by Terry Schott
He waited for an answer but none came. With a shrug, he opened the door and entered.
It was dark and smoky inside. Light from a large candle flickered in the corner on the bar, the flame weaving like a drunken dancing girl as it sputtered and hissed on its wick. Broken wood was piled in one corner of the room. Tables and chairs had been hurled against the wall. A short, balding man stood behind the bar, his eyes wide with fear. He looked at Raphael and then to the other person in the room.
Raphael shook his head in disgust. “What are you doing in this place, Carl? It’s a garbage heap.”
Carl reclined at a small round table placed in the middle of the otherwise empty room with one leg thrown over a chair. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table beside a glass full of golden liquid. “I’m bored.” He raised the glass and tossed its contents to the back of his throat.
Raphael jutted his chin to indicate a darkened corner. “That isn’t good.”
Carl refilled his glass before looking over. Dead bodies lay sprawled in a bloody pile. “It is good. They look better this way than they did alive.”
Raphael sat and took the glass from Carl’s hand. He sniffed the liquid, turning his nose up at the bitter aroma. “Every time you get bored, lots of people seem to die.”
Carl shrugged. “Old habits. Besides, it’s not a big deal. A few NPCs get killed. Who misses them anyway?”
“Did they at least do anything to deserve it?”
“Likely.” Carl snorted. “They weren’t babies. Everyone does something to deserve dying eventually.”
Raphael shook his head and slid the drink back to Carl, who lowered his hand in time to prevent it from sliding off of the table. “It wasn’t hard to find you by air. I just followed the line of smoking villages.”
Carl leaned back and rolled his head from side to side.
“We are all bored. That doesn’t mean we go find corners of the world to kill people.”
“Everyone has their hobbies.” Carl shrugged. “Besides, this part of the world has gotten out of control lately. These pigs were running a slavery operation out of here. All girls and boys.” He turned his head and spat, watching as the spittle sailed through the air to land on the head of one of the corpses. “I barely even made them suffer. To call this regional correction to local business would be a more accurate description of what I’ve done.”
Raphael did not look pleased. “They can’t all be NPCs. There must be some players in the pile as well.”
“Oh yeah.”
“You’re an Eternal at the moment, in case you had forgotten.”
“Which is why you see a pile of dead bad people.” He emptied the bottle and threw it against the wall. “And stop being such a hypocrite. I recall you going on quite the spree only a couple hundred years ago, so get off your high horse.”
The bartender approached and placed a new bottle on the table before scurrying for the safety of the bar. Carl watched him.
“We’ve got work to do.”
“Not interested.” Carl looked at his brother. “The reset didn’t work and word is that players aren’t being born into the Game anymore. That adds up to an obscene volume of NPCs populating the world.” He smiled and poured another drink. “It’s like we’ve reached the bonus level in a video game. The one where you kill as many targets as possible to really rack up the points.”
“Trew made contact. The reset will work this time.”
“Why bother? Is he sending another batch of brats in?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think I’m tired.”
“Then take a nap.”
“I’m too good at this.” He pointed at the dead bodies. “I’ve spent thousands of years in this Game, manipulating and influencing. I’m a master, and I’m bored. I think I need a long break.”
“We get long breaks. Then we get bored from taking long breaks and come back to work. Stop being a diva. There isn’t time to take a break. Let’s just get to work and see what happens next.”
“Fine.” Carl stood and retrieved his scuffed leather jacket. “But things better get interesting soon or I’m gonna make some excitement of my own.”
14
Melissa entered the room and saw Thirteen working on a broken Sim headset. Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
She moved closer; he was re-soldering connections on the exposed computer board. “Are you trying to activate it?”
Thirteen grinned. “Of course not.” He did not sound convincing. “That would be highly illegal. In this grand new society of ours, it’s forbidden to tamper with virtual reality. Punishable by death.”
The power light on the helmet was lit. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“Only if I get caught. The network is down and the array of cameras that used to be everywhere for ‘the protection and safety of all citizens’ aren’t functioning. At least, not in this room. Relax, Melissa, we are safe here; I’ve spent the last three weeks making certain of it.”
Melissa sat down on the stool beside him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Obviously to allow me to get back into the Sim.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“Because it is offline. When we were saved, the mainframe that ran the program was shut down. It doesn’t exist anymore.”
Thirteen chuckled. “That’s what they want us to believe but trust me, that reality still exists, and I intend to get back to it.”
“What makes you think it still exists?”
“Consider the whole picture for a minute. They did more than shut down the mainframe, it was totally destroyed. So why make VR illegal unless it still exists somewhere and we could possibly return to it?”
“So no one else builds another similar system that causes us to fall into the same trap?”
“In this life,” Thirteen admitted, “I wasn’t a very smart person. Lots of people are depressed about the Return because they had better lives on Earth. Better careers, families, lifestyles, and material things.”
“That’s true.”
“I didn’t have an amazing life on Earth, but I was a genius.”
“You brought that back with you.”
Thirteen smiled. “I certainly did.” He pointed at the helmet with his soldering iron. “I wasn’t sure what to do with my skills but, after some consideration, I think this is it.”
“You came back so that you could commit treason and be killed.”
“No.” He laughed. “I came back to save us.”
“You’re confusing me. One man made a program that accidentally sucked billions of innocent people into a computer simulation. Our entire race, and the tens of thousands of years that it took us to get to where we are, almost ended over a stupid video game. We should all be relieved that we are out of danger.”
“But we aren’t relieved.”
Melissa pursed her lips. No. We aren’t.
“Nothing lasts forever, Melissa. Maybe our time on this planet is over. Perhaps the universe intended for us to evolve and move on to another reality, and it was our supreme arrogance that made us try —successfully— to stop that ascension from occurring.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think we somehow made a mistake coming back here. You don’t need to ask if I’m right. Look at the lost expressions of every person you see. To quote George Knight from Earth, ‘It’s like we saw Heaven and fell back to Earth.’”
The words resonated with something deep inside of Melissa. A tear formed in her eye as she nodded.
“I think I was sent back here for a reason.” Thirteen bent over the circuit board with his soldering iron. “I’m gonna find a way to send us all back to Earth.”
15
Twelve executives sat at the conference table with Trew and Danni. Everyone waited for Trew to speak.
“So, no one thinks this is a good idea.”
The man closest to Trew’
s right cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. Danielle spoke. “There are a lot of concerns with the plan the way it is, darling, that’s for sure.”
Trew nodded at the presentation board which was filled with bullet points. “I can understand the misgivings. Honestly, I can. Do you think there is a way to get the fan base on board? Anyone have ideas?”
A young woman raised her hand and spoke. “All polls indicate that it’s the problem with repeatability which is causing the most concern with fans, sir. Viewers do not subscribe to a player’s channel until at least their second or third play as a human avatar. If new players are going in only once, we eliminate a lot of business and industries dedicated to scouting, reporting, and promoting these early plays.”
“Not being able to record is another issue,” a middle-aged man said. “Many players will only gain attention when they are well into their experience. Fans who come in late will be missing half of the story. Current technology will not allow fans to go back and review the journey of their new favourites.”
Trew waved his hand. “That issue is easily remedied.”
Eyes widened and mouths dropped at the announcement. Trew did not notice.
Danielle leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Um, Trew?”
“What?” He turned and saw the expressions around the table. He smiled. “Oops. I let that slip. Sorry.” His face became stern. “I’ve discovered a way to record and play back a gamer’s life before they finish the play.” And by that, I mean that I am prepared to reveal a feature which was always available but kept secret. “If word of this gets out before I make an official announcement, all of you will be unemployable, do you understand? Not just unemployed, but you will never work again.”
Heads nodded.
“Good. Now, if we fix that issue, will repeatability still be such a concern?”
“I’m afraid so.” The woman nodded. “Fans love the interaction with the players. A player’s popularity and market share grow based on their interaction with fans between plays. From a psychological point of view, fans find it easier to immerse themselves into the lives of their chosen players once they have made interpersonal connections.”
She’s right. No one becomes a superstar from their first, and always awkward, play. It takes a lot of interaction with fans between plays. Press tours, interviews, meet and greets, live events, and a slew of other public relation exercises intended to build a fan base. Incredible play will only garner so much attention. It’s the hook, but it needs to be planted firmly to get the fish.
“These are serious challenges.” Trew returned to his chair and sat down. “Anything else? I’m asking for deal breakers right now.”
An old executive with round black glasses chuckled. “In my opinion, the biggest problem is number five on the list.”
Everyone glanced at number five. Danielle smiled and nodded.
Trew closed his eyes and shook his head. Old people don’t want to play. “I don’t get it.”
“Of course you do.” Danni leaned back in her seat. “You and I are able to understand it better than even the elderly citizens of Tygon are. We’ve been old many times and can relate to those feelings.”
Trew thought back to his multiple lives, the ones where he had managed to live long enough to die of natural causes in the Game. “They are tired. Their brains aren’t what they were, and their psyches are exhausted. You’re right, I can see why they might be hesitant.”
“Hesitant.” Someone at the table snorted.
Trew wasn’t convinced. “Looking back at most of my lives, if someone had come to me when I was in my seventies and offered me another lifetime, I would have taken it.”
“You would have, but know how many kids drop out of the Game before they’re eighteen?”
She’s right. A lot of kids have enough credits to buy back in, but they choose to hang onto what they have and wait a couple years to cash out rather than continuing to play and risk poverty. The average person is not bold.
“It’s an issue,” one woman said. “Current estimates indicate that less than one percent of eligible senior citizens would enter the Game, which is not enough to keep the economy going. Not by a long shot.”
Trew rubbed his forehead. “I’m not ready to give up on this, but we should come up with alternative ideas in case there’s no way to make it work.” He looked around the table. “You are the sharpest minds in the world when it comes to the Game and global commerce. Tell me that you have other ideas we can discuss.”
Pages began to ruffle. “We have some very good ideas, sir,” one of the executives offered.
“Excellent. Let’s hear them.”
16
“If it doesn’t work this time I’m gonna to pick a medium-sized country and kill every single NPC in it.”
“Whoa, big boy.” Angelica shook her head. “Anyone ever mention that you have unhealthy violent tendencies when you’re grumpy?”
Carl’s sudden grin resembled that of a wolf baring its fangs in the dim light of the pyramid chamber. “It’s come up once or twice.”
“It’s going to work.” Gabriel’s demeanour was calm and confident as usual. The Artifact behaved normally, its swirling colours floating beneath the surface.
“Then let’s get to it.” Raphael reached out and touched the globe. The liquid silver gathered and flowed towards his palm.
In succession, the rest of Brandon’s Hand placed their palms on the artifact. When Angelica placed her hand on it, sound filled the chamber, washing them in a melody that was both beautiful and harmonic. The energy built and reached a climax. The Artifact paused for a split second, then emitted a pulse of white light accompanied by a concussive thunderclap of sound.
***
Carl opened his eyes and groaned. “Why can’t it ever set us down nicely?” He stood, untangling his arm from the branches of a thick bush and shaking his head to dislodge dirt and fine gravel from his hair. His left cheek tingled from a shallow cut he’d received sliding into the ground during landing.
Well, at least the damned thing worked this time. In all directions, dense heavy trees covered the landscape. Pristine uncleared land. He nodded. Not decimated and destroyed by the cockroaches who will be born and decide the world is theirs to warp and shape as they see fit. I will enjoy the peace and quiet for these next few centuries. The fewer idiots stumbling across my path, the better.
Carl sat down and folded his legs, closing his eyes and placing his hands in a meditative position. He sat like that for the next two hours, cleansing his mind and preparing for the next long session of play.
Finally, he stood and smiled. Few had seen Carl look so peaceful. He jumped and flew high into the air with eyes closed and face tilted up to feel the warm energy of the sun.
At an altitude of several thousand feet he stopped to hover, opening his eyes to survey what would be his land to watch over for the next few centuries.
Something in the landscape made him frown. “This isn’t right. God damn it, what’s going on?”
Three large cities lay within his field of vision. There should be no cities of this size for hundreds of years. This isn’t how it was before the reset, but these cities are out of place. Maybe the Artifact only did a partial job.
He laughed. “That’s gonna throw a wrench into things.”
Carl streaked through the sky towards the nearest city and found an area devoid of people to land in. One person seeing me fly would unlock the possibility for all of them to do the same and it’s certainly too early for that. He exited the alley and strolled through the streets until he saw some of the NPC inhabitants.
Their style of clothes are not familiar to me. He stopped near a group and pretended to be interested in the window display of a shop. Two people stopped behind him and began to talk. Carl listened for a moment. His confusion increased. What language is that? There is a common derivative to all language. It’s built into the mainframe sequence. I should be able to understand them, b
ut I can’t. What the hell’s going on?
He turned around to get a better look then spun back, swearing under his breath. Someone’s playing a game with me and I don’t like it.
The people looked at Carl with curious expressions. One said something to him. He couldn’t decipher the words, but the meaning was clear.
“Yeah, I know.” He moved away from them. “I don’t look like you do. Very funny, Sylvia. Everything’s changed.”
17
“I’m gonna touch it.”
Melissa looked up from the VR helmet. “Touch what?”
“The Artifact.”
“I know that was the original idea, but now I’m not so certain that you should.”
Thirteen shrugged. “I didn’t like it at first, but now I think it’s the thing to do.”
“Based on what?”
“An educated hypothesis.”
“A smart guess? You do remember what happened to the last person who touched that thing, right?”
“Yeah.” He continued reading a yellow-tinged newspaper.
“So you have a death wish.”
“I have a theory.”
“That you are willing to bet your life on?”
Thirteen grinned. “Yeah, I think so.”
Melissa chewed her bottom lip.
“I don’t think it’s the helmets.” Thirteen flipped to the next page of his paper.
“You know, most days I understand about half of what you say. Today I think it’s maybe less than a quarter. What isn’t the helmets?”
He held up the newspaper and shook it. “There’s an article in here that was written when people started getting pulled into the Sim. They interviewed Stephen Hawking. You’ve heard of him, right?”
“Of course. The seventy-year-old that looks like he’s twenty-five. He got a disease when he was young but figured out how to cure it. The cure also increased his intelligence and made his body super regenerative. They think he might end up living to be three hundred years old or more.”
