by Michael Ryan
“You might get volunteered anyway and end up in a worse position.”
“I know. Being forced to choose sucks.”
“It’s just life.”
“I know. I just want to build code – is that so bad? I’ll make a decent living once I start working. If I have to go to war or become a chicken farmer in Ecuador, I’ll be really bummed. I want to make my own choices.” Dale kicked the wall and then sat on a fluffy sofa he’d purchased with in-game Rhith Credits.
Brian sat next to him. “I’ve heard that dying in Nagant Wars is intense. Supposedly you feel realistic pain.”
“I heard the same,” Dale said.
“After you’re dead, a medical robot puts you into a coma. You don’t respawn right away. The system has to reconstruct everything, like if you’d been actually chopped up in a battle.”
“Well, it’s not like you’re really–”
“I’m not scared about it,” Brian said. “Not really. But it sounds kind of freaky.”
“I’ve always wondered about the continuity problem,” Dale said.
“Don’t get all philosophical on me.” Brian pointed at the Rhith Pod that surrounded them. “It’s still just a game at the end of the day.”
Brian wasn’t one of the friends that Dale discussed important things with. He was an all right guy most of the time, but he wasn’t a deep thinker. The continuity problem bothered Dale because it didn’t make sense to him that a human could die and then come back as the same person.
Even though in-game death wasn’t real and the body didn’t actually die, the system was jacked into a player’s brain in ways that weren’t completely understood, outside of the developers.
Dale looked at his friend. “What do you think of that terrorist group?”
“The Troth?” Brian asked.
“They’ve been posting in forums for months, claiming that players have really died.”
“You think it’s true?”
“Maybe. They say it’s from the shock.”
“You think a player’s soul goes to heaven or hell during an in-game death?” Brian grinned like he was joking. “What if the brain really turns off?”
“I don’t buy it,” Dale said. “Besides, I’m not sure I believe in an afterlife.”
“But it’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible,” Dale answered. “What we think is real life might be a simulation. If you think about it, the virtual worlds inside computing constructs would have been just as fantastic and mythical to anyone born a few hundred years ago as the idea of hell is to us today.”
“So maybe dismissing the idea of everlasting life is premature?” Brian stood and stretched. “Everything here feels so real, what would be the difference if my actual body was dead?”
“I don’t know. I guess parallel universes or multiverses are possibilities. Who knows?”
“Maybe heaven and hell are real?”
Dale didn’t think so, but was willing to admit he could be wrong. If a player in a virtual world could experience brain death and then come back to life, it would be hard to argue that the mind couldn’t live on in some other place after the body died. What bothered him most was the question of whether he’d still be himself if he were reconstructed after death. Would the digital memories really be him?
He supposed it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t know.
It would be no different than if he were dead and didn’t know he’d ever existed.
If there was ultimately a Dale #2, he wondered if that Dale would question the same things.
Maybe Dale #7 would figure it all out and not bother with the questions anymore?
Maybe he was already Dale #34, and he didn’t realize it?
Who knew?
Who could know?
Maybe he was overthinking the whole thing.
“Let’s take a break and eat lunch,” Dale said. “My mom said you could come over if you want.”
“Okay. Dude, I want to sign up for the buddy system. If we volunteer, I promise to have your back. I know you worry about that kind of shit. I’ll be there for you. You can count on me.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“You have some deep-seated trust issues. I’m sure they’re caused by your freshman year ex.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dale put out his hand. “Alright, let’s shake on it. I’ll agree to volunteer as long as we’re assigned together. But I want a guarantee we won’t be sent to Afghanistan or Cambodia, or I’m not signing anything.”
Brian took Dale’s hand and squeezed.
“Damn. You’re stronger than you think,” Dale said.
“We’re partners now,” Brian said. “Let’s log out of here and celebrate!”
Chapter Four
A Great War is Coming.
~ Tagline, Nagant Wars Online, Rhith Corporation
It was a warm spring day when Princess Rohini Talargo departed the city of Irkalla and headed into the Arodian Mountains with a small group.
She’d handpicked her companions after spending hours studying their skills, reading their bios, and running multiple dungeon scenarios with them. As far as she could tell, each figure accompanying her used an in-game personal avatar that was an accurate representation of themselves in the real world. Everyone had a unique combat avatar as well, but she wasn’t entirely confident that the administrators hadn’t created other hybrid characters.
By the time they reached the forest, she’d become friends with several of her troop, and she felt she’d know if any of them were NPCs instead of real people.
They rode sturdy ponies that came from the king’s stables. According to the in-game lore of Almaach, the ponies were bred and trained for hunting and war. Their gait and the swiftness of their trot reminded Lia of a time when she was young, when she used to ride with her family before gaming and computers took over her recreational life.
That the realism of the Rhith Suit could mimic the feel of a saddle so well was fascinating to her as they rode in a tightly grouped train.
They’d brought a pack of dogs, a semi-wild breed called Waltores, which reminded her of a cross between a pit bull and a timber wolf. Her pack consisted of two brothers and four sister bitches. Two of the females were scout-trackers, and the other two, guards. The males were fearless and loyal fighters with the scars to prove it.
Ruthann, her steward-advisor, rode alongside her. According to game lore, she’d served the royal family her entire life, and Rohini assumed she was an NPC, although she couldn’t be sure unless she witnessed her death. Non-player characters always dropped loot of some kind when they died, even if it was worthless.
Real human player avatars didn’t.
Ruthann was proficient in several in-game languages, skilled with the longbow, and had a passing understanding of magic and spells, although she wasn’t a witch. Regardless of what was behind her avatar, Rohini enjoyed her company and thought she was a good conversationalist.
The rest of the party were soldiers.
They all belonged to a Royal Soldier Platoon, which received its charter from the Kartikeya guild. Since they were all hand-selected young men who’d sworn loyalty to the king, passed her tests, and had spent time wooing her, she was confident none of them were NPCs.
But the Nagant Wars was brand new. Except for the company executives and the programmers who’d built it, nobody knew exactly what was possible inside the simulation.
Rumors of hacks, viruses, and bugs were rampant, especially with groups like the Troth posting warnings and threats all over cyberspace. But so far, Lia’s experience playing Princess Rohini had been exciting. Nagant Wars Online appeared to be better than advertised, which was something amazing considering that the Rhith Corp was billing it as the greatest immersive VR-MMORPG ever created.
On the third day of travel, their trail led into darkness. Rohini sensed danger ahead where the trees were the tallest. Gray thunderclouds nearly blotted out the sun, and sh
adows danced in the woods.
“Release two scout dogs,” she ordered.
The dogs raced into the distance and disappeared into the shadows. A few moments later, the scouts barked an alarm that echoed through the trees.
“Arms, ready,” Rohini commanded.
The group moved into a defensive formation. They advanced, keeping the princess shielded at all times. After rounding a blind bend in the trail, they discovered the two scout dogs circling a small dragonling.
The creature was an undeveloped juvenile male. While not capable of flying or spitting fire, it was still deadly. Its vicious curved claws were razor sharp, and the thick coat of armor scales covering its body was impervious to attack by the dogs.
The dragonling whipped its spiked tail and smashed the ground with it, barely missing the canines. The pair continued to bark and harass it, seemingly unaware that if it caught them off guard, they’d be impaled on its tail’s boney spikes. The scout dogs lunged and snapped as if they were playing a game. Apparently their programming made them unaware of how much danger a pissed-off dragonling presented.
“Hold the fighters back,” Rohini ordered. The fighting dogs would fight to the death, even if overpowered. She wasn’t ready to lose them so soon on the journey.
The dog handler spoke a command, and the two maulers sat down, wagging their stubs of tails in anticipation of a brawl. Their fighting ability and fearlessness was second only to their discipline.
“Release the other two bitches,” Rohini said. Experience had taught her that the females, unlike the bulls, weren’t eager to fight to the death. They’d distract the dragonling, but remain cautious.
Rohini motioned to her first two bowmen to ready their iron-tipped arrows.
Young dragonlings, especially ones hatched in the remote mountains, didn’t have an understanding of what an enemy was until after they’d survived an initial encounter. Until a reptile came across a sentient avatar, it considered itself the alpha predator of the mountains. There was no evolutionary programming that something could hurt it, and caution of other creatures didn’t enter its primitive brain until it was often too late.
The dogs were the obvious threat from the juvenile’s perspective. The dragonling remained busy trying to pummel them, ignoring the rest of the party.
“Draw,” Rohini ordered her pair of bowmen.
They nocked their arrows and waited.
“Target acquired,” they said in unison.
The dragonling turned its back to the troops.
It swung its spiked tail in circles defending itself from a rear attack. It seemed aware that not even a fighter with a death wish would rush it straight on. Then the dragonling shuddered and changed colors. Using a camouflage spell, its body matched the forest floor.
“What kind of magic is that?” one of the men asked.
“I don’t know,” the princess answered.
She suspected the illusion would fool the dogs and ordered them to return. Three made it safely, but the fourth seemed to fly around in circles after being impaled on the end of the dragonling’s tail.
At least the yelping creature gave them a general idea of the reptile’s position.
“First bowman, visualize where center mass would be.”
“Yes, Princess,” he said.
“Loose an arrow when ready. Swordsmen, prepare to be attacked. Dog handler, release the fighters if the dragonling gets near the ponies.”
The first bowman fired an arrow. The dragonling shrieked in fury. Its camouflage disappeared, and its coloring transformed into a brilliant red. It advanced, seemingly without any fear, and whipped its tail towards them like a striking scorpion. Its jaws snapped, revealing rows of ugly teeth.
“Second bowman,” the princess shouted, “loose!”
The archer fired, and the iron-tipped arrow struck its mark. The projectile sank into the creature’s flesh, leaving only the feathered end protruding from the wound. Purplish blood poured from the puncture, indicating an iron weapon had pierced its heart – the one known way to score a kill.
+500XP
Killed: Dragonling Level 5
Dropped: 10 bars of gold.
Dropped: Human bones, unknown origin.
Dropped: Map, unknown origin.
“Ruthann, heal the bitch if you can,” the princess commanded. “The rest of you prepare to move, keeping the dogs close. Bowmen, string more iron and stay alert. The dragonling might have siblings.”
In-game pain levels for training and tutorials – even friendly player-vs-player combat – could be set low. Lia thought the moderate levels were tolerable, but she’d yet to experience an actual war-related quest or battle. Rumors claimed that injury and death in those situations were shocking and sometimes trauma producing.
Being chewed alive by a dragonling didn’t seem like it could be anything but miserable and torturous.
A Nagant Monk, an in-construct administrator, had visited the House of Talargo at the official opening of the game. Most players weren’t willing to accept that the construct had been built to deliver such awful effects, instead believing the monk was merely an NPC programmed to be melodramatic. But he transformed into a warrior avatar, performed feats of magic, and demonstrated his sword skills on several volunteers. After witnessing and experiencing in-game pain, players became believers, but Lia had yet to experience death firsthand.
The game’s tagline, A Great War Is Coming, took on a new meaning; she felt a strange anxiety and realized that even game-produced emotions were no different than reality.
She heard branches cracking from two different directions.
“We’re being tracked,” she announced.
Chapter Five
The nonsensical allegation that journalists were the first to create virtual realities is patently untrue and only spouted by propagandists.
~ Carrie Manderly
A few weeks after completing his testing for PTU, Dale sat with his father and brother at the dining room table, patiently waiting for dinner. The university had accepted him for the final stage of testing, and he was attending an informal tour the following morning. His mother was in the kitchen boiling pasta for a good-luck dinner, engrossed in the evening news.
“Are you looking forward to tomorrow?” his father asked.
Dale smiled as he imagined getting accepted, settling into the dorms, and being away from home. “Yes, I–”
“Oh my God!” Rhonda yelled from the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” Earl Brown asked. He stood and walked towards his wife. “It’s just pasta, honey. Don’t worry so much. If you’ve ruined dinner, we’ll order takeout. Dale, pull up Chang’s online menu.”
“I didn’t ruin dinner!” Rhonda shouted. She furiously typed on a portable keypad that rested precariously close to the sink. “All media has been put under government control.”
“What?” Earl asked. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m turning on the big screen,” she said. “Hold on a second.”
Dale went to the living room and sat on the couch.
“The governor’s office passed a censorship law. There’s a riot downtown,” his mother said. “Damn this thing.”
“Give me that,” his father demanded, and took the keyboard from her.
Rhonda had been so flustered that she’d switched the living room Rhith Screen to a football match between Manchester United and the Colombian national team, Los Cafeteros. The game had stopped, and the announcers were shouting in English, Spanish, and Portuguese.
Dale heard a jumble of words. War, guerra, aliens, spaceships, soldados, a vida military, and el régimen.
The screen went blank.
Dale turned towards his father. “Try channel–”
“I know!” Earl snapped.
“Quit yelling at me,” Rhonda said. “I’m not responsible for the world falling apart!”
“I’m not yelling at you,” Earl said. “Quit being so dramatic.”
; “Quiet!” Rhonda shouted. “It’s back on.”
“There’s no reason to panic,” said an attractive blonde newscaster who was displaying a great deal of cleavage. “We’ve been alerted by the governor’s office that everything will be back to normal soon. Please stay calm. Stay indoors. This is Carrie Manderly with–”
The image blinked out.
“What the hell!” Earl shouted at the screen.
“That won’t help,” Rhonda pointed out.
“Damn fools!” Earl went to the refrigerator and rummaged for a beer.
The Rhith Screen came back to life, but it displayed only a short, static message.
Please stand by.
Do not panic.
Your elected officials are working hard on your behalf.
Remain calm.
This message was brought to you by Rhith Corp.
We transform the world so you don’t have to!
Dale listened to his parents shout at the screen without paying any attention to their words. He wondered what had happened. He imagined all the negative ways it would affect his future and his chances of beginning what he’d hoped would be his life’s work.
“I want dinner,” his little brother said.
Prootingham Technical University was more impressive than Dale had imagined, and he was filled with excitement even though he’d hardly slept the night before. It had taken two hours for the media to return to business as usual. After eating overcooked spaghetti and arguing about the implications of conscription, war, and volunteer programs, the Browns had accepted the fact that there was nothing they could do about any of it.
“I still can’t believe it,” Dale said, standing in the main hall of the campus headquarters.
“That stuff about an alien war was nuts,” his host, an upper-class student named Cole, said. “People will believe anything.”
“No, I meant this,” Dale said. “This. The campus. The programs. That I’m even here with a chance to be part of it.”
“I forget how this place affects people. I’ve been here too long, I guess,” Cole said.
