READING *ANIMA*
Dalian Hansen self-portrait
Exclusive to NWN, I'm proud to present this excerpt of Anima, Dalian Hansen's groundbreaking new novel, the first to use Second Life as a central element of the story. It begins with a conversation between the author and Neal Stephenson, catapults us into a vividly hellish scene, then moves ahead to an eerie encounter with an avatar involved in a hack that defies the laws of both realities. Take a taste of Anima after the break-- then visit the official site, for more.
From Anima, by Dalian Hansen
May 17, 2004 Thursday
(CHAT LOG)
Dalian
Neal
Stephenson: This is a good question and I commend you for thinking about it,
but I don't have an answer. Perhaps "anima".
anima
(n.) Psychology. Jung's term for the feminine part of a man's personality.
Often contrasted with "animus." The part of the psyche that is
directed inward, and is in touch with the subconscious. Often contrasted with
"persona." ORIGIN 1920s: from Latin, literally ‘mind, soul.’
* * *
April 9, 2004 Friday
The
afternoon sky devoured a formerly blue horizon.
Its
golden hue seized the heavens in a vampiric grip, draining away the vibrant
color until its tone was a mirror of the endless and dry desert.
Billowing
fires spewed tendrils of black smoke. They cut across the landscape like
arthritic hands, leaving chalkboard trails upon the surface as if cut by the
twisted fingernails.
Hot
wind exhaled its rancid breath upon the carnage that littered the ground.
Brackish
pools of red liquid soaked into the parched and dusty soil, feeding it. But no
seeds of life were planted, only the continuation of death.
Among
the smoldering remains of charred bodies and mangled equipment, a single man
struggled.
His
only thought was to find a sanctuary to escape the danger that hunted him.
But
his broken condition made progress slow, and the wasteland had no shade to
offer.
No
refuge from the danger that encircled him.
Horrific
sounds of torment filtered through and buzzed around his consciousness, along
with a swarm of flies. They had been attracted to the drying blood that caked
to his face like a scabbed mask. Most of it was not his own. His injuries had
so far been internal, but just as crippling.
Harsh
voices barked words that were alien to him. Hungry monsters tracking the scent
of their prey. At times they sounded human. From the urgency of their tone, the
meaning was clear. No translation was required when the words were followed by
a crack of gunfire.
He
continued to crawl.
This
condition suddenly seemed humorous to him. Only the day before, he could fly.
Unrestricted by gravity and virtually immortal.
But
that was lost to him now.
His
vision drained away in tandem with his energy.
Waves
of dizziness pushed his mind about, like shock waves from an atomic blast. It
became harder to focus and push the hallucinations aside.
As
the black splotches in his vision gave way to sparkling white glimmers of
bright intensity, he remembered how much they looked like the particle effects
from the 3D computer world.
His
virtual life seemed a long lost memory. Had it ever existed? A digital land
where war could rage but life continued.
A
distant life beyond physical boundaries, and the restraints of his mind.
But
he was trapped now in the form of flesh, with no way to return home.
Flesh.
With
all its fragile limitations.
He
had escaped from its hold, only to become a hostage by it now.
Crippled
by the organic restrictions.
There
was no way to teleport out of the macabre slaughter that clung to the world
around him.
No
way to log out of this Reality and return to a safer one.
He
struggled to escape the blinding gaze of the dying sun as it continued to feast
on the day.
The
glare that engulfed him drove tiny spikes of pain deep into his bruised skull.
The sensation was momentarily broken when a shadow cut across his foggy vision.
The unnatural shade brought an eclipse to the sun in the outline of a human
face. The shape approached and enlarged until it swallowed the last of his
faltering thoughts.
As
darkness finally came in a shroud to claim his mind, one last thought stood in
lone defiance.
The
gentleness of her smile had found him.
His
second chance had come from his Second Life.
* * *
September 7, 2006 Thursday (Early
Morning)
Something
was very wrong.
Benjamin
even slapped his own face to make sure he was not dreaming.
"This
can't be," he exclaimed.
On
one side of his computer screen was a minimized window of the Second Life client.
Next to it was a web page with his Second Life account records. The data
already detailed a list of transactions that went back a few months, not days.
As
impossible as it was, the initial evidence could not be disputed. Benjamin did
not need to access the older Linden Lab databases. He expected to find evidence
that only further supported the mad facts that confronted him.
It
was impossible.
His
hack program could not have engineered the results.
The
facts led to only one conclusion.
He
had not changed the creation date-stamp of his pachingo game.
Benjamin
had actually sent it back in time.
He
spent a while duplicating his previous actions, running a parallel test. Every
time he changed a creation date-stamp for even a simple object, it appeared in
his inventory database beginning from that actual moment in time.
"This
has to be a dream," he said with a hollow voice.
All
his efforts had proven futile to dispel the facts and point another theory.
Somehow
he had created or tapped into a wormhole within Second Life.
After
his mind drifted for a considerable time, he spoke the next obvious question.
"Now what?"
As
the dark fates would have it, his rhetorical question was met with an answer.
A
figure stood in front of the godly-clad Ben avatar in Second Life.
Benjamin
maximized the client again for a better look. It was an instinctive reaction,
and his skin prickled a bit with apprehension.
The
Sanctus sim was restricted, allowing only Ben and the alts he commanded to
enter. No other avatar could enter, but it appeared that one had.
A
double check on the mini-map showed that Ben was standing nearly dead center in
the sim. It was not possible that the other avatar could have been standing just
across the region's border.
It
stood a few meters from him.
She
did not even appear as a green dot on his mini-map.
A
light afterglow of particles remained around the female shape. Another
strangeness since there was no lag and the teleport materialization animation
did not last very long.
The
woman had no name above her head, but that was not unusual. It was a feature
that could be turned off in the client preferences, but as yet Ben had not seen
anyone select this option.
She
was beautiful.
Half
naked.
And
what photorealistic skin not covered by the minimal amount of textured clothing
was covered by tattoos.
The
intricate and artistic body art seemed to shift slightly across her form. It
was as if it functioned separate to the avatar's idle animation sequence.
The
tattoos seemed to be breathing on their own, living on the unseen virtual air.
Ben
was merely a collection of electronic particles generated by mathematically
scripted codes. He had no feelings, and certainly no male parts that could be
aroused or excited.
But
for Benjamin, the woman transcended the electronic world. He felt a stir of
lust that he could not explain. And while at any other time he would have
indulged in such pleasure, there was something about this encounter that seemed
wrong. Realizing this, his feelings of curiosity subsided and left him with a
sense of cheapness.
He
felt dirty.
Not
for stealing money.
Not
for hacking into Second Life.
And
not for a short-lived erotic thrill from looking at the female avatar.
He
just felt unclean, as if touched by some impure force.
There
was something not right about this virtual woman.
The
most obvious clue was when she started typing. Her message appeared, but no
owner name was displayed.
: Hello Ben
Ben Tao: Um, Hi.
: I need your
help.
Ben Tao: Gee, sorry,
I'm a bit busy and new here myself.
: I need your
help.
Ben Tao: Again, sorry.
You'll have to ask someone else.
: You will help
me.
Ben Tao: Look, this is
a private sim. You are not even supposed to be here.
: I cannot
leave.
: Not until you
help me.
: You will help
me.
Ben Tao: I don't have
time for this. You can go or I can kick you out of the sim and ban you.
: Forgive my
crude expression. I do not mean to offend. But you cannot refuse me.
Ben Tao: I can't?
Really? Just watch me...
: Ancestors...
It is a wonder you survived at all.
That
was enough for Ben. He pulled up the estate tools to eject the woman from the
sim. Except he needed her name to do so. And it just did not exist. He touch
clicked the avatar, and selected her profile from the pie menu. It was
completely blank. All the formatting was there, but every tab of information
was empty. It was common for some Residents to put little or no information in
their profile for privacy. Many even refused to put a photo in their bio area,
just to make the space look friendly even with a scenic image. But there was
always a Resident name and date of birth.
It
was hardwired into the account.
If
Second Life had possessed the technology to simulate a mirror, Ben wondered if
the woman would even cast a reflection.
There
was no way he could kick her out of the sim. And he certainly could not contact
live help and get a
Ben
had not gotten around to buying any weapons either. While not fatal, they could
send an avatar flying quite a distance on impact. Some could even orbit an
avatar, beaming them to hundreds of thousands of meters in the air instantly.
Basically sending a Resident into the hyperspace of the grid. Even with simple
weapons, Ben could have damage enabled the sim and shot the nameless avatar
until the damage registered a kill and automatically logged her off. He did not
fear a Terms of Service violation in the act, but he also had the feeling that
any effort to remove her would not work. Plus, the fact was he had no weapons
of any kind made the whole issue moot.
The
woman avatar continued to stand there. She looked at him like she could read
Benjamin's thoughts from Ben and knew what his intentions were.
He
started typing a direct and rude version of the expression "Get
Lost." But halfway through the statement he stopped.
Sometimes
the most obvious solutions were overlooked.
Command-Q.
The
client winked off and the computer screen turned black.
A
progress bar stretched across the monitor's face as Benjamin shut down his
connection to Second Life.
2007 © Dalian Hansen. All rights
reserved.
There is a french writer, Alain Monnier, who just released a novel called "Notre seconde vie" (Flammarion)
http://secondworld.wordpress.com/notre-seconde-vie/
Posted by: lotus | Friday, June 22, 2007 at 03:14 AM
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbninquiry.asp?ISBN=9780976316893
Barnes and Noble is already taking pre-orders.
Posted by: Bookhead | Monday, June 25, 2007 at 04:59 AM