by S. R. Witt
The Chinese had assured him their donation would work flawlessly. And it had, until recently. There was something off with the Thanatos Overmind. There were no severe anomalies, but almost constant fluctuations above and below normal operating thresholds disturbed Robert’s otherwise flawless system.
“Maybe it’s the reflection core, I could just tweak …” Robert muttered absently, then bit his tongue. With only a little more than eight days remaining before Astraea plowed into the earth, there was no point in tinkering with the arcade built. It would be more than good enough.
It had to be.
TWO:
Upload
Osmark’s most trusted ally, Sandra Bullard, glared at him as he entered the transition chamber. She was a slight woman with a severe face, made even more so by the tight bun fixed at the back of her head. She leaned casually against the sleek black tube that would soon be his grave and tapped a pen against her chin. “You’re late.”
“For a very important date?” He chuckled and shook his head. “There’s still plenty of time.”
Sandra frowned at Robert. “What has been your favorite saying since we began this project?”
“The end of the world isn’t an excuse to slack off,” he said with a sigh. “And that’s true, but I wasn’t slacking.”
“Robert, we have highly qualified staff to check all of those systems. Let them do the work you hired them to do.” She raised her clipboard and turned it toward him. “You have a schedule to keep.”
“Ah, mom,” Osmark said with mock exasperation. “I don’t wanna die, yet.”
His assistant tried to hold it together, but she couldn’t suppress a single giggle. She covered her full lips with her clipboard until the fit had passed. Though both of them were aggressive, high-performing personalities, their long-standing relationship gave them a firm enough foundation to let loose with one another occasionally. With the stakes so high, and the need to keep up appearances so great, Robert couldn’t resist sharing an occasional joke with his chief operations specialist, personal assistant, and primary bodyguard.
“Let me give you a rundown on our current situation,” Sandra began. She ran her finger down the single sheet of paper on her clipboard and tapped the conductive ink with the micro transponder embedded in the lacquer covering the nail of her right index finger.
In a blink, the transition chamber’s northern wall transformed into a deep black tapestry. One by one, photographs of Osmark’s primary contributors to the V.G.O. Project floated up through the darkness and into view. “As you can see, most of our esteemed guests have already arrived at the bunkers assigned to them. Transitions are already in progress, and I don’t foresee any difficulties with the guests I’ve highlighted.”
Robert noted two photographs that were not highlighted. “Carrera and Sizemore are already stirring up trouble?”
“You’re half right,” Sandra corrected. “Carrera’s being a good boy. I doubt that’s going to remain true for long, but at present, he’s minding his manners and doing as he’s told. He’s a pragmatic man, and he understands that his survival rests in other hands. Your hands.” Robert couldn’t hide his smile. Though he’d achieved far more in his life than any of the guests who’d contributed to his project, most of them had not viewed him with the respect he deserved. Once the money had changed hands, his genius disappeared in their eyes. He’d been paid, and now he was the help.
Be a good boy and build us a new world to conquer.
He’d let them believe that. But Osmark was more than prepared to show them the truth after the transition period was over.
“If he’s playing by the rules, why did you flag him?” Osmark asked.
A grim smile tightened Sandra’s lips. “To remind us both to keep an eye on him. He’s playing nice now. But once we’re all inside, the gloves will come off. Remember that.”
Osmark nodded and raised his hands in surrender. Sandra had made her point, and he wasn’t about to challenge her on it.
“And Sizemore? What’s he up to?” His eyes narrowed as he spoke. Sandra traced her fingernails over the top of Osmark’s high-tech coffin. The way she treated it with such indifference annoyed him, though Osmark would never let it show. He was going to die in that capsule, but that didn’t mean anything. His superstitious dread of the grave was embarrassing, and he chewed on the inside of his lip in frustration.
“Are you listening?” Sandra asked.
Osmark cleared his throat. “Sorry, just a little preoccupied.”
“As I was saying,” Sandra said, annoyed at having to repeat herself, “Senator Sizemore has contacted several of the other guests. Including our Chinese contingent.”
Robert clenched his teeth and forced a deep breath through his nostrils. He’d needed Sizemore to get the project off the ground. Without the senator’s help, they wouldn’t have the salt mine and all the goodies that came with it. More importantly, Osmark would never have received the Yama system from the Chinese. Sizemore had greased those international political wheels so smoothly and efficiently that Robert had immediately taken a dislike to the man. Anyone who could get concessions from the Chinese in less than twelve hours couldn’t be trusted.
“I should’ve known,” Osmark said. “He was too close to Peng. I assume you have some idea of what they’re discussing?”
Sandra sketched an abbreviated bow. She grinned and said, “I know you love to watch.”
The transition chamber’s east wall displayed a crystal clear still shot of Sizemore handing a drink to the Chinese contingent’s spokesperson. It lurched into motion, and immersive audio made Osmark feel as if he were standing in the room with the men.
“You understand we cannot allow him to control our destinies once we transition,” Peng said as he accepted the drink. “We must forge our own paths.”
Sizemore’s trademark smile flashed like a megawatt laser, his teeth immaculately white and straight. At fifty, the senator was just a few years older than Osmark, but he looked a decade younger. His tanned skin showed no wrinkles, and his dark hair had just the right amount of gray peppering the temples. The man would’ve been as at home on a movie set as he was stalking the halls of Congress. A classic politician in every way.
“I couldn’t agree with you more, sir,” Sizemore said with a deferential bow. “Osmark’s brain is valuable, and he’s done us a great service, but if he thinks I’m going to let him run the place, he’s got another thing coming.”
The Chinese spokesperson shot Sizemore a dubious glance. “Surely he has contingencies in place to deal with those who would rise against him. The man who built the world will have given himself insurmountable advantages.”
Sizemore drained his glass in a single long pull. For a moment he didn’t speak, instead refilling his glass as he considered his next words. “You’d think so, but it doesn’t work that way. Osmark has advantages, the same as the rest of us, but he’s not a god. No matter what he wants us to believe, the truth is the simulation can only be stretched so far. It has rules that can be bent, but breaking them is impossible. He’s formidable, but not indomitable.”
Peng tapped the rim of his glass with one bony finger, his lips pursed into a thin line. “You have a plan, then?” he asked.
Sizemore touched his glass to Peng’s. “I do. And I’ve already told it to my allies.”
“Ah, but it appears you have forgotten one of your allies.” Peng smiled. “It seems we have much to discuss.”
Sandra killed the replay with the tap of a finger. “Once you begin your transition, I could have Sizemore dealt with on a more permanent basis—”
Robert raised his hand, shaking his head in protest. “No, that won’t work. It’ll set a bad precedent moving forward with the rest of the Imperial Alliance Board. Besides, Sizemore’s security force is formidable. You’re extremely capable, but taking him out at this point isn’t worth the risk. I’ll deal with him in game.”
“I’m sure I could handle it,” she prot
ested, hands placed on her hips. “There’s room in the schedule for me to adjust my transition time. I’ll arrive a couple of days after you, but it’s worth it to deal with this problem before it can blow up in our faces.”
Robert folded his hands behind his back and offered her a thin, tight smile. “This isn’t open for discussion. I’ll handle him in game. Is that clear?”
Concern flashed across Sandra’s face like a raven’s shadow. “Handle him how?”
“Let me worry about that,” he replied coolly. “You have more than enough on your plate already.”
Sandra wanted to press him for more details, Robert could see it in her flashing jade eyes, but she held her tongue. They’d been together long enough not to question one another in certain areas. When it came to his safety and the operation of his company, Sandra was more than welcome to challenge Osmark. But on this project, his iron will and snap decisions were the only forces guiding them to the finish line. She couldn’t afford to doubt the choices he made.
“Fine,” she said. “Peng has been in contact with Bulger and Whitehead. That connects them to Modhi and the rest of the subcontinent billionaires. If they do plan a coup, you’re going to have your hands full.”
“That’s why I’m bringing you along. I’ll make the plan, but somebody has to execute it.”
A quiet chime rang through the transition chamber.
It was time to die.
Sandra clutched her clipboard to her chest and stepped around Osmark’s coffin. For a moment, the two of them stood silent and motionless. Their eyes locked. He wanted to reach for her, to wrap his arms around her shoulders and pull her across the narrow gap that separated them. They’d always been professional, but this was different. If everything went as planned, they would both be dead before they saw one another again.
“On the other side,” she said quietly. “Safe travels.”
And then she was gone, her flats whispering across the floor as she swept from the room.
A trio of nurses swooped into the space left by Sandra like air rushing into a vacuum. They wore blood-red surgical gowns and caps, and their faces were professional masks. The lid swung open and carefully, slowly, he climbed in, conscious of the eyes scrutinizing his every motion. He lowered himself down, adjusting and readjusting his body on the conductive memory foam, then slipped a modified VR helmet into place. The lid automatically closed, leaving Osmark in a claustrophobically tight space filled with pulsing blue light.
As he lay there, Osmark doubted everything. Everything.
There was no going back, though. This was the way forward, the way of survival. And he would survive the transition—the highly trained nurses would ensure that.
“Initiate Viridian Gate Online,” he said to the trio of nurses.
“Of course, Mr. Osmark,” came a curt reply from the lead nurse. “Please lie as still as possible.”
The capsule let out a click-buzz—the lid locking mechanism—followed by the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of a whirling MRI. Abruptly, everything went black as the VR headset engaged, quickly replaced by a white loading screen as anesthetic gas hissed into the capsule. The gas was an added precaution to help with the upload and the transition. Osmark breathed deeply and began the long process of dying as the machine kicked into overdrive, the whirling picking up in intensity. WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH.
“Traveler,” boomed a hard-edged male voice, “prepare to enter Viridian Gate Online!”
THREE:
V.G.O.
The all-encompassing white loading screen faded from Osmark’s vision as his consciousness transitioned into the world he’d created. He stood on a grassy knoll; long blades of green bent beneath his feet, giving the ground a cushioned, almost springy feel. The grass spread in every direction like a sea of rippling emerald. The air was so thick with the scent of growing vegetation, Osmark could taste it on his tongue and feel it against his skin, carried by a stiff breeze slapping at his face and tugging on his rough garments.
He lifted one foot, examining the flattened grass below. Flawless.
The rolling plains stretching beneath the cloudless azure sky were stunning not just for their sheer size, but for their incredible detail. Osmark had known the world of V.G.O. would be impressive—he’d seen plenty of footage from the beta runs—but he hadn’t understood the scope and magnitude of his creation. Not really. Not until this moment. Guided by AI-curated algorithms, his technology had woven a creation more enchanting than he’d imagined possible. The graphics quality—if such a crude term could even be applied—was indistinguishable from real life.
This world was better than reality.
Osmark took a tentative step; his legs wobbled uncertainly beneath him, then gave way. He landed on his hands and knees, scraping one palm along a jagged piece of rock protruding from the grass. A muted flash of pain zigzagged up his arm, there then gone. Curious, he turned his hand over, inspecting the flesh. Vivid green streaks from the grass stained his skin along with a few splashes of red. Incredible. He shook his head and turned his attention to a small army of ants scurrying along nearby with scraps of leaves and tiny clods of earth in their mandibles. A flock of ravens with glossy blue-black feathers cried out to him as they flew high overhead, and unseen ground squirrels and chipmunks chattered in annoyance at his presence.
“How is this even possible?” Osmark asked himself. The NexGenVR capsule’s NerveTech was fantastic technology. He knew that from his time developing it, but the cold measurements of the technical specifications and design diagrams hadn’t conveyed just how stunning the result would be. A surge of pride welled up inside Osmark. He’d made this. The worries he’d had about V.G.O. seemed so petty and insignificant in light of this fantastic experience. The transition would be agonizing, there was no getting around that, but this world was so much more perfect, so much purer, than the disaster Osmark had left behind.
He couldn’t wait for Sandra to join him here.
But, before that could happen, he had a ton of work to do. As beautiful and enthralling as this peaceful little slice of paradise was—and it was—he didn’t have time to sit around and take in the sights. Osmark’s enemies had a small, but significant, head start on him, and that couldn’t stand. No doubt they were already on the move. Already forming their factions and building their defenses. If he wanted to beat them, he needed to get moving and do what he did best: outwork the competition.
With a grimace, Robert gained his feet and brushed his dirt-stained hands on his trousers.
First, he needed an avatar.
The simulation responded to Osmark’s desire instantly. A semitranslucent image of him materialized into view. His dark hair and lean figure were the same, as were his hawkish features and smooth-shaven jaw, but his custom-tailored clothing was gone, replaced by a rough burlap tunic, matching britches, and ill-fitting canvas boots, which covered his feet and the lower half of his calves. A coarse rope around his waist served as a belt. The clothes irritated Osmark immensely. They were uncomfortable and ill-fitting, but that wasn’t what bothered him most. The tattered clothing made him look weak. Poor.
Appearances were critical. If Osmark wanted to be respected, then he had to look like someone who should be respected. New clothes moved to the top of his to-do list.
The thought faded as a glowing white interface bar with a variety of options—race, build, sex, face, name—blinked to life around his character’s image. He already had his race and build in mind, but he couldn’t help scrolling through the options one last time. A final system check before he made the leap.
Osmark focused on “race,” and a series of new options popped up, showing Osmark all of the character choices available to players. The elves topped the list, Dokkalfar and Hvitalfar representing the dark and light side of the fey races, followed by the stocky, bearded dwarves, known as the Svartalfar. Where the elves were lean and graceful, the dwarves were built like cubes of muscle, fat, and gristle. Their natural crafting abilitie
s and aptitude with Smithing and Enchanting would be a huge plus in the advanced profession Osmark had in mind, but he could never be a dwarf.
He could never be comfortable in that body.
His eyes flashed over the Dokkalfar, and the display shimmered and changed to show him what he would look like as a Murk Elf: brown hair gave way to black, and the avatar’s skin took on a dusky, gunmetal-gray tone. Though he approved of the Dokkalfar’s rugged physique and mysterious appearance, he wasn’t fond of the Murk Elves’ favored class, Rogue. A common thief simply wouldn’t get the job done. Besides, he had his sights set on the Viridian Throne, and taking that seat as a rebel Murk Elf would be next to impossible. He’d need an Imperial-friendly race.
Next came the Wodes. They were much taller and more muscular than the Murk Elves, with lustrous golden hair and pale skin. Osmark was struck by their impressive appearance, raw size, and sheer physicality. Osmark took a closer look, and an information panel shimmered to life:
<<<>>>
Wodes (Human): The most numerous of Eldgard’s races, the Wodes are a flexible and resilient people known for their impressive stature and steadfast nature. Though Wodes are not blessed with any particular affinity for one class or another, they also suffer no penalties to any class. This adaptability has allowed the Wodes to spread far and wide, making them as at home in the mountains as the forests or plains.
<<<>>>
Good, but not for him. Not for what he had planned.
The Accipiter, or Winged Race, followed, and though they looked like an option that would be a lot of fun to try, he knew it would get old in a hurry. The ability to fly was impressive, certainly, but there were plenty of downsides balanced against a powerful skill like that. By design, the Accipiter were physically weaker than most other creatures, their class choices were severely restricted, and worst of all? They all spawned in the Barren Sands, which was about as far west in Eldgard as an adventurous player could go.
