from disconnecting this gamer before successful completion of the game.
Access code #703-592-B-3 to monitor subject's vital signs.
Note: Gamer Is a 14-year-old minor beLieved to have limited gaming experience.
Using the residual power in the grids, contact was made with the gamer to apprise her of the situation, though on the advice of Lisa in psychology, the risk was downplayed so as not to cause nonfunctional anxiety. Once that power drained, contact was obstructed and cannot be reestablished.
CURRENT SITUATION: We do not know exactly how much time we have and we need all possible Input from all available technologists with all possible speed. We require estimates, advice for repairing the equipment in minimal time, contingency plans to disconnect the gamer in case of systems failure before game completion.
Legal is working to make sure we are covered, but I DO NOT want R.E. to be the first VR company with a fatality.
CHAPTER FIVE
Simple Math
What kind of cheesy outfit was Rasmussem that crazies could walk in and endanger innocent kids? A picture flitted through my brain of the Rasmussem Gaming Center receptionist—the last defense between immobilized semiconscious kids and crazed CPOC members taking out their frustrations on Rasmussem's equipment. She'd probably been too wrapped up in her nails or in a game of Free Cell to notice the intruders. And what about those idiots at CPOC? Wasn't their whole purpose to protect kids? Did I not count because they considered me some sort of evil deviant for having come in here?
You're wasting time,
I told myself.
I tried to work it out in my head: Rasmussem's engineers said I
should
have had five hours for the supposed safety zone. Since Heir Apparent took only half an hour to play, that should have given me ten tries ... Except those CPOC demonstrators had caused enough damage that however much time I had, it was less than that. And time before ... what? What did "overload" mean?
Stop it,
I told myself.
Panicking is not going to help. Think calmly; plan things out.
Would my brain literally fry, getting so hot that I would feel fevered, or like I was stranded in a desert, or like I was being cooked alive?
Don't be melodramatic,
I told myself.
It would probably be more like an electrical shock.
Or an epileptic convulsion.
Would I—immersed in the game—feel it? Would I know it was happening?
I tried to drag myself away from that line of thinking. Lots of drastically wrong things could be happening inside a person's body without that person even knowing. It wouldn't necessarily hurt.
On the other hand, I knew that the Rasmussem technology sometimes made it so that a sick person who didn't even know she was sick would—while playing the game—feel sick. The gaming-as-diagnostic-tool scenario.
Not that I felt sick yet.
Did I?
I felt all clammy and my stomach was in a knot and my throat was tight and my chest hurt, but that was probably from the tension. Probably. I touched my forehead and didn't think I had a fever. Or at least not yet.
At the most, I would have had ten tries, feeling like thirty days, which would have been a long time to feel sick. But Mr. Rasmussem said I had less time than that—"much, much less," I remembered him stressing. What was much, much less time than thirty days—half of that? A quarter?
Did I, in fact, have only one try?
No. He'd said, "Next time..." So, at least one more try. I hoped.
There is a possibility,
I told myself firmly,
that you will make it. You need to play smart and maximize your chances.
Nigel Rasmussem had talked about infinite possibilities of ways to play Heir Apparent correctly.
I might stumble on one. In ... whatever time I had left.
If I played carefully.
I was so preoccupied, I wasn't aware of anyone approaching until someone grabbed me from behind—which I guess was a pretty good indication I wasn't playing carefully enough. Someone spun me around, and I saw that I was facing a group of about twenty of the
Access code #703-592-B-3 to monitor subject's vital signs.
Note: Gamer Is a 14-year-old minor beLieved to have limited gaming experience.
Using the residual power in the grids, contact was made with the gamer to apprise her of the situation, though on the advice of Lisa in psychology, the risk was downplayed so as not to cause nonfunctional anxiety. Once that power drained, contact was obstructed and cannot be reestablished.
CURRENT SITUATION: We do not know exactly how much time we have and we need all possible Input from all available technologists with all possible speed. We require estimates, advice for repairing the equipment in minimal time, contingency plans to disconnect the gamer in case of systems failure before game completion.
Legal is working to make sure we are covered, but I DO NOT want R.E. to be the first VR company with a fatality.
CHAPTER FIVE
Simple Math
What kind of cheesy outfit was Rasmussem that crazies could walk in and endanger innocent kids? A picture flitted through my brain of the Rasmussem Gaming Center receptionist—the last defense between immobilized semiconscious kids and crazed CPOC members taking out their frustrations on Rasmussem's equipment. She'd probably been too wrapped up in her nails or in a game of Free Cell to notice the intruders. And what about those idiots at CPOC? Wasn't their whole purpose to protect kids? Did I not count because they considered me some sort of evil deviant for having come in here?
You're wasting time,
I told myself.
I tried to work it out in my head: Rasmussem's engineers said I
should
have had five hours for the supposed safety zone. Since Heir Apparent took only half an hour to play, that should have given me ten tries ... Except those CPOC demonstrators had caused enough damage that however much time I had, it was less than that. And time before ... what? What did "overload" mean?
Stop it,
I told myself.
Panicking is not going to help. Think calmly; plan things out.
Would my brain literally fry, getting so hot that I would feel fevered, or like I was stranded in a desert, or like I was being cooked alive?
Don't be melodramatic,
I told myself.
It would probably be more like an electrical shock.
Or an epileptic convulsion.
Would I—immersed in the game—feel it? Would I know it was happening?
I tried to drag myself away from that line of thinking. Lots of drastically wrong things could be happening inside a person's body without that person even knowing. It wouldn't necessarily hurt.
On the other hand, I knew that the Rasmussem technology sometimes made it so that a sick person who didn't even know she was sick would—while playing the game—feel sick. The gaming-as-diagnostic-tool scenario.
Not that I felt sick yet.
Did I?
I felt all clammy and my stomach was in a knot and my throat was tight and my chest hurt, but that was probably from the tension. Probably. I touched my forehead and didn't think I had a fever. Or at least not yet.
At the most, I would have had ten tries, feeling like thirty days, which would have been a long time to feel sick. But Mr. Rasmussem said I had less time than that—"much, much less," I remembered him stressing. What was much, much less time than thirty days—half of that? A quarter?
Did I, in fact, have only one try?
No. He'd said, "Next time..." So, at least one more try. I hoped.
There is a possibility,
I told myself firmly,
that you will make it. You need to play smart and maximize your chances.
Nigel Rasmussem had talked about infinite possibilities of ways to play Heir Apparent correctly.
I might stumble on one. In ... whatever time I had left.
If I played carefully.
I was so preoccupied, I wasn't aware of anyone approaching until someone grabbed me from behind—which I guess was a pretty good indication I wasn't playing carefully enough. Someone spun me around, and I saw that I was facing a group of about twenty of the
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