by Arthur Stone
"It makes no sense to you, but it makes perfect sense to your consciousness."
"In what way exactly?"
"Without complete verisimilitude, you'll feel deceived."
"Well, I know none of this is real, anyway."
"You know it in your mind. But the murkier depths take everything at face value. This is the very reason why this environment provides us with a few compelling opportunities. Let's consider your case. You don't know where your body is—it may be abandoned, for all you know, let alone crippled and in a coma, while your consciousness wanders the game world without a care, enjoying life to the fullest."
"So, getting disconnected from the body is one of the consequences of such highly detailed virtual reality?"
"There are other factors as well. But, for the most part, it's true. Without an enormous open world where your eyes will believe anything, you won't be able to achieve this effect. So, did I answer all your questions? Or are there more? Ask whatever you like."
"What about you? Didn't we agree to take turns?"
"Oh, I'm glad you remembered. OK, can I have a go now?"
"Give it a try."
"Have you completed the Emperor's quest?"
"Not quite."
"Will it take long?"
"I feel it's not going to take that much longer."
"Do you know they can kill you? As in, really kill you."
"I do."
"Hm… Well, maybe you're not that much of a noob, after all."
"If the consciousness can be fooled enough to make it leave the body, it shouldn't be that hard to invent a weapon intended to destroy it. And, without consciousness, the body is just a shell."
"Do you reckon you could make such a weapon?"
"I was talking about the developers. I have no idea how they accomplished it."
"Have you heard about the AI problem?"
"What problem?"
"They keep disappearing."
"This is the first time I'm hearing anything of this sort."
"Someone is transferring synthetic consciousnesses to different carriers. And that includes the game world."
"That doesn't mean much to me."
"The AIs created by Barbarossa are a lot like us. Similar consciousness structures, or something like that. They can also disconnect from their original carriers, and they've been doing it ever since you logged on."
"I'm perfectly sure I never disconnected them from anything."
"There are certain parties who assume that you work for those who had planned to destroy their expensive property."
"I'm telling you, I've never heard anything about it before."
"Motherland is interested in everything that concerns Barbarossa's offspring."
"I hear he came to a sticky end."
"Indeed. He was dissolved in acid and flushed down the drain. Also known as 'running away from a nagging wife with a young girlfriend.'"
"That's a most original way of eloping…"
"Especially considering that his wife isn't anything remotely like the gorgon she's made out to be. So, you realize what exactly our motherland is interested in?"
"I do."
"And is there anything you might want to tell me about Barbarossa's AIs?"
"I'm not quite sure, but I think I had a conversation with one of them today. And there were oddities before that."
Half Pint couldn't manage to hide his enormous curiosity as he asked,
"They talk to you? Help you somehow? Give advice?"
"To the best of my awareness, they cannot interfere in the gaming process in a rough and invasive manner. They have certain boundaries they may not cross. But they can give me hints and arrange situations that will be to my benefit. They need me. Or, rather, they need me to complete a certain quest."
"Oh, we know all about the quest."
"How?"
"Don't start suspecting your friends—they have nothing to do with it. There's a whole bunch of players attempting to complete a unique quest that will give them incredible bonuses of some sort. Their boss is Michael Silber himself—also known as the Old Man. Do you know him?"
"Not personally, but I hear he plans to live forever."
"That's bullshit. He'd already appointed his successors. And before he did, he had told all his relatives to perform an unnatural sexual act upon themselves. That is to say, he cut his family out completely. Instead, he chose a poor orphan—one of the company's grunts. A nice guy—he looks so sweet one could have suspected passionate romantic involvement, only it's the Old Man we're talking about. Now he's all but Silber's right hand man; his apartment is right underneath the Old Man's, and trustworthy sources report that this guy will take his place once the Grim Reaper finally finds his way into old Mike's penthouse. It's all been agreed upon, with all the contracts signed. Anyway, the guy knows he won't live forever, and he's prepared for shuffling this mortal coil."
"So what's the point in the quest?"
"The point is that all this successor business is but smoke and mirrors. I've been feeding you the corporation's regular pitch. You'd have to be a total bonehead to believe in something like that. The Old Man really plans to stay immortal, and he has a way to accomplish it—we have established that much with absolute certainty. But he needs to complete the quest in order to do it, and he has certain issues with that. The worst thing is that only a single group of players can complete it—or, rather, its victorious leader. None of the others have any chance. And do you know why? The game keeps changing, and it creates obstacles. All of this is somehow associated with a weird noob, who manages to make a certain malodorous substance boil up around him all the time. You're the most painful boil on his ass, Ros. And the Old Man will squeeze you at first opportunity. He has more power here than anyone. Is there anything else you can tell me about the AIs?"
"I know nothing about them. Also, I've learned so much today that my head is spinning."
"What if you find out something? You won't forget your old mate Half Pint and the few pints we've downed together? I've shown you a lovely peaceful place, and we've had a candid talk. You should appreciate such treatment."
"Are you trying to recruit me or something?"
"Not quite. But Motherland is interested in all that fancy stuff, you see. Barbarossa's AIs could destroy half of New York right now, and no one would manage to stop them. We don't like them roaming around."
"AIs control weaponry?"
"Have you been living under a rock?! Do you know anything at all?! It's a lot worse than that—they're in charge of control systems, which, in turn, operate the most advanced weaponry out there. All of this is common practice. So we get really worried when something begins to happen there, and we cannot understand it. We would like to know for sure what happens to the missing AIs. And we suspect that you either know the answer already, or will soon find out. Find those who stand behind it, and Motherland won't forget you."
"Am I supposed to salute and click my heels now?"
"Don't, we're on enemy territory," Half Pint looked around himself furtively and switched to an urgent whisper, "I buried my parachute with a red star a few paces away from here, so let's not draw any attention to this place."
"How could you trust a machine so much that you would give it the capacity to destroy a whole city?"
"People have already made so much stuff that they cannot handle everything. Whereas Barbarossa's AIs are perfect. When they're created, they're programmed with rules they cannot break on the most basic level. They would self-destruct if they tried to violate them."
"There are always hackers who can override it."
"They won't benefit from it. The AI will burn out before it breaks the rules. If an AI decides something, that's how it's going to be. To them, it's not a question of honor; it's a question of existence. Anything else would be unthinkable. But do you know what the funniest thing is?"
"No idea."
"The Second World rules are instilled into them at the deepest l
evel. Everything else comes later. Barbarossa believed the game to be ideal, so he was using the code of its main laws as a basis. It's been like that since then. The technology of their alternative programming was flushed down the drain along with Barbarossa. Just when they manage to restore it remains to be seen. So, what do you say? Will you help your fellow countryfolk? I've told you so much, after all, and I haven't been holding back. Mark that."
"If I find out anything…"
"Use the game chat to get in touch with me. Avoid the forum by all means. It's full of holes and leaks. So, how about another pint as a parting glass?"
"I'd say these two were enough for me."
"All right, I'll skip it, too. So, shall we say our goodbyes now?"
"Hold on."
"What is it?"
"I'd like to check if your connections are really as good as you say."
"Doesn't it show? Well, all right, but keep it quick—it's boring to sit here without any beer."
"Can you run a check on a player?"
"I'll need the name."
"Thyrinawerria Raynayila."
"Anyone with a simpler name? What a mouthful."
"She's the one I need."
"Okay, just sit tight, I'll whisper a few words into some ears."
Half Pint's eyes went glassy—it would probably take more than a few words. Ros looked about him, but there was nothing suspicious in sight. He finished the last gulp, feeling a slight regret that he had declined a third mug. The beer tasted great, and the buzz it gave him was pleasant. Sometimes that's precisely what you need if you're confused.
And his confusion was of enormous proportions.
Half Pint's eyes became alive again. He grinned one of his widest grins and made an admonishing gesture with his finger.
"Oh, a ladies' man, aren't you? Into pretty young things?"
"Come again?"
"I've seen this Thyrinawerria Raynayila's real-life picture. She's gorgeous. If you're into slim girls with fine facial features and skin the color of cappuccino. DELET THIS Would you like her phone number?"
"I'm not planning to date her. I have certain issues with my body, you know."
"Well, you should plan ahead. Those issues are temporary, after all."
"So, what's wrong with her?"
"Why would you think there was something wrong?"
"I had a hunch."
"Well, according to what I've managed to find out, everything's just peachy. Her family is happy and well-off, you couldn't have wished for anything better. I'm surprised, in fact. Her father's a Somalian refugee, and you know how hard it is for them. But this one's been successful, nevertheless. Her mom stays in his shadow, but she's the backbone of the family. She went to a good school and then to college. The girl is modest to a fault, and it's a family trait. A model student, not a single scandal, and a perfect reputation."
"But there's still something, isn't there?"
"There is indeed. She's here for her treatment."
"Come again?"
"There are a few programs aimed at helping certain categories of players adapt. Shrinks tried to use virtual reality for the treatment of certain mental disorders way back before Second World."
"Thyri has mental health issues?"
"So she's just Thyri to you already? You're a smooth operator, bro—in like Flynn."
"I asked you a question."
"Her? Not any more than you. But she appears to have studied too hard. Hell, at her age, and looking like that, she should party like it's 1999, but she just spends all her time swotting, taking short breaks for dance lessons. Not the best way for a young woman to spend her time, so she must have cracked at some point. Also, her baby brother died around the same time, and she took it very hard. Well, anyone would. She became withdrawn, depressed, and so on."
"So they're using the game to treat her?"
"Well, they have rehab programs for all sorts of cases. I'm not a doctor, so I don't know all the details."
"Check out players named Macho Strongman and Nail-in-the-Head at some point. I am ready to bet they take part in programs of some sort, too."
"Why would I be interested?"
"Because those programs are somehow related to the AIs that you've been asking about."
"What's your source?"
"The game keeps saddling me with such players. I keep running into them."
"Do you think they're controlled like marionettes?"
"Thyri wasn't under anyone's control. Or, at least, it wasn't direct. A hint at what they wanted would be enough. They made her react to circumstance."
"I get it. We'll ponder this. So, homie, is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"
"Not really. Let's split."
* * *
John Shelby, codename Octopus, left the garage, pulled out a phone with the capacity of making untraceable calls, waited for connection, and said,
"He's not here, either."
He would soon start hearing these words in his nightmares.
Chapter 14
Ros was beginning to get sick of the capital. There was too much talk, and he got too few answers that would be of any use. No matter how much information he managed to gather, it was never enough. Mostly chaff, where the kernels of truth he had yearned to discover so keenly would get lost without a trace.
All he needed was a simple answer to his most pressing question. Namely, how to complete the mysterious quest without making the wrong choice in the mysterious situation he would face. If everything went as planned, he'd solve his main problem and get his body back. He wouldn't have to face years of drudgery in order to get the money he would need. He'd be able to do it at once.
The damn AI could have been more specific. And it would have been even better to meet the person behind it—Ros could always deal with a human being.
He found Digits at the stock exchange. The latter was staring attentively at some enormous table on the wall, with hundreds of lines of text in different colors scrolling by.
"I'm not distracting you from anything important, am I?"
"It's cool. I'm trying to get into a rather interesting business. It's likely to be pretty lucrative."
"I'm done with my affairs."
"Let me guess—you're the noob the entire Western Empire is gossiping about."
"Wasn't it like that from the very start?"
"What I'm saying is that you were received by the Emperor, and they rolled out a red carpet for you, and there was a military band playing."
"There was no band, and there was no red carpet, either."
"Oh, come on, a thousand eyewitnesses have described it in great detail."
"Everybody lies."
"Sure. You're the only modest one, aren't you?"
"Did you get what I need?"
"Well, I have barely managed to sell anything. It makes no sense to sell valuable stuff for peanuts. I'll have to make my research and look at potential offers. We'll make a lot more that way."
"I'll need the stuff I'd asked for right away."
"I get it. There are eleven items that meet you requirements. There's also a chance of getting a bonus. And a hefty one, at that."
"Come again?"
"Ever heard of the Ring of Perfidy?"
"Can't say I have."
"The best thing a necromancer like you could possibly dream of. It has bonuses to summoning and to pet attacks, as well as a few others that will also come in handy. You'd need to be at level 100, but it won't take you too long to get there. Once you do, you're unlikely to find anything better until you're at 250. A real cool knickknack for anyone who uses undead pets."
"OK, that suits me, too. Grab it as well."
"Hold your horses."
"Are there any problems?"
"There are always problems. I don't know how many rings of that sort there are in Second World, but they are hardly ever sold. One was found right here, almost randomly; there are hints there's another one out there, but nothing is certain. You
could wear two, one on either hand—that's how rings work, as you probably know. There won't be any conflicts."
"Get the one they have. We'll see about the other one later."
"The owner doesn't want to part with it. He's a keen collector."
"Offer him a good price. Or a swap."
"We have nothing we could swap it for; we don't have that much money, either. Also, it isn't worth paying two hundred thousand for it. We don't have that kind of money, anyway."
"Two hundred thousand?! Did he say he'd sell it for that much?!"
"That's just my estimate. He could charge a million, for all I know—he's quite a character, this Korean."
"You don't like Koreans? Why is that?"
"They're psychos. We come here to play, whereas they actually live there. Those guys are a handful."
"You're generalizing."
"But this is precisely the case where generalizations make sense."
"You had a reason to tell me about this ring, didn't you?"
"Well, you know me, o Great Emperor of Noobs. I wouldn't waste your precious time engaging you in idle banter. There's something that could work out."
"I'm all ears."
"This Korean guy loves to gamble more than anything."
"Shall we play cards?"
"Are you any good at cards?"
"I'm not."
"Neither am I. Which means we'll lose, and that's not what we're after. No, that's not our strong suit."
"What is, then?"
"We're both noobs, but you are a very unusual kind of noob."
"So, how is it going to help me get the ring?"
"This is the capital. It offers all kinds of entertainment."
"Noticed as much."
"They include all kinds of fights. I have an invitation to the kind where naked people drag each other all over the arena. They also have aromatic foam poured over them to spice things up. Whoever manages to throw the opponent out, wins."
"Sounds mind-blowing, but you're not planning to sign me up for one of those, are you?"
"I don't think they'll let you compete. You're just not cute enough."
"My point exactly."
"Although, perhaps, you could use your charisma to charm them into letting you participate."
