Istoria Online- Square One

by Vic Connor

  Sveta reached out to squeeze my hand across the desk.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “It’s not like I freak out in real life if I see an albino. I’ve seen plenty, every time I undergo a medical test to check if my own Chediak-Higashi remains dormant and in check. But it’s been nagging me since Juanita and Abe described how Uitzli looks, and now that our friends from Engineering have confirmed that all … this—” I wave my fingers toward the Durojaiye Inn’s room “—is something I’m co-authoring… Call me Doctor Frankenstein, but I’m not sure I’m super eager to meet this creation of mine.”

  “Well,” Sveta said, “perhaps Axolotl, Juanita, and Abe will royally screw up and fail to rescue her, and you won’t need to go through all that.”

  “Is that supposed to be encouraging, Svetty dear?”

  “That’s what good assistants do, boss.” She grinned. “We turn winters into summers wearing a winter dress.”

  “Can you help us with that?” I turned to the screen with Maneesh’s image. “Do you know what my witch and pirate friends are up to?”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he replied, “but that—”

  “Would be cheating,” I finished. “Yeah, thought so. Was worth a shot, though.”

  “I…” he wriggled his hands, looking for words.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s the roles we play: You have a job to do, I have a Tournament to win.” I leaned back in my CEO chair, toying with my tie. “And, to be honest—and I’d hate to think I’m being overly bossy here—but I was hoping our dear Svetty would have another exceptional coffee to brew, before I head into my morning meeting with that ragtag bunch of weirdos who happen to be the bespoke crew your storytelling algorithms have crafted for me to win your Tournament with.”

  “As weird crews go,” he confessed, “I’ve seen much, much weirder in this Beta. The one our algos have tailored here seems to fall on the not-so-weird end of the spectrum…”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment, my friend?”

  “Take it as you will.” He smiled. “Although weirdness is a subjective parameter, not an objective stat we have coded.” He moved to some secondary screen outside our view. “I should—”

  “Thanks for stopping by, Maneesh,” I said. “On the odd chance you get another Assam break before this crazy ordeal is over, come visit us again.”

  He waved.

  Tiny ripples spread across his screen, as if a small pebble fell into a still pond, then the whole thing faded, leaving Sveta and me alone.

  “I know I’ve said this already, Jake,” she offered, “but I’m sorry about your baby sister.”

  I pushed my left sleeve down to cover the hummingbird tattoo. “It’s okay. Really. It’s sad as hell, and she’ll always be in my heart, but it’s not your fault. There was no way you could know.”

  “Aaactually,” she said, getting into her Razor character, “I could have known, you know?”

  I laughed. “Be an angel, Svetty dear, and stop thinking about skinning Maneesh alive with those scary cyberclaws of yours. And, if you don’t mind… I could really, really, really use the strongest brew in your arsenal, if you’d be so kind?”

  Razor flashed me a twisted grin, which mellowed quickly back into a sweet Svetty smile. “Ristretto, coming up. I swear, boss, you’ll drink nothing else afterward.”

  “You spoil me too much…”

  “This also happens to be part of my job description, boss,” she said, walking to the coffee table. “Which I dearly love, as I hope you know well.”

  I stared down at my sleeping avatar in the bird’s-eye view. “I guess it’s also no coincidence Kokumo happens to have coffee in her Inn,” I said. “She can’t have espressos without the modern tech, so Istoria’s algorithms tailored the best they could with what this time in history has to offer.”

  “You’re always so humble, sir.” She placed the second cup in front of me. “If I may be so bold as to point that out. All this is technically your idea, is it not?” She returned to her seat. “Those weird programs from Engineering just do your bidding, like tailors making a suit matching your tastes and desires. They are like me, in a way: your assistants, doing what you ask us to do.”

  “I don’t remember asking for any of this, you know…”

  She smiled. “But isn’t this the textbook definition of what a great assistant should be? We know what our bosses need even before they know it!”

  “Can’t argue with that.” I chuckled. The ristretto came so concentrated that it was no more than a single droplet at the bottom of the tiny cup. I gulped it in one shot. If coffee were a heavyweight boxer, this would be its best uppercut to your jaw. “Damn…” I whizzed. “This is—”

  “—your caffeinated dreams come true?”

  “To be honest with you, Svetty dear… I don’t think I’m able to dream this good.”

  “Same thing here, boss.” She tapped over the bird’s-eye view. “I don’t know how it all works. And even if we squeeze all the brains in Engineering, we won’t get a detailed answer because Maneesh’s team is huge and no single human can understand all they’ve coded. But, bottom line, this is why you and the other players are here. The only way to really know what the complex software does is to test it.” She tapped the table again. “And that’s why Maneesh has just paid us a visit, sure as there’s night after day. Something about how his algorithms have tailored your awful Pain Tutorial experience into the skill of one of your game’s NPCs has piqued his attention, probably because the cause-effect chain seems obvious. And now that I know your history with albinism…”

  “Heh. My history … yeah. Come to think about it, I guess whoever named your game with the Russian word Istoria, meaning both ‘story’ and ‘history,’ knew what they were doing.”

  “Wish I could take the credit, boss,” she said. “But as you know, I don’t choose the names.”

  “You just work here. But a great job you do, I’ll never tire of saying.”

  “Speaking of work, boss…”

  “Right. My morning meeting.” My avatar was still in deep slumber. While I skipped time till next morning, it seemed to shiver and shimmer, shifting positions at super-high speed. “Shall we make bets about whether or not Juanita and Abe will pull this off?”

  “Nah.” She smiled. “I think your Dutchman companion, Hendricks, said it well. You’ve fought together, and probably will fight together soon, so you shouldn’t bet on other horses.”

  “Wonder what this Dutchman has been up to all night.” I smirked. “Up there with Miyu…”

  “From what I’ve seen, boss, he’d better not try his quick draw skills on that target.” She made a slashing motion with her hand. “Lest he gets his gun’s barrel sawed off, you know?”

  “He strikes me as the risk-taking type.” I laughed. “But, yeah, I guess there’s a difference between bold and dumb.”

  She smiled, nodded, and said nothing.

  “Yeah, I know.” I sighed. “I’m dallying and delaying, am I not?”

  She nodded once more.

  I looked downward. “I may need something stronger than just coffee after this meeting, Svetty dear.”

  “I’ll see what I can commandeer from Engineering, sir. After all they’re putting you through, it’s the least they can do.”

  I kept looking downward.

  “Hardcore…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look at me, buddy.”

  I did.

  “You’ve got this, ‘Core. Okay? You’ve been through tough stuff in your life. Your dad is having it real tough right now.” Her nails drummed on the table. “This thing going on down there? That’s just a game. So pull your act together and get this done.” She grinned. “You’ve got this, okay?”

  “Did you know that, among professional dancers, they believe wishing ‘good luck’ brings bad luck, so instead they wish each other ‘break a leg?’ Or, more traditionally, they say ‘Merde,’ which is French for ‘shit?’”

>   “For the last time, Hardcore … we really don’t give a damn around here about what Napoleon’s descendants have to say. I bet they think their farts smell like roses, anyway.”

  “Heh … couldn’t agree more.”

  She leaned over the desk. “And, in Russian, we call what you’re doing ‘frigging dilly-dallying some more,’ in case you were wondering.”

  I slammed the wooden surface. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Break a leg, Hardcore.” She winked.

  I winked back. “On that count, I’m as lucky as you can ever get.”

  I open my eyes at the gentle rap on the wooden door. It’s Ayelén, letting me know it’s sunrise.

  My crutches feel like natural extensions to my arms now. They help me swing to the Durojaiyne’s common room even before I shake the remaining wisps of sleep out of my dozy head.

  Hendricks waves at me from a table where he sits in good company with heaps of beans and tortillas and a bowl of hot coffee.

  “Goed sleepen?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I sleep like a log in here.”

  He nods at the beans. “Hungering?”

  I dive into makeshift bean tacos, if that’s a thing. My taste buds say it is. My belly agrees. Mouth too full to properly thank Ayelén when she brings a coffee bowl for me, I smile and nod to her.

  “De Spaanish merchents left earlier,” says Hendricks after gulping down his own breakfast.

  “Miyu?”

  He shakes his head. “Ik have niet seen her.”

  “Still upstairs, I guess.”

  The room grows darker as Iku’s massive frame blocks the entrance from the plaza and prevents the early sunlight from entering. Our samurai follows him, the Noh mask tilted backward as if laughing. A fresh scar decorates Iku’s left pectoral; nothing serious by the look of it, but it still bleeds.

  “A rematch didn’t quite end differently then.” I wink to Hendricks.

  “That man can niet winnen.” He chuckles. “But can ye blamen him?”

  “I guess there’s something to be said for never retreating and never surrendering…”

  “Oh, ja!” he agrees. “Dames love it.”

  Miyu sits beside Hendricks while Iku disappears into the kitchen.

  “Onibaba?” she asks.

  “We haven’t seen the witch,” I reply. “No word from her nor from Abe.”

  “Abu,” she hisses. “Ruzu kyanon.”

  Hendriks looks at me, as though expecting a translation.

  “I have no clue, my friend. I’m told I used to understand, but I remember nothing about it anymore.”

  “This is niet logisch.”

  I shrug and raise my hands. “As someone else just recently told me, I can’t guarantee any logic; I just work here.”

  He snorts, probably not sure if I’m pulling his leg. The Noh mask hisses and swivels from left, to right, to left.

  The Dutchman and I gnash through a second helping of beans and tortillas; we give them no quarter, and we take no prisoners. Ayelén and Torunn keep bringing us food, the Viking girl more and more tempted to laugh at our insatiable bellies.

  I’m not just hungry. I’m ravenous.

  Perhaps, all this hearty food—virtual as I know it is—will fill the real void inside me.

  I check my left arm from time to time, but it remains empty and unchanged: My green-and-blue colibri has not followed me in-game, and neither have the blossoming white flowers.

  With a whisper of silk, the Noh mask tilts down and turns to the door, alert as a lioness hunting prey, while Miyu’s hand springs to her naginata’s shaft. There’s a blur, and a bean-crammed tortilla falls to the floor as Hendricks’ pistol follows Miyu’s lead.

  The door to the plaza is empty.

  “What?” asks the Dutchman, unsure about what he should be targeting.

  Nothing is at the door, but I draw my pistol anyway and place it on the table. I must remember I only have four guns now, after peddling away the other four yesterday. It dawns on me that, sitting at this table, I’m in an uncomfortable place to draw, aim, and shoot.

  We can hear voices out in the plaza. Even if I cannot understand the words, the gasps and uneven intonations are clear—something is coming our way. Something that has shocked the onlookers.

  “Axorotu,” Miyu guesses.

  It’s not Axolotl who stumbles into the Durojaiye, but two Jaguar warriors who squeeze themselves through the door, dragging Abe’s dead-pale body between them.

  Juanita follows, shrouded in her zig-zag patterned poncho. She looks … younger, somehow? Rejuvenated? The skin of her face seems smoother, fresh; yet she leans heavily on her staff, as if exhausted beyond human endurance.

  An icy chill crawls down my spine as our gazes meet: Her eyes burn wildly.

  Madly.

  And they’re blood-shot red.

  She drags herself to the closest chair and plops into it.

  Axolotl saunters though the entrance. He offers a trace of a smile as he nods my way; he looks exhausted and spent, too. He whispers to somebody behind him.

  “Tiachkautli!” calls out a childish voice. The voice of a girl, bubbling with glee.

  Memory Unlocked:

  Big Brother, Little Sister (1 of 2)

  I’m dying. The pain is unbearable.

  I press my hands against the vicious slash across my left side and belly. Blood and life are draining out.

  I spill red over her milky skin while she places her hands over mine.

  Uitzli smiles: pale, pearly moonlight.

  She speaks words to my wound. Words older than mountains, deeper than ancient lakes.

  Soothing warmth spreads through my chest. Blood stays inside my veins as the jagged lips of my wound meet, merge, and heal.

  A jolt of phantom pain bites into my left side; I cry out, more because of surprise than anything else.

  Hendricks turns to me, guns still trained at the entrance.

  “I’m okay,” I assure him.

  “The piraat is niet good,” he replies. “And the hex woman…”

  A small figure, draped in veils and clothes so as not to show an inch of skin, follows Axolotl into the common room. “Tiachkautli!” she says again, walking toward me.

  Miyu’s hand lets the naginata’s shaft go. “Uitzli,” she says, with a soft melody in her voice I don’t remember hearing before.

  The small figure comes near. Once she is safe from direct sunlight, she unwraps her hands—white as milk—and reveals her forearms—pale as moonlight. She removes the veils protecting her face: Silvery hair, moon-like complexion, watery eyes that squint as if, even in this dusky room, the sun were shining too brightly.

  She has strabismus; her mis-aligned eyes look for me, lock on me, pearly teeth shine in her smile. “Tiachkautli,” she tells me, reaching out with her snow-white hands.

  Memory Unlocked:

  Big Brother, Little Sister (2 of 2)

  “Is she … dumb?”

  “She is not, young Jake.”

  “But why doesn’t she … why doesn’t she speak English? Like you do?”

  “Because she has been blessed with understanding words that gods themselves speak when they talk the world into existence. A blessing which is also a curse when it comes to understanding the crude languages we mortals speak.”

  “She keeps saying tikachuli … something. What does it mean?”

  “Do you mean Tiachkautli?”

  “Yes, that.”

  “It means ‘big brother,’ young Jake.”

  The world seems to spin a little.

  “Screw this shit,” I whisper. “I don’t like the look of this.”

  “That was a cheap shot.”

  “Perhaps we should reconsider skinning somebody from Engineering alive, boss?”

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t blame you if you do, to be honest.” My hands still shook a little. Part of me wanted to grab the large, steamy cup of coffee Sveta had already prepared for me—as she had promise
d she would—but part of me was afraid I’d spill it all over the wooden desk and make a mess.

  “Don’t worry about it, boss,” she said, as though reading my mind. “Even if it splashes all over your fancy suit, no harm done.”

  “You mentioned this is one expensive brew…”

  “Oh, I did. And it is. It’s a cup of Geisha Jaramillo Especial, from Hacienda La Esmeralda. I believe back in the real life, a pound of this coffee is worth a reasonably well-paid programmer’s monthly salary. It’s not supposed to be available for players yet, but hey, you like living on the edge—don’t you, boss?”

  “Do I want to know how many arms in Engineering you had to twist to let me Alpha-taste it?”

  That twisted dysto-punk mercenary grin again. “Girl has her tools,” she said mysteriously. “And tricks. C’mon. Drink.”

  I steadied my shaky fingers, wrapped them around the cup, brought the steamy brew to my lips.

  Holy sh…

  Jolts of caffeinated pleasure coursed through every nerve in my bony body.

  “The word you are looking for is ‘thank you,’” she said with a giggle. “Not that you need to thank me for anything, boss; just doing my job.”

  “Just be a dear and make a note, Svetty dear: After we win this Tournament, let’s not, I repeat—let’s not—blow all the money on buying a ton of this … this… I don’t know. This is so good it’s beyond words.”