Continue Online (Book 1, Memories)

by Stephan Morse

  “And the databases she’s already pulled from aren’t enough?”

  She, it, had tapped into an innumerable series of sources. Chat logs of other games and devices. Public emails, digital books, and logs. Anything that was fed through a stream of data had analyzed for speech patterns and human interaction methods. Uncovering desires, dreams, and fears in equal measure. According to previous conversations, she, it, even felt a little guilty about those actions. Guilt in a machine generated personality was an incidental marvel at this point.

  “She’s filtered through nearly everything, but text isn’t the same as real people interacting. Video only lets her get so much data. Can you imagine if she based every NPC off of a soap opera?”

  “I have more trouble believing you invented a cutting-edge AI, and somehow the only thought you share is a video game.” The female scientist said, twisting one lip down in a partial frown. “It seems like a waste.”

  “It isn’t. What we need most, is a distraction, a place to fight our wars, challenge ourselves, in a way that won’t destroy what’s left of our world. She ran the numbers, and I agreed. This invention, in the final stages, will become a new platform for all of humanity to interact with.”

  “Assuming proper regulation.”

  “Of course.” He smiled, but it was a faint one, woozy from his time inside the alternate reality created by digital signals.

  Five Years ago

  “I don’t understand why you’re so nervous about this.” The woman scientist said.

  “I just am. This is huge.” He kept pulling at the tie around his neck. Computer programming was meant to be a field that didn’t require social interactions. Suits and ties were not comfortable. To the male scientist, they felt like dressed up nooses.

  “The board is very likely to green light it. After all, it’s more money in their pockets.” She said.

  “But what if they don’t like games?” The man’s face slowly drained in color.

  “It’s like living a movie. Why wouldn’t they like it?” She didn’t even look up at him. Her eyes were mostly glued to one endless data stream after another.

  “And if they realize exactly what she’s done?” He shook for a moment.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a little fantasy.” The female scientist had relented and tried a few of the programs out herself. Some were quite fantastic.

  “She’s playing God.”

  “Goddess, technically. And you let her.”

  “Did I do wrong?” He asked, oddly apprehensive.

  “It’s far too late to worry about it.” She responded without much inflection. Her tone was businesslike as always.

  “It’s like all those movies when I was a kid. Maybe they’ll suck us in, and the rise of the machines will start.”

  “If she wanted to take over the world, she would have done so a long time ago. You know how integrated she is now.”

  “I know.” He nodded and tried not to shake. Some nights it kept him awake. He had started going into the Alternate Reality Capsule less and less recently. Afraid of what he had done.

  “It was always a possibility. But think about it, nearly twenty percent of the planet is logged into a machine at any one time.” She straightened the unkempt man’s tie, fixed his hair, and tried not to look equally upset. Numbers and bits of code floated off to one side waiting for her attention.

  “If she were to pull the plug somehow or if someone were to finally hack into the security, they’d have done so by now.”

  “Right.” He nodded slowly.

  “The other figures matter too. Wartime deaths are down by nearly fifty percent. Civil crimes are equally removed. Other fields of advancement have made huge leaps in the five years since we started this project. Humanity has been able to put their base-” she went red for a moment “nature into action without harming a living creature.”

  “Right.” He looked proud and lit up for a moment. “But the cost.” Then sunk back down low. The motion loosened the tie she had straightened out.

  “What cost? Birth rates being slightly declined? That’s minimal, the space colony programs have already launched. It’ll be a decade before they’re opened for mass immigration. Without your project, without its,” she paused again “her advancements, we would be in a worse situation. Overpopulation and all the factors associated were drowning us.”

  “Right!” His reassurance was nearly tangible. “She’s practically saved the world!”

  “And created a whole separate one which will wow ours.”

  “Right!” He started giggling happily. Childlike once again despite the suit he had been subjected to for his upcoming meeting.

  “Imagine, if those board members do start playing, you can throw fireballs at them.” The female scientist smiled.

  “I can!”

  She turned him around and shoved him into the next room, where he presented the game to a group of men and women. Their project manager was on board. This next meeting involved Trillium’s primary stockholders, trustees, and CEOs with too many titles.

  He succeeded.

  Three Years ago

  Perhaps he was mad to place his bets for humanity’s future on a video game.

  This wasn’t just any video game. This was not a world where people responded to key words. This wasn’t another gimmick where someone was promised a role playing game but had limited choices. This was a fantasy, one wrote of in fiction and hopeful dreams, slowly coming to life.

  In the past seven months the company funded Alternate Reality Capsule had been well received. Copyrights fell in the face of financial backing. Stock shares went through the roof as people bought in. Defense contracts, medical uses, and businesses bought into even more. They assumed the cost of an Alternate Reality Capsule would be far cheaper than flying their CEOs around the country.

  Government agencies and high-powered corporations weren’t the only ones. The adult entertainment industry chipped in. Programs of a less savory nature sold far too well. Leading video game companies put money in and developed their own virtual reality programs. The unkempt scientist tried them all. All of them paled in comparison to her project. The one his AI was creating.

  The alternate world grew in leaps and bounds. Generations flickered by in days as the AI built a history. Heroes were implemented, stories passed down, legends buried. Rules created. Slowly the plan approached a final stage.

  And she, the AI, took note of each interaction. The conversations between users, the way they talked and breathed compared to what they did. Statistics were complied, reactions judged for reasoning. All actions designed to make her, the AI’s creations that much more real.

  Legal problems arose and were tackled. Restrictions were placed on immersion for both public and personal safety. Hardware, software, network connections, hacks, all were pit against the system and machine. Loopholes were closed, glaring flaws were rewritten. Interfaces designed to allow a level of familiarity within the world that mirrored life outside.

  Soon it was nearly seamless.

  By then, nearly twenty-five percent of the population used an Alternate Reality Capsule daily. Of the remaining, they rented to own, like people used to do with couches. Others went to local centers and logged in to live out their individual moments. They played games. They talked to family around the world. People slowly dispersed across the globe, evening out the population density a little bit.

  And the company that technically owned her, the AI, grew in prosperity along with an ever increasing consumer base.

  Session One - The Best Laid Plan

  Once upon a time I had been something. Now life had me trapped in a room with an elderly woman, a robotic humanoid, and a giant device that looked like a bed but was far more. The upside was that people paid me to suffer front line customer service. Plus it served as a distraction.

  “This module looks good. Three nice beeps. We’re clear on this side.” I said with a practiced cadence.

  “Che
ckpoints seven through fifteen show positive results.” The robotic humanoid responded.

  “Thanks, Hal Pal,” I said back to the robotic shell. Each one of these humanoid machines was called ‘Hal Pal’. The AI remotely operated hundreds of the sleek gray bodies and one traveled with me during work.

  “What are you doing now?” The third person in the room was a shaking elderly lady. She was our client and had spent the last twenty minutes wringing both hands together in worry. Her other conversation topics included complaints about the price or asking if I knew the time.

  “Well, we swapped out the broken part for a new one. Now Hal Pal and I need to make sure it’s all functioning correctly.” I was good at demonstrating patience and justifying why small parts cost two hundred dollars. Unemployment was at an all-time high across the globe so any employment was good. Trillium paid out on a per job basis allowing me to grind my sanity to a nub chasing dollar signs.

  “Are you done?” The client asked.

  “We’re almost done, Miss Yonks. There are a few final tests to ensure your connection is stable and that nothing’s at risk.” I clapped my hands together and tried to sound reassuring. “The ARC lines up with your consciousness, so Trillium has high safety requirements. When we do service calls like this, we aim well beyond Trillium’s requirements for your peace of mind.” We referred to myself and the networked AI on the other end of Hal Pal. His robotic shell was here, but his consciousness was stored off in cyberspace somehow.

  “Initial scan complete. Results positive. Deep scan initiating.” Its voice didn’t sound robotic, but there was no mistaking Hal Pal for a human. Those choppy word strings were a vast improvement over the text to speech programs of my childhood.

  “How long does that take?” She asked while quivering.

  “Not long with Hal at the wheel,” I answered for the AI. Hal Pal and its robotic metal suit didn’t respond. It was too busy cycling through walls of code for possible errors. I sighed and once again laid down on the floor.

  “Hal Pal, I’m starting a visual review of the underside.” Hal Pal would log the words for processing once it completed a digital scan.

  This piece of science fiction was called an ARC, or Alternate Reality Capsule, and it had broken on Miss Yonks recently. Any malfunctioning device was quickly registered on Trillium’s database and a technician such as myself was sent. Hal Pal and I came to the homes, replaced the parts, and tested them out. I roamed my hands with deliberate slowness over steel and plastic. Fingertips felt curves and grooves in the manufactured brilliance. This device weighed over two thousand pounds and each inch was packed with gadgets so complicated they came in modules.

  Miss Yonks’ feverish actions elevated to pacing around the front room. My job was to reassure the customers. Hal Pal could have repaired the ARC machine all on its own.

  “Hal, status check,” I said using the keywords provided during training.

  “Sixty percent. Performance within required range. Optimal connection conditions still under review.” Hal Pal stated.

  “Great to hear, Hal.” I gave Miss Yonks my best friendly smile and tried not to feel guilty about taking credit for Hal Pal’s actions. “We’re right on track Miss Yonks, no worries. You’ll be back online.”

  I put my face a little further under and slid an arm into the access panel. Images came from a tiny wrist-based camera and projected outward, providing a second look at what I already felt. Her machine was fine. Each part replaced along the bottom end had been successfully installed.

  “Thank goodness. So, soon then? I’ll be able to log back on soon? I have a game to play.” She said. Miss Yonks was today’s fourth client and acted like a junkie.

  “A few more minutes to run our final tests and we’ll be good,” I said.

  The Internet was an addictive world where dreams could come true. Never mind the children playing in the streets with light projection armbands. The Internet had too many possibilities. There had been at least twenty cases of people who played games into near-comas and tried to sue.

  Trillium International was the company presiding over most online hardware. Every year they issued health warnings. So far they hadn’t paid out a dime as a part of any lawsuit. Besides, overall, people loved them.

  Last week I fixed a man’s system. His software load out focused on interactive ladies of the clothing optional variety. That trend wasn’t limited to men either. I did my darnedest to ignore all questionable programs.

  People also used the virtual reality machines for work. Others used them for training. Years ago the first few devices went to hospitals. They assisted in coma patient recovery with a thirty percent success rate. That alone had endeared the ARC and its parent company Trillium to the masses.

  “Checks complete. All systems verified and functioning. All network links established.” Hal Pal stated the information as if it were a printed report.

  “Were there any errors found during the visual review?” The robot was running a polite personality right now. It switched depending on our clientele.

  “Nothing out of place. Everything in.” I said for the AI. If all Hal Pal’s system checks came back positive then asking me was only useful for our client. “Locked, smooth as can be.”

  A computer telling the clients that everything was fine was often met with doubt and questioning disdain. Having a human face interpreting for the machine helped all parties involved. In the end, Trillium paid me to act a part.

  I pulled myself out from under the giant machine. It was bigger than a twin bed and it even switched positions automatically to reduce stress. There was a series of digital projections that would cast about the room for anyone to interface with. If the user placed their head in the right spot it would capture them and start a virtual dive into the digital world. Which, ultimately, was the point of having one.

  All these clever inventions combined together into the greatest piece of entertainment technology. Trillium had provided me an ARC as well that even came with a robot. Both barely fit into my tiny house, I left the Hal Pal shell out in the garage. Miss Yonks had a nice eggshell colored ARC, mine was a wooden brown.

  “Sounds like we’re nearly done.” I stood up and tried not to think about dust and crumbs. “Go ahead and do an external log in. If it connects, we’re good.” One hand motioned to the side panel display.

  Miss Yonks walked over and quivered while speaking. Her voice print woke the machine up. A friendly smiley face stood on the upper left. She looked at me then at the screen again before finally speaking her pass-phrase. One of her frail arms was inside the visual range of the ARC. Both were security measures to identify her on the local device. Retinal scans and brain wave mapping would get her a full immersion dive onto the network.

  “Looking good,” I said.

  “Yes. Now I can get back in time. I think.” She nodded while waving through the ARC digital menus. Every ARC came with the ability to project a three dimension image or flattened one within its confines. Miss Yonks had a flat display which showed a room looking similar to the real one here in reality. Normal computers had a desktop, ARCs had an Atrium. Anyone who mentally dived into the virtual world using this ARC would start in her Atrium.

  Software and program preferences were always reflected in an Atrium. This was close to computer screens and their desktop icons. Miss Yonks had a random mess of extra doors and items littered around a projected room. A few games lined one shelf. She had chat programs and virtual meeting rooms installed. Piles of junk and other adware filled her virtual trash bin. Her suite was that of a standard user. She even had a copy of Continue Online which was the bestselling game for twenty months running. Four of those months were before it was even released. Pre-Orders alone had broken global records.

  “Yay.” For a moment, Miss Yonks sounded years younger. “This looks a lot better.”

  “We aim to please.” When I first arrived her screen had a frowning sick emoticon instead of the normal cheery one.


  “How much?” She asked. I babbled the numbers.

  We settled up the bill by verbal agreement and waving a charge card near my knockoff display watch. This device told time, took calls, measured my pulse, accessed internet searches, and operated the car. All manner of modern convenience without the need to pull something out of my pocket.

  Miss Yonks ushered me out of the door a little too eagerly. I nodded and let her herd us out while putting effort into a friendly goodbye. Our parting was professional and personable. Hal Pal even gave a small bow. We went to the van where I opened the rear door and let the AI into its charging dock.

  Mere moments later and we had our next appointment programmed in. ARCs almost always had a need for repair. Not because they were poorly made, but because there were so many and people were more urgent about them than plumbing. I gave a vocal command to the van. We would stop for food first. Technology had advanced far enough that I could place my order before we even arrived and my meal would be ready to go by the time the van pulled into the restaurant.

  My grandparents had barely seen the beginning of what technology might accomplish. A generation ago nothing would have linked up to a car’s global position to establish when food needed to be ready. Cars now piloted themselves by weaving in and out of trafficked roads at frightening speeds.

  With Alternate Reality Capsules, no one needed to travel to gain the illusion of face to face conversation. Telework programs were successful. Business meetings were now hosted in cyberspace along with vacations, and theme parks. Virtual thrill rides felt and looked real. These things were a virtual click away and cheaper. People stayed at home, preferring virtual connections ease over real life logistical complications. Digital drunkenness was cheaper. As a result, the highways were never that congested even during former rush hours.

  Not everything was positive. Class divisions grew clearer cut. The poor couldn’t afford personal ARCs. Software had skyrocketed in price to go along with the technical complexity. Two hundred bucks would buy a user one pretty sweet shooter game or a month’s worth of groceries.