by Cosimo Yap
Interesting, Alan sent. Let’s keep this to ourselves for now.
Agreed. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the tech the UWG got from the Haxlards had some neat party tricks like this, Lambda sent.
“We’re on our way to Mars now. What’s it like?” Alan asked.
“When I left it was mining posts, construction jobs, and military bases,” Icewolf said. “The UWG in their infinite wisdom didn’t want to foot the bill for a full terraform, so unless you have an oxygen tank or converter I would suggest not going outside the domes. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I need to send a few messages.”
No one else seemed talkative; everyone took out their pads and worked on them.
Alan studied his as he went through the messages everyone else was sending and receiving with Lambda.
Merlin and Arthur mostly seemed concerned with keeping up appearances back in London—sending notes that they had fallen ill or were going on a business trip. As Merlin had hinted earlier, Arthur did seem to be messaging a large number of women, but the messages weren’t romantic in nature.
Icewolf was messaging contacts and getting updates, but used phrases and code words that Lambda couldn’t decipher yet. He did seem angry at someone, but Alan had no idea who or why.
Kitana had a single exchange with Icewolf. She asked: When? Icewolf replied: When the mission is complete.
They reached Mars with little fanfare. It was dusty and stormy outside; thus Alan couldn’t get a good view of anything but red sand with the shuttles cameras. They were directed by the Legion of Man to land at a settlement named Red Dragon City.
The city was enclosed in a large dome of transparent, glass-like metal, and was one of maybe three they flew by. Within were towering skyscrapers and a dusty haze that rose to the apex of the structure, slowly filtered out through some complex ventilation system. Four large cannons that looked like observatories defended the dome.
An enclosed, cylindrical walkway extended from the base of the dome to the shuttle. As they exited the shuttle and were on the walkway, Alan felt gravity weaken. It was like walking on clouds.
I can adjust the armor to normalize your senses, Lambda sent.
It’s fine, Alan sent.
“Whoa,” Merlin said as he stepped onto the walkway. He leapt into the air, and with a single bound covered quite a distance. He grinned. “Watch this.”
Merlin turned his palms toward the ground, and then two miniature explosions erupted from his hands. He was propelled up, straight into the ceiling. His head banged against the wall.
Arthur started laughing. “Nice! With a bit more practice you might become a real wingman, but without the wings!”
“Stop playing around, we’re here on serious business,” Icewolf said.
“Chill, bro, I was just experimenting,” Merlin said.
“And if your experiment depressurized the room, killing us all?” Icewolf asked.
We’d be fine for a few minutes. To be in any real danger Merlin would need to make a pretty big hole, Lambda sent. Revenant power armor is also adaptable, at least before the energy runs out.
“Relax, the exit is right up ahead; I’m sure someone would rescue us if something happened,” Arthur said. “You worry more than Thiago.”
“Now I know why Thiago handed you two over to me,” Icewolf muttered to himself.
They reached the end of the walkway, which was behind a closed metal door. Icewolf sent a code to someone and the door opened.
Everyone stepped through. There was an odd barrier that felt bubble-like, though once Alan was through he felt gravity return to normal.
Within a small waiting room stood DaLong, flanked by two Asian soldiers in army uniforms, not power armor. They held automatic weapons. DaLong wore a black leather jacket and jeans. He had apparently gained a small scar on the ridge of his nose.
“DaLong,” Icewolf said. He bowed.
“Icewolf,” DaLong said. He didn’t bow. “Here are your orders.”
Alan’s quests updated:
War for Earth Updated:
For capturing a UWG shuttle you have gained 50 war contribution points.
25 War Contribution Points (UWG)
5,050 War Contribution Points (LOM)
Black Rose Mission Updated:
Sub-quest:
Develop a plan to capture the UWG warship.
Time limit: 2 weeks
Point of contact: DaLong]
The two soldiers entered the walkway to the shuttle, and the metal door closed behind them.
“I was expecting to speak with a general,” Icewolf said. “And wasn’t this place a small mining town with only a few buildings and a bar or two?”
“Things change,” DaLong said. “Where’s Thiago?”
“He died,” Kitana said.
“Too bad,” DaLong said.
“That’s it? We’re just supposed to develop a plan?” Merlin asked.
“Yes. Here is the relevant information the Legion of Man has gathered,” DaLong said. He held out a data chip.
Alan took the data chip and had Lambda scan it.
“Blueprints,” Alan said. “Though a few key systems are missing. Also, layouts of refueling stations, a possible schedule, and resources at our disposal. I’ll analyze this for a bit.”
He sent everyone a summary of the data. The key points Lambda had sent him, minus a few details.
“Follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters. They were provided by the Elders, the council that run this city,” DaLong said.
Walking through the city, Alan was surprised by the sheer number of people. The streets and sidewalks were a sea of faces, largely of East Asian descent. On the main roads moved wave after wave of bicyclists. Alan saw no cars or motorized vehicles.
“How did these changes come about?” Icewolf asked, looking around.
“People follow the work,” DaLong said. “Most here are day laborers, each with the hope that they’ll gain some special skill or ability, maybe make a big find. Then they’ll be able to do more than provide for their families; perhaps join the Legion of Man’s fighting forces, or move off planet. The raw material for armor and weapons needs to come from somewhere.”
“Day laborers? But what of the Tutorial rewards?” Alan asked.
“Most do not progress as far as we did, or even experience such an elite Tutorial. These are working-class people,” DaLong said. “They fight a few thugs in a simulation room, take a few written tests, and that is it. As their reward, they take credits to spend on capsules to help get friends and family into the Game. They do not bet it on classes or powers that might be worthless.”
As they walked down the street, the sea of people parted. Most seemed to recognize DaLong, bowing to him, calling him Brother Long. Alan found it odd, as DaLong had been nothing but cold and abrasive in the short time Alan had spent with him during the Tutorial, but he greeted these admirers with warm respect.
Alan noted a high number of martial-arts dojos lining the streets. He caught glimpses of young men and women practicing punches, kicks, and holds. They sparred as if their life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
A roundhouse kick will do little versus a laser gun or even a pistol. Someone should tell these people they’re wasting their time, Lambda sent. Either you are born with psionic abilities, or you aren’t. They don’t blossom out of willpower, even though that might be more fair.
Alan relayed Lambda’s thoughts.
DaLong shrugged. “It keeps them busy, and their bodies strong. How can that be a bad thing? And there are a few that awaken their qi, their psionic energy.”
“You seem to have quite a few admirers,” Merlin said. He winked at a cute girl that had bowed to DaLong. She ignored him. “How’d that happen?
“There were a few bullies that wanted to be gangsters. I didn’t like them. They were put in their place,” DaLong said.
Kitana nodded in approval. DaLong probably was her type, Alan thought to himself.
&n
bsp; “So you’re the de-facto leader of youth here?” Icewolf asked.
“You might say that,” DaLong said.
“We should talk later,” Icewolf said.
“What’s the average level of the people here?” Alan asked.
“50, maybe 75,” DaLong said.
“That seems low,” Alan said. He knocked away someone’s hand. The person had reached out to feel his power armor. “I thought the median level in the Game was in the thousands.”
“The weak do not show their level,” DaLong sneered. “Why tell the world how easy they are to rob? The only ones who wear their level openly are public figures and gladiators, so that gamblers can place accurate bets.”
Looks like I’ve been making more than a few faulty assumptions, Alan thought to himself.
Those won’t be the last, Lambda sent.
“And here are your quarters,” DaLong said. He stopped before a bunkhouse that was little more than a shack, near the edge of the dome. Lambda estimated the dome to have a five-mile radius.
“Inside, you’ll find working water and appliances. Let me know if there are any problems or if you need a capsule—there is an Administrative Center downtown. They arrived as soon as the population hit 100,000,” DaLong said. “You will need to purchase your own amenities if you desire more than gel paste.”
He looked at Arthur and Merlin. “Try not to cause too much trouble while you’re here. Kitana, you will be staying in other quarters. The elders do not approve of unmarried men and women sharing the same living space. Please follow me.”
Kitana departed with DaLong, who headed toward the center of the city.
Alan entered the bunkhouse, and saw it was little more than a barn with a kitchen and bathroom tacked on. There were five bunk beds in the same center room. The building was, however, bug free.
“So,” Icewolf said, elongating the word. “I should probably explain a few things right about now.”
“Yeah, like why we’re in this shithole,” Merlin said.
“Well, as you’ve likely figured out, I may not be as high up on the Legion of Man ladder as I may have lead you to believe,” Icewolf said. “I defected from the UWG about the same time all of you entered the Game. For some odd reason, it seems that the Legion of Man still doesn’t trust me all that much. Or maybe all their operations are like this, individual splinter cells. All we can do now is prepare a plan. Alan?”
Delay until Eve is revived, Lambda sent.
“I still need a week to recover from the hack,” Alan said. “Until then, let’s just try to gather more information here, maybe procure better quarters and earn a higher standing with these Elders.”
Icewolf bared his teeth. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Chapter 21
What now? Alan sent. He lay down on the bunk bed. It felt lumpy.
What do you mean? Lambda asked.
Are we going to continue with lessons? Alan asked.
I dunno. Do you want to? This is your play, your game. You decide what you want to do, I’m just along for the ride, Lambda sent.
Can you teach me to code? I mean real code, what the Game runs on. You seem to know your way around, Alan sent.
There are limitations in place, but I can try. This isn’t a suitable location; let’s find the Administrative Center.
Alan exited the bunkhouse—everyone else had already vanished into the city. As evening fell, the streets grew less crowded. Bright signs with painted Asian characters lined the streets. If Alan concentrated on of them, the Game would provide an English translation.
But something is always lost in translation, Lambda sent.
What? Alan asked. He was browsing the local net for a decent map—Lambda apparently couldn’t be bothered with such trivialities.
Nothing. Thinking to myself, Lambda sent.
Alan located the Administrative Center. It was in the center of the city, in the aptly named Administrative District.
He set off.
Just, Lambda sent, I wonder sometimes.
Get on with it.
Well, what DaLong said earlier about warriors awakening psionic power—that shouldn’t be possible. Yet he believed it had happened, so either something was lost in translation or…
Or what? Alan asked.
Well, psionic powers in the Game are a bit like magic. No, they are magic, Lambda sent. Except all the systems are unique, tied to a culture or a belief or some underlying idea that the Game somehow assembles. But there are always rules, fundamental principles that bind them together. Things like qi, medieval wizards, enchantresses, mystical swords—these all have a basis in myths, which often hide greater truths.
But they’re all what most would call scientific magic—nothing crazy like a portal to another world will open out of nowhere. That’s all that’s ever ported into the Game: systems and signals, no omnipotent God or Devil. There are power levels associated with every ability, psionic energy caps that make sense for the most part. What most psionic users find is that becoming a powerful psionic is about testing the rules, figuring them out, mapping them, and then manipulating them to their advantage. And the Game helps, with skill trees and ability lists and whatnot. But I wonder...
Alan walked along the streets, looking out for any signs of danger. Some of the people were eyeing his armor. He debated activating invisibility, but wasn’t sure if that would make him more or less of a target. Eve would have given him a suggestion by now.
Lambda continued his monologue.
I am no longer sure if the Game is structuring psionic ability systems to limit the players to what is possible, or if it is making them follow what they want, Lambda sent. Maybe it is all about balance, like the Administrators claim.
Eve taught me that psionic abilities were theoretically possible in real life; that people had displayed feats mirroring their in-game psionic abilities, Alan sent.
Anything is possible, theoretically. Alan, you have to understand that Eve was teaching you what the Administrators teach, word-for-word. But I’ve been around long enough to see what’s true today, and what’s true tomorrow, ain’t always the same.
They’ll say it was a mistake, that new tests in real life prove different physical laws. They’ll say that something was mistranslated, Lambda sent. And maybe it was. But translation software is amazing now. Intent, humor, idioms—those should be language-specific, yet everything is somehow being broadcast. But that shouldn’t be possible, not without some loss somewhere, right?
If you say so, Alan sent. Looks like we’re here.
This Administrative Center looked like an office building, the busiest place around; it had a fountain that might be considered opulent in the dry Martian climate. In the center of the fountain stood a soldier holding a spear.
Alan bypassed the lines and got into a capsule.
C’mon, let’s check how that program did, the salami slicer, Alan sent.
He entered his Home and went straight to the Market, which was where Lambda had set up a dummy storefront that received the illegal funds.
All right, give me a minute, Lambda sent. I didn’t make the funds easy to view, or even to find.
Alan opened up a menu to look at the local Market—the items that were stored and sold at nearby Administrative Centers on Mars.
Most of the items being sold were mining goods and equipment, common metals that might be found anywhere else. Everything seemed to be made by the Legion of Man; the few items that were either rare drops or shipped from off-world cost thousands of credits. Basic tools were priced at a few hundred credits.
Hey, Lambda, what do you think minimum wage is here? Alan asked.
Ask someone else, Lambda sent. The Administrators or a local information broker will probably sell you an information packet about regional dealings.
Ordinarily, Eve would sift through that data, highlighting anything of note, sent Alan.
I’m not Eve.
Alan sighed. He’d ask someone later.
/> Got it, Lambda sent. Sam’s Salami Shop currently has a balance of 464,952 credits, with a bunch of decimals I won’t mention. Not bad for a day’s work. But unless the UWG continue to use the servers we infected, that’s all we’ll get from there. Too bad the UWG shut the servers down. Let’s leave the credits in the shop for now, it’s safe there.
That’s it? Alan asked.
What do you mean ‘that’s it?’ That’s pure, undetected profit! I doubt any other scheme would have produced a bigger take. Billions of transactions had to be made for us to earn that much. Either a number of alien investors had their hands in the Earth markets, or a few firms’ AI settings were a bit trigger-happy.
Okay. Alan closed the menus he’d been looking at. He returned Home, then sat at the desk and terminal there, bringing up a mouse and keyboard. Now I want you to teach me how to program.
As Eve’s been telling you, if you want to program, as you call it, you need to understand more math, Lambda sent. Far more.
Because of n-bits.
Because of every fundamental part of game coding. It’s all beyond you. Before the Game, your society had just started playing around with qubits, quantum bits that can be a superposition of 0 or 1. N-bits are continuous; they can be the superposition of any number of variables of 0, 1, 2, 3, all the way up to n. Any polynomial can be represented in a single n-bit with the right formulas and tricks.
The entirety of one of your programs, an entire operating system and hard drive, could be stored in a single n-bit. It’s impractical due to the limitations and requirements to physically build an n-bit of that size—anything past Quadra’s Constant is impractical—but you get my point. The fundamental minimum to understand these building blocks requires you to be well beyond what you’d consider PhD-level work, and you’re not even past college at this point.
So what, I just give up? Alan sent.
No, you continue to use the tools the Game provides: the research center and armory in the Citadel. Accountants work with calculators, not by hand. Programmers don’t use any programming language for any problem; they pick the right tool for the right job. You know enough to play the Game, but to break the Game, to change the rules? That requires another level of understanding. Programming languages have evolved from languages to forces of nature to laws of physics. It’s more like choosing the right reality for the job at hand, sent Lambda.