Virtual Murder Read online

  "I understand.” The woman gave a weak attempt at laughter. “I didn't mean to insult your tour company. You're doing an excellent job."

  Arthur looked into his rearview mirror and flashed a charming smile. “I try my best. And that's why I want you all to have the best possible time. Tonight there's going to be a live band at the hotel; I hope you'll all feel rested enough to come and dance the night away. If I can give any advice, it will be to lie down as soon as you reach the hotel and nap for a couple hours. Then go for an evening swim at the beach. The water will be calm, and you'll feel refreshed. Afterwards take a quick shower, put on a light robe, and join us for dinner. It's an Italian buffet tonight."

  Arthur pulled around a corner and stopped in front of a low, perfectly kept bungalow. Three men in white uniforms trotted out to collect the suitcases. He stepped out of the Jeep and opened the door with a flourish. “Here we are, ladies!"

  * * * *

  Steel-drum music woke him out of a sound sleep. Arthur stretched, yawned, and glanced at his watch. Almost seven—he'd better get moving or he'd be late for dinner. He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face. His room was spacious, with a screen door leading outside to a thatch-roofed veranda where he had his breakfast. He loved to sip his coffee while watching the sun rise over the ocean. Tonight there was a gorgeous sunset, and the water was deep indigo with a bright, orange swath reflecting the setting sun.

  He shrugged out of his shorts and headed towards the bathroom for a quick shower. His head felt a bit muzzy, as it often did after an afternoon nap. He wondered if the computer programmer could correct this. He would have to speak to Digby about that.

  He opened the bathroom door and paused. The sound of his doorknob turning made him look back over his shoulder towards his room. No one ever came into his room, except room service in the morning. He grabbed a towel and held it around his hips as the door swung open and a woman entered. He recognized her from the group he'd picked up that day. She'd washed her hair, and it hung in dark ringlets around her narrow face. Her skin was pale, faintly flushed, and her hands were trembling on the doorway. Her eyes were huge in her face, almost terrified.

  He opened his mouth, to speak, but she raised her finger to her lips. “Don't say anything. They're listening."

  Her face was so pale, her eyes so troubled, that he was caught off balance. “I don't..."

  "Hush.” She walked towards him across the wooden floor, her bare feet making no sound. A lavender silk sarong swirled like cool water around her long legs. Behind her ear was an exotic scarlet hibiscus, the same color as her full lips. She smiled tremulously. Her lips moved. “Arthur,” she breathed.

  "I don't think...” He backed away from her but stopped when his legs hit the coffee table in front of his wicker couch. “You're not allowed in here,” he said weakly. Her hands were running up and down his bare chest; she hadn't stopped gazing into his eyes. There was something bewitching about her, something troubling. “Who are you?” he whispered, as his towel dropped to the floor.

  "Shhh,” she begged and laid her head on his shoulder. “Just hold me, please?"

  His arms encircled her slender shoulders. Her skin was smooth, satiny, and scented with tuberose. Her hair tickled his neck and chest. His arms tightened. Her body was vibrating, as if an electrical current were running through it. Arthur tried to gather his thoughts, formulate words, but his mouth was dry, and he found himself pulling the woman towards his wide, white bed. A heat of desire was building within him so strongly it was like fingers reaching into his skull. The fingers danced downwards towards the very center of his being and set him afire.

  This isn't right, he thought, as his breath grew ragged. You can't experience arousal on the Net. He felt as if his head were full of helium. Thoughts came and went, faster and faster as erotic images flashed through his mind. He was so stiff it was painful, and the only thing he wanted was release. He fell backwards onto his bed, harsh groans escaping his lips. Waves of electric, tingling pleasure paralyzed him, and he could only arch his back and shudder.

  "Oh ... my ... Lord...” he gasped and closed his eyes. A frantic pulsing began in his groin. Ecstasy, he was swirling through ecstasy. He rolled over, heaving his body over the woman and thrusting into her. Excitement such as he'd never known seemed to explode in him. His breathing grew faster, his heart pounded, and still a powerful frenzy of sexual stimulation overpowered him. He ejaculated and then hardened again, and it went on and on, never slaking the incredible hunger he felt for his partner. She was a sexual vampire, devouring his entire virtual being, and he was helpless to do anything but thrust and strain towards unattainable fulfillment. Towards ecstasy.

  I'm being eaten alive, was his last, incredulous thought.

  Chapter Two

  All truths wait in all things,

  They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it...

  ~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

  * * * *

  "Hello, Virtual Tours, Sally speaking. Oh, good morning, Ms. Girt. No, I just arrived. What can I do for you?” Sally's hands were free; the phone was simply a wire headset. As she talked she switched on her computer monitor, flipped open her Rolodex, grabbed the morning mail from its tray and started slitting envelopes with a silver letter opener in the shape of a palm tree.

  "Sally, listen carefully. We have a problem."

  Sally put the letter opener down and leaned over her desk. “What is it?” she asked, conscious that her heart was suddenly beating very hard. “Is it Mitch?"

  "Who? No, no dear, it's not your fiancé.” Andrea took a deep breath. “It's Arthur. Something very strange has happened, and I want you to contact Jonathon and tell him he has to join the tour. I know it's not ordinary procedure, but we can't leave the tourists without a tour guide."

  "What happened to Arthur?"

  Andrea seemed to hesitate. “He's dead. I ... I can't tell you any more. I don't know all the details. Call Jonathon and get him over to the Virtual Tour sending room right away. I've called the Net Government and the police; I'll let everyone know what happened as soon as I know myself."

  Sally sat for a second, stunned, after Andrea disconnected. Then she grabbed her Rolodex and found Jonathon's number, dialing with shaking fingers. He was home and none too thrilled to be called back to work so soon after his last trip. When she told him about Arthur there was a deep silence. Then he said, “And she didn't tell you how he died?"

  "No, she said she'd let us know when she found out. I don't think she knew. She sounded so strange, Jon, as if she'd been hit in the stomach."

  "All right, I'm leaving right now. Call Digby and tell him I'll be there in three hours. There's a train at nine; I'll be in the city by eleven. Sorry, I can't do any better than that."

  Afterwards Sally dialed another number, gnawing on her nails. “Digby? It's Sally. What's going on?"

  "Sally! Did Ms. Girt call you? Is Jonathon on his way?"

  "He is. He'll be there by noon. Tell me what's happening, Digby, please."

  "We're going to have the tourists sleep a bit longer, to cover the guide's disappearance; until then, we have a figment taking over. We'll make up lost time with a nighttime cruise around the island."

  "No, I mean, what happened to Arthur?” Sally's composure slipped and her voice rose.

  "Take it easy, Sally. I'll tell you what I know.” There was a slight pause. “He died of a heart attack. I don't know how it happened. Suddenly the buzzers started ringing. His body was convulsing so we unplugged him, but his heart had stopped beating. We tried everything. The emergency medical team was right there, I swear, Sally, they were right there as they always are, but they couldn't do a thing."

  "I don't believe it."

  "It's true, I swear. A heart attack. Who'd have believed it? He was so young, only twenty-seven. But do you know what? He died with a huge smile on his face. It was the weirdest thing, and...” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat.

  "And w
hat, Digby?"

  "Nothing.” Digby sounded nervous. “I've got to go, Sally."

  "How's Mitch?” Her voice was strained.

  "He's fine. Your fiancé is resting comfortably. Please, don't worry. He'll return tomorrow morning; you'll see him then."

  "All these euphemisms! Returning, resting ... can't you just say he's in suspended animation and we'll revive him tomorrow?"

  "Sally, I really have to go.” Digby sounded pained. “I'll talk to you later."

  "Yeah, later.” Sally hung up and looked bleakly at her desk. “Oh, Arthur,” she murmured. “You poor, gorgeous boy."

  She should have gotten back to work. There was no reason to leave her desk, but she had to see Mitch for herself. She got up, smoothed her curls, and took the elevator to the first sending room, where the tour guides lay in suspended animation. Inside the glass-paneled office, she saw Digby. He was standing still, his arms waving in the air, his head hidden in a round, black helmet. A thin shunt wire ran from the helmet to the computer console. Digby moved in slow motion, like an underwater conductor, and he was chanting what sounded like a litany. Sally crept closer to listen.

  "...Jeep engine starting. Map two. Roadtown in Tortola. Sounds now. Jeep gunning over hill. Goat bleating. No, nothing out of the ordinary. Cut to scene thirteen. View of harbor. Flock of parakeets. Okay, all that seems to be fine.” Digby ducked his head a bit. “Cut to scene fifteen. Arrival. Sounds. Door opening. Three figments are activated to carry luggage. Footsteps on gravel..."

  Sally tapped his shoulder, making him jump. “What are you doing?"

  Digby lifted the helmet just high enough to glare at her. “I told you I'd talk to you later!"

  "Digby, please. I need to know more. Can you just tell me if you've found anything?"

  Digby sighed and pulled off the helmet. “I'm checking the past three hours in the sequence experienced by our virts and figments. Maybe one of them saw Arthur during that time and I can find out if he was acting strangely."

  "Did you notice anything different? Was everything normal in Mitch's part of the tour?"

  "Everything is fine, Sally. He's fine. I've got to get back to work.” Digby replaced his helmet. All she could see was his mouth, drawn in a frown of concentration.

  Sally drifted over to the plate-glass window and watched the three bodies behind it lying motionless on reclining chairs. Attached to their arms, legs and hands were electrodes for muscle stimulation so that no muscle tone was lost in the two days of enforced sleep. Intravenous lines trailed from their left forearms. Their heads were covered with the same sort of bowling ball helmet that Digby wore, only theirs were even larger and nearly hid their mouths. These were the tour guides.

  The empty chair where Arthur had been was the only sign of the drama that had occurred that morning. The guides were plugged into the machine generating their part of the program. The room was white, with a white, tiled floor and silver-plated machinery lining the walls. Behind the far wall were the tourists in another, more colorful, comfortable room. Their surroundings were not as stark—they were on vacation.

  Sally studied the man in the end chair: Mitch, her fiancé. She hated coming to this room; seeing him lying so still was like watching him in a coma. He wasn't sleeping, yet nothing except unplugging him from the system could wake him up. He wasn't dead; the glowing green lines on the screen above him rose and fell with his heartbeat and respiration. His brainwaves darted up and down—normal activity—and every once in a while his hands would clench or he'd even laugh. Small, physical signs of what was going on in his brain. He was living a virtual life, right down to the mundane activities of eating and sleeping.

  Sally turned away from the window and watched Digby, who hadn't moved. His mouth was halfway open and he held his hands out in front of him like a sleepwalker. Black gloves, connected by electrodes and fine wires to a gleaming console, were his commands to a world that she had never seen. A virtual paradise created by technicians for people too busy to go on a real trip.

  There was something obscene about the whole idea. Sally rubbed goose bumps on her arms and took a deep breath. She wasn't usually so negative. In the beginning she'd been enthusiastic, thrilled to get the job as secretary-receptionist for the company. When she'd started working here, Andrea Girt had seemed a visionary, someone whose dream was bigger than life. Now, Sally had to clench her teeth in order to approach the virtuals, or ‘virts’ as Digby called them, as they lay sleeping.

  Another thing that bothered her was all those euphemisms. Sleeping, resting, ‘virts,’ figments, tripping, and ... what did Digby call inanimate objects? Oh yeah, the inams. He was always making up new words. Half the time Sally had no idea what he was talking about. He was probably part mutant, and thinking that, Sally shuddered. Mutants were an urban legend; everyone knew that. The Net Government protested that mutants were in fact a myth, but rumors about their existence still made headlines whenever something went wrong on the Net.

  Digby made a funny sound, and Sally frowned at him. A bright, slender thread of drool hung from his open mouth. She sighed. He looked like one of those genius kids you laughed at in cartoons, only Digby was real. He was a bona-fide Virtual Tour computer-programming technician, the very thing Mitch dreamed of being when he wasn't acting the part of a virtual tour guide in paradise. When he wasn't working, in computer class or with her, Mitch hung out with Digby, going over transcripts, writing new programs. They could spend hours talking together about computers, programs or the Net.

  Sally grimaced and looked at her watch. It was nearly noon. Jonathon should be here any minute now. She was waiting until he came. Then maybe she'd hear more about what happened to Arthur. Digby had refused to answer any more of her questions and Andrea was still up in her office on the second floor—with three police officers, a coroner, and a representative from the Net.

  * * * *

  Andrea Girt didn't show the slightest outward manifestation of the seething caldron of nerves beneath her calm exterior. The only hint of her turmoil was the steady tap, tap, tap of her cherry red nail against the serpentine pencil holder.

  Typical, that the Net Government would send someone right away. Ms. Andrews had the palest eyes Andrea had ever seen, and her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a strict bun. She sat in the middle chair in front of the three standing police officers. To the left was the coroner holding a sheaf of papers on his lap. The Net Rep wore an expensive suit, and the ring on her finger was set with a diamond. It was a small, tasteful diamond, but it sparkled with all the icy fire of a perfect gemstone and was doubtless worth a fortune.

  Andrea dragged her eyes from the stone and smiled at the occupants of the room. “My expert, Mr. Daniel Glover Brims, will be finished in a few minutes, and he'll make his report directly to the police. I believe you've met him, Ms. Andrews.” The Net Rep shifted her pale eyes a fraction but did not reply.

  Andrea continued, directing her comment at the coroner. “I certainly appreciate your coming back with the report on Arthur Kenner's death. It was a shock, but knowing that it couldn't have been foreseen or anticipated is a slight consolation.” Andrea smiled again but no one smiled back. Biting the inside of her cheek, she stood, intending to see them all out of her office.

  They all left except the Net Rep. When they were alone, the woman said, “You realize, of course, that this is not to be publicized in any way."

  Andrea felt a small muscle start to twitch in her jaw. “I don't think you have the authority to give me orders,” she said quietly.

  "I think I do. You mentioned stopping the tour. I can't let that happen at this time. I represent the Net, and I take orders only from two people: President Megalot and Frank Dinde, chief of security."

  "I realize your dilemma, but I want to stop the tour because Mr. Glover Brims doesn't know what happened. It could be a malfunction from within the program!"

  Ms. Andrews shook her head. “Impossible. It's no such thing. A heart attack. You heard th
e coroner.” Her voice softened. “Let's talk about your company. I've been fascinated with you ever since I read about you in Newsweek. Virtual Tours is a huge success. Can you tell me a bit about the new tour? I haven't had time to go on it."

  Andrea nodded. “Usually, in a computer world, the more precise the parameters are the more limited the range of movement can be. Instead of a whole town, for example, you would only have an incredibly complex house. Virtual voyagers go much further. For once, you are entirely submerged in a virtual world, which is so real, so huge, it's nearly impossible to perceive the difference between the real world and the Virtual Tour. On our tours, two days become two weeks. You can taste and feel just as if you were in the real world. My tour is the first of its kind, but I imagine the Net will be developing others."

  "They won't be ready for another year or so. There are lists years long of people waiting to go on your Virtual Tour.” Ms. Andrews narrowed her pale eyes. “If the tours stop, we'll be set back millions of dollars."

  "Arthur was a good friend.” Andrea's voice broke for the first time that day.

  "I'm sorry.” For a split second, Ms. Andrews appeared touched by Andrea's emotional outburst. Then her expression hardened. “Your judgment is clouded. The tours must continue, and there is to be no mention of this in the news or in the next press meeting. These are my orders. You'll do well to follow them.” The Net Rep stood up and waited until Andrea finally nodded. Then she strode out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Andrea collapsed at her desk and buzzed Sally. What she needed was a nice, strong cup of coffee. What she'd get was a rather odd brew made from South American herbs. It was called maté, and it was the newest rage. Maté was refreshing, low calorie, all natural, and supposedly bursting with many vitally important nutrients and vitamins for your health. It was also caffeine free. Andrea wanted lots of caffeine right now.