He paced along the gravel path, through the perfectly manicured hedges of the formal garden. Beyond the topiary, spires of crystal rose up, gleaming buildings reflecting iridescent light as they reached up into the clear blue sky.
"Once you have the holodeck," Vansittaert continued, "you need nothing more. You engage with the real world only as much as is strictly necessary to maintain the holographic systems. Everything else... you do in a realm of your own imagination."
"A possible scenario," said Abercrombie. He was small and plump, with yellowish skin, jet-black hair and slanting brown eyes, and he wore an antique business suit in twentieth-century style.
"For persons of limited willpower, perhaps," said Boucher. He was tall, shaven-headed and black-skinned, and wore red and gold formal robes in the style of ancient Ashanti. "But a person of talent and ambition will always desire to make a lasting mark in the real world."
"I concur," said Calvert. He was short and skinny, with red hair and beard, and very pale skin, and he wore the tunic and toga of ancient Rome. "Life in a holographic illusion is ultimately unsatisfying."
"Perhaps so," said Vansittaert. He was tall and thin, the tallest of the four men; he wore a simple grey tunic and trousers, and his long, placid face was pale and hairless. His dark brown hair was cropped very close to his scalp, displaying the angular contours of his skull. "But the holodeck fulfils a deep-felt need. The need for reality to be plastic, to conform to our will. In ancient days, they thought it could be done with magic. We know that all it takes is... sufficient resources."
"Resources in the real world are limited," said Abercrombie.
"Very few people command enough to make reality plastic," Boucher added.
"You, yourself, of course -" Calvert began.
"Well, quite," murmured Vansittaert. "Circumstances have been kind to me, I know.... The recent upheavals in the Federation data net required my companies and concerns to, ahh, step into the breach, as it were."
"Replacing the various installations and software applications corrupted by Kalevar Thrang's viruses," said Abercrombie.
"A formidable undertaking," said Boucher.
"Which your industrial concerns were admirably equipped to handle," said Calvert.
"Yes," said Vansittaert, "I have been more than adequately compensated. So much so that, well, one feels obliged to give a little back. Not in any monetary way, of course. I could distribute my personal fortune around the Federation... could give each one of its teeming billions enough energy credits to buy a new home, or a pleasant holiday... but, well, would that make the Federation as a whole any better off?"
"You have more ambitious plans in mind, clearly," said Abercrombie.
"You desire to make a mark on the real world," said Boucher. "A lasting contribution."
"No doubt a very daring undertaking," said Calvert.
Vansittaert smiled. "I believe so." He glanced at the other three men. "Thank you, gentlemen. I do enjoy these little talks. They help me to focus my mind for the tasks ahead. Goodbye for now, though. End program."
Abercrombie, Boucher and Calvert disappeared. The formal garden faded from view, to be replaced by the bland grid lines of an inactive holodeck. Vansittaert clapped his hands together, and strode to the exit arch.
"Reality should be plastic," he said to himself. Beyond the door, he reflected, was the interior of his personal ship, a vessel modified to his own, exacting, specifications... an instance of reality conforming to his will, deforming into a new shape under the pressure of the immense amounts of money he could bring to bear.
Possess enough resources, and everything is plastic. He could change the world. And surely it would be for the better?
He keyed the comms panel on the arch with his thumbprint. "Prepare the ship for the next stage in the mission," he ordered. "Invite Professor T'Shal and Academician Shemosh to a strategy meeting regarding Project Deep Gate at 0900 hours tomorrow. Confirm that specialist transport has been arranged." Data flashed up on a panel before him, and he nodded. "Adequate, I think." For the first time, his mouth drew itself up into an unsatisfied expression, an ugly, almost petulant, pout. "I suppose we must contact Mr. Premaratne, then. It would never do to have any inconveniences occur."
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