“Different settings,” he said. “Locals use their implants for the data feed.”
He directed them to the booths. His offhand demeanour made it clear he was not there for the conversation. Ravana watched hesitantly as her four companions slipped easily into the walker frames within, then reluctantly followed suit.
Once inside, she examined the touch-screen display before her and flicked through the pages of VR avatars until one caught her eye. The holovid clip showed a fierce yet strikingly-beautiful raven-haired woman, dressed in wild flowing robes of purple and black. Ravana was no expert on Arthurian lore but judging by the strange, dance-like way the woman tended to her smoking cauldron it seemed a fair assumption she was either some sort of sorceress or a very eccentric cook.
“Morgan le Fay,” she murmured, making her selection. It was the fact that the woman seemed to share her cave-like lair with a cat that attracted her most.
Settling back into the walker frame, Ravana put on the VR headset and lowered the visor across her eyes. She was familiar with the submersion process and saw straight away that something was wrong, for the black-and-white holding image was so out of focus it made her head hurt just to look at it. She could make out four figures standing inside a grey stone hall, but the picture was indistinct and fuzzy.
“Are you all ready?” asked the operator, sounding bored.
Ravana raised her hand to ask him to check her visor, but he had not waited for a reply and had started the programme. The image before her eyes subtly twisted into three dimensions, flooded with colour and suddenly she was inside the virtual world.
She found herself in a large stone hall, standing next to four others before a circular table. A candelabra high in the vaulted ceiling dispelled the shadows with a cool flickering light. A row of brightly-painted jousting shields, many dented and scratched, hung upon the walls between narrow windows. Yet everything remained out of focus, leaving her with the impression she was seeing the same view twice, superimposed but not quite aligned. Thinking her headset was at fault, she experimented with closing one eye and then the other but it made no difference. Her companions were also blurred but she could see they were a black knight in armour, a squire in a ragged brown tunic, an African priestess in a blue smock and a chiffon-clad princess in medieval garb. Beyond the table, a fuzzy figure in regal robes entered the hall and walked towards them.
“King Arthur himself!” exclaimed the knight, in Endymion’s voice.
“Everything’s a blur,” Ravana complained. “Is anyone else having problems?”
“Not me,” said Bellona, who was the African priestess.
“I’m fine,” purred Philyra, whom Ravana had already guessed would be the princess.
“Call the operator,” suggested Zotz the squire.
Ravana gave the double hand-cross signal recognised by all VR consoles and the disembodied touch-screen display of the booth appeared, hanging in air before her. Reaching forward, she activated the communicator.
“Hello?” called Ravana. “I’m having problems. Everything’s fuzzy.”
“One moment,” came the voice of the operator. “I’ll check the system.”
On the other side of the circular table, the hazy blob that was King Arthur sat down and produced a long object from within his robes.
“Travellers!” he boomed. “The kingdom of Camelot needs your help!”
“A scroll,” whispered Zotz. “He is here to give us our mission!”
“Thanks for the commentary,” muttered Ravana. “But I’m blind, not deaf.”
Her headache was getting worse. She reached to call the operator again, then stared as Zotz’s tunic started falling to rags around his feet. Nearby, Philyra had become a grotesque caricature of a preening princess in a plastic dress, all heavy make-up and leering smile.
“You cannot escape your destiny!” roared King Arthur. “The Gods of Avalon await!”
“What’s happening?” Ravana asked, her voice wavering.
“Still checking,” replied the operator irritably.
Now Endymion’s armour dropped away to reveal the brightly-coloured costume of a court jester. Bellona’s robes turned dirty and grey as she took on the mantle of a down-trodden farmer’s wife, complete with a couple of chickens clucking at her feet. King Arthur’s words had become a metallic slur and a confused Ravana saw the king was losing his own fine attire to expose a grey, featureless avatar, then a panel on his chest fell open to reveal he was no more than an android. The screen on the disembodied booth display hanging before her showed a trembling Morgan le Fay shooting sparks from her fingertips. Ravana’s virtual countenance had taken on a definite green tint and her eyes glowed like red-hot coals.
“Are you okay?” asked Zotz. Beneath his disintegrating rags the squire wore the armour of the gallant red knight, Queen Guinevere’s secret champion. “You look scary.”
“Everything’s going wrong!” moaned Ravana.
Startled, she realised the hall was starting to shrink. The shields faded from the walls, while all around her the narrow windows were being squeezed out of existence by the relentless incoming stones. She tried to step towards Zotz but could not move.
“zz-deestiinyy-zz…!” rasped the robot king.
“It’s all a bit of fun!” laughed the jester. “Fun! Fun! Fun!”
“What the hell!” cried the operator. “A double feedback loop!”
Ravana whirled around in alarm as the walls of the hall continued to close in on her. The grey stones grew ever larger until the words Isa-Sastra were revealed upon each one, then fell open like the pages of a book.
Suddenly, cascades of black spiders poured out of the openings, down the walls and across the floor. More and more spiders followed, some as big as her hand. Her companions, the king and the table melted away and she alone was left to face the hissing arachnid flood that seethed towards her. Ravana clawed at her clothes in panic as she felt the spiders clambering up her legs, up her body and arms, over her face and into her hair. The walls continued to grind ever closer. Virtual reality or not, the horror was real. As were her screams.
“Why didn’t you say you had an implant?” cried a voice. “I’m pulling you out now!”
Ravana’s piercing shriek, a sound wrought from pure terror, continued loud and strong. Suddenly, it was all over. The virtual world disappeared from around her, leaving her hanging limply in the walker frame, exhausted and sobbing uncontrollably. She barely felt the hands that reached forward to carry her to safety.
Ravana peered over the edge of the sheets, her mind in turmoil. Her cat lay curled next to her on the hotel room bed, chewing upon a light bulb and doing its best to soothe her nerves with its electric purr. What she had gone through in the Gods of Avalon game had felt horrifyingly real, for her eyes had been opened to a twisted version of her own imagination. Yet terrifying though her experience in the VR suite was, a new and very real fear now gripped her. There was something in her head that was not her.
“What the hell happened?” demanded Quirinus. He stood at the end of her bed, facing a stout, middle-aged Asian man who happened to be the hotel manager. Behind the manager stood the sheepish operator, while on the bed itself was a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, which the manager had seen fit to bring by way of an apology.
“Is she okay?” asked Zotz, concerned. He and Miss Clymene were standing by the connecting door leading to the suite next door. Behind them, Ravana saw the anxious faces of Endymion, Bellona and Philyra. Quirinus did not reply but instead motioned to Miss Clymene to take Zotz and the others into the next room.