Cyber

by Terry Schott

  There was another chime. “Add hidden compartment in floor of cave, covered by half-inch plank with quarter-inch layer of dirt on top of plank. In the compartment, store extra ammunition for all guns detected and in use by gamers as they enter simulation. Ten clips for each weapon.” He tapped a finger against his chin. “Add two rocket launchers and three rockets each. Match tech to style and power of weapons as laid out in the design parameters.” There was another chime. “Update.”

  Troy’s arm unit buzzed and the man’s voice spoke. “Updates complete, Dreamer. Awaiting further instructions.”

  Troy moved to the spot he had been sitting in before pausing the program. “Replace building.” The air shimmered and the building appeared. Troy looked around and nodded. “Resume scenario.”

  Gunfire and explosions rushed in to fill the silence and Troy smiled. When there was a lull in the weapon fire, he stood and sprinted toward the cave.

  ***

  Troy walked toward the exit and dropped his weapons. The air around them shimmered and the weapons disappeared before they reached the ground. His armour melted from his avatar as he walked through the exit window, emerging into a staging area dressed as all other players in grey clothes with no pockets or other features.

  He approached an information panel and tapped his entry code onto the console glass. “I think it’s ready to upload.”

  “It played very well,” Sylvan said.

  “You have to say that since you’re my spark.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You sure? I don’t think I’ve posted a zone without hearing positive words from you.”

  “That is because you are an excellent Dreamer, Troy.”

  “My designs are ranking well with those who play them.”

  “You’ve moved quickly through the rankings, that’s for sure. By the way—” Sylvan paused and the floor began to pulse with bright colours. Avatars nearby crowded around him as the pulsing increased. Virtual fireworks erupted in the air around Troy, bursting with blues and reds and yellows. The crowd began to cheer as the fireworks finished and a green number ten hovered over his head for a few seconds before falling to the ground like so much sparkling green sand.

  “Congratulations, Dreamer.” A player smiled and raised one hand in salute. “Tenth rank on the server is awesome.”

  “It’s not the server.” Sylvan’s voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Green designates a game-wide rank. Troy is the number ten Dreamer across all servers of Transition.”

  “Stop bragging.” Troy smiled at the player. “Thank you for the ‘grats, I appreciate it.”

  Troy walked toward a side room and entered, taking a seat and bringing up another console. He scrolled down until he reached the bottom. He looked at the title of the zone server. “It’s still there.”

  “Yes.”

  He held his fingers over the tablet and paused, then touched the word ‘Home’.

  Still nothing happened.

  He sighed and turned away from the panel.

  Sylvan chuckled. “Did you expect it would be that easy?”

  Troy frowned. “What?”

  “Tapping a selection on a panel to get access to a restricted area? Sounds too simple, doesn’t it?”

  Troy turned around and looked at the screen again. Then he began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You.”

  “Why?” Sylvan sounded confused.

  “You just suggested that I could gain access.”

  Sylvan laughed. “I did not.”

  Troy pursed his lips and said nothing. He had spent enough time with his spark to know when she was lying.

  #42

  Shawn tapped the table and bounced his knee.

  Loredana’s head rested on her palm, elbow on the table. “You seem nervous.”

  He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. “I just wanted to write stories and entertain people.”

  “You have.”

  He shook his head. “I think I’ve destroyed the world.”

  Loredana leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “That’s kind of dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Not really. Transition has taken over the world, much like the Game in my stories.”

  “True.”

  “And you admit that the whole idea of virtual reality occurred to you after reading my books.”

  “Actually, it was Ivan’s idea.”

  Shawn stared at her.

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “Reading your stories inspired him to create his virtual reality.”

  “And it was you who put his monster to work. Ivan created the technology, but it was your imagination and business sense that gave birth to Transition.”

  Loredana nodded and Shawn stopped bouncing his knee as he spread his hands wide. “There you go, then. I wrote a story that inspired a couple of geniuses to destroy the world.”

  Loredana sighed. “Nature always corrects itself, Shawn. There have been sweeping fads throughout history. People always get bored of them and society reverts back to normal. Sure, Transition is popular at the moment.”

  Shawn snorted.

  “But that could change in a few months, or years.”

  Shawn looked at her and shook his head. “You don’t get it.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “You don’t, and there’s nothing I can do or say to make you understand.”

  They sat without speaking for long seconds.

  “We’re still on the same side, right, Shawn?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Loredana. You seem like such a sweet girl, but . . .”

  “What?”

  “My dad used to say something that stuck with me. The older I get, the more I realize that it’s very true.” He paused and smiled. “Ducks make baby ducks.”

  Loredana laughed. “Of course they do.”

  Shawn did not laugh. “What he meant by that, was that the children will behave like the parents.”

  “That’s not always true.”

  “Ever seen a duck acting like anything other than a duck?”

  “Well, no, but that’s not the way it is with people. We are much more diverse and advanced than animals.”

  Shawn laughed.

  Loredana frowned. “I’ve seen children act differently than their parents.”

  “Yes, but if you look at other members of their family—close members—you will see that the children are doing the same things someone with their blood is. They are what I call ‘the quarters’.”

  “The quarters?”

  Shawn nodded. “Any trait will be passed on from parent to child, at least to three out of four kids. One out of four—the quarter—will display characteristics different from the parents.”

  “There you go then.” She smiled. “You contradict yourself.”

  “No, I don’t. All quarters behave the same. Different from the rest, but still predictably. If you can find a relative that is a quarter, then you can also know what a young quarter will do.”

  “Interesting.”

  Shawn narrowed his eyes as he considered her. “I hope you are a quarter.” He shook his head. “But I am concerned because I can’t recall running into a quarter from your family.”

  “I thought you didn’t know much about my family?”

  “Did your read my book, Shadows?”

  “I did.”

  “Remember the Displaced?”

  “The powerful rogue house bent on destroying the world? Yes.” She paused. “Wait, didn’t Desdemona work for them?”

  “Yes.” Shawn raised one eyebrow.

  She looked at him, her eyes wide.

  “I’ve also thought about the other surnames you’ve given me, from your family members inside Transition.”

  The hair on Loredana’s arms tingled. “They are from your stories?”

  Shawn nodded. “All of them are founding members of the Displaced.”

  #43

  Yuri entered the boardro
om and grunted. “This is a surprise.”

  Glen looked up from his notebook. “The business world is filled with surprises of late.”

  Yuri stopped and picked up the coffee thermos, shaking it gently as he looked at his boss. Glen nodded and the older man poured a steaming cup and then walked to the far end of the room. He set his briefcase on the floor and sat, blowing across the surface of the coffee before taking a sip.

  Glen looked at his notes. “Don’t bother making your piles today.”

  “There are not any piles to make.”

  “Who would have thought it could come to this in so little time?”

  Yuri nodded. “I can think of no corporation left unscathed.”

  Glen laughed. “Unscathed is an understatement. I would say that before this year is over, the entire system will have crumbled.”

  “The end of corporatocracy.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Yuri reached into his breast pocket and began to remove his glasses. He caught himself and smiled, tucking them back in. “I wonder how the small group who controls everything will proceed?”

  “I imagine the same as they always do.” Glen closed his notebook. “There is profit and power inside Transition. Businesses have excellent coverage and exposure in many aspects of the new world. It is likely that the small group will continue to prosper even as this system dies. This is not the first time a grand shift has occurred.”

  “The Families are resilient.”

  Glen nodded. “Have you been playing Transition much?”

  Yuri shook his head. “I have created an account and two or three avatars, but I spent much of my time doing what I could out here. My conscience is clear.”

  Glen chuckled. “You are a throwback to another era, Yuri, to even worry about your conscience.”

  “Thank you.” The older man smiled. “I will head in to play next week once the final papers are signed.”

  Glen sighed. “Almost two hundred years, billions of dollars generated, thousands of acres of land developed, and millions of people employed for generations. It’s hard to believe Cyber Inc. is bankrupt.”

  “I am sorry, Glen.”

  “What for?”

  “You saw the danger early on and I did not acknowledge it. If I had listened to you sooner, perhaps we might have avoided this.”

  “Don’t feel bad. There was a brief moment in time where it could have been stopped. I made the attempt and failed.”

  Yuri frowned.

  “Once it got away, there was never any chance to stop it.”

  “Shall we design a virtual park?”

  Glen laughed. “I am certain that Loredana will not allow that.”

  ***

  Billy woke to the sound of loud knocking on his front door.

  “Billy? I know you’re home. Open up, please. I need your help.”

  He frowned and put his pants on, then stumbled out of his bedroom to the front door. He opened it and the sudden light made him squint.

  “Oh thank god.”

  “Mrs. Kentlin?”

  “Is she here? Please tell me she’s here. I promise not to get mad.”

  “Jennifer? She’s probably at school.”

  “She hasn’t been to school since—” The woman paused and her eyes became glassy. “Since she left home.”

  “She’s not here, Mrs. Kentlin.”

  “Oh.” The woman began to cry. She sagged onto the porch, hitting the wooden deck with a thud. It looked painful but she didn’t seem to notice. She buried her face in her hands.

  “Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m so scared.” The words came out broken. “I don’t know where my baby girl could be.”

  Billy winced and ran one hand through his hair. He stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him as he sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder. He took a breath, then let the words rush out. “I think I might know where she is.”

  Mrs. Kentlin looked at him, her blotchy red face stained by tears. “Really? Oh thank you, Billy. Thank you. Where do you think she is?”

  Billy stood. “I’d better show you.”

  ***

  Mrs. Kentlin looked at the ruined house, its windows boarded shut and shingles falling off the roof. “Please don’t let her be in there.”

  “Come on.” Billy led her up the driveway and opened the screen door. The smell of garbage and unwashed bodies hit them like a gush of hot air from a furnace kicking on in the middle of winter. Billy gagged and turned his head. Jennifer’s mother backed away and bent over, gagging as vomit splashed onto the pavement. Billy held the door open while she regained her composure, willing the stench to clear. She stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and rejoined him. They entered the house, letting the door close behind them.

  They walked up the stairs into the kitchen. “It doesn’t look so bad,” Mrs. Kentlin said.

  Billy shook his head and kept walking.

  They entered the dining room. “What in the name of—” Mrs. Kentlin put one hand to her mouth. The floor was filled with people lying on the ground, lined up in neat rows. The heads of one row were inches away from the feet of the row above them.

  “A game house,” Billy said. “People used to come to places like this to shoot up with drugs and get high, but Transition gave the addicts a new way to pass the time.”

  “Not just druggies.” Mrs. Kentlin shook her head. “It made addicts of everyone.”

  “Not everyone.”

  “My Jenny.” The woman scanned the faces before sighing. “She’s not here.”

  “Let’s try the next room.” Billy stepped over the people on the floor and the woman followed him.

  They found Jennifer in the master bedroom. She was lying on the floor close to the window, the sun illuminating half of her face.

  “Jenny!” She started to move forward, but Billy caught her arm. “What?” She frowned.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Kentlin.” Tears were in his eyes.

  She looked confused. “Why? You helped me find her.” She looked toward her daughter and stopped speaking as realization came to her. “No.”

  “They don’t come out.” Billy shook his head. “They just stay in Transition until they can’t come back.”

  “She’s dead?” The disbelief in her voice was clear. “She can’t be. It’s just a game. She was just playing a game.”

  “I’m sorry,” Billy shook his head.

  Mrs. Kentlin stepped over the bodies on the floor. When she reached her daughter, she knelt down and held her in her arms. “Jenny?” Tears streamed down the woman’s face. “My dear, sweet Jenny. Please come back.” She buried her face in the girl’s neck. “I’ll let you play as much as you want, darling. Just come back to me.”

  Billy put one hand on the woman’s shoulder while she wept and begged her daughter to live.

  #44

  Billions of people are dying all over the world as they choose to permanently plug in to Transition and abandon this reality for the digital world beyond.

  In online video games, when the number of regular players decreases, then multiple servers merge, taking the low numbers from many to form a large populated single server. Doing this allows for more player interaction and a better game experience, even though it is also the indicator that a game is on the decline and likely to stop being popular at all.

  No one imagined that something like a server merge would happen in real life, but it seems that over the past few months that is exactly what is occurring. As droves of people permanently join Transition, those left behind gather together to better their chances of survival in an ever more primitive world.

  Over the past few months, the world has become divided into two distinct groups: those who play Transition, and those who do not. Puritans, members of the Purity movement dedicated to remaining in this world, have begun moving from city to city, inviting those who wish to remain here to journey to new communities sprouting up all over the coun
try.

  Before Transition, there were approximately six billion people living on the planet. The Purity group claims a membership of five hundred million. There appear to be slightly over four billion active players inside Transition.

  Dalton slowed the pickup truck and pulled over. He examined the windows and doors of houses, looking for signs of movement. Nothing. He reached for the radio, turned the volume to high, and pressed Play on the CD player. A recorded message blared over the speaker attached to the roof of his vehicle.

  “We are Purity, and our purpose is to help those who are uninterested in games and digital escape. The city has fallen and in a matter of weeks there will be no food, water, or protection for anyone remaining. If you can hear my voice and want to live, please come out of your house and walk to the curb.”

  Dalton leaned his head against the back window of the truck cab, scanning the street ahead. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The message paused, then repeated itself. He lit a cigarette, snapping the lighter closed with a sharp click against his jeans before returning it to his pocket and inhaling.

  After fifteen minutes, he turned the CD off and started the truck again, then pulled away from curb.

  “Wait!” a woman’s voice called from his left. “Wait for us. We’re coming.”

  Dalton slowed to a stop. The woman running toward him had clothes tucked under her arm and a small cooler swinging from her hand. He unrolled the window and smiled. “Hi there.”

  “Hi.” She set the cooler on the ground and brushed her long black hair from her face. “I almost didn’t hear you pass by. I was down in the cellar trying to figure out how I was going to make it another week.”

  “I’m glad you heard, then.” Dalton looked past her at the house she had emerged from. “Anyone else coming with you?”

  The woman’s lips pursed. “I have a son.”