The Virtual Dead

by E. R. Mason

Markman knew he had already been seen. Behind him, access to the baking sands of the unmerciful desert had vanished. He stepped brazenly into the open and with sword raised took a ready stance. The skeleton advanced quickly, its bare teeth forming that same morbid smile. Markman tightened up and held his place near the side wall. He studied the creature carefully as it approached. The legs had to be the weak point. Spin and cut for the knees and ankles in the style of the drunken monkey. Don’t back away, even under blows. There’s no place to go. But as the skeleton continued its disjointed strut, it did not alter its course toward him. Instead, it headed for the center of the coliseum. Confused, Markman scanned right. The answer came quickly into view. A second player had entered on the opposite side of the coliseum and had become the primary target. Markman felt a twinge of fear for the man. He wore the same form-fitting body suit; ninja-styled hood; black gloves and boots; blue triangle on the chest. He carried a long sword that was much more decorative than Markman’s. Its handle was gold, embedded with glowing, precious stones. Its shimmering chrome blade was slightly long.

  Markman relaxed from his combative stance and stared with fascination as the two approached one another. They stopped and paused only a few inches apart. The skeleton tilted its head back and forth with the same curious appraisal it had given Markman. The other player seemed fearless to a careless degree. He held his sword low and unprepared. Markman thought to call out in warning, but the exchange began.

  The skeleton brought its weapon down hard, but the player’s blade intercepted in time. A left and a right hook came so rapidly they seemed unstoppable, but the player held off both strikes with a speed and accuracy that almost seemed to reflect indifference.

  They disengaged and paused. The skeleton again surveyed its prey and charged. The exchange occurred with such speed that Markman was unable to track everything that was happening. The conflict went on and on. Strikes from the skeleton were all deftly countered by its new opponent. The speed of the battle was clearly superhuman. Markman’s mind struggled to understand how a human player could react so quickly. There was only one plausible explanation. This had to be a counterfeit player, an image generated by the central computer to add extra dimension to the game. No man could possibly move that quickly and with such accuracy.

  To his amazement, the tide began to turn. Like an aggressive boxer tiring, the skeleton took its first step back. The player intensified his attack. His chops became heavy and frequent, as the skeleton struggled to defend. Suddenly the player’s blade cut down through the skeleton’s left shoulder. Bones broke away and scattered across the glossy floor. A second chop sliced ribs from the right side of its chest. Finally, with a horizontal cut, the skeleton was sliced in two and fell clattering and scattering to the floor; its bony club disappearing among its own broken remains.

  The triumphant player turned and stared across the lighted floor at Markman. A tense silence followed. Satisfied that Markman was not an additional threat, the player headed for the arched door from which the skeleton had emerged. Without speaking or even glancing back, he crossed the arena and exited, as though he knew exactly where he was headed. Markman followed, but kept his distance.

  The exit emptied into a huge, dome-shaped glass enclosure that appeared to be submerged beneath a fast-moving ocean. Aqua-blue water bubbled and eddied around and above it, creating whirling shadows on the glassy white floor. A circular, transparent tunnel at the opposite end of the room provided the only exit. Markman continued to keep his distance as the other player marched determinedly toward it. Halfway across the room, he stopped suddenly and raised his weapon.

  A fearful roar echoed from within the tunnel. An instant later, a line of faceless, sword-wielding attackers emerged from the opening. They wore gray, skin-tight suits with full hoods. Their faces were void of eyes, nose, or mouth. Behind the first group, others quickly followed.

  The assault was bloodthirsty and continuous. Soldier after soldier spilled into the dome and met the lead player as he fought past the halfway point. The clatter and ringing of blades was loud and furious as aggressors fell from his quick cuts. Markman maneuvered to cover the man’s back, though his assistance was required infrequently. Occasionally a fallen attacker would regain his feet only to be dispatched by Markman. The endless flow of attackers failed to slow the furious advance of the two Dragon Masters. Markman quickly realized the lead player’s plan. It was an age-old strategy that would allow a single, proficient swordsman to fend off a small army. He would fight his way to the tunnel entrance and then cut down the opposition as they attempted to emerge. No more than one or two at a time could fit through the tunnel door.

  The players stood their ground at the tunnel entrance and the slaughter continued. Dozens fell before the invasion began to slow. The engagement lasted another thirty minutes until the last of the faceless stormtroopers turned and fled back down the tunnel way.

  No congratulations were offered by Markman’s ally. No celebrations of victory or gestures of appreciation were made. Without turning to look, or even acknowledging Markman’s presence, the player entered the deserted tunnel and charged ahead. Markman continued to cautiously shadow him.

  The pace quickened. Markman had to be careful not to lose sight of him in the exotic realm through which they raced. Beyond the smooth walls of the reflective tunnel, level three became abstract. Barriers and obstacles of all shapes, sizes, and colors hung suspended in midair and bounced or vibrated when disturbed by the runners. Swirling colors came and went overhead like time-elapsed clouds in a hallucinatory dream. Emptiness lay beneath their feet, leaving Markman to feel as though he was running on thin air. On several occasions, he had to vault floating objects as they changed in form and color. There was no clear trail, yet the other player appeared to know exactly where he was headed. He continued on tirelessly, stopping only to confront enemy aggressors. Markman had to fend off several himself, in most cases blocking and then running from the conflict, rather than chance losing sight of his lead.

  The sojourn finally ended with the two of them stopped by a red brick wall that blocked the way. It towered overhead, seeming to go on endlessly. Markman looked down. It was still as though he was standing on thin air. The only thing visible was the wall, descending into the nothingness.

  For the first time, the other player appeared thwarted. He turned slowly in a circle looking for a way out. Markman watched with intense curiosity and wondered if they had been intentionally led to a dead-end by the central computer.

  Something caught Markman’s eye. Behind the other player, chin high on the red brick wall, a single brick had been badly placed. One end of it jutted out an inch more than those around it. With caution, he approached his counterpart. The man stood ready but made no aggressive move. At the wall, the single brick seemed loose and movable. It had a spongy feel to it. Markman worked the computer stone in and out, freeing it slightly more with each try. Finally, it pulled free and dropped into the depths that lay below.

  For a fleeting moment, an intense wash of color appeared in the newly-formed hole in the wall. Markman glimpsed an exotic garden of fluorescent ferns and glowing plant life. Something falling on his right distracted him. He looked down and saw a second brick tumbling down below. Then another fell on his left. Then another; then two; then several. Large chunks of the wall began to break away at various points, avalanching down from above. Both men were forced to twist and turn radically to avoid being struck.

  Markman lurched back but abruptly changed his mind. He yelled loudly in his computer-generated voice and lunged forward, throwing himself at the failing wall. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other player strike its surface at the same instant. Together they burst through the explosion of falling brick. Markman crashed to the ground, breaking his fall with both hands. Diamond sand sprayed out from under him, as he landed prone in an enchanted garden. It was a vision beautiful beyond belief. The rain of brick continued to fall behind him until the garden finally beca
me an oasis in emptiness.

  Plants, trees, and flowers, so brightly colored they appeared luminous, covered the landscape. Markman pushed himself up onto his knees and suddenly realized the other player had not fallen. Marks in the soft sand led inward. He climbed hurriedly to his feet and followed them warily.

  A narrow trail led to the garden’s center, where rainbow light flowed hypnotically from a crystalline fountain. The other player stood knee-deep within its pool of swirling color. He was reaching for a large silica vase that sat atop it.

  Markman could only stop and watch as the player brought down the sculptured masterpiece. An oversized, finely-cut ruby stone capped the delicate container. The player, using both hands, carefully set his prize on the base of the fountain. A low hum began to fill the air. As the capstone was touched, the hum rose in pitch and began to sound like angelic voices coming from every direction. A moment later, the cap was lifted away and a blinding beam of silver light shot upward from the vase. The loud, steady harmony echoed in Markman’s ears. Tiny sparks of starlight began to rain down upon the vibrating garden, covering the ground with brilliance and sparkle.

  A gentle blossom of white light suddenly blinded Markman from seeing the remainder of the proceedings. As it faded, he found he had been returned to the apex of the golden pyramid, where Trill stood clapping his hands in jubilation.

  “Oh, Mr. Baker, marvelous! Just marvelous! A record-setting run. Two players reaching the Coffer within moments of each other, in two separate and unbelievable time spans.”

  “But the other player. He wasn’t real. It was the computer.”

  Trill’s reply was absolute. “Sir, heavens no. I assure you the blue triangle is worn only by true users. The other player was indeed a life form.”

  “But he was too quick. It’s impossible!”

  “Sir, I agree it was a remarkable demonstration, but the other player has been searching the Aurora City for some time. He had, in fact, been to the level three once before, so it is not surprising he knew his way and the dangers involved to the extent he did. Nevertheless, it was a remarkable exhibition, by both of you. You have secured citizen status for yourself in the Aurora City and have doubled your credit wealth.”

  “But I wasn’t the one who opened it. I never even touched the thing!”

  “Sir, just to have seen the Coffer of Dreams opened is worthy of your rewards. You are virtually assured of capturing it at the next opening of the main gate. Plus, as a citizen, you may now travel the city freely even when not on crusade, and you are wealthy enough to enjoy yourself in the process.”

  “I’m a citizen, you say?”

  “Sir, that is correct, with many associated privileges.”

  “Then would you answer a question about the game for me?”

  “Sir, if I am able.”

  “Can it be set up so as not to be so, ...so deadly?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Can I, for instance, command you to lower the danger level?”

  “Sir, only the Salantians may alter the current settings. They are the users presently operating it.”

  “Who are the Salantians? I want to speak to them.”

  “Sir, the Salantians are they who are presently operating the mainframe.”

  “Where are they located?”

  “Sir, I do not have that information.”

  “Where is the mainframe located?”

  “Sir, I do not have that information.”

  “Can you give me the name of the Salantian I would need to speak to?”

  An unusual pause took place before Trill began his reply. “Sir, the last field-setting interface was initiated by a Mr...., Sir, the main gate is about to close. You must enter the tube immediately. Suit disengagement is not safe any other way.”

  Markman took heed of the urgency in Trill’s voice and went quickly to the transport tube. As Trill raised his right-hand Markman called out. “Trill, the name of the programmer?”

  As Trill motioned across his control crystals, he replied nonchalantly “Sir, the operator’s name is Inkman.”

  They came from the shadowy depths beneath the streets of the city. They gathered around the newly made entrance to the basement parking area before beginning the search. Their clothing was torn and dirty and their skin a dull, pasty white. Their eyes were blackened and sunken, and a wretched stench preceded them as they forged ahead. They moved with persistent indifference and required no verbal commands to direct them. They divided into two groups and began their labored search for the player who had beaten the Virtual.

  Cassiopia remained trapped within her darkened Sensesuit, while her captors celebrated the awesome success a stolen TEL robot had brought them. They laughed and cried, and traded high-fives over the lights of the monitoring console. They did not notice the elevator car being summoned to a lower level and did not hear the opening of the stairwell door on the far side of the room. Leeds was the first to notice the stagnant, pungent smell. He looked up to see the grotesque ensemble moving into view. For a moment, he thought them to be part of some reward for the taking of the Coffer of Dreams. But, when they reached his hired assistant Cox and the scruffy hired hand next to him, they fell upon the men and began tearing them to pieces. As their screams fell silent, Leeds struck out with his cane, battering his way to the elevator. It opened in time to empty itself of still more of the Virtual Dead. Leeds was captured and dragged into the car. With the same unyielding tears and bites, they dissected and disposed of him there.

  They came for Cassiopia and took her with the greatest of care. Spongy hands groped at the restraints that held her. The Sensesuit remained locked in its coupled state, leaving her to wonder at the faint sounds of violence and chaos. Helplessly, she was pulled from her chair and led carefully toward the elevator. She stumbled blindly along, fearful of her destination and her abductors. The TEL robot, its programming greatly inhibited, followed loyally.

  Chapter 24