Chapter Four. Blue Mosses
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some brother.
Message sent…
A mere thirty minutes went by before the reply I was waiting for arrived:
But if thou live remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
When I reached the central square of Blue Mosses, instead of registering in the hotel or with the alderman, I simply signed out to reality. My conversation with Evolett had put me on one curious idea that I just couldn’t get rid of. It was time to turn on my brain. Pulling my body out of the capsule and getting comfortable on my sofa, I sank deep into thought. Let’s see what we had:
First—some secret faction was conspiring against Phoenix. This is all well and good, except that they wanted my help, meaning that I’d be in everyone’s crosshairs. Given my past relationship with Phoenix and Shaman Mahan’s reputation among the Barliona community, no one would doubt for a moment my desire to exact revenge and hurt the clan of the flaming chicken. And consequently the conspirators would remain in the shadows, while the full weight of Phoenix’s counterblow, and there was no doubting that there would be a counterblow, would fall square on my head. An enticing proposition…what could you say?
Second—according to the conspiracy, Phoenix would pay me about two billion gold. Supposedly, this amount would guarantee my safety and security. Well I think I must be losing touch with the world around me: What would prevent the conspirators from taking all of this money from me? Even let’s say by brute force. I recalled the old man mentioning that Ehkiller couldn’t be tracked down in reality during our conversation. So this secret faction had promised to protect me from Phoenix’s wrath, and yet its representative didn’t once mention that nothing would happen to me. Does that old man really need me around as a witnesses? I kind of doubt that.
Third—tinkering with the game data. Other than mental confusion, what could explain me forgetting my earlier career? I had trained to be a software developer and clearly remembered attending re-training courses, where the teachers drilled a single notion into our brains: Hackers, whether they are virtual or operating in reality, would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. And furthermore, the law would come down on both the hackers and their accomplices with equal force. Any way you spin it, until I notify law enforcement of the information I have, I’m technically an accomplice. So even if everything goes according to the old man’s plan, I won’t be able to avoid the mines. And further down the line, what’s to keep the old man and his people from betraying me and blaming me for the whole affair? Wasn’t Marina bad enough already? By the way—I need to meet up with her already. The girl had spent so much time trying to meet with me, that it’d be impolite to delay seeing her any longer. Not to mention that she had helped me out several times by providing information I needed.
Fourth—Evolett. Maybe I’m just missing something, but why would a brother go against his own brother? He must understand that Ehkiller’s reputation will take a hit if Plinto manages to infiltrate Phoenix’s prettiest castle in the middle of a celebration and then detonates Armageddon in it. Even if their best players like Anastaria and Hellfire will show up to the party in outfits made by Reander, some part of the attendees will surely wear their best equipment. Especially those among them who want to become Raiders with Phoenix—even though this is supposed to be a mere birthday party, plenty of guests will bring their most powerful armor and weapons. No doubt Phoenix will charge an admission fee and then when Armageddon goes off in the middle of all this pageantry…The number of players furious with my clan will exceed all limits. And if on top of all this there are members of the Imperial family among the attendees, then…Well, Evolett’s actions clearly suggest that ‘we’re partners and all, but I’ve got my brother’s back—no offense.’ Which gives rise to the next question—why give me the three scrolls? A single scroll would be enough to hurt Ehkiller’s game-wide rep, and yet Evolett went over and beyond and provided me with all three. Why did he do this? What’s in it for him? It’s odd and I can’t understand it.
So all in all, I have a huge number of questions that I simply don’t know the answers to, and yet I’m starting to make some kind of decisions and take my first steps out of this maze. An odd sense of anxiety and foreboding took up residence in my head and was refusing to leave me for several minutes already—I must be doing something wrong and, if I go on this way, I won’t be able to do anything about the consequences later.
Well damn it! Am I a Shaman or what? If I’m a Shaman, isn’t it time to listen to my premonition not only in the game but out in reality? Ultimately my premonition remains a premonition, regardless of whether it’s caused by my subconscious or generated by the program. Something big and, ahem, unpleasant is coming—and I need to survive it, so it’s time to recall the lessons of the past and come up with a plan B.
And this is all why I posted a small poem on one very interesting forum, having first made a gross error in the text by substituting the word ‘brother’ for the original’s ‘mother.’ Anyone unfamiliar with the Sonnets won’t notice, while those who are, will think that I made a mistake. And yet both I and the person to whom this message was addressed understood its contents perfectly well—I needed to meet and all of the channels of communication might be under surveillance. According to the unspoken rule of the freelance artists who congregated on this forum, a mere thirty minutes later there were hundreds of other posts with poems that served to conceal the ‘correspondence’ of two specific people. Each ‘artist,’ (whom I too had once been), had a very limited circle of contacts, so the overwhelming mass of people simply stayed away from me, and yet I needed them since they made it much more complicated to track my conversation. When we had become ‘free,’ the word ‘paranoia’ had become fundamental to our lives and most of what we did we did under its cover. Over the past year, I had for some reason begun to trust people and throw myself headfirst into the most insane ventures instead of evaluating the situation carefully and weighing my options. So it was time to stop now and think everything over carefully. I have the time and opportunity—everything else will come.
My friend’s flawless response also had its meaning: ‘I understood your message and will try to arrange a meeting.’ If the couplet that came in reply had contained an error of its own, the message would be clear—Sergei just couldn’t do anything to meet me. There was no mistake however, so I had a chance to escape the trap that had surrounded me from all sides.
It was only once I’d regained the capacity to think clearly, or at least convinced myself that I did, that I began to realize the magnitude of everything going on around me. If there is some secret faction that can track my movements in the game, then it can just as well stay informed about where I am in reality—as they made abundantly clear to me with my nocturnal outing. In that case, I can be certain that neither phone calls nor emails are secure—the fact that I was being tracked was clear as day. This is why I sent the code phrase to my friend despite the fact that we hadn’t once used it ever before. This is also why I was incredibly happy to see his reply. And this was finally why I was getting ready to go to Cafe Alventa—it was there that our agreed upon meeting was to take place.
“Who else dares challenge me one on one?” exclaimed one of the establishment’s regulars, looking over the dimly lit hall. I had secreted myself in a distant corner, ordered some beer and did my best to look like a tired player who just wanted to take a break from Barliona for a little bit. Alventa was famous among the gaming brethren for its ability to put one’s brain back into its customary place, turning a denizen of Barliona into a denizen of Earth, so there wasn’t anything strange about my being in this place—I needed this anyway.
“Me!” sounded the drunk voice of one of
the patron’s and a fairly puny guy of about thirty got to his feet. “Texas Hold ‘Em, with standard rules.”
“Accepted!” replied the first guy and the two cardsharps passed into a neighboring room. The screen instantly switched to their duel, along with a list of cards that each player had been dealt, yet the speakers remained silent—according to the standard rule-set, all sound and electrical signals in the room were jammed. The only thing that trickled out was a video signal, and even that passed through a system of mirrors with the camera recording the final reflection. The room in which the duel was taking place had become a unique place that granted perfect solitude to the players within. You couldn’t be too careful when money was on the line.
Without doubting for a second that I was still under surveillance, I sipped on my beer and watched the game. Although, to be honest, there wasn’t much to watch—the puny challenger was being handled, well, handily. It was fun to watch him do his best raising too quickly with pocket aces or bluffing pitifully with a 2-8 off suit. You couldn’t see the players’ faces on the screens—only the cards on the table, the piles of chips and the dealer’s hands periodically flashing by, and yet all of this was enough to understand that the room was actually hosting a negotiation.
This was room’s true purpose, the one it had been created for—to ensure a ‘secret’ meeting between two ‘freelance artists…’
“Aren’t you all sick of chewing your cud like a bunch of cows?” The regular’s ringing voice resounded through the establishment. “Who else dares challenge me one on one?”
“Me!” I yelled and stood up from my table. It was now my turn to flash my hands in front of the camera and make childish mistakes in poker. “Texas Hold ‘Em with standard rules…”
“Sounds like you’re really up the creek without a paddle,” said Sergei after hearing my story. He entered the room only after the regular had closed the doors, activated the jamming system and donned the fantastical helmet that kept him from hearing or seeing what was happening around him. Our secret meeting had to remain secret and Alventa’s owners were utterly fastidious about this principle.
“That hardly even does my situation any justice,” I agreed, committing another error in my game. This service had to be paid for, so the regular always won his games with the free artists, whenever they needed a meeting. You could of course come and actually play a game with him, in which case knowledge and experience really did matter, but if you were there to meet with someone, the house had to win. This was ironclad.
“You do understand that the old man is going to use you like some kid?”
“I understand.”
“And his offer is illegal.”
“I get that too…”
“And still you’re planning on accepting his offer,” Sergei concluded, when I won one more time, thus indicating that the conversation might last longer.
“Right on the mark,” I sighed. “Sergei—any way you spin this thing, there’s some trap here. I can’t abandon my revenge—my conscience won’t let me. And I won’t commit everything I have to it either—what’s the point of revenge if you perish in the process? The only thing left is to take the offer.”
“That’s all very fine and all, but I can’t understand one thing—what do you want revenge for anyway? What did Anastaria do to you that you now want to destroy her avatar? By the way, I personally think that as soon as you saddle her with the Tear, Ehkiller will raise all hell with the Corporation and force them to add several items that will dispel the Tear’s effects and that won’t belong to you alone. After all, something could happen to you. What if you stop playing? Or lose interest? Or anything else that might happen to you…If I had Ehkiller’s resources, I would go all out in this respect.”
“That’s a good point,” I replied pensively, folding a hand that was clearly a flush. “I won’t give you an answer right now, but at least I have a reason to talk to the old man again. It doesn’t really seem to me that he’s thought that part through.”
“If everything you told me was the truth, then they’re already watching your every step. Do you even understand the amount of money on the line? Can you imagine two billion? That’s too much to let you out of their sight.”
“That’s exactly why I called you. I need to disappear, and for real and for a long time—while retaining my ability to enter the game. Let’s assume the worst-case scenario—my old man works for the Corporation and can easily trace the location of the capsule that I’m using to enter the game, so I need a proxy array of, oh, I guess seven servers might suffice.”
“Seven?!” Sergei asked with surprise, looking at me like I was crazy. “Do you understand how much that costs?”
“Money’s no matter—my life is dearer to me. I’ll need a feedback line at every level of the array that will let me know about any unwanted guests. I have to know as soon as they start looking for me.”
“Hmm, yeah…” Sergei replied, deep in thought. “I can see that your imprisonment has really rehabilitated you—as soon as you’re out you’re already in the middle of another mess. I’ll need three days and money to get everything ready.”
“Send me the invoices. I’ll pay immediately. Sergei—I really don’t want to do all this, but I have a serious premonition that if I don’t, I’ll be worse off for it. And it’s not like I can go to the cops. What am I going to tell them? You see, detective, I met someone who told me this and that? I believe that I’m brilliant and unique and that someone will hack the game for my sake? I imagine they’ll assign me to a nut ward before I’m done talking. And I can’t simply disappear either—Phoenix is going to drone on in my head for the rest of my life. That’s the long and short of it.”
“And yet that doesn’t absolve you of the requirement to record your message to the Corporation,” Sergei parried. “You know yourself that if something goes amiss, then you’ll have an ironclad alibi—since you’d notified the corporation of what was coming. Whether they react to it or not doesn’t concern you, but as an honest and responsible player, you’re obliged to submit a proper report about this flagrant violation that you found out about. Dan, if you don’t do this, they’ll sic the hounds on you later on.”
“Agreed,” I nodded. “As soon as you arrange a safehouse for me, I’ll write to the Corporation. Then I’ll also get a chance to see how the old man responds to it.”
“Okay, then I’ll be on my way,” said Sergei, standing up. “I don’t have anything to add. We need to act and…Dan, I’m very happy that you found a way out of Barliona. Expect news and some people in three days. They’ll take you to your new place of residence. Good luck to you, Mahan!”
“Good luck to you, Filin,” I replied, going all in. The time had come to end our game.
“A goodie day to yar, Sire Earl!” the alderman of Blue Mosses said in his awkward Malabarian as soon as I returned to the game. I looked around and did my best to stifle a grin—almost all of the inhabitants of Blue Mosses had gathered around me, as if demonstrating that if I say all the right things, I’ll be able to acquire a new quest. By default, Barliona’s NPCs go about their business and don’t pay any attention to the players as the latter flit about here and there, and yet since the villagers reacted to my appearance in the game by immediately gathering around me, I could safely assume that either they’re about to chase me away or ask me for help. There was no third option.
“A good day to yar too, my dear Sire Casheesh,” I replied, glancing at the alderman’s name.
“Please call me Cash,” the alderman corrected me. It’s odd—I can understand what he’s saying, but I the way this NPC is saying it is so odd.
“How can I be of service, my dear Cash?” I uttered the standard formula for receiving a quest. There wasn’t much sense in wasting time in this place, the Priests were outside of it, and yet habit becomes second nature. If I’m going to talk to the NPCs, I want to hear everything they have to tell me.
“Service? Why there is one indeed, Sire
Mahan,” I prepared myself for a new quest, when the alderman suddenly changed topics entirely: “Please remove thyself from this village within the next two minutes. If not, we will help thee. With pitchforks and torches.”
I looked around myself at the villagers gathered around us and only now noticed that they were not at all disposed in a friendly manner. Angry faces, clubs, scythes and pitchforks in hand, several people even had huge dogs on chains—it was quite a welcoming party. They had come out to meet me like I was some notorious outlaw—they couldn’t keep me from entering the village, but they could escort me out in short order. With a guard of honor and all.
“You are prepared to attack an Earl of Malabar?” I raised an eyebrow demonstratively, and turned on the aristocrat. All that I needed was for NPCs to start telling me what I could and couldn’t do in the game…Clutzer, the old man, Evolett and now it was the NPCs too. Soon enough, even Anastaria would start calling in orders.
“We request that the Earl leave the village peacefully,” the alderman went on, without blushing, “Sire Baron won’t be angry if we help thee leave.”
“So it’s like that?” I asked with even more surprise. “And you think the Baron of Klarg won’t be angry if he’s later examined about this episode by the Emperor of Malabar or the Dark Lord of Kartoss? Very odd.”
“The Dark Lord?” the alderman froze and even took half a step back. “Sire Earl is from Malabar, what Kartoss have do with it?”
“The Dark Lord of Kartoss is a very close acquaintance of mine,” I smiled, having felt my way to the beginning for our subsequent conversation. Opening the reputation chart, I highlighted the ‘Dark Lord of Kartoss’ entry and sent it to the alderman. The status of ‘Respect’—which was about 2000 points away from ‘Exalted’—is worth a lot in this game. Especially with those who hate Malabar and everything related to it. By the way! It looks like I’ve already figured out why Eluna’s Priests are losing their cows out here!
The Way of the Shaman [06] Shaman's Revenge Page 12
