
didiot entry for the first round. Cheryl, could you get me another decaf please.
Thank-you. Okay, this is from Tray... Schlenisflenginbinger. I’m sorry if I’ve
mispronounced your name Tray. Tray’s poem has no title, but it directs me
here to… heh. It says: ‘Be a manly man and sing it like a drinking song.’
Alright Tray, I’ll do what I can.  Here we go:
I don’t know, but I’ve been told
Whiskey in my water
Makes you pretty, makes me bold.
(Sid looks about) Heh.
I can’t say, but I’ve heard tell
Rum and coke a-plenty
Staves off sickness, makes you well.
Well.  Well, I’m sorry Mr. Schlesinbleh..., the natives here in the
cafe seem to have... lowered their expectations, but I’m going to use this
opportunity to exert my veto power so that we can—. No no, now: this is my
show, I’ve got veto power!, and I’m not reading any more of this... doggerel.
‘And so it goes.’ So, that’s the didiot’s first round, and they have… three on the
board. Now it’s our turn here for a few carbon-based poems. Ned is first—and
tonight I’d like to challenge Ned with something new. Let’s complicate things a
little and combine two didiot suggestions in the same poem. Feel up to it Ned?
- Super. Okay.  So, I’ll go to a random one… and we get...  computer chips.
Okay, and a second one…  Oh, heh. Nuclear fallout! Well Ned, you ought to
be able to come up with something... apocalyptic from that. No thinking for
you now: ready, go.
NED:
Hand in hand we walk
Out of the mushroom cloud
Into the computer chip.
Our aim is not articulated,
Navel gazing is our business.
Look at all that lint in there.
Look at what your mother did for you.
When did the veins close off?
When did your mother stop nourishing you through that cable of love?
And if you’re an inney, what are you in-to?
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
Are the outeys tryin’ to get out of something?
Out of what?
Out of sight? Out of mind? Over mind?
Get over it.
Maybe we should all get over it: open these things up again and let out
the new-age fuzzie-feelies and the corporate Oakland Raiders with the stadiums stadi-ahs stadi-ers paid for by our taxes and the government we elected and
can’t seem to not re-elect because we’re all too numb-headed from television to
realize that a sound bite
isn’t nourishing us
not like a bite outta crime would, if it weren’t just another pretty
slogan for bumper stickers and t-shirts like bite me, bite this, consume,
consumerism
die of consumption, why not get online, buy pornography, eat donuts,
because it makes you feel good, because you deserve it, because by god by gum
it’s the American way to get ahead, to get a life, to
to get laid
laid off, laid up, laid out
laid out like the corpses we already are to everyone except Equifax and
the post man who’s got the only real (Turning, then turning back)
who’s got the only real job left because the rest of us are too numbheaded to -. (Turning) What? What?
SID:
Sorry Ned; if you’ll look at the monitor there you’ll see that the
didiots are lining up against you; it’s almost two to one to cut you off. And I
have to agree here, Ned, you were wandering there, a little far afield. More
than usual. Sorry my friend, maybe next week. (Turning and making a face
that Ned won’t be able to see) Okay, so... yes, you can go next. Step around to
the mike. Thank you Cheryl. Alright, go ahead.
PINKER:
Hotel Commander
Shrouds of rain capture the shapes of the wind
Searching through the city streets
Chasing people into alleys, into doorways
Then moving on.
Hunkering under a stairway next to a discarded doll’s head,
Its cherub face and empty eye sockets,
Stray cat - street cat
Hisses at the rain
At god, who put him there.
[ Inside the hotel the commander stands and sees,
Envious of the cat, more envious of the doll.
He turns his back to the window, to the world,
4
Impassive as an Easter Island stone
Until, looking down, he sees again:
The letter lays, discarded, on the floor;
Not crumpled, not stained with tears.
He could never tell her all that he wanted
And he dared not want what little he could tell.
His thoughts and feelings exiled in his head,
Never to leave his cage-door mouth.
And the fruit of his silence:
Solitude.
He hisses a laugh at himself
As though his humor has been fitted with a silencer.
But it hasn’t
And so it fits completely in his mouth.
He knows that the cold of the metal
Should reach his memory before the heat of the flame
But this is the clarity he seeks to avoid.
And it bursts suddenly forth - his release.
Scattering his thoughts to the winds and the rain.]
SID:
(Ushering Pinker away) Alright, very serious, very… very serious.
Poetry. Excellent. (Making the sign of the cross in the opposite direction)
Excellent. I’m just teasing. And you did get through it all. Okay so, Cheryl,
will you put him on the board there. Great. Now - oh, right here? Yes, you can
go next. Okay. You ready now? Okay, let’s go. Come on.
HORTENSE: I’m Hortense. (Looking around at the response, then back
to Sid) That’s not part of my poem. (Looking back to Sid for direction) Should
I go?
Loneliness is
This thing
That crawled out of my cellular phone:
A small red spider
With long
Black
Spindly legs.
SID:
Oooookay, that was... different. I wish we had a live video feed for
you people on-line, there was some... what, choreography? involved. Kind of
performance arty really. And you did... get through it all I guess, so... . Cheryl,
will you put his name up on the board too please. So, that’s two for us here.
The advantage of short poems. Thank you, uh... Hortense. Okay, you’ll be
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
next, come on over. No, it’s fine dear, step around. It’s fine; come on around.
And I’d like to warn our didiot friends out there: I only have one submission for
your next round, and we’re on a roll here, so you’ll have to do better than that.
This one is from… trident@atlantis.org. Oh. And, uh… Trident’s poem here is
called ‘Touching Myself.’ Now now! Hang on, wait until we read it. No,
now—. I’m sure that’s not what it’s about. (Looking) Oh… . Well, I guess
that is what it’s about. - Alright now! Decorum, please! (Into the
microphone) Trident, don’t let our carbon crowd here get you down. I think
this is fine subject matter for poetry. And I’m sure that many of my carbon
companions, at home, in moments of silence and darkness, have gotten online
themselves and spent a great deal of time tou—. (Ducking) Hey now. Now!
There’s expensive equipment here. (To Julia) You see what I have to deal
with. Are you ready? You ready? That’s fine dear, come on. Come on. Come
on.
JULIA: (Young and self-conscious, being hurried to the mic) I’m not sure if
this is really a poem, but anyway. ‘Cause what is a poem, hunh? Anyway. I
keep this diary on-line of, like... well like everything that happens to me. What
I’m doing and thinking and stuff. Anyway. I set up a chat room, so if you go to
my site you can read like all these, like, comments on my life. And I don’t
know anything about these people, and they don’t know anything about me.
But that’s like anybody, hunh? Nobody really knows anything about you except
what you tell ‘em, hunh? Anyway. These are some of the responses to my
diary entry last week when my brother Nathan d-d-d-dye-dye-died. D-d-died.
(After convulsing slightly she continues) And I don’t know anything about any
of these people, so I thought it would be interesting to put them all together.
Like a collage. About Nathan’s death. Because these people are from, like,
everywhere. All over the world. So I thought it would be... . Anyway-en-enanyway. An-an-anyway .
CLARENCE:  704-4. Clip the 617 chain.  String new spring lines and
flood-tide the Vitriol. Float him an octave lower for now. I told you this was a
bad idea, Stanley. - He’s not supposed to be calibrating yet,  these are slaved
characters, it’s the prologue. - Of course that's not our story! It doesn't even
make sense. He's got it completely off the sphere, he's freeforming. - It should
be about three minutes of the investigator’s interview with this inmate from the
asylum: you get a couple of plot points and enough information so that you can
understand what’s happening when you get to the interactive parts. - We would
have stopped him if we’d known, Stanley. We had him up to tetraflow for the
prologue: he only went for eight seconds, we stopped him as soon as we could,
but he’d already done 14 hours of virtual time. What could we do? - That
won’t work Stanley, what he’s doing is totally random. - I don’t see the point.
He’s totally off the sphere, there’s nothing to diagnose. - It’s just going to
5
happen again. He won’t stay with our slaved profile, he’ll just spin off again
into who knows where. - Well I’m sorry Stanley,  I just don’t know what
you’re hoping to find .
STANLEY:
 I’m trying to figure out how he got off the sphere, Clarence.
- All this content has to be coming from somewhere;  if it’s not coming from
your entertainment then it must be coming from him. - He can’t be freeforming
off of no locus, Clarence, even RL dreaming has a locus. - Well, if we can
isolate his axle locus  we can work around it and stitch him back onto the
sphere. - Because it would be good for the investors; that’s who I work for.
We need to be able to show why Nathan went off the sphere and, more
importantly, why it will not happen again. We can’t afford to have the ARPCA
coming in here and thinking of unlacing the parsing project at this point, we’ve
got too much invested. - Fine. Why don’t you get ready to bring him back in.
Attach a creeper mingle to my pipe.  Do another continuity backfill for him
and slonge the counter to where he'd be. (Manipulating his own virtual
controls)  C-0414839.  Give me a diagnostic rostrum, class four with a
neural stent.  Alright, I’m ready Clarence, why don’t you bring him up.
(Pause) Thank you Nathan, that was excellent. - I do have a few questions
before we continue. And you seem to still be having some difficulty with your
left gauntlet there; why don’t you bring your avatar over here, let me see if the
V-press-sim is still active .
NATHAN:
 I think it's bush. - No, I don't think it'll affect any
manholling. - Bush, I will. Stanch. - (Going toward Clarence but then
turning back to respond to Stanley) Well... I don't think it really matters. I
mean, it's not supposed to be real, it's a story. There aren't really manholes
either, it’s just something you accept as part of the game. Reality doesn't matter
here. - You mean like who killed the crazy guy, Phil Vintzen? Yeah, I know. It was his father, Stuart Vintzen. He dressed up like a doctor that night and
snuck into the asylum and hung him. - Well, it’s pretty complicated, I think
Clarence could explain it bet—. - Bush, bush. It’s copiset. Uh, it was because
of Stuart Vintzen’s father’s will. He had a brother who met this guy... (Turning
to Clarence for corroboration) under the freeway ramp, right? (Turning back
to Stanley) - You mean in the end; did they convict him? No. - Because there
were no reliable witnesses. Everyone at the asylum is crazy except for the night
watchman, and he was on drugs, so they couldn’t—. - Yeah, I know the whole
thing.
- Stanch. Stanch, I will. (Turning back to Clarence) Can I... can I ask
you a quick question first Clarence? There’s some kind of feedback on this,
right? This isn’t like the other’s I’ve done. - (Turning to answer Stanley) I
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
mean it’s not like other games I’ve calibrated. I’ve never seen a thing skate
from profile to profile like that — (Turning back to Clarence) and flashing
from one place to another like that. What is that, bio? - (Turning to answer
Stanley) No, I don’t mind, I think it’s stanch. And I love poetry slams—I log
onto Neuropoetics whenever I can. I just didn’t expect poetry in an immerse
like this, it’s eldritch. But it’s stanch, (Turning back to Clarence) I just wanna
know if they’re gonna be like that when I calibrate ‘em? (After a confused
squint to Clarence, turning to listen and respond to Stanley) - So it’s just a
weird setup for the intro section when the characters are slaved? - No, that’s
stanch. Copiset. It’s probably... sup, innovative or something. - (Becoming
very excited) Now? Bush, stanch. Clarence, now? - Bush. So the, uh, the
player goes to whichever they want next. I guess I’d do the night watchman
next.  It's this manhole here. So... . He he .
TREVOR:
Like any other night, ya know? I was here watchin’ the
monitors, readin’ the Weekly World news. Heh heh heh. Doctor Frankson was
the last one out—always is. On the way out he axed me how I was an' I told 'im
I was feelin' a little under the weather. An' he says to me, he says: "Take two
tabloids and call me in the morning." Heh heh heh. Then he shoots me with his
finger, you know: “p-kyew.” (Mock-winking as the doctor) Heh heh heh.
He’s usually pretty serious, but he seemed kinda pleased with himself last night.
"Take two tabloids. P-kyew.” (Winking) Heh. 'Cause I was readin' the
Weekly World... heh heh... . Friend, lighten up. (Pause) - Yeah, sometimes I
take a little something to help get through the night. ‘Cause you known what I
do around here. You see these empty halls here. (Leaning in, sharing a sad
confidence) I watch ‘em. Henh henh, heh heh heh. That's my job: watch. Do
the rounds, watch, do the rounds, watch. Lemme tell ya what's it like around
here. Having spent half my fuckin' life watching empty halls on these little
monitors here—they used to have big monitors mounted in the wall up there,
but now they just got these dinky little—like Watchmans, they're like these little
Watchmans in the desk there. And having... having watched 'em for effectively
fucking ever, I now can say—unequivickly—that if you can do that all night
long, staring at these empty halls like they want you to... if you can do that
without taking something you're not—no way—human. ‘Cause you'd go crazy,
staring at these empty halls all night long. You’d lose it. So what do ya do?
You take a little something to make the monotonous time a little less... ya know.
So yeah, I was a little wall-eyed last night. Not like I missed anything though, I
found him didn't I? I's doin' my job. Watchin' tha monitors, readin' tha Weekly
World News.
“Take two tabloids. P-kyew.” (Wink) Heh heh heh.
6
So yeah, I was a little wall-eyed last night—la-la-last night—tr-trtripping—wa-wa-wall-eyed—wall-wall—wacked out.
Child Flushed Down Toilet Found Alive After 13 Days Alone in
Sewer. Heh heh heh. Internet Witchcraft: On-line Coven Raise Dozens of
Dead Around the World. Cure Your Baldness. Heh. Bat Boy of Borneo Plays
Baseball. (Beginning to sing) Little rabbit Foo Foo—. (After convulsing
again, becoming slightly more animated) And I can see him there: the little
Bat Boy squatting there with his baseball bat, screeching his high-pitched bat
squeaks, telling me it's time to do my rounds. Okay Bat Boy, okay. I'll go. I’ll
go.
Reeee reeee reee reee.
See see ka-reeeeee
Sky high, don't ask why
Don't be shy, sink or fly
Or down or up or
Your last supper
Halls and malls and waking calls
A true religion, busted balls
(Catching a thread of logic and trying to make a point)
A worthy doctor never falls
He's got a patient—wouldn't kiss her—
Maybe pissed her off
Until he bent her, twist her
Punctured blister
Uh oh, uh oh someone missed her
And she’s a him, he’s hanging there
Alone and twisting in the air.
Are you flying
Are you crying
Are you trying not to dream this dream?
And this little bat boy keeps at me until I leave and do my rounds. So I
go, just to get away. And I'm in the wards, carooming down these sterile halls,
banging into the handrails. The whiteness of everything is driving me crazy, it's
so bright. So I duck into the little chapel room across from physical therapy.
It's never used. And this smell of medicine follows me in, but then it mingles
with this... just, dust and... age. And I know it's a tiny little room, but I'm
tripping harder than I ever have, and it's... it’s like a dream.
Votive candles. Arches. Huge stone columns. Stained glass windows.
Frescos and mosaics. Acolytes, monks, and martyrs fractured and pieced
together in positions of ecstasy: arms raised, fingers outstretched, eyes uplifted,
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
7
mouths open, knees beginning to bend in supplication. Heh heh heh. (Hearing
his own laugh) Echoes. Out and back in the candle-wavering gloom. Dark,
wooden pews. Worn stones of the main aisle reaching back toward the altar.
(Turning, then backing quickly away from what he sees) A statue. But... what
is it? A monk or friar, its face lost in the shadows of its cowl. And with both
hands it’s reaching down and holding a stone child. The child is looking up,
peering into the cowl, trying to—. No, it’s… .Oh god. God, it’s eyes are... !
(Turning, arrested and horrified by what he sees) I turn to go but, turning, find
there is no door, only a wall of wrought-iron: scrolls and vines, leaves and
vegetal arms reaching up and out to hold individual candles. It's a confusing
tangle of dripping wax and twining metal. And there in the middle is a stainedglass window, broken. The ragged edges pointing out toward... a sculpture
garden? (Realizing) And the back of the cowled figure… in the middle, what
is… is that… ? It’s a pew-pew-pew-pupil. Is the statue part of the game? (He
looks around as though there might be someone to answer his question) Is he
calibrated? Do I… am I supposed to dilate his pupil?
She was bitter, but she finished. And nobody knew - why, she built
them. Why? She closed this - chapel. Went to work. Alone. Building. Me.
Almost gone, she was - almost gone but - she finished. Me. Invited her
husband, ex-husband - your father. For Halloween. She wanted to - show him.
Show him the sculptures - the creatures. Show him her - puzzle.
STATUE:
No-o. No. Don't look - don't harm... your eyes. First let me
tell you why - I'm here. Why - your mother made me. Listen. Lis-ten. Your
father worked for news - papers. Crosswords, acrostics, word - searches,
puzzles and mazes and - he married her. Your mother - a - sculptor. Her
parent's - rich. Gave them this – man-sion, the house with this cha-pel the gardens. They lived - here, had a boy. You. But - your father - left. Your mother
- bitter. An-gry. And so she began. That's - why I'm here. The sculpture – garden. The walled back yard. Her puzzle. To punish - your father - for leaving.
TREVOR*:
And I can see. I can see it out the window: stone monsters
grappling with the silver light of the moon. Fantastic creatures frozen in
menacing, angry contortions.
I don't know why daddy left. It was Halloween and he always took me
trick-or-treating but he didn't then because he wasn't there. And Pandama and
Pandapa came and sat in the living room with mommy and told me I couldn't go
that year, and I was mad so I went out in back in the garden. I went over to the
wall and pulled out my secret spy-hole brick and watched the other kids go by
in the street in their costumes. And I was mad that I couldn't go out. And the
next week mommy had them deliver the stones out back and then mommy
brought her hammers and chisels and things, and she worked all the time. And
after a while my friends said they weren't allowed to come over because of what
mom was building out there. And then the school counselor asked me if I
everything was all right at home and I didn't know what to say. And when I told
my mommy she said I should tell her that she was drinking a lot and talking to
herself, which was true. And then she laughed. And I ran up to my room. I
was scared to go out back and I didn't have any friends any more because they
all said mommy was crazy and so I yelled at them and hit them.
And mommy seemed happy for once. I thought it was because daddy
was coming the next day for Halloween, but it was like she was mad too. She
told me she needed to show daddy the sculptures when he came and that I
should wait in my room. But when I went to bed that night I couldn't stop
thinking about it. So I got out of bed and went over to my window and looked
down into the garden and... they gave me the shivers. I didn’t know why
mommy built them. I didn't know what it meant. But it was like there was a
secret there that she wanted to show daddy. And I wanted to know what the
secret was, even though I was scared. And I looked out the window and the
moon was very bright and I could see.
The plants of the garden have rioted, choking off the paths and
reaching up as though to pull down these... abominations. Imps and gargoyles
and perversions, here standing alone next to a tree, there gathered together in
some evil discourse. And there... the boy. Alone. Creeping into the garden on
anxious feet, pushing through a snarl of branches, tufts of grass, making his way
between them, wanting and not wanting to look up into the mushroom glow of
their faces. The clawed shadows cast by the naked branches above scratch at
him, warn him. But he ignores it and continues on to the most central figure:
(Going to the creature and taking its shape) a huge, squat man, sitting like a
Buddha, great folds of flesh cascading down the sides of its body, swollen
fingers woven together, palms upturned, resting on its distended belly. The
thing is so huge the boy can just clamber up into the palms and reach from there
to touch the bloated face, the exaggerated grin. (Shaking off it’s voice and
shape) The boy shudders and turns, looking, in fact, in the same direction as the
sculpture. And there is another creature: (Going to the sculpture and taking
on a new shape) a lithe, lizard-like man, sleek and wet-looking, its sinewy
muscles visible underneath a coat of scales, a thick tail protruding in one
direction and in the other its long snout, bent intently, looking... . At another
nightmare in stone. (Shaking off the voice and shape again and going back to
the Buddha figure) The boy looks back into the fleshy face, and... something in
the eyes has changed. The boy leaps down, rushes across the garden, scrambles
up onto the pedestal, encircles the lizard-man’s torso with his arms, embraces it
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
and shimmies his way up so that he can look exactly as the thing is looking.
And yes, there is another monster: (Going again to the new creature and
taking its shape) a humped-back creature with spines, covered in armor, it's
mouth agape, lips snarled back to reveal toothless gums. It seems to be silently
hissing, and staring its malevolence at... (Shaking off the voice and shape
again) another sculpture. To which the boy goes, again and again, crisscrossing the garden, following the lines of sight from one creature to another.
The house seems to stand guard over the garden, its great, dark bulk
ominous and threatening in the autumn chill. But it sleeps: not a flicker of light
shows in any of its window-caves. And the boy moves through the branches,
thorns, death-rattling leaves as the creatures become more and more fantastic.
(Taking on a new voice and shape again) An imp that holds an ear, horribly
ripped from the side of it's own head. The dancing, cavorting thing seems to be
laughing and offering the ear down to... . (Another voice and shape) A leathery
mass of discolored flesh, tangled down around itself, its bunched muscles
straining as if to free themselves from their stone prison. Short, thick stalks of
hair sprout in erratic bunches from the arms, the chest, the shoulders, the groin,
the back of a reaching hand. And its wide-open, dish-like eyes staring out at...
(Stepping out of the scuplture) yet another nightmare-sculpture. To which the
boy goes, again and again and again, until he has spent every sculpture in the
garden and finally come to the last. Which is not a horrible creature, not a
nightmare. It’s simply a man, crouched down with it's hands on its knees,
looking into the shadows at the side of the house. The thing’s eyes are just at
the boy's level, and he gazes into them for a very long time. But there is no evil
that he can discern there, no... mal-intent. And so the boy follows the line of the
thing’s vision into the shadows at the side of the house, and there he finds... a
broken window. And even in the dulled silver light of the moon shadows he
can make out the colors there, and he knows... that it must be the chapel.
The thick darkness is moved about by a sudden rush of air that bursts
in through the broken window, but the boy pauses at the door. His mother has
told him not to enter here. Yet he has never seen this sculpture before, and
something about it seems to be calling to him, drawing him. And so he begins
forward, and as he moves his step becomes more trance-like, his gaze becomes
fixed until he is standing directly within the statue’s outreaching arms, looking
up into its cowl, into its mocking face, into its eyes.
Oh god. He can’t look away. Something about this statue has a hold
of him; he wants to look away, but he can’t. He tries to move away, but he
can’t. The thing is burning into him. It hurts, but he can’t get away! He
struggles and strains and finally he is able to tear himself away (Falling to the
ground) but... there on the floor: the mocking face is staring up at him. And
8
there it is again, on the ceiling, staring down. It’s in the stained glass windows,
the pillars, the pews—it’s everywhere. Somehow the thing has burned itself
into the child’s eyes. He squeezes his eyes closed, trying to shut it out, but even
there, on the inside of his own head: the mocking thing is staring in at him. He
can’t get away. He claws at his eyes, but the face is still there. He begins to
gouge at his eyes, trying to make it go away, trying not to see.
STATUE:
I - didn't make me. I - wasn't the one. She - did. To burn the
- retina. The face that - follows; the face that can’t be - left - behind. That's why I'm here. That's - what she made. To punish - her husband. But - it was
the boy. He couldn’t not see - me. But - I could see, I could - hear. I could
watch him - struggle - frantic. Unitl he found - the candles. Drew him. Like a
moth. He took them. Held them - to his eyes. Closer. Closer still. Until - I
went - away. I went – a-way.
TREVOR:
I mean I ran outta that chapel! I booked it down past
reception two and into the third ward. And I was breathin' so hard I had to stop
to catch my breath. So I leaned against the hand rail there in the hall. And I
knew the doors were there, lining the hall in front of me and behind. I mean,
it’s a hall. But I didn’t hear him. E Eddie, the fuckin' freakazoid. And I'm
there gettin' my breath and he's there all of a sudden—I mean, I didn't know he
was there. And then… suddenly, it was like he was in my head or something.
And I'm like 'Jesus! Fucking E Eddie, shut your mouth.' (Moving across the
stage and turning back toward where he was) And E Eddie's all smiles - he's
always all smiles and his idiotic voice.
E EDDIE:
TREVOR:
E EDDIE:
TREVOR:
trouble.
E EDDIE:
TREVOR:
wake somebody.
BISSITCH:
TREVOR:
BISSITCH:
TREVOR:
JIMENEZ:
E EDDIE:
TREVOR:
(Pause.)
Good evening Trevor.
Shut the fuck up E Eddie.
The moon's coming in through my window.
Well just make sure it leaves before morning, I could get in
I wish he could see it.
I wish he could too, E Eddie. Now shut up, you're gonna
I'm awake general.
Shit. Go back to sleep Bissitch.
Prisoner's are all locked up sir.
Good work.
We're not prisoners, Bissitch.
I'm a prisoner.
Will everyone just shut up and go back to bed.
Virtual Solitaire
ANDY: Shut UP, Shut UP, Shut UP, Shut UP…
BISSITCH:
Only one casualty today, general.
TREVOR:
Quiet down Andy.
JIMENEZ:
We're loonies Bissitch; we're not prisoners, we're loonies.
ANDY: Shut UP, Shut UP, Shut UP, Shut UP…
TREVOR:
Shut up Jimenez.
E EDDIE:
I'm a prisoner of the moon
BISSITCH:
Self inflicted. No problem with the Geneva code.
E EDDIE:
I don't mind though.
TREVOR:
Shut up!
JIMENEZ:
The doctors are killing us off.
ANDY: Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill…
JIMENEZ:
Like they're supposed to.
E EDDIE:
I wish he could see it.
BISSITCH:
Doctor F-f-f-Frankson didn't kill him!
TREVOR:
What are you talking about? Kill who?
ANDY: Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill…
BISSITCH:
Ha-ha-he-he kill-killed himself.
JIMENEZ:
Doc Frankfurter killed him.
TREVOR:
Killed who?
BISSITCH:
(Whispering to Trevor) He-he didn't!
E EDDIE:
He must be cold.
BISSITCH:
That would be a v-violation.
JIMENEZ:
He hung him.
ANDY: Hung hung hung hung hung...
E EDDIE:
A cold prisoner of the moon.
TREVOR:
Who's dead Jimenez?
BISSITCH:
He hung-hung-hung himself; nobody's fault.
E EDDIE:
A cold prisoner.
JIMENEZ:
Doc Frankeincense hung him.
ANDY: Hung hung hung hung hung...
JIMENEZ:
I wanna be next.
TREVOR:
Who, Jimenez?
E EDDIE:
What happens after you die, Trevor?
JIMENEZ:
Phil Vintzen.
ANDY: Die, die, die, die, die…
TREVOR:
Shut up Andy!
JIMENEZ:
Na-Na-Na-Nathan.
TREVOR:
BISSITCH:
Who?
He hung-hung-hung himself!
Nichols
9
JIMENEZ:
Then what was Doc Frankenstein doin' in his room?
BISSITCH:
St-st-stand-standard interrogation.
E EDDIE:
Do you think Nathan’s cold, Trevor?
ANDY: Trev Trev Trevor Trevor, Trev Trev Trevor Trevor...
TREVOR:
SHUT UP Andy!
JIMENEZ:
Ripping sheets is standard interrogation?
BISSITCH:
N-Nay-Nay-Nathan did that.
E EDDIE:
Do you think Nathan can see the moon, Trevor?
ANDY: Nay-Nay-Nathan, Nay-Nay-Nathan, Nay-Nay... Nay Nay Nay .
CLARENCE:  704-4 -  kick it in.  Cauterize the bitter end there and do a
back-grope for the lead.  Set up a live kiosk. Monitor his autonomic systems
on channel 2;  flood-tide it as much as he’ll take. I told you this wouldn’t
work Stanley! - (Placating) I’m not saying you mishandled him, I’m saying... .
It’s the same thing again, I told you. He’s completely freeform. - (His
frustration coming through) He is off the sphere, Stanley. That’s why you
couldn’t reign him, that’s why he spun out of his gildorn. - Alright, what? - I’m
telling you, it’s the same as last time: he starts off on the slave trajectory but
then something causes a turbulence at the interface and he’s chaoses out. - (His
frustration blossoming into anger) Why would we do it again, Stanley? It’s
not going to change. - I don’t see how that’s going to help. - Be realistic
Stanley, it won’t work. I think—. - Well no, we—. - Well, I think—I
THINK... I think we need to consider... we need to consider… lighting him up
here. - You know what I mean! It’s the only way—. - (Becoming desperate)
Why does it matter? Stanley, look, this is bad. If the ARPCA sees this they
will definitely shut us down. You said that’s what you wanted to avoid. - Not
necessarily. If we light him up there won’t be anything left to find. They won’t
know if, for instance, he took too much bandwidth himself. It’d be untraceable.
- Well Stanley, you—. - You—. - You were the one who said we couldn’t
afford a shutdown at this point. I don’t see any alternative here .
STANLEY:
 We need to play this conservatively, Clarence . Nathan is
going to be bad enough publicity as it is. Think about how it would look if we
ignored it now  and then it were to happen again . - You don’t know that
Clarence; we haven’t isolated the problem yet.  There may be something
wrong with the Parsing System; we need to find out. - You don’t know that, it
could be something else. - (Beginning to lose his temper) You can’t know that,
Claren—. - There is no way for you to know that. - (Pause) You seem awfully
sure of yourself here; is there something you need to tell me? - Well, you’re
very anxious to ‘light him up’ as you say. - Oh, now, that’s going to require
some explanation. What exactly do you mean by ‘cover up?’ - No, that was
your phrase Clarence, not mine. Yours. (After listening, turning to
manipulate his controls)  C-0414839.  Lock the current session through my
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
rostrum as the helm.  Subordinate the first platea . - Yes, I am subordinating
your platea.  I’m locking you out. I will be helming this session from now on
. - I’m making sure everything is aboveboard. I’m—. - Clarence, I work for
the investors; I’m here to look out for their interests. You seem to have another
agenda and I’m making sure—. - Are you finished? - Well then you don’t have
anything to worry about, do you? - Are you ready to begin again? - No. 
Before he calibrates I’d like to do a diagnostic of his active neural arbors, see if
we can’t find a plangent trellis . - Fine, I’ll bring up his dossier .
ACT II
STANLEY:
 Untrace his glials.  Flush his backflow circuits. Slack tide
him enough to vang him at parity for the next calibration. - Yes, I am going to
do another one, Clarence. - Because the locus  is still swimming somewhere in
his onboards . If I can draw it back into our system while keeping him tied to
only one of your profiles  I might be able to stamp that: imprint it as his
standard configuration. Then  when we bring him down there won’t be
anything wrong for the ARPCA to find. - I don’t think you—. - Clarence, I
would think that a person in your situation would want this to work more than
anything. - I think you know what I mean. If I’m able to stitch him back onto
the sphere there won’t be nearly as much for you to explain. If I can’t… . You
will be held accountable for what’s happened here. - Clarence! I’m not going
to argue with you about this. Let’s just hope that it doesn’t become an issue .
- I’m going to force his attentional Pics  so that he stays with the slaved
character. He won’t be able to skate into other profiles like he’s been doing
with you.  Then, if I can’t train his content, I’ll simply restart him again. Over and over if necessary.  Until his acquisitors learn that they will be offed
unless they unconditionally accept the inbound token from your entertainment .
- Clarence! Calm down. Let’s see if this works first. I’ll bring him up. We left
him in the first drawer, correct ?
NATHAN:
 Yeah, it’s—OW! Is there a—AH! It’s working! It’s
working. Bush. - Stanch. (Turning his attention to Clarence) Can I ask... can
I ask what’s—what’s going on? - The, ah, the entertainment. It’s not like any
other project I’ve worked on. It’s eldritch, like it’s drawing some of the... some
of the plot from my onboards. From me. Is that, sup... what it’s supposed to be
doing? - But this is all supposed to be hard-wired, these are slaved sections,
right? How is it... how is it drawing from my personals for this section?
- You want me to do another one now? - No, I’ll do it. Stanch. I
just... I wish I knew more about what’s going on. Sup, what’s the story of this
thing. (Turning) Clarence, you know what I’m talking about. Come on, bio,
10
somethin’s up here, right? Aver... this isn’t like a normal interactive. - So is
there some special feedback on this—something to make the whole plot of the
thing refer back to the player somehow? I don’t mind bio, I just wanna know
what I’m into. (Turning and responding testily to Stanley) - Because it’s a
little uncomfortable, seeing parts of yourself popping into this other thing. I
wasn’t expecting it. - I did—. - I am, I—. - Bush, I’ll do it, I—. - I was, but—
. - Stanch. Stanch. (Moving to a manhole, then leaning toward Clarence)
Can you tell me though if this thing is gonna bring me into the whole thing, bio?
When I get to the interactives... am I gonna be calibrating against myself? Am
I—. - (Responding to Stanley) I am, I—. - I was, I just—. - Stanch, I’ll do it.
It’s copiset. - Bush. (Unlocking the next manhole)  I’ll do the doctor next.
(To himself) Somebody sane .
DR. FRANKSON:
Inspector, you’ve established that I wasn’t
There at the time he took his life. And now
You ask if I feel somehow responsible?
Do you mean to suggest that my treatment was somehow unsound?
I ought to take offense, now don’t you think?
Allow me to describe his case, and stop
Me where you think the fault was mine.
Phil Vintzen started life with ADHD.
When Dexidrin and Ridilin both failed
To keep his poor behavior in control—
Aggressiveness and inattention in school
Combined with antisocial, hyperactive—
And willful misbehavior at home as well—
His doctors finally diagnosed CD:
Conduct Disorder. Chronic noncompliance
Resulting from unstable family life.
Neglect. The child was simply left alone.
Like most such children, Phil was headed
For prison, except that Phil had family
With wealth enough to further diagnose
His mood disorder: Manic Depression. Saved.
A life of crime transformed into a life
Homogenized by drugs and ECT.
Except that lithium could not control
Phil’s mania; SSRIs did not
Combat his profound depression as we’d hoped,
And so we had to keep him ice-ice-isola-isolated.
The rich man’s son is in his room alone—al-al-al-alone.
Virtual Solitaire
Which is, of course, the natural state of man.
We’re born alone, we die alone, returning
To our solitary silences. Like
Shadows, lengthening past recognition
Until all that remains is darkness.
We’re shadows only, wearing masks of flesh.
I came to know this as the sun went down
Two nights ago, when all my learning broke
Upon the shore of understanding.
The truth of what we are. And I have felt
That truth, and now I know that sunset’s not
The blush of night—as though the night reached out
Asserting modesty before assent.
The sunset isn’t part of night, it’s day’s
Last light, the stain from what has come before.
No blush of night, a bruise left by the day.
Inspector, you’ve established that I wasn’t
There at the time he took his life. And now
You ask if I’m the one responsible?
Of course I am. Who else? He was alone.
I killed the boy, and now I’ll tell you why—wa-wa-why. Why.
The mind is like a landscape filled with wonders:
Broad meadows, swamps and reaching mountain peaks,
Bare deserts, mesas, oceans pulsing waves
Beneath the dome of sky. The mind is such
A land as dreams aspire. Yet every day
You walk the path between your home and work.
You wear that path with shoes that know the way
All by themselves. You’ve never been atop
That hill, across that stream, around that bend.
Your life is habit, destined for regret.
It’s unexplored except for places you’ve
Been paid to go again and yet again.
We are paid to busy past our lives without
Exploring, sounding depths and climbing heights,
Which is our nature.
The inmates of this institution, they
Are the true explorers of the world of thought,
The ones who aren’t afraid to travel where
There are no roads, no guarantee of comfort,
Exploring thoughts from which the timid mind
Nichols
11
Will shrink. If distant shores are ever found
Within the mind of man, the first inhabitants
Will be the people here, who cast their minds
Upon the seas of chance without some chart
To guide their journey back. And this is why
For them there is no turning back. And why
For them the way is always found alone—al-al-alone.
Now Phil was an adventurer like none
Who’d come before. I helped him. Underwrote
His voyage, so to speak. I ripped the sheets,
I helped him tie the knots. I
Inspector, you’ve established that I wasn’t
There at the time they took his life. And now
You ask if I’m the one responsible?
Absurd. Ask Stanley here, he knows it all.
Or better yet, ask Clarence; he was there
To watch them hook him up.
Inspector, you’ve established that I wasn’t
There at the time they took his life. And now
You ask if I’m—iii-if I’m—iiif I’m—if I 
STANLEY:
 704-4. Ice him.  Now.  Cauterize all of it.  Put him on
a gioles peg and let him dangle. - Because he’s coming untethered Clarence.
Restarting him isn’t helping to channel his vector at all. It’s over. - No, it
doesn’t mean I’m lighting him up, Clarence. I’m bringing him down.  We’ll
just have to let the ARPCA analyze him as he is. - No, it will look bad for you,
Clarence ; the rest of us will be fine. - (Losing patience) Because it’ll be as
obvious to the ARPCA as it is to me what exactly has happened here. It’s
obvious that when your team set up his feedback circuitry you forgot to exclude
the prologue. You already had the looped circuit open on him when you upped
him in. He was trying to do an interactive against slaved characters; that’s why
they started to randomize, they were routed through his narrative locus .
Probably somewhere in his dream trellis considering the characters your people
wrote . - I am saying your team screwed up, yes. That’s what I think—that’s
what happened . - I don’t know what the fallout will be. I’m sorry, but I can’t
risk the entire parsing project just because you screwed up .
CLARENCE:  Hang on.  Hang on, Stanley. - Well I don’t think that is
how it has to be. You can’t tell me I’m taking the entire weight on this. I would
go to jail, I’m not that plastic. - Don’t off to me like that, you know what
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
happened here. - You know! - Fine Stanley, you don’t know anything. I’ll tell
you what happened. Nathan is junk! We didn’t open him wrong, his circuits
were already fried from upping at corporate speed too much. - Yes, I’m saying
he’s a virtual junk head. That’s why we chose him to calibrate, and you know
it. - Don’t off to me, Stanley. It’s policy, and you know it. - Fine, you don’t
know anything about it. You go ahead and bring him down soft. But let me tell
you something first. (Pause) I’m pretty sure I don’t want to go to jail over this.
I was pretty sure when they first assigned me. I could see this thing was kicking
sparks from the very beginning, so you know what I did? I started forcing the
no-retain mems and circulars. - No, I know. But: if you put your own channel
on a warble monitor while you upload, the monitor signal doesn’t retain the auto
erase. You can save it. - Yeah, I did. Everyone deserves insurance Stanley,
this is mine. - I’m saying that if you want to tell the ARPCA that my team
screwed this up, well... there might be another explanation. And if you want to
paint me as some rogue who swam against the moral, ethical stream here by
hiring a piece of junk to calibrate, well... my own records might show that for
the lie that it is. (Losing control) I’m not the one who demanded that this
parsing thing work like god’s fingers its first time out, Stanley! I did not up the
ante, I was following orders! They were the ones who demanded something
totally new, ‘like nothing before.’ ‘Extreme calibrations!’ Well, they got it! No. No, I’m not demanding anything, I’m... I’m making an observation. It
seems to me that a piece of virtual junk getting scrambled is easier to explain
than a full-on scandal. - Well, that’s not my problem any more, is it Stanley.
You locked me out, remember. Subordinated my platea. This is all your input
now, Stanley. You’re input exclusively .
STANLEY:
 You’re playing a dangerous game, Clarence. This will not
get you on many guest lists, if you take my meaning. - Well I suppose that’s
right, isn’t it. It may very well keep you out of prison. (Pause) Alright. Let’s
try one last thing here . - Because lighting him up would be the worst sort of
publicity Clarence, if I can avoid it I will. And I would suggest you help me.
This is not over yet.  C-0414839.  Take him off the gioles peg.  Vang him
to parity for another calibration. Clarence, spike directly into half a dozen
profiles from your entertainment and have them ready on a carousel, I’ll cycle
them through . - Do I have to explain this to you, Clarence? - I am going to
disorient his locus  by forcing different profiles down his pipe.  I’m going to
take the profiles from your carousel and cycle them through at random intervals.
 If he’s got any continuity filters left,  they’ll recognize that something is
wrong; they’ll search for a marshaling agent to helm the session. They will
locate us . We can freeze that connect and pull the locus back through that
pipe. - Well as you may guess, Clarence, I don’t particularly value your
opinion. I think it will work. He’s ready now. Are you ?
12
NATHAN:
 Ahh! Clarence? Clarence, what’s goin—? - No, no, no, no
no, don’t planter-box me, bio. What the chizap’s happening here? What kind
of feedback is this? This was supposed to be a slaved section; you said it was
hard-wired. It’s drawing you in too, what’s the key on that? - (Turing to
Stanley) Who are you, anyway? (Turing back to Clarence) Is this some kind
of experimental thing, bio? You using me like a guinea pig? - (Turing again
to Stanley) It’s not normal, don’t tell me it’s normal. - (Shouting) Why should
I be calm? You guys got me upped into some experimental thing without
telling me. - (Turning to Clarence) You didn’t tell me, Clarence. - Oh, do
you know it’s safe? Do you know that bio, or’re you just blowing pringles at
me? - (Turning to Stanley) I didn’t agree to have some glitch worked out on
me! I’m offing right now. (Turning, then turning angrily back) - Why should
I do another one, I didn’t agree to this one! - (Incredulous) Oh, ha! Right! A
perpetual token! Is he even RL bio? - (Suddenly serious and suspicious) Why
would you give me a perpetual token? - It’s not safe. - You’re sure? - A kilo,
full 87? And a perpetual token? - System wide? - (Pause) Wuh… . Well... .
Bush. I’ll do it. Stanch. One more! - Bush. (Going to the manhole) A
perpetual token! - Bush . Stay with me Clarence .
HERMAN:
What are you asking? Are you asking me if I knew that Dr.
Frankson was going to kill him? Everyone knew. Phil asked him to do it.
(Squint convulsion) Do you know why I’m here? I’m a hermaphrodite. My
body was crazy before my mind. Same difference. (Squint convulsion) You’re
not an outcast, are you? But you don’t seem happy either. Weird. I guess there
are three types; I thought there were only two. There are people who are
forced to be alone, like me. There are people who like to be alone. And I guess
there’s your type too: people who just sort of end up alone. You didn’t choose
it, you’re not happy about it, but nobody forced you, you just... . Weird. They
didn’t have your type on the talk show. I was on a talk show once.
HOST: Okay? Alright... and here we go,
It’s time to play, let’s start the show.
(Flourishing for the camera)
Hey hey hi and howdy out there,
It’s time to look, feel free to stare
At the wretches and the refugees...
The orphans, pariahs, and tragedies
Of various kinds. We’ve got it all,
We search the world to bring appalling
Freaks here for you to see and gawk (Laughing that nobody seems to be getting his joke)
I meant, of course, to listen and talk
And learn about. Examine these folks
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
With kindness and without the jokes
That sometimes creep into other shows
That don’t respect their guests. Who knows
Why their sensationalism sells.
Button pushing, ringing bells.
But here we seek truth, not just to pass
The time with strangeness. Insight’s our task
Here on... (Flourishing) The Man in the Iron Maaaaask!--Talking the
Bizaaaare!--Lives Like Car Wreeeeecks!--Outcaaaasts! Out-out-out
Outcaaaasts.
Our first guest today
From very far away
Is falling here now
Let’s see if we can’t catch him.
BRADLEY:
Yeah, well, being famous isn’t easy. People feel like they
know you just because they’ve seen you in a movie. And you know, just to sit
in a restaurant and eat is... a real luxury. I can’t do that any more. Anonymity.
Not being recognized, just to be left alone. That’s gone for me. And the money
and things are nice, but I don’t think people realize how much we celebrities...
we really become isolated and… we really sacrifice our personal lives for our
art.
SHOBIE:
Yeah, well, I’m lookin’ forard to it. Oh, we on now?
National TV? God damn! TEN MINUTES! (Making an electrocution
movement) Gud-zzzzzt. Tssss-gl. Betcha wish ya could smell it. Boy, I
wouldn’t wanna be the fella ta pull the lever, ‘uld you? Shooo! My soul’s
already fucked, but at least I’s mad about it, ya know. I got ticked an’ I did it.
But this fella, ‘e’s jus’ settin’ there, cool and rational. I wadn’t thankin’ when I
did it, I’s outta my head. But this fella, he’s deciding ta do it! I’m a killer?
Fuck ‘at! What’s this guy? What’re you? Yeah, all y’all. Isolate me, don’t let
me see anyone, do anything, keep me caged up an’en fuckin’ light me up. Hell,
I’m looking forard to it. ‘Least I won’t be pacin’ tha cage no more. But you
will! Ha! You will! They’ll always be anuther one a me ya gotta sangle out,
cull out yur herd, isolate. You pacing the cage too my friends. Lookit tha
guard there: back and forth, just like me. Ha! ‘Cause onc’t you build a cage ya
got two locked sides, ya cayn’t jus lock me in, see: you’s locked out too. All
y’all, even out there in TV land. Pace yur way on down tha store, git y’self
another TV dinner; tatter tots and a coke. Shooo! Hurry back though, don’t
wanna miss the fish fry. Ka-zzzzt. Yeah, y’all jus’ pacin’. You jus’ pacin’ yur
own cage ‘til you free like I’ll be.
EUGENE:
Yes, I’m a hermit. Not a monk, a HERMIT. There’s a big
difference. A MONK lives with other monks in one of those... big stone places.
13
A Monkestery. (Looking to god, thinking) MANISTARY. Men, menistar... .
It doesn’t matter, the point is monks live together, in GROUPS. I live ALONE.
Now, I have CHOSEN to live alone because I wanted to work on my
INDIVIDUAL relationship with GOD. You see, I am a HOLY man. A
GODLY man. An ASTHMATIC, as we’re sometimes called. I believe that
one cannot come to a true UNDERSTANDING of God until one is ISOLATED
from others. Now, in today’s world it is difficult for people to believe that a
person can be so truly SPIRITUAL, could so DEDICATE themselves as a
SEEKER of TRUTH that they would willingly FOREGO the society of others
and embark upon their own, SOLITARY spiritual JOURNEY. KATHLEEN
didn’t believe it. KATHLEEN was a BITCH.
CHAD: Yes, that’s where I got my theory. From the time I was a boy I always
loved books. Best friend a person ever had. Sh shuh. I worked in the, uh, the
university library there. Years. I’d, uh, I’d take my vacation in Hawaii every
year. Come back with a bit of a tan. Sylvia was the director... at the university
there. She’d come down to the bindery room and shuh shuh... . She’d uh, she’d
fun at me that I’d lost my fluorescent tan. Shuh shuh shuh shuh. She was...
delightful woman. But I was a, uh... . Working with books is how I came up
with my theory. It struck me as odd that all thoughts comes from people. And
then the notion occurred: perhaps they don’t. Perhaps thoughts exist...
independent of people somehow. People’re just... vessels for thoughts, if you
take my meaning. People come up with an idea like they come up with a fish.
Somehow it’s not right that they made the thing, they just caught it - it was out
there already, they just... caught it somehow. Like you’d catch a fish. And if
that’s true, then perhaps thoughts don’t even need people any more. There are
other things with thoughts in them now. There’re books and records and...
computers and such. Perhaps the thoughts are just as happy being in those
things as they are being in people. Shuh shuh shuh. It’s an odd notion. Very
odd.
BRADLEY:
Yeah, well that’s really what the film was about; it’s about
me. And I really had to explore... me. And I think people don’t realize how
difficult that is. For instance: in that scene where I play the prisoner in the cell:
for that scene to work I really had to be ALONE in that cell. And when we
filmed that there were upwards of... oh, 40 people there on the set. So how do
you be alone in a situation like that? Well, you have to concentrate. It takes a
tremendous amount of concentration. More concentration than most people
have, I think. And that’s why all those people are there: they’re there to help
me concentrate. And I really need all of them: costume hair… right down to the
caterer and my trainer and my trailer. And I know it can seem excessive to
somebody who isn’t familiar with how demanding it is, what I do. But for
instance: if I were distracted, if I was worried that I wouldn’t have a good meal
waiting for me at the end of the day—or a comfortable place to sleep that night,
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
I wouldn’t be able to give my undivided attention to being that character alone
in that cell. And that’s how much concentration it takes. I think people don’t
realize.
EUGENE:
Yes, I left eight years ago. I traveled as far as I could from
the city in which I had lived. It USED to be that such a SELF-IMPOSED
EXILE was a more DIGNIFIED thing: the holy man would wrap his rags about
himself and be in the solitude of NATURE not five MINUTES after being
released from JAIL, having been arrested for urinating in the garden of some
wealthy person while foraging for FOOD. But TODAY a self-imposed exile is
not so SIMPLE. And I wanted to go into the wilderness, I wanted to find a
CAVE in which I could LIVE and be like the monks and martyrs of old. But
MY journey was plagued with DIFFICULTIES that you do not READ about in
the lives of the saints who didn’t have EIGHT LANES of TRAFFIC to deal
with when they went into THEIR exile, who did not have to NAVIGATE the
temptations of STRIP MALLS and DONUT SHOPS and 95 SCREEN
CINEPLEX ODEONS. For them exile was EASY.
WALLY:
Yes, most of my work had been centered around quantum
chromodynamics. I was trying to provide experimental evidence to prove that
gluons are not needed to explain (particularly the affiliative properties of)
quarks. But then I got sidetracked away from hadrons by the rather intriguing
possibility of a third type of elementary particle: neither a quark nor a lepton.
Leptons are the other type of building blocks—electrons are the easiest
example. And although my university did not get behind me as much as I’d
hoped, I was able to apply for an extended leave, and then I was able to finagle
my way into some time on a German accelerator. And so in that way I began
working on my own.
SHOBIE:
YEAH! FIVE MINUTES! I wish ‘ey’d hang me so I could
shoot my load. Fella outta be able to get off one last time, doncha thank! But
no, I’m supposed to be proud. Hell, I’m a celebrity: I’m the first white guy
they fried in five years. Put ‘im on tha TV, ‘at’s big news. ‘Cause the black
folks got more crazys than the white folks, doncha know? Oh yeah, whole big
crowd a sane white folks out there just millin’ around. All them white folks’re
all just sane as Sanny Claus! Ha! That’s tha big lie, idn’t it? ‘Cause aint
nobody crazy; ‘s jus’ more white folks got sumpun ta lose. ‘At’s tha differnce.
Most white folks got enough stuff ta keep their little crazies swalluhed. Oops, I
let mine out fer a second, now I’m pacing the little side a tha cage. Maybe I had
a little more ta loose I ‘d still be out thare. Yeah, an’ maybe a little less ta lose
‘n’ you might be in here. Yeah, y’all wanna be differ’nt’an me, but you aint.
Y’all wanna be able ta say ‘Oh, oh, oh he aint like us. We’re normal, we’re all
like ‘is, he’s differ’nt. We ken jus’ lock him up and thow ‘way tha key. Er jus’
fry ‘is ass! ‘Cause he’s an exception. We’s tha rule, he’s the exception.’ And
14
then ya all sit at home an’ worry ‘at somebody’ll find out you’s an exception
too. You keepin’ it swalluhed down, but you just as differn’t as I am. All y’all.
Livin’ alone in yur own little skulls thare, pretending to be like ever’one else.
At’s tha lie my friends. ‘At’s tha lie.
CHAD: Yes, that’s an interesting question. You know I read a book about that,
but I can’t... remember the name. Shuh. It talked about the invention of the
printing press. It talked about how, at that time, quite a number of people were
afraid that having so many books would... would ruin people. Would make
them lazy and stupid. Because what’s the point in knowing anything, in putting
something in your head if you can just go look it up in a book? Shuh shuh shuh.
People were afraid that having so many books would stop people from thinking!
Shuh shuh shuh shuh. Oh, and I’ve heard them saying the same things about
computers now too. But I shouldn’t talk about that. Computers: that’s all
just... passed me by. As it should, out with the old... . Shuh shuh shuh. Funny
thing though: I work on computers. Shuh. True. There’s a little lady...
Esther. Comes in with this Senior Advantage program: useful things for
seniors to do, little projects and things. Esther’s an artist: she makes little...
landscapes and things out of the innards of computers there. The... boards and
diodes and things in there. Delightful little landscapes. And she heard that I
was good with my hands, so she set me up as a sort of helper. Shuh shuh shuh.
And so here I am, working on computers. Shuh shuh shuh shuh.
EUGENE:
Yes, I persevered and eventually I did find a cave of sorts. I
drove my car as far as I could and abandoned it. I took up lodgings underneath
an overpass. It was a SPIRITUAL place, I could tell that right off. I thought it
would be a place in which I could embark upon my solitary quest for a greater
understanding of GOD. But it is hard to be ALONE in today’s world, where
even an overpass has inhabitants that one wouldn’t expect to have to
ENCOUNTER on a daily basis, especially when there is RAIN and people
seeking shelter stop
paying ATTENTION to the broken BOTTLES and low-fat chocolate milk
CARTONS that I hurl at them from above in my overpass which I have
CLAIMED as my OWN and which is already crowded enough with pigeons
and smaller birds that flit and screech, disrupting my MEDITATIONS with
their guano which gets all OVER ALL of my meager possessions DESPITE my
attempts to get RID of the birds by casting small bits of FOOD onto the
HIGHWAY with the hope that the birds will follow and be CRUSHED by the
rushing CARS which, though ANGRY in their own way, make a kind of
WHITE NOISE which actually aids me in my meditations when I have the
TIME to CONCENTRATE, when people aren’t INVADING my SOLITUDE
like KATHLEEN, the BITCH.
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
WALLY:
Yes, well, working on one’s own can be quite difficult. I can
be lonely certainly, and frustrating at times. But I think there’s another aspect
to it that ought to be addressed. Working on one’s own can be tremendously
productive, and one is free to pursue whichever avenues one feels are
appropriate to one’s research. I don’t think I would have found the lepto-quark
if I had been working under the strictures of a university department or research
institute, which tend to be driven more and more by financial considerations.
Because there isn’t any profit involved in finding a third type of fundamental
particle—not yet anyway. However—and I feel
this is the salient point here—there are philosophical reasons for wanting to do
this type of research, and it is these philosophical questions that can really
motivate an individual to... to rigorously pursue his or her subject matter. It’s
certainly what motivated me. And now, of course, I’ve forgotten your question.
Does that get back to it at all? Am I making sense here. Is what I’m saying at
all clear?
BRADLEY:
Yeah, well, as an artist I need the script to inspire me. Me,
you understand. It’s a personal thing. People come to me with different parts,
but they’re their parts. I need a part for me. Because unless I’m inspired by it...
. Unless I’m inspired by the part, the part’s not art. You see, real art is about
an
individual’s vision. Real art is personal. And it’s going to be me up on the
screen. Me. Not a bunch of writers or directors or producers. Me. So for it to
be art, I have got to connect with it; it has to be my vision. My art. Because it
all comes through me. If it doesn’t come through me it simply doesn’t come,
and then it doesn’t function as art. And people won’t pay for that.
CHAD: Yes, they’re just... boards. Mostly green. There are little metal lines
going everywhere, and solder. Esther marks on the card where she wants me to
work and I trace the pencil marks with the solder there. It makes the little roads
and streams and things for the little landscapes. Delightful little things. They
had to teach me how to solder in order to do it; it’s good for my hands, very
intricate. You bring the solder and the iron down together and... it’s
extraordinary.
The solder melts all of a sudden and this small pool of silver suddenly covers
the area around the tip of the iron there. It’s magical. After only a bit it
congeals and dulls over, but for a second there there’s this liquid silver
droplet... a shiny, beautiful thing reflecting the light from all around. It’s a
beautiful, beautiful thing. Magical. Like a silver tear. Shuh shuh shuh. But
then it congeals and dulls over and you have to move on.
15
SHOBIE:
YEAH! ONE MINUTE! Any bets on tha after life? I’m
takin’ ALL bets. Hell, I’ll take a check too, I trust all y’all. Make it out ta my
momma, she’s tha one’ll need it. All she’s got’s tha money I’m makin’ right
here, right now. Oh yeah, they paid me good so y’all ken share my very last
minute on god’s earth. I’m makin’ more money now ‘n I ever made at workin’.
Hell—hell, dyin’s a better livin’ than livin’. Shoooo! An’ here comes the
preacher man an’ tha officers an’ all. It’s a damn parade! Guess I’m done.
Rest a you dice jus’ keep on bouncing round out thare. Er maybe you just
layin’ there, waitin’ fer someone ta pick ya up an’ give ya a roll, see which way
you turn up. But not me; I’m done. No, come on! Brang it on! Strap me
down, light me up! All I got left’s ta wonder how they’ll do it. I’m told they
strap yur hands down at the sides so ya cayn’t pray, so I hope all y’all’ll put yur
hands tagether fer me in a big ol’ prayer. Won’t ya do it now?
WALLY:
Yes, well I didn’t set out to be a popularizer of science; but I
think there’s an interesting point here. Science was always driven by
individuals. Personalities. And I’ve always felt that the reason for this is that
we take in knowledge as individuals; we are individuals, and so when we read
the work of another individual it has a... a coherence to it, a personality with
which we can identify. I don’t think the same is true of knowledge that comes
from a committee. Committee’s tend to present information in a way that has a
sort of... homogenized, negotiated logic to it, whereas the individual will
present his or her findings
with their own idiosyncratic, personal thread of logic to it. And even when the
individual’s point isn’t as straight-forward as it might be, I think there’s a
personality there that allows us to identify with it. We think of knowledge, and
particularly scientific knowledge, as being absolute in some way, without a
personality or agenda. But I feel that even scientific knowledge is shaped to a
very large extent by the personality of the individual who created that
knowledge. And again I’ve forgotten the question, but I think this is an
important point. Is it clear though? Is what I’m saying making sense at all?
EUGENE:
Yes, I did have one visitor who came more than once. I think
I’ve mentioned her before: the lovely Kathleen. Of all the people who didn’t
understand my solitary quest, Kathleen was the most ignorant. Kathleen
worked for the government, and so had no UNDERSTANDING of God. She
thought my quest had no value. Because SHE couldn’t place a value on it she
assumed it was valueLESS. She tried to lure me away from my quest—just as
any DEVIL would have done to the SAINTS and MARTYRS of old. But I
resisted. I resisted because I
believed that I had been CALLED into my solitude for a PURPOSE. And I was
borne out. I was borne out that night the semi crashed and I was able to wrest
Virtual Solitaire
Nichols
Mr. Vintzen from his crushed luxury sedan before it burst into flames. I was
there. I was THERE because I had sought SOLITUDE, I BELIEVED and I
PERSEVERED, and in so doing I found my FORTUNE. Not ONLY was I
included in Mr. Vintzen’s WILL, but now I am also being paid
HANDSOMELY through television appearances such as THIS. And while it
wasn’t the... it wasn’t the SPIRITUAL fortune that I had gone in search of, it
was a FORTUNE nonetheless. And isn’t that the way God works.
NATHAN:
Clarence?
C-c-la-a-r-r-en-n-c-ce? W-wh-a-a-t’s-s ha-a-a-pen-n-ni-ing? C-c-la-a-r-r-en-nc-ce? U-u-u-p-p m-m-m-e-e-e o-o-u-u-t-t. C-a-a-a-a-l-l-a-a-a-r-r-r-e-e-en-n-n-cc-c-c-e-e-e .
STANLEY:
 704-4.  Drain the box and slack tide him slow.  Slonge
the counters back to zero. - I can see that it’s not working, Clarence . - Well, I
suppose we’ll have to light him up. Unless you can see another way. - Fine.
Why don’t you get on with Joe and Peter and explain this for yourself; but
remember that I will be giving them my report later. - Fine.  First though, you
should explain to Nathan. - I think he has a right to know. – If we’re going to
light him up, I think he at least has a right to know what’s happening to him. Fine, I’ll do it.  Why don’t you get off-line now, you disgust me. And let me
have a few minutes with Nathan before you throw the switch. – Fine .
- Nathan. - Calm down for—. - Calm down. I know—. - Are you
finished? - No, we haven’t been straight with you. Let me—. - Clarence is offline. Let me explain. - Let me—let me explain?! - Clarence brought you in
earlier today to do some calibrations. He put you on a tetraflow for the
prologue. Unfortunately, many of your circuits are already so... so well used,
that somehow a feedback loop got started and you began incorporating the
slaved characters into your own personal cache. You were overloaded. - That
doesn’t matter. The point is you went opaque. Clarence floated you on an Speg vac and brought me in. We erased your first cycle and started your session
again. - No, we did a continuity backfill for you; this is the second time you’ve
been through it. - Well, we morphed your own icons and masked in through
those. (Pointing) If you look at the registration numbers you’ll see that they’re
all variants of your own. This is all you. - No. I know it feels that way,
Nathan, but you have to understand: it was designed to feel that way. There
simply are no outbound pipes for you right now. We’re haunting your own
icons. These are all your morphs. We are all you. - Yes. We were trying to
see if we could reconfigure your onboards. (Pause) It didn’t work. I’m sorry.
- It means that while you’re on a relative flood tide now, we can’t bring you
down again without a total loss of your integrity. - I know, but—. - Nathan, I
know. It feels that way, but it’s all virtual. None of this has been RL for you. Well, if you were to try your left gauntlet now it wouldn’t work properly
because you are a virtual presence at this point. None of this has been Real
16
Life. - Your RL body? It’s in the lab. Clarence is there with you. (With
genuine difficulty) You’re lying on a diagnostic table with sus-tubes up your
nose and 87-band pipes heaved directly into your eye pics. - I’m afraid that’s
right, you won’t be getting up again. I’m sorry. - No, I understand. - I
understand Nathan, go ahead and try. Here, see if you can feel this .
NATHAN:
 No, I can’t feel it. (Trying to feel his left arm) Bush, so
this isn’t my deck either? You guys do a nice job. What’d, you up the
incidentals from my own cache? - Clever. And my RL body is... . Clarence is
there... . And so... what now? Is he... . What happens now?
- Is that what you call it? Heh. - No, we always just said when a piece
of junk gets fried that they’d gone nova. - Ha! Like what, like a cigarette or
something? Aver... . This is classic. This is... . - I don’t know; what would
you want with your last minute? You wanna go to a beach, you wanna get laid?
What? - I don’t know! - I don’t know! I... Uh... . - You know the Muséo
Distál? They got a planetarium board there, I used to jack into it when I was a
kid. Could you put me in that? - No no, not the research board, just their night
sky watch. I just... wanna... . I just wanna look at the stars.
Yeah, that’s it. - Environmentals? Uh... . Give me a... high desert
nightscape. A cool breeze. And how ‘bout a little light from a distant town;
just a glow silhouetting some distant hills on the horizon there.
- Yeah, that’s nice. - No! No, don’t... quash the emotions. Leave ‘em.
Just... leave the emotions like they are. I just wanna... feel it like it is. - No, it’s
copiset; I just wanna be alone here... . - Bush, stanch. Stanley. Thanks.
The end. ©Copyright 1997. Revised edition ©Copyright 2000.
Don’t think you can prevent the night by shaking your fist at the setting sun.
On the other hand, sometimes a small candle is seen from a great distance.