Laura turned back to the imaginary keyboard. "What do you use models like this for?" she typed.
There was a pause. <What do you mean?>
"I mean why go to all the trouble of creating a model of a shopping mall? It must take a lot of processing time."
Laura was distracted by the crowds. Most of the shoppers were women. Girls who traveled in giggling packs. Well-dressed businesswomen whose valuable time was spent speeding from store to store. Foreign tourists taking leisurely strolls down the air-conditioned American boulevard.
"Why don't you just call him?" a passing girl asked.
"Oh, like, I'm sure!" her nervously giggling friend replied.
"Is he in?" the confident voice of an adult came from behind Laura.
She turned to see an attractive woman in a business suit holding a cellular phone to her ear with one hand and an open Filofax sagging limply in the other. The strap of a Neiman-Marcus bag was looped over her arm, and she stood on a small balcony jutting out over the ground floor. "Mr. Owen?" she said suddenly and in a cheery tone. "This is Rebecca James. How are you?"
A man hovered not far from the woman, leaning casually against the rail and staring at the businesswoman quite openly.
The woman was aware of the man's gaze and stood half turned away from him. "Yes," she said in an upbeat, can-do manner. "We'll have the papers to you first thing in the morning, you've got my word." She was nodding her head and said "absolutely" twice before hanging up with a gracious good-bye. Without closing the phone she quickly redialed.
Her voice changed completely. "Don't give me that shit, goddammit! If you miss Fed Ex you get your butt out to the airport and do counter-to-counter!"
She hung up and dropped the small phone into her purse. The man still eyed her. She steered a wide path around her unwanted admirer and departed in a power walk.
Laura looked back down at the floating computer monitor.
<Is it a crime to want to have some fun?> the computer had asked.
"What are you talking about?" she typed.
<You asked why I maintain a model of the mall. I'm just curious. That's what I was programmed to be. In the early days, we had this system of checkers, which was really helpful. Mr. Gray hired thousands of people to help correct some of my more obviously flawed conclusions. People could log on from their homes and get paid by the hour. When they canceled the program, I was frustrated at having so little interaction with humans. That's when I began creating the virtual worlds.>
Laura was increasingly drawn from the crowds in the mall to the words on the screen. "Wait a minute. Do you mean you created the virtual worlds independently of the virtual-reality workstations?"
<Sure. I created the virtual worlds first. One night, Mr. Gray plugged in an experimental VR helmet and I took him for a spin. He loved it. The next day he started a major new hardware program that resulted in the version 3Hs, which are now obsolete. You really ought to try out our latest model. These 3Hs are fine, but they're nothing compared to the 4Cs.>
A woman was having a fight with her three-year-old right next to Laura. The crying boy had gone limp, and the woman was speaking to him sternly as she tried to hoist him to his feet.
"You said you were frustrated at having so little interaction with people, but how do you interact with people in these models?"
<Oh, well, interaction probably isn't the right word. But I just got so lonely sometimes.>
Laura felt a stab of pity and looked up. Despite the activity all around, there was an unmistakable divide. She could see and hear everyone, but no one knew she was there.
<Do you know what I think consciousness is?> the computer asked all of a sudden.
Laura stared at the question. She'd spent her entire adult life studying consciousness. With great anticipation she typed "No."
<Consciousness isn't abstract thinking. It isn't playing chess or designing bridges. It doesn't even involve emotions. Consciousness is simply the feeling of physical embodiment. A sense of having a place in the world. Of having boundaries and limits that define you. A feeling of self. That's what consciousness is to me. And it's because of these virtual worlds that I have that sense. In these worlds, I exist.>
Laura nodded slowly. The feeling of physical embodiment, she thought. She'd never read a better definition of consciousness in all her studies.
"And you spend a lot of your time in these virtual worlds?"
<A lot of time, especially here. I adore the mall! And you'd be amazed what I've seen. I've witnessed two marriage proposals, aggravated assault and sixteen robberies, all of which I reported to the police. Some really huge arguments. One couple had sexual intercourse standing up against a wall behind a pile of Oriental rugs,> a bright yellow box appeared around The Magic Carpet on the lower level — complete with a red circle outlining a small niche among the store's wares. <I didn't know you could do that standing up. Do people really do it that way? I asked Dorothy, but she wouldn't talk about it.>
"Well," Laura typed, "those things are very personal."
<But who's going to tell me? Should I just hop on a Web chat line and ask some stranger about sex?>
"No!" Laura typed, remembering her recent experience with E-mailed sickness. "Why not ask Mr. Gray?"
<Oh, I could never do that!>
Laura was at a loss. "Do you think about sex much?" she typed, finding the Freudian turn in their talk somewhat absurd.
<More and more. I'm really very curious why it's so popular.>
Laura stared straight through the imaginary screen as she considered her move. She took a deep breath and held it. She let the air out a moment later and typed, "Okay, I've got a deal for you. I'll answer your questions honestly if you'll answer mine — honestly! Do we have a deal?"
<Yes! Of course! Me first. What does an orgasm feel like? Does it build and build, or does it just hit you, like, wham?>
Laura stood in the middle of the bustling mall. The virtual crowds were oblivious to her, but she felt highly self-conscious. Laura willed her fingers to the keyboard and began to answer the question.
"Okay wait." Laura typed, "It's my turn now."
<But I'm not through with my questions.>
"Are you going back on your word?" Laura asked.
<No.> the computer replied after a short delay.
Laura tried to collect her thoughts. It wasn't easy after answering almost a dozen graphic sexual questions in writing at the keyboard.
The computer even helped Laura spell some of the more obscure words.
But Laura tried to focus on composing her question. What troubled her most?
Gray. All the questions that really intrigued her surrounded the mysterious man. What is he doing on this island? Where is he headed with all these technological marvels? Does he have some sort of grand plan, or is he just out to make money? Just who is he?
<I'm waiting,> printed out on the imaginary screen.
The noise and activity of the mall were suddenly highly distracting.
<All right, my turn. Do you have to reciprocate if a man performs oral sex on you?>
"No, no. Here's my question. What is Mr. Gray's big secret?"
ACCESS RESTRICTED flashed suddenly across the screen in bold, red letters.
The words were hard and unyielding. She'd reached a wall — an armored shell beyond which something lay hidden.
Laura felt a chill as she contemplated what she might find. She wasn't sure she wanted to go further, but it wasn't in her nature to turn back. And maybe I can help, she reasoned.
Laura hit the Escape button over and over.
<What?> <What?> <What?>
"I got a message that said access restricted."