Death Grid_Game of Valor

by Tripp Ellis

  24

  Perhaps our meeting was not by chance,” Caelus said.

  My brow crinkled, wondering what he was getting at.

  “Maybe we are meant to help one another?”

  “Isn’t it in your programming to help humans?”

  “Yes. But I seem to be having a bit of a problem.”

  My curiosity was piqued. ”Please, elaborate.”

  “A virus has infected my neural network. One that I cannot eradicate.”

  I shrugged. “I am a grunt. I don’t know the first thing about advanced computer systems. I don’t see how I would be able to help you.”

  “With your military background, I think you would be an excellent candidate.”

  “Candidate for what?” I was cautiously curious. In my limited knowledge of AI neural networks, I knew that they had always been programmed with a primary mission of do no harm. But it was possible that things had changed. I didn’t entirely trust Caelus. There were only a handful of people in my life that I truly trusted, and they were all dead.

  “I think it’s time that I catch you up to speed on recent history.”

  I was more than ready to get a few answers.

  “The Renaissance is a colony ship. We had an original crew of 2000 before the attack. There are 4000 viable embryos waiting to be gestated in incubators once the colony has been established on Ceti Reticuli 9.”

  “Where is everybody? What attack?”

  “Unfortunately, a saboteur infected the crew with an illegal biologic agent—T245X. He also uploaded a malicious virus into my neural network, which remained hidden for quite some time.”

  “I’m assuming the crew is dead?”

  “Yes, and no.”

  My face contorted with skepticism. “That’s pretty much a black-and-white thing. You either are, or you aren’t.”

  “They exist in a virtual world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The ship was too far out for a rescue. And even if we could have been reached, the risk of spreading the biologic infection was too great.”

  My eyes widened with concern.

  “Don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe. That was many years ago, and the ship has since been thoroughly decontaminated. But, alas, the malicious code remains in my system.”

  I felt somewhat relieved.

  “In order to save themselves from T245X, the crew created a virtual world and transferred their consciousness. So, though their physical form has perished, their consciousness remains living within the digital world.” Caelus paused for a moment. “Here’s where you come in…”

  I couldn’t see how I was going to be able to improve the situation.

  “The malicious code has blocked my ability to continue to Ceti Reticuli 9, return to Earth, or call for help. I have been roaming the far reaches of the galaxy for decades. It was a miracle we stumbled across each other. With your military background, I think you have an excellent chance of defeating Krong.”

  “Who’s Krong?”

  “When the malicious code infected my system, it absorbed a gaming program and applied it to the virtual world to which the crew escaped. The malicious code has assumed the personality of Krong—the tyrannical ruler of a hostile alien species. The crew is being held captive and oppressed, forced to live under the rules of the game.”

  “And you think I can liberate them?”

  “You are their only hope,” Caelus said solemnly. He was dramatic for an AI. His words hung in the air like smoke.

  “How?”

  “Krong has incorporated the game into his being. Defeat the game, defeat Krong.”

  “I like video games. What the hell. It’s worth a shot.”

  “It’s not so simple. I will transfer your consciousness into the game grid. Once you’re inside, you will not be able to return to your body until you defeat the game. You will be a prisoner as well.”

  That certainly upped the stakes.

  “I understand if you do not wish to help. If you should suffer death within the game, your consciousness will be deleted. You will cease to exist.”

  I thought about it for a long moment. What the hell else was I going to do? I had no home to go back to. I had no idea how society had changed, or if I would even fit-in back on Earth. I would be that crazy old man at 22 years old who couldn’t relate to anything, talking about the glory days of how things used to be. How music and culture was so much better back in the day, and now everything was shit. Hell, I didn’t even know if America still existed, or Earth for that matter.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Defeat Krong, and I will restore your ability to walk.”

  “Why not do that first?”

  “That would be unwise. Krong knows you are here, and already sees you as a threat. There is no doubt he would cause a malfunction in the robotic surgical system. He, most likely, would eliminate you before you had the chance to even step into the game grid.” Then Caelus added, “That’s what I would do.”

  He had a good point. I wasn’t keen to let a robot with a virus cut on me. I took a deep breath. “Fine. Let the games begin.”

  25

  Caelus recommended I make the transfer into the virtual world from a stasis chamber. With the unknown duration of my visit to the grid, it was best to maintain my body in an environment where it wouldn’t age or atrophy. There was no telling if game time would equate to the real world. I assumed it was one-to-one, but you could never count on those things.

  Stasis chambers had come along way in the last century. The pod was a sleek, smooth design. The interior had better comfort dynamics, and continually stimulated muscle tissue and skin surfaces to avoid bedsores and muscle wasting. I was still somewhat stiff from my last extended duration cryo-sleep—at least, in the joints that I could still feel.

  “Are you ready to make the transfer?” Caelus asked.

  “I guess so.” I exhaled deeply. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck, John Archer.”

  Caelus initiated the transfer. Just like my virtual experience back at Galaxy Girls, a blinding flash filled my vision. I got the sensation of hurtling through time and space without corporeal form. It was like an acid trip. Exaggerated colors and sounds. Then I was in the system, traveling through printed circuit boards, memory modules, and quantum processors.

  I materialized an instant later in a dim corridor on another space ship. At least that was my initial impression. There was no grand introduction, or menu of options to choose from. No character to select. I didn’t have control over those things, apparently.

  I looked over my body and found I was dressed in some type of battle armor. I had a 9mm pistol in my holster. Alarms blared through Klaxons. Red emergency lights flickered. I could hear movement down the corridor in the darkness. The clatter of weapons fire echoed throughout the ship.

  My body felt good. It actually felt like nothing. It had weight and substance, but there was no pain. I felt like a precise machine. No aches or sore muscles. It wasn’t that I was devoid of sensation. I had a sense of touch. I could see and hear. I assumed I could smell as well, but there were no particular scents to detect at the moment. I had no doubt that pain was part of the program, and I was sure to feel it soon.

  Plasma bolts streaked in my direction, originating from the darkness.

  As soon as I unholstered my pistol, a HUD notified me of its attributes.

  9mm Pistol.

  2, 17 Round Magazines.

  I dodged the plasma bolts and flattened my back against the bulkhead, taking cover behind a support brace. I aimed my pistol into the darkness, barely able to make out a shape approaching. I squeezed off several rounds at the figure. Blood splattered, and the creature flopped to the deck. I heard his plasma weapon clatter as it fell.

  I cautiously moved forward to get a better look at my attacker. The creature looked almost reptilian with slick skin, large, angular eyes, and fangs that were designed to rip through flesh. Its skin was a gunmetal
gray color with a lighter underbelly on its neck, and on the palms of its hands. It had sharp, obsidian claws. It was a bipedal creature, with a similar anatomy to that of humans. Sleek body armor covered its form.

  I grabbed the plasma pistol from the deck, and my HUD alerted me again.

  7G Plasma Pistol.

  89 Rounds Remaining.

  The HUD was reminiscent of my tactical contact lenses. By mere thought alone, it would appear or vanish from my field of vision. It was customizable, and could display a range of information. There were multiple screens that I could tab through, providing information about my current status and my surroundings.

  There was a map function. The HUD indicated my current weapon and the remaining ammunition. I looked at my vital statistics:

  Health: 100%.

  Strength: 100%.

  Armor: 100%.

  Stamina: 1 of possible 20.

  Charisma: 1 of possible 20.

  Skill: 1 of possible 20.

  Level 1: Private First Class.

  Experience: 0.

  A private? I got busted down to a private? I sighed and accepted my new rank, figuring I could work my way up. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the stamina and charisma either, but everything else was reasonable, considering I was fresh into the game.

  I looked at the dead alien on the deck.

  Infantry Soldier: Pawn.

  Species: Skrag.

  Difficulty: 1.

  More plasma bolts streaked in my direction. Brilliant blue energy projectiles zipped all around me, slamming into the bulkheads. Amber sparks showered, lighting up the dim hallway.

  I wasn’t quick enough. One of the bolts slammed into my shoulder. Excruciating pain filled my entire body. It was more intense at the location of impact, but the discomfort radiated down to my toes. Everything hurt.

  I glanced at the status bar on my HUD:

  Health: 82 %.

  Armor: 67%.

  Strength: 89%.

  My arm should have been vaporized by the blast, but it wasn’t. Unlike the pawn that I had killed, it seemed the damage to my character was strictly limited to stats. I didn’t need to worry about cuts, bruises, or broken bones. My main focus was to keep my health from reaching zero.

  My status bar indicated that I had two additional lives. I could die and re-spawn twice—the third time would bring digital death. I had no idea if there was a digital afterlife.

  I blasted back at the attacking pawns, using their own plasma pistol against them. I wanted to see what kind of damage it would do. It was more effective than the pistol. The blistering bolts vaporized a Skrag’s skull. Before his body fell, I blasted at his comrade, putting two holes in his chest.

  The creatures hit the deck, and blood oozed from their corpses. The sharp smell of charged particles filled my nostrils. It looked like all of my senses were active in the simulation.

  A voice crackled into my earbud. “Sergeant Archer. This is Captain Keely.”

  Apparently, the game had used my own persona as a framework for my character.

  “As you’re no doubt aware, the ship’s been infiltrated by Skrag forces. I’ve had no choice but to order the evacuation of the Endeavor. You must proceed to the med-lab, rescue Dr. Carver, and get her to the planet surface. She must not fall into the hands of the enemy. Is that understood?”

  “Aye-aye, sir!”

  26

  I located the med-center on the map in my HUD. I pushed forward through the corridor, and turned at the next junction. I came upon a squad of Marines that were battling Skrag forces. They peppered an enemy unit, filling the corridor with the staccato bursts of 5.56mm rounds. Muzzle flash and smoke filled the air. The glorious scent of gunpowder wafted into my nostrils.

  Blistering bolts of plasma blazed past me as I ducked for cover. I angled my weapon around the support brace and blasted the plasma pistol at the aliens. I watched as the pawn’s head exploded, splattering goo on the bulkhead. I ducked back behind the brace for cover.

  “They’ve got this whole section cutoff,” a lance corporal said.

  “I need to get to the med-lab.”

  “You’ll have to find another way. There’s too many of them.”

  It wasn’t long after he finished the sentence when a plasma bolt hit him in the face. It vaporized his skull. His helmet toppled to the deck with nothing left to support it. His body followed suit. His Höltzer-Schmidt MR-17 assault rifle clattered to the deck.

  I scooped it up and grabbed his extra magazines. The lance corporal wasn’t going to need the weapon anymore. My HUD flashed:

  Höltzer-Schmidt MR-17.

  2 Magazines, 30 Rounds Each.

  I shouted at another Marine. “Are you from the Renaissance?”

  The private looked at me, confused. “No. This is my first deployment. Why?”

  I was pretty sure this squad of Marines was comprised of non-player characters (NPCs).

  I angled my assault rifle down the corridor and blasted at the pawns. I could see the counter ticking down out of the corner of my eye. It took a couple shots each to drop these bastards. I moved the barrel of my weapon from point to point, taking out the goons, one by one.

  With the corridor clear, I advanced to the next junction. What was left of the squad of Marines followed behind me. More plasma bolts blasted at me as I poked my head around the corner. This time there was something different. Along with a few pawns, there was a larger warrior with a plasma rifle. This thing could inflict a lot more damage than the plasma pistols.

  I returned fire, unleashing a flurry of bullets down the corridor. I took out the pawns relatively easily. But the big bastard just didn’t want to go down. I emptied the rest of my magazine into his chest. But he had some type of energy armor shield on top of the standard body armor. It glowed blue with each bullet hit.

  I pressed the mag release button, dropped the magazine out, then slammed another back in. I pressed the bolt catch and was firing again at the creature in no time. The recoil of my weapon hammered against my shoulder. I sent a storm of angry copper down range. The bullets finally penetrated the energy shield, drilling through the alien’s thoracic cavity.

  The creature flopped to the deck with a hideous groan. It twitched for a moment, then fell limp. I advanced down the corridor and scooped up the creature’s plasma rifle. It was more powerful than my MR.

  11G Plasma Rifle

  3 Magazines, 100 Rounds Each

  Sweet!

  I was almost out of ammunition for my MR-17. I tossed it on the ground. I scanned the large alien creature, and his statistics appeared in my HUD:

  Infantry Soldier: Sentinel.

  Species: Skrag.

  Difficulty: 2.

  I managed to scoop up two grenades from the corpse. They appeared in my inventory as well. Then I pushed forward with my makeshift squad of Marines.

  We continued to weave our way through the corridors, making our way toward the med-center. It wasn’t long before we encountered another Skrag squad.

  A flurry of plasma bolts streaked down the corridor. The intense volley took out two more of my squad. I ducked for cover and lined one of the goons up in my sights. I was somewhat anxious to fire this bad boy. The alien plasma rifle was well-balanced. It was made out of a lightweight composite material. I squeezed the trigger. The recoil was minimal. I watched as the blistering bolt eviscerated one of the alien pawns. The remains of his body slammed against the bulkhead and his carcass slid to the deck.

  The air was thick with haze. I whipped the weapon around, and lined up one of the sentinels. He unleashed a torrent of plasma bolts at me before I could get a shot off. I ducked behind a support brace as the plasma bolts impacted the metal in front of me. Sparks showered, and bits of molten metal spidered from the impact crater. Smoke wafted from the blast mark. The smell reminded me of the arc welders back in my high school metal shop.

  I angled my weapon around the corner and lined the sentinel up in my sites. I squeezed off two q
uick rounds. The first one depleted the sentinel’s armor, the second one depleted his life. The 7 foot tall ogre flopped to the deck.

  A blast from a pawn took out the last remaining Marine in my squad. I grimaced with frustration. I had to remind myself that these weren’t real people. As constructs of the game, they weren’t very helpful. They had tagged along and fired haphazardly at the enemy. Their aim hadn’t been the best, and they took no initiative. The only thing they seemed to excel at was dying. It wasn’t surprising. I couldn’t imagine that the game was going to provide much assistance. Helping me defeat the game wasn’t in its own best interest.

  I killed the last pawn and pushed forward. At the med-lab, I pressed a button on the bulkhead, and the hatch slid open. I nosed the barrel of my rifle into the compartment, cautiously. I scanned the corners, clearing the area with tactical precision. It became apparent quickly that Doctor Carver was not in the lab.

  My HUD flashed with a new mission objective:

  Doctor Carver has been taken hostage by Skrag forces. Escape from the Endeavor and rescue the Doctor.

  My health bar indicated 93%. It had self-replenished. My charged armor had improved to 79%.

  I was about to march out of the compartment when I heard something rattling in a storage cabinet. I whipped the barrel of my plasma rifle in the direction of the sound and inched forward, ready to vaporize whatever was inside.

  27

  Don’t shoot!” a voice cried as I whipped open the storage cabinet.

  A small drone the size of a softball hovered in the air. Its shell was made out of some type of plastic polymer. It had a black display face with glowing blue attributes that approximated eyes and a mouth that undulated with sound waveforms as the drone spoke.

  The orb looked like it was trembling.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I am Titan 242. Doctor Carver’s assistant.”

  “How do I know you’re not one of them?” I asked.