by G. R. Cooper
“Hey, Shannon! Does this make my head look fat?”
“No more than usual, fathead,” she laughed, “Now finish that beer, I’ve already pulled your next one.”
He took the helmet off, took a drink of his beer, and looked through the bottom of the box, pulling out a small container. He read the label.
“Haptic gloves?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Vince, “they go with the helmet. They provide feedback, so you can feel and use stuff in the game.”
Clancey nodded, “It’s pretty freaky until you get used to it, but once you do, it really does make it seem more real.”
“Much better than using a mouse and keyboard,” added Matt.
Duncan put the gloves back in the larger box, looked back at the smooth plastic egg of the helmet.
“There aren’t any connection ports,” he mused.
“Yep,” said Clancey. “It’s self contained. Computer, display, wireless connection, speakers. It’s all in that egg. There’s a little pad for charging the battery. Just leave it sitting on the pad overnight, and you’ll be good to go. Never had any battery issues.”
Duncan put the helmet back in the box, which he then closed. He took another long pull on his beer, slid the empty glass toward the bartender and replaced it with the one she’d just brought. He looked up as his friends let out a cheer of welcome. Their friend Jamie had arrived, in town for the weekend from Baltimore.
As Shannon ran from behind the bar to give Jamie a hug, Vince and Clancey changed seats to allow him one on the corner, in the middle of the group. After the welcomes were complete, Jamie looked to the box sitting on the bar in front of Duncan.
“What is that thing?” he asked.
“Virtual reality helmet,” said Duncan.
“Next gen,” added Clancey.
“Duncan’s doom,” laughed Vince.
“Your future,” said Matt in an evil whisper.
Jamie laughed.
“My future, how so?”
“We’ve got Duncan to finally get one to join us in the Omegaverse, now we just have to get you in as well,” said Shannon, shoving an overflowing shot glass of tequila in front of Jamie.
“And what the hell is an Omegaverse?” asked Jamie as he lifted the glass to his nose, sniffed deeply and then gently sipped through the surface tension of the liquid bubble of agave nectar that threatened to overflow the glass rim.
They began to describe it for Jamie. The Omegaverse was an online universe consisting of many games. The aspect that his friends focused on playing was a first person shooter game, called the ‘Soldier’. It consisted of a variety of mission types; some against AI opponents, some against human ones. The missions could be small, even solo, or could contain hundreds of other players working in cooperation or in conflict.
A large variety of equipment was available, so loadouts could be configured to suit any specific mission parameters. One mission could be a group of 3 players with rifles, hunting through a jungle covered planet for a deadly beast, the next could be a large scale invasion of an industrial world with hundreds of attackers and defenders fighting for control.
In addition to the Soldier class of missions, there were tracks for those who’d rather Pilot spacecraft. From the solitary, exploration based miner, to the space trading merchant all the way to the heavy, navy-like warship classes. The latter of which were often crewed by large numbers of players at individual stations such as navigation, weapons, helm and shields. Space battles between factions controlling hundreds of ships fighting for control of entire sectors of the galaxy had occurred.
Tangential activities were also springing up throughout the game. Player apartments had given rise to interior decorators. Some players had turned their apartments into stores; buying and selling rare game items. There was even a scholar class developing; dedicated to studying the fictional technology, to trace it to its alien origins through clues players had been finding in the universe.
Jaimie, and Duncan, were taking all of this in.
“So, what’s the game?” asked Jamie.
“Isn’t that what they’ve been telling us?” asked Duncan.
“Not really. These are all activities and, while I’m sure they’re fun, they aren’t really a game. Games are, fundamentally, problem solving as entertainment. I see the entertainment, part, but where are the problems that need to be solved?”
“I see where you’re going,” said Shannon, cleaning out a pint glass. “The reason for all of this running around and shooting. Control. Control of parts of the game galaxy. As we complete missions or grow our wealth, our faction gains in power, prestige.”
“Yeah,” nodded Matt, “and with those gains come individual benefits. Access to newer cooler stuff.”
“The game is fairly new, now,” said Clancey, “and the factions are still forming. They’re mainly focused around the space stations. Our station is made up of mainly east coast Americans, with some Europeans and a few close time-zones thrown in. Those are automatically generated. You’re placed in those factions when you start, but player generated factions are starting to spring up.”
“You can check the zones of control on the larger maps, and none of the neighboring zones have begun to overlap, but it’s a long term game. As players terraform and colonize, those zones will grow. Once the zones begin to butt up against each other, the conflict will increase.”
Duncan took another swallow of beer. “Colonize?”
“Yeah,” nodded Vince, “that’s done through a sort of real time strategy resource management game. And by real time they mean real long time. It looks like it’ll take years, in real terms, to terraform and colonize a planet.”
“Though you can colonize without terraforming, it’s just much more expensive,” added Clancey.
“How?”
“Domes. Underground cities. Floating cities in cloud giants. That sort of thing,” continued Matt. “Very expensive. Very.”
“But for now?” asked Jamie.
“For now, we just go in and have some fun. Our gains are mainly personal, even though they’re helping, big picture wise, the faction,” said Vince. “This is like a big game of chess, with lots of different players; and right now the only pieces on the board are pawns. The kings, bishops, knights are all being created. By ourselves, playing the game.”
“But for now,” continued Duncan, “you’re just a bunch of big bad killing machines?”
“Yep.”
“Even Shannon?” laughed Duncan.
“Stoofoo!” shouted Shannon, using her pronunciation for the acronym for ‘shut the fuck up’, “I’d kick your ass all over the place, newbie!” She smiled, “Besides, I’m not a boots on the ground type; I’m command and control.”
“Que es?” asked Duncan.
“I manage the fight,” she said. “As damage is taken by those morons,” she waved her hand to encompass Matt, Clancey and Vince, “their shield power drops. I manage the power supply that regenerates those shields. Naturally, the power supply isn’t enough to take care of them all at once, so I have to juggle their needs with the available juice.”
“Like the healer in a fantasy game?” asked Jamie.
Shannon nodded, “Yep.” then moved down the bar to take care of other customers.
“There’s more to it than that,” said Clancey.
“And Shannon’s one of the best,” added Matt. Clancey and Vince nodded agreement. “I can’t remember the last time we got croaked while Shannon was watching over us.”
“You’ll see,” continued Matt, “when we take you out. We’ll keep it nice and easy your first few missions. Just until you settle in and get used to the game.”
“Tonight?” Duncan asked, draining his beer.
“Definately not,” said Matt, signalling Shannon for another round. “This beer isn’t going to drink itself. We’ll play tomorrow.”
“After the hangover,” added Clancey.
Chapter 3
“Out! Mo
ve move move!” Matt shouted in his best drill instructor imitation, “Last in, first out!”
Duncan rose and moved through the opening door. Under a bright, blue, earth-like sky, he began to look around. Everything was recognizable, if not specifically identifiable. Trees forested the area to his right, but not like any trees he knew. The colors of the world, too, were close to being right, but not. The blue of the sky, the green of the grass; not quite what he would have expected, but not quite different enough to be jarring. Everything about everything he could see was just a little bit off. Alien. Then he realized that, in truth, in this place, he was the alien.
He heard his friends moving behind him, to the left and to the right, and saw a small, translucent square appear in the lower right of his field of view.
“This is your map view” said Clive “You are the centered blue dot, your friends are green. Yellow will represent unknown entities, red for enemies. Your detection radius is currently limited to visual and aural distances and wavelengths. Equipment to expand upon your abilities is available for rent or purchase from the station commissaries or player auctions.”
His friends had moved to cover his flanks and rear, so he began to walk forward. He glanced at the map. He was heading more or less north, at least according to the markings on the map. Whether that had any relation to the magnetic poles on this planet, he didn’t know. The forest was to the east. To the west were gently rolling plains, as far as he could see. Ahead of him, several hundred yards out, were a low cluster of buildings. A spur of the forest reached out to them, nearly touching the nearest building.
“Where to?” he asked “Those buildings?”
“Yeah” said Vince “that’s as likely a place as any.” The green dot to his left flank pulsated gently as he was speaking, so Duncan assumed that meant that’s where Vince was located.
“Heads up. We landed close. No chance of sneaking up on whatever’s in there,” said Clancey on his right flank.
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” said Matt. “There’s nothing to worry about. Unless I chose a red, of course.”
“What?” asked Clancey.
“You did, didn’t you?” growled Vince. “You dick.”
“What’s a red?” asked Duncan, slowing his pace. They’d covered half the distance to the buildings. He could make out more details on the plain, boxy structures. They were really nothing more than cubes, the roof just another flat side. The side fronting him, on the closest structure, had a window, about a meter square. Just around the corner, he could see that a door, opened, was in the middle of the side facing an open area bounded by the rest of the structures. They were similarly laid out; facing inward, spread around like a group of pioneers had tried to make a defensive circle with too few wagons.
“Missions are color coded according to their difficulty,” said Matt. “Most missions are in the green to yellow range. Green being the easiest.”
“And red being the ‘don’t choose this or you’ll die’ option,” said Vince.
Clancey, in a mocking, singsong voice, sounded out “‘Oooh, let’s take Duncan on a milkrun, he said. It’s his first time, he said’. And we’re not equipped for a red.”
“Color coding is based on your equipment, as well as the experience level of the team,” explained Matt, “We’ve only got assault rifles, and it’s Duncan’s first mission. That’s probably why it showed red for our group. Probably,” he laughed.
“I’m going to kick your ass,” said Vince, “if it’s a shit-ton of greenies with blasters. Or werewolves.”
“Greenies?”
“Yeah. From ‘little green men’. Short, aggressive little fuckers. They work well in teams. I forget what they’re real name is.”
“The Arn,” interjected Clancey.
“Yeah,” continued Vince, “but most people call them greenies or LGM’s.”
“And werewolves?” asked Duncan.
“You’ll know them when you see them,” said Matt.
“Ok, hold up a sec,” said Matt. “This is a feeder colony. A starter group of colonists. This planet has been terraformed, and this is the first foothold for humans. The group that sent them lost contact. We’re here to find out why.”
“Wait. Is this a human mission?” asked Clancey.
“Yeah.”
Vince groaned, “So, when you say it’s a red …”
“Yeah.”
“What?” Duncan asked while sweeping the area in front of him, for the fifth time, with his rifle.
“Well,” said Matt, “with automatic, host generated, missions. The difficulty color level is pretty spot on. This mission is generated by another player. He puts up a reward, and it gets dropped into the mission pool. He selected the difficulty parameters. He might be wrong, it might be easier, much easier, than a host generated red.”
“Or not?”
“Or not,” agreed Matt. “It might be a case of ‘this is a red because there’s no color for a mission much, much worse’. That’s part of the fun!”
“Fun. Right,” said Vince.
“Shit. You’re insured. Your equipment will be regenerated. All you have to lose is whatever loot or experience you gain in this mission.”
“Shit. You’re insured”, mocked Clancey, “but if you start getting croaked a lot, your insurance goes through the roof.”
“Simple solution to that,” laughed Matt.
“Don’t croak!” said Vince and Clancey simultaneously.
They were a few meters from the first dwelling. Duncan began moving around to the left, keeping his weapon toward the door on the northwest corner. As he got closer, he could see a leg, human, just inside the door, on the ground and stretching into the darkness of the interior. As he reached the door, he turned on the flashlight attached to the end of the rifle’s barrel.
The leg ended just above the knee. Messily so. He raised the rifle, moving the light beam further into the darkness. The rest of the leg’s owner, more or less, was strewn around the room.
His friends had moved past him, around the first building toward the center of the open, grassless area surrounded by the buildings. More similarly disassembled colonists were in a pile next to a large container.
“Well,” said Matt, “it wasn’t greenies.”
“Nope.” agreed Vince.
“Werewolves?” asked Duncan.
“Yup.”
“Are we screwed?”
“Most likely,” said Clancey, “Duncan, check out that crate, we’ll get ready.”
Duncan moved to the crate, opened the lid. As he did, he heard a clicking sound. From the direction they’d just arrived. It sounded like something was tapping on the wall of the first building. On the wall opposite where they now stood. On the wall they’d just passed, a minute ago. His map overlay pulsated, yellow, on the lower, southern, part. Unknown sound.
The sound continued, and was picked up, in turn, by each building around the circle, clockwise. First to the west, then around to the north, finally completing the circle to the east. The tapping sound grew as more joined. The map pulsed yellow in all directions now.
Duncan stole a look into the crate, saw only a piece of paper. He grabbed it and thrust it into his backpack without reading it, and raised his rifle to his shoulder.
“Duncan! You take the north, Vince the east, Clancey the west,” said Matt, “I’ve got the south.”
The group was now spread, in a diamond, each about 2 meters from the other. A last stand posture, covering all directions. Surrounded.
“Did anyone bring grenades?” asked Matt.
“For a milk run?” laughed Vince. “Shit, I only brought a hundred and fifty rounds for the rifle, and a couple of magazines for the pistol.” The tapping continued.
“I almost forgot, Duncan,” said Clancey, “Ammunition is tied to its magazine. It’s not like a first person shooter game where, if you hit ‘reload’, it just gives you a full load from your total bullets. If you shoot off half a mag, then reload, the maga
zine that drops still has fifteen of your bullets. Pick it up. That half magazine might come in handy. But don’t let that stop you from reloading during a lull. If we get one.”
The tapping reached a crescendo, then, simultaneously all around the circle, stopped.
“When will they … “ Duncan’s question was interrupted when Matt opened fire. He forced himself to keep looking north. Nothing was coming from there, yet. Two dots of red rapidly moved on his map, from the south, northward, then disappeared. Matt had the first two kills of the day. Duncan’s hands began to shake. He heard a metallic sound behind him, and assumed that was Matt reloading. Howling took up where the clicking had left off. Matt opened fire again. Then Vince. Then Clancey. Red dots surged from the south, then the west and east. Duncan then realized Matt had been right. He knew werewolves by sight.
It wasn’t that they looked like stereotypical movie werewolves. They were tall, a little taller than human average. Hirsute. Massive, muscular shoulders and long arms. A long torso tapering down to small hips and short, thin legs. But it was the face that gave them their wolf like appearance. The long dog snout with a too large mouth that had an impossibility of teeth. They seemed designed solely to render; the top and bottom rows nothing but long canine teeth. It reminded not so much a wolf’s but a shark’s mouth. At least, he thought, from the shape of the teeth.
Duncan noticed all of this in the split second it took for the werewolf to leap over the building and charge. In the moment Duncan required to jerk his weapon toward the beast, it had covered half the distance. Probably fifteen yards. Quadrupedal, its massive arms propelled it at frightening speed, the legs providing direction. As Duncan squeezed the trigger, he realized that they look much more hyena than wolf.
The rifle jerked in his hands; the feedback of his haptic gloves, added to the staccato hammer of sound, surprised him. The werewolf's torso jerked to its left, stitched by a trio of holes. Duncan squeezed the trigger again, sending another three round burst. And again. It fell dead at Duncan’s feet.
Before he could recover his thoughts, two more attacked. One each from either side of the hut. He fired at the rightmost, hitting it in a leg. It wavered, so he switched targets and put two quick bursts in its direction. Most missed, but a couple hit, slowing it. A little. Duncan aimed and put a burst into its head. As it dropped, Duncan switched back to the wounded one.
