Axillon99

by Matthew S. Cox

  Dakota grinned. “Yep. Don’t want someone at the NSA stealing our prize money. Oh wait, they already heard this phone call.”

  “Paranoid much?”

  She tapped her fingers on the counter. “Just being pragmatic, and a bit sarcastic.”

  “A bit?” Eric’s voice conveyed a giant smile.

  “Dakota, are you on the phone?” asked Hal.

  She jumped at having been snuck up on, whipping around and planting her butt against the counter, hand over her chest. “Crap, you scared me.”

  Hal folded his large, muscular arms.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Place was empty.” She leaned her head closer to the mic on the wire by her right breast. “Gotta go.”

  “Later, babe,” said Eric.

  Hal’s stern look softened. “Try not to make a habit of it. Yes, I know the place was empty.”

  “Sorry, Hal.” She stuffed the phone back in her pocket.

  “Incoming.” The boss nodded toward the door.

  A thin, pale guy with a narrow face and sharp nose entered and sidled up to the counter. His long, black coat looked expensive.

  Dakota smiled. “Good afternoon. Can I get something started for you?”

  He stared at her. “Well, you’ve already got me started. What’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  She kept up her plastic smile while daydreaming about pickpocketing limpet mines into this douchebag’s briefcase. “Making coffee.”

  Hal edged closer like a protective dad.

  The man leaned back. “Uhh, flat white with an extra shot.”

  Dakota twitched at the word ‘extra shot,’ remembering the idiot from two days ago. Still, she kept on smiling while tapping the order into the terminal. “Can I add anything else for you, or is that it?”

  The customer’s mouth opened. He glanced at Hal, closed his mouth, then said, “No, that’s it, thanks.”

  “$9.85.” Dakota smiled for real.

  After the man paid and wandered off to the left awaiting his drink, she thought of limpet mines and made a soft explosion noise.

  Realism

  9

  Despite knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make any progress on her own with the prize quest, Dakota still couldn’t wait to get home from work so she could log in to Axillon99. Believing she’d figured out the first clue charged her with enthusiasm and made her want to be in the game world even if she wound up doing random crap.

  The urge to log in made the last hours of her shift feel like she’d been there for since the dawn of recorded time. As 10:00 p.m. approached, each new customer that walked in triggered a progressively stronger internal groan of annoyance.

  At 9:38, a thirtyish man with long brown hair in a blue wool coat and cap glided in the door. He shot a cursory glance around at the shelves full of decorative mugs, snacks, coffee beans, and other kitsch before approaching the counter and nervously smiling at her. A fringe of beard―a sad attempt at a goatee―surrounded his mouth. It looked more like he had little ability to grow facial hair and hadn’t shaved in weeks.

  “Hey,” said the man. “I’m Michael.”

  “Hi, Michael. Welcome to the Amazon Café.” Dakota tried to stop thinking about the game and give the customer her full attention. “What can I get started for you?”

  He rocked heel-to-toe for a moment while looking over the menu screens along the wall behind her. “Are you eighteen yet?”

  She blinked. “Umm, what?”

  Michael shifted his gaze from the menus to her. “I mean, you’re really pretty. If you’re too young, I don’t want to think certain things.”

  Okay, that’s completely effing weird. Freaks come out at night.

  The muscles in her back tightened. She cast a furtive glance sideways, hoping Hal heard that and would walk out to the front. He didn’t usually work the closing shift, but they had a regional manager coming by in a few days for a routine inspection. For a moment, she considered claiming to be sixteen, but chickened out at the worry this creep might actually be hoping she was underage. The more she looked at him, the more uncomfortable she became. He seemed like the kind of thirty-something who still lived in his mother’s basement―and buried the bodies in her backyard. Her hand edged to her hip, where the CL32 heavy laser pistol wasn’t.

  “Nah, I’m a couple years past that point,” she said with a fake chuckle. Hopefully, if she played along, the guy wouldn’t snap and do something crazy. Again, she shot a glance at the door to the back room. Come on, Hal.

  “You look good then.” He smiled, leaning one elbow on the counter. “Got any plans later? I know this nice Italian place.”

  She shifted her weight from leg to leg. “I, umm, already had stuff to do.”

  His stare raked over her chest and slid downward, as uncomfortable as a physical touch. “I understand. Another time then?”

  “Can I get a drink started for you?”

  “It’s all right. I don’t think you’ll get in trouble for being friendly.” The man started to reach for her hand, but froze as the back door flapped open.

  Hal wandered out, deliberately not looking at them, carrying a huge tub of ice as easily as if he held an empty Styrofoam cooler. The man might’ve been short, but he had biceps the size of a normal person’s thighs. He strolled past Dakota to the end of the counter on her right, set the tub up top, and began scooping ice into the hatch. Usually, everyone dumped it in to save time. She mentally grinned at him and shifted her attention back to the creep.

  “Did you decide on anything yet?” asked Dakota.

  “Uhh, let me get an extra-large dark roast, light and sweet.” He turned enough to move Hal out of his field of view, but his body language had stiffened to match Dakota’s nervousness.

  She hurriedly prepared the coffee and rang it up. He paid with cash, including a small scrap of paper with a phone number on it. She pretended not to notice it and stuffed it in the drawer with the money before handing him change. He winked at her while walking backward two steps, then turned and took a seat at a table by the entrance.

  Dakota took a step to her left to hide behind the giant coffee grinder.

  “You okay?” half-whispered Hal.

  She crept over to stand beside him with her back to the room. “There’s something off about that guy. Thanks.”

  He nodded, continuing to scoop ice into the freezer under the countertop.

  She stood close to Hal for a moment or two before her hands stopped shaking. With the place closing in fifteen minutes, she ran around cleaning up. At one point when she looked up at the seating area, she caught the guy aiming his cell phone at her.

  “Fucking creep,” she whispered, and ducked.

  Hal whirled to stare at her. He apparently noticed the cell phone as well. Rather than harp at her language, he dropped the ice scoop and stormed out from behind the counter. Dakota huddled out of sight behind the espresso machine.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said Hal.

  “Uhh, yeah man. No problem.”

  A chair scraped the tiles. Sneakers squelched across the room, and the front door squeaked. Dakota peeked up over the counter, watching the guy walk off to the right while Hal stood inside the door with his arms folded over his chest. Once the creep walked past the end of the windows out of sight, Hal returned to the counter, shaking his head.

  “Some people…” He angled his head toward her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Little on edge, but, nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

  Hal sighed.

  “Sorry about the F-bomb.”

  He chuckled. “Exigent circumstances. Figured you did that on purpose so I’d look and catch him.”

  “Brazen son of a―”

  Hal’s eyebrows went up.

  “Biscuit.” She winked.

  Hal’s baritone laugh followed him into the back room.

  At least Trini’s off tonight. Wondering if that guy would’ve gone after the actual tee
nager made her skin crawl―never mind that the girl was both innocent and skittish. Dakota broke down the milk foam machine to clean the parts, all the while thinking about that alley in the game and how much it had reminded her of the street where she’d nearly been date raped. She started slamming parts around as fear gave way to anger.

  Hal emerged from the back, pushing a broom. At a loud clank, he gave her another ‘you okay?’ look. She sighed, nodded, and tried to calm down. That the game so closely matched that street unsettled her almost as much as this guy had. It had taken her two years, but by eighteen, she’d thought she’d gotten over it.

  Eventually, happy thoughts of winning a crapton of money distracted her back to looking forward to getting home and immersing herself once more in the virtual world of Axillon99. She finished cleaning the machines while Hal scrubbed down the tables out front.

  Soon, she had her coat on and went outside. Hal leaned past the door to the back room, reaching to kill the lights before following her and locking the door.

  “Night, Hal. See you tomorrow.”

  He looked around. “You want me to walk with you?”

  She considered it, but didn’t spot any signs of trouble. Hundreds of times, she’d walked the few blocks back to her apartment building without a problem. He had a forty-minute drive home. Though he meant well, she cringed at his implication a woman couldn’t be safe without a man around. “I should be okay; it’s only a couple blocks.”

  “I don’t mind. You sure?” He summoned a fatherly smile.

  “Yeah.” She patted him on the arm. “Thanks for chasing him off.”

  “All right. Be safe.”

  Dakota started off to the left. “Thanks. You too.”

  Walking the four blocks down and two over to her apartment had been something she’d done over and over again without even thinking twice about it. Getting hit on by guys at work had happened before, irritatingly often, but none of them had been so unsettling. Her mind ran away with itself, conjuring up a waking nightmare of everything from him slipping her a drugged drink for a one-night conquest to winding up trapped in a basement sex dungeon.

  “Ugh.” She rubbed her face. “I’ve been watching too many bad movies.”

  When she reached the first cross street, she glanced around for cars. Her heart about stopped when she caught sight of Michael approaching from behind. He had his head down, eyes on his phone, but an unsettling quality to his body language made it clear he’d followed her. She scurried across the street, moving up to a brisk pace a little shy of jogging.

  At 10:08 p.m., the moonlit streets had far more shadows than people. The strike of her sneakers on the sidewalk went off like cannon blasts in the silence. His scuffing footfalls increased in speed to match hers.

  Dakota fidgeted at her hip, desperate for the CL32 to be real. They hadn’t quite been able to produce laser pistols outside of video games and movies yet, but an ordinary firearm would’ve been just fine. At that moment, she didn’t much care how difficult the process of buying one had become in New York. Almost no civilians had one legally. She tugged out her cell phone and sent Eric a ‹Someone’s following me› text.

  Before panic built to the point she broke out in a full on sprint, she made a random left turn down a street that didn’t go toward her apartment building. Finding it devoid of people made her gut sink like a lead weight, but she kept going. Her mind raced for something to do.

  I’ll duck into a random building so he thinks I live there. She gazed around at the high-rises. Will anyone hear me if I scream?

  Michael’s dark-coated form appeared at the corner, but he kept going straight, still staring at his phone, not even looking in her direction for a second.

  ‹Babe, you ok? Need 911?›

  Confused, Dakota stopped, and stood with her back to the wall of a building, staring at the intersection where the guy had walked right on by. It took her a moment to find the courage, but she crept back to the corner and peered around.

  He’d gone another block down by the time she got eyes on him. She clung to the cold stone, watching him, barely breathing, as he wandered over to a black BMW and got in. Doubt swirled around her head. Had he followed her or had they merely been going in the same direction? But why would he still be there, behind her, fifteen minutes after he’d been kicked out of the café? Of course he had to be following her.

  She looked down at her phone and typed with her thumbs. ‹Nah @ 911. He’s gone.›

  Dakota waited motionless, huddled in the shadow of the high rise until the BMW went by. She imagined having a gun, pointing it at the guy if he tried to grab her. Combat in the game had enough realism to it that she felt pretty confident in her ability to handle a firearm. She’d read a few posts about players whose characters had martial arts skills, and the players wound up learning it, too. The line between game and reality had become quite thin. Some places had even started using the Neurona helmets for training―especially pilots, cops, and soldiers.

  She gripped a nonexistent weapon and clutched it to her chest, daydreaming about being Fawkes, who didn’t fear stupid creeps following her home. Fawkes would’ve Flickered, appeared behind him, and put a knife to his throat. She’d have scared him so bad he’d never have done anything like that to another woman.

  Grinning, Dakota aimed her non-pistol at the street. Lasers had no recoil, and hit wherever the weapon pointed. Bullets didn’t quite do that, but if she had to shoot someone for real, it’s not as if she’d be sniping someone from far off. No, she’d be close enough to have the creep’s hand at her throat when she pulled the trigger.

  When the BMW disappeared around a turn some ten blocks or so away, she let off a slow exhale of relief. The idea of trying to get a real gun didn’t seem like such a bad one. Of course, the way things always went down, someone would try to attack her and she’d be the one who landed in jail for defending herself. It always seemed like the woman wound up getting punished.

  Grumbling, she ducked out of her hiding spot and hurried home.

  Farming

  10

  Over the next two days, Dakota’s hypervigilance while going back and forth to work lessened somewhat. It helped that she had opening shifts Wednesday and Thursday, 6:00 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. Going home in broad daylight eased her nerves. Much to her relief, she hadn’t spotted Michael again, nor did she mention it to anyone other than Eric. The only person she had in a close enough circle of trust was her brother Nebraska, but if she told him about it, he’d grab his boys and go roaming around to kick the ass of some random dude in a black BMW.

  Eric stood right at the edge of that circle. On one hand, she wanted to confide in him how freaked out she was about the whole thing, but hesitated out of not wanting to weaken her ‘counterculture fringe girl’ persona. She laughed to herself, wondering where Dakota Marx ended and Fawkes began. Or for that matter, how a barista at an Amazon Café with a computer science degree wound up as some crusader for the people against greedy corporations.

  She’d done a few things out on the net in the name of the little person, mostly defacing corporate websites and wiping out a database or two. Back in college, she’d gotten into a group that called itself Anonymouse―a nod to the more famous hacker group, but one specifically focused on making life annoying for a particular company that started off as an animation studio and then tried to buy the rest of the world.

  About the legally worst thing they did wound up being somewhere between leaking financial reports that played small havoc with stocks and launched a handful of insider trading investigations, and publishing the home addresses of some Big Oil policymakers who they believed responsible for a massive pipeline spill that left about twenty-four percent of the state of North Dakota uninhabitable. The rest of her group didn’t care to go after the oil companies because they all figured fossil fuels would run out by 2040 and then humanity would have no choice but to do something else.

  After all, said a guy she had only known as Specter, there
had been only so many dinosaurs.

  So, for two frustrating days, Dakota suffered a seemingly endless work shift followed by a scary jog home only to be unable to pursue the prize quest due to the absence of Kavan and Angel813. Nighthawk showed as online every time she logged in, which got her wondering if he might be an advanced AI. He’d been with Kavan from the start, and the two were always together. Since Kavan’s player, William, had enough money to buy a ship with real cash, maybe Nighthawk was some kind of rare helper bot you could purchase.

  She dismissed that idea. A helper NPC wouldn’t go off questing when Kavan was offline, nor would he hang out with her. Plus, she’d never seen any advertising for anything like that. If the game had that option, it would be spammed everywhere.

  Conversationally, Nighthawk always had seemed a bit off, but not so much so that the AI theory gained ground. A lot of her jokes sailed over his head, and he always laughed at crude humor, swear words and fart jokes. It drove her crazy not to share what she’d discovered with the map coordinates, but she and Eric had agreed not to bring it up until tonight, Friday night.

  Wednesday after work, her frustration at not being able to go anywhere with the ‘big quest’ boiled over into a bizarre random tangent. She created a second character, a female Niath auramancer. The starting city, a floating platform full of winged angels nestled in a vast sky of purple-pink clouds with only small bits of visible terrain below, made her feel as though she’d switched genres from a spaceship/sci-fi game to a fantasy MMO. She opted to do the ‘learn how to be a Niath’ quest, which started her character off as a six-year-old child and ran through the basics of control. After about a half-hour of quests as a little kid, she advanced to stage two (around twelve years old by human standards). A teacher led her class up to the roof of a three-story building to practice flying for the first time. Adjusting to having two extra limbs that obeyed her mental command had been surreal enough, but when she jumped off that roof, the realism of the interface kicked her square in the frontal cortex. She lost all sense of anything but ‘holy shit I’m falling!’ and screamed until she blacked out.