eyesight. Perhaps because the glasses made him distinctive.
Marshall stripped and pulled on the briefs, feeling self-conscious of his sagging stomach and weak limbs. If he’d spent a long time in space he might at least have been able to blame his weakness on muscle and bone degeneration. Yet there were treatments to deal with that, and exercises, and everyone knew he preferred the sensation of solid ground beneath his feet. He had a great mind, but his physical laziness was apparent.
Bassett’s rooms behind the control globe were mostly functional and sparse, but the VR suite itself was a huge indulgence, an extravagance the General enjoyed courtesy of the Company. Marshall had been in there several times before, and he found it disconcerting. This time, he had no idea what to expect.
Pushing through the darkened air lock and emerging into the suite, the scene took his breath away.
An ocean stretched out before him. The light blue sky, endless above the azure waters, was streaked with high clouds caught in some invisible airstream. Waves broke against the sandy beach. Waters foamed, bubbles slid across the smoothed sand, crabs scuttled into cover, retreating from the blazing sun.
Marshall stood in the shadows of overhanging palm trees and he took a few quick steps forward, groaning when he felt the sunlight on his skin. There was nothing like it. Life-support systems, air conditioning, direct heating panels set in his rooms, none of them could match the honest feel of true sunlight.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bassett said. He was sitting in a beach chair close to where the waves reached, the chair’s feet and his own sunk in the sand. Almost seventy years old, he was one of the fittest men Marshall had ever seen. Toned and tall, his torso a relief map of knotted muscle, his limbs strong and lean, he carried no spare ounce of fat, and performed no unnecessary movements. He looked as though he’d been born with the claw scar that split his nose and right cheek. From a bug hunt, he’d said the first time Marshall had asked him about it. Like his poor eyesight, he chose not to have corrective surgery to remove the gruesome battle wound.
The most surprising thing about the scene was that Bassett was crying.
“Where are we?” Marshall asked. He had no wish to mention the tears.
“Weaver’s World,” Bassett said. “Eastern shores of Ellia, its largest continent. Just on the equator. It’s an hour ’til sunset, and soon you’ll see one of the three moons manifest out over the sea. It’s eclipsed up to now by one of the other moons. Quite a beautiful sight. I’ve sat here and watched it three times today.”
“Is everything all right?”
Bassett looked away from Marshall, out across the sea. Trees rustled behind them, the breeze reaching down and lifting Marshall’s hair.
If I close my eyes, it’s real
, he thought, but he was afraid to do so. He didn’t like these VR suites. They were a lie, and in a few minutes he’d have to step out onto a deck again, the freezing indifference of space all around. Space only wanted him dead.
Bassett whispered some command and the imagery faded quickly away, replaced by something else. The transition was disconcerting and dizzying, and Marshall staggered a few steps to his right. Sand between his toes, then cool metal, and then the silky swish of grass.
He gasped and took in a couple of quick breaths. The beachy scent was replaced with the perfume of wild flowers, and the hint of heat or burning. The landscape was wide and lush, a flowing grassy plain giving rise to impossibly tall trees in the distance. To his left was a range of peaks so high he couldn’t see their summits, hidden in the haze of distance. To the right, the plains gave way to rolling hills, and beyond them were the unmistakable stacks of atmosphere processors. Marshall squinted, trying to see through the haze.
The processors looked strange.
“Gonzalez Six,” Bassett said. He was standing
Marshall stripped and pulled on the briefs, feeling self-conscious of his sagging stomach and weak limbs. If he’d spent a long time in space he might at least have been able to blame his weakness on muscle and bone degeneration. Yet there were treatments to deal with that, and exercises, and everyone knew he preferred the sensation of solid ground beneath his feet. He had a great mind, but his physical laziness was apparent.
Bassett’s rooms behind the control globe were mostly functional and sparse, but the VR suite itself was a huge indulgence, an extravagance the General enjoyed courtesy of the Company. Marshall had been in there several times before, and he found it disconcerting. This time, he had no idea what to expect.
Pushing through the darkened air lock and emerging into the suite, the scene took his breath away.
An ocean stretched out before him. The light blue sky, endless above the azure waters, was streaked with high clouds caught in some invisible airstream. Waves broke against the sandy beach. Waters foamed, bubbles slid across the smoothed sand, crabs scuttled into cover, retreating from the blazing sun.
Marshall stood in the shadows of overhanging palm trees and he took a few quick steps forward, groaning when he felt the sunlight on his skin. There was nothing like it. Life-support systems, air conditioning, direct heating panels set in his rooms, none of them could match the honest feel of true sunlight.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bassett said. He was sitting in a beach chair close to where the waves reached, the chair’s feet and his own sunk in the sand. Almost seventy years old, he was one of the fittest men Marshall had ever seen. Toned and tall, his torso a relief map of knotted muscle, his limbs strong and lean, he carried no spare ounce of fat, and performed no unnecessary movements. He looked as though he’d been born with the claw scar that split his nose and right cheek. From a bug hunt, he’d said the first time Marshall had asked him about it. Like his poor eyesight, he chose not to have corrective surgery to remove the gruesome battle wound.
The most surprising thing about the scene was that Bassett was crying.
“Where are we?” Marshall asked. He had no wish to mention the tears.
“Weaver’s World,” Bassett said. “Eastern shores of Ellia, its largest continent. Just on the equator. It’s an hour ’til sunset, and soon you’ll see one of the three moons manifest out over the sea. It’s eclipsed up to now by one of the other moons. Quite a beautiful sight. I’ve sat here and watched it three times today.”
“Is everything all right?”
Bassett looked away from Marshall, out across the sea. Trees rustled behind them, the breeze reaching down and lifting Marshall’s hair.
If I close my eyes, it’s real
, he thought, but he was afraid to do so. He didn’t like these VR suites. They were a lie, and in a few minutes he’d have to step out onto a deck again, the freezing indifference of space all around. Space only wanted him dead.
Bassett whispered some command and the imagery faded quickly away, replaced by something else. The transition was disconcerting and dizzying, and Marshall staggered a few steps to his right. Sand between his toes, then cool metal, and then the silky swish of grass.
He gasped and took in a couple of quick breaths. The beachy scent was replaced with the perfume of wild flowers, and the hint of heat or burning. The landscape was wide and lush, a flowing grassy plain giving rise to impossibly tall trees in the distance. To his left was a range of peaks so high he couldn’t see their summits, hidden in the haze of distance. To the right, the plains gave way to rolling hills, and beyond them were the unmistakable stacks of atmosphere processors. Marshall squinted, trying to see through the haze.
The processors looked strange.
“Gonzalez Six,” Bassett said. He was standing
Similar Books
