A Future We'd Like To See 1.44 - The Big Time
By Twoflower (Copyright 1994)
 
     The alarm clock rang; 6 AM sharp, like... well, clockwork. 
I'd have a single half hour to jack in before they discount a
day's wages, but make me work anyway.
 
     These old bones may not be ancient, but they've aged enough. 
How I'd kill to be in my twenties again, coding up those silly
shareware things.  I thought they were just annoying, little
stepping stones on my way to the top.  Turns out they'd be the
most fun I'd ever have with a compiler.
 
     Most people think that hitting the big time is a good thing. 
I thought that too, when the talent scout found me.  I was
sitting in my usual booth at the back of the Peasluvdope when
this slick businessman walks up.  Says I've got a bright future
at the Protege Corporation.  They needed a game coder; I was a
game coder.  They had vast sums of money they could pay me; I
wanted the vast sums of money they could pay me.
 
     Yeah, I was paid well, I figured as I brushed my teeth. 
I've got more cash than one man should have.  Shame I never get
the chance to spend it.  I even have to work on Saturdays.
 
     So I signed up.  Seemed like a good idea.  Fluki kept
telling me it was a bad idea, selling out to the suits.  I passed
it off as his usual anti-business ranting.
 
     It was good, for awhile.  I had good gear... REALLY good
gear, faster than my cheesy VOSNet laptop, more powerful.  I
could make a game with full motion polygons, speech, music, the
works.  And ONLINE games too; the main goal of Protege was to get
a major net hub going, providing easy information access for
people that didn't understand how to do it directly via a VOSNet
jack.
 
     I took two stale poptarts out of the cabinet.  Ten minutes
till worktime; had to eat them raw.  Tastes a lot like sawdust
that way.  So I had made games for them, lots of them; Protege
was just in development stages back then, and lots of wild stuff
was going on.  It was fun stuff, not answering to anybody about
your games.  I loaded one really great maze-shoot-'em-up with
gore and demons and stuff, and managed to work some great action
movie dialogue into the Fighter Jock program.  Clearly my best
work ever.  The period of free working was one of the best times
of my life.
 
     THAT certainly didn't last long.
 
     I finished off the crusty pastries and sat in my Comfy
Chair.  The patch cord was at my side... just thumb it onto my
neck and I'm in.
 
     Cyberspace unfolded, with the garish yellows and blues of
Protege's main menu.  All interfaced with idiots in mind; help
buttons everywhere, large print, the works.  And the billboard.
 
     See, completely covering the floor was a billboard.  One
mother-huge one, too... changing every minute with a new image, a
new musical jingle, a new annoying pitch for you to buy so and so
product.  You learn to ignore it after awhile, until you realize
you're humming commercial songs under your breath while working. 
Eerie, man.
 
     I ignore the menu and just tap into my workshop.  My bosses
don't like my toolbox, which I use to skip the dozens of menus
I'd normally have to follow, but I don't care.  It doesn't matter
what opinion they hold of me.  They know I hate them.
 
     I knew Bernard would be there waiting for me, and he was.
 
     "Hey, Benson!" he waved, smiling.  "Glad to see you!"
 
     "Yeah, whatever," I muttered, pushing the piles and piles of
forms off my desk.  "What's wrong this time?"
 
     "Well, you see, you refer to one of the main characters in
Fighter Jock as 'purple'.  Now, noting his Saren race, this could
be considered a racial slur, so we'd really appreciate it if you
remove it."
 
     "Purple.  Fluki didn't mind being called that.  He'd call me
brownie, and we'd laugh."
 
     "Well, that's nice and all, but I think I'm right and you
should remove it."
 
     "First the cursing.  Next the violence.  You realize how
hard it was for me to code the enemy ejector seats to fire just
before the ships blow up?  All because seeing death could be
harmful to the players.  And the breast sizes reduced, the
dialogue modified to remove words over four syllables... THE
HAPPY ENDING.  It's not Fighter Jock anymore, it's Kind Soldier
Guy Blowing Up Empty Planes."
 
     "That's nice too," Bernard smiled.  I hated that smile. 
"Now, please be a good chap and remove it.  Got to keep things
nice and safe for our users!  Free-flowing information, nice and
smooth, that's our goal."
 
     "Yeah, whatever.  I'll change it.  Now get the fudge out of
my sight."
 
     Bernard left.  I really wanted to curse him, but couldn't. 
The public wouldn't like it, so filters were installed.
 
     "Son of a brick!" I screamed to nobody in particular.  "You
freaky piece of stuff!  Get back here, you peppy little
dumbstick!"
 
     You want to know what hell is?  Well, now you've seen it.
 
                              *
 
     Lunchtime is the only break I get from working on Protege's
games.  (Not my games.  They own them, and for all I care, they
can HAVE them.)  I typically jack out for my allotted ten minute
daily jack-out time, go take a piss, eat another pastry and get
back in.
 
     The rest of the lunchbreak is mine for recreation.  I have
many fine selections of entertainments available.  The arcade,
where eight year olds gather to beat the snot out of each other
at video games; without any blood loss, sounds of pain, or actual
physical contact.  The chat room, where eight year olds brag
about how well they can beat the snot out of each other.  The
tearoom, where confused businessmen and senior citizens stumble
about, trying to understand the AutoDispenser.  Let's also not
forget the mall, the main hub you had to walk through to get
anywhere.
 
     The mall takes up 80% of Protege.  Virtual reality stores
are the worst... ads can literally jump in your face and start
singing praise of Product X.  Some can actually force you into a
store; eventually you learn which shops to keep ten feet away
from at all times.  I almost went bankrupt on my first week here,
unable to resist the buying impulse... I ran a trace program on
the stores, trying to figure out what on earth had urged me to
get a garden weasel.  My bosses found the program and fried it,
but I discovered two important things.
 
     One, a subliminal impulse to BUY, embedded in half the ads
here.
 
     Two, a packrat program to obtain financial information
directly from your brain.  (Guess they don't want to waste the
adverts on anybody who can't afford the product.)
 
     I sighed, passing a clothing store.  (Clothes?  In VR?  Hah! 
ANYBODY can change their appearance, so why bother?)  The new
display was a t-shirt with a hologram of the 'net on it.  I
hadn't seen the actual net in a long time.  No doors in Protege
are marked EXIT.  You can jack in, you can jack out, but you
can't leave.
 
     So, it was off to the tearoom.  I grabbed my usual (grape
soda) and had a seat.
 
     "Hey there," some eight year old said.  Typical kid... black
t-shirt, styled blond hair, sneakers.  "Hiya.  My name's Max.
Wanna go play Fighter Jock?"
 
     "No," I said, meaning it.
 
     "Come on!  I wanna show you my save games back at my
account's home directory.  You made the game, right?  You're
Benson!"
 
     "Don't scream it out, kid.  I'd rather not be mobbed by my
fans right now."
 
     "Come on, we've gotta play!" Max said, grabbing my wrist
with surprising force.  The scene shifted, and we were in a
grubby basement.
 
     "What the frack?" I almost cursed.  "How'd you do that? 
GoTo programs are illegal on Protege."
 
     "Bite me," Max offered helpfully.  "Hey, Harden!  I got
him!"
 
     A figure stepped out of the shadows.
 
     "Benson," he nodded, fedora type hat bobbing with his head. 
"Harden.  My companion here's called Max.  We're extremely
pleased to meet you."
 
     "You two punks are hackers, right?" I guessed, ignoring the
hand Harden had held out to shake.  I didn't like the looks of
him; trenchcoats just scream 'TROUBLE'.  "If you're here to
complain about the games, fact off.  I've heard enough flak from
the few real net.runners here."
 
     "They suck," Harden said.  "Your talents are wasted here,
Benson.  You need to rejoin the net."
 
     "Or what's left of it," I laughed.  "Have you looked
outside?  I've seen the news reports.  There's nothing left.  The
Net.Cops got all the hackers, all the crooks.  The only remaining
things are the big corporations.  Hell, even the universities
have pulled access.  It was costing too much."
 
     "Wrong net," Harden said.
 
     "You gotta see it!" Max chirped, bouncing up and down like a
human rubber ball.  "It's cool!  They've got the bloodiest,
nastiest games, the coolest simulations, everything!  They're not
like the nerds you've got here."
 
     "We'd like to propose that you move your base of
operations," Harden interrupted.
 
     "Yeah?  Where to?  Some other system, like Yttia Online or
VirtuServer?"
 
     "UberNet," Harden said.  "You heard of it?"
 
     "No, can't say I have."
 
     "Let me fill you in."
 
                              *
 
     So, he laid it down.  Took a long time too, so I'll have to
summarize :
 
     Way back when the Third Invasion was just starting, all the
hackers and college funsters tried to fight back.  The corps were
too strong, though; even the best of them couldn't cut through
corporate ice.  The corps fought back, too.  Paid the right
people to look the other way, and started open war on the
hackers.  Net.Cops fried them upon entering cyberspace; mercs and
Not-So-Secret-Agents killed those who didn't enter.
 
     Only a few remained, with whatever equipment they could
scrape up.  So UberNet came about.
 
     "A full net split," Harden phrased it.  "We needed a place
to work where we wouldn't have big business breathing down our
necks.  It was a real banding together, getting all the computer
jocks together.  We're in equal size to VOSNet now, although
neither of the two are as powerful as VOSNet used to be."
 
     "How'd you manage that?" I asked.  "I thought the corps were
hunting you down like wolves."
 
     "Funny thing, that," Harden said.  "Once we were out of
their hair and playing on our own separate, non-connected net,
they left us alone.  Just wanted to weed out the weasels, don't
matter where they run to."
 
     "I gotta go get my sugar fix," Max announced, finished with
scrawling MAX RULES PROTEGE SUCKS DIE SCUMBAGS HA HA on the far
wall.  "Meet you on Uber, Hardy!"
 
     Max faded from view, parts at a time.  The smile was last.
 
     "'Hardy'?"
 
     "Can that," Harden snapped.  "The boy can call me what he
likes, not you.  He's certainly had enough of his friends get old
and drop off to warrant a little speech leeway with the one bud
he's got left.  Anyway, what do you say?  Is it worth it getting
out of this politically correct cesspool?"
 
     "You can't," I spoke softly.  "It won't work.  I've tried. 
If the syndicate agents don't find me and bring me home, my will-
switches trigger and force me home.  I can't even stay jacked out
for more than a day... someone shows and jacks me back in.  All
in the contract, all perfectly legal.  Dammit, I should have
listened to Fluki."
 
     "He's a wise man," Harden said.  "He's one of the primary
voices of UberNet."
 
     I looked up, shocked.  "What?  Fluki?  You KNOW him?"
 
     "He joined up a year after Uber's forming," Harden said. 
"Wanted to avoid 'the suits', as he put it."
 
     "And Eroki Myki?"
 
     "She's there too.  They sent me, you know.  Took a long time
to track you down, Benson.  You've got some determined pals. 
Lucky for you, case considering."
 
     I grinned, genuinely pleased for the first time today.  "The
Terrible Twosome.  Figured they'd hunt me down sooner or later. 
So, how do you figure you can get me out of this mess?"
 
     "What time do they expect you jacked in by?" he asked.
 
     "Six thirty in the morning, net.global.time."
 
     "Alright.  How closely is your building monitored?"
 
     "Pretty gosh darn close.  It's Protege's arcology."
 
     Harden paused.  Yeah, I saw this coming.  He'd back out, too
afraid of corporate muscle.  Just like all the mercs I tried to
hire back when I had some hope left... nobody, and I mean nobody
gets into the arcology.
 
     So much for a dream.  Shit like this happens, you know.  My
life was over when I signed that contract -- no more happiness
for you, dear Benson.  You've hit the big time now.
 
     "Thought so.  Alright, we can swing that.  At--"
 
     "What?" I asked, biting my tongue accidentally.  "You're
actually going to bust into the arco and get me out?"
 
     "You act as if this is hard," Harden grinned.  That's the
first time he had grinned in our entire discussion.  "We've been
planning something like this for awhile now.  You're just an
additional thing to consider."
 
     "A sane person would turn back at the very thought of
breaking in here," I muttered.
 
     "I lost that a long time ago in the war, Benson.  When you
see fellow hackers drop left and right, it does some unpleasant
things.  Wipe that look off your face, I'm stable now, more
stable than I have ever been before.  Solid as a rock.  You, you
I'm more worried about in the sanity department.  I've seen
Fluki's old photos of you, Benson.  Now you look like shit in
comparison."
 
     "You... swore...  but NOBODY can crack Protege's base code!"
 
     "Old School," he laughed.  "I've learned from the best there
ever was and will be.  Now.  Do you want to go through with it?"
 
     A chance.  Opportunity.  Last one I had was when the big
time arrived.  He seemed up for it; anybody who could get by
Protege's curse-filter had to be top rate material.  Pouncing on
that opportunity could be the nail in my coffin lid, though.
 
     "I'm... not sure.  Look, this is Protege we're talking
about, the one, the ORIGINAL Happy.Net.  I could very likely get
killed."
 
     "And your alternative?  Sitting around here watching them
shred your pride and joy into soft, edible mush?  You're dead
meat if you stay here."
 
     "Hey, don't act like I should be suicidal.  I'm getting
paid, you know."
 
     "I've seen your bank account," he said, tossing me a card. 
Lots of zeroes on it.  "That's what you're worth right now,
according to Protege.  How much are you worth in your own
opinion?"
 
     "Take the one away from the top of this stack," I joked. 
"Alright, alright.  Maybe my brains will be paste by morning, but
if it means getting out of here, I'm in.  So what do I do?"
 
     "Jack in tomorrow like normal.  When you see Max... and he
WILL find you... do what he says.  That's all."
 
                              *
 
     I made sure my dinner was a good one, since it could be the
last one I'd ever eat.  This time, I warmed up the pastries.  I
spent all that night during what should have been my sleep period
packing.
 
     This is why I was dead asleep when the alarm clock rang.  I
groggily moved to hit the SNOOZE button, and remembered what I
was supposed to be doing.
 
     Forget breakfast or hygiene.  I jacked straight in.  Most of
the Protege complex was empty, everybody still getting dressed
and ready to face the day.  One by one they trickled in,
eventually turning into a stampede come 6:30.
 
     I was wondering where Max was when he swung down in front of
me, hanging by his knees from a menu bar.
 
     "Boo!" he yelped.  I panicked, hands shaking as my ass hit
the ground.  Max giggled, and swung down.
 
     "It's the big day for both of us, mister!  I'm pumped.  You
ready to roll?" he asked.
 
     "Yeah.  What now?"
 
     "Simple.  Take this pill," he said, handing it to me.  "I
need you to be braindead for three seconds for this to work."
 
     "Brain... dead?"
 
     "You wanna leave or not, mister?  Come on, please.  I won't
get this chance again."
 
     I popped the pill.
 
     EKGBEEP EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...
 
     "You awake?" Max asked, waving a hand in front of my eyes. 
A REAL hand, not a texture mapped virtual reality simulation.  I
was back in my home.
 
     "Yay!" he cheered, jumping up and down.  "You're alive. 
'course, the system still thinks you're jacked in.  Great, huh? 
It's working, it's really working!  We'll get them yet.  Let's
move."
 
     "Whoa.  Time out.  Won't someone see me?"
 
     "Nopenope!" he cheered.  "They're all jacked in.  We could
run around screaming and beating the walls and nobody'd notice!"
 
     "Not bad," I admitted.  "Alright, I'm ready to go.  Just
need to get my suitcase."
 
     "Okay," he said, pulling out a few candy bars from his
pockets.  "Want one?  They're Sugar Frosted Super-Energy Bars! 
My last ones, too."
 
     "Ummm... no thanks," I said, teeth grinding at the very
thought.
 
     "Suit yerself," he said, chowing down.  The speed he put
them away with was astounding.  The sugar rush hit him like a
cargo cruiser, jerking his head back.
 
     "You okay?" I asked.
 
     "YEAH!" he shouted. "REALLYgreat!Let'sgetamoveon!"
 
     The kid promptly grabbed my hand and ran.  I yelped at the
pain as he literally dragged me along.  Where'd this kid go to
school, Mt. Olympus?!
 
     He ran along, taking a few moments to bounce off every wall
and ceiling along the way.  I was taking quite a few knocks, as
me and my suitcase whanged against the floor.
 
     "Quit it!" I yelled to him.  "I don't wanna end up out of
Protege with a broken neck!"
 
     "Ohokay," he yelled back, and contended himself with running
along the floor.
 
     That's when the red alert sounded.  I panicked as the red
lights flashed and the sirens wailed; Max just kept smiling.
 
     "They'reafterusnow!" he screeched, happily.  "YEEEEEHA!!!"
 
     Guys.  Guns.  LARGE dogs.  Bullets and phaser blasts whizzed
by, the kid managing to jerk me to safety with quick flicks of
the wrist...
 
     "Hereyougo!" he said at last, as we rounded a corner into a
flight bay.  He tossed me in the air, as I arced neatly through
the ship's sun roof (SUN ROOF?  In space?) and landed on a
mattress, obviously placed there for me to land on.  "BYEBYE!" he
yelled to me, as the ship started to take off. 
"THANKSFORTHEFUN!BYEBYEHARDY!I'LLMISSYA!"
 
     It was going too fast... barely a minute ago I had been in
my room, now I was on a ship leaving Protege.  I had barely
breathed twenty times in between those two events.  Now I was
clear of Protege, the hulking asteroid computer complex.
 
     "Glad to have you onboard," Harden said, leaning through the
cockpit door.  "Hope Max didn't knock you around too much."
 
     "Max... he's still back there!  We need to turn around--"
 
     A grisly light... burning your eyeballs... the ship shaking
under the explosion... and Protege was gone.
 
     "Nuclear discharge," Harden said, as easily as one might ask
for the fish special.  "Old tech, I know, but it works.  Max was
carrying it in his chest."
 
     "WHAT?"
 
     "Max wasn't human, silly," Harden said.  "He was a cyborg, a
VOSNet AI in a metal shell.  Hasn't aged in a decade.  The most
advanced borg known to man, strong, quick, intelligent despite a
bit of immaturity.  Runs on glucose and perpetual motion."
 
     "But he just blew up!"
 
     "Hey, don't blame me, it was his idea," Harden shrugged. 
"It was the only way to sneak it by the sensors.  The poor kid
couldn't really communicate without the permanently bouncy
facade, but I could tell for months now that he wasn't doing
well.  Remember all those hackers that died?  Well, the kid
didn't take it real well.  He wanted revenge.  So, he cooked up
this plan.  You're DAMN lucky that Fluki overheard this and
demanded we get you out first."
 
     "Whoa," I admitted.  "To think I might have been in there
when it happened... but still.  Poor Max."
 
     "Naah, it's how he wanted it," Harden replied.  "Being an
unaging kid isn't that fun, from what I've seen.  Friends growing
up and moving on to more mature stuff, or getting cut down by
people gunning for YOU.  He's over that now.  I will miss the
little rugrat, though.  Don't misinterpret the monotone; that's
just how I talk."
 
     "So... is it over?  I'm free?"
 
     "Of course you are," Harden nodded.  "No more censoring, no
more prison wardens.  No more forced labor, no more watching your
work get slashed to ribbons.  You're free.  How's it feel to be a
shareware diddlyshit again?"
 
     "Tiring," I wheezed.  "But good.  I think I'm going to take
a little rest."
 
     "Be my guest," Harden said.  "You've earned it."
 
     Most people figure that when you score the big time, you're
in the lap of luxury.  Some are, but it's not what it's cracked
up to be.  One of the advantages of being a small time nobody...
you still own yourself.