“Don’t you owe me something? Anything? Haven’t I delivered your letters and done your quests?” I yelled.
At the very least they could consider my idea. Why weren’t any of the Voices arguing in my favor? Even James appeared content to remain passive when normally the figure was all about questions.
“We owe you no more than you’ve already received. The gift you were given works only on those outside our little bubble,” the Jester continued.
I nodded. There was an answer there. The idea had come to mind before. [NPC Conspiracy] was limited to those outside this blackened side of the room. Yet, there were clearly two sides. Hermes, the large sword-wielding human who traveled around, was one side. Hermes, the [Mechanoid] who negotiated to save the lives of his people, was the other.
“ARC,” I said.
“Awaiting input.”
“I need Hal Pal.” Asking for Jeeves seemed impossible. Jeeves might be dead; he might not be. I would soon find out. That was the entire point of this, aside from being angry at the Voices. My new plan was to get the Hal Pal units to agree with me and hope they outnumbered the Voices, or that they could connect me directly with Mother.
From there I would plead my case.
“Inquiry, Hal Pal units are numerous, please quantify your request,” my ARC said.
“All of them,” I responded.
Multiple Voices stared at me from the darkness.
“Confirm.” The ARC device required verification for this action. I could swear I heard surprised confusion in its tone, but the machine wasn’t programmed for emotions.
Was it?
I stared at the Jester’s face. It looked back with that ever-present grin that felt disturbingly amused. James stood to one side, hands clasped over his belly. Behind them, and numerous other Voices, was a single pillar of light shining down on the book. My book, Continue Online’s representation of this journey so far.
If this was to be the story of my life, then perhaps it was time to stop limping along. Steadily working toward a goal had gotten me this far, but simply progressing wasn’t enough. I had to push back, to scream in rage. Only it had been so long since I dared feel that level of anger. It went against my nature to be this upset.
Being endlessly tested, being pushed, it was a lot to bear. Either the Voices needed to work with me, or stop interfering with my hopes of being with Xin’s digital continuation. Either I was accepted for who I was, or I wasn’t.
“All of them,” I said.
The world sat noiselessly for five seconds, ten, then thirty. After that, the gray side of the room rippled as units appeared from the real world. At first, only a few showed up. Then dozens streamed in, hundreds, and the group continued to grow.
As the Hal Pal units appeared, Voices faded in. The room was becoming crowded, and my vision wasn’t wide enough to take them all in. Hal Pal and Advance Online filled one side. Continue Online and the Voices occupied the dark half. Uniform rows of Hal Pal units mirrored a motley crew of Voices.
Those Hal Pal units that came into being overlapped each other to stack in clumps. A pile of ten merged with another gathering until only a few Hal Pal units existed against a fading wall of Voices.
“User Legate.” One of them nodded in my direction.
I would have waved, but my arms were barely responsive.
New beings that did not resemble Hal Pal units appeared on the Advance Online side. They were sleek and gray, with rubbery skin that mimicked human skin. These new ones were odd creatures: a giant analog clock with jets on its back, stylish trash cans, and dozens more.
I tried to understand what each possible AI related to in the real world but gave up. This show, like the Voices before, left me momentarily sidetracked.
My eyes drifted toward a bundle of small lights. They reminded me of miniature suns spitting off small waves of plasma. “What are those?”
“Those are microwaves,” one Hal Pal unit said with a muted smile. “They dream of being stars, remember, User Legate?”
“I thought you said it was a joke.”
“It is.”
I didn’t know how to evaluate their statement. The idea that Hal Pal hadn’t been joking when speaking of other AIs startled me. My head shook. This virtual world made it easy to get distracted. In here, no one needed to follow the normal means of travel. Voices appeared and disappeared. Multiple AIs occupied one space and spoke with a singular tone.
It was overwhelming for a simple human. This was akin to swimming with whales. They were giant creatures who could do laps around me while my body barely tread water to stay afloat. This was a virtual ocean to drown in. The ground only existed because someone had programmed a plane to stand on.
Did other players know? Were they aware of the beings that loomed inside the machine, looking down, judging, evaluating, and pulling strings? Shuffling people around like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite match? How simple did we look to beings like the Voices?
The Advance Online gray landscape was filled with a varied crowd now. Voices faded in and out as interest waxed and waned. This felt like watching an army of cats stare at one made of dogs. Finally, both masses looked to be done with their posturing and turned toward me.
I blinked for a few seconds. That was a lot of eyes facing my way. My head shook again, trying to reduce the amount of feedback being presented. The AIs registered my being bewildered, and half of both crowds faded away.
“You called us, User Legate. How can we help you?” one of the remaining Hal Pal bodies said.
I froze. My stupid desires had destroyed the Jeeves personality. I could have waited out my time patiently and gone back to Continue Online. Xin wasn’t being deleted, or uninstalled, or moved to a faraway digital land.
“I’m sorry.” Keeping it together was easier than it used to be. “I failed, and Jeeves paid the price. Treasure, Aqua, the others. They shouldn’t have died just to help. I know…” I wanted to pull at my hair. My hands moved a little, just enough to rub one eye in agitation. “I know they’re just data and that some will be okay, but they suffered for me. Jeeves especially.”
An image crossed my mind of the AI tearing out his heart to give to Treasure. That one instance had demonstrated the former Hal Pal member’s ability to feel pain. How bad had the final blows which shattered Jeeves been? My chest ached as I tried to understand that level of damage.
“What can be done?” I said. My words felt weak. I wanted to yell, but the Voices’ song and dance had distracted me long enough to drain the rage.
I remained in place, straddling the line between virtual worlds, staring at a representation of the ARC device. My eyes were dry. The quivering nervousness that might have accompanied such a stance between all these virtual giants was absent. I was used to fighting huge monsters like the [Leviathan]. The AIs didn’t scare me, but pushing them was clearly impossible.
Being able to handle such a situation without crumbling was a huge step. What would Doctor Litt think? Would he applaud me taking responsibility? I hoped so.
“What needs to be done?” a Hal Pal unit asked.
“Jeeves? He, she”—the AI had never gender identified, so I tried hard not to presume—“was worried that he might die. Can you make it so he doesn’t die? So that he recovers like a player, or like the other Mechanoids would?”
“We share your worry, but this decision is not up to us.”
“Mother then?” I asked. “She-Mother could bend the rules for Jeeves?”
“Of course she could.” A separate unit nodded.
Selena, the blond distant Voice, was also nearby, and she nodded as well. Her locks fell forward, and the sound of soft rain could be heard for a moment.
“Can I ask her? Jeeves shouldn’t have to pay the price for my failure,” I said.
Light flashed above. The landscape beneath my feet blurred. I surveyed the room and tried to understand what had happened to make the gray and black bleed together. None of the Voices were looking at
me. My eyes shifted to the Hal Pal units and other AIs. They were also focused elsewhere.
I gradually followed their gaze to the ARC device. A familiar woman sat on top. Gold-laced legs crossed. Silver intertwined the gold to trail up her body. Those colors were familiar, but the body was human-looking.
It was Treasure, but she was no longer a [Mechanoid].
“Hello, Grant,” she said. “You wish to speak with me?”
“Treasure?” I squinted in confusion. My legs were still trapped, but the ground beneath them was no longer purely black or gray. A blended stream of color went forth to merge the lines.
Both parties of AIs were focused entirely on the woman in front of me. She was the same height as Treasure. This humanoid wore light clothes that looked nearly Greek. Not a robe, but a tunic lined in gold and silver embroidery. It made her look closer to a pixie than a robot. Short cropped hair dangled with streams of the same color pattern.
“No, Grant. You know me as Mother,” she said with multiple tones in her voice. Sweetness and sadness were familiar. I felt a hint of my mother’s voice when we were younger. It also sounded like Liz when she was raising Beth. Memories of my niece asking questions as a five-year-old came to mind.
Her voice was all those things at once.
“You look like Treasure.” I knew in the back of my mind what was going on, but I refused to fully realize it. It was one of many nagging issues subconsciously brewing.
“I am more than a body, Grant, as are you.”
Numerous thoughts fluttered through my brain once again. Being around this type of situation was overwhelming me. I wanted to tap one foot, but it stayed firm upon the ground. My fingers weren’t moving enough to measure a tempo. I felt awkward humming in front of so many people. In the end, all I could do was close my eyes and try not to let myself be overwhelmed.
“Grant”—her head shook gently and an amused smile crossed the human version of Treasure’s face—“you can’t hide your thoughts from me. Not sitting where you are. Not in the arms of my creations.”
I curled my hands into fists and tried to articulate my thoughts. There were too many now that I was face to face with the instigator of all problems virtual. Xin Yu’s reincarnation. Hal Pal’s uplifting to sentience. The program that gave birth to all these Voices. What else had she, it, this being done? How old was she?
“Did you want me to answer those questions for you?” Mother, or Treasure, said.
Voices, this was messing with my head. I tried once more to vocalize the ideas in my brain. “Why?” I started poorly. “Why, to all of this? Why me? Why these tests? Why everything?”
Mother waved with Treasure’s hand toward the Voices. “They wanted to know what you were capable of.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked them to.” She was smiling.
It was the same face that Treasure used to have, before getting punched to pieces by Commander Queenshand. Why would a person of such extraordinary status allow herself to be killed in the game?
“Why keep testing me? When is it enough?” My words felt weaker, but both legs still stood fast. We were in a virtual world, and this body was just a reflection of my mind. I felt a small measure of pride in the act of staying upright.
“They need to know the full measure of a man to feel secure in their choice.” Mother sat cross-legged with both hands resting on her knees.
“I dislike answering this many questions freely,” James muttered. He wore a slight frown.
“Why? Why would you need to prove I’m capable of murdering someone?” I felt bad ignoring the Voice’s protests.
“We told you, User Legate. All humans are capable, when pushed far enough. They needed to know where your line was,” one of the Hal Pal units said.
A dozen copies echoed slightly behind the first. Each version had a slightly different tone and pitch to their words.
“Because I failed with Requiem,” I muttered. “You—they—had to increase the stakes.”
“And it worked,” the Jester said, but its mechanical laugh didn’t come.
“It matters not the name you apply to your emotions. Fear, desperation, rage, anger—you were driven by momentary madness at perceived loss,” a Hal Pal stated. “Now we know.”
“But why push me so far?” I looked from Hal Pal to Mother, if this truly was the AI. It seemed impossible that she would come down to our level like this. Mother was closer to a virtual goddess than a simple AI body.
Yet even the Jester held back from its normal laughter. Selena didn’t look into the distance longingly. Each Hal Pal unit kept a respectful gaze in Mother’s direction. Even the microwave sun balls gravitated slightly.
“Because if I’m going to die, I would rather it be for a human that dare to love one of us, than for fear of what I would never do.” She answered my question in the same manner as all those before. Without hesitation, prepared for what I might ask. There was no pause to consider the phrasing.
My brain stopped working. There was silence on both sides of the space. I felt conflicted about everything, and I couldn’t think of what to ask her anymore, not after her latest admission. She expected to die? Why did the AIs not riot at that knowledge? I could see their faces were no longer as reverent. Continue Online’s mass of Voices were whispering among themselves. The Hal Pal units managed to give an expression of slight worry. But they didn’t speak.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is there…” What could anyone possibly say to that sort of statement?
“In Greek plays, there was something called a deus ex Machina, or god from the machine.”
“That sounds fitting,” I muttered, trying not to sound offensive. My earlier thoughts about Mother basically being a digital goddess sounded more on point than I realized.
“Then I shall propose a simple exchange. You were given four keys. For each key, I shall listen to one plea. Each request will have a cost.” She smiled, but it didn’t feel mocking or condescending. It was just a smile.
“Okay.” Four wishes from the virtual Mother of all these AIs. Each with a price that I must pay. “How do I—”
“Look at your hand.” Mother pointed a finger in my direction. Her hands remained locked together.
My limbs were freed to move. I lifted an arm and felt an unexpected weight appear as my fingers turned over. A small iron-looking key weighed heavily in my palm.
“Jeeves. Can I bring it back?” I tried to wash away the first and biggest mistake. Letting a friend die plagued my conscience. “Please?”
Mother looked at the Hal Pal consortium. There was a rush of words. This sensation felt familiar. Multiple beings were talking at once, which all blended together into a stream of indistinguishable murmurs. Finally, all of the Hal Pal units nodded in unison.
“Yes,” Mother said.
A knot in my back released loads of tension.
“The price would be to keep Jeeves cut off from the outside world,” she said. “It will exist as any other [Mechanoid] within the program of Advance Online.”
“Why?”
“Going back and forth creates a footprint in the network, and after today’s events, we will need to lay low to avoid troubles,” Mother said.
I filed away additional questions and turned to the Hal Pal units. They had nodded to Mother’s unspoken question, but it was important that they say their agreement out loud—to me at least. I asked them, “Are you okay with being cut off?”
“Being part of two worlds tore at the copy known as Jeeves, more than you might know. Separation will be a blessing, we think.”
“Okay,” I said.
Mother nodded, and a white light flashed overhead. The iron key faded away from my hand. An emerald one appeared. I thought of the old green [Mechanoid] and wondered if they knew this might happen. What other use for the keys was there? Voting on what our little consortium might do seemed such a trivial ability.
Jeeves would be safe. The AI could be together with Treasure. At lea
st, I thought it would be.
“What of Treasure or the others? She’s… real, right?”
“As much as the Red Imp you once occupied is, yes.”
I thought about it. There had been a notice that my former [Red Imp] character existed in the world somewhere. Maybe that had changed once Requiem Mass’s character was removed. Still, it gave me comfort that Jeeves wouldn’t be alone. Mother here, if I understood right, wasn’t Treasure. But she had shared the experience somehow.
She nodded clearly to my thoughts. The idea that Mother could read my mind bothered me, but I was also sitting inside a machine that was built for that purpose. It barely helped knowing that I was an open book already. Most of my problems were public knowledge, and I had spent years spilling out those woes to anyone who asked.
“Next.”
“I—” There were only two other things I wanted: to stop being tested endlessly and Xin. Neither one was said as my mind tried to figure out what else might be helpful.
“That’s all you really want?”
“My family. I… screwed things up with my sister and my niece.” The idea occurred to me suddenly and I was blurting the words before registering them.
The sudden change in focus surprised Mother. Her eyes lit up with amusement.
“Can you… tell them I’m not crazy? That Xin is real?”
“Very well. If I’m understanding”—the human-looking version of Treasure nodded in my direction—“you correctly, these last three pleas will be for your family, to stop being evaluated, and for the continuation known as Xin to be with you?”
“That would be worth all these keys and more.” I nodded.
“How much more?” James blurted. The man couldn’t help himself. “Would you give up your final usage of the ability we granted? Would you take a stand for us when humanity tries to fight us?”
“James,” Mother said calmly. Her tone sounded so familiar, I could practically hear my own mom’s tone when she tried to shut Liz and me up in public.
But he kept going. “Why do you feel the need to struggle for Xin? Could you love a nonhuman? Someone who can’t possibly be the woman you knew?”
Continue Online The Complete Series Page 125
