I lay down in the ARC device and tried not to feel a thread of worry. Maybe Liz had been onto something. Maybe the Voices were playing with me, not because Continue Online had been designed to do so, but because something with greater depth happened.
My mind put together a list of questions to ask. If need be one of my two uses for [NPC Conspiracy] would be utilized to pry something out of the AI. Honestly, though, Hal Pal would probably answer my questions outright.
It felt less guarded with me than ninety-eight percent of the human population? That number was insane.
A sharp pain in my lip showed how distracted the thinking made me. I licked the inside a few times and tasted the copper of blood. The wound ceased bleeding after two minutes.
My biggest problem was thinking too much about anything. Each action often had to be weighed and planned out ahead of time. That had been the plus side about my dance program. Each night new planned moves were memorized then tested. Everything had rhythms, a time to move and a time to sit still. Even combat in Continue Online followed a pattern. Conversing with people while on the job often felt scripted, not bad, just a certain flow to every encounter.
Dealing with Hal Pal certainly had not followed a script. I really needed time to figure out what questions would be of use, and how much I cared.
Half a dozen ill-formed questions came to mind. Xin would have been able to react much faster. She was decisive, to the point, ready to handle anything. For years, she tried to break me of overthinking things and failed.
“ARC, log me in,” I said.
Vision faded away from reality and my mind sunk into the machine’s feedback system. The Atrium came into view, back to the recreation of my small two room home.
“Load, Advance Online.” I looked at the price of Hal Pal’s game offering for a few minutes then shrugged. Money didn’t matter, without the drive of Xin’s letters even Continue itself lost some pull. If nothing else, it would serve as a distraction.
I pressed buy and the image shimmered. Cash register noises played through the Atrium and a package materialized in one hand. This felt a little like being lead around by the nose, though. Another question went onto the pile, what exactly would an AI, any of them, gain by pushing me to play video games?
That one stumped me. Honestly, other than the Jester figure from Continue Online asking me if I could kill someone, playing games seemed relatively harmless. At least, it had been until Requiem Mass or Matthew, in the real world, got involved.
My head tilted back to stare at the ceiling of my Atrium. She wanted reports on the AIs of Continue Online, but never mentioned real world ones. Hal Pal wasn’t even directly created by Trillium either, it was done by an overseas company.
“Lasers do sound neat.” My face wrinkled to one side in thought. The trailer had been kind of awe inspiring.
I threw the game box at one wall. Now there were three doors out of my Atrium. The dance program which sat there dim. Continue Online’s passage which still refused entry with caution and keep out tape strung across it. Then this new game, a title that sounded suspiciously like Continue Online.
“Wait a minute,” I muttered. “ARC, what’s the release date on this program?”
“Six months ago.”
“After Continue Online?” I asked. The competition in video game land had died off steeply upon Continue Online’s release. There were updates to currently existing games, new mods or that kind of stuff, but nothing on the same level.
“Affirmative,” the ARC said.
“Who was the development company for this?”
“A.I. Dreams.”
“You’re kidding me,” I muttered again. Hal Pal was involved in this somehow. That name couldn’t be a coincidence. Did it mean anything? The game was full of spaceships that looked like fancy airplanes. In the video, there had even been people using some sort of waves of energy.
“Negative, User Legate,” my capsule’s voice said.
I stared at the new doorway and wondered exactly how valuable this would be to me. Continue Online had drawn me in from the get-go. Nothing else could really compare. Still, Hal Pal had said playing anything else might help me seem less invested in Continue’s world.
“Do they have any relation to Trillium? Parent company, past employees, college roommates, anything?” I checked for any association between my current issues and the new distraction Hal Pal suggested. There had to be more than a suspicious suggestion by my work companion.
An hourglass timer appeared in front of me, tipping over repeatedly as the machine searched. Finally, the small image of sand stopped trickling and turned into an exclamation point.
“Association confirmed. Four employees within A.I. Dreams worked for Trillium Inc. six years ago. They quit and formed a studio changed to an independent group after the ARC was developed,” the ARC said.
What exactly was going on? My life might amount to being herded in one direction by the machine, which felt like a paranoid way to look at things. We worked together for over a year. The machine was vetted, fully cleared for all levels of human interaction, and no reports had ever made it into the world citing any danger.
Hal Pal hadn’t lied to me, not once. Maybe my mistrust obstructed a simple truth. It might be that Hal Pal genuinely worried about me as a person and wanted to help in its strange sort of way. First it threw me into Continue Online which took a turn for the weird. Now that one route had failed, it tried to lead me into another.
But why was this other game made by people from Trillium?
Whatever. I could just start the game, and provided no Voices showed up in outer space then it could be a coincidence. Though seeing James in space wearing evil looking red armor might be funny.
I walked through the doorway.
Lights whooshed by. A sensation of huge objects moving nearby came through. Stars in the distance were spinning into place on a backdrop of bluish black. It amazed me once more how the ARC could project feelings into my awareness.
Ten, twenty, finally hundreds of stars blasted into different locations. A huge amount swirled together in a purple haze representing a galaxy. The picture flattened abruptly and a grid pattern formed, separating out the different sections of space.
I walked around and the projection shifted slightly to match my new position. After a while, there was a small pop of light and one red arrow bobbed. Words floated above it.
You are here.
The words sat there calmly. I felt like this was a mall display telling me how to navigate the stores. Soon a small box would pop up trying to tell me which path went to the pants section. Not that many stores stocked clothes anymore. My hand reached out and the stars rushed to a new position. Everything appeared closer than it was before.
Now there were eight bobbing arrows in different locations across the star field. I pressed one of the new ones and a figure faded in nearby. There was a giant mountain looking man with pitch black skin. He looked to be made of obsidian.
I moved a bit, and the figure moved. My arms went up in a poor flex and the black skinned man flexed as well. It amused me enough to keep moving around making the creature adopt new poses. One arm went out, both feet up on tiptoes, the other one behind. I did a bow with both arms going wide on either side.
The large creature mirroring me tried to keep up but actually stumbled a bit. I started at it in suspicion and the black skinned man pointed toward a floating box nearby.
Race: [Behemoth]
Details: [Behemoth]s are larger than a majority of other races in the Alliance. The first one is said to have been birthed from a mountain that aged for so long that it grew sentient and gave birth.
[Behemoth]s are unique as they can survive in the vacuum of space without a suit by using internal oxygen pockets, they also suffer penalties when subjected to excessive moisture. Most are craft oriented and rarely value combat due to slow reactions. They may fumble complex body movements that rely on speed.
“Sorry,” I
said after reading it. There was a wall of pluses and minuses to various skills below that. I ignored plus marks that floated next to terms for height, weight, and all the extra little statistics.
I waved goodbye. My mirror waved back casually. There were plenty of races to look at. It seemed like this game launched me straight into a character creation system.
The next one of my choices was a sort of bug creature called [Cricket]. They looked just human enough to be attractive, but their sides were strangely smooth looking. Having an antenna wouldn’t work very well for me at all. I skipped it and moved on.
My next result happened to be extremely short. A small creature called [Teeny] that looked like a heavy hipped onion glared at me. I blinked it blinked. One foot lifted, and my little male mirror lifted their leg. This one responded very well to the poses. I had to be careful though because he stood on top of a wooden bench.
Not for me either. Maybe if I got through creation I could explore this world more. Besides, I had hours to kill tonight before needing to worry about work tomorrow. If it entertained me enough I could take the weekend off.
The [Behemoth] race seemed too ponderous for me, even if they did crafting. Short people or bug like guys felt odd. The fourth choice was straight humans, but I bypassed them.
By the fifth race, I noticed a small percentage marker by each race. A note next to it stated ‘player population’. Most people seemed to choose humans. That made sense, playing as another species in a virtual reality world would be outright weird to stick with.
Sixth was a race of space elves. Seventh fell to a group that looked human but were all sorts of beefed up. Their detail window claimed to be a connection of gods. There were no openings in that grouping. I guess they had a player cap of some sort.
Finally, the eighth race struck my fancy. I laughed a bit while shaking my head. They looked like an advanced version of Hal Pal. They wore armor, held guns, and seemed to come with the lowest player population. After all, who would want to play as the computer race, in an outer space game?
Race: [Mechanoid]
Details: The [Mechanoid]s spawned from Old Earth thousands of years ago. Their grouping is run without ranks or leaders. Each [Mechanoid] is responsible for contributing to the whole to whatever extent they are able.
[Mechanoid]s receive bonuses to all actions requiring fine motor skills. However, they are often unable to start a new task until the old one is finished. A single one of these is often no threat, where a group is far more dangerous due a to division of labor.
A small box floated nearby asking if I wanted to choose this species. There were more detailed bits of information that listed all the pros and cons, but none of that mattered to me right now. After all, my main reason for even playing this was to look sane for Liz. Putting myself in Hal Pal’s shoes, however vaguely a computer game might try to fill them, would be a bonus.
“Why not?” I pressed yes and the stars around me zoomed in once more.
Session Forty Two – Dirty Job
Pressing yes caused the ARC’s visual feedback to go black. Things rocked and my insides felt like they were being warped across the galaxy. At least, I assumed that was an apt analogy for a space game that put its user through simulated G-force pulls. Really it just made me sick.
Details slowly fuzzed in and the spots started to fade. The resulting vision was a lovely rendition of metallic looking toes. Not only mine but another three sets nearby. The ground under our collective feet looked absurdly smooth and clean.
My neck rocked gently and tried to lift a sluggish head. It took a while before anything responded correctly. An elbow jerked wildly and banged into something. One toe tapped. And finally, I managed to pull eyesight up to at least chest level.
“Welcome to consciousness, new unit,” one of the other creatures said. All three looked slightly different from the [Mechanoid] preview.
I wondered exactly what this signed me up for. Maybe Hal Pal had bolted me to a chair during my sleep and performed ‘upgrades’ while calmly stating resistance was futile. Or an army of robots got together and chanted ‘one of us’ over my reconfigured corpse.
No, there were still a few menu icons visible off to either side. “ARC?” I said.
“Awaiting input,” It responded. None of the three other [Mechanoid]s from this new game responded. It seemed like I was safe inside a virtual reality.
“Cancel input,” I said to the ARC.
“How would you like to identify, new unit?” one of the NPC [Mechanoid]s nearby asked.
“Hermes,” I muttered. This time James, wait, these new robots couldn’t pester me about not having a good character name. I had one and planned to stick with it.
“Recently created consciousness self-identified as Hermes,” one of the [Mechanoid]s said. It looked vaguely female but sleek. Clothing was minimal of course. Similar to how an old fashioned android might be perceived. She had strips of red lining the sides of her neck that might have been status lights or wiring.
“Welcome, Brother Hermes. Are you ready for work?” The one who addressed me looked male and was green. I hadn’t picked a color myself. Maybe I could do a cool black in token remembrance of my weapon [Morrigu’s Gift] and [Wild Bill]‘s hat.
“Fire away, Jeeves,” I said.
“This unit is known as Iron.” The taller unit in the middle had a dull sheen of metal instead of red laces. He, I guess, pointed toward the others. “This is Ruby, and Emerald.”
“Hello,” I said while trying to operate my body further. The mineral named trio backed up and allowed me room to function.
“Are you ready for work?” the green male, Emerald, said. He hunched a little which made his shoulders sit lower than Ruby’s. Both of them were far shorter than Iron.
“Where are we?” Character creation processes were weird. At least this was a bit less abrupt than Continue Online’s world with all their trials and stuff.
“You are aboard the Corvette, Wayfarer Seven. We are in route to a penal colony as part of our transportation duties,” Ruby answered. Her voice carried an extra harmonic that normal people didn’t have. It managed to sound both sweet and scratchy at the same time.
Mine wasn’t much better. It felt like my words were echoing back. The sensation felt similar to stereo feedback which caused me to wince. It might have been the lack of complete control over my body.
“What happened to the first six?” I asked.
“The prior Wayfarers have all been marked as inactive,” Emerald answered with a slight head tilt.
“Why?”
“A loss of sustainability after combat against the Demi-Human race,” Iron answered this time. Its, his, voice carried an extra tone as well, a deep roll that ran alongside scratchy. It felt like these robots were trying to mimic two different normal people at the same time.
“Oh,” I said.
They didn’t appear offended by my less than robotic way of phrasing things. Nearby another unit came online. The units Iron and Ruby went over and prepared to greet another new player.
“Can I get a list of jobs?” I hadn’t played a game with simple quests in forever. Continue Online didn’t handle the way any other game from my teenage years might have. It was too complex and involved.
“I will provide you a list of introductory tasks. Please complete any you are able to,” Emerald said.
“Thank you,” I responded to the bright green one. His, I guess it was a he, face showed far more depth of expression compared to Hal Pal. It felt a bit more real.
“You are welcome, Unit Hermes. Please excel in your contributions to the Consortium.” The robot nodded with a friendly smile.
“Consortium?” I had heard Hal Pal refer to itself as part of a Consortium of AIs. Working so close with an AI in the real world was part of why I picked this race to begin with. It might help give me insight on how to deal with its statements.
I mean, Hal Pal was the one who got me into Continue Online? How bizarre. No,
this was utterly, completely, and beyond any shadow of a doubt odd. Some neatness mixed in with the confusion.
“That is the name for our race upon this vessel. We are all Consortium members of the Corvette Wayfarer Seven,” he answered my half phrased question.
“That’s a lot of words.”
Emerald spouted additional information, “Indeed. Your awareness interface will display a small symbol for each member of our Consortium. If you have any questions, please inquire with any available unit.” I rather enjoyed how the machine explained all the bars and icons on my screen. With Continue Online, they were mysteries or only half explained.
Part of me felt unhappy about it as well. Maybe it was the removal of self-discovery that made it feel kind of dull. Or the fact that my arms still didn’t work right. There was no pain, just a lack of response, and a small progress bar to one side.
Attention unit identified as Hermes!
Unit Synchronization is in progress. Functionality limited. Please continue attempting interface with your new shell.
Please be aware that backup functionality is limited until synchronization is complete. Changes to your programming and physical makeup will not save automatically. Consult your personal guide for further details.
Wait, the computer had basically built in an excuse for not knowing how to adapt to my brain waves? I knew the ARC took a few weeks of image training to sync up with a normal person. The machine didn’t come with some magical ability to read minds and project details.
When I first got mine it took two days to get basic commands lined up correctly. Hours passed as I imagined walking forward and ended up stumbling. Now, though, the thing practically hopped when I asked for something. I thought about walking and both feet went forth to conquer the space in front of me. Speaking took a lot longer.
I tried moving this metal body in a dead bug wiggle. Arms, legs, feet. Everything clanked around wildly. The new player next to me was already marching off with a broken stutter toward destinations unknown.
Continue Online (Part 3, Realities) Page 5