He turned around in his chair and pointed to the telephone wall jack next to his desk. I saw now that the flat gray cord was lying on the floor beneath the jack, its module disconnected. “So the first thing I do is yank the plug, just in case it really was a virus and someone is trying to call in while I’m doping out this thing.”
“Good idea,” I murmured. If Jah’s hardware had been infected with a virus and he didn’t know exactly how it had been transmitted to his computer, then it made perfect sense to isolate his system. Jah was anything but discourteous to other users, although it was a good thing he wasn’t a sysop for even a minor BBS; otherwise, dozens of other computers might have been infected by now. “So what happened then?”
“Now it gets really weird.” He held up a finger. “I opened a window into my antigen subroutine and asked it to check the system.” He shook his head. “It comes back and tells me it can’t find anything. No viruses, no missing batches or boot sectors, no nothing. According to my computer, I’m clean as a whistle. But I’ve still got the creeps, so I do this …”
Before I could ask, he turned back to the computer and used its trackball to log into a program on the directory. A moment later the opening screen of his search-and-retrieve program flashed on; when its menu bar was up, he moused a subroutine listed as VR SEE and toggled it open. “Okay,” he said, “now here comes the interesting part. Put that on.”
He pointed to a department store mannequin propped up against the wall next to the desk. The dummy was African-American and female; it was decked out in some exotic black lace lingerie straight out of any kid’s favorite wet dream. I had to wonder which one of Jah’s girlfriends had donated this little bit of nothing to his trophy room.
“Uh, Jah … I hate to tell you this, but-”
“The helmet,” he said impatiently. “Put the HMD on.”
I looked at the mannequin again. Right. A head-mounted display was propped on the dummy’s bald head, almost neutralizing the sexual effect. The HMD vaguely resembled a bicycle helmet except for the oversize opaque visor. A slender cable led from the back of the helmet to the serial port on Jah’s computer. A pair of naugahyde datagloves were draped around the dummy’s shoulders.
I picked up the HMD and weighed it in my hands. “Is this really necessary?”
Call me an old fart, but I dislike tripping in cyberspace. I was a kid when the first Virtuality arcades opened in St. Louis; although some of my fellow mall rats used to spend their weekends in the VR simulators, hunting each other through bizarre three-dimensional landscapes or waging war in giant robots, the experience had always left me disoriented. Riding the roller coasters and whirligigs at the Catholic diocese fair was fine, but being thrown into a cybernetic construct tended to make me nauseous.
Sure, I know the old saw about cyberspace being what you do when you’re on the phone, but making a phone call is so prosaic that you seldom think twice about it. VR tripping … that’s like skydiving to me. Some people dig it and some people don’t, that’s all.
“Hey, I did it,” he replied, as if he had just jumped off an old railway bridge into the Missouri River and now wanted me to experience the same rush. “Don’t worry, it won’t toast your brain. Now c’mon … I don’t know how much longer this is going to last.”
What’s going to last?I wanted to ask, but Jah was gnawing at the bit: a teenager eager to show off to an adult who might appreciate this sort of thing.
I reluctantly donned the thick datagloves, then I took a deep breath and pulled the helmet over my head. Jah adjusted the padded visor until it was firmly in place against my eyes.
“Okay, kid,” I said. “Show me what you got.”
And he did.
For a few moments, there was only darkness … then the universe was filled with iridescent silver light, featureless yet fine-grained, as if I was looking at a bolt of electronic silk that had been wrapped around my head. After another second the backdrop faded to dull gray; as it did, a small silver square appeared directly in front of me, a gridded plane floating in null-space.
“Okay,” I heard Jah say, “that’s a representation of the computer’s memory. Each box you see on the matrix is a different program or file I’ve got stored on this thing … touch it and you’ll come in closer.”
I hesitated, then raised my right hand and watched as its computer-animated analog rose before my eyes. I curled my fingers and pointed straight at the matrix and suddenly found myself hurtling forward …
“Hold on!” Jah yelled. I heard his chair scoot back from the desk, then his hands grabbed my shoulders.
“Maybe you ought to sit down for this,” he said as he guided me into the seat. “Okay, that better?”
“Uh, yeah … thanks.” I hadn’t even noticed that I had lost my balance. The flat square had expanded into a transparent three-dimensional cube made up of dozens of smaller cubes. It resembled a crystalline version of some mind-fuck puzzle my dad used to have, a plastic toy where the idea was to shift the interlocked pieces until all four colors were on the same side … yeah, a Rubik’s Cube, except now I could see all the way through the thing.
“Okay,” Jah said, “you see the matrix clearly now? You see all the packets?”
“Yeah, I see it.” Each box-or packet, to use Jah’s term-in the matrix was labeled with a different alphanumeric code; those would be the programs stored in the memory. Yet, as I slowly orbited the cube, I could now see that not all the packets were silver; closer to its center, a small nucleus of packets were cream-colored, and as I watched, one of them suddenly turned silver.
“It’s changing color,” I said.
“That’s been happening since I first accessed the matrix,” Jah said. “When I looked at it the first time, only a few of the packets were silver, and the rest of ’em were white … but the ones that had turned silver were the system drivers. Everything else is the other files and programs on this machine.”
“A virus?” I asked, and I heard him grunt. “But you said your antigen program hadn’t discovered any-”
“Nothing it could detect,” he said. “But even that’s been absorbed by this sucker … and believe me, Scud is the best virus hunter-killer you can find.”
I shook my head. That was a mistake; the cyberspatial construct swam back and forth before me. I clutched the armrests with my hands, fighting a brief spell of vertigo. “I don’t get it,” I said after the cube was dead-center in front of me again. “If this program’s still working, then it must not have been taken over yet …”
“Oh, no,” Jah replied. “ProVirtual-the program we’re using now-was one of the first to go, and that’s the weird thing. Everything the virus has taken over still works as it did before. It’s just … well, here, let me show you. Back away from the matrix, willya?”
It took me a second to understand what he was asking me to do. Then I tentatively raised my hand again and pointed to a bit of blank space above the cube. At once, I zoomed to a higher orbit above the matrix; it diminished slightly in size, but I could still see the entire thing.
“I’m booting up an old game I erased from memory a couple of months ago,” he said. “It’s called MarzBot … pretty stupid once you got it figured out … anyway, I’m taking the master disk and throwing it into the floppy drive, not the hard drive. Now watch this …”
Off to one side, I saw a small isolated packet appear off to one side of the matrix, as if it was a displaced cream-colored electron. For a second, nothing happened …
And then something happened.
Almost quicker than the eye could follow, a bridge extended itself outward from the cube: a string of silver packets, following a weightless pattern that, during its zigzagging motion, vaguely resembled the L-shaped movement a knight takes upon a chessboard. Before I could take a breath, the bridge had connected with the isolated packet of information containing MarzBot. There was the briefest moment while the packet still remained off-white.