[Republished] A World Gone Virtual (8 in Science Fiction 3/8/13)

Chapter One

I stand before the machine: A vivid blue light shines from the scanner, tracking up from my feet to my hair, and then it shuts off, beeping once.

I look at the scanned image on the monitor, smiling.

Stepping into the skintight suit, colored white, with gloves and feet attached, I zip it up, the material rasping over my bare skin. I pick up the black head-covering helmet and lower it over my face; it slides into the suit's connecting ring around my neck with a click: I hold my breath.

Reaching behind me for the jack, I plug it in at the back of the neck of the suit.

Footsteps close by; Jared laughs.

"You look silly."

"Not for long."

"Flip the switch?"

"Go for it." Last of my air.

Click. Muted humming from the machine.

The airflow from the silent fan in the helmet starts; I take a deep breath in relief.

My skin prickles like insects are crawling over it: hundreds of tiny needles are sliding into my skin, penetrating muscles, intercepting the nerves to deliver sensory feedback from the machine as electrical impulses my brain will understand. A slight jab at the spot I'd plugged in the jack as another, last hair-thin wire slides right into my spine.

Sudden bright light all around me--

I raise my hand to shield my eyes.

I stand on the sidewalk of a busy metropolitan city, cars whizzing down the street, honking impotently at each other; people jostle by me, off about their business.

I stretch and move my arms and legs, making sure everything feels right.

I take in a deep breath, smelling the cigarette smoke from a passing man, and push open a door to a pub, feeling its heavy black metal against my hand. Over the chiming of the entry bell, sound blares at me; loud conversations issue around the room as a jukebox plays an obnoxious tune in the near left corner.

The room beyond the door is paneled in dark wood, shadowed by low lighting from bare bulbs; smoke hangs thick and swirling in the air. Long and L-shaped, the bar runs the far wall, hammered coins studding the bar-top, with dark red leather stools ranged before it.

JAKE'S BAR AND GRILL, proclaims the large crudely-painted metal sign above the bar, its letters flickering in the light from the bare bulbs.

I step forward, feeling the creaking wood beneath my feet.

"What'll you have?"

His tone friendly, the wild-haired man looks up at me, his eyes noting my black T and jeans over my brown boots.

For a bartender, he's a sight himself, but isn't that a job description?

Hair black as oil flies in all directions over large bulging green eyes, a jagged S-shaped scar heading southwest from the bridge of his nose and finally touching his mouth like a stretched grin.

"Uh...the special, Sunset Blues?"

Nods and looks at me with a grunt, and then he turns.

"Vodka...raspberry syrup...orange juice...and ice..." runs his litany as he spins up my drink.

Pulling out my brown leather wallet that I downloaded for use, I pay for my drink. Sipping, I marvel at the machine's database's capabilities in touchable textures, in taste's simulation.

One would think I was standing in a real-world bar, having a drink on a Tuesday afternoon...

The door opens with a chime: A tall broad-shouldered woman dressed in a black business suit over a white blouse, her eyes shielded by thin dark sunglasses, has entered the bar. A silver round badge gleams on her right breast pocket.