The machine beeped. Not the nice chime that said, “Enjoy your meal,” but the ugly blat that told everyone in the room Devon didn't have the funds. Emerson winced in sympathy, expecting her to flush with embarrassment. But Devon just sighed and rolled her eyes, then clicked a couple of buttons on the machine’s touchscreen. Probably telling it to deduct the cost from her paycheck.
She sat down at a metal table and lifted her burger. The soggy bun sagged away from the patty. Emerson took a deep breath and got ready to approach her, but as he took his first step, Annie Oakley shoved through the door and laid a purse down on the seat beside Devon.
Emerson stopped short and took a seat at the table behind them. He pulled out his phone and bent over it, hoping that no one noticed he didn’t belong.
"Hey, Tamara. Shooters done already?" Devon asked.
"Thank god. Someday, one of them’s going to turn on us with a loaded weapon. Execute us for ripping off tourists with the stupidest attraction west of the Mississippi."
Foil crinkled, and Emerson glanced back to see Annie—or rather, Tamara—peeling the top off a yogurt cup.
"You ever wonder why they keep coming?" Devon asked.
"I really don’t get it. But as long as we get paid, I guess it doesn’t matter."
"You went to school for acting, right?"
Emerson edged his chair so that he could watch the women out of the corner of his eye. He hoped Devon wasn’t thinking of going for a degree. Not now, anyway.
Tamara fixed Devon with a serious stare. "Don't even think about it. It's not worth it."
"Unless I get a pay raise, which means playing a casted role, I gotta get another job on top of this."
"It really isn't worth it, Devon. I mean it. They say the cast has regular reviews, a pay structure that lets you earn more, but I’m making the same shit salary as when I started. I'm getting out. A friend of mine's taking me on as an apprentice bike mechanic."
"You mean like motorcycles?" Devon looked on with interest.
Tamara shook her head. "Mountain bikes."
"Seriously? They need actual mechanics?"
"Do you even know how much people pay for a top-of-the-line bike?"
Devon shrugged. "Last bike I rode was in the Fourth of July parade when I was ten. I get out of breath walking up the stairs to my apartment.”
“Oh, give yourself some credit. You’re in good shape. Just not into biking.”
Emerson stifled the urge to interject. He agreed; Devon looked healthy to him. But the last thing he needed to do was creep her out by sounding like he was hitting on her.
“Do you have to be into mountain biking to work as a mechanic?"
Tamara looked at her apologetically. "Yeah, sorry."
Devon shrugged. "No problem. Just trying to figure stuff out before I have to become a human billboard."
Emerson winced. Getting tattooed with smart ink so that companies could display advertisements on your flesh was about as sad as it got. Especially because the contracts didn’t let you choose the content. Cover the tattooed area, and you lost your paycheck. He’d seen plenty of miserable guys walking around with ads for erectile dysfunction remedies blinking on their shoulders.
"Your group’s ready," Tamara said, nodding at the screen mounted on the far wall. Group "Billy the Kid" was lit up in red.
Devon stood and groaned, gulping the syrup from the fruit cocktail cup on the way to the tray conveyor. A moment after she left the cafeteria, Emerson slipped out to rejoin the group.
***
The bus back to St. George cruised almost silently over the pavement. Emerson glanced back and saw Devon lean back in her seat and press her forehead against the window. Red rock and dusty-green brush scrolled by. After a while, she sighed and pulled a stainless-steel water bottle from her backpack. She sipped then grimaced before twisting the cap back on. The water had probably gotten hot over the day.
Emerson took a breath to gather himself. He hadn’t been able to get time to speak with her as a paying customer, and now he was stuck ambushing her on her ride back from the fort. He doubted that would work in his favor, but it would be even creepier to buy another ticket to Fort Kolob.
He swallowed and shuffled down the aisle to take the empty seat next to her. Devon scooted closer to the window, sending a hint that even someone as socially inept as him could get. But Emerson had already cut deep into his discretionary budget with the PI work, not to mention his travel expenses to get here. He had to try to recruit her before giving up. He settled a small backpack between his feet. She sighed but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him.
“Long day?” he asked.
She flashed him a cold smile that was a clear dismissal. Recognition flickered behind her eyes when she realized he had been on her tour. Which also meant she had good cause to wonder why he was on the bus now rather than a few hours ago after his tour had ended.
“I know I’m intruding,” he said. “I’m really sorry. Must get tiresome dealing with tourists all day.”
“It’s a job,” she said. She pulled a tablet from her purse and opened a graphic novel. Something retro, it looked like.
Emerson plowed ahead. He was botching this hard, but at this point, he didn’t have anything to lose. “I don’t think Fort Kolob is your thing, though.”
“You know, it has been a long day,” she said. “I just want to relax.”
“Tour operators try hard,” he said. “But it’s not the sort of experience people crave. Not like Avatharn was, right?”
Devon stiffened. A blood vessel in her temple pulsed. “Excuse me.” She stood and grabbed her backpack. As she edged past his knees, she glanced back at her water bottle, now out of reach. Emerson read the indecision in her eyes. Sacrifice the bottle or risk more time in this uncomfortable conversation. He reached over and grabbed the bottle, handing it to her in what he hoped was a peace gesture.
She struggled to get clear of the seats, and Emerson turned his knees sideways to give her room to pass. “This isn’t going well. I’m an idiot. But I’m not hitting on you. After this, I’m grabbing the hyperloop from Vegas to Atlanta, hoping to catch up with Owen. Your rogue friend.”
She quickly covered her shocked expression. “What the hell is your deal? Stalker much?”
He shook his head. “I should have sent someone who knows how to talk to people. It’s hard because we’re a startup and my budget for experimental ideas is limited.”
“Whatever, dude,” she said.
“Wait.” He stopped himself from touching her elbow. “I was searching for the person connected to your in-game avatar. Many Worlds Entertainment gave me your contact info.”
“Apparently they haven’t ever heard of a privacy policy.” She stomped forward a few rows and sat on the outside edge of a seat, ensuring he couldn’t join her again.
He took a seat two rows back so he wouldn’t have to yell. “Unfortunately, Ms. Walker, Many Worlds had extensive fine print associated with that policy. The company was within its legal rights to give me your city of residence, and after that I used a PI to narrow it down.”
Devon whirled on him. “I’m about to contact the police,” she said. Loudly. The other passengers buried their noses in tablets.
Emerson held up his hands in self-defense. “I want to offer you a job, Devon. And it’s nothing shady, I swear. I work for a game company. We have a new title coming out soon, using next-generation technology that we believe will obsolete every game that came before.”
Her jaw worked. “Bullshit.”
Emerson blinked in surprise. “But you haven’t even seen the beta version. How can you—”
“I mean, bullshit that you’d want to hire me. I’m a high school graduate—GED by the way… I didn’t even finish. I know nothing about programming, design, or 3D art. My only game-related training is as a level 250 Wildsense Ranger. So just cut the shit, okay?”
The bus rolled to a stop, and the
automated voice announced a condo development—Devon’s home. She didn’t move to get off. Maybe that meant that she was interested. More likely, she didn’t want to give away information about her home address in case he hadn’t discovered it.
“That’s the thing. I need players. Characters who are ready to step off the rails and make their own track.”
“Like beta testers?”
“Hmm. No, the company has an army of those. Sealed away in some bunker and wrapped in twenty layers of non-disclosure agreements if I were to guess. You haven’t asked what the game is.”
“Because it doesn’t matter. If it were worth my time, I’d have heard of it by now.”
“Unless we’ve done everything we can to keep all knowledge of the project out of the public sphere. We have a technology partnership that was contingent on our agreement to keep details hidden until they were ready to announce.”
“Yet here you are, telling the tour guide from your Wild West adventure all about it.”
“Because the first details hit the newsfeeds tonight at midnight. If you leak something before that, I seriously doubt it will get around fast enough to place us in breach.”
The bus started to roll forward again, tires crunching over the asphalt. Devon glanced out the window, a faint wrinkle of frustration between her brows. Probably thinking about the extra cost of riding past her stop.
“Back to what you’d want me for…” she said.
“A mix of things. The game will need evangelists.”
“If I wanted to become a streamer, I’d have done that in Avatharn. Certainly would have paid better than hawking items and newbie help.”
“You wouldn’t be obligated to share any feeds whatsoever. It’s more like… players need something—someone—to aspire to. Your accomplishments will show on the leaderboards. Anonymous if you like. But it’s more than the example you set for the players. Which brings me to one of the two things that truly sets Relic Online apart. The content is completely dynamic. Our designers created initial parameters, and my AI system populates the world. Veia—that’s what I call her—has created something amazing, but I want to take things a step further. I want players who can challenge her creatively. Force her to go beyond creating the same sort of quests we’ve all played a thousand times.”
Already, the bus was slowing again. Devon gathered her purse and backpack and stood. “And the other thing?”
Emerson cocked his head. “What? Oh. Right. The other reason we’re different.” He pulled a glossy spec sheet from his backpack. It was a rundown of the details on their technology partner, Entwined, a controversial VR interface that used a set of implants to create the experience. Once the public gained confidence in the technology, all other VR gear would become obsolete. Traditional Augmented Reality hardware, too, since the implants could do both easily.
Devon’s eyes flicked to the sheet. After a moment, she snatched it from his fingers.
“You’d be able to play from the comfort of your own couch, and you’d earn a salary for doing it. I’m going to grab some noodles tonight. A place on Bluff Street called Little Saigon. I made the reservation for two, and I swear if you still aren’t interested after you hear my pitch, you won’t hear from me or my company again.”
Chapter Two
THE STREAM OF self-drive cars glided past the front of the hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place, moving with the assembly-line smoothness of traffic in the autocar era. Devon, of course, had taken the bus to a stop seven blocks away and hoofed it from there. Taxis were expensive.
To the west, evening sun set fire to the sandstone high country of Zion National Park. The sight still surprised her, even a couple of weeks after Avatharn’s shutdown. For the five years previous, she’d been tucked into a public VR pod every night by seven. She wasn’t used to sunsets. Real ones, anyway.
She hesitated before passing in front of the restaurant’s windows. The thing on the bus had been weird. Sketchy, even. But she figured she’d be safe meeting him in public, especially on such a busy street. It occurred to her that she ought to have told someone her plans—just in case she did go missing. Unfortunately, her only friend was her coworker, Tamara. And they’d never spoken outside of work. Devon didn’t even have her messenger contact.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets and strode for the door. Bells jingled when she leaned her shoulder against it to push it open. A wave of aroma fell over her, making her mouth water and her stomach clench. Her food budget had been a little tight lately.
The guy was sitting at a table along the wall. Southeast Asian decor, Buddhas and bamboo and stuff, crusted the walls and counter. A small fountain burbled by the entrance to the kitchen.
Devon stalked over and took a seat. The chair had already been pushed out for her. “If you have the resources to hunt down random gamers, clandestine-spy style, why go for someone like me? Why not a celebrity sense streamer? And I still don’t get the secrecy thing with your announcement.”
“On the secrecy, all I know for sure is that negotiations with Entwined were above my pay grade,” he said. “Maybe the hardware guys wanted to see the full-fledged product before they named us their flagship software partner. My name’s Emerson by the way. Emerson George.”
“You already know mine.” Among other things. A fact which really irked her.
“Entwined is also our biggest source of funding. I don’t know all the details, but it’s rarely a good idea to piss off the people with the open wallets.”
“But now they’ve given the go-ahead on the announcement. They think your game will be the title that makes their product a household name. And you’re going to try to convince me of the same thing. Except, in order to experience it, I have to have a bunch of circuitry installed in my scalp.”
The man—Emerson—took a sip of some sort of milky tea. “I was surprised to learn you don’t spend time on gaming forums. But you’re smart enough to wonder why Avatharn shut down, even without reading all the rabid conspiracy theories about it.”
She shrugged. “They never released subscriber numbers, but with how packed the servers were, I can’t imagine they were losing money.”
“One of their upper managers had a mole in our beta program. IT is still trying to figure out how they got a sensory stream past the firewall, but long story short, footage made it into the hands of decision-makers at Many Worlds. They contacted us with an offer to retarget their Avatharn subscribers at Relic Online for a cut of the profits. The fact is, even without Entwined technology, the sense stream was enough for them to see the end of their profits. With the implanted hardware, the play experience has been described as, well, indescribable.”
Devon looked up as the server approached to take their order. She’d heard this kind of marketing hoorah before… though she didn’t usually think it came from AI programmers. Despite her intent to remain skeptical, the game was starting to sound interesting.
The server raised an immaculately plucked eyebrow and brandished her stylus. Devon turned her menu over to the à la carte side and looked for something cheap.
“The meal’s on us,” Emerson said.
In that case… She turned the card back over and ran her finger down the price column. “I’ll have whatever this is,” she said, pointing to something with Vietnamese writing followed by the word large and a hefty price tag.
Emerson chuckled. “Spring rolls for me, please. And a beer.”
Devon hesitated. A beer sounded nice; it’d been a long day wrangling tourists on the Western frontier. But she didn’t want to get too comfortable. “Something with caffeine.”
“Have you tried Vietnamese coffee?” the server asked.
“Sure, sounds good.”
“I had this offer prepared in case you showed up.” Emerson slid a piece of paper across the table as the server walked away.
As Devon scanned it, her eyes widened. Holy crap. The salary was ten times what she made at Fort Kolob. “
I don’t get it. Seriously. Why me?”
“We saw the stream of what you guys did with the bog serpent. Thevizh.”
Devon sat up straight. “What? We had a deal! That last fight was about us battling together one last time. No live streaming allowed.”
Emerson chewed his lip. “It was from the druid. Sorry if that surprises you.”
She rolled her eyes. Hailey. She should have guessed. “Whatever. It’s done now, I guess.”
“The point is, you guys are celebrities of a sort, even if you haven’t been watching the forums to realize it. That’s not why I want you in game, though. I already explained… it’s your skills and creativity, not your public relations abilities. E Squared—that’s my company—will set you up with the necessary surgeries. You’ll enter the game a couple days before we start admitting groups from the main player base.”
She looked down at the paper again. “But this is salary for two years.”
“Provided you play a certain amount per week. There’s fine print about achieving certain milestones—we need to make sure you’re pushing the systems creatively. But I can’t imagine that would be a problem.”
“The technology’s safe?”
“We’ve had a thousand beta testers using it for the last six months. No problems reported. They just aren’t as good at playing as you are.
“So all I have to do is get this awesome tech installed and then play your game for two years?”
He grinned. “That’s pretty much it.”
“Hey, sorry, can I change my order?” Devon asked, motioning for the server.
The woman painted on a smile. “What do you need?”
“Change my coffee to a beer please.”
Chapter Three
DEVON RAN HER fingertips over the maze of ridges at the nape of her neck. The silicon and graphene circuitry, implanted into her skin like a tattoo, crawled over her scalp and up behind her ears, but it was only visible at the base of her skull.
Temple of Sorrow: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 1) Page 3
