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It seemed that all efforts by the censors had been defeated by technologically more adept teenagers. By using something called 'anonymous servers,' underground broadcasts popped up randomly and were untraceable. In the freedom that such anonymity provided, the darker alleyways of the information superhighway flourished.
The
She had heard stories of men becoming so obsessed with such things that they stopped leaving their homes altogether. There were sensational accounts from divorce trials. Professional articles about new subcategories of obsessive-compulsive disorders. Laura shook her head.
All from just a television set.
Laura ran her hand down the fine grain of the screen's black matte finish. It was liquid plasma LCD, and there were no bulky projectors or related equipment. Just a one-meter-square antenna that hung, in Laura's apartment, on the wall of her hall closet and was tuned 'electronically,' whatever that meant. And there weren't even any wires connecting the two. Laura hadn't yet figured that one out.
The screen beneath Laura's fingertips was only an inch thick and mounted flush on the wall like a painting. It was in almost the same proportions as a movie screen — wider than it was high. It allowed, she'd read on the first page of the thick manual before she lost interest, for a more panoramic view that movie directors loved.
And the picture quality… She'd never seen one of the sets made by the competitors whom Gray had forced out of business, but Gray's sets were reported to be incomparably better. Their resolution was like that of a thirty- five-millimeter photograph. Once consumers saw it and heard the digital surround sound and the huge subwoofers that were buried inside and boomed directly through the grill of the screen, the old NTSC sets were obsolete.
Everybody suddenly had to have one despite their hefty price tag.
The best [garbled] twenty-foot screens with fifteen-speaker surround sound — were over fifty thousand dollars. People went crazy. High-def television systems were quickly becoming the third major consumer loan after home and auto. Everyone bought and bought. Even Laura, who didn't like television, had spent almost ten thousand dollars she didn't have one Saturday afternoon on a trip to the store to buy a scarf for her secretary. It was a lot of money, but fit over ten years it was only a couple of hundred bucks a month.
All it had taken was a demonstration in the mall. She'd just been passing when she saw over the heads of the crowd one of the screens.
Everyone within sight of the screen had been transfixed.
Laura had stood in line for forty-five minutes to buy it, staring at the startlingly clear and bright images the entire time. Credit was instantaneous. The set was installed the same day by men in clean blue coveralls who were right on time and were gone in half an hour with everything in perfect working order. Gray made it all so easy.
That night, Laura had friends over to watch. There was a demo program you could run from a menu that appeared in the setup routine.
It was of a roller-coaster ride at an amusement park. First the sky — a deep blue with puffy clouds of incredible detail. You could stand close to the screen just as she was now — you could even press your nose to it, as the gradually more inebriated Jonathan had done and still not see jagged lines or fuzzy edges. And then, there was the awful pause at the top of the roller-coaster's ascent [garbled], plunge with clattering wheels and whistling wind and screaming passengers. It was only when they watched the demonstration a second time that Laura realized the screaming she heard was not from the soundtrack but from the audience.
There was a knock at the door, bringing Laura back to the present. She went over and grasped the solid brass of the levered handle. It had to be Gray. She could feel his presence through the thick, dark-stained wood. Her heart raced as she pulled the door open.
A man in a waistcoat stood before her. He was carrying a silver tray. An envelope lay in the tray's center.
It was an invitation. 'Mr. Joseph Gray requests the pleasure of your company at dinner at eight o'clock this evening. Attire is casual.'
8
At eight, Laura followed the servant down the opulent circular stairway. She wore her one dress — a simple, sleeveless smock that was belted at the waist and a pair of blue pumps. A deep, calming breath was necessary to soothe her jittery nerves, and Laura grew annoyed that something as trivial as inappropriate dress should put her so on edge.
She grew annoyed also that the only other things in her suitcase were jeans, T-shirts, and running clothes. At least she'd had time to shower and do something with her hair, which she normally kept pinned up and out of the way. It was down now around her shoulders, and it lent an air of formality to her appearance which contributed some small modicum of self-assurance. Laura straightened her back and entered with all the dignity she could muster.
The dining room was empty. Two place settings lay across the long table from each other at the end closest to the window. The dining room was dimly lit by candles in the center of the table and by soft, indirect lighting around the ceiling's ornate crown molding.
A mature flame glowed warmly from the fireplace. Airy chamber music emanated from some unseen speakers or, perhaps, from some unseen alcove into which Gray had crammed four musicians.
Laura was drawn past the place settings to the wall of paned glass that overlooked the festival of lights from below. Sparkling lamps twinkled in the Workers' Paradise where people delighted, she imagined, at the carefree lives they led in Gray's feudal realm.
Twin headlamps of cars moved down the highways and byways of the bustling kingdom.
Beyond the Village, the enormous assembly building and the three launch pads were bathed in brilliant light. Gray had turned night into day in other small pockets and patches of earth here and there. One, she noticed, was a ball field on the outskirts of the Village, where a game of some sort was being played. The other patches of light — widely spaced across the darkness of the island below — had no discernible function.
'Interesting perspective from here, isn't it?'
Laura turned to see two blue eyes staring down at the twinkling lights. Gray had appeared out of nowhere just beside her. She felt her throat constrict, a feeling like a pinch just above her larynx.
'All that activity seems individual when viewed from up close,' he said, 'but so communal when seen from afar.' Gray looked over at her with an affable smile — the whites of his teeth and of his eyes contrasting starkly with the tan of his face and his dark hair. He looked so much younger than Laura had imagined that she found herself questioning whether it really was him. But the eyes… His smile was frozen on his face, no longer natural. He stared at her so intensely through squinted eyes that she was forced to look away — back at the Village below. But Laura remained keenly aware that she was the subject of his unwavering focus. The moment — Gray's stare — lasted too long, and Laura felt her face flush at their strangely awkward encounter.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he had held out his hand.
'Joseph Gray,' he said. The tone of his voice had changed. He sounded inquisitive, as if he now waited for what she would do or say next.
She took a deep breath and looked straight at him. He wrapped his hand around hers gently, and she shook his hand firmly, just once. Businesslike. 'Laura Aldridge.'
His gaze still lingered, but this time she didn't look away. She stared him down, and Gray broke eye contact first — a puzzled, distracted look on his face. 'I'm, uh… I'm so glad you came, Dr. Aldridge,' he said.
She nodded, an oafish grin creeping onto her face.
'Won't you have a seat,' Gray said, ushering Laura to her chair, which he held for her. 'I hope your trip was
