it. I lifted my foot and it left no impression. There was a warm, natural glow to the lighting.
"Check this out," said Roy. The area around us came alive with the sights of the forest. "That's a live view of the forest above us."
It was beyond TV or projection screens—we were literally in the forest that was right above us with the Orion sitting on one side.
"We can crank this whole room up like the garage if we feel like a real outdoors experience, but you can't do this in that case," he said. The view changed to that of a beach, with all the accompanying sounds of crashing surf and seagulls. "There are thousands of live feeds and simulated ones too that are just as real. Of course, this is just one of the models. Most people aren't really into this kind of thing anymore. They're either with family or friends or involved in their passions. There's not really anything like TV or movies either. The people that have thosepassions live them out for real. There isn't any news per se anymore because of how the world is, and you know how that is, buddy." He peered at me and poked me on the forehead.
"Ow!" I exclaimed, stepping back and rubbing my forehead.
"You know how that is because that's how
you
are," said Roy. "But keep the faith and keep dreaming, buddy, or none of this will happen, and we don't want that, do we?" he said, smiling at his wife.
Suddenly it dawned on me. "I know who you are—you're Skip, the dune buggy guy," I exclaimed. He and his wife were at least thirty years younger, and he'd lost his handlebar mustache, gray hair, and wire rimmed glasses. He more closely resembled his son than himself, but I was sure of it. Skip was helping me build a sand rail back in my world.
"Bingo!" he exclaimed, a big grin on his face. It occurred to me that it was probably a grin I would have seen a lot if my Skip hadn't had that mustache. "How did you get so young?" I asked.
"That's the million-dollar question. Let's just say in this world anything and everything is possible. That's all I'm gonna say or I'll spoil the surprise," he said.
I kept quiet and let him conduct the tour. There was a large, simple bed in one area—no fancy headboard or anything—a stand-alone shower, which I guessed had its own rain curtain, and a toilet. There was no mirror or obvious medicine chest. There was a kitchen area with a small pantry; a refrigerator, or at least something that looked like one; a stove with what might have been an oven; and some counter space. That was about it. There were no knick-knacks, collectibles, or artwork. "Sure is a lot smaller than your old house," I said.
"Yeah, things are different here. You're really not of a mind to collect stuff, and like I said, you're either with friends or family, or workingon your passion with others who have the same passion, and there are places for that. So we pretty much just sleep here and maybe eat if we aren't eating out somewhere," Roy said.
"What's behind that door?" I asked, pointing to a large door that appeared to be an entrance into the dwelling.
"Everything. Everything and everyone," he said. "You just gotta think it all out, buddy."
I wasn't very satisfied with that answer, imagining there were other homes, people, and perhaps more on the other side of that door, but replied, "OK, I'll work on that."
"You do that," he said with another grin.
"Hey, I was wondering about the Orion. Is that really a Polaris?"
"Well, you know how I used to work on all that sand rail and buggy stuff? I just can't get that passion out of my system, so that's what I do now. Polaris used to be a company, but now it's a community, like here, only it's a manufacturing community of people like me. There are people who live and work there—people who really gotta be hands on—and there are people like me: satellites, who work on designs remotely. The Orion is kind of an antique by today's standards, but it was one of the first electric buggies I worked on, so I got one. Been driving
"Check this out," said Roy. The area around us came alive with the sights of the forest. "That's a live view of the forest above us."
It was beyond TV or projection screens—we were literally in the forest that was right above us with the Orion sitting on one side.
"We can crank this whole room up like the garage if we feel like a real outdoors experience, but you can't do this in that case," he said. The view changed to that of a beach, with all the accompanying sounds of crashing surf and seagulls. "There are thousands of live feeds and simulated ones too that are just as real. Of course, this is just one of the models. Most people aren't really into this kind of thing anymore. They're either with family or friends or involved in their passions. There's not really anything like TV or movies either. The people that have thosepassions live them out for real. There isn't any news per se anymore because of how the world is, and you know how that is, buddy." He peered at me and poked me on the forehead.
"Ow!" I exclaimed, stepping back and rubbing my forehead.
"You know how that is because that's how
you
are," said Roy. "But keep the faith and keep dreaming, buddy, or none of this will happen, and we don't want that, do we?" he said, smiling at his wife.
Suddenly it dawned on me. "I know who you are—you're Skip, the dune buggy guy," I exclaimed. He and his wife were at least thirty years younger, and he'd lost his handlebar mustache, gray hair, and wire rimmed glasses. He more closely resembled his son than himself, but I was sure of it. Skip was helping me build a sand rail back in my world.
"Bingo!" he exclaimed, a big grin on his face. It occurred to me that it was probably a grin I would have seen a lot if my Skip hadn't had that mustache. "How did you get so young?" I asked.
"That's the million-dollar question. Let's just say in this world anything and everything is possible. That's all I'm gonna say or I'll spoil the surprise," he said.
I kept quiet and let him conduct the tour. There was a large, simple bed in one area—no fancy headboard or anything—a stand-alone shower, which I guessed had its own rain curtain, and a toilet. There was no mirror or obvious medicine chest. There was a kitchen area with a small pantry; a refrigerator, or at least something that looked like one; a stove with what might have been an oven; and some counter space. That was about it. There were no knick-knacks, collectibles, or artwork. "Sure is a lot smaller than your old house," I said.
"Yeah, things are different here. You're really not of a mind to collect stuff, and like I said, you're either with friends or family, or workingon your passion with others who have the same passion, and there are places for that. So we pretty much just sleep here and maybe eat if we aren't eating out somewhere," Roy said.
"What's behind that door?" I asked, pointing to a large door that appeared to be an entrance into the dwelling.
"Everything. Everything and everyone," he said. "You just gotta think it all out, buddy."
I wasn't very satisfied with that answer, imagining there were other homes, people, and perhaps more on the other side of that door, but replied, "OK, I'll work on that."
"You do that," he said with another grin.
"Hey, I was wondering about the Orion. Is that really a Polaris?"
"Well, you know how I used to work on all that sand rail and buggy stuff? I just can't get that passion out of my system, so that's what I do now. Polaris used to be a company, but now it's a community, like here, only it's a manufacturing community of people like me. There are people who live and work there—people who really gotta be hands on—and there are people like me: satellites, who work on designs remotely. The Orion is kind of an antique by today's standards, but it was one of the first electric buggies I worked on, so I got one. Been driving
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