The Machineries of Joy Page 3

  overlaid on each side of the map.

  You make your way through parti-robed citizens and find the store. Inside, you

  marvel at the systems available. There are computers for computing, and for just

  about anything else imaginable. You can rent information networks, even gain

  access to a world-wide library system for a low monthly fee. ("Less than one

  percent of the average household income!" a display enthuses. There are two

  billion subscribers.)

  Your domicile can be turned into any environment you wish, complete with sounds

  and smells. You can even create your own environment, using the Apple 89

  Worldmaker.

  "Occupation?" the clerk asks. The clerk grins and fades to transparency, then

  opacifies again, as required by law in the first few minutes of service. You

  realize you are being served by a very realistic hologram.

  "Writer," you say.

  "Oh, then you need a minezeye." It takes you a few minutes to realize the clerk

  means "Mind's Eye." The unit is quite small, the size of a cigarette case, and

  comes complete with plugs to hook directly into the cerebral cortex.

  "The Mind's Eye is a Hair Trigger unit, taking instruction in basic Brainwave,

  spoken language or even Touchcode, rather like typing. If you wish, it has a

  translator which can turn a videotext into a visual experience. Plug the Mind's

  Eye into a Page Turner and you can interactively turn your favorite classic into

  a motion picture, just a you visualize it; you coordinate the action through the

  cerebral cortex plugs. Some training required," the clerk informs you

  cheerfully. Videotext combines visual and aural information with high-density

  symbols--symbols which both inform and trigger intellectual and emotional cues

  in the adept viewer. Some videotexts compress a hundred flashing signals within

  a few seconds' time. The symbols are distant relatives of Egyptian

  heiroglyphs--and modern road signs. Some are based on the logos of famous

  businesses. Some are as stylish as Japanese calligraphy.

  Realtime units will soon be available. If you think it takes too long to imagine

  a scene, Realtime can supplement your brainwaves. If a jungle is required,

  Realtime has seventy different jungles in memory, and soon will have cable

  connections with real jungles, which can be digitized and reshaped at will.

  All computers in Chips'n'discs are, of course, Child Easy. In fact, the 1-Thru-5

  unit is designed to be used by an infant. It comes complete with Sensual Crib

  and access to the Sesame Net.

  If you're a fiction writer, you can peddle your creation on the Lie Wire

  (stet!). If you're a philosopher, your works can find their audience (for a fee,

  of course) on the Mindbender cable. Historians frequently sell to the Pasttime

  Cable.

  On any of these networks, you can start out on the Low Rung and gradually,

  through jury selection or User Acceptance (the ratings, that is) move up step by

  step to the very height of success. A single work might reach as many people as,

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  Bear, Greg - The Machineries of Joy.txt

  say, the Britannica Visual.

  Peripherals include MovieLife, a chip which can be dropped into your home

  computer to turn any 20th century film into a living experience for you and your

  family. If you'd prefer to see Humphrey Bogart star in THE MAN WHO WOULD BE

  KING, instead of Michael Caine, that can be arranged. If you'd like to see an

  enhanced color version of the original KING KONG, with synthesized stereo sound,

  MovieLife will oblige. Live actors are still in great demand. They frequently

  license their images for computer generation, making a substantial second

  income--but virtually everyone acknowledges that a real actor is better than a

  simulation. Some actors have ruined promising careers by selling rights to less

  reputable retailers, who place their personas in all sorts of compromising

  products.

  But be warned--if you get too involved in all this, and happen to Drop

  Out--leave the real world and zip along the underground nets, where all sorts of

  unsavory stimulations are available--the Bug Police are tapping the wires every

  day. There are many legitimate adult services, such as FantaFem and Woman of

  Your Dreams, but many more balance precariously on the borders of the law, or

  fall completely offsides. "Bookstores?" The clerk responds to your question with

  some surprise. "We've heard of a few shops catering to the collector's

  market--and of course, there's always the Winston Smith Society. It meets once a

  month to trade crumbling paperbacks."

  You look around the shop, at the profusion of systems that serve more to

  supplement or replace creativity than enhance it. "Don't you have anything for

  someone who just wants to tell his own story, with his own images?" you ask,

  frowning.

  "Sir," the clerk says indignantly, "that's where this all begins. Not everyone

  is as privileged as you must be, however."

  You are reminded of electronic music instruments, decades in the past. Some

  became so elaborate that you barely had to touch a key to produce a tune.

  Distasteful to the concert pianist, perhaps, but a great deal of fun for the

  dabbler.

  "Come with me," the clerk says, taking you in his ghostly hand. "Let me show you

  some basic models. For the person who wants to create, rather than simply

  consume."

  You are led into a simply and tastefully furnished room. A boy and girl, no

  older than ten, are sitting before an extensive keyboard. Colors and vague

  shapes flicker in a cleared area beyond the machine. "Did we get all the numbers

  right this time?" the girl asks. "We want it to be as accurate as possible."

  "They're right," the boy assures her.

  "Let's see it, then."

  The boy pushes a display key.

  In the cleared area, a tyrannosaurus rex appears in horrible, fascinating

  detail, tail swishing back and forth, walking on its six clawed toes. It opens

  its mouth and emits a curious, bird-like squawk. "Oh, they didn't sound like

  that," the girl says, shaking her head vigorously.

  "How do you know?" the boy asks.

  "Let's make it roar."

  With a few nimble keyboard touches, they make the beast change its tune and

  roar.

  "Don't you just love dinosaurs?" the girl asks, clapping her hands.

  Your fingers twitch. Where was this kind of machine when you were a child? You

  step forward and politely ask, "Here. May I play with that? "I've always fancied

  sea monsters, myself..."

  The Machineries of Joy, Redux

  Page 9