JOHNNY GONE DOWN (23 page)

I was something of an expert at that, after all. I spent my twenty-fourth birthday tied to a wall with a bleeding, dying man at my feet. Things can be
very
confusing when you are young.

‘I’m not young,’ she said.

I nearly laughed out loud. If she was old, what did that make middle-aged losers like Philip and me? But then, age was relative; the older you got, the more your definition of ‘young’ kept changing. I was about to pass on this nugget of wisdom to her when a thought struck me. What if she wasn’t twenty-four? Lonelygirl24 could be a fifty-five-year-old balding, potbellied, foul-mouthed forklift operator from Ukraine for all I knew. Or she could be a man or a transsexual, how would I know any better?

‘Who are you really?’ I was about to write, when I stopped.

Did it even matter? Clearly, here was someone who wasn’t satisfied with the hand life had dealt her, or him, and had decided to take control and change that in the best way she knew. If she couldn’t be young and attractive in the real world, she would be so in the virtual.

I looked for the statistics of the chatroom. Sixty-five thousand members, it said, and most of them were under thirty.

How many were really who they said they were? Were most of them cranky old men with shrivelled dicks parading as young, virile Rambos or lonely old women with ten cats posing as eighteen-year-old virgins? For that matter, even Philip, usually honest to a fault, called himself an ‘MITstud’, and though he didn’t lie about his age, he didn’t make it a point to reveal it either. It had been twenty years since I’d thought about what a stud was, but something told me that a broke, middle-aged nerd with three cats wouldn’t qualify as one despite his golden heart.

There was another message. ‘Talk to me MITstud. No one has talked to me like this before. I am wet and waiting.’

It was a liberating idea. You could be anyone you chose to be. Everything was controlled by
you.
In the real world, fate and destiny teased you, tormented you and tossed you about mercilessly; in the virtual world, you could regain control in a moment. Wouldn’t I do so myself, given a chance?

I could go back to being Nikhil Arya and be with a Lara I met in the chatroom; I could even find a little son in the chatroom if I put my mind to it. I would find my family and be happy once again. Would it feel any less real if it happened only in the virtual world? Who said happiness was an emotion confined to the physical world? For that matter, what was real and what was virtual?

‘Are you there MIT Stud? I am real.’

‘Yes, I know you are real. It’s just a matter of perspective after all,’ I typed as an idea struck me.

‘What?’

I left the chatroom and worked on the idea for the rest of the night.

‘You look tired,’ said Philip the next day.

I was surprised he even noticed. But I didn’t want to tell him my idea just yet. I would develop a prototype before he quit working on everything else, as he was prone to do every time he heard a new idea.

‘I was wondering if you could teach me three-dimensional user interfaces,’ I said.

As usual, he had time to spare. We spent the rest of the day working on graphical interfaces.

‘You are really good,’ he said when we finished.

‘I’m good?’ I laughed. ‘You are the one teaching me!’

‘I’ve never seen anyone pick up things this quick,’ he said.

‘How many people have you even
seen?
’ I smiled at him.

‘You are way quicker than me, for one,’ he said. His eyes narrowed. ‘You said you’ve never been to school? That’s funny.’

‘It’s not funny when you don’t get the chance,’ I said with as much self-righteousness as I could muster.

‘When I think about it, you are quicker than almost all my MIT classmates - even the ones who are hotshot technology entrepreneurs now. I can’t believe you didn’t go to school,’ he repeated with a shake of his head.

I kept quiet lest I say something damaging.

‘I used to teach my classmates at MIT when they fell behind,’ he continued when I didn’t answer. ‘Now, of course, I’m the one who has fallen behind.’

‘I’m sure you will catch up soon,’ I said, glad that he had changed the subject. But it wasn’t for long.

‘Tell me, how did you lose your arm? You know, it suddenly struck me that we’ve been together for so long - more than a year now, right? Yet, we don’t know a thing about each other.’

The less you know about me, the safer we both will be, I thought. I am bad news: a mobster, a fugitive, a deserter. Every time there is a fork in the road, I take the wrong turn.

‘Did you grow up in India?’ he asked. ‘You look Indian, but you are tall and don’t sound like one. You don’t even sound American actually. You have this curious mix of so many accents like a… you know… ‘

‘A mongrel,’ I said with a forced laugh.

This conversation had to stop, I thought, nothing good could ever come of it.

‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. I mean you. you must have travelled a lot.’

‘A little,’ I said guardedly.

‘Were you in the Peace Corps?’

I almost laughed. First in Cambodia, then in Brazil, I had seen more blood, guns and violence than anyone should see in one lifetime - and done just about nothing to stop it. I would hardly be on the Peace Corps recruit lists.

‘No,’ I said. ‘But I had a friend who worked for the Peace Corps.’ I thought of David. He was in a monastery, not the Peace Corps, but it was close. I was filled with unexpected emotion. ‘He was a good man, a very good man indeed. Were you in the Peace Corps at any time?’

‘Not me,’ he said. ‘But I sometimes wish I had decided to pursue a career in non-profit. Not that I am generating a lot of profit here.’ He smiled. ‘I’m just not cut out for this - business models, VCs, cash flows, pre-empting competition, etc.’

I clucked sympathetically.

‘Have you worked in a non-profit before?’ he asked.

I couldn’t handle this any more. ‘Philip, it’s getting late. Don’t you have to take care of the cats?’

He looked at his watch.

‘Oh, it’s nine already! Tell you what, why don’t we grab a beer tomorrow and talk? We rarely get out of office. It will be a nice break, won’t it?’

Just the break I was looking for, I thought. One thing could lead to another, and this entire pack of
cards would collapse - like it had so often before. My life was shot anyway. I would end up wrecking Lara’s life too - if I hadn’t already done so.

‘Sure,’ I said.

I wouldn’t let it happen. I would have to discuss my idea with him tomorrow as I began to work on the prototype. I had to get him off his newfound obsession with my background. I forced myself to concentrate on the code I was writing.

‘Are you ready?’

I looked up from the computer to see Philip in a Hawaiian T-shirt and yellow flip-flops.

‘Yo boy! Today is our team offsite. Have you forgotten?’ he said cheerily. ‘Why are you working so early? And what are you working on anyway?’

I blinked and looked at the time on the computer screen. Ten a.m. I hadn’t moved from my seat in fifteen hours.

‘Anyway, forget all this,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d catch an early lunch and take the rest of the day off. It’s a beautiful morning. We could grab some beer and kayak on Lake Calhoun. What say?’

I flicked a tongue over my gums to remove the bitter taste of the sleepless night. ‘I’ve been working on an idea I wanted to share with you,’ I said groggily.

‘Can’t it wait?’ he said, looking a bit hurt. ‘I thought we could have some fun today for a change, get to know each better and stuff. I was thinking
about your accent last night. You know, I had a friend from Brazil in MIT, and you have the same twang. Were you - ‘

‘Sorry to cut you off, Phil,’ I said, my heart skipping a beat. ‘Why don’t we talk about my travels in the kayak? I don’t want to be late for our fun time! I thought I’d quickly show you the idea before we left.’

He didn’t look very happy but he bent over the desk.

‘So, it’s a kind of computer game, but not entirely. It’s really a whole world in itself…’ I began taking him through the prototype, feeling the same knot in my stomach that I’d felt when I told Marco about the business plan for expanding beyond the drug trade.

‘You did all of this in one night?’ he said when I’d finished.

‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while.’

‘This is impressive,’ he said. ‘Un-fucking-believably impressive. And you’ve checked that there is nothing like it out there?’

I nodded. ‘Not that I could find.’

‘Are you sure you never went to school? I mean, MIT PhDs couldn’t do this stuff in years. And you did it in a day? You are a bloody genius, like I always knew.’

Please don’t get started on that, I pleaded silently.

‘What do you think about the technicalities?’ I said. ‘Can we make it work?’

‘You can make it work,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I am sure you can. This is already almost there. Don’t give me credit for anything.’

‘We are partners, remember?’ I said. ‘Eighty per cent of this is yours. Besides, I couldn’t care less. I just want to build this for, err, personal reasons.’

‘What personal reasons?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Thankfully, he let that pass.

‘I can help you take it to the VCs,’ he said. ‘At this pace, we could go as early as a week from now.’

‘You think so?’

‘You have to agree to my terms, though. This is
your
idea. We reverse the agreement. You get eighty, I get twenty.’

‘That’s unacceptable, Philip,’ I said. ‘You taught me everything. I used your office, your computer, your books, your knowledge. It has to be…’

He cut me short. ‘Don’t insist,’ he said quietly. ‘The only thing I have left, twenty years after graduating from MIT, is some kind of honour. Don’t take that away from me. Besides, I think this will be so successful that I could retire on just one per cent.’

I nodded reluctantly.

He began to get more excited and to my delight, the kayaking trip was soon forgotten.

‘I can do the soft stuff - the pitch, presentation, marketing, bells and whistles; you concentrate on the real stuff. We don’t need anything fancy, just enough to host the website live and get a few subscribers. Can you do that in a week?’

I nodded.

‘Then all we need are good answers to the objections that the venture capitalists raise,’ he said.

‘What objections?’

‘Nothing you should worry about. They just like to ask tough questions to check whether you’ve thought everything through. It’ll be a breeze for you.’

‘What kinds of questions?’ I asked, worried that there would be questions about my background again.

‘Believe me, that’s the least of your worries. They are just normal questions about you and the project.’

About me, I thought, now seriously concerned. If it came to that, I would rather abandon the project.

‘What questions?’ I persisted.

He gave me a surprised look. ‘What’s the matter with you? If you are so worried, let me just do a dry run with you, okay?’

A dry run wasn’t what I had in mind at all, but he started before I could come up with a good excuse.

‘How is your website different from a computer game?’ he began.

‘Oh, those kind of questions!’ I said in relief.

‘Yes, what did you think? Go on, answer me now.’

‘Well, nothing about our website is like a game…’ I began.

‘No, don’t be condescending,’ he said. ‘They are the ones with the money, after all.’

‘Okay, try this,’ I said. ‘Another Life, or
anotherlife.com
, is much more than a computer game. It’s an alternate life, a complete world in itself, a virtual world where a player can be anyone he wants to be, live anywhere he likes, be with anyone he chooses to be with, do anything he pleases. There is no victory or defeat, no points to gain or lose; just being in this virtual world is winning.’

‘That sounds corny,’ said Philip, playing the role of a VC. ‘If there is no game, what would people do in Another Life?’

‘Well, they would live in the virtual world -exactly as they live in the physical world they inhabit every day,’ I said. ‘They would take on a name and an onscreen image that represents them in the virtual world. They would work for a living in the virtual world, earn virtual money, own virtual property, drive virtual cars, go for virtual vacations, buy virtual things, meet other virtual people like themselves; talk, love, mate, marry - or choose to do none of these things and just be a name and an image. It’s just like living life… another life beyond
the real world, hence the name. All they have to do is sit at their computers and manipulate their virtual selves with a click of the mouse.’

‘But what’s the point then? Why would you go to a website in your free time to live exactly the same way you live in the physical world? People come online to take a break from their mundane real-world existence and become warriors who slay dragons and explorers who conquer the solar system. Why log in to live the dull lives they sought to escape in the first place?’

‘Because there is one big difference,’ I said. ‘You have choices here. You are in control of your destiny, your situation; you aren’t a mere pawn in a larger, incomprehensible game. The website allows you to choose your own identity, complete with an onscreen image that you can create from the huge menu of virtual body and skin elements, and attire from multiple catalogues of virtual clothes. For instance, if you are someone who wants to be young forever, you can be a ripped hunk in Another Life. With a click of your mouse, you can manipulate your image on screen and there is your icon - young forever, partying all night, meeting attractive young women, becoming a DJ at a nightclub - whatever you want. Can you imagine how liberating that is? Here is a defeated, fifty-year-old, balding, divorced accountant who made a series of wrong choices that left him broke and full of regret. Now, he can take
control again. For twenty-four hours a day, he can be young, healthy and rich, an object of envy - in contrast to the real world, where everyone looks at him with pity and derision. Is his happiness at this change in situation any less because it is only in a virtual universe? He sits on the chair in front of his computer and, without any change in his physical self, with one click of the mouse, he is in Another Life; young and happy, a master of his fate and immune to the cruel twists of destiny. He interacts with everyone on the website with his alter ego; nobody he meets in Another Life cares about who he is in the physical world.’