Continue Online (Book 1, Memories)

by Stephan Morse

  Goodness, this sword was heavy. This was strange. It wasn’t the weight dragging at one side and how disproportionate the weapon looked compared to Old Man Carver’s hands. No, all Old Man Carver’s aches and pains seemed to diminish in a wave of energy. Putting my second hand over the hilt only made the difference stand out more. Carver was extremely comfortable holding a blade.

  I tried to take a stance, slowly edging until the balancing points felt right. I, Grant Legate, was no sword master. Instead, my skills came from Old Man Carver’s body wanting to lean certain ways. Falling into comfortable patterns was easy with my dancing experience. Swinging around a hefty weight was familiar.

  “What are you doing, William?” Peg abruptly turned from her shouting match and looked at me.

  I grunted and stood uncomfortably swinging a blade in front of the professional. But this moment, holding a weapon like this, was pain-free. I wanted to enjoy that for as long as possible.

  “William! I swear to the Voices you’ve lost every sense of sanity they’ve graced you with. Put, that, down!”

  A scowl crossed my face, but both arms held the pleasant pose. This was like being completely and utterly relaxed but still taut at the same time. Carver’s body felt almost ready for anything. The straw dummy next to me was practically quivering in terror.

  Oh. A bar identified as Stamina was starting to drop quickly. I had cleverly placed it next to my hunger bar. They were both measures of my ability to last. The stamina bar had been helping me for the last few days in traveling around. Guess Old Man Carver couldn’t hold a weapon too long, no matter how positive the action felt. With my remaining energy, I let go of my awkward stance holding the sword and racked the weapon.

  “What were you thinking, William?!”

  “I know my limits, Peg.” I had a very clear bar to outline them. Add in six days reading and performing inside the skin of another player and limits were extremely visible. He had come to this world to hunt dragons with the last years of his life. Then, since I assumed he succeeded, retired to raise up a new generation.

  “What do you think?” The cane was much lighter and much easier to wave around at the new player.

  “Her? Is this your fault? Voices have mercy, why would I want to deal with this woman? Give me a young, strapping boy anytime. They’re fun to watch sweat and so much more reasonable.”

  “But not her?” I ignored the NPC’s dreamy look.

  “No! She storms in here, and demands I teach her how to fight, and refuses to work for it.” Peg’s arms waved in disgust and crossed. The wide hipped woman was busy swinging a staff of some sort at the other straw dummy. Even my untrained eye could see how bad she was doing.

  “She’s energetic.”

  “Possessed more like,” Peg said. I tried not to get thrown off my game at her apt description of my own state. Luckily Old Man Carver was slow to respond.

  “It happens.”

  “I’ve seen Travelers swing like her before. They’re violent. All the time.”

  “We are what life makes of us.” My shoulders gave a tiny shrug.

  “Voices, I don’t believe that. You’ve worked with them more than anyone. Voices, you even warned us they’d be coming months in advance, are they all so angry?”

  I debated the worth of answering her question. Old Man Carver didn’t like responding to questions without an exchange of some sort.

  “Peg, you help an old man remember how to swing a sword, and I’ll answer any questions you might want about Travelers.” That comment gained me a few, even after admitting my age out loud.

  “Years now, and I feel like I don’t understand any of them. They rush through lessons until they break apart, and come back again for more!” Peg threw both hands in the air and rolled her eyes.

  I stood there resting on the cane. My normal aches and pains were slowly returning. The sensation was a far cry from the constant numbing existence I lived while being logged into the ARC.

  “I mean some of them, they’re like our people, even their sayings and strange words make sense after a while. But Voices, all those fresh to our world, they come in so…”

  The wide hipped new player was yelling at the straw man. Her words had degenerated into senseless tones that came out sharply.

  “Angry?” I volunteered.

  “Voices, yes.” Peg managed to walk over to the rack and snag a weapon for me while never taking her eye off the new student. There was a reason she ran this place.

  “She’s got no style. No coordination.”

  “Lots of energy.” I said.

  “For now. Wait until I start putting her through the basic course. She’ll either run screaming back to you for a new life choice, or be ready to move on.” Peg spit on the ground in disgust.

  “She may go home.” And never log into Continue again.

  “I doubt it. Some vanish for a few days, weeks even, but eventually I see them all again.”

  “This world has much to offer that theirs doesn’t.”

  “Like what? Maybe you can explain it in a better way than they do. Voices above, the stuff they talk about sounds like a dream.”

  “Remind me how to swing this first.”

  “Fine. Voices know you shouldn’t need a reminder. You taught my brother.” Both hands uncrossed and went to her hips. Peg’s head tilted as she studied my old form top to bottom.

  “Humor me.”

  “Alright. Your balance is still solid, how are your hips?” She stared at them.

  “Women keep asking me about my hips.” I managed to keep a passive face.

  “Them’s the breaks of a retired hero.” Peg laughed happily. “More than one lady lifted her skirt in hopes of birthing a legend.”

  “Even you, Peg?”

  “Voices no, I hold a ‘look but don’t touch’ policy most days. I’ve seen them all at the start. Half of them show up in our world with a spare head up their asses. Can’t get that image out of my head.”

  I laughed and held the much lighter sword.

  “There. You haven’t completely lost the touch. Your balance is a bit different than what I remember. I imagine age is catching up with you.”

  “And my hips.” No points lost there either. Was Carver a witty person? Or was my progress bar in limbo while my attempted change of pace was judged by the Voices?

  “Everything starts from the core. Hips go, everything goes.” Peg said. Her arms were lifting mine a bit higher and adjusting the swords tip.

  “Swing again.”

  I did, trying to get everything in concert.

  “Rusty, but better than I expected. Again.”

  So it went for another ten whacks against the target dummy. What little practice I had resulted from my time in the room of trials. There was no moment in my past where I had secretly taken a martial art or joined a kendo team. I knew nothing about weapons beyond what television and video games had shown me.

  Peg kept adjusting my movements a tiny bit here and there. She stood near the dummy and told me what to aim for, which way to swing the blade. If my actions were odd to her, she was kind enough not to mention it.

  “What’s this, the blind leading the blind?”

  “Voices,” Peg said that word a lot. Maybe it was the closest she allowed herself to a real curse word.

  “William has forgotten more about being a hero than you’ll ever be able to reach with your attitude.”

  “Then what’s he doing there? If he’s so great.” The new player was digging her staff into the dirt. Twisting it back and forth as small curls of earth were displaced by force.

  “He’s more than…”

  “Don’t answer her, Peg.” I cut the instructor off. “She hasn’t earned it.”

  “Earned? Who are you to say if I’ve earned something or not?”

  “Who am I?” I was winded and needed to set down the new sword anyway. “Who are you? You show up in this world and start demanding like you’re something here.”

  “Shu
t up, you old geezer.”

  “Well played. An insult for a question. Peg, why don’t you show her the proper way to beat up a straw man.”

  “Let’s do that! Will you be okay, William?”

  “I’ll pace myself, Peg.” My head dipped in a slow nod and both eyes stayed on the sword’s tip.

  I had to give points to Peg. She managed to herd off the new player with the skills of an expert. The instructor shouted, taunted, and called the other woman a failure who wouldn’t be able to defend herself. That set the player into fits. Her fury was vented upon the straw figure. There we sat, each of us hitting different dummies. I kept a vague eye towards my progress bar, which hadn’t changed one way or the other over the last thirty minutes.

  Peg switched between us for another hour while ‘reminding’ me how to move and stand. Old Man Carver’s body could take maybe five minutes of weak standing mixed with occasional strikes. Waiting for my stamina to refill took another four minutes which I spent watching the new player or talking to Peg. Two apple-like fruits were enough to refill the old man’s satiety bar.

  It felt weird to go from real life, where I worked on ARCs and was driven around in a van, to this much slower existence. With all the information pop-ups and reviews, there was still an excessive amount of downtime. The time compression made everything feel like living really long weekends.

  I enjoyed my situation, though. When not thinking about the ghost in the machine that acted like my fiancée or James’ actions. The large black Voice hadn’t crossed my mind recently. I had no idea how to contact him unless he had a statue somewhere like Selena did.

  Saying inappropriate things at a lifelike carving was very attention getting. I’m glad the real world didn’t work that way. Imagining rows of people in pews getting [Divine Attention] for each prayer made me smile.

  William’s arms weren’t going to last much longer, even with resting. It felt good. She gave instructions, tips, and ideas on where to swing. Even under the guise of a refresher, it had given me a lot to think about. Maybe I would download one of those ARC combat programs. The additional help couldn’t hurt and would make me feel less like a complete newbie.

  After I started the game as myself and could build real skills. William Carver’s skills were locked as is. Honestly, my sad performance should be dragging down his ratings.

  “How can you keep swinging like that? How? I’m exhausted.”

  “Practice,” I said calmly.

  “Yeah right. I bet you were designed that way.” She even managed to work past her cotton mouth to spit on the ground in disgust. Then she looked kind of pleased.

  “Happy?”

  “I’ve never done that before.” There was a faint sense of wonder in her tone. Down went my practice sword yet again.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it? Here you can learn and do new things. Yet, you belittle everyone who might help.” I intended to take advantage of it myself. Sitting on a bench for another three weeks would be dreadfully boring.

  “You have no right to talk to me like that.”

  “You came to our world, Traveler.” Everyone thought William Carver was an NPC, I had to act like one. Words like ARC, or Continue, or other real world concepts would blow his cover.

  “You’re a program. Why can’t you give me what I want? It’d be so much quicker.”

  “Are things so simple in your world? Do you survive without trading for anything?” My question, of course, was clearly a trap. People had to work for money, spend money to gain things. Continue Online and its entire world was much the same.

  “My husband works if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Then you understand, food costs coin, services cost coin or a trade. We can’t give you what you want without an exchange or the whole system would fall apart.” I sighed. It took me a bit to adapt myself. Continue’s world was extremely realistic regarding give and take.

  Pop-up boxes with information had been the only item between me and complete immersion. Maybe I would turn them off some days to feel like I was on a vacation. The beach here was one step away from Waikiki in Hawaii, at least the way the beach used to be decades ago.

  “If you want skills, you have to learn them. Peg is one of the best nearby in showing Travelers like you the basics.” I stumbled back to the weapon rack and put the light sword back. One shoulder had started throbbing more than usual. Bending over to pick up the cane was nearly impossible.

  “Why does that matter?” The wide hipped woman said.

  “Why are you here? If you don’t want to fight, don’t. Learn a trade, or don’t.”

  “You’re not making sense. You shouldn’t be demanding that I learn something.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “You don’t care?” Her voice tilted up and the staff in her hand shook from her budding anger.

  “Nope.” Carver’s synchronization bar dropped a few points on that one. William did care about new players. “Let’s just say that neither I, nor any of the other people here, will force you to do much of anything.” There, I recovered a point and managed to use the word nor in a real sentence.

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “You chose to come here. Now figure out what you want from us, and what you’re willing to pay to learn. Nearly everyone is willing to help you if you earn it.”

  “I thought quests were a simple go here, do this. Every other game I’ve played is like that, starter zones are a basic area to learn the ropes. Things should be easy.” The new player sounded so flustered. She wasn’t the first either.

  “But you’re all making this too hard.” Then she asked the same question that had been plaguing me since the first moment I had opened the gift wrapped package in my Atrium.

  “What kind of game is this?”

  “It’s no game. To us, it’s very real and very serious.” I repeated James’ words in the trial room a week ago. Over a week in-game I had become more invested than expected. I wasn’t even surprised to see my progress jump up five percent.

  The other woman waved one hand and vanished, a perplexed and worried look on her face. Had I worn the same look when talking to James? Moments later, I too logged out, leaving William Carver to go about the town on autopilot. This game was messing with my head, making me act weird, and I needed a break.

  Session Ten - Pride’s Precipice

  Continue was a strange sensation.

  There were other virtual games and programs. I’d even tried some. Most felt like rehashes of already existing games but more interactive. Revamps of prior releases were a popular way to go. Asians had entire swaths of crazy themes that hadn’t quite hit America proper.

  Continue won by sheer name power. Trillium, the company that made the ARC, designed a game that launched the only virtual reality system.

  That was a lie. There were tons of others at first. Trillium and the ARC won. Thousands logged in upon release. Millions played by the end of the first six months. Hundreds of millions had accounts a year later. Trillium hid much of the game from the public, but subscription counts were made public knowledge. Continue won. The average player spent twenty hours a week logged into their ARC. The average player had been playing for a year. The average player voted Continue as the most impressive game worldwide.

  William Carver was proof that the number was growing. The basic information that Trillium hadn’t throttled lead me to believe Continue had dozens of starting points. Were their guides also older players?

  ”You’re Carver, right?”

  So my daily grind began again. Another new player and another exchange while they asked for help. This map had been a Voice sent blessing for so many reasons. Hours could pass while I read the little details. Plus it responded well when I asked for specific talents or skills.

  Progress: 63%

  “I am. You must be new around here.” Carver’s journals were almost gone. I’d spent two more days reading them.

  “My friend said yo
u helped her.” The person was male, young, and still had a slightly childish quality to his voice.

  “Might have. What’s it to you?” Gnarled fingers turned to the next page.

  “I have to catch up. She started yesterday and I had homework.”

  “Good. Work hard.” This adventure was a page turner so most of my responses were half baked. The entries were a little smutty too.

  Part of me feels strange about this. Here I am, on one adventure after another. The rewards are usually negligible, but the women…

  Last week there was this case with a half serpent creature. It seemed familiar from my childhood, but this place didn’t have any similar lore. You’d think snakes spit venom, but not so much this go around.

  He was extremely violent.

  She was equally rewarding. Turned out her venom had positive effects, and true to snake form, she squeezed me dry.

  I could have said no, but that long dead Captain of The Stars would have frowned at my actions. Long live childhood heroes.

  “Can you help me, Carver?” There was a shuffle of feet as the new player grew closer. My eyes stayed glued to the journal.

  “I’ll bet your direct attitude does your parents proud.” He’d all but said ‘Quest now, old man’. Carver accepted no rudeness and only gave it out! I looked at him finally.

  “My parents?” The young man, a scrawny looking teen with the user name Awesome Jr., lost focus in confusion before shaking his head.

  “What do you want, Awesome?” I asked him. He looked fourteen but had to at least be eighteen to play this game.

  “Awesome’s my father.”

  I sighed. I’d walked right into that stupid joke.

  “And?” Players thought they were so clever with their names. I’d met people with gibberish names. I’d met people named after famous actors. Flowers, book characters, television heroes, or strange handles that they’d be stuck with for as long as Continue was out. Pie Master had been the funniest one. He asked for a bakery and I happily sent him and the [Messenger’s Pet] forth.