Read Online Virtually True by Adam L. Penenberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Adam L. Penenberg
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punches it in. Five taps.
“I will tell you the code after you buy it.” She unblocks True’s sight.
“I’m not going to buy it.”
“What is your name?”
“True.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“The name I was given.”
She types it in. “Only someone who could live up to such a name would possess it, or someone who flaunts his dishonesty.”
“What’s your name?”
“I do not have one anymore.”
“What was it before?”
“It does not matter.”
“Well, where in India did you come from? Rajasthan?”
“Yes. I was born in Rajasthan and am directly related to Rajput kings. We were known for our courage. If my ancestors lost a battle and all the men were killed, the women and children would march into a funeral pyre to their death. That is called jauhar .”
True notices cancer acne on her forehead masked with mud. She’ll need money for treatment, a simple technique, but probably prohibitively expensive for her. Without treatment, she has five months to live, seven tops.
“Why did you come to this country, baba? It’s laden with miscreants.”
“Why did you?”
“I was here on business when the war with Pakistan started.” She flicks at one of her sandals with a toe. “Where else could I go? And anyway, this capital city—Nerula—reminds me of a great leader, Nehru. This offers some comfort.”
With a flourish she taps a key and moves aside. Immediately, tie-dye mists—orange, purple, turquoise, pink, gold—swirl. Then the opening credits, a list of software researchers, writers, producers, composers, the caterer, copyright date, and a warning that unauthorized copying of the enclosed program is expressly forbidden. Even the pirates are trying to cut down on piracy. A menu appears in front of True under the program name Building Love . The first options have to do with historical settings. The categories are Primitive Womyn/Man , Romyn , Greek , the Middle Ages , the Renaissance , 17th c ., 18th c ., 19th c ., 20th c ., 21st c ., and the Future . True points a finger, locks onto the 21st c. Then new listings appear: Ethnicity ( choose 1 or more of the following , it says). Subheadings are European extraction, Asian extraction, African extraction. True chooses Asian and European. Further listings narrow his choices to the relatively simple mix of Japanese and English.
He navigates through the program easily, knowing what he’s looking for. For height (in both metric and American measurements), he chooses 5’6”, for weight (in kilograms, pounds, or stones), 125 lbs. The waist size he opts for is 26”, the chest size 38”, probably a little on the big side; but this is, he tells himself, virtual reality.
Hair color? Dark brown bordering on black, hair length medium, ending at the shoulders. Eyes more green than brown. Skin tone: Sticky Olive Oil Fashion , which he loved in contrast to his own whole wheat toast hue.
A woman’s naked figure appears, slowly rotating so he’s able to get a full circular view. Slightly slanted eyes of green and brown, shoulder-length brown hair, rounded breasts, a taut abdomen. True checks the further options catalog, widens the space between the breasts two, three, four percent, shrinks the nipples, lightens them from brown to brick red. He further tightens the figure’s abs, darkens its skin tone. Also widens the shoulders, rounds the rear. The hair is wrong—too shiny and straight—so he adds flaws, some split ends, a matte finish, an almost invisible streak of red in each strand.
Satisfied thus, True goes to work on the face, first adding some strategically placed freckles and choosing a nice aristocratic nose with the touch of a flare. Next come eyebrows, ears, the strong hands and slender fingers, wide feet, angular toes.
He stops to rest. It’s her. Or just about. Goes back and waves his finger at the pubic hair category, chooses to make it fuller; and for the naval he digs an innie. Admires his handiwork, realizes what he’s
“I will tell you the code after you buy it.” She unblocks True’s sight.
“I’m not going to buy it.”
“What is your name?”
“True.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“The name I was given.”
She types it in. “Only someone who could live up to such a name would possess it, or someone who flaunts his dishonesty.”
“What’s your name?”
“I do not have one anymore.”
“What was it before?”
“It does not matter.”
“Well, where in India did you come from? Rajasthan?”
“Yes. I was born in Rajasthan and am directly related to Rajput kings. We were known for our courage. If my ancestors lost a battle and all the men were killed, the women and children would march into a funeral pyre to their death. That is called jauhar .”
True notices cancer acne on her forehead masked with mud. She’ll need money for treatment, a simple technique, but probably prohibitively expensive for her. Without treatment, she has five months to live, seven tops.
“Why did you come to this country, baba? It’s laden with miscreants.”
“Why did you?”
“I was here on business when the war with Pakistan started.” She flicks at one of her sandals with a toe. “Where else could I go? And anyway, this capital city—Nerula—reminds me of a great leader, Nehru. This offers some comfort.”
With a flourish she taps a key and moves aside. Immediately, tie-dye mists—orange, purple, turquoise, pink, gold—swirl. Then the opening credits, a list of software researchers, writers, producers, composers, the caterer, copyright date, and a warning that unauthorized copying of the enclosed program is expressly forbidden. Even the pirates are trying to cut down on piracy. A menu appears in front of True under the program name Building Love . The first options have to do with historical settings. The categories are Primitive Womyn/Man , Romyn , Greek , the Middle Ages , the Renaissance , 17th c ., 18th c ., 19th c ., 20th c ., 21st c ., and the Future . True points a finger, locks onto the 21st c. Then new listings appear: Ethnicity ( choose 1 or more of the following , it says). Subheadings are European extraction, Asian extraction, African extraction. True chooses Asian and European. Further listings narrow his choices to the relatively simple mix of Japanese and English.
He navigates through the program easily, knowing what he’s looking for. For height (in both metric and American measurements), he chooses 5’6”, for weight (in kilograms, pounds, or stones), 125 lbs. The waist size he opts for is 26”, the chest size 38”, probably a little on the big side; but this is, he tells himself, virtual reality.
Hair color? Dark brown bordering on black, hair length medium, ending at the shoulders. Eyes more green than brown. Skin tone: Sticky Olive Oil Fashion , which he loved in contrast to his own whole wheat toast hue.
A woman’s naked figure appears, slowly rotating so he’s able to get a full circular view. Slightly slanted eyes of green and brown, shoulder-length brown hair, rounded breasts, a taut abdomen. True checks the further options catalog, widens the space between the breasts two, three, four percent, shrinks the nipples, lightens them from brown to brick red. He further tightens the figure’s abs, darkens its skin tone. Also widens the shoulders, rounds the rear. The hair is wrong—too shiny and straight—so he adds flaws, some split ends, a matte finish, an almost invisible streak of red in each strand.
Satisfied thus, True goes to work on the face, first adding some strategically placed freckles and choosing a nice aristocratic nose with the touch of a flare. Next come eyebrows, ears, the strong hands and slender fingers, wide feet, angular toes.
He stops to rest. It’s her. Or just about. Goes back and waves his finger at the pubic hair category, chooses to make it fuller; and for the naval he digs an innie. Admires his handiwork, realizes what he’s
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