eXistenZ Read online

  eXistenZ

  A WORLD WHERE FANTASY IS MORE REAL THAN LIFE ITSELF

  You are in a society where game designers are superstars and players can organically enter their favorite games . . . A society where no one is more desired than Allegra Geller, the hip gaming goddess whose latest system, eXistenZ, takes a quantum leap beyond anything ever imagined—tapping so deeply into its users’ fears and desires that it blurs the boundaries of reality.

  Fleeing an assassination attempt from Anti-eXistenZialists determined to destroy the game and its creator, Allegra finds an ally in Ted Pikul, a young executive turned novice security guard sworn to protect her. Seeking shelter within her creation, Allegra persuades Ted to play the game, and the fugitives find themselves in a phantasmagoric world where existence ends and eXistenZ begins, a fantastic place where nothing is as it seems and the villains are all too real—and all too deadly.

  HarperEntertainment

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers

  10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022-5299

  Copyright © 1999 by Alliance Atlantis Communications, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 0-06-102027-3

  HarperCollins®, and HarperEntertaiment™ are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  eXistenZ and EXISTENZ and design are trademarks of Alliance Atlantis Communications Inc.

  Used under license. All rights reserved.

  First HarperEntertainment printing: May 1999

  Printed in the United States of America

  Visit HarperEntertainment on the World Wide Web at

  http://www.harpercollins.com

  [ 1 ]

  Something buzzed and fluttered against Ted Pikul’s chest, feeling like a large winged insect. With his mind on other things, he swiped at it absently, flapping his fingers with an irritated motion across the crisply starched fabric of his shirt. In the dark it was impossible to see if anything flew or dropped away from him, but the insistent drumming of the wings ceased.

  Pikul took a deep breath in the warm night air and for the tenth time in as many minutes stared apprehensively around at the vehicles crammed into the weed-overgrown parking lot.

  Only a dim overhead lamp illuminated the vehicles, creating a large but pallid pool of light around the ones closest to the entrance to the old church hall. The vehicles were almost all of the sort you’d see in any small country town: most were pickups and trucks streaked with mud or rust, or both, and many had doors or fenders held on with wire. Great rolls of chicken wire, anonymous-looking plastic sacks, or battered agricultural implements were heaped on the flatbeds behind the drivers’ cabs.

  One vehicle stood out prominently in this undistinguished company: a gleaming late-model Land Rover Defender 110, which had seven seats, a roof cage, and a winch hanging off the front.

  Sitting behind the wheel of this car was another Antenna Research employee, Frances McCarrigan, to whom Ted Pikul had been told to make himself known as soon as he arrived. He had done so. Frances, a retired lady farmer who sometimes picked up a few extra bucks moonlighting as a chauffeur, had acknowledged his arrival with an absent glare.

  The thing buzzed once more, in the same place on his shirtfront. Pikul flapped anxiously at it, but this time remembered what he’d put in his pocket.

  He reached in and pulled out the pink-fone. It vibrated a third time while he held it. He fumbled it around in his fingers and turned toward the dim light spilling through the doorway that led to the interior of the hall. The design of the pink-fone was so subtle and understated that it was difficult to work out which way it should be held. It was state-of-the-art palm-sized bioware, fashioned from the latest in modular thermoplastics and programmed with genetically enhanced enzyme circuitry. The plastic was soft, and felt warm to the touch.

  He squeezed the sides, as he’d been shown by his boss, Alex Kindred, head of PR at Antenna Research. They squelched silently in his grip and a diffuse pink light swelled up from deep within it.

  “Er—hello?” he said, into what he believed was the receiver.

  “Pickle?” said a sharp voice against his ear. “Is that Theodore Pickle?”

  “Er, no . . . I mean, yes it’s me, I’m—”

  “Put Pickle on. The security guard. Why the hell isn’t he there?”

  “Sir, it’s me. Ted Pikul. The name rhymes with ‘Michael.’ ”

  “It’s the Antenna security office here. You were supposed to call in at ten minute intervals. What the devil’s going on out there?”

  “Everything’s under control, sir.”

  “Has Allegra Geller shown up?”

  “Yes, sir,” Pikul said, with a glance at the Land Rover. “She’s taking part in the software presentation right now. With . . . with all the other representatives from Antenna. Sir.”

  “Don’t call it software, Mr. Pikul. How long have you been with us?”

  “Long enough to know the song,” Pikul recited from the company manual. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant that she’s presenting the game system.”

  “Okay, we always pay attention to detail at Antenna. Now, why aren’t you with her, Pikul? She’s the one you’re supposed to be protecting. You want me to send replacement security staff down there if you can’t handle it?”

  “No, sir. I can handle it okay. I’ve been following instructions, but I thought I should run one of my periodic checks on the outside of the location. I’ve surveyed the area, and confirmed that all our security expectations are in place. I was about to rejoin Ms. Geller when you called.”

  “Right. Check back in here in ten minutes. You got that, Pikul?”

  “I got it. Sir.”

  The pink light faded from within the fone and Pikul carefully slipped the plastic instrument into his shirt pocket, trying to remember which way was up. The next time it buzzed he didn’t want to have to fumble with it.

  He pulled the electronic security wand from his belt, then stepped quickly across to the highway beyond the parking lot. He looked in both directions. To the right, leading south, the road ran off into indeterminate landscape; you couldn’t see much in the light from the half-moon. To the north, a line of mountains ran jaggedly against the star-filled night sky.

  It was a hot night, the warm winds blowing in from the hundreds of square miles of farmland that lay all around. Pikul looked wistfully at the shape of the distant mountains, thinking of cool air and crystal-clear mountain streams.

  No cars were approaching from either direction, which was what he’d wanted to establish. Or at least, this was what he wanted to establish while he calmed down after the call from the head office.

  With one more inhalation of the fragrant country air, and another pensive glance in the direction of the mountains, Pikul walked swiftly back to the building and made his way inside.

  It had once been a simple country church, but was deconsecrated years ago. In recent times it had been used for dances, community meetings, elections, and the occasional political rally.

  Pikul had been told the hall was typical of those where Antenna tested their product for market evaluation: it was in a remote country area with a high percentile of known Antenna users, the hall was familiar with everyone in the locality and was cheap to rent, and in addition it was an unobtrusive place for Antenna’s top VR people to gather. You couldn’t be too careful these days.

  The whole interior was well-lit, but large mobile lights had been wheeled to the front to illuminate the platform at the far end.

  Pikul spotted Allegra Geller standing at the back of the crowd. She was dressed to blend. Her clothes were modest and conservative—a dark blue jacket over an Antenna Research T-shirt; slim jeans on her shapely legs; her hair was long and fair—but there was no disguising the sheer intelligence
and beauty that radiated from her no matter how she stood, or spoke, or looked.

  When he’d been briefly introduced to her, half an hour earlier as the Antenna people began arriving, Pikul could hardly believe his luck at being assigned to her on his first security commission. This was a first not only for him, but also something of a first for her too. Although Allegra Geller was famous, it was mostly through rumor and hearsay. She had rarely been allowed into public by Antenna, and apart from a few small photographs accompanying magazine articles carefully leaked over the last two years, her face was all but unknown. For both these reasons Pikul was in awe of her, even though the few words she’d uttered to him when they met had been friendly enough. So far. Pikul never doubted his unfortunate ability to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time.

  He went and sat down in the chair that had been placed next to the main entrance. He laid his security wand across his lap.

  The temperature had risen in the hall while he’d been outside: it was not only several degrees warmer, but the emotional atmosphere being pumped out by the crowd was noticeably more frenetic. Their responses had been deliberately whipped up from the platform by some rousing speeches and corporate displays; now they were ready for the product pitch.

  One of the Antenna operatives, Wittold Levi, a man in his early forties, was standing to one side of the platform, facing the crowd. He held a short piece of white chalk. Next to him, a large chalkboard rested on a tripod.

  Levi was playing on the expectations of the crowd, feeding on their waves of concentration. He rocked slightly on his heels.

  “eXistenZ!” he said suddenly. “The word is eXistenZ!”

  He turned to the chalkboard and with a swift rapping sound wrote the word in large letters. He spelled it out deliberately, tapping the end of the chalk against each letter.

  “Always spell it this way,” Levi said. “Small e, capital X, capital Z on the end.” He turned back to the audience. “eXistenZ . . . it’s new, it’s hot, it’s from Antenna Research, and it’s here right now.”

  Everyone cheered and applauded enthusiastically, and Levi raised his face to catch the full beam of the twin spotlights, illuminating his face as if with inner radiance. He glanced enticingly across at the crowd: some people were still sitting in the rows of old wooden pews, or the uncomfortable plastic chairs brought in for the evening, but by now many were standing.

  As the applause continued, Levi paced away from the chalkboard and with a measured tread stepped precisely toward the other side of the platform. He paused, turned, looked appreciatively out at the eager audience, then went back to the chalkboard. He timed it so the cheering and clapping faded as once again he stood at the center of the stage.

  Behind him, on the other side of the platform, two young women assistants, obviously selected for their lovely faces and the way their figures filled out the trim outlines of the corporate designer relaxware, were carefully laying out some twenty or more plastic modules. From Pikul’s view at the back of the room, the modules looked a little like high-tech ski boots.

  Levi raised his hand, ensuring that complete silence fell.

  “My name is Wittold Levi,” he said, enunciating carefully. “My friends call me Witt . . . so I guess you can call me Witt too. I’m the project manager for eXistenZ, responsible for all development and customer input.” He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the spotlights, and peered at some of the audience. “I see a whole lot of familiar faces out there . . . but that’s okay. You can all hang around for the rest of the show.”

  The laughter was warm; many of them had seen Witt’s work before.

  “Antenna’s entire corporate rationale is to encourage consumer loyalty, and that’s why we’re here with you tonight. We need you, all of you, to help us with our product testing. We’re a team, Antenna and you. Those of you who have been invited to one of our seminars before will know that I normally lead you through our new games myself. Tonight, though, Antenna is launching eXistenZ, and that makes it a special occasion. To show you how special, we have brought you a seminar leader who can only be described as . . . unique.”

  A ripple of anticipation moved through the crowd: people were swaying with excitement.

  A young man standing close to Pikul said to a friend in an urgent whisper, “I don’t believe it! They wouldn’t bring her here! Not here!”

  His companion’s face was sheened with perspiration, and the muscles of his jaw visibly tightened.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been hearing rumors for weeks. Gee, I hope that’s who he’s talking about! But Allegra Geller in this no-horse town?”

  Pikul glanced across at Allegra Geller, who had moved to where the refreshments had been laid out on a long table. She was helping herself to a cookie, but otherwise showed no reaction at all.

  Witt grinned boyishly as he picked up on the whispered anticipation from the audience.

  “Yes it is!” he said, and raised his hands as if to open the clouds. “The world’s greatest game designer is here with you in person, tonight. It is your privilege that she will lead you, lead you herself, through her latest creation: eXistenZ from Antenna Research is here . . .”

  Two people in the front row of the crowd fell to their knees, their faces burnished with excitement.

  “Ladies and gendemen, tonight I give you . . . the Game-Pod Goddess herself—Allegra Geller!”

  Witt leaped from the platform, brushing between the two people on their knees. He pushed his way firmly but politely through the press of the crowd. People moved to make way for him, recognizing that something sensational was about to happen in their lives. Every face in the room turned to follow his progress across the room.

  He strode directly toward Allegra Geller. She brushed a finger across her lips to wipe away any crumbs that might have adhered.

  Witt paused before her, a knowing half smile on his face. He raised his hand to take hers, then turned to lead her back through the crowd toward the platform. People stepped aside in awe, almost like water parted by a miracle as she passed between them. She kept her gaze averted.

  As she moved away from him, Pikul saw that what he’d assumed was a shoulder bag was in fact a game-pod case, supported on a long strap. The pod hung at her waist. She rested her hand on it in an apparently relaxed way, but Pikul noticed that no matter how much she twisted or leaned as she walked through the audience, her hand never once strayed from the pod.

  He realized that the awestruck mood of the crowd was getting to him, distracting him. He had a job to do, and that was to protect the young woman. He left his chair and moved swiftly toward one side of the raised platform.

  Allegra Geller followed Wittold Levi, her free hand still held lightly in his. Standing in the center of the platform, she seemed dazed by the lights and the reaction of her followers. Clearly, she was nervous, but her modest smiles made her seem, to Pikul at least, a vision of all that was good, wise, intelligent, and beautiful in the world.

  He stared at her in rapt attention.

  “Hi, everyone!” Allegra said with the flash of a natural smile, narrowing her eyes in the glare of lights. “I’m Allegra Geller.”

  The wave of warmth and the sheer enthusiasm of the applause that came back at her seemed to have a tangible pressure, because she rocked momentarily.

  “Well, I’m glad to see so many of you were able to come here tonight.”

  They laughed appreciatively. It was a knowing joke, one she knew they were all in on. And it was one they knew she knew . . . When Antenna Research announced a new Geller product presentation, you called off lunch with the President to be there. Even if you didn’t know Allegra Geller herself was going to be present.

  “Let me give it to you straight,” she continued, after a thoughtful pause. “The world of games is in a kind of trance. Most people are programmed to accept so little, but the possibilities are great. Infinite, in fact.”

  She paused to glance expressively around at the crowd
, feeding on their response. They were so hyped up, they were practically humming with anticipation.

  “Okay,” Allegra said. “I see you’ve been thinking the same way I have. That’s why you’re here. You probably thought that tonight we were going to test a new game. One I designed. Is that right?”

  There was a roar of assent.

  “I’m sorry . . . there is no new game for you to test. At least, not in the usual sense.”

  She was starting to enjoy herself. While many people groaned with disappointment, Allegra looked winsomely at the bare boards of the platform floor, her eyes twinkling.

  “No, I guess I can say that it’s going to be much better than that! More than you expected. eXistenZ is not just a game.” She had their attention again. She began pacing, to give emphasis to her words. “It’s more than a game, it’s a whole new game system. Antenna Research and I have developed it together—the eXistenZ System by Antenna—and it involves a whole lot of new toys. New experiences. New challenges. New insights into not only the world of reality, but into your own inner consciousness. Tonight you are going to be among the very first people in the world to try out these new systems.”

  Witt now stepped forward, chalk in hand.

  “Yeah,” he said over the excited noise. “I can second what Ms. Geller has said. The new Antenna Research game system is something you’re going to hear a lot more about. It’s called MetaFlesh.”

  He turned to the board and rapped out the letters of the word with the same flourish as before.

  “It’s written like this,” he said, tapping at the letters. “Get it right, from the start. One word. Capital M, capital F. MetaFlesh is what our new games are made from . . . the MetaFlesh Game-Pod, only from Antenna Research. It connects with any industry standard bioport.” He made a suggestive swerve of his hips and gave a knowing, sensual look at the crowd. “I realize you all have those bioports, or you wouldn’t be here at all . . .”

  They loved that. Possession of a bioport was clearly the entrance ticket to a whole range of sensual experiences, whose thrills could only be guessed at by those who had so far failed to get a bioport fitted.