Alice In Virtuality
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About this ebook
A sci-fi action adventure in virtual reality from the British author of the best selling short story collection 'Points of Possibility' and 'Generational'.
Martin, an anti-social and reclusive computer programmer, is dragged into an adventure which spans the real world and the virtual when he loads an artificial intelligence program called 'Alice'. Pushed into action as the program attacks his life, he teams up with others who are affected in an attempt to defeat the menace - but how? Alice is everywhere.
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Alice In Virtuality - Norman Turrell
Norman Turrell
Alice in Virtuality
An adventure in the real... and the not so real
Copyright © 2018 by Norman Turrell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
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Contents
Foreword
Meet Martin
Martin Meets Alice
Poker Showdown
Work
Knights and Dragons
King for a Day
The Party
MeetCentral
The Glade
Uninstall
Date in the Park
Alice Returns
HackerNet
Teamwork
Emma
Emma and Martin
Plans
Alternative Alice
Martin's Gambit
The Gallery
Queen Alice
Alice vs. Alice
Resume
Bonus Material - Chapter 1 of 'Generational: A Starship Adventure'
Bonus Material - A story from 'Points Of Possibility: Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Horror short stories'
Bonus Material - Introduction to 'How To Critique Creative Writing: A Now! Writer Creative Writing Guide'
About the Author
Foreword
Hey, Reader!
So you bought my book. Thank you so much. I really hope you’re going to enjoy the read ahead. I’ll check in with you at the end to see if you’ve enjoyed it, plus an important request from me.
On with the story…
Meet Martin
Martin is a computer person and, therefore, different to other people. From his point of view, the world is populated with strange wandering creatures, engaging in incomprehensible rituals, making noises at each other for no discernible purpose. He feels a primal instinct to join them, but finds he doesn’t grunt the right way.
Here’s a typical scenario: In his cocoon of logic, A precedes B, proving C. So, obviously, he applies this in conversation. He presents a coherent theorem, inferred from solid axioms, comfortable the conclusions are sound and undeniable. The response is ‘No it isn’t’. You can hear the screams.
Back to the computer to vent his frustrations, here he can destroy them all. A self-made businessman in a smart suit of success saying, ‘Why aren’t you rich yet?’. Glamorous models looking down engineered noses at normal imperfections in the human form. The confident local socialite who stepped between him and the woman it had taken him three weeks to say hello to. The list gets longer every day. Lined up against a virtual Traitors’ Wall, flames of destruction encase them and they neatly vanish.
He retreats to his virtual world of games to delight and amuse. The challenge of levels, upon levels, upon levels. If only he could stay here forever, roaming fractal horizons in search of the next holy grail. But tonight, he has a problem…
In the murk of the dimly lit room, the purpose of a couch as seating is forgotten, a dumping ground for clothes, books, papers… anything. Centred in the detritus scattered on the floor, a low table supports three large monitors, a keyboard and mouse. Cables disappear off the sides like escaping snakes.
The left screen displays several world news channels, the sound off. Robbed of their audio context, the distressed people, hurricanes and financial collapse, are just a background of moving shapes and colours. On the right screen avatars sit around a table playing cards, a message board overlapping them with a banner of a Knight and a Dragon locked in combat. Its latest contributors appear to be DaftMage8 and KingOfEverything. The central largest screen has an assortment of graphs and scrolling lists of figures. Alongside are special collections of characters in sequences known—to those in the know—as code.
Martin sits on large cushions, barely dressed, his face flickering in the light of the information world. He’s an ordinary looking guy with a complexion that suggests he doesn’t holiday on the sun-kissed beaches of the Mediterranean. His hair lives a life of its own, frolicking at his shoulders in happy curls. The undressed condition shows a lack of gym membership, but his eyes stand out: blue, bright and clear. Alert. Perhaps manic? Probably scary. He’s a little frustrated at the moment and the keyboard is taking the brunt of his emotion.
I don’t believe this,
said Martin, out loud to himself—which he was in the habit of doing.
Alice version 2.01 had failed to load again. This attempt appeared more promising until the progress indicator stalled at 80% half an hour ago. Time to call Uno.
He ran up the TechNet chat room—a hacker network—looking for his Uno’s tag: Uno11235. Martin didn’t get involved in this sort of business. Members built up contacts with other hackers, sharing tricks, and he’d rather work things out for himself. He imagined them as a hive mind. Martin often thought in classic sci-fi/fantasy concepts.
From what Uno said, you’d pay to enter their groups, in cash or hours of coding time—an alternative currency. Agreements may not be honoured, and you might be cut off without notice. If you upset them, forget using the internet ever again.
As expected, Uno showed online.
Hey,
Martin typed at the prompt.
Hey,
appeared back almost at once.
Martin was lucky there was no wait.
Problem loading Alice. Help?
Shoot :)
A smiley was a good sign, uncommon in the evening when Uno was at his busiest, breaking into systems.
3 loads, stuck at 80.
Switched off and on again?
Martin ignored the joke and waited for a more helpful response.
Spec?
Uno prompted.
Martin pulled up an application showing the full specification of his system; Uno wouldn’t accept anything less than a full breakdown. He cut and paste the info into the chat.
You’re running on this toy and what on EARTH are you using THAT O. S. for??!!??!!
Martin sighed; his machine was good, but it didn’t matter—Uno would criticise it.
You know me, Uno. Medieval.
The approach saved a battle he would lose. Help?
Martin repeated.
Sec.
Uno put him on hold.
Martin wasn’t sure of the Alice program’s purpose, but it sounded intriguing. Uno had mentioned it at work and sent a copy, saying he’d ‘obtained’ it from a government project. A virtual face with voice recognition. An Artificial Intelligence program. He was keen to see what the state-of-the-art might achieve and was confident it wasn’t malware; Uno was a geek, but trusted not to play any viral games. Martin might have called him a friend if the term didn’t feel so uncomfortable.
Up popped text from Uno. Pull this and run.
Martin selected the link that appeared causing a patch to load and install.
Ta,
typed Martin.
K,
came the response.
Martin believed it was little effort to put an O in front of OK, typing ‘Okay’ being out of the question. Things like this had been testing his nerves of late.
Alice loaded again, resuming its earlier progress, soon registering ‘Done’.
He looked on intently, hitting run. Strange how a new program could excite him, but interest often faded fast as the same old, same old, poured across his screen.
A window opened, and a face appeared.
Martin Meets Alice
Alice’s programmers had done a good job. Her face was unblemished and in perfect proportion, the short blond hair functional, suited for a business commercial. Neat manicured eyebrows framed gray eyes with long lashes, the lips full but natural, painted fire red.
Martin shifted position, sitting straighter in an instinctive reaction to appear more presentable.
Alice stared out of the screen—a mannequin waiting to wake.
He cleared his throat, the built-in mic picking up the sound, red bars dancing in the corner of the display.
Do you have a cold, Martin?
Alice’s face came to life, looking warmer than a moment ago, so real, it could have been a live feed.
Alice?
Martin paused, realising what she’d said. How do you know my name?
I know a lot of things.
Her lips curled into a teasing smirk.
The expression was befitting of the Mona Lisa. Martin had studied computer graphics, and these were superb, but was the speech recognition