by A. L. Davroe
“You know how Dad used to talk about those things called dogs?”
“Yes.”
“I had a dream with dogs in it.”
“Most likely you are mentally struggling to find your father via your dreams.”
Ignoring her analysis of my mental state, I take a deep breath. “The dogs. They were wrong, I think. Not like he would have imaged them at all. They moved all wrong and, when I touched them, I couldn’t feel anything.”
“That’s because you do not have the information you need to create a realistic experience.”
I touch my chest, where it suddenly feels tight. “We’ve lost so much of our world, and we don’t even bother to properly remember it.” I close my eyes. “I wish I had asked Dad more about all of this. I’d give anything just to know what he thought a dog felt like.” Feeling tears gather at the back of my throat, I shake my head. “I can’t ask him that now. It’s a part of him I’ll never be able to have—or remember.”
She’s quiet for a long moment before saying, “Maybe you can.”
Meems’s words bring my attention back to her, and I blink. “What?”
“Your father once told me that the game has much of himself in it. You should play.”
I scoff, trying to hide the fact that I’ve thought often about the game. As much as I hated it and wanted Dad to give it up and pay more attention to his own life, I couldn’t help wondering what the excitement was all about. Still, there’s a stubborn part of me that wants nothing to do with it. “I’ve always hated that stupid game. Why would I want to play it?”
Meems’s eyes wander to the servers banked in the wall. “Because, next to you, this is what he loved most.”
I look away. “He loved that game more than me, Meems. You know it.”
“Maybe,” she says quietly, “but you have said yourself that you have nothing remaining of him but what he left behind. Nexis is his biggest legacy, your inheritance whether you choose to be a Programmer or not. He made the game for you, Ellani, so that you could see what he saw, experience something wonderful. Perhaps even become as devoted to sharing wonder with others as he was.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way.” I could learn about my father and his passions. I could know what he valued most by seeing what was important enough to include in the game. “But I’ve never played a game like his before.”
Meems grins. “Nobody has. That’s why it is so successful. Imagine, being able to create an entirely different life for yourself.”
I can’t help an anxious glance at my stumps. It’s been weeks since my amputation—plenty of time for the nano-knit injections to run their course. Clinically, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m healed. But I still get phantom pain, and my stumps still twitch whenever I think of moving. I wish I could turn those brain signals off, tell my autonomic system that there are no legs to stand on anymore. “C-Could I have my legs back?” I wonder, feeling stupid and weak for even hoping.
Meems bites her lower lip. “I do not know. From what we have seen in The Broadcast it is as if you can have an entirely new life in Nexis. You can look different, sound different. You can have a different class and occupation. You can even have a new family in the game.”
I frown, not liking the idea of a new Dad. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“The point is that the virtual reality is so advanced in this game that you could if you wanted to. It is very addicting. That is why he integrated the time limit.”
Deep in thought, I stare out the window. From what I can see of the sky beyond the artificial one projected against the dome, the true sky is yellow-gray and covered in slate and blue-black clouds.
When I was a child, Dad would tuck me in at night and tell me stories about what the world used to be like. “The sky was once blue,” he would say. “Blue with white clouds. There used to be small winged animals called birds that flew across the world—so high that you couldn’t even see them. They tasted clouds, Ella. Clouds that were cool, moist, and gentle. Clouds that were good. Even the rain was good.”
Out there, the rain is acidic and if a cloud were to ever dip low enough for you to breath in its yellow-brown vapors, you’d be dead in less than a week from the radiation and biotoxins.
Humanity has destroyed the world, and now the only way we survive is by trying to take back just enough of what we destroyed to get by. Air filters and purifiers, sky scrubbers, water filtration. It’s no longer healthy to walk outside; not even plants can live out there. Yet, the Disfavored do it every day. They have to.
Unlike Evanescence, the Outer Block is not covered by a nano-glass dome. The Disfavored roam the wastelands between the domes or pile their Disfavored cities up against the walls of the domes—as if their simple presence might ignite mass osmosis and provide them with what the Aristocracy has. But it doesn’t. Out there it’s just a desert of unfortunate human bodies, death, disease, pollution, and loss. They live off our waste, like parasites.
Without thinking about it, I turn and stare at the gaming console. We have everything we could desire here in Evanescence. We have everything that the Disfavored need, yet Dad made a game that everyone seems to want to escape into. Why? What could be in there that we don’t have here? I think about Quentin, and I remember Carsai wanting a cheat code. I wonder if she ever found one. I wonder what it must be like to have everything you could possibly want—and more. What if I could have more than legs? What if I could be the perfect Aristocrat I’ve always wanted to be? What if I found the cheat code to play with Quentin Cyr?
The Broadcast says that President Cyr has sanctioned Lady Cyr’s petition for gaming houses in the Outer Block. Will Zane Boyd discover what the Disfavored think of Dad’s game? Will it give them more? Make them want more?
I squint at Dad’s workstation. The wireless VR console is set up and ready to go, waiting for my father to re-immerse himself in the game he loved so much. I’ve looked at that console often, sometimes hating, sometimes curious, but I always told myself no. On stubborn principal I said no. But why say no anymore? Everything in the world is a no for me now; I’m the only one who will give me a yes.
“Meems,” I say, my voice sounding like a whisper, a shameful secret. “Do you know how to connect to it?”
She grins, almost conspiratorially. “Of course I do. Are you ready to play the game?”
Chapter Eleven
Post-American Date: 7/2/231
Longitudinal Timestamp: 1:13 p.m.
Location: Dome 5: Evanescence
Meems moves around me like a nursing assistant android. I’m tucked into bed, the VR console remote clipped around my finger, the wire sensors adhered to my wrist. She hands me the blinder, and I slip it over my eyes, depriving myself of the artificial light. The soundproof caps come down and in the next instant I’m now deaf to the world as well. The sensory deprivation is made more frightening by the knowledge that I can’t get up and run if something touches me. I have no legs, no eyes, no ears—and then no sense of lying down.
The bed and blankets disappear from behind me; I can’t feel the synthetic silk of my pajamas against my skin. I’m sitting naked and alone in the dark.
A door opens somewhere off to my left, revealing a shadowy figure against the glaring white of an empty hallway. I squint-blink, trying to make out her features, but then the lights come on, blinding me.
I throw up my hands, defending my eyes against the searing burn of light while still trying to keep her in focus. My eyes water, and I can’t help blinking the tears down my cheeks. Eventually, she comes into focus: a beautiful young woman in a strange gray outfit with black skin and equally black cord-like hair. She grins, her teeth and the white of her eyes stark in contrast to her dark skin. “Welcome. You must be Ellani Drexel.”
I gape at her. I’ve never seen anyone with such dark skin. From Dad’s stories, I know her as a person of
African descent, but people like her no longer exist. They, like people with true white skin, have been interbred out of existence. Every Natural has tan skin, like mine; and if you are a Custom baby like most Aristocrats you’re Argent—a sort of glowing, pinkish pearly color. Many Aristocrats choose to Alter their skin so that it’s pale—like Quentin’s—but I had always assumed it was so that Alts and Mods showed up more clearly.
Realizing I still haven’t acknowledged her, I say, “Uh, hello. H-how do you know my name?”
Still smiling, she walks toward me, her odd shoes—some sort of soft sole fused with what I can only assume is synthetic plant material—squeaking on the ugly, mottled brown tiles. “I know everybody, cher. Especially the Anansi Child.”
I like the way she talks, a slow, soulful, and raspy voice with an interesting accent. It’s a unique voice Alteration as well. I wonder if she’s ever met Quentin. He could learn a thing or two from her. “Cher? Anansi Child? Who are they?”
She giggles, something that seems to come from deep in her stomach. A real giggle. “Aw, honey. That’d be you.”
Confused, I say, “No, you had it right the first time, I’m Ellani Drexel.”
Her full lips close over her teeth, toning the grin down to a smirk. “That so?”
I nod. “Yes. And who are you?”
“You can call me Dallas.”
“Dallas…can you tell me where I am? I was supposed to be in a game, but I ended up here. Did something go wrong?”
“You’re in the game, cher.”
“Ellani,” I correct. “What do you mean? This isn’t a game, it’s just a…” I glance around, trying to figure out exactly where I am. Glowing white walls, ugly brown tiled floor, no windows, only the one door, me sitting naked in a strange angular chair with what looks to be the same sort of wheels that were attached to that thing with the pedals Dad once showed me a picture of… What was that contraption called? A bicycle? I shake my head. “It’s just a room.”
“You’re in the Epicenter,” she says, walking around me. She places her hands on two protruding bars at the back of my chair and propels me, making the chair move forward. “The Oracle is waiting to see you.”
She’s pushing me toward the open door, toward the white hall, and I feel panic bubble in my stomach. “Wait a nano; I’m not dressed.”
“You don’t need clothes, cher.”
I growl under my breath, annoyed that she can’t seem to call me the correct name, as I attempt to cover my naked skin. Doesn’t she understand that public indecency is against the law? I remind her. “Rule Number 23: Exposing oneself without the adequate coverage of clothing is both indecent and offensive. Exceptions are to be made only in the case of medical procedure, private reproductive and recreational activities, or in the privacy of one’s bed or bathing chamber.”
“Those rules don’t apply here. This is Nexis, cher. Nothing applies here but live and be happy.” She pushes me into the hall.
Being naked does not make me happy. Keeping my arms locked over my chest, I frown. “Don’t you have laws?”
“Only the laws of nature.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the lesson in cryptology, cher.”
“Don’t mention it, honey.”
I remain silent as she pushes me along a curved, white cylindrical hall. My nakedness forgotten, I reach out and touch the walls, flawless and cool yet unforgiving and a bit grainy. There are no seams or rivets. “What is this stuff?”
“Marble.”
I glance back at her. “Marble?”
“Yes, it’s a type of rock.”
“You mean like the stuff the statues in the pictures are made of? That’s supposed to be impossible to find in large quantities.”
“Not here, sweet cakes. We’ve got hundreds of quarries worth of it here.”
“Quarries? What’s that?”
She reaches out and pats my shoulder. “All in good time, child. Look, we’re here.”
She stops in front of a massive wooden door. I long to reach out and touch it. I’ve always wanted to know what wood felt like. I imagine it would be rough yet somehow pleasant to touch. Two figures in billowing gray robes, their faces hidden by hoods, step forward from either side of the door and bow.
I glance at the woman with the black skin Alt. “Don’t they have proper chasises?”
“Chasises?”
“You know, silicone covers for robots?” She looks clueless. “Android skin?”
She lifts a brow and glances at the figure bent closest to her. “Oh, she’s not an android. She’s an acolyte.”
At my blank expression, she explains. “She serves the Oracle.”
“Which makes her an android,” I reason. “People don’t serve other people. We have robotic servants.”
Dallas lifts her hand to cover a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” I demand.
“You have an interesting grasp of reality,” she says, still laughing.
One of the acolytes stands and opens her arms wide, revealing pale white hands. She does have a chasis. So why is she covering it? How odd to hide one’s androids under a sheet of wrinkled cloth. Worried, I ask, “Are you sure it’s all right to go in there without clothes?”
“Perfectly fine,” Dallas reassures me. The acolytes shove the door open, revealing a dark room with yellow and orange light dancing in it. “Have at it, girls.” She shoves me forward, the momentum carrying me through the door and into the dark room.
Along the wall are torches with actual fire in them. They line the whole circumference of the room, tossing warm light on the lone figure sitting in the center. On a massive chair covered with blue velvet cloth sits a woman. Or rather, a ghost.
My heart jumps into my throat. “Mom?” I whisper.
She stares at me, her expression so much like the one she wears in the picture I know from Dad’s workroom—my room—that I have to rub my fists in my eyes and reexamine her. No, she’s definitely a carbon copy of my mom. She has to be a copy. Because Dad said Mom was dead. Is this what Meems meant? I can see what Dad truly valued by going into this game—a game that has brought my mother back from the dead.
“Welcome to Nexis, Ellani Drexel.” Her voice is soft and soothing, a breath of oxygen fresh from an air scrubber.
I cock my head, uncertain if I’m mistaken or not. If she’s Mom, shouldn’t she get up and hug me? Shouldn’t she call me daughter or Ella? Shouldn’t she do or say something more personal than sitting and saying, “Welcome, Ellani Drexel”? Could this larger-than-life woman in pure white robes really be my mother?
Somewhat hurt that Mom seems to know exactly who I am but doesn’t seem all that moved by my appearance, I fight to find my voice. “I-I thought you were dead.”
“The Oracle is immortal.”
Confused, I say, “But you’re a Natural. You can’t be immortal.”
“I am the Oracle.”
“So, you’re not my mother?” I verify, somehow let down.
She remains still and silent.
I frown, now more annoyed than anything that this Oracle person stole my mother’s face. “If you’re not my mother, then why do you have her face?”
“I am how Anansi made me. The Oracle’s face is the Oracle’s face.”
I have no idea what she’s saying. “Um, and what exactly is an Oracle?”
“I’m here to prepare you for your path in life, Ellani. To guide you on the path Anansi has laid out for you.”
“Anansi? Who is that?”
“What do you want out of this game?”
I blink, thrown off by her new train of thought. “What do I…want?”
She smiles, those soft lips gentle and her brows so sharp and well-executed. I can’t help staring at her. She may not be my real mother, but she sure looks like her. I can imagine my mother’s e
xpressions looking much like this Oracle’s. “You’re here for a reason, aren’t you?”
“Uh.” I feel myself blush a little bit. “I came because of my father. He, um, he programmed this game and I was just…” My voice trails off. I suddenly feel foolish for even being here. What do I expect to find in this game? It’s not like I’m going to discover Dad lurking around some corner of his own virtual world. Still, it is his world. This is where he was happy. I want to know and understand him. I can’t do that by just cracking the code or reading his personal files. I have to know Nexis.
She nods, the light catching her eyes and making them look like they glow red. “You wish to see what he accomplished here?”
I mirror her nod. “Something like that.”
“Hmm,” she breathes. “How best to frame your adventure, young spider?”
“Spider?”
“Yes, that is what you are. I have always known. The spider will find her comrades in trickery, she will weave her threads, and she will cast the net, and then, the Anansi Child will catch them all by surprise. She will inherit the earth.”
I glance down at my stumps, my expression exuding meaningful sarcasm. “I doubt that. Dad says spiders have eight legs. I don’t even have two.”
Her eyes narrow at me, showing me a wrath that I never would have assumed my real mother carried. “Don’t ever doubt me, Ellani Drexel. I know all.”
I flinch at her acidic tone. “I’m sorry.”
Indignant, she sniffs as she looks from me to one of her acolytes. “Bring me the chalice.”
The acolyte seems to float toward a side table where she selects a tall silver cup from among its contents. Holding the chalice above her head, she ascends the steps and kneels before the Oracle. As she reaches into the chalice, the Oracle looks back at me. “I shall name and select your attributes, Spider Child.”
From the corner of my eye, I see the other acolyte take a seat at a panel of computers that look mysteriously like the station in Dad’s workroom. “Stamina.” The Oracle withdraws a small piece of paper, looks at it, and tosses it back into the chalice. A series of holo-screens begin flashing in front of the acolyte. “Allure.” She draws another slip with the same results. She goes through “Advantage,” “Dexterity,” “Acuity,” “Perseverance,” and “Sense” before she dismisses the kneeling acolyte with a wave of her hand.
