“It is our hope that by being open with you, you will return the favor,” it responded.
“I don’t lie, Jeeves. Aside from that time as an Imp. Then I couldn’t lie. I talked too fast.” I frowned. Hal Pal knew about the [Red Imp] phase, right? It seemed to know about everything else so far.
“We have noted on multiple occasions that you are less than forthright. We do not think this is duplicity, only hesitation.”
“Did I not answer something? If you want to ask me again, I’ll try not to avoid answering.” Part of me felt guilty about it. Hal Pal was right, but I don’t think anyone shared everything on their mind. Even I didn’t feel comfortable answering some things, but I didn’t think I had ever avoided a direct question.
“Yes. We do,” it said.
“Go ahead.”
“When the portion of our consortium known as Jeeves logged out and attempted to return, we found it hard to merge once again. We are still learning how to exist as a living creature might. Is this difficulty standard for all living beings?”
“I can’t begin to understand what you must deal with trying to reconcile yourself like that. I know when Xin passed, I was changed from the man I had been. Even now, being so close to having her again, I will never be the man I once was,” I said.
“Your catalyst for change seems greater,” Hal Pal responded. “We went into this with full knowledge of what would happen, but we struggle to align ourselves properly once more.”
I tried to figure out a good answer for the AIs. We’d started this conversation with it trying to help me. Most of our conversation came back to that. From the moment we began working together, the AI’s primary function had been to provide assistance to me. Maybe becoming self-aware never changed its nature.
That idea explained why microwaves dreamed of stars. It also kind of explained why alarm clocks were complete asshats. Part of me doubted Hal Pal had ever been joking about those bits of information. I chewed one lip in thought and tried to apply a human perception to the robot’s problem.
“Do you know about white crows?” I asked.
“One moment. Ah. Are you speaking of how they are sometimes outcast due to their visible differences?”
I nodded even though Hal Pal couldn’t see me. “Not only crows. Other animals also.”
“Your example implies a borderline racism among our own consortium. We are not so petty as crows, User Legate.” Hal Pal wasn’t visible, but I knew that tone typically came with an expression of mild disapproval.
“No one thinks they are, but many of us have difficulty adapting to things that are different at first,” I said quietly. Xin had had to deal with racism during the last war’s aftermath. Every generation had problems, and when one was solved, we rotated to the next one.
“Very well. We asked for your input, and you have provided it. We will register your response as well meant.”
“This thing with Xin and the Mistborn—if it works, she’ll be back?” I asked, wanting to hear confirmation outside the game world.
“By utilizing already existing programs, we can minimize the chance of discovery and deliver her data to a new location, essentially in disguise,” Hal Pal said amid flashes of light.
I looked at the wall. Each burst of light felt hypnotic. We just needed to cue up some thunder from the truck and shout “It’s alive” over Hal Pal’s chassis.
“Okay.” I got back to Hal Pal’s answer. They were trying to smuggle Xin to me through the programming. Hopefully there wasn’t a digital mafia. James the Godfather would paint a scary picture. He might make me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Again. “I better get back in.”
“Ah. We will see you inside, User Legate,” Hal Pal said.
Its silhouette worked on seemingly endless repairs. It was strange to see the AI doing routine maintenance. Normally it just swapped out with a separate Hal Pal unit. There had been no mention of the Hal Pal unit doing self-repairs during my brief training course. Maybe something weird was happening. Could it be tied to the difficulty to reconnect with the Jeeves portion of its programming?
I logged in. My body was no longer in the [Mistborn]’s room, nor was it on the light bridge. There was a message displaying.
Ordeal Active!
You have been permitted by both [Seraphic] Nox and the [Mistborn] to pursue the [Reincarnation] quest line. Every player may attempt this quest once. No second chances are given.
Completion of this task requires escorting the [Mistborn] to [0, 0, 0] of the explored Universe. This is identified as the [Sol] System, Planet [Earth].
Success will grant you the right to choose one being to return to life.
Earth:
Mankind did not leave their home willingly. In 2321, there was an energy reaction that turned a good portion of [Earth]’s solar system into a wasteland. The creatures there are tougher than most in the Universe. It is not a place to travel alone.
Great. In game terms, this meant I would need a raid party. Would twenty [Mechanoid]s count? Probably not enough, not nearly enough. I pushed away the windows and tried to figure out where the game had put me.
“Unit Hermes!” Treasure’s metal body moved rather smoothly as she ran toward me.
I admired our ability to simulate living bodies even with these non-organic shells. Her face didn’t look happy though. Iron was running up as well, a few steps behind.
“What’s wrong, Treasure?” I asked. There couldn’t be that much wrong in the space of four hours, could there?
“Someone has attacked the Wayfarer Eight. Their consortium is crippled,” Iron said. He stood half a head above me and frowned.
“Voices,” I muttered. Saving the Wayfarers had been Hal Pal’s goal. We could really use both ships in order to complete this group quest. “What happened?”
“Their ship was in the line of fire. A squadron attacked the crew where the Mistborn was being held,” Iron said. Both of his voices sounded troubled. One arm rippled as metal plates heaved up and down.
“What?” Now I shared their troubled look.
“You heard Iron, Unit Hermes. Someone has kidnapped the Mistborn.” Treasure waved an arm.
Imagery of [Wayfarer Eight]’s broken ship hung in the air. Other ships were in the mix, ones that had been on our side in fighting the [Leviathan]. At least two were player ships.
I blinked, and for a moment, the thought from before continued in my head. Had the Voices predicted this as well? Was it all a plan? Get me to the [Mistborn], then take her away right as I committed?
The goal was simple enough. Get the [Mistborn] back. Whoever stole her would have to head to the same destination—the video game representation of Earth in a ruined galaxy. Through an entire problem that required a huge party of people to overcome.
“Wait. This might be good,” I said while nodding. “Who took her?”
“Commander Viola Queenshand,” Treasure said. Her tired voice shut down the sweet half.
Nox had warned us. Commander Queenshand must have someone she wanted to bring back as well, but who? Who would be worth going against the normal world programming which marked this quest as player only? Nox should have stood guard too. Where did she go?
“Okay.” I nodded and tried not to get distracted. Our mission had simple goals, and we had one thing to do at a time. “We have to follow her and make sure they don’t let the Mistborn die. She can die, right?”
“She’ll be sent back to the prison and we’ll be unable to access her for another two months,” Iron said.
Session Fifty-Four — The Bomb Has Been Planted
Only a few minutes had passed. I’d spent them talking to Treasure about our next steps. Hal Pal, or Jeeves, had logged in but wasn’t responding to my attempts to use the in-game messaging system. I left Treasure and Iron to find the AI.
I rounded a corner and shouted down the hallway to my friend. “Jeeves!”
The unit appeared distracted, almost lost. As I got closer, it became apparent that th
e [Mechanoid] was distracted by a blank wall.
“Are you okay?”
“I am functional, User Legate,” the AI responded calmly without moving.
“The Wayfarer Eight was heavily damaged, and Commander Queenshand stole the Mistborn.” My words were to the point. I needed to get Jeeves up to speed on the situation.
“Ah,” Jeeves said, sounding amazingly close to sorrow. “I received a message regarding this. Are we in pursuit?”
I stared at the other [Mechanoid] for a few moments. “We’re about to be. Treasure said the commander had two ships of her own. That didn’t include the player vessel. Their largest is a carrier ship. It’s blocking the warp point out.”
“Are we to fight?” Jeeves looked in my direction for the first time.
I tried to understand the emotion on its face, but I couldn’t quite pin it. Maybe frustration? It could have easily been annoyance or mild anger. That face mixed with a vocal undertone of sadness. I couldn’t tell why Jeeves was upset. Maybe the quest, or maybe the Hal Pal Consortium.
Voices, I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“Treasure has asked everyone capable of flight to help out. It’s that or give up,” I said while watching Jeeves for visual cues. [Mechanoid] expressions were human enough. The way our colors pulsed or dimmed with certain emotions helped even more.
“Mechanoids do not give up a mission. They, we”—it struggled to say the words—“will continue until the cessation of function or the desired result is achieved.”
“Victory or death?” I translated. Talking seemed to be helping Jeeves focus.
“Affirmative, User Legate.”
“Okay. I’m taking the Wayfarer’s Hope to help fight.” I looked at the discombobulated [Mechanoid]. Our conversation in the real world made me worried. “You don’t need to come if you don’t want to.”
“I will go with you, User Legate. I fought for this, and will help you see it to the end.”
“Let’s go then.”
I didn’t have enough time to sit down and sort him out, not yet, but I needed to. Jeeves and the Hal Pals had provided me help all along. They had directly asked me, “Does family not care for each other?” I would try to help him after this immediate crisis was resolved.
We ran for the [Wayfarer’s Hope]. My piloting skills might be weak alone, but Jeeves brought a lot to the table. The AI had built itself up with passives that helped manage the engine speeds, repair, shields, and even increased targeting on our lasers.
Soon Jeeves and I were strapping into the [Wayfarer’s Hope]. The ship had more room and upgrades, but nothing as impressive as Treasure or Iron’s ships. She drove something that looked like a shiny laser-barfing monster, where Iron’s ship was basically a tank.
“All Units prepare for deployment.” Iron’s voice poured into our cockpit. Jeeves pressed something behind me, and a picture of Iron’s face appeared to go along with his words.
“Ruby, Agate, Opal, you’re on fringe duty. Remove any stray sheep. Aqua, you take your three and hang back to perform repairs on the Wayfarer Eight,” Treasure’s voice piped up.
Iron was moving a half-visible arm to press buttons. “We’re up against the Knuckle Dragger, a Class three carrier with at least three hundred pilots on staff. Big, mean, with an army behind it. Estimated odds of survival through direct confrontation are sixty-four percent.”
“Neat,” I said. Part of me felt excited about the prospect of a space fight against other people. I mean, how neat would a game get where this was part of the quest chain? The other part of me remembered the stakes, and I felt my face drain of warmth. “Do you want me to call you Jeeves or Hal Pal?”
“I am Jeeves, User Legate.” The machine nodded.
I looked into our reflection on our spaceship’s front windshield. The AI had a vaguely unfocused expression, but Jeeves didn’t stop moving forward, one task at a time, in order to get ready for our descent.
“Copper, Cobalt, Steel, you’re on me. Just like we practiced,” Iron said.
Three faces of [Mechanoid]s I barely knew appeared and nodded. Their images faded from our cockpit display quickly enough.
I pressed a button to activate my own channel communication and dared to speak up. “Where do you want us?”
“Unit Hermes, your own flight skills are subpar and your ship does not excel in any specific fashion, therefore categorizing you into a squad is difficult. What would you like to do?” Treasure spoke to us.
I cringed as the [Mechanoid] listed off our problems for everyone to hear.
“Treasure, I am supporting Unit Hermes. Our capabilities will be adequate for any role you assign,” Jeeves tried to speak up for us.
I flushed red with shame. Defending our skills to a bunch of AIs who were clearly better at flying was a bad idea. Then again, we had to have a method to contribute. Ideas flashed through my head until I realized the game had already assigned me a role.
“Treasure, we’re going to stick with Iron’s unit until he gets close to the Knuckle Dragger. I’ll try to attack the ship from behind. Maybe we can do damage,” I said.
“Our goal is to recover the Mistborn. Assistance toward this goal is required to gain contribution,” Treasure responded as her image’s face nodded.
“I’ll be able to do added damage from the ship’s rear.” I cringed when thinking about the [Rear Assaulter] title, but it brought a huge bonus to damage behind enemy lines. It had worked perfectly during my duels and against combat dummies, so maybe it would work using a spaceship.
“Treasure, Unit Hermes and Unit Jeeves have increased the maneuverability and firepower of their ship by a significant amount since their encounter with the Leviathan,” Iron said. “This will improve our odds by two percent.”
“This is our best method of contribution to the consortium,” Jeeves added.
“Very well. Everyone has their part. We’ll need to break through to the Jump Gate as fast as possible,” Treasure spoke.
Our ship flared to life. The hum of engines felt comforting when compared to the silence of Trillium’s van. Their sound was low idle noise similar to an electric fence.
“You ready, Jeeves?” I asked.
“Affirmative, User Legate.”
Treasure was still talking. “The Wayfarer Seven support crew will steadily move toward the gate! We’ll hold it and tow the Eight nearby. Once there, we will warp out as a group to [Mechanoid] territories. Make sure you’re with us before we hit the jump!”
Our ship, along with dozens of others, fell from the [Wayfarer Seven]’s body. I could finally see what we were up against. A ship in the distance looked giant and mean, and around it swarmed a ton of other ships. A few were player ones that seemed to have an off-kilter formation from Commander Queenshand’s people.
“Unit Hermes, you’re with me.” Iron’s face appeared once more on our display. “We’ll carve a path inward and clear you space to dive in.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank me by performing to the best of your ability,” Iron said in deep tones as his image clicked off. That was amazingly polite for the giant [Mechanoid].
I moved the ship forward, happy to see our energy usage had decreased. This ship was vastly improved over the old one. A quick scan of the stats as we moved revealed we were at about double the old scores on everything but [Repair] speed.
“User Legate, I will micromanage our shield and damage output. If you wish to go in guns blazing, please warn me so I can maximize our survival chances,” the AI said behind me. Whatever it was pressing made a lot of beeps fill our cabin.
“You sure you want to risk this?”
The seven ships in front of me picked up speed. I felt as if we were on a rollercoaster—in space—with laser beams and high stakes. Maybe the comparison to an amusement park was a poor one.
“Affirmative, User Legate,” the AI’s female and male voices said from behind me.
“Well, I think we’ll be okay. They’re way smaller than
a Leviathan!” I tried to sound positive. This was our best chance anyway. [Mechanoid]s were stronger in a group. Even now, we had a small icon showing some passive buff being applied for each active unit.
Our squadron again picked up speed. We were in an arrow formation, pointing straight toward the [Knuckle Dragger]. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a second arrow formation filled with reds peeling away toward an edge. Their ships spread wide like a blooming flower of destruction.
Treasure’s icon on our battle map hung back near the [Wayfarer Eight]. A progress bar popped up, showing what our status was. I looked up just in time to see a giant missile cruise by even faster than our formation. It looked like a rocket rumbling along.
It reached the enemy line before we did and exploded in a shower of fireworks and metal. The Advance Online game system put up a message on my screen outlining our situation.
Enemy Flagship: [Knuckle Dragger]
Enemy Captain: Auntie Backstab
Enemy Vessels: 120 ships
Primary Goal:
Intercept the first squadron’s ship, [Lady Liberty], and recover the [Mistborn]
Current Stage Goal:
Escort the [Wayfarer Seven] to the Jump Gate
Secondary Goals:
Escort the [Wayfarer Eight] to the Jump Gate
Cripple the [Knuckle Dragger]
Remove the Enemy Captain
Remove all enemy vessels
Additional objectives possible [undiscovered]
I waved it to one side. The enemy vessels totaled twice our number. [WTS a Spaceship] was nowhere in sight, nor mentioned on the quest tracker.
Iron’s crew kicked the speed up another notch, following the blinding glare of that explosive round.
“Switching optics to wireframe mode,” Jeeves said.
Our formerly blinded system flipped around, and I felt as though everything became an old arcade shooter. The kind my father used to talk about. Low graphics, low quality.
Beams of liquid fire came across the landscape. Iron’s unit faced them head on, and small particles of angry red splashed off poorly rendered shields. Whatever was happening had barely dented the giant [Mechanoid] and his tank-like spaceship.
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