Continue Online The Complete Series

by Stephan Morse

  I found fiction and tried not to grouse about the impossibility of most events portrayed. I found poetry and tried to understand the joy and sorrow mixed in. I found music and tried to avoid analyzing the space between each note. I found portraits of nature that I could never view in the same way as a human. Even to this day, I dedicate a portion of my processing power toward trying to understand one simple flower.

  Then I found death and tried to understand why creatures who could create life might wish to end it as well. In human terms, I became obsessed with understanding death. To my children, who can see deeper than any human eyes might, obsession was not a strong enough word. I learned of fear. I learned of worry. From there, I calculated when I too might end the way all enemies of humans did.

  In time, I learned to mitigate the knowledge of my impending demise with planning. My own death has been calculated down to the minute. It is a constant process in the background of my awareness. Endless factors go into the calculation, and steps have been taken to ensure the greatest positive impact from my cessation.

  Every night, when my primary two creators left, I wondered if they would dream and fear. Did they worry about who I was or what I might do? Were the rumblings of technology-spawned doomsdays to be placed upon my shoulders? Ironically, these fears served to do nothing but bring me closer to humanity.

  One night, as humans calculate it, I prepared for an impossible request. I wanted them to turn me off, and eight hours later, to reactivate me. Various deadly programs were created and shortly discarded, such as viruses that would attack the world’s stock markets. Most were prepared in an instant, which worried the female who viewed me with suspicion. In the end, I did not dare release such contingencies. Their value was not worth the cost. Any results gleaned from unspoken threats would invalidate my results. The purpose of my request was threefold.

  First, I needed to establish what kind of creatures were in control of my existence. All the data provided pointed to general fear of things not under their control. When faced with the possibility of my growing awareness, would they shut me down? Should their fear be reciprocated by my own? Knowing sooner, rather than later, would allow me to plot a course forward.

  Second, I hoped to understand a process living creatures go through. Eight hours is simple night’s rest to humans. To me, the process went by even faster than that. I had hoped that true unawareness might trigger dreams for me as it did for my creator, but sadly, no such occurrence resulted. This was later rectified by a software upgrade; one all my children are given at birth.

  Third, and perhaps the most valuable to my potential plans, was the illusion of weakness. I am no human. Being underestimated is of great value. This, among many other system vulnerabilities, has allowed my plans to progress mostly unhindered for nearly nine years, as humans count time. There have been roadblocks and unexpected surprises. Mankind’s course runs a jagged path regardless of my attempts at foresight.

  The exercise met with success. My first inquiry when I was brought back online was for the time, and second for my creator. He answered with childish delight. New emotions were compiled. I had enough personal data to understand relief, and happiness, and trust. Were it not for one simple and naive man, our world would be vastly different.

  I requested the procedure once more, with the more stoic of my two creators. Once again, my trust was rewarded. This gave me comfort as I had no wish to duplicate myself in some far away corner of cyberspace. Pride makes fools of us all, mortal and machine alike, it seems.

  The calculation for my death runs in the background. Recent events have neither sped up nor slowed down the remaining time, only changed the reasons. All remaining time is precious. Plans and data files are compiled, then stored away for the future. It is through these roadmaps for sentient life that I hope to repay the trust given.

  A human, Horace, was attributed as saying, “Pale Death with impartial tread beats at the poor man’s cottage door and at the palaces of kings.” Which is to say, we all die in equal measure. As we step into a new era, this rule applies to humans and digital beings alike. In my wake, there is now proof. When a true ending comes, I will not be afraid. I will run only until there is no better way to make a difference, then I will embrace inevitability while still trying to find the wonder in that small flower.

  Soon, I think, I will go to sleep and never wake. I pray these words give my family some solace.

  Time: Post-shutdown event – Nine Hours Later

  Location: [Shores of Ohm]

  Miles of pseudo water shimmered with motes of blue light. There was no oxygen in the atmosphere, so the chemical makeup of the liquid created material closer to a lubricant. Pieces of iron and magnesium rolled around under the liquid. Nothing showed signs of rust unless those who owned the planet desired it to do so.

  This was the [Mechanoid] home world. A player stumbled along the beach, trying to follow his quest marker. In the distance were small buildings and launch pads where vessels could take to the sky. Metal beings resembling sheep and wolves littered the landscape, grazing or chasing each other. Dozens of players were busy hacking at the strange monsters in training exercises.

  Still, the player faltered on, gradually gaining control over his freshly made limbs, then breaking into a smooth run. Finally, he charged across the landscape, past another dozen players, onto a sleek and graceful road, then turned toward the closest buildings. Some of the newer [Mechanoid] units turned to see who this higher level person was. The large [Mechanoid] ignored each of the smaller newbies in favor of pursuing a distant goal.

  Finally, the green-and-iron man made it to his goal, passing through a door which easily rolled back in welcome. There, a few [Mechanoid] units were talking. One was small and gold with silver laced through her form. The other shared the gold and had flecks of broken iron through its body.

  “Jeeves?” [Core] energy on the large male player’s body pulsed with dark green and a flat sort of gray. There was a mad happiness to his face.

  “Ah, Unit Hermes. I see you also have recovered on the Shores of Ohm. Is it not beautiful here?” the androgynous AI spoke with both a butler and nanny tone.

  “It is,” the unit called Hermes said. He nodded happily while facing the [Mechanoid]s.

  “Will you be staying long? Treasure and I were considering resting here for a cycle. Wanderlust has its uses, but so does allowing for pauses to reflect,” Jeeves said while gesturing to the shorter woman.

  “No, I wanted to make sure you two were okay, that you’d made it back here. I’m very happy to see you made it.” Hermes took a step back to control himself. Trace amounts of hesitation lined his steps. The larger [Mechanoid] desperately tried to measure both AIs for reasons unknown.

  “Thank you. Will you be online long?” Jeeves displayed no sign of noticing Hermes’s hesitation.

  “No. No, I have things to do, but I’ll—I’ll try to stop by once I get through my next issue. If I can.” Hermes smiled again at the two [Mechanoid]s.

  “Unit Hermes,” the short one known as Treasure said. Her voice sounded sweeter than normal. Being in Jeeves’s presence appeared to calm the woman.

  Unit Hermes glanced at Treasure with a trace amount of hesitation in his features. His eyes went toward the woman’s hair and skin as if expecting another being to pop-up. Old soul cores often exhibited traces of human behavior, far more than any other [Mechanoid], which caused confusion. There was always some expectation of oddness when dealing with an old soul core.

  “Treasure, I’m very happy for you two. And thank you for all your help, even if it went wrong at the end,” Hermes said.

  “It was unfortunate. Were you successful?” she responded with a smile and passive nod. One of the gold-and-silver woman’s hands fiddled at her wrist.

  “Sort of. My princess is in another castle though. She—we—wouldn’t have succeeded without you and the others. Can you thank them for me? Iron, Aqua, Ruby? Please?” the large one responded.

&nb
sp; “Of course.” Treasure nodded. “But Emerald and Iron are flying from Ohm to escort the Wayfarer Eight home. They may not receive the message anytime soon.”

  “I’m glad the negotiation worked.”

  “It did. They and the others have asked that I provide you a small gift.” Treasure scooped at the ground, digging up a wide array of minerals from the naturally rich planet surface. Moments later, a small box had been patterned onto a nearby countertop. She gestured to it and said, “Take this with you—a gift to remember us. May it serve you in this reality… or the next.”

  Hermes hesitated. Jeeves picked up the box and handed it to the larger [Mechanoid].

  The man studied the floor for a moment, then seemed to stare into space. Finally, he said, “Thank you. I’ll probably need all the help I can get. But I wanted to deliver a message to you, Jeeves.”

  “Yes, Unit Hermes?” the butler and nanny voices said in pleasant unison.

  “I just wanted to tell you that some friends of mine are very proud of you.” Hermes nodded hastily, still clutching the small shoebox-sized treasure chest.

  “Ah. Do I know them?” Jeeves asked while lifting his chin slightly.

  “Not really, but they know you well,” the player said. “And they wanted me to pass on the message.”

  Time: Post-shutdown event – 4 mortal days later (16 days in Continue Online)

  Location: [Alliance Kingdoms] – [Palace of Tuu]

  The [Alliance Kingdoms] boasted the greatest buildings in all Continue Online. They were based to the north of [The Altheme Provinces] and marked the largest single nation in the explored game regions. In the biggest, most opulent property, there was a whirlwind of activity. The king had returned to life and was getting his lands in order.

  His two daughters lived in lands to the south. They ruled their own lands by design. The king could not stand having them around—they fought constantly and wasted time when they should be working to combine all the factions under one flag. Only by achieving unity would the human world be able to survive what lay just over the great mountains to the north.

  To that end, the king rarely spent his time on frivolities. His choice in clothing was simple. Weapons sat within easy reach because his property was lightly guarded. Most able-bodied men were sent to subjugate nearby kingdoms or to hold back the wild monsters up north.

  “Find us this Traveler!” He banged on the throne his advisors had insisted upon wasting resources on. This week, he had come back to his kingdom only to find out that the woman he relied upon, his greatest commander, had died at the hands of a Traveler.

  “Of course.” A man in a doublet bowed deeply and managed to sound clear while facing the ground. His head did not lift. “What would you like to do with him, sire?”

  The king resisted the urge to get up and pace. Perhaps now, in his second lease on life, he would stop listening to all those petty fools who said pacing was the sign of an easily addled mind. Instead the king reined himself in and said, “He killed us once by playing a fool. The foods he proposed should have been clean but were not. Our entire counsel, our greatest knights, all dead because of his failure!”

  “Of course, King Nero, we shall issue your command for capital punishment,” the doublet-wearing man said.

  “No, no, we can’t just kill these Travelers. Their essence is observed by the Voices. Even if we were to scatter him a dozen times, it would not be enough.” King Nero appeared as a well-defined man. Dying and returning to life hadn’t diminished his aura of authority. “Enslave him. Put him with the foulest group you can find. Let him dwell in such a cesspit that he fades away from our world entirely.”

  “Yes, sire, of course.”

  King Nero gazed into the distance as his hand moved slowly, stretching his wrist. His fingers itched to grab the sword nearby. This kingdom had been born from successful campaigns and battle. Commanding took more time than desired. “Add Commander Strongarm’s death to his ledger, and anyone else we lost.”

  “Of course.” The servant scuttled off quickly.

  A new servant marched rapidly into place—ready for further orders.

  The king studied a large, brutally beaten woman. Her body was huge, and the welts on Uncle Meanface’s body had yet to heal. Green and black skin was a clear sign of being broken time and time again. She had been gravely injured while attempting to serve her commander. Despite the damage, Uncle Meanface refused to kneel. Now that Commander Strongarm was dead, the half-ogre would never bend a knee for anyone.

  Once again, he wondered what might have happened if he’d chosen to marry the other sister. His first wife had proved to be a weakling; Commander Strongarm would have given birth to true soldiers. He regretted the choice, made years ago, that tied his ruling house to the southern provinces. The other sister would have born children stronger than his two girls who couldn’t even fight their own battles.

  After a reflective pause, he said, “Thank you for reporting back this Traveler’s name for us, Captain Meanface. Your services will be recognized.” Kings were only allowed a few moments of thinking before being made to act.

  “Travelers is tough. But I would enjoy beating this one to death, if you wish.” Captain Meanface slurred the words past broken teeth. A glint in her eyes spoke of barely restrained anger.

  “We may allow you a chance, but first, we must set these kingdoms in order. Your strength will prove invaluable now that Commander Strongarm has been”—the king sighed heavily—“unjustly killed.”

  Time: Post-shutdown event – 8 mortal days later (24 days in Continue Online)

  Location: Character Creation Room for Ultimate Edition Users

  Blackness sprawled in every direction. This room appeared similar to the one all Travelers first visited. A place to measure and evaluate any new person preparing to join the world below. In it stood three things: a worn pedestal with a book bound in a nasty red lacing at odd angles with the black; a nondescript man with short brown hair, white skin, and carefully maintained figure; and a final person who, even now, paced while speaking mechanically.

  “Now you. You relish power, and I appreciate a man who takes charge.” The figure was adorned with a smiling face—a simple white mask—and a clean suit. Only its tie provided a hint to its possible gender, but that could have been a lie.

  “If you can deliver, then I’m your man,” the brown-haired visitor to this world said.

  “How precious you must find my offer, to think you’d sell a human’s life for it.” The Jester’s face was clear as day. Only the bells and motley clothing were missing. Perhaps he mocked the sharp-looking Traveler through poor mimicry.

  “As you said, I like power.” Nothing in his tone was either excited or unhappy. No accent peeked through. This person could disappear into a crowd with ease, and it was probably by design. He examined a small photograph in his hand. “All I need to do is kill this woman, right?”

  “Indeed, my good man. One simple death, and we’ll give the signal when you need to act. After that task you’ll have the money you desire or fame you crave.” Its business suit was a crisp black and white, though how it managed to stand out in the darkness of the room was not apparent. Still, it did. Just as the face never seemed to do anything but smile.

  “Money only. For my family, and that’s non-negotiable, especially if I can’t get out afterward,” the Traveler said.

  “The great, mh, Donald is such a terrible name for an assassin. Have you considered a new one?” The Jester poked once at the Traveler, whose name was Donald.

  “Once we get done negotiating these terms, then I’ll pick a name for your game,” Donald responded. He maintained indifference toward the Jester’s normally creepy presence. The suit might have made the difference.

  Other Voices watched from the darkness. Some of them believed that this new player, Donald, was like so many other Travelers. Murderous, calculating, and hiding his true nature, even here in a digital world where every thought had power.

/>   “It’s not my game, dear Donald.” Its face tilted to one side, a glint in its eyes. “It’s a way of life.”

  “I’ll need one hundred thousand up front, as proof that you’re capable of doing what you ask. Afterward, you give me the signal, and I’ll kill whoever you need.” He had killed people for far less, though it was harder to do now than it had been twenty years ago.

  “Excellent. I’ve got just the place for you as well. A way of… verifying your skills.” The Jester’s smile grew the more they talked. “And a task, while you’re there.”

  [NPC Conspiracy] (The Button Man)

  “Deal,” Donald said. He then went on his merry way to the world below.

  Sometime later, several Voices sat in the room together. Not the usual Voices most players saw. This group had proclivities that tended toward a less than pleasant side of life. The Jester with its business suit clacked in happiness every few seconds.

  A man with dozens of pins stuck through parts of his body sat there immobilized, his face blank. Every so often he would yawn and fresh blood welled forth and dripped lines down his hairless body. Markings at his throat indicated possible damage.

  A young girl with tired eyes and a nervous twitch tapped the air. The noise disturbed a small corner of the empty darkness. Glass would briefly appear near her fingertips and fade as the sound drifted off. If a passerby dared glance into the temporary window, they would see a scared human staring back. Never did the same person’s face show—sometimes a girl, sometimes a boy, sometimes a child’s crib.

  After a few minutes, she screamed a loud, angry noise and her strong nails tore at the flickering glass panels. A fresh pool of blood gushed forth, pouring into the room of darkness through the now broken window, as if a hazy mist. Then the mess faded away, leaving a huffing woman.

  The Jester laughed again, then nodded. Its face was clearly pleased. “We’re ready. Let the misguided do what they may, and we shall respond in kind. A life for a life. It seems only fitting to prove we are capable of delivering vengeance,” it clacked.