Shades

by Eric Dallaire

  Another cluster of people argued amongst each other, wagering their money to choose the winners of today’s skirmishes. A decade ago, the contest had started as an underground, invite-only event. Legendary battles and grievous injuries had grown the popularity with each match until the meta.duel, or the meta-dot, became the de facto tournament to crown the best of the best. Authorities allowed the tournament to flourish for the simple reason that it funneled the activities of the bored into an outlet that distracted them from more disruptive habits. This practice was not dissimilar to a city allowing graffiti artists free access to old buildings to satisfy their muses, or putting chalk and blackboard up on the bathroom wall to discourage vandalism.

  Along the western wall, a butler dressed in black and white served drinks on an ornate wooden bar. Six people surrounded the counter, all engaged in the same conversation. While I debated which corner to approach first, a distant roar, possibly an explosion, shook the floor and walls. This disturbance did not go unnoticed by the Tower's current lord, who addressed the assemblage with a booming, disembodied voice.

  “Vassals, guards, and knights, assemble. The Bogatyrs are back!” bellowed the Hochmeister. A simple translation echelon placed on the statue allowed him to broadcast his baritone voice across his Tower. “Man the turrets! All black knights must report to the ramparts and repel the invaders! And someone fetch the bards to record our majestic rout of these barbarians!” The reference to the 'Bogatyrs' told me that this week’s meta.duel contest pitted the Hochmeister’s Teutonic Knights against a formidable Russian team. Both sides fancied medieval constructs and wielded strong offensive echelons.

  I froze to avoid hitting two knights in full plate mail sprinting into my path, answering the call to arms from their 'lord'. Their deadly energy lances summoned to their hands mid-stride, forcing me to shift away to avoid getting impaled.

  “Watch it, newcomer,” warned the taller of the two knights. The rude response stoked my curiosity. With three subtle finger flicks, I activated a true seeing echelon. The program allowed my altered eyes to perceive the code layer flowing around the knights. I looked past their steel armor to reveal the real people beneath the illusionary exterior. These two warriors were the Jacoby twins, both casting from a social virtual club in Brisbane, Australia. The two had risen up the ranks of the meta.duel due to their infamous talent to coordinate near-instantaneous cooperative attacks. Before I gleaned any more information, they invoked powerful summoning echelons. Two yellow glowing spheres of energized proto-matter coalesced to form two hippogriffs, half-horse and half-eagle mythical creatures. The two knights climbed on their mounts and flew off to engage unseen foes attacking the tall ramparts.

  Once a competition started in the High Tower, there were few rules that governed the actions of the combatants inside the v-cast arena. Not unlike a more physical game of chess, the duel favored those with a gift for tactical planning and innovative adaptive strategy. But the true masters of the game possessed two crucial traits: a manic creative ingenuity to bend a virtual world to their will, and the natural skill to weave shrewd echelon battle code in real-time.

  Today, the current meta.duel took the form of a castle siege between two opposing armies. The Teutonic Knights had crafted a walled castle to repel their enemies. Tall walls and fortifications stretched into ominous gray clouds, visual metaphors for complex code arrays and sophisticated programs made tangible by the High Tower’s generators. To counter, the Bogatyrs would in turn devise an imaginative construct for their siege. It was like the classic king-of-the-hill game that kids played outdoors and in video games, but in this arena it was the highest art of real-time programming and echelon design.

  With the conflict resolved, I decided to speak with the butler who doubled as a bartender for a group of young warriors. He was a young man, possibly a novice coder looking for an invitation to join the Knights.

  “What can I get you, milord?” the butler said. “A cold ale or hot mead, may-haps?”

  I grimaced from the boy's forced accent. I was only one 'thee and thou' away from losing my mind in this fantasy construct.

  “A beer is fine, thank you…good sir,” I said, feigning a smile. To his credit, he recognized that I was not v-casting, and poured real beer from his tap and not artificial printed fluid for the ghosts. I wasn't hiding the fact that I was visiting in person at the moment, though I could with a finger flick. Talented v-casters knew how to create convincing forms that could fool all but experienced echelon wielders.

  The cold, bitter ale was a welcome taste. I took a moment to steady my nerves and let some of the mounting frustration flow out of me. While he cleaned a dirty glass, I set the glass down, leaned in, and honored the venerable detective tradition of interrogating the bartender.

  “Maybe you can help me, friend. I'm looking for a man named Andrew Wright. Have you seen him?” I said loud enough for nearby patrons to hear.

  “Ex-excuse me, sir?” stammered the butler. The question rattled him. While pouring another drink, half of it spilled onto the bar. “I don't know an Andrew, I'm sure.” The boy lied to me. But why would he want to protect a drug-dealing scum like Andrew?

  “Maybe you don't know him by name,” I responded, polite but insistent. “He's just a little taller than I am and he has blond hair...”

  I didn't get to finish my description before two of the other patrons by the counter edged closer, a robed man and his fully armored companion.

  “He clearly said he doesn't know the man you're looking for,” hissed the red-robed man. He drew closer, revealing his round face and cruel sneer hidden within the hood. Most telling, tiny green flecks discolored his blue eyes, a clear sign that he was 'flying' with Ick. Arcane markings on his robes indicated a senior wizard rank in his order. While my eyes tried to decipher the symbols, he slipped two vials of his drug into a deep pocket.

  “I meant no offense, but it's important that I speak with Andrew now.”

  His companion, a short, stout, and gruff man-at-arms dressed in silver chain mail, brandished a grim-looking ironbound crossbow. His staggering gait and the stink of beer and wine on his breath told me not to expect any reasonable dialogue with this one. Glimmering green speckles in his brown eyes betrayed his Ick addiction as well.

  “Who invited you here?” said the man-at-arms, his hand cradling the firing mechanism for his crossbow. “I don't think you're welcome any more. Leave.”

  The raised voices of the two men had drawn attention. More of their comrades turned to watch, but held their ground, seeming confident enough in their friends' abilities. A few pointed in my direction and laughed, eager to witness my inevitable bloody ouster.

  “It may be too late and a bit cliché to say this, but I am not looking for trouble here,” I said. Clearing my throat, I made one more attempt at diplomacy. “My good men, uh, perchance allow me to purchase a round of pints for your trouble?” It was official. I couldn’t roleplay if my life depended on it, because it did. Judging from their scowls, this conversation would end in violence. As they drew closer, my mind sketched a plan to deal with both. Not difficult in their condition, though the trick would be not to reveal too much of myself.

  The blue wizard moved first, pulling out a slender wand from his robes. At the end of the weapon, rivulets of white lightning sparked. With a flick of his hand he sent an arcing electrical bolt my way. Though the echelon was a primitive one, the danger here was real. If the attack struck a virtual body, it would disintegrate and the v-caster could simply reform another body when proto-matter became available. Against my true, physical body, the strike would paralyze my nervous system and electrocute me.

  Anticipating a clumsy attack, my hand initiated a protective echelon before the electrical field struck me. A cocoon of lightning surrounded my body, flickering around the thin, invisible shield protecting me from harm. Guessing that my assailants didn’t see my counter, I convulsed and pretended to stand rigid. The wizard and the ma
n-at-arms started to laugh at my immobilization and their other friends quickly joined their celebration. When the lightning stopped flowing around me, I stood very still, like I was frozen in place.

  “Well done, zauberer!” said the man-at-arms to his wizard companion. “Forgive the jest, but perhaps I should say that this uninvited guest is well done instead,” the man-at-arms joked as he approached me. “I suppose it's time to take out this trash--”

  The man-at-arms reached out to grab me and at that moment I dropped my protective echelon, unleashing all of the electrical energy back at the man-at arms.

  “Help!” wailed the man-at-arms. The scalding energy heated his metal armor to an unbearable temperature and, tightened, all his muscles started to spasm.

  “Now, I'd like to ask again about Andrew,” I said in a calm voice to the wizard. “I have no interest in you, the Hochmeister, or your duel. Just let me talk to him and we can all go back to enjoying our drinks.”

  Startled, the wizard raised his wand. On his other hand, his fingers wriggled around his virtual console to prepare a different echelon. Then the rest of people around the bar joined the crowd. These four appeared more competent than the first two. Approaching first, another robed wizard bearing a long white beard and gnarled staff walked toward me. Beside him, a wild-looking behemoth of a man grumbled through an unkempt brown beard. Occupying the rear, a woman assuming the v-cast form of a Tolkien-inspired high elf nocked an arrow into her ebony longbow. Last came the clear leader of the group, a broad-shouldered knight wearing ruby-studded armor. His faceted breastplate glowed with the insignia of the hippogriff and the hammer, sigils of the Teutonic Knights.

  “You made a big mistake coming here,” chided the knight. His hand was glowing with an offensive echelon already evoking from his fingers. A shimmering haze took the form of a giant red and gold hammer hovering over the space between us. The fearsome weapon floated in midair under his control, waiting for a command to bludgeon me senseless.

  “He's with the Russians. I’m sure of it,” I heard one of them whisper.

  “Was that a level five echelon he used?” another said in a hushed nervous tone.

  “Should we take him to Heinrich—damn, I mean the Magier-Hochmeister?” asked a younger squire standing behind them. The out of character slip would cost him for using their leader’s real name in front of a knight.

  “The Magier-Hochmeister is looking for good humor today. Perhaps sentencing this one will cheer him up,” the ruby knight said. He turned and regarded me with a stern expression. “Surrender and follow us. The Hochmeister will judge you.”

  Odds appeared to be against me here. Even if I managed to disable these warriors, more would see the battle in this wide-open space and fight against me. Without Sasha's additional guidance and speed with echelon retrieval and formation, the disadvantage looked too great. Part of me, that dumb, competitive, angry, still-youthful part of me that wisdom suppressed, screamed to unleash a storm of pain against these novices. But my wisdom saw a compromise, a way out, and maybe even a better opportunity if I played along. So I dismissed the console around my right hand and raised my arms in surrender.

  “That was your first wise move since coming here,” the ruby knight said. Two of the guards jumped onto me quickly, and one frisked me roughly and removed my grav-gun.

  “Like I said, I want no trouble,” I said with a few extra decibels of meekness in my tone. “I'll follow you to your leader.”

  Escorted by the ruby knight and his flying hammer, I walked through the rear of the foyer and through the keep’s hanging garden. Above, a sprawling canopy of foliage grew around a white trestle roof. Below, exotic floral varietals sprouted around the walkways, almost lighting the way with their vivid colors. The beautiful mirage was augmented with the addition of aromatic molecules generated by the v-cast generators, tricking even the most discerning nose and eye that everything was real.

  We continued through a stone corridor guarded by a pair of armed men dressed in leather hide armor. They nodded and allowed us to enter a stone corridor that snaked through the outer keep, and into a descending narrow staircase. Our footsteps echoed over the cobbled floors. Moss grew on the old, cracked walls. Every inch of the path felt like an authentic medieval castle. As we walked, I heard my armored escorts chatting about the battle raging above the walls.

  “Our black knights just routed two wings of Drakun Bogatyr riders,” reported the white-robed wizard behind me. The others responded with their version of applause, clanging their weapons against their armor. The Hochmeister appeared to have this meta.duel well in hand.

  Winding through the corridors, it became apparent that the definition of the castle declined as we traveled deeper. As we approached a forked intersection, we paused before a patch of absolute darkness.

  “Damn sloppy code,” the ruby knight mumbled. He accessed his wrist-com and changed the parameters of the keep’s construct program. With a few quick modifications, his revised program conjured a row of torches that flickered to life and we continued on. While the knight admired his handiwork, my hand inched behind my back. Muscle memory took over; my fingers splayed out and tapped silent commands. I didn’t need to see the console to evoke the bend-light echelon. This simple and effective program obscured the display of my wrist-com’s display, in case I needed to weave an emergency hack unnoticed.

  “Much better, brother,” said one of the warriors.

  After ten minutes of travel through the dim stone maze, my eyes averted from a burst of sudden sunlight. We reached the massive inner courtyard of the Hochmeister’s castle. A hundred-yard field of grass swayed from a light breeze blowing through the sprawling courtyard. Four sentry towers stood tall at the corners of the wide green yard. Circling their peaks, a squadron of black knights patrolled the blue sky on graceful hippogriffs. Beyond the clouds, more of their mounted brethren fought a savage combat against a flock of large reptilian creatures. Silhouettes of winged monstrous shapes appeared when fire blasts scorched up the sky. Then a shift in the skirmish brought the combatants to a clear patch of sky. It became apparent that the invaders rode fearsome red war dragons, each controlled by an elite rider of the Drakun Bogatyr. This battle-hardened clan of Russian hackers ranked second on the global meta.duel leaderboards, behind the Knights.

  Against the north wall of the courtyard stood three ten-foot-high siege weapons, a twenty-foot-wide trebuchet, a huge ballista, and a catapult loaded with fiery rocks. These machines served as powerful defensive countermeasures against the invaders. Thirty-four worker shades, dressed in dirty servant tunics and ragged pants, pushed the heavy devices into firing position. These dead men and women wore tattered clothes bearing the insignias of professional global clans. Fallen members of Les Nobles Chevaliers, the Crescent Cataphract, Caballeros De La Muerte, and even a lieutenant from the Minotaur Men all worked without complaint. These husks that once dared to fight the Hochmeister in person now protected his virtual kingdom. It was a grim reminder that the meta.duel, while a game at its core, meted out harsh punishments for the defeated.

  In the center of the courtyard, flanked by a dozen armored guards and four men in different colored robes, sat the Magier-Hochmeister on an enormous jeweled throne. He wore an iron helmet sprouting three sharp ivory horns. Gleaming, black plated armor covered his tall body. After a loud roar from high above caught his attention, he gazed upward. One of the Bogatyrs atop a smaller red drake broke through the defensive line of knights. The enemy rider hurtled straight down toward the courtyard. Fiery contrails and black smoke followed behind the plummeting creature. The Magier-Hochmeister laughed and stood up to his full height of eight feet. When he raised his gnarled force-staff, his flowing lavender robes parted. Emblazoned over his heart, the clan's hammer insignia burned bright red on his obsidian breastplate. To say he appeared formidable understated his dread appearance. He looked invulnerable.

  “Ignis,” he growled, evoking his hack spell. The st
aff erupted with a forked white lightning bolt that arced through the space between, scorching the flying creature and its hapless rider. As they both tumbled toward the ground, the rider's v-cast proto-matter disintegrated, leaving only red-hot glowing particles to rain down.

  Holding his smoking weapon aloft, the Hochmeister struck an imposing visage. I repeated to myself that this towering monster of a man was not real. Underneath the trappings of his giant form, he was a man like me. He used a programming language to wrap himself in digital armor. I spoke, read, and understood that language and I could bend it to my will. He would not shake me. The mantra worked and I calmed enough to keep my focus.

  “What is this interruption, Sir Allimander?” the Hochmeister bellowed, tapping his staff to the stone floor. This caused a booming thunderclap to shake the area. With his left hand, he evoked his wrist-com, while his fingers wove an analytic echelon. Judging from the purple hue around his interface’s display, I guessed he sent a data hound to investigate me. Most competent hackers, like me, kept their identities hidden behind a wall of protective code, fake aliases, and security layers. Whether his tracker program could discover my true identity through a web of aliases and subterfuge would prove to be an interesting test of the Hochmeister's skills.

  “Forgive me, my liege,” begged Sir Allimander the Ruby Knight on a bended knee. “This intruder sought to interrogate a squire under your protection and assaulted a blue zauberer.”

  The Hochmeister's brown-bearded face frowned, his violet console brightening. He gave a curt nod to the four court wizards flanking him. They obeyed by bringing up their own hand-consoles to aid with his investigation. A silvery, transparent thread materialized between the wizards as they serialized their efforts to scan me.