Gunner Skale Read Free

said with a slight smile that seemed to say there was a lot to her he might never know.
    Gunner stepped into the room, which was cool and dimly lit. The walls and ceiling were black with tiny pinpoints of white light that looked like stars. It was a moment before he noticed the people. There were three: one woman and two men, their faces in shadow. Their attire was somewhere between business and casual, and oddly, despite the darkness, they were all wearing sunglasses. Cherry, who’d so cheerfully guided Gunner through the strange building, stepped around him to join them. And somehow she belonged. She fit in with the strange group of three, and he was sure he’d guessed correctly—that she was far more than your average secretary.
    “Is one of you George Hartley?” Gunner asked, not knowing what else to say. He’d never had a consulting gig quite like this.
    “I am,” one of the men answered, stepping forward to shake Gunner’s hand. He had a firm but disconcertingly moist grip. “We’re glad you could come. We have some exciting things to show you, and I think with your help we’ll be ready to take them to market.”
    Gunner looked down at his hand, uneasy. The man hadn’t let go. Finally, after what felt like several beats too long, he did.
    “So what is it?” Gunner asked. “Sunglasses? That work really well in the dark?”
    The man laughed—more like a guffaw—as if their consultant had just uttered the greatest joke he’d ever heard. His partners did the same. The meeting was getting slightly creepy.
    “No, no,” George said, taking off the glasses—they were thick and shiny and had metallic parts in strange places. “These are something that were used a little before your time, Mr. Skale. Have you heard of VRSpecs? They were quite the rage fifty years ago.”
    “I’ve heard of them, sure. Of course.” Gunner’s eyes had grown used to the darkness, and now he could see that George Hartley was an old man, hair like gray mist on his head, wrinkles cutting up his face. “But I’ve never seen them, except for maybe in a museum one time. So help me out, here. Are you trying to bring these back? Most people can afford a Coffin or rent one—and those who can’t figure out a way to do it illegally. I don’t think—”
    “Please.” George held up a hand. “No, that is not our goal, I assure you. Let’s just say that these glasses hold a bit of nostalgia for us. And we didn’t want to take up your time dressing down for a Sink in the Coffins. Just as important, we wanted to meet you face to face. We think we have something that can change the world, both virtual and real.”
    Cherry spoke up, rescuing George. “Not to mention that we’re spending every penny we’ve got just staying afloat. But with your endorsement, Mr. Skale, we think we’ll have capital rolling in by the truckload.”
    “Is that what this is about?” Gunner asked. “You want me to plug some product so you guys can start making money?”
    “Just …,” George said, his hands held out in impatience, “just let us show you what we’re talking about. The old-fashioned way. You’ve met Cherry”—he gestured behind him—“and these are my other colleagues, Marta and Kent.” They both nodded. “Let’s begin.”
    Marta—a tall blonde who Gunner guessed to be in her fifties—stepped forward and handed a pair of the dark glasses to Gunner. More than curious now, he was happy togive them a try. When he slipped them on, though, all he saw was darkness.
    “Okay, I’m ready,” he said. “Wow me with whatever it is.”
    “Kent,” he heard George say, “initiate the VR and Dissolve us into the Exhibit Room.”
    There was a click and a buzz and something like an electric shock that ran through Gunner’s temples. Then everything around him transformed, taking him to another world.

7
    It dazed him at first, making his mind spin and his eyes almost pop out of his head. He hadn’t known what to expect with the