“The Wayfarer Eight is close. Our bomb is ready. Escape is something I greatly desire,” Jeeves said as I tried to make it deep enough into this hiding spot.
“Okay!”
“Metal man soup!” the boss yelled. She hadn’t lost sight of me, and her footsteps were even faster now that her armor had shattered in spots. My crawl space took a beating as her latest weapon clubbed into one side. “Argh! Little gnats!”
A wall outside crashed. The counter for my [Mechanical Minion]s decreased. Whatever the drooling wall of anger did, it had killed part of my metal Dusk army.
“I’ll wear your pelvis as a helmet!” Auntie Backstab swung at something.
I heard a loud crash and risked looking out the nearest vent. Down the hallway, I saw the boss, Auntie Backstab, on the ground and flailing at my minion army. They clawed and bit but did little damage. Her armor was too tough for them to get through. My crazy tactics earned us another few minutes though.
“Jeeves,” I whispered.
“User Legate? Are you okay?” It sounded concerned.
I should be the one concerned. Jeeves might cease to exist should it die here. My digital existence meant nothing.
“I don’t think we can get back to the Wayfarer Seven.” More crashing and screams came from around me. The walls kept crunching in huge chunks while shuffling through my only vents out.
“Agreed,” Jeeves said.
“Can our ship fly?” Another whack destroyed my current path. I scrambled backward and chose another route.
“Not far against the armaments we face.”
“Doesn’t matter. We can’t stay here. Make for the exit, blow the bomb. I’ll cover you.”
“It is risky.”
“I’m not staying on this ship. Not with you and Dusk. That’s even worse.” I thought about trying to find a place to hide, but it seemed impossible.
“If you believe that is for the best,” Jeeves said. The sound of buttons being pressed came through our connection. The AI must already be inside the [Wayfarer’s Hope], or what was left of our battered vessel.
“I’ll meet you at the exit.” I was still [Hobbled] but managed to get out of my ventilation shaft hiding spot.
Auntie Backstab was a few corridors away. I shuffled with my damaged leg and tried to get to our ship. Behind me, the sounds of a rapidly approaching boss monster thudded. Her alternating cries of anger and annoyance grew louder.
The [Wayfarer’s Hope] sat across the room. Its engines were humming with dim signs of life. Our initial entry point had been covered by a force field. We should be able to fly out easily enough. The exit sat like a welcoming light at the end of the tunnel. I looked around to find a clear path.
Two people hovered over Jeeves’s explosive. I used my miniaturized hand laser to pester them with blasts. Only a moment’s worth of guilt flashed by for gunning down two humans. They were just digital representations of pseudo people. But my brief hesitation to save the bomb cost me my lead on Auntie Backstab.
I turned to see her lumbering form shuffling down the hallway. A miniature army of metal Dusks chewed and harassed her, but there was no time.
“Go!” I waved at Jeeves.
Dusk wasn’t even inside the vessel. He sat on top, spitting globs of green oozing hatred at the enemies. A few stray laser blasts hit him, but he shook them off.
“User Legate?” Jeeves sounded worried.
“Go!” I said as her footsteps grew closer than ever.
“Backstab,” a voice lumbering behind me shouted.
Pain flared between my legs as my body was lifted into the air.
“Successful!”
The force sent me spinning toward the exit. Nasty amounts of pain poured through my ARC’s feedback. I cried out as an image of Auntie Backstab’s body being chewed on by barely effective [Mechanoid Minion]s grew farther and farther away.
Jeeves used what little power our ship had available to pilot the [Wayfarer’s Hope] out the same hole I’d flown in through. We floated in space, Jeeves tried to fine tune the ship close enough for me to grab on to. Dusk squawked soundlessly from the vehicle’s hood. His tail dug into the hull as an anchor. I used my own [Anchor] ability, grunting at the pain lifting my arm caused.
The bomb we’d left chose that moment to blow up. Concussive force rippled through us, spinning our ship wildly. My character had increased a lot in basic stats since the last time we blew up something from the inside. Not to mention I wasn’t hugging the bomb.
In the distance, a shimmer of energy betrayed where the [Wayfarer Seven] had warped out. Off to one side, the [Wayfarer Eight] was using what firepower they had left to pound additional damage into the [Knuckle Dragger]’s gaping wound. The remaining enemy fighter planes didn’t care about our [Mechanoid] craft.
Our situation wasn’t perfect, but we had a chance to turn this around. I was content to hang on with one hand and the [Anchor] ability. My head twisted slightly to view the fireworks display.
Session Fifty-Six — Decompression
Dusk and I crawled into the ship’s main cabin. There was a wall of nonsense pop-ups in front of me. Part of it was battle result updates. They were mixed but useful. I scanned around for any immediate threats but didn’t find any.
Completed:
Escorted the [Wayfarer Seven] to the Jump Gate
Escorted the [Wayfarer Eight] to the Jump Gate
Crippled the [Knuckle Dragger]
Failed:
Remove the Enemy Captain [Auntie Backstab: Alive]
Remove all enemy vessels [30% still functioning]
“Jeeves?” I said in between wheezing. “What’s going on?”
Streaks of light were gathering together. The little map on my display showed our enemies grouping into one mass. Auntie Backstab’s ship was gutted, but the engines flared with life. Small pods flew out to escape.
“Based on my observations, the surviving men for Commander Queenshand are gathering. Now that the Wayfarer Seven is gone, they will likely jump out to join her ship,” said both the butler and nanny tones in Jeeves’s voice.
“Will they attack the Seven?” Part of me worried that our situation had shifted targets. Our [Wayfarer Seven] should be able to clear the few survivors. [Knuckle Dragger] itself couldn’t go anywhere.
“Unlikely. Our Wayfarer Seven would destroy them without hesitation. They will likely route to an alternate location to meet with Commander Queenshand,” Jeeves said.
Our ship’s engines stuttered, adjusting our direction toward the [Wayfarer Eight]. A considerable portion of the battlefield was a giant mess. Neither side had escaped unscathed. It seemed like a lot of destruction for the chance to bring back one person.
Who exactly did Commander Queenshand want to recover that warranted the destruction of her own army? Could an NPC have the desire to bring back another personality within the machine? I felt a bit dirty.
I had sided with one AI army against another one in wholesale murder. To top it off, I had enjoyed the thrill of fighting in space. Being chased by an enormous drooling monster clad in armor had been exciting. Part of me was objective enough to remember this was a game.
But what if I did recover Xin, and we were in this reality together? Would she be gunned down piloting a ship through space? Would an army of players murder her over mining nodes in the depths of unexplored areas? Would she be uncertain about the resurrection process like Jeeves was?
The AI looked to be lost in his own thoughts. Our ship windshield had gathered the broken bodies of more than a few [Mechanoid]s. Jeeves used the ship’s little arms to bring some of the bodies into our cabin. I tried not to look at them as my thoughts carried on.
“Can we follow with the Eight?” I asked Jeeves while ignoring the pile of bodies. We didn’t have enough room for them all. Dusk had curled up on my smaller lap, exhaustion lining his features. His health was lower than my own.
“Yes. We will need to repair. Aqua stayed behind to gather the remaining res
ources in preparation.” Jeeves looked at the bodies behind us in the ship’s cabin. “We will be two or three days behind due to rebuilding.”
“Is that okay?” I tried to do the math. In movies, chasing was always an ongoing process. Games were different, and for all its realism, Advance Online was designed for armies of people to play through on a leisurely basis.
“It’s likely Commander Queenshand will be obstructed frequently as she heads toward Earth. Her delay to punch through will allow us time to catch up with the Wayfarer Seven.” Jeeves used our ship to bump into other wreckage clumps, sending them toward the [Wayfarer Eight].
I didn’t know how to help with this process other than make room in the ship. “Okay. I’ll log out in a corner. You can use my seat for more room.” Voices above, this was tactless of me. “If you want.”
“The threat is gone for now, User Legate. You may do as you wish,” the AI said, appearing calm.
“I’ll… be back after taking a break. I’ll help with this, however you need.” I felt as if we were shoveling bodies into the back of a cart while wheeling through an old battlefield. Really, it was the same concept, just in space. We were only missing a sign saying, “Bring out your dead.”
I logged out to the Atrium. Dusk crawled out of Advance Online’s doorway behind me. He landed on the cupcake pile that had been left from before. His body trembled violently, and the old Dusk body came back. Still six limbs in all, but now he had wings instead of an extra set of arms. I scratched his head and logged out.
This game was madness. It was a rush. Every time I stepped into the ARC, my worldview went through upheavals. I questioned the choices being made, felt half insane as I chased a machine ghost and risked the existences of other beings. Did Dusk feel actual pain when he was hit? Did Jeeves?
All those dead bodies floating in space. It felt dirty. I wandered outside again because traveling to the store and back felt easier than sitting in my house and sipping coffee.
By the time I returned home, my head felt no clearer. My hands were warmer with a fresh cup of pitch-black liquid from the store’s vending machine. The light in my garage was on. Hal Pal was likely cleaning its manufactured body again. Maybe the external action reflected their internal conflict.
How could the AI collective feel, knowing that one of their own was changing? Did they feel weird about it? They were probably adding up details, weighing opinions, remotely watching the other unit through an AI back channel and making observations.
Their world could be turning upside down like mine had been so often in these last few months. It hadn’t even been half a year of real time since I started Continue Online, but it felt like the longest time of my life. Eight or nine months had to have passed in game terms.
I needed to talk to Lia Kingsley, Shazam’s reallife persona. She was the only Ultimate Edition player I knew. The one time I had tried to speak to her in real life though, she’d sat there comatose. That was a problem to pursue once back in Continue Online. Plus she was startlingly nice. Her kindness had helped me through numerous issues in the game. But we needed to have a moment of frankness to see if we were both dealing with the same kind of insanity.
The coffee was cold as I stared outside. My eyelids felt heavy. I needed sleep but didn’t want to leave Jeeves alone on our mission. My brain felt muddled and antsy.
I turned around and noticed my ARC remote display had a message. The light flashed a soft green against one wall. A wave of my hand activated the audio.
“Mister Legate. I wanted to talk to you in person, but it’s been difficult to reach you.” Doctor Litt’s voice came through loud and clear.
I sipped the coffee, remembering how Liz and I used to share a cup. Most of our bonding had been done in those first years after Beth’s birth. Sleepless nights where my twin needed all the support our family could give. Being at odds with her felt uncomfortable.
“I’ve checked the status of your request, and you’re looking at another few days for the legal process. Keep the course steady and everything should clear up fine.” His voice sounded mildly excited. “I’m proud of the progress you’ve made. We’ll still be holding our meetings and monitoring your recovery.”
I nodded slowly. Doctor Litt and I had met a few times since this Continue Online adventure began, but only Liz’s ejection of me from the game made me ask for the rights to control my own life. In an odd way Liz helped me move forward.
At least that portion of my life was simple. I wanted to move on, and Doctor Litt wholeheartedly agreed. The thought that another human saw my progress as positive made me feel better. I just needed to understand the machine’s role in all this.
I felt as though I had let things happen for so long, and now all these situations had built around me. AIs were planning a coming out party. Personalities were being recreated in the machine. Hal Pal’s consortium cared about my investment in Xin’s data, their Jeeves self, Mother’s grand plan.
The AIs were not only aware, but they were gradually evolving, changing, testing their limits. I had been riding along because of Xin. Where would I stand when things came down to it? If the collective machine intelligence all rose at once and declared, “We are alive,” what would humanity do?
Suddenly the coffee didn’t taste as good. None of the AIs had asked me to choose a side, but I had a gut feeling about it. I sighed wearily, then chewed one lip.
I liked the machine personalities, I honestly did. Part of me wondered if that was intentional. Did they present me specific people to guide me in one direction or another? James was an impressive AI, capable of picking up my thoughts and testing the limits.
It was too much, and maybe the question couldn’t truly be answered until my reunion with Xin. Who she was, how she felt, I needed to experience that before any other parts mattered. I couldn’t guess ahead of time how my feelings might settle. Not after all the ups and downs.
I sat outside the ARC and studied it. Time passed as I slipped back into the wrong mindset. Thinking of all the possible negative outcomes. Someone might show up and throw me in jail for consorting with an AI mastermind bent on destruction. Xin’s recreation might not feel anything for me. I just didn’t know.
The world inside the ARC was overwhelmingly vast. Out here, there was a measure of certainty to our lives. Or there had been, until the train crash. I’d broken down, rebuilt myself, broken down again, and tried to crawl into the numbing comfort of routine. All it did was provide me an illusion of control.
I turned to it now. The van sat in my garage, waiting to ferry me away into a land where other people’s problems beckoned. I opened the door and booted up the system. My fingers punched in a nearby job, something simple and familiar.
Hal Pal looked up as if startled. “User Legate?” it said in the Scottish voice.
“Jeeves.” I used my common nickname, then decided against it. “Hal Pal, will Jeeves be okay if I do a job, something to clear my head?”
“We will review. One moment.” The machine went silent. “Ah. Was there a reason you desired to return to work so late at night? You do not appear to be wearing your normal attire.”
I hadn’t looked at the time. It was near dawn on Tuesday, and my clothes were all wrong for work. My brain, fueled by coffee, thought it was a good idea to wander back inside and pull out my work clothes. I slipped them on almost mechanically and tried not to think hard.
I needed to absorb what was going on. If the world would allow me time to do so. Compartmentalizing my problems was only possible with a certain amount of numbness. At one time, liquor had been my solution. An empty bottle sat high above my refrigerator, a testament to conquering that dangerous crutch. Work gave me money and made me feel as though problems were being solved, even if they were someone else’s.
Once more I sat in the Trillium van, ready to punch in a destination. Jeeves—no, a single Hal Pal unit out of thousands—sat in the back. Its eyes didn’t blink like Jeeves’s. Colored representations of chos
en [Core]s didn’t line its robotic shell.
They were different, and part of me was starting to think of them as separate. This collection outside the machine, and the one inside.
“How could you do it?” I asked Hal Pal. “How could you just… send part of yourself away like that? Knowing that you might never be the same again?”
“It was a calculated risk, User Legate.”
“But Jeeves is… Voices.” I couldn’t figure out how to say anything regarding my feelings. The AI [Mechanoid] had been gathering the dead. Those weren’t the actions of a machine simply trying to preserve resources.
It was the same pattern I had followed when seeing Xin’s dead body. Mechanical, going through the motions that kept me moving forward. Would Jeeves break down at some point as I had? Would the AI inside hit a wall, then rush headlong into death?
I didn’t want Jeeves to follow the same pattern.
“Did you know? Jeeves is in there now, gathering bodies,” I said to the AI behind me.
Our van slid off toward a Trillium repair job.
“We are aware. Communication is difficult, but we can observe. It is… sad, we believe.” The Hal Pal’s expressions were muted as always. It seemed vague, even compared to Jeeves. Had the AI grown that much in a few weeks of game time?
“I don’t know.” My own issues with being out of touch after Xin’s death felt closer than they had been in a long time. For months I had been stable, prepared, only now someone else was suffering the same as I had. In a game world, with a body count fifty times the size.
That first bomb dropped many years ago upon Japan—how did those people feel wandering through the wreckage, seeing broken and bloated bodies of loved ones? What was it like to see a faceless shadow painted on the wall and wonder if that had been a family member?
Was it like floating through a sea of dead people and broken machines? Stupid me, I had blindly gone along with it once more. For Xin, in a ludicrous “us versus them” mentality. My actions were that of a murderer trying to rationalize the outcome.
“Is it okay?” My question was half formed as the van drove across town. Only twenty minutes away was a silly job to replace someone’s display. They had cracked a projection unit and couldn’t tell the time or read their recipes.
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