Beginner's Luck (Character Development Book 1)

by Aaron Jay

  “I didn’t raise a ninny or a fool. I said very satisfactory and very satisfactory I meant.” His inflated opinion of himself and his works--including me--matched his physique.

  “You know I have neither finished escaping their little dungeon nor won my bet,” I reminded him.

  He waved it away.

  “Your basic contention that given anything like a fair chance you could escape the Cradle is manifestly true,” he began.

  A notice on parchment appeared before each of us, interrupting him for a moment. The Party took on such pretentious and grandiose affectations. Notifying us of their summons using a parchment scroll with what looked like handwritten calligraphy, wax seals and ribbons.

  My father continued speaking quickly. “It isn’t even unknown to the movers and shakers of the Party. Tasha is frustrated with her daughter because she knows very well that you are right even if she raised her child to believe otherwise. This is why they either won’t allow you to continue or will make sure that your chance is even farther from anything one could describe as fair.”

  “So how do I get out of this?”

  “I don’t have time to explain in full but this is larger than just you Miles. You need to…”

  And with that the summons took effect and we appeared to defend ourselves in front of the powers that be. You would think my father the genius would have made sure to tell me what I needed to do before we ran out of time. Anything we said from here on out would be heard by people who wished us ill. I knew my father had a plan. Too bad I had no idea what it was.

  My father and I were standing in a pool of light surrounded by looming shadows. Arrayed above us was a circle of massive stone thrones. Figures in cowls stood in judgment above us. Their features were dimly lit from below making their expressions severe and threatening.

  Something in the pit of my stomach rebelled and I felt queasy and nervous. My hand felt clammy. I felt more nervous than I had when faced with the final boss of the dungeon. I felt more nervous than I had when forced into the dungeon in the first place. It was overwhelming.

  My father snorted.

  “ArchE, adjust the lighting and filter out the subsonics,” he commanded.

  At his command, my stomach stopped rebelling and my hands no longer dripped with sweat from sub-audible sound frequencies. The light changed and the shadowy looming figures became just a bunch of the most powerful men and women in the world bent on my destruction.

  “That is better. I also prefer eyes at a level,” my father went on. His chair appeared, as did a plainer one for me.

  It seemed that there was something of a power struggle going on as these accommodations shifted back and forth.

  “I demand courtesy,” he bellowed. “Are we now so barbaric that you wish to govern using parlor tricks? You have already sorely tested me. You have danced on the edge of our agreement and rely upon my word for my continued restraint. We all know what my word is worth. What is yours? I came here to talk, not be molested by your ridiculous mummery. If you are unwilling to talk then the time for talk will have passed and we can dispute in other fashions.”

  An Asian man whose eyes were as severe as the sharp planes of his face spoke up.

  “Tasha. End this farce. Hello, Numitor,” he said politely.

  “Good afternoon, Mencius,” my father said.

  This was Mencius Lee, leader of the Lee clan.

  “Oh, very well,” said Tasha. “Numitor, this hearing is in regards to your son. As someone accused of a crime he was being treated according to protocol. The majesty of the court and all that,” she said with seeming equanimity. “You are here as a courtesy.”

  “Flummery. I am here because you hope to use your daughter’s idiocy to remove my grip from your throats. The sound and light show is you acting out of pique,” he grunted.

  “You know me so well,” she laughed.

  “I am always interested in hearing of Eastman idiocy. What has Maya done?” Mencius Lee inquired.

  “The silly bet with Miles here,” Tasha replied. “What does it matter? A trifling amount of nano against owning--I mean contracting--Numitor’s son and heir. The reward is certainly worth the risk, no?”

  Mencius grunted. My father eyed her, trying to assess her game.

  “You know very well that I refer to her using your authority to change the fundamental architecture of Miles’ character creation and therefore the constraints of the Game itself.”

  Mutters and rumblings of fear and concern moved through the Clan Leaders at this revelation. No one, not even a clan head, was trusted enough to meddle on their own authority with the AI and nano that kept the last of humanity from extinction. A tall, almost emaciated black woman at one end made herself heard.

  “What have the Eastmans done, exactly?” she asked with the endorsement of many around her. Her patrician accent lent authority to her inquiry.

  Tasha started to explain but was overrode by Mencius.

  “Let us not take the word of the Eastman Clan Leader,” he drawled. “I mean, of course, that as it relates to her daughter her feelings as a mother may bias her explanation. In no way do I imply that the Eastmans are a clan who lie and cannot be trusted.”

  “Can the Lees and Eastmans not waste our time with their feud?” said a Clan Leader who was built like an ox with two blond braids and a bristling beard in matching gold.

  The clan heads looked to my father, who gave the tiniest of shrugs and pursed his lips saying, “What is the point of me explaining? You wouldn’t trust my explanation without confirmation from your pet AI in any event. Why waste my time and yours? Summon him.”

  “Agreed. Let us hear this from Amulius himself. It is clear that parts of this council have made decisions in relation to Numitor without consulting the rest of us,” said the skinny woman who first spoke up.

  “Clan Leader Appiah, point of order. I will testify under nano-enforced truth that I did nothing to Numitor. No Eastman has. This is a squabble amongst our children. Miles Boone is a legal adult. He is not his father,” Tasha stated flatly.

  With the Party council’s assent, Amulius was summoned. Not that he wasn’t there before in some sense, but his avatar was made manifest. He appeared before them dressed and looking exactly as he had the last time I saw him. The same greying maturity. The look of someone used to commanding and controlling. Yet, again underneath it there was a softness or weakness in the regal facade. His once strong physique coated with a layer of fat. An ambitious and powerful man gone soft, the victim of his own success.

  “Greetings, party members. What do you require of me?” he inquired with a carefully modulated amount of deference without subservience.

  “We wish a report on Miles Boone, his character creation and any fallout from it,” said the leader of Clan Appiah in her precise clipped accent that was as spare as her frame.

  “Miles Boone rolled up his permanent character fifteen weeks three days seven hours and 42 minutes 13 seconds ago. GM Gutzman 845321-Iota - x-ray was the official overseeing the procedure. He authorized the implementation of a clan member’s starting package. Clan heir Maya Eastman used her provisional authority to remove Miles Boone’s luck stat from his permanent character. She was warned that removing rather than lowering the luck stat was outside of normal operating parameters. She overrode the warning using Guild Leader Eastman of the Party override code: Beta Zed 99743”

  The Clan Leaders were disturbed at this news but Tasha Eastman managed to maintain her appearance of calm nonchalance. After a moment, she prompted Amulius to continue.

  “And what accommodations and adjustments has this created for Miles’ play? What safeguards or constraints on the AIs or nano, wild or domesticated, has this removed or altered?” she asked. Clearly she knew what answer to expect.

  “None,” said Amulius.

  “None? Nothing?” she repeated for effect.

  “That is correct Clan Leader.”

  Tasha Eastman looked around at her peers, forc
ing them to acknowledge her argument.

  “Perhaps no safeguards or changes in AI or nano have been created. But I’d like to hear Amulius tell us how he has accommodated Miles’ odd character,” Mencius pressed, looking for anything to hang on his foe.

  Amulius nodded to Mencius.

  “Miles has been barred from any autoplay functions requiring Luck to execute the related algorithms. A subservient AI has been assigned the task of maintaining game balance and the letter and spirit of the wager between Miles Boone and Maya Eastman. These adjustments are strictly in limiting or adjusting the possible array of choices available for Miles Boone,” Amulius reported.

  “What subservient AI? What alterations to game balance?” asked Appiah to Tasha’s consternation and Mencius’s satisfaction.

  Looking at these people squabble and vie for dominance, it was no wonder humanity’s borders were stagnating. I looked at my father. His eyes were half-lidded and it looked like as far as he cared they might as well have been discussing the price of tea in China. Which was obviously not true, as he interjected.

  “Miles, my son, has been tasked with completing all five of the beginner quests within one year. So, as Amulius mentioned, this means that he has 36 weeks, 3 days, 17 hours and about fifteen minutes left to finish winning his wager. You are wasting his and my time. Bring any charges or accusations against him or me. Waste any more of our time and I will consider the agreement breached.”

  “But you said that Maya Eastman had changed the game. You called it idiocy,” Mencius reminded my father.

  “And it was. The girl obviously had no idea what the possible consequences of her actions might have been. Altering the constraints of our AI is suicidal arrogance, even if this adjustment had no negative consequences. And about what I have come to expect from you all,” my father growled.

  “Accusing others of arrogance is rich coming from you Numitor,” Tasha hissed.

  “My self-regard is earned,” stated my father calmly.

  “Enough of this,” Tasha entreated her colleagues. “Numitor is baiting us, playing on our fears and not-so-subtly reminding us of the constraints and balance of the game--which just so happens to be his legacy and the hold he keeps on all of us. We are all constrained by the Core Rules, Numitor included. If my daughter had unbalanced the game, control of the AIs would have ceded back to Numitor. This is all bluster to distract us from his attempts to save his son from the folly of that wager.”

  “Is this true?” asked one of the Clan Leaders I did not know. A swarthy little man with quick eyes and a beak of a nose.

  “Am I attempting to distract you from some sort of perfidy on my part or my son being a foolish young man? No. Tasha and the GMs have not bothered to inform me what perfidy they assume on my part. I’d be a fool to distract from the unknown. Any such stratagem would be revealed soon enough. And as far as my son being a fool--he is young so by the low standards of what we should expect of youth he has an acceptable head on his shoulders. He might actually be wise in a few years.”

  “So, the world is not ending. The game continues. Tasha, bring your charges,” said a Clan Leader.

  “They are not my charges. The GMs have concerns. I requested the meeting because I knew that anything connected this closely to Numitor, the architect of our salvation, or any possible impact of our agreement would be of interest to the other clans.”

  This fiction was met with guarded silence. Obviously, this was the Eastmans’ show and the rest were going to wait and see what came of it.

  “GM Arneson. Can you please come and present your case to the council and the AIs?”

  I looked around. Arneson’s avatar appeared and joined the rest of ours. He walked over to stand before the council where Amulius had testified previously.

  “Greetings, Clan Leaders. Thank you for taking the time. The GMs are always happy to keep the Party and the players informed of events.”

  “Who initiated an investigation of any of the Boones? While the stalemate with Numitor has its frustrations and difficulties, it has served Clan Appiah well enough,” asked Clan Leader Appiah.

  Arneson looked over to Tasha for guidance.

  Off of that look, Mencius chimed in. “Never mind. I think we all understand what is going on.”

  “Miles Boone is a player. He is not his father. If he chose to enter the Game then he is subject to oversight like anyone,” insisted Arneson.

  “I’d like to mention that GM Arneson has already been reprimanded for overstepping his authority in his investigation and incarceration of my son. His impartiality is suspect,” my father stated.

  “I assure you that I did nothing unethical here, Mr. Boone. I took my lumps for my previous error and won’t make that mistake again,” he said with forced earnestness. He was obviously on his best behavior.

  “Yes, your lumps. You were hosted by the Eastmans on a clan raid during your suspension. You got an officer’s share. Some lumps,” I couldn’t help but interject.

  My father squeezed my arm silently signaling me to keep my mouth shut. It was a struggle to bite my tongue. I kept reminding myself that if you have the world’s greatest genius on your side who knows more than you do and loves you like the son that you are, you’d have to be a fool to interfere. Still, it isn’t like he was known as the world’s greatest lawyer. Accomplishment in one area of expertise doesn’t translate to another. But this wasn’t a courtroom despite some of the trappings. The AIs were in charge of the rules and the Party council was run one hundred percent via politics. And while my father might not be a lawyer, he knew AIs and the rules they were operating under better than anyone else and he had gone toe to toe with these clans and fought them to a stalemate before. I shut my mouth.

  “I apologize once again, Mr. Boone. I am sorry you still have hard feelings about that incident. I can assure you that nothing improper happened this time around. I am willing to testify under nano-enforced truth,” he said innocently.

  It was clear that Arneson had been coached. My father raised one side of his mouth in his version of a wry smile. Most others might not even be able to see it. My father obviously saw that as well. The fact that both he and Tasha Eastman were happy to ask for nano-verification of their testimony meant that their hands were clean.

  “We still don’t know what you are accusing us of.”

  “I was contacted by Jude Sandoval, a junior associate of the Eastmans. A friend of yours, I think, Miles,” Arneson continued. “He told me that he had been in a dungeon party with you. He and the other three members of the party had left the instance over some personal differences with you. Despite the instance being somewhat above your level and you being left solo, you never logged out. He came by your apartment repeatedly to try to discuss your differences. After weeks of being unable to contact you he grew more and more concerned. Out of sentiment or perhaps just luck he never joined any new party after leaving your party and instance. This allowed him to monitor your progress through the instance. He was surprised to find that the Game told him you are 97% complete,” he said dramatically.

  “This Sandoval says that Miles Boone has soloed an instance? A four-man instance?” asked the giant viking-looking Clansman.

  “97% of it. That is correct Clan Leader Arildskov.”

  “By damn!” said Clan Leader Arildskov. He looked me over appraisingly and perhaps a bit approvingly.

  “More than that. The other members of Boone’s party were all at the maximum gap with his level. At the time they entered the instance Boone was apparently level three. The others were all level eight. You all can do the math as well as me. They had an average level of 6 3/4. The game rounded that up and set the instance to be run by four seventh level players.”

  “That is impossible. Soloing an instance is a sign of an astoundingly capable player. But the level difference. No! It is impossible,” bellowed Arildskov like the viking he resembled. Whatever approval he had shown me had become anger and disgust as he assumed I must have
cheated somehow.

  “That was my thinking as well. I hate to say it but it seemed like Miles--perhaps with the help of his father--had somehow cheated. I set my system to alert me when Miles Boone logged out. I caught Miles hurrying to his father’s house. I engaged him in conversation. He seemed flushed and nervous. He began coughing uncontrollably and collapsed. One of Numitor Boone’s artificial servitors collected him and took him inside. I believe he was under the influence of some sort of altered nano.”

  Anger and exclamations of shock and outrage erupted from all the Clan Leaders. All of them except Tasha Eastman and Mencius. They kept their self-possession. Looking at me and my father, waiting for him to make the next move. He looked back at them. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and thought. All I could do was sit, wait and hope that my father was able to think a step ahead of our enemies.

  “Well! Say something, Numitor, you damned fat ape! All your talk of ethics - calling us corrupt all these years. And now! You cheat!” bellowed Arildskov leaping to his feet. Most of the other Clan Leaders were making similar eruptions but none were as loud as Arildskov.

  “Shut up!” thundered my father. And even in his avatar I swear that my father sounded as large as his giant body. “Shut up and sit down!”

  He turned to Arneson. “You once again accuse my son and now me at the behest of the Eastmans? You dare?” he growled.

  Arneson was glorying in the moment. Sure of his probity.

  “You’re damned right I do! No one can solo a dungeon over twice their level. And he definitely had some sort of nano-impacted fit. The GMs AI reviewed my interactions with your son. Given the blood tinged sputum, his cough and breath sounds, their best guess is that he was suffering from swimmer’s lung. How do you get that in your apartment? Long showers? No. Nano. That is how. His symptoms are consistent with unexpected nano interactions with the game system and some other body system package.”

  “You are a fool. The question is, of course, what does your puppet master expect to gain from your foolishness,” my father growled.