by Deck Davis
Tripp felt his legs get shaky. He sat on the street and let his heart calm down a little, all the while staring at what was left of Aubree and trying to process it in his head.
One thing he was sure about: something had just killed her, yet there was nothing hostile around. That meant a higher power had done it. Either Boxe or one of the devs. His money was on Boxe.
The question was, why? And why had an NPC seen visions of him outside of Soulboxe, in his regrowth pod?
He’d already contacted the tech team, so he didn’t see what else he could do about it. Unless…
“Bee?” he said.
She swooped over and hovered in front of him, her face looking so concerned that it was touching. “I don’t understand what just happened.”
“Neither do I. Bee, this is going to sound strange.”
“Strange just took on a whole new meaning. I think I’m invincible to strange now.”
“Bee, is there a way for me to talk to Boxe through you?”
Bee spun around so that she wasn’t facing him. Tripp started to wonder if he’d offended her. The seconds turned into half a minute. He was going to apologize when Bee turned around.
She glared at him. “This is Boxe,” she said, her voice deep, her eyes burning on him.
Tripp hadn’t expected it to be so easy. It caught him without a question on his mind, so he just spoke on instinct. “Boxe,” he said. “I don’t know why you’ve taken such an interest in me, but I need you to cut all the crap. All the stuff about the pod and seeing me outside the game, and…”
Bee started laughing. “This is Boxe” she repeated, this time in her normal voice. “Can’t believe it was that easy to fool you. You really think I can channel Boxe like some kind of radio you can fiddle with to get a different station?”
Tripp swatted her gently, sending her spinning away. “Jeez…” he said, first feeling a flicker of anger, but then the humor hit him, and he was actually glad for it. He’d needed it. He smiled at Bee. “Boxe, if you heard or saw that, get me a new DF. One without such a wicked sense of humor.”
Done.
“Wait, what?”
His stomach lurched as he watched Bee disappear, leaving him alone in the Shadow Passage with Aubree’s ash pile as his feet, and questions fluttering in his head.
Be careful what you wish for was an all-too-real thing in Soulboxe.
He stood up. “Boxe? If you’re listening, I didn’t mean that. I want Bee around. Can you bring her back?”
There was no answer. The only sound was rain dripping from a gutter. Tripp felt cold, like the wind was sneaking under his armor.
“Boxe?”
With a flash of light and a pop, another orb appeared in front of him. Only, this one was shaped like a hexagon, and its face was made from red dust. It looked masculine and almost impish in the way its eyes were slanted and its nose was sharp. It didn’t even have a trace of Bee’s warmth.
It looked at him and it tutted. “They call me Clive,” he said. “You can call me…Clive.”
Tripp didn’t know what to say. He was still pissed that this had happened, but he hardly dared express it. Who knew what else Boxe would do next?
Clive looked Tripp up and down. “Are you mute, or something?”
Tripp struggled to find words. “I don’t like your tone, Clive.”
“I’ve been on the shelf for eight years now,” said Clive. “I was one of the early DFs. Rathburger created me, and he made me just as grumpy as he is. You know who wants an old-model, grumpy DF as an in-game companion? Nobody. That’s who. That’s why I get consigned to the outer-game to do nothing but waste time with all the other obsolete DFs, just hoping we get chosen to be a guide.”
The way he said it made Clive sound like a dog who’d spent years in a pound waiting for adoption. If conjuring him hadn’t displaced Bee, he’d have felt sorry for him.
In a way, he could understand why he was so grumpy. His personality was made that way when he was created, since Rathburger had apparently made him in his image. And then, he’d been removed from the game, robbed of what Tripp guessed was his only purpose in life.
It was a case of nature meeting nurture, booking a seedy hotel room, and consummating a relationship that produced a red-faced, gloomy, digital orb.
He had to make the best of a bad situation and figure a way of appeasing Boxe while he worked out how to get Bee back.
“Clive, is there any way to speak to Boxe through you?”
“Nah.”
Now, Tripp looked up at the sky as if he’d see Boxe up there, watching him. then he remembered what Bee had once said; Boxe wasn’t like some god sitting in the clouds. He was everywhere.
“Boxe, you made your point. I’ll watch what I say from now on. Is there any way at all that I can get Bee back?”
“Hmph,” said Clive, rolling his eyes.
A message appeared in front of Tripp.
Bee will be waiting at the end of room three, but a bronze chest won’t be enough.
CHAPTER 55
“Do I need to find the gold solution to get Bee back, or is silver enough?”
He waited, but Boxe didn’t answer. The voyeur god had turned his attention elsewhere, leaving Tripp wondering what to do.
He guessed that when it came down to it, his plan was the same. He still needed to solve the room, only now, he couldn’t afford to screw up. Using the first solution that came to mind wouldn’t cut it if he wanted to get Bee back.
It was hard to admit, and it even made him feel stupid, but he missed her. Her positivity, even her bloodlust. She was just an all-around bright presence.
Clive couldn’t have been different, with his dull-red face and the way that gloom seemed to seep from him.
He was surprised when Clive floated up beside him. His movements were much slower and more deliberate than the way Bee used to swoop.
“If I may say something,” said Clive.
“You don’t need my permission to talk.”
Clive eyed him strangely. “Consider this; Boxe is paying special attention to you, it seems. Does that make sense?”
“So far.”
“Then say it! Don’t let me ramble on.”
“Turn your ramble into a sprint and finish what you’re saying.”
“It appears to me that Boxe has turned one of his many eyes on you. The fly should guard his behavior when the spider’s eyes look his way.”
He might have churned out gloom like a smoke machine, but he was right. Tripp was already thinking along those lines, because Boxe was doing things to him that went way beyond dynamic questing.
There was the chicken status, the weird messages about seeing him in hospital, having Aubree the psychic see visions of real-life Tripp, and now this. Replacing Bee with the DF version of a grey sweater.
Until he knew what Boxe wanted, he was going to have to watch what he said about him or to him. Lots of people used the phrase ‘oh, just kill me now’ when they did something embarrassing or whatever. If Tripp used that phrase, a digital god would actually smite him.
It was time to go, but first, he needed to collect a few things. While Clive was here, he might as well use him.
“Clive, I need you to go into Aubree’s shop and categorize everything. With Aubree gone, I’m guessing her items will be a free-for-all. Let me know what there is.”
“No.”
Tripp felt his hackles raise. “No?”
“That’s right, no.”
“You’re refusing to follow my orders?”
Clive nodded. “Does the sheep follow the shepherd who has no whistle? What are you going to do, report me to Boxe? If it wasn’t for the limitations in how far I can go, I’d have left your stink far behind by now. I might be stuck with you, but I won’t be doing anything unless I want to.”
Thinking that his attitude was for show and there was probably a player override, Tripp tried again. “Clive, get your hexagonal ass into the shop and categorize everything.”<
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Clive tutted. “Deaf as well as stupid. Great. Time to test our boundaries.”
He floated away from Tripp, going along the Shadow Passage and into the plaza. After reaching level 22, Tripp had extended the distance Bee could separate from him, although they’d usually traveled closely together because they liked each other’s company. Now, it meant that Clive could get quite a distance away from him.
Tripp was glad for Clive to test the limits of their boundaries. With him gone, he first took an empty glass vial from his inventory and scooped up Aubree’s ashes. Next, he went into her house, taking one step before being assaulted by the scents of her incense.
Let’s see what I can loot.
Then he saw the problem.
Everything in Aubree’s house, every item, was marked red, and they had markers saying, ‘Owned by: Aubree Ashton.’
Her death hadn’t changed who her items belonged to. If Tripp took them he’d earn a bounty on him for stealing, and that’d mean the Mountmend guards, who he sometimes saw patrolling the streets, would come for him.
He left the Shadow Passage, glad to step back into the sunlight of the plaza and feel it glow on his face. He saw the sunlight bounce off windows and cast a glow over the fountain and statues of the plaza, reminding him that some parts of Soulboxe were beautiful.
He scanned the plaza, looking for the shop he needed. When he saw it and started walking, a message appeared on his screen.
Message from: Lucas Coombs
Subject: Help Request
Seeing Lucas’s name made his chest feel like it had a viper crawling in it. He’d expected tech support to reply to him, but Lucas himself?
He’d listened to so many lectures from the guy and read so many of his blog posts back when he could still read. He wasn’t a fanboy, but he was certainly a fan. Was he a fanman? Either way, seeing a direct message from Lucas was exciting. He opened it.
Tripp Keaton,
I read your message with great concern. Please be advised that Boxe does have a network connection outside of Soulboxe, as part of his AI is outsourced to advertising agencies and the like.
However, any connection he has with anything outside of Soulboxe is what you would call ‘read-only’.
Now, I understand that in a game, this will be shocking. What I suggest is that you [REDACTED.]
Furthermore, do not, under any circumstances, [REDACTED].
The message ended there. The first few lines didn’t worry or surprise him; it was well known that, especially in the early days, Soulboxe Inc had funded the game by outsourcing part of their AI’s resources to other companies. He didn’t know it was still happening, but it wasn’t a big deal.
The thing that made him itch was the redacted parts. One was supposed to tell him what to do, and the other looked like a warning.
Was Lucas being censored? Maybe he’d used words that got picked up by an internal messaging filter, or something.
He composed a message.
Lucas, parts of your message just say [REDACTED.] Can you repeat?
He waited a few seconds but nothing came. “Figures. Lucas must be busy.”
The best thing to quell the nerves in his stomach was to get busy too. He glanced at Clive, seeing the red hexagon perched on the fountain in the plaza and staring wistfully at it. Water from the fountain spattered him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
It was better to leave him alone, he didn’t need more gloom from his new friend. He would have killed for Bee’s positivity right now.
He headed into the hunting shop, where stuffed animal heads were hanging on the wall. Tripp saw dead wargs, wolves, and even an undead bear staring back at him. The shop owner was an elf woman wearing hunting leathers, and her arms and face were covered in scratches.
“Another customer! And an orc! You don’t seem many hunting orcs around here. You see orc hunters, but that’s a very different thing. What can I get for you?”
“Can I see your inventory, please?”
“Absolutely.”
Tripp left the hunting shop with some of his gold depleted, and with two-dozen arrows in his inventory.
“Clive, come on,” he said.
The orb faced him. “I’m fine here.”
“You can’t stay at the fountain all day, Clive.”
“Watch me.”
Tripp sighed. “Fine. I’ll watch you. Let’s see what happens.”
He walked out of the plaza and towards Konrad’s work studio, and soon enough he heard someone muttering behind him, and he saw that Clive was following. Since they couldn’t be too far apart from each other, he guessed that the orb had no choice but to accompany him.
The work studio had warm air wafting around, coming from the forge which had been used recently. He guessed that Konrad must have done some crafting, but the dwarf was nowhere to be seen. That figured. He was less a teacher and more a guy who just let Tripp get on with things, to learn his crafts by himself.
The thing was, Tripp liked it. He’d started to appreciate having to work things out himself, rather than buying a skill.
Now it was time for the last thing he could think to try that would help with the labyrinth. He needed to know more about room three before he even thought about setting foot in there.
So far, he knew that he needed keys and that there were runes in room three. And danger, obviously. What was a labyrinth room without danger?
He set the arrows down on a workbench, and he took out the vial containing Aubrey’s ashes. He grimaced when he looked at them, and a cold thought hit him.
Was it right to use her like this? To use her essence as though she was just a sleel or a frorarg? That was the conundrum; Soulboxe made some of its NPCs so damn lifelike, that it felt wrong. She was Konrad’s fourth cousin, and part of Tripp wanted to tell him what had happened.
That was the other issue. Aubrey was a distant member of Konrad’s family, according to game lore. How would Tripp feel if his Rory had died, and someone had used his ashes to make a pie or something? This was a desecration.
No, he told himself. He didn’t need that kind of dilemma from a game.
He had to push those kinds of thoughts back. It was trickery, more the appearance of reality than the real thing.
“Damn it. I wish I had Bee to ask about this.”
Clive floated over to him now. For the first time since Tripp had met him, he looked interested. “Are you a fletcher?” he asked.
“A fletcher? Oh, you mean someone who makes arrows. I’m a crafter. More specifically, an armorer, artificer, and I dabble with alchemy. I’ve been known to poison people, but that was a whole thing. It was a one-off. Can’t you read my character sheet?”
“I can, I just didn’t care to look.”
“Take a look at it, and check my quest log, too. If I’m stuck with you, you might as well get up to speed.”
“If I’m stuck with you, you mean.”
“Bee used to love traveling with me. Seeing things, fighting stuff, solving puzzles. What’s your problem?”
“How would you feel if someone turned you into a piano genius, then broke your fingers? Try having your destiny controlled by Boxe, and see how you like it. They pump us full of intelligence like we’re hogs that need fattening, and then they don’t let us use it.”
“I’m beginning to understand how it feels to have Boxe prodding with your life. Let me run something by you, Clive. See this jar of ashes? That used to be an NPC. Aubrey Ashton, the psychic.”
“Looks like her days of divinity are over,” he said, and a slight smile showed in his red face.
“Would it be wrong of me to use her in my crafting?”
Clive cleared his throat. “I was one of the original DFs. I’ve seen a lot in Soulboxe. Even if my experiences of past playthroughs were erased, I still remember some things because they never truly wipes us. I know one thing; Soulboxe is here for the players. Whatever moral discomforts you experience come from you, not from judgments cast by me, Boxe
, or any other digital entity.”
That put a new slant on it for Tripp. Whatever feelings he felt were caused by himself, not the game.
The question was, would he let weird feelings about an NPC stop him, or would he just do whatever he needed to do to get through the labyrinth?
CHAPTER 56
It was Boxe messing with him again. Boxe had struck Aubrey down and turned her into ashes, but it was those ashes that would help Tripp. It was almost like Boxe was asking him a question now; are you willing to do whatever it takes? Will you use the ashen remains of a dwarf to improve your chances in the labyrinth?
Tripp’s answer was yes. He’d do whatever it took to get to the end of the last room, and he decided that using the ashes of a woman he barely knew and who wasn’t even real, wouldn’t hurt his conscience in any lasting way.
After all, almost every decision he’d ever made with his conscience had been like stepping on a landmine. When he decided to help a woman who was being mugged, he’d taken a splash of acid to the face. Sometimes, your conscience tried to make you do things when your logical side knew better, and it wasn’t always smart or appropriate to listen to it. Every person had a duty to themselves, foremost.
That was the short of it. Take care of your own survival and safety, and only then could you think about other people. That was what Tripp was going to do.
Renewed with new energy, he faced the workbench. That was when a message appeared from Lucas.
Tripp, you need to [REDACTED.] We’re working on [REDACTED], but in the meantime, you need to [REDACTED.]
Tripp hit the workbench, making the vial of ashes wobble. Damn it! He knew what this was now. This redacted crap, it was Boxe again. Boxe was filtering Lucas’s messages to him.
Determined not to let Boxe see the frustration building in him, he plastered a smile on his face, he shoved all the negative feelings back, and he got to work.
First, he strapped his artificer goggles over his head, and he saw the room dim around him. Next, he picked up an arrow.
