But, somehow, today his concentration was less than absolute. He had spent an hour when he got in the night before, drowsy and maudlin from too much beer and lack of sleep, going through the photographs that Janey had burned for him on to a CD. He had found his focus shifting from Mora to himself. Only three years had passed, but he looked so much younger. Perhaps he had simply aged more in the six months since her death than in the previous thirty. But it brought home to him with a sudden clarity that his life was slipping away. All the more rapidly since he had affixed himself to a place in the past that he could never go back to. He knew he needed to haul anchor and move on, to catch up with his life and take control of it again before he lost his hold on it completely.
And now, as he sat looking at the chess board, he realised, almost for the first time since she’d gone, the futility of sitting here pretending she hadn’t. Fantasizing that they were still playing. And Angela’s words came back to him. That is truly self-defeating, Michael. You have to stop this game. You’ll never get over her if you persist in giving shape and form to her ghost like this. He felt tears well in his eyes, and he swept his arm across the board in a sudden gesture of defiance and frustration. Chessmen went tumbling across the terrace like so many lost dreams. It was no good. He simply couldn’t go on this way.
He got up and wandered back through the house, weaving among the packing cases and extraneous pieces of furniture. Soon this would all be gone, and he would have to find himself an apartment somewhere. Just ordinary old Michael Kapinsky, with an overdraft and a credit limit like everyone else. No more money, no more Mora, no more house.
On an impulse he went into his office and sat down in front of the computer. The eye of the Second Life icon seemed to be staring back at him from his computer desktop. What the hell! He had to go in sometime. He loaded up the software and was presented after a few moments, with the Second Life welcome screen.
He stared at it, with a strange sense of déjà vu. A scattering of trees across a rolling green coastline, an expanse of dark blue ocean. He had seen it before. And now he remembered where. On the computer screen of the murdered accountant in Newport Beach. Arnold Smitts. Had Smitts been in Second Life, too? It seemed like an extraordinary coincidence. And yet Angela had told him that there were 14 million inhabitants in SL, so was it really that much out of the ordinary? What struck Michael as odd, he realised, was that a man like Smitts would spend time in a virtual world. It didn’t seem in character with either the man or his profession.
He shrugged the thought aside and tapped in his name and password and hit the Enter key. He was in.
He stared at the screen, fascinated as a whole other world began to take shape in front of his eyes. A blue sea coruscating off to a clear horizon. Buildings to left and right. Trees swaying on a spit of land extending into the water.
A figure in jeans and a white tee-shirt stood, hands at his side, head tipped forward. Above it was a tag with his name. Suleman Perl (Away). He certainly didn’t look all there.
There were other figures wandering about, gazing left and right, up and down. They were the standard avatars from which Michael had made his choice the night before.
And there he was, Chas Chesnokov, standing with his back to the screen, stark naked and bald, before suddenly he grew hair, and a black shirt and charcoal jeans covered his modesty. A message appeared. Welcome to Orientation Island, a special place where new Residents can learn several basic skills.
More AV’s started appearing in the same space. Bumping and jostling, eager to take those first few steps. More newbies being born. More new residents logging in every minute. A population explosion that mirrored the real world.
A pop-up window was now offering Chas a simple exercise. To walk to a flashing red target using the arrow keys on his keyboard. He made the walk, and did a little involuntary dance of joy when he got there. Great, you made it! said the window. To learn more about other ways to move in Second Life, walk across the bridge to the city where you will find out how to drive a car and fly!
Chas set off across the bridge. He passed a young girl in jeans and a white top standing with her arms and legs spread. Her tag said, Yuno Orly. She ignored him, and Chas carried on across the bridge, walking straight into the brick pillar at the far end of it.
Yuno: Hahahaha
Her name and laughter appeared in text at the bottom left of his screen. He turned around to see Yuno Orly laughing at him.
Yuno: It’s lag.
Chas: Lag?
Yuno: The computer can’t keep up, and you go crashing into walls and falling off buildings. Hahahaha.
She made a little jump in the air.
Yuno: You learn to compensate after a while.
Then she turned away
Yuno: C ya.
And she walked briskly back across the bridge. Chas watched her go, then looked around. He was in a city street, a skyscraper towering over him. He saw a sign with an arrow on the other side of the street, next to a fire hydrant. Flight Training Institute. Steam was issuing from a manhole cover in the middle of the road, and further along a steam roadroller and an orange buggy lay in an odd tangle, half on the sidewalk.
Almost for the first time, Chas became aware of a strange, droning, ambience in the air. Like the sound of a breeze blowing through the winter bare branches of trees in a wood. He swivelled to look around. Across a short stretch of water, at the far side of another bridge, was a huge glass dome. The Search Center, a large sign told him.
Abandoned in the middle of a pedestrian crossing, he spotted what he recognised as a Segway. Chas clicked on it and immediately found himself riding the vehicle. He turned left, then right, then tried to head back across the bridge. But he missed it, veering across a stretch of grass and out over the water. It was a strange, disconcerting feeling, like floating on air. He came to a stop and hovered for a moment.
A notice appeared on his screen. Vehicle is outside city limits. Deleting.
And suddenly it was gone. Chas dropped like a stone, through the water, to the sea bed. Above him he could see the reflection of the city distorting on the rippled undersurface of the water. How the hell did he get out of here? Another notice appeared, as if reading his mind.
Don’t worry, your avatar won’t drown. Walk back onto land or click the Fly button to levitate your avatar.
He looked down to a toolbar at the bottom of his screen. He clicked on fly and found himself rising until his head broke the surface of the water. He flew clear of it, then headed for the glass dome.
Flying was a truly exhilarating experience, something he had only ever done in dreams. He soared across the water, arms reaching back behind him, the wind whistling in his ears. From up here he had a clearer view of where he was. A series of islands linked by bridges to the central point where he had first landed. Each island provided lessons in mobility, searching, changing appearance, communication. Molten lava was erupting in bursts from a thermal lake at the top of a rocky outcrop. When he reached the dome, he clicked to stop flying and landed with a thump at the entrance.
Inside were huge detailed maps of the region into which he had been delivered: a bewildering array of islands with names like Robinson, Capelli, Tharu. He had no idea how to get to any of them or what to do if he got there. There were more instruction windows appearing on his screen, but he was growing impatient now and scrutinised his toolbar again to find a search option.