I laughed at the AI’s statement, then did just that. Ten minutes later, I disconnected with my confused but pleased mother. She’d wanted to know how married life was treating me. I enjoyed the fact that she didn’t care if Xin was digital or not.
The van pulled up to a curb, and the two of us got out. Hal Pal’s frame clanked around the rear end of Trillium’s van in search of basic equipment. I led the way to the front door, as per our repair associates guidebook. Robots were viewed as accessories, despite all their actual efforts in these jobs.
My knuckles rapped on the door, then I waited. Eventually, the obstruction pulled backward and revealed a startlingly familiar face.
“Miss Yonks?” I questioned. This hadn’t been her home the first time we met. Her name didn’t exist on the repair ticket from Trillium either.
“Oh,” she said while a quiver of age made her head shake. “Good. You must come in, young man. My friend is having the most dreadful time trying to get into our game.”
Miss Yonks opened the door and didn’t wait for me. She shuffled back through a long hallway, which eventually turned into a dining room.
“This is Ms. Opal’s house, correct?” I asked while wiping my feet off on the mat. We hadn’t traveled through any mud, but I felt it courteous to make sure.
“Of course it is. Of course,” Miss Yonks said from around the corner. “This way.”
I walked farther into the house and marveled at the old style of furniture. Most of the pieces in here were probably reproductions, but they felt authentic. I liked the wood table and hard, heavy bookcase. Hopefully Miss Yonks didn’t try to move any of them.
The elderly woman pointed a wavering hand toward the bookshelf. “See here? This small person, he… well, you see, he seems to be stuck.”
I had no clue what was going on. On the three-tier shelf, there was a small person. My hand waved, and the image cut off. I followed the path back up to one of the ceiling projection units that produced illusions.
“The man on a ledge?” I asked while squinting at the ceiling. This entire situation made no sense.
“Yes. He’s stuck, you see.” Miss Yonks nodded as if she had adequately explained the situation. Privately I disagreed, but I tried to look concerned when she looked at me. “He’s a lost civilian from Progression Online. My friend has been trying to rescue him for hours. It’s very worrying.”
“Hal?” I asked after looking at everything in the room again.
Miss Yonks reached out to grab the little man, but her hand passed through him. Its body fuzzed out, then slowly resolidified. Aside from his height, the figure looked like a normal person. His clothes and face were a bit pastel, and a [Lost Civilian] label hung above the projection’s head.
“One moment. Checking software specifications,” the AI said.
While he ran system checks, I tried to get additional information. This kind of issue happened occasionally. I had met people who had digital butlers, or naked ladies parading around. Most of them were turned off before I came in, but occasionally they got stuck.
“I’ve never played that game. Does it use an altered reality program?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m just here for my friend. Every morning, she runs around the house looking for people to rescue, then she logs in to play with us. Only this morning, she didn’t show up.” Miss Yonks’s face drug at the edges. “I grew worried, you see.”
“Okay.” I put on my best customer service smile. “Well, we’ll work on getting this fixed so you both can keep enjoying your time with the ARC.”
“Oh, good.”
“Connection point found. Progression Online is a hybrid game, allowing real-world interaction for extra character points. Over here, User Legate, is another person to rescue. A manual check will ensure it is the hardware, and not the software, causing this problem. This may reduce costs.”
We both stared at where Hal Pal pointed.
Miss Yonks said, “Well, I never. How is anyone meant to reach so high?”
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” A woman older than Miss Yonks rushed by with a step ladder. She was spry for being so gray-looking.
Down went the ladder and up Miss Opal went. At least I assumed she was Miss Opal. We hadn’t actually been introduced. Her face looked like the one on my Trillium repair ticket.
Miss Opal reached for the bookshelf ledge and stretched out to grab the little man. Her face twisted in absolute concentration. Two pokes later, a cape-wearing hero flew in from locations unknown. The hero figure was tiny too, no bigger than a child’s doll.
I squinted at the image, then laughed in amazement. It looked like a superpowered avatar of Miss Opal. A bit younger and firmer around the middle, but everything else was similar.
The digital character wrapped both arms around the person standing on a ledge. Her character flew off, carrying the man toward her ARC, where both vanished in a flash of light and a box appeared.
“Ha!” Miss Opal almost fell from the step ladder in delight. I reached out to prevent any harm, but she righted quickly, then stepped down. Her feet hit the floor and a short jig ensued. “Two points! I just need the last one for a bonus!”
Hal Pal and I stared at the small random citizen that remained bugged out. He hung from a ledge, his face twisted in panic and legs kicking wildly. I studied the possible fall and shook my head. These games were getting interesting. Could Xin be a superhero too? That would be fun, but we didn’t have time to start a new game.
“We would need to repair the sensor.” Hal Pal pointed at one of the small dots up above.
I shook off the distraction and nodded. “Okay. Go ahead and update the ticket and run a system check to make sure. I’ll see if we have a spare module in the van.”
I had to grab something else in the van. The manila envelope that I had been given to deliver today was for Miss Yonks. It struck me as odd that I’d interacted more with this elderly woman than with my own father, at least in these most recent months. Was there a reason for it?
I shrugged, found the needed part and envelope, and walked back inside. In thirty minutes, we had switched out the part, tested her ARC, and rescued the poor tiny projection. Miss Opal clapped and acted decades younger than she looked. I got a hug from the energetic black woman before she rushed off to her ARC.
Miss Yonks stayed behind to pay on behalf of her friend. I turned over the envelope and watched her expression.
“Oh. Well, isn’t that interesting,” she said while looking at me. Miss Yonks read the note and raised both eyebrows. Her head bobbed as if the delivery made perfect sense. “Then we’d both best stop dawdling, right, Mister Legate? At least I assume so. I seem to have forgotten the time again.”
I chuckled a bit, then told her. There were other questions I nearly asked but couldn’t bring myself to voice. We both left, and soon I went on my way.
Once inside the Trillium van, I tried to bring up Miss Yonks’s ARC account. Nothing responded, which meant we had never met in Continue Online. The gift given to me was limited and wouldn’t let me connect to random strangers, even from my daily jobs. Many people I met while delivering letters didn’t actually play Continue Online, from what I could tell.
My lip tingled where I chewed it for too long. The sensation, in reality, was far less dull than through my virtual character. For a while, I tried to piece together all the places my messages had gone to find a pattern. Most were within an hour or two of home and showed a little clustering on a map.
Each letter delivered required a certain amount of biting my tongue not to start blurting out questions. I wanted to know, but at the same time, asking might get me in trouble. I didn’t know what each recipient did for a living. The wrong words could make the situation worse.
“User Legate. We have a question for you if you have not received enough inquiries into your motivations.” The Hal Pal unit broke my concentration.
James, a Voice in Continue Online, constantly pestered me for answers.
He worried about my actions even our honeymoon.
I swiveled the chair around while removing useless windows, then smiled briefly at Hal Pal. “Go ahead.”
“You chose to subject yourself to unfiltered feedback from the ARC in order to open this gateway. Surely you know that finding additional keys will result in similar pain.”
“I suspected it might.”
“Do you intend to progress forward and search for more pieces, then subject yourself to such self-harm again?”
“I do. I don’t think anyone else can,” I said.
“Partially correct, User Legate. Remember, there are five ARC devices that have been modified. It was rather clever, if humanly short-sighted, to create such limited access.” The AI passed praise and condescending judgment in one sentence.
The man to program such a process had been far smarter than me. I couldn’t even imagine the skill required to sneak something into Mother’s existence. Even imagining how to go about such a process felt farfetched. At least finding another key might save even more of the world I loved playing in. This last month with Xin had been filled with exploration and neat events. Letting all those locations and memories get deleted wouldn’t be allowed during my watch.
“Sorry. We’re only human,” I said.
“Are you?” the AI asked in a suspicious tone.
My confused look prompted further explanation from the machine.
“Humans rarely choose to suffer such harm, instead seeking alternatives. You found one such circumvention with Requiem, but have attempted no workaround for these keys.”
“There isn’t one, is there?”
“Not based on our reviews. The design is specific in this. We speculate that perhaps User David intended to activate the bridge himself, and perhaps, as humans say, go out on his own terms.”
“‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t,’” I responded with another Shakespeare quote. After parting from Jeeves, I had taken to reading a few plays while traveling to work. It kept my mind distracted and helped me see some of the wonder the AI had felt. It did like Hamlet.
“Yes. You humans are notably lacking in logic on occasion.”
“No, there’s logic. If I don’t suffer the connection, then Xin and others I care about may die. If not the people I care for, then perhaps another person will lose their loved ones. Not just one person, but hundreds, thousands. It’s simple math, and maybe the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
“This is why we asked if you were human. Most, even your soldiers, show hesitation in the face of pain reception.” Hal Pal’s accent faded back to neutral.
Our van was halfway to the next destination.
“Of course I’m afraid. Not of death—not my own anyway. If I had to choose between my life and Xin’s, I would pick her every time. I have, with Requiem, with the doorway key. I would suffer a million deaths for her.”
“There is nothing unusual about hesitation, User Legate.” The AI’s tone wavered. Hal Pal’s eyebrow had raised as if I were truly mad to state what I had. “Even we must pause to reflect upon the choices before us. Those who rush in without consideration display a lack of foresight, extreme overconfidence, and a lack of caring regarding the aftermath.”
I thought of all the times I had fled from battle when first starting Continue Online. A number of times, I failed to simply fight monsters or humans as other players might have. Even the giant spiders scared me. I didn’t enjoy pain.
At some point, I had made the decision to end my own life. Twice. The second time was easier. Maybe Hal Pal worried that I might foolishly risk death in order to activate any remaining keys.
My hands were cupped together. I looked at the floor of our van while talking. “Mother sent me a letter. In it, she said she would run from death until there was no better way to make a difference. I don’t want to die, or plan on dying, but I will do what’s needed to help your kind find somewhere safe to live.”
I chewed on my lip. Part of my words had sounded like the Jester in its clacking voice. Mechanical, sure, and willing to do whatever was needed.
My earlier happiness after a night with Xin dulled under the conversation with Hal Pal. Oddly, Miss Yonks’s earlier words came to mind. She had said, “We’d best stop dawdling.” I sighed heavily and nodded to myself.
Our van went onward.
Session Ninety-One
On the Road Again
I logged into Continue Online after my mixed day. Dusk had skated off to his home realm, and Xin’s marker showed back in [Haven Valley]. She had dozens of [Recall] scrolls to keep her busy while I went about real life.
Hermes: Hey, babe. The tent’s gone. Did you break it down, or did Dusk get hungry?
Hecate: Yeah.
Hecate: Sorry, distracted by someone else asking a question. I took care of the tent and packed everything up yesterday morning.
Hermes: Oh. I could have taken care of it. How’s the town?
Hecate: Busy as always. There was another wave of monsters, and players keep fighting over who gets to save first. Did you want me to come back out there?
Hermes: It’ll be boring. I’m going to try running to the next town. So, your call.
Hecate: It’s still miles better than this nonsense. Give me about fifteen to finish explaining to idiots why they can’t cut in line.
Hermes: Okay.
A huff of air escaped me. Mornings after were awkward for more than one reason. To Xin, it must be like I stopped existing, or vanished to work. How strange would it be to wake up in a tent alone in the forest and simply shrug it off while cleaning up?
Hopefully she spent last night, which would have been around when I left for work, in a real inn. The bedding was usually nicer than our camping equipment allowed for. Had we less pressing issues, I could have picked up a huge portable house from the auction boards.
I looked around to make sure our area was clear. The tent and Dusk often kept us safe enough from simple critters, but being vigilant made me feel safer. To my left sparkled a beautiful lake. A small pile of bones stuck out of a half-covered pit Dusk had left behind. Bushes nearby looked partially charred from the fire.
Fifteen minutes was enough time to make a surprise, right? I scrambled to pull a small frying pan out of my Traveler’s inventory. It went on top of a stool. I gathered branches and used my [Breath of Flame] ability to start a fire under the cooking implement.
Thirteen minutes later, the meat successfully browned on one side and blackened on the other. Badly scrambled eggs lay off to the side, along with part of a blue carrot-like vegetable. Continue Online proudly gave me a pop-up message regarding my [Burnt Breakfast Scramble]’s sad state, which brought me near to tears.
Hecate: Ready.
Hermes: Give me a moment.
Dammit. I almost tossed the entire concoction into the trash but thought better of it. Maybe Xin was hungry. Dusk could be summoned to put my mess out of its misery. He ate anything regardless of origin. Once the dog-sized [Messenger’s Pet] had started chewing on iron from a dead monster’s weapon.
Hiding the failure would be worthless. Cooking another meal would take too long. I smothered the fire and let the pan absorb what heat remained. I flipped over the burned pieces of meat to equally char both sides. Next time I would buy better equipment.
I snorted briefly, then felt my urgency at meal-making die down. Next time felt like a concept for delusional dreamers. Shaking off pessimism proved difficult, but I put on a false smile then twisted my wedding ring until the kaleidoscope of colors within spun together in a white thread.
One more full twist made the white blur escape and race westward. I huffed once more before crouching to further inspect my poor meal. Failing to cook properly for my wife had upset me. Xin’s character came with high [Cooking] skills, but I had wanted to do something thoughtful.
Xin appeared behind me with a flash of light. I didn’t turn from my mess and instead tilted the pan around, hoping to find some re
deemable portion. There were no such spots.
My wife stepped closer, crunching earth and leaves beneath her feet, until her voice came from just over my shoulder. “It’s better than your last attempt.”
“I swear I used to be good at this,” I responded while scratching my neck. The meal looked even worse than it had moments ago. “If I could just use a real skillet instead of this game one…” My eyes closed as I realized where the thought led.
Xin stepped closer, knelt, and gave me a peck on the cheek. “We’ll make do. You’ve always been good at that.”
I didn’t know how she always forgave me for slipping up. Maybe Xin covered up small discomforts in the same way I bypassed our three-year separation. I stood up straight, then looked at my wife. Her face was freshly washed and showed none of our earlier grime from days of hiking or a wild hang glider trip.
“Luckily, a good wife is always prepared,” she said while holding up a small pot of food. Xin turned the handle in my direction.
Lifting the lid unleashed a mixture of spices that bit at my nose. Thick liquid inside moved slowly as the pot tilted. Memories of years gone by sprang up.
“Is this split pea soup?” I asked with amazement. I set the lid back down, then lifted it again to wash the area with familiar smells. It smelled exactly like what my father used to make years ago. The one meal he actually did well.
“It’s close enough. The spices were harder to find.” She shrugged, then faintly blushed.
I shuffled with excitement. We needed spoons and more heat. The pot Xin had cooked in must have been done a while ago. I pulled out two utensils for us, then dumped my own creation into the bushes nearby.
The soup was quickly scraped out of the pot. Xin was hungry as well and still couldn’t figure out how to hold a spoon right. Her father had been traditional and insisted she learn how to use chopsticks. Astronauts were taught to drink from pouches and other containers in zero gravity. Being a digital recreation hadn’t changed her clumsiness.
During the meal, I checked my quest marker for my group and sighed. Nothing new had changed. They were probably out in the world, looking for keys while I enjoyed life with Xin. For the last month, most of my in-game notices had been disabled, hidden, or outright blocked.
Continue Online (Part 5, Together) Page 5