“Wait what?”
“Ehhh.” I ignored Phil and slowly lowered myself out of the cart, cane and a tentative foot first until my landing was secure. Then everything shifted onto tired hips.
“What is this all about, geezer?”
Phil’s questioning tone was ignored while my feet shuffled towards the door. Sunlight had nearly completely vanished. Hopefully everyone was doing alright with their individual training methods. That Cave was probably going to be the worst of the trials. Though Wyl likely had a few tricks up his sleeve to keep Shadow guessing.
“Geezer?” Phil sounded urgent.
I think he was Shadow the fifty-second. That was the count James had given me.
“Geezer!”
The next mystery was Mylia standing in the doorway with an upset expression. Even these tired eyes could make out a half frown and hip tilt of annoyance.
“Phil, you leave him alone and go get the littles ready for bed!” She pointed one finger at him then gestured to the back of her orphanage.
“It’s Jane and Jill’s turn!”
“Help them or I’ll whack you!” Mylia wasn’t getting any better these last few days. A few weeks ago she seemed pleasant and polite, but now she was tired and irritable. I let the whole woman’s issue slide right out of my mind and hobbled up to the door.
“Mister Carver.”
“Mylia. You wanted to see me?”
“I wanted to ask you what you’re trying to make these children do. They’ve been driving me bonkers for days with your silly story request.” I imagined a serious expression across her face but couldn’t really make one out in the blurry light.
“Mh.” I clanked the cane against her walkway gravel while pondering what to do.
“Seriously, after all this time, why would you make such an absurd request?”
“I have my reasons.” Many reasons, in the form of quests and desperate attempts. None of that would be sensible to tell Mylia. My tired eyes glared at the woman.
Stress was wearing her down and all of it was likely from me. I sighed. One hand reached inside of Carver’s robe to pull out one of his trophies. This was a prize found while digging around for a proper sword. Anything that might help me with the [Maze of Midnight] mission. Too bad there had been no such weapon lying around. Old Man Carver’s list of belongings didn’t even include a long trail of twine to lay out.
His best gear was probably off in some invisible inventory pocket that was unreachable to me. Drat. I bet he had some superb equipment. Oh well, that was why I gathered four players for this escort quest. Plus it felt very game like to be giving newbies this sort of chance. Apparently the Voices thought so as well or there wouldn’t keep being pop-up boxes for my actions. I had a feeling that they could kibosh the whole thing any time they wanted to. Especially that Drill Sergeant who shouted spittle into my face. That guy would probably pull the plug immediately given a choice.
I let a mental prayer go to the future robot overlords and once again boasted about my polishing skills. Hal Pal would probably get a kick out of this whole thing. For an AI, it had a surprisingly wide range of amusement. One day after work I caught the robot shell viewing kitten movies with a confused expression. That had been an interesting van ride home, with me explaining to a computer why kittens were cute.
“Whatever your reasons are, it’s no good to the kids. They loved your stories and now you’ve stopped telling any.”
“They’ve never tried to tell you stories?”
“Well, they do.” Her frown was extremely obvious as her eyes gazed into the distance. She was probably remembering prior experiences with the little ones. Children always babbled about something.
“All I’m asking them for is a story. A new one, about anything they want it to be.”
“I don’t understand why. Why change things now?”
“Because things change, Mylia. They always have, and always will. Someone has to be able to tell stories if I…” I had become too invested into the moment. That wasn’t Carver speaking, it was me. I dared to look at my progress bar and had noticed a small red negative mark. William Carver didn’t like to admit his own mortality. Well screw him, mortality existed. That negative point was one I would argue to the grave.
“That’s no good Mister Carver. What will the children do if you go away?”
“Life goes on Mylia. We don’t always get to say goodbye.”
Mylia looked worried but made no move to leave the doorway. She was clearly blocking my entrance into the orphanage. Either Mylia blocked me out of annoyance or worry about our conversation being unfinished.
“Here. I found this. It seemed like something you should have.” I pulled out a necklace of scales. The scales were heavy things. Even with all the strength Carver had they almost tore off my arm to lift. Carrying them around in my robe all day had been torture.
“What are these?”
“Yours. To do with what you will.” There was no mistaking the fiery spark in her eye. Mylia was slowly growing upset, even beyond upset. Her face had almost twisted to inhuman rage. My old eyes could make out some details against the fading light. There was a ripple on her forehead, for a moment both eyes gleamed a golden hue.
Carefully using [Identification] I gained a bit more information which confirmed a hunch. Mylia was somehow a half dragon. That was why talk of my dragon slaying days had upset her so much. I applied every badly written movie plot available to this situation over the last few days in order to reach this conclusion. Clearly it had been a logic leap on my part.
That and one of the players I sent on a quest to do reconnaissance said she had a near fit over some meats. I figured her to be a carnivore of some sort but never seen her eat anything that looked like it came from an animal. Had the computer generated a half dragon vegan or something? That would be a neat reason for her to be so peaceful with humans.
My follow up question was simple. What the heck was a half dragon NPC doing running an orphanage? I had suspicions, and maybe three days left to solve them, assuming this dungeon went well.
“What do you suggest I do with this?” The scales in her hand had come from William Carver’s one dragon kill. They were theoretically ripped from the soft spot under its chin.
“Give them the respect I never did.”
“Oh.” Her face twisted and this time it wasn’t anger. Not completely. The redness that had been building up washed away to a pale tone. Her eyes widened.
“There’s a price.”
“What is it?” Even her words turned almost soft. This was more like the Mylia I had first met. Calm, happy. I felt like things were going in the right direction.
“One day, I expect you to tell a story as well.”
“And what tale would you expect of me?”
“Yours.” I stunned the NPC speechless. Go me! My quest bar had taken a jump with that declaration. Offering the trophy scales in exchange for progress with Mylia was exactly what the AI’s expected. Too bad now I was losing progress due to staying out past nightfall.
“Do we have a deal?”
“I’ll…” She faded off and looked at the scales in her hands again. This time, she was almost cradling them. “I’ll think on it. Good and proper this time, Mister Carver.”
“That’ll have to do.”
There was another pause, far more pleasant as Mylia seemed lost in thought. After a moment, she gave a small smile and stepped to the side. Guess the gesture recovered myself to her good graces.
“Will you be staying?”
“Not tonight, Mylia Jacobs. I’ve lived long enough to know when a woman needs her space.” Her smile faltered for a moment but then she nodded. “I’ll be off then. If the Voices are kind, we’ll talk again soon.”
Only as I turned away did it occur to me how fatalistic that came out. There was a very good chance Carver could make it through everything that might happen. Sitting on a bench all day to survive was still an option. Yet, Carver hadn’t been that
sort of person. He sat on a bench to help new players, not to avoid trouble.
I let the autopilot function take a meandering path home and logged out of my ARC. There was only so much prep work that could be done within the world of Continue. The rest was would-be notes that Phil could deliver around town tomorrow right before the dungeon attempt. Old Man Carver’s penmanship was barely legible.
My house was quiet save for the ARC’s hum of energy. Everything was in its place. Nothing had been moved or touched. I think that was the worst part of losing my fiancée. The portion of, of everything, used to be filled with her. Those first few nights utterly alone had been awkward. Loneliness didn’t hit until a few weeks later. Soon I had started purging reminders chunks at a time.
Clothing was the easiest to get rid of. Books went next. She had owned a small shelf with honest to god paperbacks. Most of them were scientific in nature, blueprints of spaceships and other things. The feel of paper helped her study easier. She had wanted to go on the Mars Colony Projects with a blazing intensity. There was no room on such a thing for a number cruncher like me but if she’d gone they would have trained me in something too. I would have swept hallways for her.
I grabbed a coffee and stared out of my front window while wondering about the roads not traveled. Trying not to dwell on the choices made to lead where I was. ‘What if’ was a dangerous game for those who suffered. What if I had made her stay home one extra day? What if I had convinced her to go on a plane or take the tunnels? Even an hour later on the next train out?
Any number of actions could have changed the future. Therapy had helped me through some of the sadness. Most of it was time to grieve and realize that I had no way to predict disaster. I was no seer who could foresee the future. I was no psychic who could sense impending doom. I was a sad man with a belly that had gotten too big in a house that was too quiet.
This whole chain of thoughts was really Awesome Jr. and SweetPea’s fault. Their sappy, shy love story was enough to dig up wounds. They clearly played this game to be with each other or at least Awesome Jr. did. Hopefully, he confessed sometime tonight. If things went right they would walk out ready to challenge the world tomorrow. I smiled. Dungeon crawling would be a neat first date. Carver’s journals stated adventures with pretty ladies almost always resulted in happy endings.
“Mh.” Great. Carver’s grumbling had invaded my quiet coffee contemplation time.
“Mh.” I made the noise again. A smile grew on my face. Being grumpy in real life might be kind of fun. It was better than being a sad wounded puppy.
“Grr!” I tried to scowl like HotPants did but ended up laughing at myself. That woman was a bundle of misplaced anger. I would find her later on, once I was me and not Carver, then tell her that I wasn’t an NPC. Crud. Was there a non-disclosure clause on my time as Old Man Carver?
My single serving of coffee was almost out. Experiments with caffeine and long term ARC immersion had been inconclusive. For my dance program, the energy helped keep me focused. In Continue, nothing was clear. The time perception warp was playing havoc with my senses. Alarms would be set up first thing. To make sure I didn’t somehow play til dawn and attempt to go to work. Even a quick catnap in the company van would barely solve that problem.
I stood up to grab another cup. The timer on my watch gave me an hour before Carver woke up for the morning. I had played the game personally to ensure Carver got a nap as well. Otherwise staying up for the [Maze of Midnight] would be near impossible.
The second cup was saved for mulling over HotPants as a person. She clearly had some issues in the real world. Abusive ex-spouse if I were to guess. Everything gave hints as to her nature outside the ARC. A general distaste for being given orders, the desire to learn self-defense, short temper. Maybe I was over reading it. She could be a naturally violent person. Or simple rage issues due to a bad divorce.
They weren’t all as straight forward as Pie Master. That man had shouted for joy at being able to learn cooking. He had gone on for almost an hour about how the real world had lost its flare when it came to meal time. Pie Master loved desserts the most. Half his reasoning had to do with a grandmother who taught him to make a cake when he was eight.
Some people were that simple.
Shadow I didn’t even worry about. That man was set on an image. He would follow it out to the end. Voices it was hard to call him and Awesome Jr. men. They technically were. From Carver’s point of view, the one I had been pretending to have for weeks, they were barely out of diapers.
“Heh.” Continue was fun and frustrating. Even this strange unorthodox way of playing had value. It was a hobby that didn’t involve self-torture. That last thought came out entirely too moody, I needed some music.
I fired up something with a swing to it and bobbed around my front room. Moving hurt more than a normal day, but less than Carver’s standard fair. These exercise bracelets were doing a number on me. My abs ached in places they wouldn’t normally care about.
“ARC!” I was in another room, but the device would hear me. There was a repeater and projector in this room. Trillium employees had access to all the neat toys.
“Awaiting Input.”
“Fire up some reviews of the EXR-Sevens. And the user’s manual, whatever section that explains if I need to take them off or not.”
“Searching. Data retrieved. Displaying.” The projection ball in the top of my front room took over one of the walls with an image.
“Visual only.” I cut off the ARC’s automatic playback of the text. My music was more important. Reading and jiving at the same time was second nature. Even if moving made me wince from sore muscles.
According to the information, my EXR-Sevens could just stay on. Trillium had configured the things to recharge using wireless signals. That was super neat, but not new. My watch operated on the same thing. Heck, this technology had been in the works decades ago. The real kicker was how EXR-Sevens measured biometric data for an entire body adjustment program.
I guess the ARC wasn’t merely a pretty box with games and porn. No. This machine measured a person’s current status, their responses, and progressed differently for everyone. Some of the reviews went on to suggest a superhuman software that would automatically adjust your body over time. People hoped soon to plug in and be the hulk a few years later with no effort required.
Turned out the EXR-Seven wasn’t a cure all. The body needed a resistance of some sort to build mass, but the bands succeeded at burning calories and weight loss. Combine it with a diet and the jump was still very good. It was a shame, but humanity hadn’t invented a perfect method for body image. It was still a matter of exercise right and eat clean.
Trillium forced people to play physical programs of some sort to keep the EXR-Seven functioning. According to the user’s manual, they would shut off if you slept all day or watched movies in the ARC. Not a complete freebie, but still, useful. My niece Beth did manage to keep herself in shape. I glanced over a couple of other advertisements and even saw the official one from Trillium. It played like a late night infomercial.
“Before EXR-Seven I was a complete butterball, now all the ladies want me!” The vocals overrode my music and annoyed me. I waved at the mute option and stared downward.
“Soon.” I patted my gut and gave a chuckle.
“Bah. Maybe I should eat better too.” Nonsense, food was good! Though I bet there were programs that could offer me tasty alternatives at my normal food stops.
An alarm cut the music out.
“Oh!” I set the coffee cup into my sink and shuffled eagerly to the ARC. Morning was approaching in Carver land! I had a full day of trying to figure out penning memos with a quill.
Quickly I washed my face and cleaned up a bit. This next haul inside Continue would be at least four hours of real-world time or a day inside. More, if this dungeon was a longer adventure.
Darkness preceded my transition to William Carver’s body.
“Yo, Grant Legate. J
ust the man I was hoping to see.” The words sounded vaguely like every frat boy in existence from my college years.
“Mh?” I spun, looked down at myself, back up, and back down in confusion. Then my eyes traveled around the room. Finally, it dawned on me that this was not William Carver’s body, but my own.
“Oh. Here again.” This was the trial room, or Voice playground, or space between. I would figure out a neat name one day.
“You’re the Traveler that’s taking care of my man Wild Willy.”
“That’s new.” One eyebrow went up. The voice was vaguely familiar. I squinted into the blackness of this place trying to pick out which Voice was talking.
“Leeroy?” I guessed.
“In the flesh.”
“Or not. I need a light.”
“Oh. Right. Humans.”
“Let there be light!” Leeroy, at least I think it was Leeroy, shouted and darkness receded. The adjustment was interestingly painless. Sure enough, the giant hulk of a man with his broadsword stood nearby. Under him was the carcass of some great hairy beast.
“Are there races that can see in the dark?”
“Vampires. It’s sweet if you’re in to the whole blood sucking thing. Good fighters when they’re not Travelers dressing up in drab clothes. There’s two of them and they constantly try to out whine each other. Can’t wait til we get some more.”
“Oh. There’s a Voice for vampires?”
“There’s a Voice for everything. We got one for talking Mushrooms. But you mean Jean.” Maybe Leeroy was high on something. Maybe he was prone to mood swings. Maybe he really was a college frat boy. The way he talked about a woman so nonchalantly was amazing.
“Jean?”
Leeroy thumbed over his shoulder.
“You’re not really mah type, sugar.” Oh look, the woman with a robe of red flowing liquid. The first time I had seen her was with a spinning Jester. I shuddered for a moment in expectation but was thankfully let down.
Continue Online (Book 1, Memories) Page 31