establish your bona fides. Use it to step into any Omnitopian Macrocosm or open-access Microcosm, using whatever input-output method you like—keyboard, VR room, RealFeel setup. The staff will help you with I/O and anything else you need; all you have to do is ask. Don’t worry about returning the pass. It’ll expire either at midnight or as soon as you drive off campus, whichever comes first. Each day, when you come back, you’ll get a new one until I’m told your work here is done.”
Delia stared at the card, astonished. It had never occurred to her that she might be simply handed, on a plate, the kind of access to Omnitopia that this card entailed. This story could—I could . . . She shut that whole line of thought down for the moment. It was too soon to work out exactly what she could do. But the possibilities were staggering . . .
A beefy, sandy- haired man about six feet tall, dressed in a polo shirt and chinos, came into the room. “This is Robbie Wauhea,” Joss said as the man smiled at Delia and shook her hand. “He works with me on North American publicity for Omnitopia in general, but he’s also handling rollout-specific PR. He can answer all your questions about what’s going to happen in the next three days.”
“Pleased,” Delia said.
“So, if you’ll excuse me,” Joss said, “I have a couple of appointments myself this morning. But in the meantime—”
He picked up from his desk the sticky pad he’d just been scribbling on, pulled off the topmost note and handed it to Delia. It was omega-branded faintly in blue, and over the omega was a seven-digit number, like a phone number in reverse. “That’s the ID number of my own Microcosm,” Joss said. “Once you get into Omnitopia proper, stop in and have a look around. It’s a small thing, but mine own.”
Delia nodded at him. “Thanks.” And then something occurred to her as she put the note away. “You make a little extra off this?” she said. “Your percentage of ‘one percent of infinity’?”
The look Joss gave her was cordial, and very managed. “Any proceeds,” he said, “go to a nominated charity, the same as all the other proceeds from employee-run ’cosms. I favor the Innocence Project, myself.”
“Touché,” Delia said.
Joss nodded to her, visibly more as farewell than reaction. “Enjoy your visit!”
“I’m sure I will. Thanks again for coming down to get me.”
“Would you like to head on down this way, Miss Harrington?” Robbie said. “I’ll take you upstairs to our nerve center and you can sit down and start asking me questions.”
“That would be super,” Delia said. But in her pocket, where she’d slipped it, she could practically feel the second card burning a hole in her slacks, eager to be used. Carte blanche to Omnitopia, she thought. And to the story of a lifetime, if I can just figure out how to make the most of this—and find out where some of the bodies are buried.
Behind her, Delia was sure she could feel thoughtful eyes watching her go. She concentrated on giving no sign that she noticed, and, laughing and smiling, she went up a nearby flight of stairs with Robbie Wauhea, listening carefully to every word . . .
THREE
RIK MALIANI STOOD IN THE DARKNESS of his Microcosm in Omnitopia and gazed up at the glowing “neon” sign still hanging there unsupported in the virtual air.
His Microcosm in Omnitopia. The phrase wasn’t through giving him the chills yet. Rik had spent almost all of last night reading through the orientation pack that had come in an e- mail from Microcosm Management. Throughout it, through the dry details of security protocols and pro tem templates and the complications of the royalty agreement—especially the royalty agreement, which included contingency plans involving numbers with more zeroes than Rik had ever seen or hoped to see in his checking account—he’d had to keep reminding himself, You’re not dreaming! This is real! But the belief kept wearing off. He wound up taking the laptop to bed with him, and he lay there reading on it until Angela put the pillow over her head to shut out the light of the bedside lamp. Living up to her name, she hadn’t even told Rik to cut it out and go to sleep, which was just as well, because he couldn’t. Finally he’d turned out the light and just lay there reading by the screen’s light until he at last fell asleep