Virtual Eternity (the Serialized Novel) Episode 36: The Chicago Gaming Trade Show Part One

This is Episode 36 of the serialized version of the novel, Virtual Eternity: An Epic 90s Retro Florida Techo-Pro-Life Love Story and Conversion Journey. These 52 episodes are presented here free for you every Friday. You can buy the paperback version from Mike Church’s Crusade Channel Store or at Amazon.

Or you can start reading at the Table of Contents: here

PART II: TEMPTATIONS

Be renewed in the spirit of your mind: And put on the new man, who according to God is created in justice and holiness of truth.

--Ephesians 4:23-24

And be not conformed to this world; but be reformed in the newness of your mind, that you may prove what is the good, and the acceptable, and the perfect will of God.

--Romans 12:2

Chapter 1: Power over Others - By Abundance

The Chicago Gaming Trade Show Part One

In which Jonathan’s new conviction about DESIGNED PURPOSE is challenged by the modern temptation to wield human-defined pervasive power over others’ thoughts and actions, which allows us to easily overcome our unrelenting fear of being disregarded or humiliated in this world

Until the last moment, I considered dodging my boondoggle. If not for the attendant at the ramp leading to the airplane, I would have abandoned my reserved seat. I lingered at the window viewing the tarmac.

“A little fear of flying, sir?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’re white as a sheet, but I must tell you that your plane is about to pull away.”

I turned.

“Right this way, sir,” she said. Such an inviting smile could not foreshadow danger. “It’ll be fine. We have an excellent safety record.”

“I’m not afraid of flying. It’s this trip. I shouldn’t go.”

“Nevertheless, sir, the plane’s doors are closing.”

I walked by her. Now, in the passageway, only the vision of dissolving Magic Theater blossomed in me. I caught sight of the stewardess a second before she closed the rounded door.

“Oh, one more. You got here just in time.” Another comforting smile reflected the sunlight pouring through the portholes. She checked my boarding pass. “Number 25D, window seat on your left.”

After climbing over my seatmate, I dropped down into my chair. My seatmate stared at me even as the plane accelerated, pressed us into our seats, and flew. I checked him. The man was not merely looking out the window at the family of sandhill cranes startled by their tremendous metal competitor. He was not simply watching the ground as it plunged away.

“What?” I asked.

“What?” the man said. He was bearded and losing hair on his forehead, common signs of Baby Boom generation idealists from 25 to 30 years before, who constantly sought an agreeable cause.

“I said, ‘What?’ That is to say, why are you looking at me intensely?”

“How did we ever get assigned seats next to each other?” the middle-aged man asked. “Are you on a journey?”

“No, but I’d like to rest. I haven’t had much sleep lately.”

“Ah-ha.” He launched a finger into the air. “This is another coincidence, man. You see, I too have slept little. And you also have lost sleep because of ‘The Parchment,’ no doubt.”

“Because I’m a newlywed. But if this book you’re talking about is good enough to take sleep from such an intense man as yourself, I’ll read it. For now, I’d like to nap.”

“It’s not a book, as you know. This is a coincidence, don’t you think, man?”

“What is?”

“That we sat next to each other. We’re both in search of ‘The Parchment,’ that ancient Aztec list of commandments.”

“Well, one of us is.”

“I had such a feeling when you walked in,” he said.

“Maybe you should re-examine your sexual preferences.”

“Oh, no. I knew from your energy field that I could find out

information on ‘The Parchment’ from you. My instincts were correct. Such a strong field.”

“That’s explained by my weekend too. I don’t know anything about these commandments, except there are no Aztecs in Chicago. I don’t understand why you’re going there.”

“Remember the ‘Fourteenth Discernment,’” the bearded man said.

“‘Follow your intuitions.’ I felt danger at the Peru flight, and I passed the Cancun one with no feelings, but I felt strongly about Chicago.”

“I’m sure you did, but for now, I’d like to rest.”

“But we need to discuss ‘The Parchment,’ man. Do you have any information with you?”

“I only have several carefully crafted brochures about my computer game systems. Have you heard of Vincula?”

“Man, I’ve been in the jungles of South America running from neo- Marxist gunmen, admiring the sights of the banana trees and enduring dysentery. I haven’t been in the United States for two years.”

“Here, read these over.” As I pulled a manila folder containing the colorful brochures from my briefcase, the man’s eyes bulged.

“Is this the ‘Thirty-Eighth (and final) Discernment’ from those celestial, prophetic words?’ Shh. Don’t answer. Churchmen are all over. If it is, simply nod affirmatively.”

“That’s the only way to nod. Read it while I rest.”

I slept for a half-hour despite interruptions from the man: “Of course!”

“This is the answer!” “We’d have tons of energy!”

This last statement shook all remaining sleep from me. I kept my eyes closed until the stewardess delivered our boxed meals.

“Now I see,” the man said as he chewed his dry airplane salad until it liquefied. “‘The Thirty-Eighth Discernment’ is that our society will be tied together by wires that project mental images in front of us so our minds can rest and store up energy. I believe that one day we’ll project it out through the wires into other people. This would be the most efficient way to transmit our human energy. And it’s safe for the whole-earth. One day our human energy will power these helmets, of course. That’s it, man. That’s the ‘we-topia’ promised us.”

“The what?”

“We can finally forget the material and energy worries of life. We won’t have the pressures of performance and tasks. We’ll finally have no reason to compete with others for our human energy, because technology will provide the means to whatever energy and images we need. This is the ‘Thirty-Eighth Discernment.’ I must find out more.”

I wrote the address of the trade show on my business card and handed it to the man. Again I pretended to sleep.

“Yes, sleep well, my friend,” the utopian said. “You must be weary from the journey of intuitions, guns, guiding coincidences, and churchmen.”

I even faked sleeping as the plane landed, taxied, parked, and emptied. The utopian left me after he tried again to wake me. “It’s also a coincidence that we landed in Chicago. Many planes were diverted because of this weather.”

Not even his energy could wake me.

I left the plane through another gauntlet of smiles and a drafty tunnel to the airport. White poured in from the windows. Snow surrounded us in plowed-up piles.

In the terminal, thousands of men and women hurried in all directions to desks, booths, and counters. Such a blizzard would have killed and halted lives a hundred years ago. Now, the current of trade and information bubbled on like a warm spring, perpetual, undaunted by ice (indeed, melting it), tepid and comforting. Businesspeople ran to escalators and moving sidewalks and electric rail cars. They crossed my path, ran in front, and whisked by me. They stopped only to scoop up luggage and boxes off the conveyors. Briefcases swung at the end of their arms. Suitcases draped over their shoulders.

The duration of my stay at the airport surpassed the length of my airplane ride. After finding my baggage and my car, three hours after avoiding the ambitious utopian, I drove to the hotel in the heart of the city.

***

At the sixteen-day event, eleven other marketing stars and I were tasked with standing before our systems and selling. We would demonstrate the virtues of the apparatus and images of the Magic Theater to the bored and the technologically inclined. Every day would begin with a meeting of us men unfortunate enough to be sent to the edge of Lake Michigan in the middle of a snowstorm.

On the morning after I left my lover in our bed, bathed in the rising southern sun, I splashed through the gray city sludge for seven blocks to the Place. The cold bit with sharper teeth than even Colorado. I stood with icy hands as I identified myself to a guard at the door. Inside, I passed through a tunnel and approached the light of the trade show. As I neared, it changed into a panorama of a market. Dozens of screens and signs towered above clusters of people. Others streamed in and out of four passageways in all corners of the hall.

Magic Theater ruled the industry from the center of the floor. Its screen towered above all the others. Outside the show, its games riveted the market. Its competitors tried in vain to outdo it. They all lacked the recognition of its name, the fidelity of its worlds underneath the helmets or goggles, the convenience of its access, and, most crucial, the ingenuity of its simulations.

Beneath the screen stood an early-forties man in a baby blue suit and yellow tie. Eleven others stood near him in dark blue or black suits. The man ordered people to bring coffee and pastries, raise posters and billboards, and spread out brochures. Clearly, this man led our team of twelve stars. He called us together in a huddle.

I flung myself past the other booths as I heard the man shout. My inertia carried me to the meeting in the middle of the hall. My tardiness met with stares from the leader, who continued to yell something in an English accent.

“Gentlemen, today we begin the final push to world domination. What do I mean by that? I mean we are poised to dominate the leisure lives of every man, woman, and child in the Western world. Have you ever wished that you had been one of the first salesmen of the electric light? Or the car? Or the telly? Or the Wavy-Doo?” His eyes pierced us. “Have you?” His arms fanned out.

“Sure,” several said.

“Of course you did! You’re salesmen!” His voice bounced off the rafters above. Other huddles turned from their strategizing to hear him. “This is your chance, young foot soldiers,” he whispered. “Because now the opportunity is here to be heroes, to be a part of a new revolution, gentlemen. And you are the infantry. But by a revolution, I also mean encircling. It is a more important revolution to you than the earth around the sun. It is the customer revolving around you. You must convince them of that, too!”

I lost the content of his words. This jester’s presentation itself engaged me. He flung his arms, he pointed, he bobbed back and forth, he whispered, he shouted, and he prophesied.

“You all must be showmen. Actors! Play the part of the enthusiast. Play the part of the tyrant, the general, for your customers do not want to lose the war. Play the part of the evangelist, for your customers do not want to go to hell!”

The fervor continued until the front doors opened. He had more to say, but customers started to avoid the shouts coming from our area. He stopped in the middle of his history of the radio to speak to a potential buyer.

During the day, thousands of people flowed through our demonstrations. The guards tried to close the outer doors, but the continuous stream of the bored never wavered. The heaters worked to their fullest. A draft blustered in, through the center of the hall where the Magic Theater booth stood.

I had little time to associate with the other eleven stars, since we spent most of our time with new users. But the cold sometimes drew us to conversation.

“Can’t they do anything about this breeze?” I said as I clutched my shoulders. “It’s freezing.”

“The climate control for this place is in Cleveland,” the marketing cadet said. “You’re the famous Mr. Jonathan Hannah? I see by your name tag.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you, Mr. Scott Bond. Where you from?”

“The California field office.”

“How are things going out there?”

“We’re swamped. But too many new computer companies out there.

It’s not easy to get name recognition.”

“But we got it, right?”

“Hell yes,” Scott said as he dug an elbow into his side in triumph. “But it’s more difficult for us than you Southeast guys. Fortunately, it’s an easy sell. All you do is strap this on them. The problem is I want to play too.”

“What’ve you been telling people about The Shroud?” I asked. We ignored a spectacled teenager nearby, who obviously had a question.

“Nothing. I only know it’s gonna be released on April 7th. It’s educational and entertaining. It shows what death is. Sounds spooky to me, but supposed to be very cool. Sometimes I make up stuff. You heard anything?”

“No. But they put me in charge of the marketing effort.”

“No kidding? You going up to Dakota?”

“Yeah.”

Scott tended to the eager teen.

People filled the hall. I saw toddlers, elderly, and all races of males and females. All were cold. They re-bundled themselves when they neared the drafty middle of the floor. Puffs of fog wafted from their mouths as they spoke or shouted. Papers stacked on computers and on the floor. These were orders for systems, helmets, and gloves. Some of the heathen unconverted even demanded demonstration units. The draft sometimes lifted the papers off the desks and onto the floor. A few floated over to competitors’ booths, only to be destroyed. Flies remaining from the nearby stockyards, which were removed about a quarter-century before, hummed around. They left the outside for the slightly warmer air of the Place. To the surprise of everyone, they stung. It was useless to swat them.

“Ya know,” Scott Bond said to me as he filled out an order. “You’ll get to meet Mr. Curcio.”

This was the first time I heard the name of this man. “Curcio? Who’s that? Does he work in Minneapolis or Dakota?”

“Dakota. You haven’t heard of Anthony Curcio?”

“I don’t pay much attention. And organization charts are secret.”

“He’s a superior software engineer. Best in the country.”

“Oh. Impressive.”

Scott appeared to see my skepticism. “He’s a fascinating person, too. He’s the one who conceptualizes these games. He’s where all this comes from. No one else.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Do you realize that he’s almost single-handedly responsible for reviving the economy of an entire agricultural state?”

Suddenly, an elderly man wheeled up to Scott with an open checkbook.

At 7 p.m., the guards locked the doors, to our relief. The draft ceased, and the heaters worked unopposed. Without the breeze, the flies landed more easily. Quickly, I found my coat and burst out the doors. The cold air squalling directly from the lake filled me. It was raw, free from flies and the breath of those who drank the complimentary coffee.

Hours of meeting the curious and the bored exhausted me. I went directly to my hotel room after ignoring the invitations of the other selling stars to explore the nightlife of the town. In my room, I undressed. The flies had covered my hands and neck with welts. I called Maureen. No answer. I fell into my bed for a nap, but slept through the night.

Next week: Episode 37 - The Chicago Gaming Trade Show Part Two

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