Daniel Galouye Simulacron 3 (The Thirteenth Floor) (retail) (pdf)

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fragrance of her perfumed hair rising into my face. The attendant
lowered the headpieces and swung the control panel to within
Dorothy's reach.
"Just relax and leave it to little Dottie," she said, squirming to grip
the selectors.
Tingling current lanced instantly from scores of electrodes,
sensing and homing in on appropriate cortical centers. The
room, the tapestries, the scents all were swept away like
thistledown scattered by a gale.
Delicate azure skies stretched overhead, blanketing a
lazy-rolling, emerald sea that washed with soothing monotony
upon a beach of purest sand. Surging water buoyed me up, then
dropped me again in a sluggish, wavering motion until my toes
touched the rippled bottom.
It wasn't an illusion. It was real. There was no doubting the
validity of the experience, even though it sprang solely from
excited hallucination centers. Cortical stimulation was that
effective.
There was a tinkle of laughter behind me and, on the crest of the
next swell, I treaded around, only to intercept a faceful of
splashed water.
Dorothy shoved off, out of my reach. I went after her and she
crash-dived, exposing in glistening, fleeting array the
sun-washed bareness of her firm, supple body.
We swam under water and once I even drew close enough to
seize her by the ankle before she wrenched free and was off
again, like a graceful creature of the sea.
I broke surface and spewed out a mouthful of brine.
And there was Jinx Fuller, standing on the beach, tense and
concerned as she scanned the frothing seascape. The wind
Simulacron Three 72
whipped her skirt and tossed her hair about her face.
Dorothy surfaced, saw Jinx and scowled. "It's no good here."
Blackness swept across the warp of my senses, then Dorothy
and I were on skis, flashing down the frozen, white breast of a
mountain and laughing against the chill spray of powdered snow.
We slowed and tried a shallow curve around an irregular rise.
She took a spill and I braked, returning to drop down beside her.
She laughed heartily, slipped her goggles up onto her forehead
and caught my neck within her arms.
But I only stared beyond her at Jinx. Half concealed by an
ice-tinseled tree, she was a silent, pensive witness.
And in that preoccupied moment I sensed it the gentle, furtive
presence of Dorothy Ford's questing thoughts, boring, together
with the excitative currents, into layer after layer of cortical
tissue.
I had forgotten about the resonant effects of a reciprocating ESB
circuit; forgotten that coupled stimulation could bring about an
involuntary surrender of thoughts by one of the subjects.
I reared erect on the couch and snapped off my headpiece.
Dorothy, coming up with me, offered an indifferent shrug. "Then
she gave new meaning to an age-old feminine quip: "Can't
blame a girl for trying, can you?"
I only scanned her face for information. Had she gone deep
enough to learn that I was staying on with Siskin only because I
intended to sabotage his conspiracy with the party?
Simulacron Three 73
Chapter 8
For the first time in weeks I was finally out from under the pall of
Fuller's death. And the imagined incidents that had followed in
the wake of that accident were like a nightmare losing its vivid
focus in the fresh, wholesome light of dawn. I had come back
from a terrifying brink, thanks to Avery Collingsworth.
Pseudoparanoia. It was so logical that I wondered why it had
never occurred to either Fuller or myself that involvement with
the total environment simulator and its too-real "little people"
would pose unanticipated mental hazards.
There were still complications to be unraveled, of course.
Dorothy Ford, for instance, had to understand that our escapade
in the ESB den had meant nothing to me. Although I had enjoyed
the swim, so to speak, I wasn't going to make a habit of it. Not
after the cortical excitation experiences had so clearly
demonstrated my preoccupation with Jinx Fuller.
Dorothy had gathered as much, though. I found that out the next
morning when I paused in front of her desk.
"About last night, Doug " she offered distantly. "As I said, we
both have our jobs. And I've got to do mine loyally. I have no
choice."
I wondered what sort of sword Siskin held over her. Mine had
two edges the threats of an accelerated police investigation
into Fuller's death, with me as the goat, and of his finally not
deciding to let the simulator be used partly for sociological
research.
"Now that we know the score," Dorothy added less formally,
"there won't be any misunderstanding." She softened further,
touching my hand. "And, Doug, it can still be fun." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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