Geekers

Chapter 2: Not in Kansas Anymore

 "Woahh!"

There was darkness, a couple flickers of light, then a jolt, as if my capsule had just hit something. Out of nowhere, an automated female voice announced:

"Wormhole transit complete. Scanning bio-signs."

A vertical line of light zigzagged across me several times, accompanied by a faint buzz.

"Scan complete. All bio-signs normal. You may proceed."

Some door or barrier lifted outside the capsule, and light came flooding in. As soon as my eyes readjusted . . . I gaped. This wasn't my room . . . or our basement . . . and this couldn't be under our house. It had to be some sort of immersive entrance for the game. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

The film receded, releasing my body, and the capsule door slid open. Cool air washed over me, a refreshing change from the warm and humid May weather we'd been experiencing. Apparently, the DreamRig could simulate air currents.

"Caution. You are in a low-gravity zone. Please grab the hand-rail as you exit."

Low gravity? They could simulate that, too? I gingerly stepped out into a wide corridor, grabbing the nearest handrail to make sure I didn't float upward. Wow. My body actually did feel lighter. It was a strange sensation . . . albeit a simulated one, just like the capsule falling. This was quite remarkable.

Only then did I take in my new "surroundings". I was standing in a wide hallway, lined with identical capsules and hand-rails. A longer hand-rail ran down the middle of the corridor. At one end was a holographic sign reading "Wormhole Transit: North America", with U.S. and Canadian flags below it. 

Many of the capsules had miniature holographic displays of their own. Each was one word: Aurora . . . Tachyon . . . Storm . . . Cassiopeia . . . Artemis . . . Patriot . . . codenames? I turned to look at my own capsule: sure enough, there was Spectrum, in between Psiren and Primafauna. Did these other codenames belong to other play-testers, or were they NPCs I'd meet somewhere in the story? 

Either way, I was alone at the moment. The only way forward seemed to be a hatch at the other end of the corridor. Gripping the middle rail, I walked lightly toward the hatch. The low gravity – or rather, the simulated low gravity – wasn't so hard to get used to. At least I wasn't weightless. The hatch swung open at my approach, and I stepped through into a larger space. 

I was near one end of a curved wall, in a semi-circular chamber with a high ceiling. Along the curved wall was a row of hatches, one of which I'd just stepped through. Each had a holographic sign above naming a different region of the world. The straight wall was lined with a few benches and potted plants, flanking a large, translucent sliding door. A large holographic sign overhead the message:

Welcome to Far Side Base

Far Side Base, huh? The name conjured up images of portly humans and intelligent cows . . . but I was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the comic strip. There was only one context where a name like "Far Side" would make sense: the far side of the moon, always facing away from Earth . . . a convenient place for a secret base.

There were still no signs of any players or NPCs. The lighting was better in here, so maybe I could take a moment to check out my . . .

"Oh, come on! Seriously?!" 

I was in my regular body, wearing my regular clothes. There was no sign of the avatar I'd designed. Had I done that entire character creation for nothing? Had I not uploaded my avatar properly? Was I just not able to see it myself? Meanwhile, the surroundings were so well-detailed. How could the game's developers overlook such a glaring discrepancy?