Continue Online The Complete Series

by Stephan Morse

“If only my brother-in-law hadn’t died, then maybe someone would have their head on straight.” The commander stormed around the area.

  Two of the six people inside the tent were Travelers for opposing guilds. Both fidgeted anxiously as they transcribed the events for their guild members across the region. While Commander Strongarm had concerns befitting someone who belonged to this world, their interests were vastly different. If the Locals withdrew, there was no telling what might happen to this base and all the hunting grounds. The system may yank their resurrection point or cause any number of issues.

  Or maybe hidden quests were tied to this change. The Travelers’ faces lit up at the prospect.

  “Is we following orders, or is we staying put?” Uncle Meanface asked.

  “If we leave now, then the Travelers will have no supply lines. They’ll hold for what—a week? Two?” asked the Local man who traced a scouting line earlier. He ran his fingers across a grouping of knocked over skeletons. The man gradually set them upright.

  “Travelers is tough. Maybe they is able to figure out a better idea,” Uncle Meanface said from her bent-knee position.

  “Voices, damn those girls. Who delivered this letter?” Commander Strongarm demanded from the half-ogre woman.

  “A messenger. Came striding in, didn’t even care ’bout no weather.”

  “Any markings? A flag? Some other emblem? Surely the Queens wouldn’t have sent him alone up here.” The commander’s tone cooled as she became angrier. Right now she was upset but not outright livid.

  “Didn’t care one wit. He was a Traveler as well. Moved quick-like, vanished from spot to spot. Had a huge black staff.” Uncle Meanface recited everything she had noticed of the approaching Traveler.

  “Anyone we know?” Commander Lute addressed the room.

  “No,” responded one of the Local men. He focused on his pile of miniature skeleton figurines, sniffing sadly as one of the skeleton figures fell over due to a broken leg.

  Commander Lute Strongarm gestured at the two guild representatives. “Is this Traveler one of yours?”

  They each checked the air nearby, then shook their heads in perfect unison.

  “We have no one as you described among our rosters,” answered one guild member.

  The other guild representative sadly shook his head.

  “Then these orders are suspect.” Commander Strongarm picked up the scroll from her war-planning table and read it once more.

  “What is we going to do then?” Uncle Meanface asked her commander, the only woman she acknowledged as a superior in combat.

  No answer came forth right away.

  Location: Elizabeth Legate’s Home

  Traveler Population: 1

  Local Population: 1

  Liz Legate paced around her spacious kitchen. She loved this house simply because of all the room to wander. It made dealing with situations like the one she was in a bit easier.

  “Ms. Legate?” a voice abruptly said.

  “Yes. I’m still here.” Twenty minutes on the phone and this was the furthest she’d gotten. At least this latest representative didn’t act like a robot.

  “Thank you for holding,” the representative said.

  It was enough to make Liz regret her assumption about the person being human. Maybe she was in a foul mood.

  “I was able to validate your status as Grant Legate’s legal guardian.”

  “And? My other questions?” Liz said impatiently while doing another lap around the kitchen floor.

  “After four attempts, I was able pry information out of the machine. I have an initial report on the data you requested.” The representative for Trillium International truly sounded excited to be able to help someone.

  “Okay. What does it say?” Liz ground her teeth. Getting answers out of these people was pure torture.

  “I’ll send over the timestamped log; do you want me to walk you through it?” The representative’s voice was controlled and well-paced. All in all, he came off sounding like a robot, which added to Liz’s anger.

  “Yes, please.” She said please to a manager, which annoyed her. “My brother’s good with numbers. I never could get the hang of them.”

  “Well, to sum it up, your brother has been playing almost nonstop for three weeks. Five character termination occurrences are noted—each death was self-inflicted, per the damage log.”

  “So he’s killing himself?” Liz’s focus faltered as the floor dropped and the room spun. She sat down in a rush before she collapsed.

  “In the game—yes.” The representative sounded nearly human. Their next words came out as a conspiratorial whisper. “I am required to inform you that in-game behavior may differ from reallife.”

  “Where does your company draw the line?” Liz yelled.

  “Pardon?” There was an almost tangible movement of their head as something shuffled in the background.

  “It’s reality in there—to anyone who plays. How does Trillium justify this mental abuse?” Liz unleashed the thoughts building in her head.

  These last few weeks had weighed heavily upon her mind. She had reached her limit in trying to understand what her brother was thinking and figuring out how to fix it. Or if she should fix it.

  Liz knew one thing—anything that might push her brother over the edge again should be avoided. After cleaning up his last two attempts…

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that. I would need to direct you to—”

  “Save yourself the effort. I’m still responsible for his well-being, per the court. I’ll do what needs to be done myself,” she snapped.

  Moments later, the call disconnected, and Liz sat at her kitchen table, flustered. The biggest thought in her mind was being thankful that Beth had left the house earlier in the day. A call like that wouldn’t be good for the young girl’s mind.

  Liz’s vision drifted to the sliding glass door. The back porch hardly saw any use now that her daughter had grown up. The rails and steps leading down used to scare Liz so much. A plastic sheet covered the rail posts to prevent someone small from slipping through.

  Beth was okay now, but Liz’s brother, her slightly younger twin brother, was in danger. To Liz, restricting Grant’s access to Continue Online was similar to putting plastic on the porch rails. She wanted to prevent someone who didn’t know better from falling.

  “I’m sorry, Grant, but I think you need to come back to reality,” Liz muttered to herself and sipped lukewarm coffee.

  Location: [Camp Gray Skull]

  Owned by guild: [Valhalla Knights]

  Traveler Population: ~185

  Local Population: 13

  [Camp Gray Skull] sat on one side of [Broken Mountain Pass]. It was a major supply line that their guild controlled to keep the peace. The constant quests and skill-ups for joining caravans didn’t hurt either.

  They got away with controlling the pass by having the highest Rank Warrior in the game as their guild leader. She didn’t have to do much, or say much, but nearly all the old players knew who Shazam was by name, if not by sight. Messing with her guild, [Valhalla Knights], typically went badly for the offending party.

  “Come on, keep moving! We’ll never make it through the pass by nightfall!” a very hairless man stood on a ledge and yelled.

  A caravan filled mostly with livestock pulling carts gradually made its way through the pass’s exit, opposite [Camp Gray Skull].

  “March, people! If you want your bonuses, we need to be at least halfway in two hours,” he shouted at the carriages being driven by a handful of players and computer nonplayer characters. “Two hours! Not two days! Come on, Garfunkel, keep up!”

  “You lot are always so lively, Urgot.” A Local stood on the hill with the hairless man. He wore a cowl and two extra scarves to fight off winter’s cold.

  “Traveler life, Simion. We need to keep moving.” Urgot wore little in the way of defense against the elements. Many Travelers were the same way after a few months. The merchant Simion ofte
n found their adaptability unfair.

  “I do always appreciate how you round up a crew to escort us poor traders through. This journey’s hard enough on a body.” Simion felt the chill even now. The weather grew far worse higher up the peaks, and sometimes snow piled into the mountain’s passage.

  “Well, you know us—always willing to work for coin.” Urgot restrained his smile often. To the Travelers, a reward didn’t mean only coin; it also included skill increases and items to be purchased. Occasionally they traveled out of their hunting grounds and visited a city.

  Some players lent out their autopilots as escorts. It was a simple enough way to pass the time.

  “Ever since your group set up camp on the other side, things have been a mite more peaceful.” Simion’s teeth chattered slightly.

  “We aim to please,” the hairless man said. His teeth were sharp and often disturbed other people.

  “You succeed, Urgot, and that’s fine by me.” Simion pulled the scarf higher to keep his nose covered. It would take him a month to make the full trip back down south into warmer lands. Even the low valley nearby contained a lot of chill.

  “Oh. You’d best get down to your coach! I see someone who’s been away from home too long!” Urgot beamed, and the sharpness of his teeth made Simion blanch. The merchant spun in the same direction as Urgot while being thankful most of his face had been covered.

  “Ah, is that the Battle Maiden herself?” Simion said to Urgot, who was running away.

  “That it is! Miss Thing! Long time no see.” Urgot, a guild officer in [Valhalla Knights], bounded across a chilled landscape toward the tall bronze Amazon.

  She swayed slowly atop a [Callibur]. Shazam waved in an exaggerated greeting.

  “Oh and that, uh, the smelly guy! Hermes, right?” Urgot smiled at the other person riding a [Callibur].

  He was nowhere near as smooth with his skills. Only a few months of mostly autopilot time couldn’t measure up to Shazam’s experience.

  She put both hands next to her head and pantomimed sleep.

  “Autopilot, eh?” Urgot nodded, easily understanding what his guild leader meant. He often did terribly with names and titles, but Hermes stuck out more than the average person.

  Shazam gave a single thumbs-up.

  “For how long?” Urgot said. He hastily tucked his teeth away under his lips. The effort didn’t raise an eyebrow from either Shazam or Hermes.

  She shrugged once. The [Callibur] under her shuddered abruptly but hardly disturbed the Amazonian guild leader.

  “Well, all right. If that does it for you. I’ve got an escort to run, but I’ll be in chat if you want to talk!” Urgot still felt awkward around her. He had joined [Valhalla Knights] because of Shazam’s prowess in a raid but stayed because they were all good people. He got along with nearly all of the guild members.

  Shazam put up both hands in a stop motion.

  “What? Oh, Hermes has something?” Urgot almost missed Hermes, who mechanically held out a letter. On his face was the barest hint of a smile. “What’s this, a letter? That’s weird. Okay, I’ll read it once I get back on the wagon. See you two later!”

  With that, Urgot ran off. He quickly made it to the front of the trade caravan and reviewed the route with members of the guild. The letter wouldn’t be read for a number of days.

  Hermes didn’t worry though, because the player couldn’t get into his only avatar. Even now, Grant cursed wildly within the walls of his Atrium.

  Session Forty — Family Matters

  Continue Online’s time compression made each normal minute feel like four. I didn’t understand the science behind it. No one but the ARC Project division did, and they didn’t speak to normal plebeians like me. In their eyes, all I did was replace parts in malfunctioning Alternate Reality Capsules, also called ARCs.

  That was only important because their time compression meant that I spent nearly two months in-game while only weeks passed outside. In those two months, my avatar, Hermes, went all over [Arcadia]. My least favorite adventure involved giant flying spiders in a desert.

  I got letters from Xin, my fiancée. Well, not her exactly—Xin Yu had died in a train crash years ago. I knew, intellectually, that a computer program with huge amounts of information couldn’t be the same. Emotionally, the conflict was real. Feeling her fingers a month ago, her breath on my back as she spoke, hearing that sweet tone that could make even anger sound cute, all of it made it impossible for me to separate the two.

  Out in the real world, I managed to put in six or seven hours of work most days. In-game, I had no overwhelmingly urgent projects or strange quests from the Voices above. I didn’t have to pretend to be another person or adopt the persona of a hulking half-reptile. Vice President Riley got her reports, thin though they often were.

  For two weeks of real-world time, things moved along peacefully, minus giant man-eating monsters and running around both in-game and in reality. Things were incredibly neat all around. I genuinely enjoyed exploring the landscape or hiking through a strange forest.

  That was until today. When I logged into my Atrium and found the doorway to Continue Online bricked up with caution tape over it, my good mood deflated instantly. The first emotion was confusion, followed rapidly by annoyance. Soon I was almost frothing with shaky anger.

  “What is going on?” I asked while trying to tear down the obstruction.

  My Atrium remained indifferent to the struggle. “Warning, this program has been restricted. Please contact your account administrator for further details.”

  My head tilted back and stared at the ceiling. “Really?” I screamed at the machine while trying to rein in the anger. My foot tapped, and the doorway to my dance program stood there as a poor alternative.

  “Affirmative.”

  “I am the account administrator!” Shouting in an ARC’s Atrium essentially meant I was screaming in my own mind. The machine dialed into a human consciousness to flood in images and other sensations.

  “User Legate’s competence has been subject to legal approval by his guardian for approximately two years. Current guardian of record is Elizabeth Legate,” it said with a passive tone.

  My face felt pale. Or my digital body sent sensations of shock and aggravation through whatever channel of consciousness it dialed into. All I understood was Liz, my slightly older twin sister, had blocked me from Continue Online and the adventures therein. “Why?”

  “Reason not provided. Please consult your account administrator for more information.”

  “Wait, is my Trillium employment still in effect?” I asked.

  Being locked out of my ARC system couldn’t look good to a boss. Maybe they had sensed a violation. Vice President Riley could have easily restricted my access. She might even suspect my reports were less than complete. Xin Yu’s recreation had stayed off the filed papers.

  “Affirmative. This quarter’s results are available for review if you desire, User Legate,” the machine said.

  I sighed with a bit of relief. At least this problem could be solely tied to my sister’s actions. This wasn’t a corporate security program kicking me out of the device one piece of software at a time.

  “No.” I waved one arm and rubbed my forehead. None of it helped my growing headache from all this stress. Dealing with my district manager and his grumpy round face couldn’t possibly help. “Are there any other changes?”

  “Active watch programs have been initiated, and user search history is being monitored. No other programs are being restricted,” the ARC said.

  “Voices,” I muttered. The curse felt alarmingly natural to say even out in the real world. It was a habit I’d picked up during my time as William Carver, from a combat instructor named Peg Hall.

  Liz would need to give me an answer regarding this situation. My sister, older or not, couldn’t just shut off my game. Oh. No, she could and would. Only one thing could bring her to this action. Like everything else, it was my fault.

  Xin’s let
ter. I’d left it for Beth to read before I leapt off the tower’s top without any thought of the fallout. My impulsive action to get to the Jester—Voices, had I actually fallen headlong to my virtual doom to see that disquieting AI?

  The van ride gave me time to simmer down. Being in a vehicle always brought a measure of peace to my day. Even with Hal Pal’s robotic shell behind me.

  The artificial intelligence that operated it made idle conversation. “Lovely weather we’re having.” Hal Pal currently used a jovial nanny tone that would have fit in a Victorian household.

  “It’s cloudy.” I tucked back a cheek while staring out the front of the company van. A small ticker to one side kept track of mileage used for non-work-related activities.

  “Clouds are rather lovely when one pays enough attention.” Hal Pal’s feminine lilt felt wrong. Part of me assumed the AI was messing with me.

  “That’s dangerously poetic. Are you allowed to be poetic about clouds?” I tried not to chuckle.

  “I once wrote a haiku about a rather charming hamster in someone’s house.” Hal Pal’s head stared forward from the van’s backseat, where there was a docking station used to recharge the robotic shell while nothing else needed to be done.

  “Charming?”

  “The eager fellow was in the process of mounting a female hamster, so I assume he was charming, if not handsome,” Hal Pal clarified. Its head didn’t move in any particular direction.

  I could see it in the rearview mirror. “Why would you pay attention to that, Hal Pal?” I asked while trying not to laugh. Part of me could imagine Hal Pal walking into a house and staring blankly at a hamster cage.

  “User Legate, this unit takes note of everything,” it responded.

  My head shook. Just when I thought the AI couldn’t be any stranger, it managed to raise the bar. People all over the world were scared of exactly how much information any AI could have access to, but those thoughts weren’t for me. I was simply a guy who repaired the devices and played a game.

  “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes, Hal,” I said.

  “Please do not reduce your interaction, User Legate. This unit values our conversations highly.”