Continue Online The Complete Series

by Stephan Morse

  Session Fifty-Two — Space to Think

  Dusk and I were loaded into [Wayfarer’s Hope] for a return trip to the mothership. In the distance loomed a giant tower made of a black material that reflected sunlight. The building sat upon an even larger rock, like some island fortress with a gulf of space instead of the ocean.

  “Dusk,” I said quietly to the little guy on my shoulder.

  He let out a noise that sounded like a cat purring mixed with bird chirps. I thought it was dragon hiccups. He seemed bloated by a critter meal. How he had found time to dash off and munch on anything was beyond me. Then again, dozens of duels against other players had been distracting.

  “Does this place seem, I don’t know, familiar to you?” The tower looked a lot bigger, but it certainly held a lot of similarities. From a distance, it seemed absurdly familiar to the one I had delivered a letter to in Continue Online.

  Dusk shrugged and batted me in the head with his extra arms. I missed the dragon wings and sleeker body. This odd raptor shape didn’t feel right. His extra-long tail often felt like a rope around my neck.

  I sighed. I could ask Dusk a hundred questions, and he may choose not to respond. He was smart. I knew for a fact he understood, but there was little I could do to motivate him.

  “Can you still get into my Atrium?” I asked.

  Dusk turned and nodded slowly. There was a glint in his eyes that spoke of mild wariness. I wrinkled my nose and tried to figure out why asking about my Atrium would get that reaction. Nothing immediately came to mind.

  “If I buy you cupcakes, will you answer me?” I raised my eyebrows and reeled back to get a better view of the shoulder-riding creature.

  His neck twisted around, which almost left me facing an upside-down grin. Dusk’s rapid nod looked comical from this angle. I smiled. Bribes worked far better than repetitive questions.

  “Can I ask questions first?”

  My tiny companion nodded, then shrugged.

  “So are they similar?” It was the biggest issue to plague me since hearing about [The Lone Tower].

  Dusk nodded and rippled both shoulders, then shook his head. That caused a lot of confusion. I tried to decipher it while Dusk drooled on my shoulder. Small drips of mildly acidic material knocked my already abused health bar down one point at a time. I had barely recovered from the mess of side effects dueling induced.

  “Really? I said to him.

  Dusk nodded again, shrugged, and finally shook his head once more. I had been asking about the drool, but he took it as a repeat of my former question. So far a promise of cupcakes had bought me a mixed bag. Yes, it doesn’t matter, and no. That’s what his combination of movements implied.

  “That ghost lady in the video. This tower.” I waved at the building. “And remember me staring at that star map? It had a gray skull on it. I would bet money on it being a space version of Camp Gray Skull.”

  Dusk yawned, nodded, shrugged, then shook his head. I sighed and tried to figure out better questions to ask him. Reconciling the two games wasn’t easy. There were clear differences. It was impossible for this to be a differently skinned version of the fantasy world. For one thing, Continue Online didn’t have a giant [Leviathan] rolling around in the [Ya-Ya Mountains]. Or flying in an asteroid field, did it?

  They both had a stat system that was the same. I was sure that [Brawn], [Endurance], [Reaction], and [Respect] were words used all over the game world, but it felt too alike for me. The only difference was Continue’s freeform basis while Advance had [Core]s. Based on my research all the races were given two classes to choose from, and those merged to create unique playstyles.

  “Did they copy Continue?” I asked the small guy.

  Dusk repeated his three-motion answer. I tried not to roll my eyes in irritation. Maybe he didn’t understand the question? No. He could travel between games. Dusk was an insanely complex piece of programming that either found some form he liked or rewrote the code around himself.

  Both were kind of scary to think about. What kind of monstrous program could do that? I briefly held my breath while looking at the small black raptor with four arms. He was still salivating at the thought of cupcakes. Part of me felt insane for even suspecting him of an ulterior motive.

  I tried new questions. “Why did you follow me here, Dusk? Did you choose to? Or did the Voices tell you to?”

  Dusk shrugged, then nodded, and nodded again. I sighed wearily and felt partially justified in my paranoia regarding all these similarities. Whatever was going on, the Voices had an interest in my existence. It didn’t worry me. I didn’t think of it as people watching me, so much as I had a lifeline back to Xin.

  “I don’t get it. This game is designed by a company called A.I. Dreams…” I mused for a minute before an idea occurred to me. There was one slightly disturbing possibility. “This game. Is it made by humans?”

  Dusk’s head slowly shook back and forth.

  If this were reality, my lip would be chewed through by now. We were in a game designed by nonhuman minds. I didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. Tell Vice President Miz Riley that the ghosts inside had designed entire worlds? Universes?

  Voices. No, I didn’t feel right swearing by that at this moment. God help me. Humans everywhere dialed their minds into a playground created by artificial intelligence. On a grander scale, our species had blindly trusted our minds to the race we had given birth to.

  Well, not me. I felt strangely detached as the idea replayed over and over. My mind held still while waiting for panic to set in, but none arrived. Other suspicious thoughts occurred to me in rapid succession.

  Had the Voices altered my mind so I wouldn’t be worried? Had I known all along? If they could make me taste oranges, what else could a machine put into my head? One strange question cut through the potential panic. Why me?

  I tried to figure out why I wasn’t outraged by this revelation. Maybe time-compression technology was screwing with my perception. Maybe I was defaulting to a year of therapy teaching me to focus on simple tasks that could be solved. Maybe I didn’t care enough to suspect people who had been nothing but helpful.

  The AIs plotted and manipulated. They poked and prodded at my feelings. Voices had dangled rewards and punishments in front of me. Others stood by me, helped support me in the challenges placed along my path in games and out in the real world. Those were not the actions of a mad race plotting to take over reality and displace humanity.

  They were the actions of beings trying to help a broken man move forward by any means available. That realization both reassured and oddly disappointed me. I had kind of looked forward to being an armor polisher for our future robot overlords.

  The Voices weren’t helping only me. Shazam, or Lia Kingsley, was also being assisted by the intelligence inside the ARC. One Voice in particular had sought additional information about Lia’s reallife situation in order to help her. But why? I needed to find another Ultimate Edition user for reference.

  Dusk chirped in confusion and tilted his head toward me. I could see the reflection of my spaceship on a Wayfarer window. We must have docked at some point while I sat lost in thought.

  “So they’re the same, but not the same,” I muttered to help piece things together. “If the game is designed by this A.I. Dreams company, why does a lot of it feel like Continue Online? Even the name is similar. They’re, what’s the word…”

  A voice from outside the ship interrupted my attempt at understanding, “I believe the word you are looking for is synonym, User Legate.”

  “Hey, Jeeves. You’re back.” I lost my train of thought and tried not to let suspicion cloud my interaction with the AI. Jeeves had been kind to me. It had stood by me while dealing with Liz. It had insisted Xin Yu was real within this landscape.

  “Affirmative. Treasure has informed me that you received approval to meet the Mistborn. You will need to gather with the consortium,” it said.

  An icon popped up displaying the quest results.
I waved away the message and nodded to Jeeves’s question but moved slowly to get out of our ship. The AI pointed down a hallway, and we walked. My pace felt sluggish while visually, everything blurred.

  “Are you all right, User Legate?” The paired female and male tones of Hal Pal cut through my fog.

  “Maybe.” My forehead wrinkled, and I studied the AI for a moment.

  Jeeves didn’t seem to notice as we continued down the [Wayfarer Seven]’s corridors. “Is it anything I can assist with?”

  “Not really. I’m trying to sort myself out.”

  We reached a giant doorway. I had never been to this room. Dusk hopped down and sniffed the sealed passageway.

  Hal Pal’s—Jeeves’s—eyes considered me. “Aren’t we all?”

  I returned its gaze and sheepishly shrugged. The AI nodded but otherwise remained neutral in its expression. Jeeves’s mission was to grow as an individual through separation from others of its kind. Its problems made my own seem slight in comparison. Being bereft of its kind must be difficult.

  “So this tower,” I said, refocusing my mind on the game. “We are picking someone up?”

  “The consortium believes we will escort the Mistborn to a safer location.”

  “But you don’t?” I raised an eyebrow. It sounded as though Jeeves had set up something that went against the consortium.

  “Negative, User Legate. If she meets with you, the outcome will be different. I have done what I can to ensure this happens.”

  We traveled up a floor using a ladder.

  “Why?” I asked between grabbing rungs.

  “To help. When you speak with her, be honest. She must be convinced of your worth.” Hal Pal hung off to the ladder’s side upon reaching the desired level.

  “Why are other players here then? Can she help anyone?” The whole process confused me.

  “Treasure and I have spoken at length about this situation. The Mistborn’s abilities are desired by many races. They each cleared their own hurdles to arrive here,” it said as we approached an excessively ornate door.

  “Oh. Neat.” I remarked on both the doorway’s design and this [Mistborn] being a target for other people’s quests. A high-profile target should be sought by multiple players or the game aspect would be ruined.

  “Your desire to join their combat ranking benefited the consortium. Iron himself expressed pride that one of our own has a chance to access her gifts,” my AI friend said.

  There we stood in front of the huge door, chatting away about my performance. [ByteMite]s ran around cleaning nooks and crannies. Footsteps echoed down the hall as someone approached. I opened my mouth to ask Jeeves a question, but another voice overpowered me.

  “You did well enough for a machine,” the new person said.

  I glanced over to see the same armored woman from before. She and her entourage had arrived from the opposite direction. Under her arm was a thick ring object that had small lights blinking in a pattern. It matched her heavily padded armor. Maybe it was also a form of armor?

  “Unit Hermes. This is Commander Queenshand. She and many others helped us bring down the Leviathan after your initial blow,” Jeeves said. The professional butler tone overpowered its female speech.

  “That beast was a plague upon the sector. We would have brought it down a month ago, but our presence here was drastically reduced,” she said, her words crisp. Commander Queenshand seemed to have no time for any nonsense.

  “Politicians.” One of her guards sniffed.

  The Commander turned and glared for a moment. Impressively, all three of the people behind her managed to keep a straight face.

  “Thank you, Commander Queenshand,” I said with a nod.

  “Let’s go in.” She didn’t respond to my attempted politeness. The woman clearly had no desire to waste time with us mere [Mechanoid]s.

  Being brushed off so quickly felt odd. Most NPCs or AIs chatted away.

  The large doorway drew apart at the middle. Metal rippled and flowed as the walls swallowed excess matter. Commander Queenshand walked right in without waiting for either of us. An entourage of armored clones walked in behind her. Jeeves gave a small smile, then waved one hand for me to enter next.

  Inside was the robotic version of a Roman theater. Our audience consisted of only [Mechanoid]s. I saw Treasure, Iron, Emerald, and many others. Even Ruby, a [Mechanoid] I had only met once, shortly after starting the game, sat on one side. In between them was an entire rainbow of colored machines. Jeeves walked into an open spot on the second level.

  Commander Queenshand, her escorts, and the two other winners of our duels stayed on stage. They had arrived before me. We were key actors on this oddly set stage. There was one other person down here with us. A person so dark that light blurred around them like a black hole.

  Looking in her direction hurt, but I couldn’t help it. I tried hard to close my eyes, to blink and look away. Each attempt to swivel my neck met with an almost mechanical realignment in the figure’s direction.

  I took a deep breath and played music in my head. This tune could only truly be played by live instruments, before an era full of digitized sounds. Strings slowly played in my mind, and one foot tapped in distraction. I only managed to look away for a few seconds at a time.

  It felt like forever before anything happened. In the depths of that creature’s darkness, I thought there was an amused smile. The person’s head shifted toward Commander Queenshand.

  [Resist: Seraphic Aura] skill learned

  +2 [Wisdom]

  +4 [Tenacity]

  [Tenacity]: is the baseline measure of a person’s mental strength in the eyes of others. As a socially oriented skill, higher [Tenacity] will only impact how denizens of this reality view you.

  Some skills, traits, and tasks may only be provided at certain [Tenacity] ratings.

  The messages faded away as I tried to look over the person’s shoulder. This was my first encounter with the [Seraphic], outside of Dusk’s theoretical genetics. My [Messenger’s Pet] was oblivious to the [Seraphic]’s presence. His [Tenacity] must be through the roof. It couldn’t be [Wisdom]—Dusk got in a fight with everything that moved. Even now he was rocking toward a [ByteMite] cleaning the theater steps.

  “Welcome, Commander Queenshand, Pattern Smith Jeeves, Rear Assaulter Hermes.” The well of darkness used that dreadfully gross title. I felt one step away from being in a bad porn movie. Our speaker sounded vaguely like a man, but distortion made it difficult to tell.

  “Seraphic Nox, I am here once again to formally request access to the Mistborn,” the upright Commander stated. She looked angry at having to stand amid all these people.

  “It has always been the decision of this council to deny all children of our reality access to creatures such as the Mistborn,” the [Seraphic] said.

  I felt confused by the lack of a health bar or name tab above this Nox person.

  “I cannot sit by and allow her gifts to be squandered on these Old Souls once again.” Commander Queenshand stood tall, even in the face of such a mesmerizing existence.

  Now that my head was clearer, it was easy to appreciate how this game had drawn me in.

  “You have little choice,” the creature known as Nox said. “Violation of the laws has consequences.”

  I tilted my head, and Dusk shifted his weight while mirroring my perplexed look. Jeeves looked in our direction but said nothing. Looking at the [Seraphic] hurt far less, and small indicators to one side showed the [Resist: Seraphic Aura] going up in chunks.

  “Very well. I assume any attempt at making you see reason will be met with failure as always.” She set her jaw and kept an unblinking glare on the person made of darkness. “My troops and I will be removing ourselves from this sector shortly.”

  Commander Queenshand turned and marched right out. The movements of the troops following her were well paced and fluid. Without an [Inspection] skill, I had to guess at their actual abilities. Whatever classes they were programmed with must
be high.

  Nox turned to the crowd of [Mechanoid]s watching. The mess of mechanical beings shared the same general passive expression. They seemed to be witnesses to our situation, but little more.

  “Take note, members of the Wayfarer Seven Consortium. There will be trouble.”

  “There is always trouble.” Treasure, Emerald, Ruby, and Iron somehow shared the sentence between them. Echoes of paired voices filled the stage.

  Behind the rows of [Mechanoid]s sat the [Wayfarer Seven]’s walls, giving a finite size to our stage. It looked as if the five [Mechanoid]s standing in the first row were considered more important. Everyone behind them was a little less colorful. A blue-lined [Mechanoid], a thin male shell I had never interacted with, stood in the same row as Treasure.

  “We share a hope that by having one of our own gain favor, things might be different,” they all said again all at once.

  A message popped up. Apparently another player wanted to talk to me through the game system while the NPCs spoke.

  Beatdown [The Red Leg]: Careful. The last four attempts on this quest ended with everyone dying. Escorts included, assuming anyone gets approval.

  [Rear Assaulter] Hermes: [Mechanoid]s escort this Mistborn?

  Beatdown [The Red Leg]: You got it. It’s in our best interest to work together. There’s never been a [Mechanoid] doing it before, maybe this will make a difference like they said.

  [Rear Assaulter] Hermes: Thanks.

  Beatdown [The Red Leg]: Wait until the ship moves. It’s a trip. Thought I was high as fuck the first time.

  Beatdown [The Red Leg] was one of the players I had done practice rounds against. He used a supersonic chirping in addition to high-speed moves to disorient me. I didn’t win any of our three rounds. The downside was his race couldn’t talk like normal.

  It was kind of neat.

  “All three of you have competed among yourselves for the right to stand here. I have witnessed these battles and approve of your opportunity to speak with the Mistborn,” Nox spoke to us.

  I paid attention to the [Seraphic]’s words rather than looking at my list of system messages.