"Correction," answered Justin. "It was almost almost one of my treasure vaults." He grabbed Neela's spray can, entered the darkened room, and lit up the space. Neela followed. The room appeared to be a dormitory. Against the wall were two sets of rusted-out bunk beds. Justin took interest in the bed closest to the wall's end. He started probing behind the bed frame. one of my treasure vaults." He grabbed Neela's spray can, entered the darkened room, and lit up the space. Neela followed. The room appeared to be a dormitory. Against the wall were two sets of rusted-out bunk beds. Justin took interest in the bed closest to the wall's end. He started probing behind the bed frame. A key perhaps? A key perhaps? thought Neela. After about fifteen seconds Justin sat down on the coil-spring bottom bed and let out a huge sigh of relief. He turned to Neela. Though the room was dimly lit, Neela could see a significant change in the man. Whatever had been bothering him was now gone. thought Neela. After about fifteen seconds Justin sat down on the coil-spring bottom bed and let out a huge sigh of relief. He turned to Neela. Though the room was dimly lit, Neela could see a significant change in the man. Whatever had been bothering him was now gone.

"This was going to be a site for some of my emergency wealth," he offered. "There are so many of these tunnels that it would have been simplicity itself to build a wall over a door and, I figured, who would ever really know? But the tunnels started to become major tourist attractions, and all it would have taken was one relative looking for Grandpa's old barracks, and questions could've been asked. And even this out-of-the-way area could have been discovered."

"Surely the odds of that were remote?"

"Incredibly remote, but I came up with some better locations, or at least I thought I had, and this, like some other locations, was abandoned."

"So," she asked, "why are we here, and why are you now human again?"

"Is that your way of calling me a grouch?" he countered.

Neela laughed. "Far from it. More like a moody son of a bitch ... but today you're allowed."

Justin grinned. "I needed to be sure."

"Of what? That your abandoned beta site was still abandoned?"

"No, that the life I'm currently in ... right now ... was, in fact, real ... or, more specifically, not virtual."

It took Neela a moment to process the information. "Ahh. You thought you were still in a virtual-reality simulation."

He nodded. "I wasn't sure. I needed a test."

"Not to GC you, but ..."

"GC?"

"Oh, sorry. Slang. 'GCing someone' means 'to bring them down.' "

"Got it," he nodded. "Grand collapse them."

"Right ... anyhow, like I was saying, not to bring you down, but all this," she said, pointing at their surroundings, "could still be VR. How does standing here change any of that?"

Justin smiled like the cat who'd caught the canary. "VR needs to be programmed. It's very intuitive, and can assimilate and incorporate data at levels I can't begin to understand, but it cannot create an environment out of nothing."

"Of course it can," retorted Neela, "and while inside that environment all would be real real."

"No, Neela, it would seem seem real. However, if a person was in possession of knowledge the VR machine did not have, nor did any of its programmers, then it would be possible to test if your reality was, in fact, real. However, if a person was in possession of knowledge the VR machine did not have, nor did any of its programmers, then it would be possible to test if your reality was, in fact, real real."

"So," Neela said, trying to understand his logic, "you didn't go to your main burial site because that one's already been referred to in the press."

"Exactly," he nodded. "All my sites have. For this test I couldn't go anywhere that I'd already been to or, by extension, that the VR machine and programmers could have access to. It had to be something that I and only I knew about. This was the best place."

"Why couldn't the VR machine just show you the tunnels?" she countered. "After all, they're still a tourist attraction, and once it knew where you were headed it could have gotten the records and built all this very quickly."

"Yes," he affirmed, "but then it would re-create standard images of the Maginot Line, and this rubble and building material is pretty much as I I left it." left it."

Neela put her hand on her chin and shook her head.

"OK, I think I'm getting it," she answered, still not 100 percent satisfied, "but a lot could happen in the three hundred years you were frozen. Suppose that a tour group did find their way through here and recorded your little unfinished work. And just suppose the VR machine got ahold of that recording."

Justin's face lit up as he motioned Neela over to the bed frame he'd been probing around only moments before. He pointed to what Neela thought was a small blotch on the wall. However, upon closer inspection she could see that the blotch was a carved-out name in faded and barely legible letters. It read JUSTIN CORD.

"If the VR machine can find all of this," he said, indicating the room, "and then find that that," he said, pointing to the tiny carving, "and then incorporate it all all into the program-without me saying a word to anyone, mind you-well, then, my dear Neela ... then the machine wins. But I don't think any software, even software as well programmed as that found in the VR machine, could provide this level of detail without an intimate knowledge base, which I know for a fact it did not have access to. So, yes, Neela. This," he said looking at his surroundings, "is reality. And thanks to this little carving, I now know into the program-without me saying a word to anyone, mind you-well, then, my dear Neela ... then the machine wins. But I don't think any software, even software as well programmed as that found in the VR machine, could provide this level of detail without an intimate knowledge base, which I know for a fact it did not have access to. So, yes, Neela. This," he said looking at his surroundings, "is reality. And thanks to this little carving, I now know that that for sure." for sure."

Neela started to clap. "No stone unturned with you, Mr. Cord. No stone unturned." A chuckle. "Now, can we please get out of here?"

"Absolutely," he answered, "and may I never, ever ever, have to set foot in that damned machine again ... for as long as I live."

"And to think," replied Neela, "I almost did."

Justin nodded. "Like I don't owe you enough already."

They made their way back to the entrance, leaving the ancient tunnels and turrets of Galgenberg to be slowly reclaimed by darkness and eternity.

Once outside they found themselves standing in front of the mound they'd only recently entered. The sun had set below the horizon, but there was still enough light to see the car and the chauffeur idling away his time, leaning against the hood. The wind had picked up a bit, and it was now appreciably cooler. Justin looked at Neela closely. He wanted to ask her something but had no idea how to start.

"I still remember my introduction crystals, and sometimes ... sometimes I even dream about them." Neela grew serious. "That's what makes it so dangerous." She started walking toward the flyer, Justin beside her. "Do you know that we still have trouble with VR addicts?"

Justin's head jerked back, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why would anyone want anything to do with VR after having gone through that?"

"Justin, you lived your real real life and made it a spectacular success. You're every bit as heroic as any character in VR." life and made it a spectacular success. You're every bit as heroic as any character in VR."

"Come on," he said, unbelieving.

Neela shook her head. "It's true. The self-made billionaire who challenged an entire culture of death and never doubted, flinched, or quit? The one man to emerge from the wreckage of the old civilization with your pride, skills, and sense of self intact? You really don't get how completely rare ... no ... unique unique you are. The rest of us, I'm afraid, have lives far less grand." you are. The rest of us, I'm afraid, have lives far less grand."

Justin didn't argue. It wasn't a matter of hubris. It was just a fact. There was no reason to believe that the psychological reasons for addiction would change just because technology had advanced.

"But the children, Neela ..."

She matched the gravity of his stare with one of her own. "They have to have to enter young," she said. "Justin, after the Grand Collapse the Alaskans discovered that the VR plague didn't go away ... at least, not entirely. Oh, they tried real hard to suppress it. Even passed laws against it. One of the few laws against a personal choice that the Alaskan Federation passed ... and guess what?" enter young," she said. "Justin, after the Grand Collapse the Alaskans discovered that the VR plague didn't go away ... at least, not entirely. Oh, they tried real hard to suppress it. Even passed laws against it. One of the few laws against a personal choice that the Alaskan Federation passed ... and guess what?"

"It didn't work," he answered.

She nodded. "Laws like that are only effective when all of society understands that the law is needed."

Justin was astonished. "Society had just collapsed! What more proof did they need?"

"Not need need, Justin. Want Want. They had all sorts of theories and solutions. There were those who wanted to kill on sight anyone caught using or possessing VR equipment and those who wanted a specified number of hours of usage per day."

"So how did they arrive at a compromise?"

"You just sat in the 'compromise' for sixty hours."

Justin heaved a sigh.

"It was discovered," continued Neela, "that the program worked best on children between the ages of seven and nine. Those who experienced the program in that age range had a VR recidivism rate of less than 2 percent. Once it was realized that an entire generation could be inoculated against VR, the Anchorage Assembly made it mandatory for all its citizens, as well as for all territories joining or conquered."

Justin rubbed his hands on his thighs, trying hard to ignore the chilly climate. He was surprised that he'd lasted this long without shivering, and remembered that his body had been "modified." So the chill he would normally have felt immediately was only now beginning to work its way into his bones.

"OK," he said, putting his hands back into his pockets, "I think I can see how this indoctrination became universal, and as much as I hate to admit it, even understand why you've subjected children to that horror, but Neela-the Alaskans you're describing don't sound like the hunting, fishing, 'leave me the hell alone' types that I knew in my day. These Alaskans sound ruthless ... almost hell-bent on conquest."

"Justin," she answered, hopelessly pushing the hair out of her face that the wind seemed intent on keeping there, "the Alaskans you knew are gone. They died, changed, or were supplanted by the millions of refugees that swamped the state just as a nuclear winter hit. Imagine quintupling the population just as your supermarkets are running out of food. By hard work, hunting, fishing, and other questionable means they brought the great majority of those people out alive. But they were not the same. Harder, more disciplined, fiercely proud, yes-the same, no. These people were not going to let some two-bit dictator get his hands on a few abandoned nukes and start his own empire or, worse, another nuclear disaster. The choice was simple: Join or be absorbed."

"Resistance is futile."

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, right," he answered, realizing he'd slipped into a dated lexicon. "It's an old TV show reference ... Star Trek Star Trek ... Borg." ... Borg." Might as well be speaking Greek Might as well be speaking Greek, he mused.

Neela's face lit up. "I've heard of them."

"You've heard of the Borg?"

"Yes, there are still a few Trekkies around."

Justin laughed.

"I'm surprised," he continued, getting back on track, "that more people didn't put up a fight."

"Oh, some did," she answered, "but they were mostly crackpot dictators or self-proclaimed cultists. They were destroyed quickly. In fact, most of the population that was was left was glad that someone came along to end the madness and despair. The Alaskans believed fiercely in a limited government, low and simple taxes, and maximum individual rights. The only thing you couldn't do was something that would affect someone else's life or well-being, like peddling in VR or participating in acts of terrorism. Within twenty years what was left of the world was united under Anchorage's confederation." left was glad that someone came along to end the madness and despair. The Alaskans believed fiercely in a limited government, low and simple taxes, and maximum individual rights. The only thing you couldn't do was something that would affect someone else's life or well-being, like peddling in VR or participating in acts of terrorism. Within twenty years what was left of the world was united under Anchorage's confederation."

Justin grimaced. Something was still eating at him. "If the Alaskans were as brutal as you said, capable of taking over the world, how come it turned out like this? Everything you told me, everything I've read about, should have led to savagery or, at best, some sort of dictatorship. This world just doesn't make sense."

Neela nodded, acknowledging his concern. "You haven't gotten to Damsah yet, have you?"

"Well, I know he was the first president of the Alaskan Federation, and died only three months into his term. It was your next president who really got the government organized-I concentrated on her."

"Justin," answered Neela, putting her hands into her pockets also to ward off the evening chill, "if you're going to understand us, you'll have to understand Tim Damsah. He is to us what Lincoln and Washington were to you-only combined. You know how bad it got from your VR experience. The truth is, for the survivors it was much worse." She let that last part sink in before continuing. "The Alaskans were were heading for a dictatorship that all the forces of history demanded-that is, until Tim Damsah came along. Most of his speeches were preserved; you would benefit from hearing them." heading for a dictatorship that all the forces of history demanded-that is, until Tim Damsah came along. Most of his speeches were preserved; you would benefit from hearing them."

"OK," he murmured. Yet another in a long list of things to get to.

"The power of his vision ..." She said it almost as if it were a mantra. "When the whole world was collapsing, and the rights of the individual seemed to be a luxury we could ill afford, he reminded us of how important they were. He convinced the survivors that the problem with real freedom wasn't that it didn't work, but rather that it had never truly been tested. One of his favorite statements was that the Chinese symbols for catastrophe and opportunity were the same. That all the suffering the human race was experiencing was not in vain. And that, finally, they could build a better world based on individual rights and personal responsibility if only they would strive for it."

"Sounds reasonable, Neela."

"Yes, it does, but we could have just as easily gotten a Hitler or a Lenin at that darkest of hours-instead we got Tim Damsah. He gave us back hope and allowed us to dream again. Imagine one man's belief being so strong that it could sway the world. Our society is made in Tim Damsah's image. The forty billion who are well fed, employed, housed, and entertained are his children."

Justin absorbed the speech for a moment. Finally he spoke. "No wonder you have statues and cities all over the place dedicated to him. He died in a fire, correct?"

"Heroically in a fire, yes," she answered, wanting to be sure that the distinction was heard, though to Justin it sounded suspiciously like a party line. in a fire, yes," she answered, wanting to be sure that the distinction was heard, though to Justin it sounded suspiciously like a party line.

"It was during the nuclear winter," continued Neela, "and all available living space was used-even the president's house. Imagine you're trying to save the world and you volunteer your house for four other families. No one ever found out how the fire started, but at that time everyone was burning firewood to keep warm. It wasn't unusual-fires broke out all the time."

"Why didn't they just use oil?"

"At that time it was in short supply and so was saved for industrial projects. What is known," she continued, "is that the president went into his burning home again and again, pulling out survivors until, sadly, he never came out."

Neela, noticed Justin, was on the verge of tears. In fact, she'd told the story with enough ardor to make him believe she'd known the man himself. And it was at that moment it became clear why Tim Damsah, a man he'd once met and had dismissed as a minor elected official, had become so deified.

"I'm surprised," Justin continued undaunted, "that Damsah's philosophies didn't collapse with his death. I mean, when Lincoln died so did his dreams of binding the nation together after the Civil War."

"We lost his life in the fire, Justin, but by then we had his dream, his hope, and with his death a martyred hero. We could not; no-would not let him down." not let him down."

"So Tim Damsah led Alaska to world domination," Justin said, lips parted in object fascination. "Who'da thunk?"

"Hoodathunk?" asked Neela, at a loss.

"Sorry, just an expression."

"Ahh. Anyhow, not 'world domination,' Justin, more like 'united the world,' and they didn't rule for that long. As soon as things settled down the Alaskans had the capital moved from Anchorage to Geneva U.E. ..."

"Sorry," interrupted Justin, "U.E.?"

"United Earth. Anyways, the Alaskans were glad to get out of the world-running business."

Justin laughed. "I'm sure the Swiss loved that."

Neela looked confused. "Swiss?"

Justin slumped his shoulders.

"The Swiss disappeared," he sighed, "but Star Trek Star Trek lives on. Go figure." lives on. Go figure."

Janet Delgado looked like a young Amazonian goddess: tall, lithe, and dark skinned, with a powerful mane of flowing black hair. Under normal circumstances she could wield a perfect get-out-of-my-way glare, but now the head of GCI's vaunted Legal department was pacing back and forth like a hen worried about her eggs. She was in one of Geneva's nondescript federal buildings. This one was called the Bureau of Audits and Corrections. It also was where Hektor Sambianco was currently having millions of molecular-sized nanobots crawl through his brain to sniff out any neurological anomalies worthy of immediate and permanent "correction." He'd been "forced" to undergo the exam to determine whether or not he'd misused his self-majority to cause undue harm to his fellow stockholders.

The unmistakable whirring sounds of a mediabot snapped Janet out of her malaise. She looked up to see the familiar round orb staring in her face. Following closely on the bot's heels was a buxom female reporter of Asian descent, dressed in a stylish wormskin jumpsuit. I'll be glad when this stupid insect texture fad is over and done with I'll be glad when this stupid insect texture fad is over and done with, Janet thought, trying hard not to stare at the slime-glistening garment.

"Ms. Delgado," said the reporter, eyes clearly on the prize, "my name is Eva Nguyen. I'm with Court News Weekly."

"I know who you are," seethed Janet.

"Good," retorted Ms. Nguyen. "In that case, would you care to comment on a report that I've heard?"

Janet smiled with great insincerity, and said, "I'd love to, Miss Nguyen; however, I'm currently engaged in another pressing matter. Call my office, I'll make sure to instruct my secretary to give you a scheduled interview."

"So you can state unequivocally," asked Eva, unimpressed at the brush-off, "that Hektor Sambianco is not not currently undergoing a psychological audit at this time?" currently undergoing a psychological audit at this time?"

Don't blow this, Janet said to herself, trying hard to sell the charade. She feigned utter shock. Luckily, her years in the courtroom and clawing up GCI's corporate ladder had sharpened her natural acting abilities.