Solipsis: Escape from the Comatorium (7 page)

An animatron was an expensive
piece of equipment. Most were custom made to exactly mimic the
original person, though some animatrons were not copies or even
really human. The further you ventured from your neural layout, the
harder it would be to control. An exact copy would be almost as easy
to control as your real body. Slight changes would require you to get
used to having longer legs for example. Switching to a drastically
different animatron was like waking up in someone else's body. You
could learn a new one, even a drastically different one, but you
would have to stay put in that animatron for a long time, long enough
to rewire your brain to the new control scheme. And once you did
that, you would no longer be able to control your original body or
avatar. So selecting an animatron is a big decision. Not only is it
expensive, but it requires a long-term commitment to actually
learning the new controls.

“
Happy
Sweet Sixteen!”

Renee is very surprised to be
suddenly surrounded by most of the people she knows.

“
You're
sixteen,” Percival says, “you know what that means.”
He motions for Renee to follow. They head up the stairs and Renee
enters her room, finding a copy of her standing idly in the center.
“Your very own animatron!” This was just a digital
representation of what the animatron would look like on Earth, like a
receipt. The animatron looked almost exactly like Renee's avatar.
Renee walks around the virtual representation, looking it over. She
runs her hand across it and feels the rubbery latex skin covering the
metallic skeleton hidden underneath. “It's not quite an exact
copy, but you'll grow into it.”

Renee looks it over, nodding, a
small smile on her face. The crowd followed up the stairs and fills
the entrance to her room. “Pretty cool,” she says simply.
She had attempted to be somewhat polite, but her voice wouldn't act
the part, coming off more sarcastic than grateful.

“
Do
you not like it?” Gwen asks.

“
It's
fine,” Renee says, “I mean, I maybe would have liked to
be involved in picking it out, since it, you know, defines me as a
person, but you made that decision without me. Probably for the best,
I'm so indecisive, so thanks for just going ahead and picking it out
for me.”

“
It's
a nearly exact copy of your avatar,” Percival says seriously,
offended by Renee's ingratitude.

“
Yeah
but you won't let me customize my avatar,” Renee replies. The
crowd begins to back out of the room awkwardly.

“
I
do let you customize it!”

“
No,
you let me change my eye make-up or get ear piercings, you don't let
me really change it.”

“
We've
gone over this, we wanted you to develop normally.”

“
Well
I'm not normal, what the hell is normal? Not me, not this virtual
body, not getting a robot for your sixteenth birthday. I'm not
normal, so let me decide how I want to look.”

“
You're
being a brat right now,” Percival says.

“
I'm
out of here,” Renee replies. She takes off through the crowd,
heading to the televator with Patrick in tow.

“
Maybe
we should have let her pick it,” Gwen says.

“
I
can't believe what a brat she is,” Percival says.

“
You
know teenage brains are essentially wired up to be assholes,”
Medved says, “It's not her fault.”

“
I
thought you weren't allowed to change your avatar?” Patrick
asks rhetorically.

“
It's
my body, not his,” Renee replies, opening a menu in this avatar
shop in downtown Solipsis. It was the Earth equivalent of a tattoo
parlor in the red-light district. There were countless merchants
offering everything from new avatars, body mods, explicit “games,”
to virtual drugs, they had it all.

This avatar shop had several
booths in which you could explore an infinite combination of avatar
ingredients.

“
What
do you think of this?” Renee asked as she finished modifying
the displayed avatar's hair. It was red like hers, only more
metallic, more wavy, and with streaks of silver.

“
Silver
streaks?” Patrick asks, “You don't want to look old do
you?”

“
They're
not silver, they're platinum. Literally, a platinum alloy.”

“
Won't
that hurt?”

“
I
dunno.”

“
Why
don't you ever kiss me?” Renee asks Patrick over a hefty glass
of absinthe.

“
What
are you talking about, I kiss you all the time.”

“
No,
I kiss you, then you kiss back.”

“
Is
that different?” Patrick asks.

Renee glares her answer back at
him.

“
So
is this kicking in or what?” Renee asks.

“
I
can't feel it,” Patrick replied.

“
The
sign says that it stimulates our brains to mimic the absinthe.”

“
Mimics
how?” Patrick asks.

“
I
don't know, I sure don't feel anything.”

Renee awakes to sunlight that
seems unusually bright. She rolls over, finding Percival glaring at
her from the door.

“
Can
you explain why I got a reciept for a new animatron this morning?”
Her father asks.

“
Umm.”

“
It
looks like you just went ahead and bought a brand new one, with a
stupid design, with my credits.”

“
I
guess.”

“
What's
wrong with your hair?” Percival asks, approaching the bed.
Renee pulls the covers up to cover herself.

“
Nothing.”

“
You
changed your avatar,” Percival accuses.

“
Just
the hair,” Renee insists. A barbed devilish tail slithers to
the safety of the covers.

“
What
was that?”

“
What
was what?”

“
You
are grounded, you got that!? Grounded. No seeing Patrick, no going
out, not until you pay for this animatron.”

“
But
I don't make any money.”

“
Exactly.”

“
Time
for dinner!” Gwen calls from the kitchen. Medved and Percival
are already sitting, awaiting their digital food. “I bought
this recipe at the market today, it sounded really good. It's Mako
shark curry with coconut and a mango chili sauce.”

“
I
still haven't found a curry that really got the taste right,”
Medved says.

“
I
think Rockford's the best food programmer,” Gwen says. “So
maybe he's got it figured out.”

“
Renee!
Dinner!” Percival shouts.

“
Don't
shout,” Gwen says.

Renee comes hopping down the
stairs.

Percival
looks up, getting a clear look at Renee's new avatar. “
Go
put your normal boobs back on!” Percival demands.

“
Don't
tell me what to do with my body,” Renee says, and she walks
right past the kitchen, heading for the televator. A barbed demon's
tail trails behind her, flicking against the wooden railing lining
the stairs that lead to the televator.

“
How
long do I have to stay here?” Renee asks.

“
As
long as I do,” Nellie responds. They are on Earth, sitting in
Nellie's office. “You're going to watch me work until I've made
the amount of money it cost to buy this animatron. Maybe then you'll
learn the value of money.”

“
What
value does money have to me?”

“
Well
those games you play aren't free, game designers spend months making
those things.”

“
Yeah
but we have no scarcity, why do we need money at all?”

“
It
costs money to operate this station, we need power, technicians,
doctors, internet, equipment.”

“
So
where do we get the money to pay for those things? I mean, do we pay
rent for living here? If I don't make money are they going to evict
me?”

“
We
don't kick anyone out,” Nellie says dismissively. “Come
on, follow me.” Renee follows as they walk up several flights
of stairs and emerge at one end of the glass atrium of the Solipsis
ocean platform.

“
So
what are you doing?” Renee asks, following Nellie as she wades
through a crowd and heads for a stage. She is swamped by people
wanting to shake her animatronic hand, or have their picture taken.
Renee had never realized the celebrity status her father had. Renee
stops as Nellie starts up the stairs to a small stage.

“
Come
on, you're not leaving my side,” Nellie says. Renee reluctantly
follows.

“
What
are you doing?”

“
We're
hosting a conference with a series of lectures and debates,”
Nellie says, sitting down at one of two large tables that sit on
either side of three podiums. Nellie pulls the chair out next to her
and pats the seat.

“
So
I have to sit up here on stage in front of everyone?” Renee
asks. Nellie nods. Renee sighs and takes her seat. “I thought
you were a doctor not a debater.”

“
I
don't really like doing these, but I'm the big name so I have to do
it.”

“
So
is this how we pay the bills?”

“
Partially.”

“
So
if a poor sick person comes, will you turn them away?”

“
No,”
Nellie replies.

There is an audible gasp amongst
the audience. A man enters. He's in his sixties, bald with a ring of
short black hair around his head. He makes his way toward the stage,
completely mobbed.

“
Who
is that?” Renee asks.

“
Dr.
Lazarus,” Nellie replies.

“
Who
is he, they're tripping over themselves to get his attention.”