Except with reality itself.
And who cared about reality when by simply donning a senses-blocking head-mounted display, you could become whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted and conquer any challenge-if you made the right decisions.
IN HIS THIRTY-ODD YEARS on earth, Bud Coggins had hardly ever made the correct decision. Not in school, not in work and certainly not in his personal life. As a consequence, he had gotten his fill of reality. He was too short, too fat, too balding and too poor to make reality work for him.
Games he could work. Standing behind an arcade video game, Coggins beat the youngest kid at Sonic Hedgehog II six times out of seven. A dozen years of playing every video game known to man had developed in Bud Coggins the lightning reflexes of a fifteen-year-old. The games had come and gone over the years. In the arcades and in home systems. Atari. Intellivision. Nintendo. Sega Genesis. Trio CD-ROM. There was no game he hadn't played, from Pong to Myst. Mortal Kombat to Lovecraft Is Missing. Give him a joystick, trakball or lightgun, and Bud Coggins could hit the target each and every time.
When the first virtual-reality systems came in, Bud got very excited. He soon fell into a deep depression because tending bar for eight-fifty an hour didn't pile up the money fast enough to pay for a ten-thousand-dollar personal VR game system.
But there were still ways. Trade shows. Public demonstrations. Anyplace Bud Coggins could score a free ride, he did. And because he adapted to virtual reality better than mundane actuality, the invitations kept coming in the mail.
Right now the game was called Ruby. And Bud had been selected by computer to be the first person in the history of the universe to play it. That was what the four-color invitational brochure had said. Bud Coggins had only to call a number and make an appointment.
A soft voice on the telephone had told him to come to an office park in South Boston, the site of the testing lab of Jaunt Systems, inventors of the only seventy-five-million-polygon totally immersive virtualreality gaming system on earth.
Bud had felt like an F-22 Stealth fighter pilot when they strapped him into a white Ford Aerostar van that was sitting off the concrete floor on big rubber rollers. That was so the tires would roll freely when he hit the gas, they had explained.
Once he was strapped in, they set the VR helmet on his grinning head and all went black.
When the eyephones came to life, Bud was looking at the same concrete warehouse interior he had entered. It was just as dingy, just as ill lit, and the three VR technicians were just as shadowy. All wore sunglasses, just like real life.
"Nothing's changed," he complained.
"You are not looking at reality, " a soft voice in his VR helmet had informed him. "You are looking at Ruby."
"Ruby?"
"The Mortal Kombat of VR game simulations. It will look, taste, sound and feel absolutely real. And in order to properly evaluate this experimental system, you must drive as if you are driving in Boston traffic."
"Good challenge," said Bud Coggins, who drove in Boston traffic every day. It was said when Parisian taxi drivers congregated to swap stories about the worst drivers in the world, they invariably threw up their hands at the mention of Boston drivers.
"Got it," says Bud Coggins, clutching the steering wheel and wondering if the new-car smell in his lungs was from the Aerostar upholstery or VR generated.
"We will see everything you see via our remote console. Do you have any questions?"
"Great. Why is the game called Ruby?"
"That will become clear as the game scenario progresses. You may start your engine now."
Bud Coggins had fired up the engine. The car simulator revved up nicely, vibrating comfortably when he left it in neutral.
"You may exit the warehouse."
Coggins released the brake, pumping the gas. There was a bump, and the warehouse surroundings fell behind the van, which seemed to be actually moving.
"That was one hell of a bump," he said aloud. "It felt like I came off the rollers."
"Sorry. Must be a bug in the software controlling the multiaccess motion-simulator seat. Is the helmet still functioning?"
"Yep. Good thing it's padded. Think I banged it on the roof."
"You are going to Dorchester."
Bud turned left onto Morrissey Boulevard, and the soft voice inside the VR helmet kept him busy with questions while impressing upon him the need to avoid jostling the delicate VR gear packed in the back of the van.
"Drive as if the cars around you are real, Bud. Avoid reckless driving. Do not call attention to yourself. "
"Gotcha. "
Bud Coggins enjoyed the high-adrenaline sensations of driving through virtual Boston traffic. The other drivers were honking and cursing at him without any justifiable reason, just as they would in real life.
"People kept staring at me," he remarked at one point.
"Ignore them. Trust no one. "
"Is that important to the game?"
"People stare at other drivers. It's simply part of the natural feel we've given Ruby."
At one point Coggins lowered his window and stuck his hand out. The cold air blew through his fingers just as it would in true expressway traffic.
"Amazing," he had said over and over again. "I am fully, totally, absolutely immersed in virtual reality."
BUD COGGINS was still thinking that as he crept through the simulated underground parking garage of the University of Massachusetts, stalking a Presidential assassin who could be anybody with only a .38 revolver.
"Bud, the concrete posts are color coded. You are looking for the yellow-orange section."
"It's just ahead," said Bud, voice tightening in anticipation.
An elevator door slid open, and Coggins whirled in time to see the too-obvious figure of a Secret Service agent carrying a MAC-11.
The agent saw him, but was too slow. Coggins lifted, sighted and fired once. The agent went down, his weapon unfired.
"I got him. I got him!"
"Don't shout. It will attract others. Remember all real-world scenarios have been programmed in."
"Right, right," said Bud Coggins, stepping over the body and marveling at the metallic scent of blood that tickled his nostrils.
"Take his belt radio, " the voice in the helmet instructed.
"That will help me track the renegade Secret Service guys, right?"
"Their quarry is your quarry. It is important that you find the assassin before they do."
Kneeling, Coggins stripped the corpse of the radio set and put it on, following the instructions of the helmet voice. There was a port in the helmet for the Secret Service earphone jack. It fit perfectly. The body felt so real Bud wondered if one of the technicians hadn't lain down on the warehouse floor to play dead Secret Service agent.