The Ultimate Vacation

by Linda S. Cambier

Linda met her husband with a gaze over the cadaver in medical school gross anatomy lab, so mixing romance with unusual circumstances seems natural. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and an unwelcome contingent of squirrels in the attic -- the house's, not hers. A love of books and working on her urban fantasy novel keep her mostly sane.

The taxi careened by, nearly flattening me in its wake, then rose in a flamboyant burst of thrusters to merge with the traffic high above.

I stifled a shriek and leapt backward, nearly flattening a dour faced businessman.

"Sorry," I said.

The man mumbled "lunatic" and scurried away before my brief bout of hysteria rubbed off on him.

The taxi had already disappeared into the stream of oblong silver cars strung like tears across the leaden sky between the city's hulking skyscrapers.  On the ground, gray humanity flowed around me, an echo of the traffic above and oblivious to my personal drama. 

Heart still pounding from my near miss, I almost laughed.  Would it really have been so terrible if I hadn't moved?  Ironic that I saved myself, considering my destination.

"Now Rachel," I imagined my mother admonishing me.  "Why must you entertain such antisocial thoughts?"

Medical science had long ago eliminated disease and slowed the aging process to a crawl.  In a world where people routinely lived well past two hundred years, how many other ways out were there?Still, old habits were deeply ingrained.  Don't make eye contact that might make other bodily contact seem personal.  Keep emotions under check at all times because anger, fear, any extreme reaction could spread and create general unrest or panic.

I straightened my tunic and resumed my "public" face, the bland expression I'd cultivated since childhood. The crowd pressed, shuffling shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, personal space more a state of mind than a physical reality.  Each person assumed the same neutral demeanor, the same inoffensive façade, ignoring my brief outburst.

I took a deep breath, steadying my emotional shields, and slipped back into the stream of humanity heading downtown.  Traffic sped by overhead in a perpetual rush, and for a moment, I envied the occupants of the vehicles their relative solitude.  But the jobs that paid for such luxuries exacted their own price, one I'd never been willing to pay.

Instead, I made my living sharing with others what I'd done to escape the realities of this world. I pretend to live in the past, or at least an idealized version of the past, where little girls commonly were named Riga or Antares.  It was prophetic that my mother gave me an old-fashioned name.  As a child, I read stories from previous centuries, exploring the vast expanses of Hogwarts with Harry Potter, yodeling in the Swiss Alps with Heidi, swimming the oceans with Aquarius.  My reading tastes evolved as I grew up, but my own imagination forged trails beyond those constructed by long-dead authors. 

So I wrote down, my own fantasies and people paid me for them.  I never got rich.  My profits were mostly eaten up by onerous taxes imposed to discourage such disruptive flights of fancy.   In a society where imagination and individuality were frowned upon, seen as precursors to dissent and unrest, my aberrant creativity still came in handy.  Until it ran dry.

I hadn't written anything new in thirteen years.  Not long in a life that spanned nearly a century, but having enjoyed that imagination and escape for so many years, I mourned its loss. 

A holovid played in front of Bloomingdale's.  Ghostly models of perfection sported the latest fashions in the accepted neutral hues, wearing smiles that would be considered uncouth were they to appear on the masses below.  They had reason to smile that the masses didn't:  their computer-generated virtual bodies could move unimpeded by solid bodies surrounding them.  They had no soul that craved the feeling of being special, unique in a world that valued order and conformity.

 Yet few others chafed as I did at the constraints of society.  If they did, how could they go on?  How could I?

The flow of pedestrians carried me closer to my destination.  The holovid in front of Ultimate Vacations stopped me in my tracks.  He was mine.  The holo featured Sam, the hero of one of my most popular stories.  Tall, solidly muscular, his build was impractical in today's overcrowded world, but he still fueled plenty of fantasies, including my own.  At least he did when my mind could still conjure him as real. 

He had been real once, long ago.  For years, I kept him alive in my imagination, then in my stories, forever young and brash.   They were mere fantasies, but better than acknowledging the reality of his death.

A woman plowed into me with a muffled curse, then ducked her head and skirted around as others streamed past.  I started walking again, drawn by the hollow incarnation of my dream man, hoping to make him real again for a short time.  I edged sideways through the crowd and the doors of Ultimate Vacations swooshed open for me.

♥

The small square foyer contained only some holovids advertising popular vacation destinations and a bland-faced receptionist at the far end.  I lifted my arms and turned slowly in a circle, fingertips sending ripples through the virtual landscapes, reveling in the momentary wealth of personal space.  I grinned and even the frowning disapproval from the martinet at the other end couldn't ruin my illicit pleasure.

"May I help you?"  Her tone was as stiff as her neck.

 I stopped whirling and approached the desk.  "Rachel Haven.  I have a reservation."

 She consulted her holodisplay and nodded, whispering something into the tiny microphone that hovered a few centimeters in front of her mouth.  "Mr. Smith will be with you momentarily."

 Mr. Smith indeed did appear within a minute.  He was tall and cadaverously thin, the fashionably simple lines of his unisuit only accentuating his narrow profile.  "How nice to meet you, Ms. Haven.  Please follow me."

He led me to a small cubicle.  I sat in the proffered chair, while he sat behind the small desk and clasped his hands together as if gathering his thoughts.  He looked up.  "Are you sure, Ms. Haven?  You're still a young woman, after all."

 I smiled.  "Do you always try to dissuade your customers from using your service?"

He shrugged.  "No, but I'm a big fan.  You know many of our most popular modules are based on your stories."

 "I know.  Thank you.  But I haven't had any new stories in me for a long time.  I'm ... ready to move on."

He nodded briefly.  "Very well.  We have some formalities to attend to, then."  He turned to the wall comp.  "Release forms."

"Are your children aware of your vacation plans?" he asked, then flushed as he realized his mistake.

I was born far too late to have children of my own.  Most newborns had routinely been sterilized beginning more than forty years before my birth.  My own mother was well into her fifties when she had me, and she was barely old enough to have escaped that measure to control the population.  Since then, only the wealthy or politically influential retained their reproductive capabilities.  Children were enough of a rarity they were stared at despite the societal injunction against eye contact.  I imagine Smith's usual customers were far older than I, though, and the question would have made sense.  I smiled sadly.  "No, there's no one to miss me when I go."

 He cleared his throat and proceeded with his battery of questions.  At the end, I looked into the wall comp and recited the words on the screen as it scanned my retinas.  It was done.

 Smith sat back with a sigh.  "Well, then.  On to the more pleasant portion of our business."  He waved his arms and small holovids appeared between us, changing as he explained.  "We have a variety of destinations to consider.  There's your usual mountain or seaside escape.  There's also what we call the Rambo module, quite popular among those with repressed anger.  Not socially acceptable, but for your Ultimate Vacation, pretty much anything goes."  He looked at me expectantly.

I shook my head and smiled.  "No.  No murderous tendencies here.  I've already decided I'll go with the Tahiti module."  The one with Sam.

"Very good," he said, nodding in approval.  "One of yours.  A very popular choice."     

Yes, one of mine.  I always knew my readers vicariously enjoyed my characters and stories, but it somehow bothered me that my Ultimate Vacation would be a copy of so many others.  I looked at Smith.  "How much personalization is there to the experience?  Will my Vacation follow a prescribed course or is there more flexibility?"

He sat up and puffed out his chest.  "The sim is fully flexible and responsive to the individual user's desires.  The only limitation is that of the subject's imagination."  He tilted his head, considering.  "Frankly, most of our customers lack the creativity to stray much outside the basic story line.  But that should be no problem for you."

"No, I imagine not."

"You recall, of course, that the vacation is only for one day.  Once you go to sleep that night, it's finished."

"I remember."

"Very good.  Shall we get started?"  Smith stood and gestured to the door.  "After you, Ms. Haven."

He guided me to a small chamber, the walls of which were covered with screens playing loops of soothing vistas.  I wondered how many customers tried to bail at this point.  Two white-clad technicians led me to the bed in the center of the room and proceeded to attach numerous sensors to my scalp and face.

One smiled kindly at me.  "We'll undress you and attach the rest when you're asleep."

I supposed I should have been grateful for small favors.  It's not like I'd have any real privacy on my journey.  I glanced at the walls and wondered if my experiences would play on the screens.  I smiled.  Perhaps I was not yet through entertaining and titillating the public.

Smith approached the bed.  "It was a pleasure and honor meeting you, Ms. Haven.  I hope you'll enjoy your Ultimate Vacation."

"Thank you.  I will."  My consciousness faded before he got to the door.

♥

I awoke to the susurrus of waves lapping at a beach.  A warm breeze caressed my bare belly.  I stretched and opened my eyes. 

Naked, I lay alone on a large white linen-clad bed; old-fashioned doors opened wide to the terrace and beach below, the sea a startling azure that blended at the horizon into a sapphire sky.  A small bubble of happiness, a sensation I barely recognized any more, rose from my chest and burst from my mouth in a laugh.

The scene was familiar, one I'd lovingly created to represent an early twenty-first century beach house.  I'd spent a lot of time here in my imagination, but it had been a long time since I had managed to summon this particular dream.

I slid off the bed and padded to the door.  Palm trees shaded a white sand beach that stretched as far as I could see on both sides.  No one else was in sight.

I pulled on a bright green "look-at-me" bikini and slipped into a gauzy white cover-up.  I wouldn't be alone for long.  In real life I looked considerably younger than my nearly hundred years, but on this Vacation, I had regained the lithe figure I had at twenty-five, back when I knew Sam for real.  Nevertheless, I wasn't quite ready to flaunt that in my reunion with him.  Not yet, at least.

I walked down to the beach and into the surf, relishing the feel of the waves washing the grit from between my toes, only to sink back into the wet sand when the waves ebbed.

"I've been waiting my whole life for you." 

The deep voice sent shivers through me, even though I was expecting it.  Did I really write such a clichéd line?  Thing was, that's actually what he said to me when we first met.  I fell in love with him anyway.

I turned around.  He leaned against a palm tree, arms crossed over his bare chest, avid gaze trained on me and ... he was as handsome as I remembered.  I knew what my next line was supposed to be, but had no desire to follow a script, to pretend this was a first meeting.

"We've known each other for a long time, Sam," I said.  "I don't want to waste any more of it."

Something changed in his expression.   He eased away from the tree and came to me, gathered me into his arms and kissed me with all the fervor and even greater skill than I recall him having so long ago.  It didn't matter that I was the one who had changed, who imbued him with the characteristics I desired.  I just wanted to enjoy them.

Breathless, we broke the kiss and then, hand in hand, meandered down the beach.  The moment I noticed my thirst, a thatch-roofed bar hut, complete with bartender, appeared in front of us.  Sam squeezed my hand and helped me onto a stool. 

"What'll you have?"  The barkeep grinned, his teeth bright white against his smooth cocoa skin.

"Pińa colada, please," I said.

"Sex on the Beach," Sam said, gazing at me with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

The bartender pushed a bowl of candied almonds our way.  "Would you like some nuts-s-s-s-s-s..."  His image flickered, stuck in a virtual limbo.

I stared, unsure of what to do.  But Sam reached across the bar and patted him on the cheek.  The bartender solidified and resumed making our drinks as if nothing had happened.

My lips twitched into a smile as I looked at Sam.  "My hero."

He smiled back.  "Does this mean I'll get my sex on the beach?"

"Not on the beach."  I turned back to watch the bartender finish making our drinks and heard Sam's chuckle.

The pińa colada was perfect, cold and sweet.  I bit into the pineapple garnish and when the juice dribbled down my chin, Sam kissed, licked, and nibbled me clean.  After four more, we stumbled away from the bar, tipsy with booze and arousal.

We spent the afternoon splashing in the surf, gathering seashells, kissing, and nuzzling.  And we talked.  I didn't want to think too much about the fact that my subconscious was inventing his side of the conversation.  I simply wanted to enjoy it.  When we got hungry, a romantic beachside restaurant appeared.  We were their only customers.

As the sun sank low in the sky, we headed back to the beach house.  Sam opened a bottle of champagne while I strolled out to the terrace and leaned on the rail.  Splashes of red on the horizon reflected from undulating water as darkness encroached on both sky and sea. 

I felt Sam behind me, his warmth a soothing counterpoint to the cool evening breeze.  He slipped the wrap off my shoulders and replaced it with his hands.  I shivered as he traced his fingers down my arms, then across my belly, finally pulling me back snug against him.

He leaned forward and kissed my shoulder, my neck, as he loosened and removed my swimsuit top.  He played his hands along me until I whimpered, desperate for him.  Gently, he bent me forward and removed my bikini bottom.  Trailing his hand along the inside of my thigh, he finally touched me, and then guided himself deep inside. 

He rocked against me, gently, slowly, in rhythm with the waves hitting the beach, as we watched the sun set.  The gradual, tender lovemaking built inexorably to a shattering climax that left us both shaking.  He slipped out of me as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

We stumbled back to the bed and made love again and again, each time with the fevered passion of youth and the desperation of old age.  Eventually, tired and sated, Sam fell asleep with me in his arms. 

It had been wonderful, this last and Ultimate Vacation.  Over too soon, but better this bittersweetness than the raw bitterness of an empty life.  I watched Sam, memorizing his features, his expressions, his scent.  It was enough.

"I love you," I whispered to him.  Then I tucked myself next to him and surrendered to an eternal sleep.

♥

I awoke suspended near the ceiling, hovering over the bed and my still body.  The two technicians removed the sensors.  I stared at my shell, wondering if I should feel anger, or sorrow, or pain for my loss.  But I was at peace.

"Better get her taken care of.  Next traveler's due in five minutes," one tech said.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and had to look again.  One hour?  My Ultimate Vacation had lasted only an hour in real time.  I laughed and the technician flinched as if he heard me.

"I've been waiting your whole life for you."

I smiled at the familiar voice and turned to tell him he'd gotten his line wrong.  But when I saw him, the words died in my throat.  This was neither the callow Sam of my memories nor even my Vacation.  He was older, and somehow more real.

"I said it the way I meant to," he told me.  "You've made me wait a long time."  He held out his hand.  "Come with me, Rachel."

"Where?" I asked.  "Back to the beach?"

He smiled.  "We can go there if you like.  But there are so many places you've never even imagined that I want to show you."

"Someplace new with you.  I'd like that."  I clasped his warm, callused hand and was content.  I smiled and followed.

© 2007 Linda S. Cambier