18.

In the Dream Time Jay lay on his back on the bench and laughed as the stack of weights on the Universal Gym tried to come down and crush him. An errant shaft of sunlight from a high window played on the chrome, the glint of light harsh.

Gonna crush you, Gridley!

Not gonna happen, Iron.

Jay knew he looked like a demiG.o.d, hugely muscled, thews and sinews grotesquely rippling, power radiating from him.

Conan the Gridley. Hah!

He heaved, hard, and felt something give in the machine. The stack of weights. .h.i.t the top of their range, something broke, and part of a shattered plate flew free. It arced across the room and hit the wall, clang! clang! and fell to the floor with a clunk. and fell to the floor with a clunk.

Pumped, he stood and shoved shoved the old Universal aside, enjoying the sound of it screeching across the concrete floor, a primal testosterone buzz rolling through his body. the old Universal aside, enjoying the sound of it screeching across the concrete floor, a primal testosterone buzz rolling through his body.

"Who was that you were gonna crush?" he said aloud.

He was strong. This was the power of comic-book heroes, of mythological characters.

Would it be enough?

He had managed to gain more control over his environment, at least. The gym and his other exercises were a testament to that.

But it was still weird. He couldn't program things like he could in VR. There were no objects to code, no places to do input. The illusions he created were simultaneously more real and unreal than anything he'd ever done in VR. Things acted on their own with patterns he would never be able to create with software, fractal shades of reality that came from within, unlike anything he could achieve through a program.

Like his VR scenarios, this was a metaphor. He was training his will, to increase his mental activity until he could get out out.

The idea had come from a memory of the previous coma's rehab. He'd been weightlifting, an exercise for which he saw no use whatsoever, but had been forced into, and he'd accidentally put the pin into the wrong notch. He'd started his press, thinking it was his normal weight, and had been shocked to find it so heavy. Unwilling to admit defeat, he'd strained, inching the stack up slowly, bit by bit. It had become a test of will-no inanimate pile of metal was going to beat him!

Jay toweled the sweat off. He was as ready as he could be, and he hoped it would be enough.

To match his training metaphor, he'd entered himself into a strongman contest. He'd seen one on ESPN once while channel surfing. It had fascinated him to see these modern Samsons doing what they did.

Each event in the contest he'd planned would test his willpower, help him focus. The brain-wave states of Delta, Theta, Alpha, and Beta were going to be achieved through doing something else, just like VR.

Jay continued his preparations, stretching his legs, now as thick as tree trunks. He was glad for Spandex.

Otherwise I'd be shredding clothes like the Hulk.

There was a musical fanfare from outside, and it was time for the contest. He headed out into a brightly sunlit arena.

"And here representing geeks everywhere, is Smokin' Jay Gridley! Smokin' Jay Gridley!" The loudspeaker blared again, this time the theme to 2001: A s.p.a.ce Odyssey. 2001: A s.p.a.ce Odyssey.

Also Sprach Zarathustra.

Jay grinned as he stalked across the arena. Just ahead was the compet.i.tion.

Alpha, Beta, Theta, and good old Delta.

Of course there was no real real compet.i.tion-only the mental activity borders between layers of his consciousness. Each had a Greek letter embroidered on his gear, making him identifiable. Delta looked weak; Jay already knew he could beat compet.i.tion-only the mental activity borders between layers of his consciousness. Each had a Greek letter embroidered on his gear, making him identifiable. Delta looked weak; Jay already knew he could beat him him. Theta looked tougher, but Jay was sure he could take him. Beta and Alpha grinned. Those were the real challenges.

Alpha held his arm up, pinched his biceps and shook his head.

Beta sneered and then pointed his index finger at the ground.

You going down, Jay.

Even though he'd seen similar behavior in many of the other constructs in his dream state, it was still impressive. None of the characters had ever used these mannerisms before, and he found their independence unnerving.

Relax, Gridley, it's all in your mind.

So he grinned back and waved at them.

I can be unpredictable, too.

Today's contest had four events. All Jay had to do was beat everyone at their own game, one-on-one, and he'd be free.

He hoped.

He and Delta moved toward rows of metal kegs, each of which weighed a couple hundred pounds. Past that, twenty-five feet away, was a platform, just over waist high. The goal was to put as many of the kegs as you could up onto the platform. All within seventy-five seconds.

Jay knew that Delta could do about four kegs, maybe five. They took their positions, and after what seemed like an eternity, the shot starting the event went off.

Jay wanted an edge in this race, so when he picked up his first keg, he tucked it under an arm and then picked another one with one hand. He heard a murmur in the crowd as he did this, and looked up for a moment at the watchers to see Theta frowning. Beta and Alpha sneered.

Go! He lurched forward, almost falling. Delta, who had just picked up the one keg, was out in front, but not by much. He lurched forward, almost falling. Delta, who had just picked up the one keg, was out in front, but not by much.

Jay put the kegs down on the platform and ran back for more. He picked up two more, and saw that although he was slower compared to Delta, he was still a keg up.

Go! He picked up another pair and made it back to the platform. He ran back. He picked up another pair and made it back to the platform. He ran back.

Two more. Beside him he saw Delta returning for his fourth keg.

Faster.

He picked up the pace and pushed, pushed, his entire body pumping, blood rushing, heart pounding, will straining. As his fifth and sixth kegs touched down on the platform and he turned back for more, he heard the buzzer go off. his entire body pumping, blood rushing, heart pounding, will straining. As his fifth and sixth kegs touched down on the platform and he turned back for more, he heard the buzzer go off.

"Gridley, six kegs, the winner!" called the announcer.

Yes!

Delta glared. Jay smiled.

One down.

The next contest used medicine b.a.l.l.s. They were fifty pounds each, and had to be thrown at a plywood target. The target was big, to reduce the difficulties in aiming; the bottom of the target was a little higher than three feet off the ground.

This was Theta's event, and Jay watched him pick up a ball, lean back, and thrust forward.

The ball flew and slammed into the plywood target, a little more than halfway up. He was strong, too, no question about it.

Jay was up next. He concentrated on the sequence he'd been practicing for months-or perhaps it was just days or even hours. Time was so subjective here.

He picked up the heavy ball. He wanted to do more than win; he wanted to smash the compet.i.tion, to make them worry.

I can do this.

He took several deep breaths, hyperventilating. For what he wanted to happen, he'd have to hit the target high. Okay. This one's for you, Theta. Okay. This one's for you, Theta.

Theta leaned against a railing nearby, smirking.

Laugh at this! this!

Jay bent deep, twisted, wound it up. When it seemed as if he were going to cramp from turning into himself so tightly, he expanded.

Fire all muscle cells, this is NOT a drill!

The twist was followed by two short steps as he lined up and fired the medicine ball with every bit of his focus.

All he had had to do was. .h.i.t the target. to do was. .h.i.t the target.

What he did was break it.

It was only the upper right corner. Plywood was tough stuff, made up of criss-crossing wood fibers. The chances of him punching through were nonexistent. But by catching the corner just so, so, he knew he could tear the corner off, like ripping a book cover. he knew he could tear the corner off, like ripping a book cover.

He'd done it in practice, so it wasn't so amazing to him. But the audience gasped, Theta slumped, and he had the satisfaction of seeing Alpha and Beta glance sharply over at him.

That's right boys, you're next.

And then he was through Theta.

Alpha's event was tougher. It was a tire flip, with huge tractor tires weighted with water. They lay flat on the ground, and you had to pry them up using a dead lift, raise them onto their treads, and shove them over, then repeat the sequence. Seventy seconds was the time limit.

The contest was tougher, not just because he was already tired, but because his consciousness level had climbed. It was harder to hold all of his constructs together. Things were starting to go fuzzy at the edges.

The first couple of flips went okay. He caught the balance of the water within the tire at just the right time, and it almost seemed to flip itself. He looked over and saw that Alpha was dead even with him.

And that nearly lost him the game.

He shifted balance slightly, and the water sloshed backward, almost toppling the tire backward on the next flip.

He let out a low hiss, angry with himself.

Do or die, Gridley!

He shoved with everything he had, felt the water shift, and the tire went over.

He kept after it now, pushing hard. Four, five, six, seven, eight . . .

The buzzer sounded.

He glanced over, and saw Alpha was half a revolution back. He'd won!

And suddenly things got even more indistinct. The arena shrank to a smaller size, more of a large room now, everything tighter. Alpha, Theta, and Delta were smaller, too, all standing on a platform off to the left, watching as he and Beta moved toward two huge logs set on the remaining platform.

Log press.

Each log was maybe twelve inches in diameter, with hand slots cut into it at shoulder-width. The contest was pure strength, total number of reps in seventy seconds.

This is it.

This was the hard one. He'd never beaten Beta, never made it out, didn't know if he had what it took.

Beta looked over at him as if he could read his mind.

He probably could, too.

Jay had failed every time he'd tried to win against Beta before.

So he'd trained differently this time. He'd had a realization. It wasn't about the end, it was all about the compet.i.tion itself.

The gun sounded and they began.

He didn't count his reps, but focused on the feeling, the burning of muscles, the lightness of the weight. He'd trained with heavier logs than this; all he had to do was keep going.

He glanced over at Beta, and saw him straining but keeping the same pace. Jay tried to shut Beta out of his thoughts. He'd lost last time because he'd pushed harder when he thought Beta was going down. A mistake.

It's not about him, him, it's about it's about me. me.

He tried not to think at all; he worked, seeking the joy of work, wanting the play of muscle, the power. It came down to that. Enjoying the contest for itself, the test of his body; the play of his skin over his muscles, the sensation of the weight rising through the air, rough bark against his hands, the pine-sap smell of the recently cut wood. Not the goal, but the moment. . . .

The air shimmered, and his reality faded in and out.

He kept going.

Born here doing this. Will live here forever doing this. . . .

The scene faded. Everything was dark now, he couldn't see a thing. But he could hear- A faint sound, brilliantly crisp and electronic electronic. The click of heels on a floor, the smell of . . . antiseptic?

He tried to speak, tried to turn his body, but succeeded only in a quiet moan.

"Jay?!"