Asimov's Science Fiction: March 2014 by Penny Publications Page A
Authors: Penny Publications
Tags: Asimov's #458
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sixty-two centimeters." Even though Robby was using his parent friendly version of Sturm—no scars, no iridescence—she could tell he was mad.
"Just about Johanna's size." Dad's avatar was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a sailboat motif. As usual, he looked like his hardtime self, handsome as surgery and juv treatments could make an eighty-three-year old, but then his image was part of his actor's brand. "No, wait. That's not right." He pointed his knife at Remeny, as if she were thinking of correcting him. "More perfect union is the Constitution. The Declaration was Jefferson. He was a tall one, him and Washington. Never played Washington. Wanted to, never did, even though we're about the same size."
"We're declaring our independence," said Robby.
=Sturm, no.=
That stopped Dad. "Who?" He frowned. "Teenagers?"
"Everybody who's stashed. We're giving up on hardtime—reality. We want to live as avatars."
"Cool." It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Remeny wondered if he'd been biting into a slice of pizza wherever he was and hadn't been paying attention to the conversation.
"And how do you propose to do this?" Mom's avatar looked like she had swallowed a brick.
"Just do it. Stay stashed." Robby gave them a (.6) impatience blip. "Never log off."
"No blips at the table, please." Mom had strange ideas about manners. "Never come back—
ever?"
Remeny started to say "Only when we want..." but Robby talked over her. "Never." He pushed back his chair and stood up, which seemed to Remeny more disrespectful than a blip. "And we want to be able to overclock as much as we want. Live double time. Triple. Whatever."
"Now you're talking nonsense," said Mom. "Your brain is not a computer, Robert. Overclocking causes seizures. And being stashed is hard on the body. The mortality rate for..."
"That's why we overclock," he shouted. "We can burn through years subjective while the meat rots."
Mom looked shocked that he would use the m-word at the table. Remeny couldn't believe it herself.
"Sit down, Robby." Dad didn't seem angry. He just scratched his chin with the fork while he waited for Robby to subside. Robby obeyed but sulked. "Funny this should come up. So I'm in Vermont with Spencer this morning..."
"Jeff."
Mom sounded betrayed.
"Pirates in Vermont?" said Remeny.
=Don't encourage him.=
Robby was on Mom's side in this one.
=Let's finish this.=
"I was done early at the
Treasure Ship
shoot." Dad shook his head. "Bastards cut half of my part. So, there I am at Steve Spencer's summer place in Vermont and he pitches me an idea about how people want to do exactly what Robby is talking about.
He's got a script ready to go and everything. Financing no problem, sixty mill starter money he says. Sixty million dollars kind of gets my attention. The idea is that there are people who want to live in virtual reality...."
Remeny raised her hand to correct him. "Softtime."
"Sure. And they never want to come out. It's wild stuff. They're cutting off arms and legs and whatever, body parts they claim they don't need and I say it sounds like horror, which isn't what I do, but Steve says no. The script plays it straight. It's a damned issue piece! Apparently there are people who believe this is a good thing. People who can raise sixty million no problem. Do you know about this, Rachel?"
She shook her head.
"How do we not know about this?"
"Because we're still only
some
people," said Robby. "Not
enough
people yet."
"And you're going to do it," said Mom. Remeny wondered who she was talking to. Dad? Robby? Both of them? It almost looked as if she had calmed down except that just then her avatar went completely still. Remeny searched the house cams and found her at the real dining room table with a plate of tortellini in front of her. She had pushed her Deveau back onto her head. She was crying.
"Sweet part for me." Dad hadn't noticed that Mom had logged off. "I'm a senator and I'm against it. I've never actually played a senator before.
"Just about Johanna's size." Dad's avatar was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a sailboat motif. As usual, he looked like his hardtime self, handsome as surgery and juv treatments could make an eighty-three-year old, but then his image was part of his actor's brand. "No, wait. That's not right." He pointed his knife at Remeny, as if she were thinking of correcting him. "More perfect union is the Constitution. The Declaration was Jefferson. He was a tall one, him and Washington. Never played Washington. Wanted to, never did, even though we're about the same size."
"We're declaring our independence," said Robby.
=Sturm, no.=
That stopped Dad. "Who?" He frowned. "Teenagers?"
"Everybody who's stashed. We're giving up on hardtime—reality. We want to live as avatars."
"Cool." It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Remeny wondered if he'd been biting into a slice of pizza wherever he was and hadn't been paying attention to the conversation.
"And how do you propose to do this?" Mom's avatar looked like she had swallowed a brick.
"Just do it. Stay stashed." Robby gave them a (.6) impatience blip. "Never log off."
"No blips at the table, please." Mom had strange ideas about manners. "Never come back—
ever?"
Remeny started to say "Only when we want..." but Robby talked over her. "Never." He pushed back his chair and stood up, which seemed to Remeny more disrespectful than a blip. "And we want to be able to overclock as much as we want. Live double time. Triple. Whatever."
"Now you're talking nonsense," said Mom. "Your brain is not a computer, Robert. Overclocking causes seizures. And being stashed is hard on the body. The mortality rate for..."
"That's why we overclock," he shouted. "We can burn through years subjective while the meat rots."
Mom looked shocked that he would use the m-word at the table. Remeny couldn't believe it herself.
"Sit down, Robby." Dad didn't seem angry. He just scratched his chin with the fork while he waited for Robby to subside. Robby obeyed but sulked. "Funny this should come up. So I'm in Vermont with Spencer this morning..."
"Jeff."
Mom sounded betrayed.
"Pirates in Vermont?" said Remeny.
=Don't encourage him.=
Robby was on Mom's side in this one.
=Let's finish this.=
"I was done early at the
Treasure Ship
shoot." Dad shook his head. "Bastards cut half of my part. So, there I am at Steve Spencer's summer place in Vermont and he pitches me an idea about how people want to do exactly what Robby is talking about.
He's got a script ready to go and everything. Financing no problem, sixty mill starter money he says. Sixty million dollars kind of gets my attention. The idea is that there are people who want to live in virtual reality...."
Remeny raised her hand to correct him. "Softtime."
"Sure. And they never want to come out. It's wild stuff. They're cutting off arms and legs and whatever, body parts they claim they don't need and I say it sounds like horror, which isn't what I do, but Steve says no. The script plays it straight. It's a damned issue piece! Apparently there are people who believe this is a good thing. People who can raise sixty million no problem. Do you know about this, Rachel?"
She shook her head.
"How do we not know about this?"
"Because we're still only
some
people," said Robby. "Not
enough
people yet."
"And you're going to do it," said Mom. Remeny wondered who she was talking to. Dad? Robby? Both of them? It almost looked as if she had calmed down except that just then her avatar went completely still. Remeny searched the house cams and found her at the real dining room table with a plate of tortellini in front of her. She had pushed her Deveau back onto her head. She was crying.
"Sweet part for me." Dad hadn't noticed that Mom had logged off. "I'm a senator and I'm against it. I've never actually played a senator before.
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