Millie sent out Stilwathe’s official withdrawal two weeks later, but Laura already knew. The scheduled surgery date had come and gone. This would have, and should have, been the end of it. Laura had other clients to get to, and dozens of avatars Shoal kept hounding her for, but she couldn’t let it go. Her work on Stilwathe’s steampunk island-airship had been some of her best work. She’d poured countless hours into it, not just at Stilwathe’s behest, but out of her own interest. While all her other client were boring, here was this beautiful fantasy realm that truly pushed the limits of what Virtual domains could do.
Now it would sit in TransitionLabs’ server archives, never to be seen again.
She tried to leave it alone. She imagined what Shoal would do if he found out that she’d looked into the file. Probably delete it. That seemed like something he would do.
One day at work, she read through the client contract’s terms and conditions. As she suspected, she didn’t even own the rights to her own creation, but neither did TransitionLabs. Stilwathe owned it, even though he’d withdrawn from Transitioning. In that case, he had the right to give it away. She decided to do something she was certain would get her in serious trouble if Shoal found out.
She contacted Stilwathe from home. It wasn’t an employee-to-client communication, just one person reaching out to another. His assistant took a message. It was nearly midnight when she finally heard back.
It was Stilwathe, in all his rotund glory. He called from a tastefully decorated office with a bookshelf behind him with a curated selection of books. It was nearly identical to an office he’d had her design aboard his airship. This office must also be part of his home, given his bathrobe.
“Hello.” Laura was sitting on her bed. It was strange to entertain a Vice President of an S&P company from her twenty-four square foot DayPay.
“Ah, yes,” Stilwathe said. “I remember now. The young girl who made my dream home. My fellow Cornwiler fan.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“I must apologize for that regrettable scene I put on. I’m afraid your doctor’s descriptions drove home some points I had until then neglected to consider, and I made a fool of myself. I’m terribly sorry for all the work I put you through. Is this in regards to that?”
“It is. Your domain is finished.”
He looked pained. “Yes. I know. I hope my compensation helped assuage the burden of having created such a waste.”
“Your compensation?”
“I arranged with that man to compensate the employees on my contract. I talked to eh… the man…”
“Adrian Shoal?”
“Yes. He told me that employees aren’t paid for failed contracts, so I arranged for you and that coordinator girl to get compensated for your time. It only seemed fair. Are you saying that wasn’t passed along?”
“I don’t… It may have been.” No it damn well wasn’t, but if Stilwathe issued a complaint on her behalf, Shoal would make sure it would cost her more than she’d gain from it. “That isn’t the reason I’m calling. The content I created for you is yours under the terms of your contract. This call is more out of a personal interest of mine. I wanted to know if you’d like to have it.”
“My dear, I don’t know what I’d do with it.”
“You might want to keep it in case you ever changed your mind about virtualizing.”
“I don’t know if that will ever happen. I’ve talked with others about the process, and as wonderful as it all seems, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to undergo such an invasive surgery. Actually, I had a question that no one seems to have the answer to.”
“Yes?”
“What would have happened to my body afterward?”
“That would have been discussed in that consultation. There would have been an option to have your organs donated?”
“My organs? I’m an eighty-two year old man whose clinically obese. What poor sod would ever want my organs?”
She grinned. “If not that, the most usual alternative is to have your body composted.”
“As in, a dirt heap? For crops?”
“I think there’s a special lab we send remains to, but yes. For crops.”
He shuddered. “This only furthers my conviction. I don’t believe I’ll ever be ready to Virtualize. Maybe we were never meant to, as a species.” He realized his words. “I don’t mean to disparage your line of work. Please don’t mistake me for those ‘God Given’ hoodlums with their picket signs. I simply haven’t been able to stop thinking about what that surgery means. I could be in that lovely home you made for me, sailing from world to world, tending to my business responsibilities while I look over forests this world hasn’t seen for centuries, but it would all be an illusion, wouldn’t it? All that would be left of me would be three pounds of flesh sitting in a one cubic foot prison, on a rack in some forgotten warehouse. Why would anyone do that to themselves?”
“When you put it that way,” Laura said, “sure, but you could also say that your skull is your prison right now. The real you is working the controls from in there. When you Virtualize, it’s just a different cockpit.”
“I suppose. It won’t be for me however. I’ll be content spending my remaining years in my own body, rain or shine. Perhaps this was the wakeup call I needed to start considering my own health.”
“In that case, sir, may I please have access to your domain? Not to use it. It would still be yours. I’d just like your permission to showcase it in my portfolio for when I start freelancing.”
“So you are going to freelance? I told you you should.”
“I’ve always planned to. I just couldn’t say so on a company machine.”
He frowned. “That’s low of them to monitor you, but I suppose that’s how it is these days. Of course you’re free to use my domain. Er… but perhaps not my body. There are those who might recognize me.”
“Of course. I uh… Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to request your domain on your behalf. Do you think you could request the files from TransitionLabs and pass them along? And I’d have a small licensing contract for you to sign.”
He flapped his hand. “My assistant will help you however you need. Oh! One more thing. I don’t suppose you have any idea what I should do with my jar, do you?”
“Jar?”
“Yes. TransitionLabs just sent it back to me. A uh…” He squinted at something on his display desk. “A VC5800x, I believe. Unfortunately there is no return policy.”
VC5800x. By V-Cereblink. She didn’t know much about that model, only that it was far above her price range. V-Cereblink rode the cutting edge in private jar technology. A VC140 was something she’d looked at once—their lowest priced model several years back—but while nice, it had been wildly overpriced. All their jars were luxurious choices for mega-wealthy customers unconcerned with shopping around for a fair price.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “You’re not able to sell it?”
“My assistant has discovered there isn’t a market for used jars. Fancy not wanting to put your brain where someone else’s might have been.”
“You could hold on to it. I know that brand. That jar will still be top quality decades from now. Maybe you’ll change your mind one day.”
He shook his head. “Virtualizing isn’t for me. It never was. I just didn’t realize it until now.” He tilted his head. “I don’t suppose you want it?”
“Oh, no. There’s no chance I could afford it.”
“A discount of course.”
“Even at a discount, A VC model jar is far more than I could ever afford.”
“Young lady, I don’t want it. And it’s just going to waste otherwise. I’d simply give it to you if it weren’t for the damned gift tax. So how about a token sale of a few thousand?”
“Really? Are you serious?”
“For a fellow Cornwiler fan? Certainly. Out of this entire doomed venture, what I’ll remember most fondly was the time I spent talking with you. You can’t buy genuine conversation, and it seems the wealthier I get, the harder it is to find. However, I adored our conversations about Vincent Cornwiler’s work and daydreaming about fantasy homes. I regret that I won’t be able to live the dream you created for me, but I remember you told me how much you looked forward to virtualizing yourself one day. And since I can tell that you were not paid the compensation I left for you…”
Laura tried to speak.
He cut her off. “I know how corporations work, and I should have known better from what little read I had of your employer. Will you let me do this for you? Or shall I throw the jar away?”