Bem, eu encontrei olhando através de uma pilha de velhos livros escondidos em um canto sem nome e úmido do sótão.
É uma história que aparece em uma antologia francesa de ficção científica editada em 1983: " Univers 1983 ", onde está marcado como "inédit", ou seja, ainda não publicado.
O conto foi re-publicado em 1989 em outra antologia, "La Frontière Eclatée " (" The Shattered Frontier ").
É chamado "La Vallée des Ascenseurs" (literalmente "O Vale dos Elevadores", o que não parece promissor). Os autores são Sylviane Corgiat e Bruno Lecigne . Esse duo escreveu alguns romances, nenhum dos quais eu li ou ouvi falar. Então a história é originalmente em francês. Não sei se já foi traduzido. Eu não penso assim.
Vendo que "Tron" (o filme) tinha inaugurado em 1982 , os autores podem ter obtido alguma inspiração disso .
Do texto, aqui está a explicação sobre a realidade alternativa. Não há link direto para a realidade virtual ou para jogos.
O homem do computador Conrad, agora Sir Conrad, estabeleceu-se como rei da cidade de Bass-Einf como ele pode realizar milagres nesta realidade. De pé em frente ao seu auto-retrato em sua câmara real, ele reflete sobre seu passado:
He contemplated his portrait. He had portrayed himself as a teenager with short hair, with lines accentuating the angles of his face. He had conceived this painting by trying to remember an old photo ID formerly taken for the Wotan project file. His candidacy had been favorably received. He had become a computer man.
Wotan was a gigantic computer gathering all of the world's data banks. It was later discovered that Wotan could give access to other strata of reality, which was globally called the computosphere because of its property to absorb or swallow computer programs. The computer-men, who lived in symbiosis with Wotan, had the possibility of projecting themselves into the computosphere. It was unclear to what extent these other universes pre-existed Wotan; or otherwise to what extent the simulated programs in the computer had shaped the profile of these worlds. Some computermen had undertaken the exploration of the deepest and most stable strata. Many had never returned ... just could not have come back, because of what they had discovered. This was the case of Conrad, Sir Conrad.
Sometimes, in a paradoxical reversal, he had the impression that he never really had had an earthly life; a kind of expired childhood, now being erased, in which the adult was unable to recognize himself. Even if Bass-Einf was only a computed reflection, a simulation of the universe, the real Conrad was the one who lived in this country, painted, breathed the icy air, had enjoyed Silvanie's arms. Sometimes, however, he was conscious of living as if out-of-place, of being a usurper and of occupying the palace of someone else, so that one day someone would demand that he give back what did not belong to him. He was unable to decide between these two contradictory feelings.
Under Silvanie's dumbfounded eye, he emptied a tube of black onto the canvas and carefully spread the thick paint over the whole surface of the portrait.
A história termina com o assassino Alexander matando Conrad jogando-o ao mar em um dos elevadores que desce de Bass-Einf:
"Farewell, Conrad," he said. He hurled him overboard. He did not hear the sound of the body being crushed, miles down.
It did not matter. Farewell, Conrad he thought with sadness. If it cheers you up, know that I will not go back.
He had made his decision, for good. Bass-Einf was now lacking a Worker of Miracles. Tomorrow morning, Alexander would take a lift, again. To the city of Bass-Einf.
In his mind he formed the image of a pack of cigarettes, which rolled over the worn floor of the platform. He took the first puffs, listening to the irregular creaking of the giant mechanisms.