Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [13]
And so far, it had been nothing but trouble.
The sign on the door said “VIE” and underneath, “When Reality Is Not Enough.” Sanders inserted his card in the slot, and the door clicked open. He passed through an anteroom, hearing a half-dozen voices shouting from the main equipment room beyond. Even in the anteroom, he noticed a distinctly nauseating odor in the air.
Entering the main room, he came upon a scene of utter chaos. The windows were thrown wide; there was the astringent smell of cleaning fluid. Most of the programmers were on the floor, working with disassembled equipment. The VIE units lay scattered in pieces, amid a tangle of multicolored cables. Even the black circular walker pads had been taken apart, the rubber bearings being cleaned one by one. Still more wires descended from the ceiling to the laser scanners which were broken open, their circuit boards exposed. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. And in the center of the room, looking like a teenage Buddha in an electric blue T-shirt that said “Reality Sucks,” was Don Cherry, the head of Programming. Cherry was twenty-two years old, widely acknowledged to be indispensable, and famous for his impertinence.
When he saw Sanders he shouted: “Out! Out! Damned management! Out!”
“Why?” Sanders said. “I thought you wanted to see me.”
“Too late! You had your chance!” Cherry said. “Now it’s over!”
For a moment, Sanders thought Cherry was referring to the promotion he hadn’t gotten. But Cherry was the most apolitical of the DigiCom division heads, and he was grinning cheerfully as he walked toward Sanders, stepping over his prostrate programmers. “Sorry, Tom. You’re too late. We’re fine-tuning now.”
“Fine-tuning? It looks like ground zero here. And what’s that terrible smell?”
“I know.” Cherry threw up his hands. “I ask the boys to wash every day, but what can I say. They’re programmers. No better than dogs.”
“Cindy said you called me several times.”
“I did,” Cherry said. “We had the Corridor up and running, and I wanted you to see it. But maybe it’s just as well you didn’t.”
Sanders looked at the complex equipment scattered all around him. “You had it up?”
“That was then. This is now. Now, we’re fine-tuning.” Cherry nodded to the programmers on the floor, working on the walker pads. “We finally got the bug out of the main loop, last night at midnight. The refresh rate doubled. The system really rips now. So we have to adjust the walkers and the servos to update responsiveness. It’s a mechanical problem,” he said disdainfully. “But we’ll take care of it anyway.”
The programmers were always annoyed when they had to deal with mechanical problems. Living almost entirely in an abstract world of computer code, they felt that physical machinery was beneath them.
Sanders said, “What is the problem, exactly?”
“Well, look,” Cherry said. “Here’s our latest implementation. The user wears this headset,” he said, pointing to what looked like thick silver sunglasses. “And he gets on the walker pad, here.”
The walker pad was one of Cherry’s innovations. The size of a small round trampoline, its surface was composed of tightly packed rubber balls. It functioned like a multidirectional treadmill; walking on the balls, users could move in any direction. “Once he’s on the walker,” Cherry said, “the user dials into a database. Then the computer, over there—” Cherry pointed to a stack of boxes in the corner, “takes the information coming from the database and constructs a virtual environment which is projected inside the headset. When the user walks on the pad, the projection changes,