Another window opened up, showing the beginning of the code that "built" the coal box. "Scroll down twenty," he said. "Repeat. Repeat. Scroll down one. Line ninety-three. Change statement. Old statement: `vis 15 hardness 120 spong 12'. New statement: `vis 15 hardness 90 spong 12., "
The code readjusted itself. "I don't get it," Nick said. "You're going to go to medical school, do the doctor thing like your dad, you said." -
"Yup." And then go into Net Force, Charlie added silently, but this was not something he discussed with anyone, not even with Nick. There was so much competition to get into that elite force, so many people who were also trying to get in… and it was not in Charlie's nature to want to have to say to anyone later, "I wanted to get in, but I couldn't make it." When he made it, when he started working for them in criminology or forensics after he got his MD and his specialty… that would be the time to discuss it, because he would have the ID in his wallet for anyone to see, his ticket to the cutting edge, to the most exciting work on Earth. Until that day came, though, Charlie had resolved to keep his intentions to himself. If his life had taught him anything up until now, it was caution.
"So what do you need this stuff for?"
"Modeling nervous systems," Charlie said. "And other things. Solid in-bone surgical prostheses, temporary re- placement organs, stuff like that."
Nick gave him a wry look. "It looks like this system's making you nervous, all right," he said, "but that's about all. You should lose this stuff and get out and get yourself some fresh air."
Charlie sighed and leaned back on the bench, for the moment unwilling to go over and kick the coal box again, for fear of what he'd find. "Been listening to your folks too much, Nick? I bet they say the same thing."
"Yeah, well…" Nick gave him an amused look. "I can't help it. I can't get excited about baseball the way my dad can."
"Neither can I." The two of them laughed with approximately equal levels of irony. Once a week or so, all through the spring and summer, Charlie found himself wondering how his dad, a doctor of incredible intelligence and (usually) of good sense and taste, could go out, regular as clockwork, every Saturday when the weather was right and he wasn't on call, to play sandlot softball with the GWU med-surg team. Then, for the rest of the week, he would spend at least half an hour every morning mulling over the box scores of the most recent Braves games. He would periodically try to get Charlie interested in this as well, even try getting him interested in virtual Little League baseball… though Charlie's dad would then routinely talk himself out of this idea halfway through each new effort, muttering that the virtual form of the sport was a "poor second best." Charlie just nodded and put up with it, this being easier than arguing the point anew every week, or trying to explain one more time to his father that right now he was a whole lot more interested in modeling than in any sport yet invented.
"Seriously, though," Charlie said. "You consider taking a couple of weeks off from Deathworld, just to get your folks off your case? If they're really worried… it might be the kindest thing. Besides, once they were sure you weren't hooked on it or anything, or about to hang yourself from the shower-curtain rail as soon as they turn their backs, they might ease off a little."
Nick shook his head vigorously. "I've tried that before with other things," he said. "My mom doesn't even notice. My dad…" He sighed. "You let him win one, when it's something that matters, and he starts bearing down harder on everything else. Pretty soon I wouldn't have a life left, or at least no life that didn't look like what he thought it should look like. Besides, I'm finally getting somewhere down there. If I drop the momentum now, the system'll notice and stop fast-tracking me. I've been racking up enough points that I'm gonna get somewhere significant over the next month or so… finally get into the Dark Artificer's Keep and get a listen to the really good music." He shook his head. "My dad's just gonna have to lump it for the time being."
Charlie got up and went over to the coal box again, nudging it cautiously with one toe. The dent he had made in it abruptly sprang out… and the coal box went almost completely transparent, except for the coal, which "hung" there in midair as if sitting in some kind of wheeled plastic basket, like the ones in the "grocery stores" of old. "Frack," Charlie said, with feeling. "Frack, frack-""You oughta take a break from this," Nick said. "You're getting stressed out. Since when do you use language like that?"
Charlie looked with mild annoyance at Nick. But he had to admit that his friend had a point. "Program, quick save," Charlie said. "Then close program."
"Saved. Closing," said the computer, folding up the various open windows. The steam engine vanished, leaving them alone in the big wood-paneled hall, with squares of sunlight from the high windows now tracking themselves along the floor.
"Must be noontime. Probably I should get something to eat anyway," Charlie said. "Look, you wanna come over in the flesh later? We can make some burgers or something… nobody at home has anything planned for today." It was one of those moderately rare times when both his mother and his father had Saturday off.
"Thanks, but I'm busy this afternoon," Nick said. "They're offering a discount for Saturday Deathworld access between noon and six… apparently that's a slow time at the moment, with the summer coming on. Look, why don't you come with me? I can 'sub' you in on my account, and you can watch me get into the Keep." Nick grinned with excitement.
Charlie thought about it… then shook his head. "No, you go ahead… it's not my cuppa. But when you get out, drop by and let me know how it went. They let you make 'tapes'?"
"Nope… the content is all copyright. They control that pretty tightly. You try to copy an experience and show it outside of their protected routines, and there'll be lawyers on your doorstep five minutes later. But I can save the experience inside the 'realm,' and you can see it some other time."
"That sounds good. You do that, okay?"
"Okay." Nick headed for the stairs that led up to the door, then paused. "You sure? This is gonna be one for the ages."
"Nope. you go ahead. But thanks."
"Your loss," Nick said. "See you, Doc."
"Later, Mr. Nick," Charlie said.
His friend vanished. Charlie sat there a moment more, staring at where the steam engine had been, and then said to the computer, "Secure the space, please."
"Workspace secured," said the program that managed it, "all files confirmed saved; backup to SafeHouse remote facility accomplished."
Charlie closed his eyes and performed the specific slight muscle-twitch that deactivated his implant.
The world went dark. He opened his eyes, glanced around.
Sunshine was coming through the venetian blinds of the back window of the den. Charlie got up, stretched-no matter what claims the implant-chair people made, the built-in massage and muscle-toning programs never left you completely unstiff after a prolonged session on the Net. I really should try to do something about that sometime, he thought, shaking his arms to get the blood moving again as he climbed out of the chair. Tweak the programming a little…
Then again, Charlie thought, if I have as much luck with that programming as I'm having with Caldera at the moment, maybe I'd better leave well enough alone. I'd probably come out of a session with my arms and legs tied in knots.
He walked over to the window and looked down. The back windows faced south. About twenty feet below him was their little pocket garden, a square of grass with a smaller square of paving slabs inside it, and various potted plants sitting around in it, mostly herbs for his mother's cooking. Behind the yard was another house's yard, and its windows, and to left and right the view was much the same.