Actual Reality

D'Arcy

D'Arcy's office was the opposite of Halloran's: ordered, seamless, and monochrome. The Director sat behind her metal desk; her eyes were cold.

I walked in with all the confidence of a top tier executive but received none of the reverence: D'Arcy looked right through me.

"There you are," she said with pursed lips. She held out her hand, offering me a seat – I refused, staying on my feet. She let her hand fall unceremoniously.

"I had my secretary clear time," she said colourlessly.

I'd met D'Arcy inside the NEW LIFE years ago, signed off on her promotion to Director. I didn't like her. I remember her standing in my office, curt, grey hair done up in a ponytail; her bloodless lips were flanked by long, downward curving wrinkles. She hadn't changed her appearance since and looked the same in the AR as well.

"I'm glad you didn't make the mistake of having me wait," I said with intentional hubris.

Her eye twitched, but she bit her tongue. I was standing in her office now, and the importance of the shift wasn't lost on her.

"Forgive me, Founder," she said slowly, "the last I heard, you'd announced your retirement."

"You disabled my override," I countered.

"A practicality," she snapped.

I smiled.

"I've been to see Halloran..."

"The Traitor?"

"Now, now," I tutted, "that's no way to speak about your co-founder. Our conversation was interesting, anyway. He filled me in on what's been going on since I left. Now, Director, do you mind telling me what the HELL you're doing to my beloved company?!"

The Director couldn't take it any longer. She let her mask of civility slip.

"Oh, Daniel, when they said you were going senile, I didn't believe it. But now that you're here in the flesh – I'm not so certain."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"There she is, Skeletor herself."

"But you're the one that looks like a rotting corpse... Sir."

"Halloran told me all about your automation project. Why are you trying to isolate the NEW LIFE?"

"And why did your wife let you out?"

I was undeterred.

"When I resigned, it was only on the agreement that a programme be set in place. I warned you all: we need people on the outside – external observation, checks and balances, verification. We agreed!"

"And you agreed to leave the company in more capable hands, to pass on the torch so to say. Didn't you agree to step down?"

"I was forced..." I mumbled.

"And what's more," she continued, "all those things can be done remotely. There's no need for us to suffer any longer." She took a long breath. "I know you made something great – I truly do – but it's bigger than you now."

I saw a genuine flash of empathy in her steel-grey face.

"I can't do it," I said after an era of silence, "I can't let you seal those people off." And with that, her goodwill was gone. "When we first made the NEW LIFE, do you know what we called it?"

"Bella Vista," she growled, "save me the pop quiz."

"And it was meant for fantasy and fun, not an alternative to reality. People spent a week in there, not a decade or three. When the Rot came, I did what I had to do. I converted Bella Vista into the NEW LIFE – a place to be safe while the planet recovered. You're perverting it all and turning it black"

"Oh, you're a filthy liar," she swore, "cut the act. You don't have lofty goals and ambition; you're here because of Nancy."

I felt my stomach drop.

"Oh, that's right, I know all about your daughter – all the horrible things that happened to her when you forced her into the AR. Do you feel bad about it? I know you do. You made that apparition in the NEW LIFE to pretend you hadn't ruined her."

I felt my hands violently shaking.

"But I must admit, using old hard wipes to create a virtual, autonomous version of your daughter is genius – sad and pathetic, but genius nonetheless. How much time did you spend talking to it? A lot if my sources are correct. Brave to think the real Nancy could still stomach talking to you."

"And what do you care, anyway?" she said, "the world is eroding around us; all that's left is war and Rot. Why shouldn't we escape? We gave the Diehards a choice: they could come inside or die without us. They chose the latter. Go find Nancy, live your life. Leave the future to me."

"God," I muttered, taking the chair she'd first offered me, "I can see it all already."

D'Arcy blinked in confusion.

"When I first instituted the NEW LIFE, do you know what I did? I made a stint in the AR compulsory. For every three years inside, you'd spend a month out here. Do you know why?"

D'Arcy narrowed her eyes.

"Because without it, people get complacent. The world is terrible, yes, but without the exposure, people become weak."

I held the bridge of my nose between my fingers.

"But I know what you'll do. You'll let the robots do the work; smother it all in luxury and excess until you forget how to live. But one day, the system will break; the NEW LIFE will stammer and stop, and what then D'Arcy? How will you live?"

I took a deep breath.

"But I don't care; I'll be dead by then, and who knows, maybe so will you. So do what you want, Director, I can't stop you, but remember this, when it all goes to shit: Daniel Schultz told you so. AMY!"

The girl came into the office, withstood the Director's withering gaze.

"Amy, tell the Director what you told me."

"The True Sons," she said, voice quivering, "they're planning an attack on the Terminal Building."

D'Arcy recoiled as if she'd been shot.

"They want to sabotage the system; to trigger a mass reintegration; they want to... want to..."

"Wake all the Sleepers, thank you, Amy."

A moment of panic filtered across D'Arcy's face. It was enough for me to pounce on.

"Oh, you didn't know? A dangerous cult right outside your doorstep?"

"Vagrants," D'Arcy mumbled, "vagrants all of them."

"Those vagrants took my daughter," I exploded, "those vagrants are among us. Those vagrants have infiltrated the Terminal Building!"

"And look who you're standing with!" D'Arcy railed, rising, "I know all about your escapade, Amy, your fling with Charles Tillerman. His integration apparatus is annihilated, is yours too?"

Amy began to mumble. The words were low and rumbling.

"Speak up, girl!"

"YOU KILLED HIM, DIDN'T YOU?"

As Amy screamed, D'Arcy broke out in laughter.

"Oh, he wishes he was dead," she cackled, "Charles Tillerman is suffering a fate worse than death."

"Liar," breathed Amy.

"Oh, is that so? When Tillerman came to us, he begged for mercy; cried like a little boy – we didn't give it to him. No, even a traitor like Tillerman can be useful, shovelling Rot without a mask in State Sanctuary."

Suddenly, the Director's mouth dropped. She sat down and began to smile.

"Oh, Daniel," she said, holding her head, "you didn't have to use the girl like that. If you wanted to know where Tillerman was, you could have asked me."

I took Amy and pushed her towards the door.

"Then you might have thought we were friends," I said.

"No," grimaced D'Arcy, "I'd never make that mistake."