The cell wall fills my entire view, the membrane soaring gelatinously towards the notional roof of the Tank. 10,000 seconds in full virch schlepping my way through several TB of endoplasmic reconfig—basically fixing someone else’s sloppy code. The client is waiting and I’m suffering hard with the basic incompatibility of overdue deadline with Monday morning apathy.
WTF—the Tank construct stutters, then freezes completely. Un-fucking-heard of. Like an old movie from the Sci-Fi Classics channel the entire space looks like it’s been embedded in a crystalline block, even the Prims just hover mid-mod. I greb for the most basic root commands—nothing. Even the eject mnemonic doesn’t work. Panic starts to kick in—I can’t leave work.
I toggle Job on the suit channel, at last—a response.
“What is your status, operator?”
“I’m stuck Babs!” I forget nomenclature protocol in my panic.
“Stand-by, operator”.
The tank view vanishes and suddenly—the system’s in a hurry. “Job?” No answer. Bright white light—a staging Tank; I’ve not been in one of these since orientation. A text-only horiscroll flows silently across my HUD.
…view selection, operator. Please await transition to WorkSpace Prime. Mandatory review selection, operator. Please await transition to WorkSpace Prime. Mandatory review selection, operator. Please await transition to WorkSpace Prime. Mandatory review selection, operator. Please await transit…
Shit. A period of nothing. Then sharply awake. A chemical seesaw to keep me both unaware and horribly alert. The latter day equiv of a management meeting request on a Friday afternoon (enjoy your weekend!).
I’m spat into Prime with pinned pupils and a wholly contrary sense of cooperation (thanks, Babs, you fucking Quisling). Prime reception (serf-side) is, impressively for a virch space, a grotty little vestibule. A poorly rendered CAVEspace running elderly code—a nine year old could do better these days. They’ve not even bothered with half decent lighting; its 27 cubic meters of 2nd gen virtual reality, with the emphasis on virtual.
There’s someone to meet me. The sweetest avatar I’ve ever seen.
Purely androgynous, exquisitely rendered (I suspect a dedicated line), and an almond shaped face, no doubt capable of every post-human expression variable but currently fixed in an impassive mask, (Management Mid-Severity Expression #4R03N. *Denotes potential subject guilt, not yet legally provable).
“Tag this please, operator”. It pings me a standard lead-and-restraint script—SOP leashing for non-management in Prime, charming.
The management avie levitates a precise 10 centimeters and I reciprocate automatically. Reception fades out to the beautifully animated interior of Prime Tier 2.
Destination: Operator Reviews.
Gulp.