by Drew Cordell
“Never gets old, does it?” Brandon asked, glancing out the glass and taking in the sight of Vrenn. It was insane that we were among the only real players on this entire station. The sheer, overwhelming scope of Eternity Online was hard to comprehend, but this helped put it into perspective.
“No, it doesn’t.” Other passengers were talking amongst themselves but didn’t seem to show any interest in our conversation, or the view which they’d obviously gotten used to throughout their digitally fabricated lives complete with their own backstories.
After another half hour, we arrived outside Gilson’s Bar. It was exactly the type of place you’d expect to find mercenaries for hire, illegal gambling, prostitutes, and a quick way to get your ticket punched by a sudden blaster bolt through the gut. The building was next to some ramshackle apartments located in what was in the running for the “worst neighborhood on the entire station” award. The street was swarming with shady-looking individuals lurking around claustrophobic alleyways, barred-up convenience stores, and the remnants of what may have once been a warehouse.
Electronic music infused with elements of heavier new-wave metal bled from the doorway of the bar that seemed to be missing both its doors. Heavy steel gates were tossed haphazardly to either side on the scuffed exterior, ready to be chained up at closing time. I was getting the impression this wasn’t a place that ever closed down on its own accord, especially since Vrenn was always illuminated and free from the unnecessary day/night cycle you’d find in a planetary environment.
“This is it, I guess,” I said with a grimace. “I think I’ll probably skip out on grabbing a drink while we’re here. Reconstituted beer and liquor isn’t really my thing. Good to see we’re earning our pay.”
“I won’t risk a drink here either. Now I see why Mac’s covering our repairs,” Brandon replied, with the faintest hint of a smile in his voice, taking initiative and walking toward the entrance of the bar. “What do you think the chances are we finish this job without getting into a firefight or bar brawl?”
“The odds of avoiding a fight here don’t feel great.”
Brandon shrugged. “Have your Mana Shield ready to cast, I guess. Let’s find Ms. Delarine so we can get the hell out of here.”
14
Smoke filled the air, and the discolored filters anchored to the corners of the high ceiling struggled to keep up. There were notes of tobacco in the haze, but the stench of Virodeshian seaweed was overpowering and rancid. The seaweed-like substance reeked of brine, decay, and the wretched scent of scorched chemicals.
Scantily clad prostitutes of different human and humanoid races waited against one of the back walls near the holo slot machines, talking to sleazy customers and coaxing them to rent a room upstairs. A usara man with a giant slugthrowing revolver tucked into his jeans stood watching the girls and potential customers with sharp eyes, making his presence felt to all. Mess with my girls or try to rip me off, you taste lead. The message he was broadcasting was clear and simple.
No one welcomed us as we walked in, and most of the patrons minded their own business. It was better that way. No one checked us for weapons or even seemed to care that we were armed, and a quick look around revealed that many people had blasters tucked into hip holsters or behind their belts, not a good sign.
I scanned the patrons, first checking the mostly full row of bar stools where two bartenders poured bright liquor. No pink-haired woman there. Next, we searched the general space of the bar and restaurant. It was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside, and the dim lighting hazy from all the seaweed and tobacco smoke wasn’t helping. People sat at tables drinking beer and eating greasy junk food out of plastic baskets; others were playing holocards, billiards, or darts.
I felt myself relax as I realized I had visited worse bars in real life on Salgon before without so much as a minor hangover. This wasn’t so bad, aside from the prostitution and illegal gambling, and most people probably wouldn’t want to mess with me when I had my colossus friend around.
“There,” Brandon said, pointing to one of the far corners of the bar. There she was—well, there was the only human woman with pink hair we could see in this overcrowded place. She was sitting in a booth and had a baggy jacket pulled over whatever she wore underneath. Her hood was up, but long, straight strands of pink hair bled from beneath, sticking out near the sides of her slightly hidden face. She had an empty wine glass in front of her, still wet with condensation.
There was another person sitting with the woman too, and from the ceremonial robes, slender body frame, and crystalline mask she wore, I could tell she was yōkai race and could have even been Yōkai Ronin, a powerful ceremonial warrior of their less-common alien race in Eternity Online. Brandon and I walked over to their table, ready to deliver the carbine and return to Mac, but this was also the type of place we might be able to pick up a quest chain to occupy our time.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” I said when we were in front of their table. The human woman met my eyes, and my AIVO flashed, identifying her as another player, but it was missing the alignment tag that normally came with a positive identification. I met the yōkai woman’s gaze, or at least the best I could manage with the disorienting mask covering her face. It was like looking into the face of a glass doll that wasn’t finished. Sleek, curving arches and grooves outlined her prismatic mask where a small nose, closed, expressionless mouth, and dark, empty spheres of obsidian served as eyes. Despite the near-perfect transparency of the mask’s glass-like material, I couldn’t see a face underneath.
My AIVO wasn’t identifying the yōkai woman as an NPC or player; in fact, I wasn’t getting any information about her at all. Yōkai was old-world Japanese for phantom or specter, so it made sense.
“Huh. Other players in a dump like this. Imagine that,” the human said. “You’re working for Mac? Or are you here for something else?” she inquired, keeping a level voice. Even with the hood on, I could tell she was beautiful. Her striking red eyes contrasted with an otherwise gentle face. She had long pink bangs, and the oversized hood she wore didn’t do a good job of keeping them out of her eyes. Her strange friend remained silent, studying us.
“Yeah, we’re working for Mac,” Brandon stumbled, looking caught off guard at seeing another player on Vrenn, even though we knew it was a possibility going into this. “Are you Gwen Delarine?”
“Mmmhmm. Are you going to introduce yourselves like real people, or am I just a quick buck for you gentlemen?” Gwen asked. “Fen, scoot over so they can join us for a round of drinks. Pleasure first, then business. If you haven’t been here before, the drinks are a lot better than they have any right to be.”
The yōkai woman stared at us through the mask. It was creepy, and she hadn’t said a word. She took a moment to consider, then scooted over closer to Gwen so Brandon and I could join them in the round booth. Brandon sat on the outside seat so he could swing his long legs out into the aisle space. This whole thing could have been a trap, but I wasn’t getting the feeling Gwen had bad intentions. Both of Gwen’s and her friend Fen’s hands were visible, so it wasn’t like they were holding weapons under the table ready to blast out our guts as soon as we sat down.
A brutal shootout as soon as we sat didn’t happen, so I introduced us. “I’m Kyle, and this is my friend Brandon. I can’t see anything about your allegiance to a faction, why is that?” It was the first time I hadn’t been able to see a player’s allegiance; it was supposed to be common knowledge as soon as a player’s AI or UI could identify them as a player. We intentionally left out our last names, and I had the strong suspicion Delarine wasn’t Gwen’s real surname.
Gwen studied us, pulling off her hood and letting the singular light fixture hanging above our booth illuminate her ashen face. She was incredibly attractive, even with the dramatic crimson pupils. Eternity Online pulled physical attributes from the real world when determining player appearance, so the real Gwen Delarine at least looked mostly similar to this one. “Hi
, Kyle and Brandon. You can’t see it because I don’t want you to see it. You’re both neutral, so I imagine you’re not looking for a fight anytime soon unless you plan on joining up with one of the factions soon and cashing out on any PKs you earned.”
“PKs?” Brandon asked. It wasn’t terminology I’d heard before either in our two weeks playing.
“Player kills. They’re worth a lot of eCr to Dalthaxia and Salgon if you hit high-value targets, and you can cash in on any major station flying their flags. Both sides want to encourage light skirmishes and war efforts when possible. You’re not the first players I’ve seen on Vrenn, but I am surprised Mac sent you on a quest to deliver my package instead of just bringing it himself.” It wasn’t a question, but I got the impression she was looking for more information.
I shrugged, not knowing what to think of Gwen yet, but not seeing any reason to end the conversation early. “We haven’t killed any players. We’re working for Mac. Lost our interceptor yesterday and are waiting for the insurance claim to go through. Until then, we’re stuck on Vrenn and are looking for some local work.”
One of the waitresses, a Thexian woman with a low-cut top, ample cleavage, and a black skirt came and took our orders. A mega beer and bucket of French fries for Brandon, and a whiskey sour for me. Gwen ordered another glass of wine, and her friend Fen simply shook her head. The waitress scribbled it down on a holopad and took off.
Gwen nodded, considering this. “I see. That’s some bad luck. What got you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Virodeshian pirates in a stolen Navy Battlecruiser. The quest wasn’t what we were expecting, and I made some bad calls and pulled this guy down with me. What’s your story?”
“Uhhuh. Well, Fen and I have been on our own for a while. I met her on Vrenn, and she took interest in working with me. I’m conscripted and was part of a small squad of treasure hunters looking for artifacts on Treshvyn. Their planet is supposed to have them all over the place, abandoned and forgotten in tombs and underground temples. The Treshians don’t want to lose control of their planet though—who would, you know?
“Well, we weren’t doing too hot against the Treshian Navy, and the Dalthaxian leaders in charge deployed half our ground forces before the space battle was even finished. It was messy. They ended up losing in space and had to pull out to save the remaining capital ships, leaving a lot of platoons stranded in enemy territory on the planet. Our leaders just told us to die in combat so we could respawn and regroup in New Dalthaxia, but it wasn’t so simple for me.”
I smirked. “Well, you gave away your alignment, whether you meant to or not.”
Gwen gave me a flat look, staring at me with those stunning red eyes. “If you wanted to kill me, you probably already would have tried. Besides, I’m guessing you don’t want to be on the line for 4k credits if you fail to deliver this package and get my digital signature. Delivery insurance is included in the gold-tier warranty plan.”
“Fair enough. You’re right though. We don’t want to hurt you,” Brandon said, grinning like a maniac when his mega beer and bucket of fries arrived. I sipped on my whiskey sour, genuinely surprised at the epiphany that it was a good drink.
Gwen waited for the waitress to go check on other customers before resuming the conversation. “Good drinks, right?”
I sipped my mixed drink again, stirring the sour-sweet liquid with the plastic straw, weaving it through the cluster of ice cubes to get to the bottom of the glass. “It’s a good drink. So I’m guessing your squad found something you didn’t want to lose on death. Only, I’ve yet to encounter an item that would fit into our inventory that would disappear on death, so you must have found something good. But you’re also the only one here, so your squad either didn’t make it from complications in the mission or because of complications in the mission.”
“I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re implying. There were complications. Not my doing, but I also wasn’t going to die with the rest of them when there was nothing I could do to change the outcome without getting myself killed too.” Gwen sipped her wine while Brandon gulped down handfuls of salty fries and took a heavy draw on his foamy tankard of beer. “It is something good, you’re right about that.”
“Okay… I’m intrigued. Anything you want to share?” I asked.
She stared at me with those striking eyes again, looking unsure of herself. “Here’s the part where I need to be a little more honest with you. As far as I’m aware, I’m assumed MIA in the Collective Dalthaxian Military Forces. Until I report my position, they can’t track me in-game ever since I ditched my tracking beacon implant. I’m defecting to neutral for the time being, and I’ve been looking for another player to help me with what I found. I hired Mac and a few other shopkeepers around Vrenn and other nearby stations to help me accelerate that process. You’re here so that gamble seems to have paid off.”
“Huh,” I managed, thoroughly perplexed and intrigued by this beautiful woman.
Brandon cut in while I processed the information. “And what exactly are your criteria for other players you want to help you?” he asked through a mouthful of fries, not bothering to slow down as he shoveled more of them into his mouth.
Gwen smiled, flashing us her teeth. “This is the part where it gets really good, and where you agree to help me so we all get really, really rich.”
15
“That rare, huh?” Brandon asked, finishing the last of his fries and using his finger to scoop up the stray salt from the wax paper. “I don't know, Kyle. You sell that Strexian implant, and we could upgrade to something even nicer than Exowurm…”
We were having an interesting discussion that left me feeling excited, even if I was weary of a scam. Gwen had told us all about the rarity of magic in Eternity Online and why she was so excited to have found us for what would be a lucrative payout that could set us up for the rest of our lives.
Gwen shrugged. “It is that rare, and I think the value is only going to go up. I'm only higher level than the rest of you because of the mandatory training program I went through for the Dalthaxian Starfleet. I think you'll both be a great addition to our party. Assuming you can prove you have the Strexian implant and can use it, of course.”
I was skeptical. Gwen was the one with the working starship, and she wasn't even trying to charge us for room and board on the journey to the supposed Strexian temple. “A four-way split all the way down the line? You're serious about that?”
“Mmhmm. There's plenty to go around.” She smiled, drinking down the last of her wine before adding, “and if this works out, then we might be able to continue this partnership. Assuming you’re tolerable to travel with.”
I was processing what Gwen had told us and comparing it to what Brandon and I already knew. The quest we had completed for the junk vendor that had rewarded my Strexian implant hadn't been that difficult; that was why I hadn't expected Gwen to throw out the 100-200k credit estimate on the value. I knew magic was uncommon, but was it really that rare in Eternity Online? I didn’t have a way to verify the information in real-time.
Brandon and I had only had a few encounters with other players, but the information we'd downloaded from the Datanet on Dalthaxia didn't have anything on magic other than the rules of binding spells and the requirement of having a Strexian chip implanted. We hadn't even thought to check the market value, assuming it wasn’t that rare since we acquired the chip so early into the launch of the game. If Gwen really was a defecting Dalthaxian treasure hunter, then the information she was feeding us would make a lot of sense.
I wasn't ready to sign on just yet. “What's with the big jacket?” I asked. She still hadn't taken it off, and it was too hot in Gilson’s bar to warrant wearing it. Unless she’s hiding something she doesn’t want me to see, I thought.
Gwen laughed and met me with those stunning eyes. “You haven't even offered to pay for our drinks or proven to me you're the bigshot mage Mac thinks you are and you're already trying to take
my clothes off.”
I shrugged. “Just curious. It's hot in here, and I don't see any reason why you'd want to keep it on unless you're trying to hide something.”
“Uhh, I’m curious too. For the same reasons, of course,” Brandon added, awkwardly. I gave him a flat look, but couldn’t help but smile and shake my head.
Gwen unzipped the front of her rugged jacket, unfastening the composite buttons under the microlattice rain flap. I saw the logo of New Dalthaxia in the center of the skin-tight armor mesh suit: the icy morning Star infused with a geometric emblem realized in shimmering gold. She zipped it back up after both Brandon and I saw it. “Hope you boys enjoyed the peep show. Some folks on the station, including some NPCs, don't like what Dalthaxia is doing in this new-age war. I'm trying to keep my identity secret while still retaining the lucrative stats of this armor.”
“Vrenn is as close to a Dalthaxian-aligned neutral station as you’re likely to find. It’s a wonder the Alliance hasn’t taken control of the government here. Do you mind if I take a moment to discuss this in private with Brandon?” I asked.
“By all means. We’ll be here,” Gwen said.
I led Brandon over to another empty table so we could talk. He seemed uneasy about the situation too, probably for the same reasons.
“What’s on your mind, Kyle?” he asked, folding his big arms on the table and leaning in.
“She's a Dalthaxian defector. She was conscripted too, and Dalthaxia takes these in-game contracts very seriously. All that I'm saying is that if we sign on with her, we might lose our stake in Eternity even if Dalthaxia wins the war. I don’t know if we can afford to make enemies that big.”
Brandon shrugged. “We’re already neutral players, everything we do is encrypted and identity protected. We do this job and we can split ways, Dalthaxia doesn't need to know where we got our credits, and neither does anyone else. We’ll have to be careful, sure, but doesn’t a job this big at least demand our attention and full consideration?”