Gamer Fantastic

by Greenberg, Martin H.

  It had appeared to be just standing there, unconcerned and unaware of the heroes approach. Even when they entered the cathedral-like room, it took no notice. Perhaps it thought they were too small a threat to even bother acknowledging Maig had suggested. They had even chuckled, wondering as the ease of it all. After taking several minutes to drink some really terrible tasting potions, summon up their greatest enchantments, and even conjure their only Vorpal Rabbit, the battle began when Gorag and Erica dashed forward to attack the demon . . . and kept on running right through it.

  Just when they managed to halt and began to turn around Gorag saw the real Enry, which looked just like the illusion, clinging to the ceiling with its tentacles directly above where Maig had set up shop. The fighter’s warning came too late and the massive Demon Lord dropped onto the hapless wizard. There was a most unfortunate squishing noise accompanied by just the beginning of a scream, then nothing.

  Gorag reacted almost without thinking. There was only so much time before Maig was permanently lost. As he rushed toward Enry, the monster’s size alone was daunting. But that size was also, the warrior realized, its vulnerability. It was big, big enough that moving the dozen twenty-foot tentacles that circled its neck took time. As the demon stood up from where it had literally sat on what remained of Maig, it turned to face the warrior with ponderous grace.

  That gave the warrior an idea. Goarag realized they needed Maig. Nothing could tear apart the gigantic demon like the short spell caster’s magic. The Demon Lord was too large for them to rely on his chopping that mountain of demon flesh apart before it squished them all. Just as Gorag was about to be close enough to strike the creature he changed direction and ran past to where what remained of Maig lay. With a flick of his wrist the warrior tossed the broken figure to where Arturus stood.

  The paladin understood and began his resurrection chant. Time was short before the gnome’s spirit was banished to Hel; he could afford to concentrate on nothing but trying bring their companion back. Unfortunately Enry was slow, but not stupid. His head and then his body spun round as the chant began. Slowly he moved toward the holy warrior, determined to not lose his advantage.

  Erica had begun throwing knives, rocks, the Vorpal Bunny and a few pieces of furniture at the Demon Lord. Most had bounced off, but a few daggers had struck its eyes and one eye had bled slightly. It ignored them all. The monster kept moving ponderously and inexorably toward the paladin. Then Enry screeched in a voice too small and too high to have come from such a monstrous foe and froze. Erica realized what had happened and almost laughed.

  The warrior had run as silently as he could, coming from behind the gigantic figure until he was between its legs and just behind it. A heroic jump had allowed the glowing sword Demondoom to stab deeply and most strategically upward.

  “Anatomically correct,” the warrior laughed as he rolled beyond the reach of the now halted and whimpering demon. It was crouched, holding the highly personal wound. Gorag ran in and took another swing that lopped off one of the bent-over monster’s tentacles. The pain of that loss seemed to remind the monster of its tormentors, and with a bellow that put the fighter’s best war cry to shame, it turned and snapped both claws at the swordsman.

  Twice the man-sized claws snapped, the second time the very tip of one sliced easily through mithril armor and tore a long gouge in the warrior’s forearm. Gorag answered with his own screamed challenge and ran past his slower opponent, slicing away hunks of leg and the tip of another tentacle while leaving a trail of his own blood to mix with that of the demon. Seconds later, he felt his wounded arm heal as Arturus called for divine intervention.

  Flowers of fire and frost began to burst against the side Enry’s head. The room grew brighter with each magical attack and the demon’s cries even louder. Gorag realized Maig was back up and had joined the fight. He dashed past again, chopping yet another tentacle off and making the monster hesitate in its movement toward the vengeful spell caster. Then it made a gesture with both claws and rumbled three strange, unknown words. Doors on each side of the room opened and out of each came two smaller versions of the Demon Lord. Smaller in that they were only twice the height of a man.

  Gorag spun and clove one in half even as it tried to attack him from behind. The floor became slippery with its purple blood. He carried the swing though and managed to slice into its companion’s clawed arm. The smaller demons were faster, but they didn’t have the massive strength of their lord. After a quick exchange of snaps and slashes, Gorag plunged Demondoom in the smaller monster’s middle, but at the price of one of its claws clamping down on his recently healed sword arm. This time his mithril armor held, but the sheer force of the claws closing on his arm caused the warrior to wince in pain even as it died.

  Only a few seconds had passed, and Gorag looked around to see how the rest of the team had fared. Erica was covered in gore once more and grinning wickedly. Both monsters near her were down and writhing in agony. The front side of one looked as if it had walked into a buzz saw. Gorag had trouble connecting the words with a mental image of such a device, but not the result. Maig had created small mountains of ice that had trapped both demons near him. It would melt eventually, but for some time those two were out of the battle. Arturus was just finishing off his two, encasing them in holy fire even as he stabbed and cut at the burning figures.

  But Enry had used the distraction well. Gorag looked up, froze, and watched in astonishment as the Demon Lord reattached the last of the tentacles Gorag had chopped off earlier. Even the wounds on his head seemed to be healing as Gorag watched. With a slightly hoarse war cry, the muscled warrior charged at the demon once more.

  At least, he noticed while flying across the room after being swatted away by a massive claw, that it couldn’t fight and heal itself at the same time. The fighter landed in a heap not far from Arturus, who healed his broken ribs and shoulder before the pain even registered. Pulling himself to his feet, Gorag raised his sword and charged in again, not with a battle cry, but with a sigh. It was going to be a long and painful battle.

  Seven gargoyles, three nameless smog demons, eights ninjas, some fanged fairies, and one dead Demon Lord later, the four heroes stood tattered, wounded, and winded. Enry was dead. Asan was saved. The Great Adventure was a success.

  Spontaneously each member of the team raised their arms, fists clenched in salute . . . and the universe began to fade away.

  “They’re coming out of it,” the senior biotech announced. Almost a hundred scientists and VIPs had crowded into Mission Control. There was a hushed silence. Martin Berger, the strain of the months showing in the deep lines on his face, took the opportunity to give a final briefing to the various members of Congress and the cabinet. After all, he could never forget, there would be the need for another increase in the budget if this first test of the HEL program was a success.

  “As you know, this is the third attempt.” His pause after saying this was dramatic, but not likely contrived. “Most you are also aware they my only son was on the second attempt. He held on long enough to alert us to the real problem, then died just as horribly as the others.”

  Another silence followed when no one even seemed to breathe. Only the clicks and chirps of the monitors and panels could be heard for long seconds.

  “The real problem was new, and as old as humanity,” the mission director explained what almost everyone in the room was somewhat aware of. “Most of you know that it wasn’t radiation poisoning, like we told the public, that killed the first two Mars teams. The problem is simply that men and women are simply not designed to spend almost ten months locked in that close proximity to each other surrounded by the vast, cold emptiness of space.

  “Yet the largest capsule we are capable of launching from this space station and actually getting to Mars and back has a living space much smaller than most college dorm rooms. No person on the mission could ever get more than five feet from the rest of the crew.”

  Berger gestured with
both his arms to indicate what was five feet. “Never out of touch, never not in each other’s space.”

  Unconsciously, several members of the crowd stepped a few feet away from those nearest them.

  “The first Mars teams were, to quote, the best and the brightest with all that mystical ‘right stuff.’ Yet within five months, every single one of them was clinically insane. Call it space miasma or claustrophobia or whatever. We suspect at least one of the crew of the first mission jimmied open the airlock. Perhaps even the vacuum of space looked better then their crowded, malodorous cabin. That team died quickly and we never understood why.”

  It was obvious that it took an act of real will for the elder Berger to continue.

  “We built in safeguards after that,” his voice lowered, and there was a trace of a sob as the next words poured out. “That clean death would have been a mercy for the second crew. With what may have been his last sane action, or maybe by accident, my son turned on the internal cameras and we saw the insane bloodbath that none of his team survived. They literally ripped each other apart using whatever they could grab—even teeth—my son among them, even as I watched, helpless. The images are available if you feel the need to examine them. I advise you not to.”

  The pause was longer here with a slight murmur rising in the silence. Most of the politicians had not heard of the graphic details of the losses.

  “We needed to find a way to keep our astronauts functional while in space. At first we tried drugs. But you can’t keep a person senseless for eight months and expect them to be functional afterward. We kept their bodies fit by stimulating their muscles, but even on earth most of the volunteers we tested the procedure on died; those who were revived successfully were never ready for the challenges of a new planet.

  “So we turned to a more active solution. As you are all aware, role-playing games have been so popular on the Internet that literally tens of millions of dollars annually are spent creating new and better games by competing companies. It is a multibillion-dollar business. Some players become so addicted that they are unable to function in the real world. A few have died playing, unable to bring themselves to stop. So it was decided to take this new means of escape to a new level. There was a way to insulate the team from the deadly proximity and surrounding emptiness. No less then three billion dollars were spent creating the mind activated interface and a whole artificial sensory environment that included smells, sounds, even sensation. You have heard about the spin-off technology that has been so beneficial to the disabled and mentally ill. But the real goal of the whole program was the HEL, Human Emersion Lander.”

  With a nod, Berger cued the man to his left and a cut away image of the HEL Mars vehicle appeared on the large screen at the front of the room.

  “This is where so much of our budget has gone. To a game and the four mechanisms that support our astronauts while they are in it.”

  A few congressmen looked worried about how they were going to sell that idea back home. Berger went on quickly, giving them what they needed.

  “The HEL provided a complete and large environment, a whole new world, for the team to explore. It was designed to provide reality on a level even beyond that portrayed in the classic Matrix movies. Actually, at first, we even created an entirely modern city complete with bars, movie theaters, even petty crime. But there is a delicate balance needed to put the astronauts into a suggestive state where they can submerge themselves in the artificial world and not be constantly drawn out by similarity to their deadly reality.

  The first worlds were just too much like that reality we needed them to escape from. They would snap back, and be unable to transition easily back into the simulation. Finally it was decided to accept what so many gaming companies had learned long ago. There is nothing more appealing, more addictive, and more open to creativity than a fantasy world full of monsters, magic, and heroes. Those on the HEL have, except for the rare interlude where we forced one of the team to return to reality for needed crew functions, spent almost all of their last eight months in a fantasy world that felt and seemed to them as real and detailed as this station does to you.”

  Most of the staff was grinning. They had been aware which world had been chosen for the HEL for months. Many had themselves spent many happy hours playing in one earlier version of the HEL that was kept online to use for testing.

  “A game, yes, but a game, congresspersons, guests, and fellow scientists, that has meant man will not be trapped on the earth by his own weakness. A game that gives us a way to someday, maybe even reach the stars.”

  Berger hesitated and seemed to make a decision.

  “I have to warn you there is one concern left. Physically and by all readings we can monitor, it appears that all four members of the team are alive and sane. But it has been days since we spoke to any one of them, and months since all four were able to communicate with us. We are concerned that they may have a problem withdrawing mentally from the fantasy world. Or that they will have so alienated each other by their actions there as to be incapable of working together now. An added concern is that the shock of returning to reality may send them, in their own minds, fleeing back into Asan. We are leaving them the memory of their, er, game when they waken from it. Hopefully this will allow them to distinguish between it and reality.”

  Not everyone had agreed with his decision to allow that. Many schizoids retreated into worlds they knew were false, but more comfortable to them.

  “The team has spent the last two hours being brought gradually back. The screen in front of you is about to show you, with an unfortunate two-minute-plus delay, the astronauts returning to consciousness and exiting their HEL units into the real world.

  “We will all see together if the program is a success.”

  Everyone in the control room looked toward the screen that filled half of one wall. It showed the inside of the HEL Lander. Four sarcophagus-like chambers half filled the cabin.

  “They should have activated the releases a minute ago,” the lead technician announced to everyone without taking his eyes from the screen. “By now they are out, and within a minute we should see them.”

  On the screen the top of the closest HEL chamber began to open. Even knowing that the reality of what they were seeing had already occurred two and half minutes earlier didn’t stifle the startled and nervous exclamations. Emerging from the center box was a petite woman with blond hair and large blue eyes. Everyone recognized the Mars Mission Commander, Mickie Hilburn. To her side another chamber was beginning to cycle open with a whirl and hiss and then the remaining two joined it.

  All eyes were on the first astronaut. She seemed a little confused and her gaze appeared more than a bit unfocused. Worried looks appeared on the faces of many in the control room and fingers flew over keys calling up biometrics.

  To everyone’s relief she then smiled, turned and looking directly at the camera. There was a moment of consternation in the control room when she reached down the took hold of the camera itself. The image danced and spun erratically as she picked the unit up. Worried exclamations and even more frantic key pressing followed.

  The picture stabilized on a smiling Mickie standing in front of the capsule’s large forward porthole. Behind the commander Mars hung with details of the planet’s surface already visible.

  “Mission Control this is Gor—er, Commander Hilburn. All four reporting conscious and accounted for.” Her voice was clear.

  Her next few words were directed at her team members and overwhelmed by the cheers echoing off the space station’s metal walls. Martin Berger sagged into a chair and cried.

  The smiling faces of the rest of the crew entered the screen, hanging at angles that were only allowed by their current zero gravity environment. Each looked at the other and then silently raised their arms with all four fists meeting in front.

  “One adventure complete, one greater adventure about to begin,” Hilburn announced with solemn joy as all four sane, determined astro
nauts turned to look at the planet beyond.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story is not totally fiction. The concern about the sanity of the crew of any months’ or even years’ long Mars mission is a very real concern. Using virtual reality to escape from the mental dangers that it would entail has been and likely will be again considered as technology and game designs improve. There would be a wonderful irony if the games we use to escape from reality here could open the way to the planets and beyond.

  THE GODS OF EVERY OTHER WEDNESDAY NIGHT

  S. L. Farrell

  You look at the title and you squint a bit, thinking “Okay, that’s mildly intriguing.” Because you’re an experienced reader, you even make a guess as to the implications—and you know, you’re right.

  I could tell you that the title came about mostly because I was reading a book that purports to explain religion (both a hopeless and thankless task, if you ask me), and in it the author gave the example of a god who exists only on Wednesdays as an “unbelievable” concept for a god. I actually think it’s an interesting idea and I file it away in the subconscious, and when I start writing this story for you here it comes floating back to the surface—except that the gaming group I belonged to met every two weeks, so when I finally realize that this is exactly the right title for the story, I change it to “every other” Wednesday night.

  Just because that feels right. I do that a lot: write something because it “feels right.” I sometimes suspect that this isn’t the optimal way to write. It’s better when you know it’s right.

  But I digress . . .

  You see, I was thinking about writing a story about gaming, and I thought, “Well, what if”—that wonderful, hoary old phrase that’s started off a thousand of the stories you’ve read—“what if the characters in the game were real? What if they had lives outside the game, and we RPG gamers were just pulling them out of whatever reality they existed in? What would they think?”