The Feedback Loop (3-Book Box Set): (Scifi LitRPG Series)

by Harmon Cooper

  “Diving now,” I hear Rocket say, but his voice is thin, far away.

  Colored sine waves appear on the inside of the NV Visor, increasing in speed. My eyelids start to blink rapidly and soon, they are closed and I’m feeling drowsy.

  Why are you doing this?

  No time to answer. Gravity drops and my body is suddenly floating, pulsating. I notice a strange light and I propel myself towards it.

  Chapter Four

  I’m standing inside a moving train when the words appear in front of me:

  Welcome to Steam. Our records indicate that this is your first visit. You will be in Steam’s capital city, Locus, momentarily. Please take a moment to remember some of the rules of this world:

  1) Players using items that rely upon electricity will be penalized through their life bars.

  2) Shillings are used as a currency in Steam. Unlike some Proxima Worlds, they have no real world value.

  3) Alchemical practices are fine as long as they fit within the boundaries of the world, which are accessible through your player dashboard.

  4) Discriminatory comments will be logged. Repeated violations will result in account termination.

  The rules pixilate and the train continues on.

  My pants are black and crisscrossed with leather pouches, tucked into an enormous pair of stompers. The jacket I’m wearing reminds me of something a comic-opera admiral would wear – open lapel, a dozen golden buttons, hand stitched waist pockets. The fingerless leather gloves on my paws are attached to gears affixed to the sides of my wrists. I’m more yegg than man now. I’d be lying if I said I looked dapper.

  “What’s with the geeky duds?” I ask aloud.

  Rocket: Steampunk clothing.

  “You’re in my head now?” I ask, looking around the train cabin. I can hear the sound of the rail wheels moving below: cha-chuck, cha-chuck, cha-chuck. The cylindrical lights above me make me feel like I’m in the spotlight, losing my religion.

  Rocket:¯_(ツ)_/¯

  “Were you in Frances’ head when she was in The Loop?”

  Rocket: I was.

  “Where is the old bearcat anyway?”

  “Here, and I’m not a bearcat.”

  I turn to find Frances Euphoria in a tight corset inflating her airbags. The corset is attached to short sleeves, red, and lined with black lace, which form a triangle over her num-nums and from there, a taut little collar. Her getaway sticks are barely covered by a painted-on skirt with two belts draped over her thighs. A pair of Leaks sits on her head and her red hair is pulled into a ponytail.

  “You designed this stuff, Rocket?”

  Rocket: I did.

  “You may have another career on your hands.”

  Rocket: I told you my ex was into steampunk.

  “It looks like she was into more than that.”

  Frances says, “Stop staring at me and equip your gear. We’ll have company soon.”

  “Gear?”

  A green orb appears in front of me.

  Rocket: Touch the orb, Q. It will transfer a few items to your inventory list that will help you blend in here. You don’t want to go around firing a PHASR, aside from the fact it will deplete your life bar. Remember, there are both NPCs and regular players here, which means a hunting party can be formed.

  “A hunting party?”

  Rocket: Check out your list.

  My finger comes up and finally, after a long month of recovery, I access my inventory list.

  ~*~

  I scroll to Dolly’s Seed, item 556. From there I move to a pair of enhanced binoculars, item 557. These are followed by a shoulder attachment with tube amps on the back and a forward facing gramophone horn the front, item 558.

  “What the hell is this thing?”

  Rocket: It’s a Gramogun. Frances has one too. Attach it to your shoulder – the thing that looks like a gramophone horn is a weapon. They can shatter glass. (x)_(X)

  “So can rocks.”

  “Gramoguns are legal here?” Frances asks.

  Rocket: They run off steam.

  From the Gramogun I move to a saber pistol, item 559. The grip is made of polished wood and the barrel of the gun is on the left side of the blade, pointing forward. Item 560 is a wrist gun.

  Rocket: The wrist gun attaches to either side of your wrists, Q. It’s good for a surprise attack.

  The next item is a compass, which seems useless, and the final item is a hand mortar, item 562.

  I equip the saber pistol for now and the wrist gun.

  “Good to go,” I tell Frances. A contraption covered in gears is attached to her left arm. Fastened to the arm piece is a shotgun with inlaid gold running along the forestock. She flexes her fingers and the gears on her arm grind to life, putting one in the chamber.

  “It’s electric?”

  “Nothing is quite electric here,” she says. “Everything is powered through kinetic energy created by steam.”

  “But everything here is fake; it’s a dreamworld.”

  “Yes, but it is supposed to look as if it is powered by steam, not electricity. That’s what I mean. You really don’t know anything about steampunk, do you?”

  “I’m not really into sci-fi,” I say, admiring my saber pistol.

  The door slides open and an NPC steps in. On his dome is a velvet top hat, his face covered by a mask that hangs well past his chin. Little puffs of steam spray out of two exhaust valves at the corners of his mask as he asks, “Greetings, do you have a ticket?”

  “Do we need a ticket?” is my reply.

  “Everyone who rides the train into Locus needs a ticket.”

  “Does this count as a ticket?” I ask, aiming my wrist gun at his face. “It does where I’m from.”

  His eyes light up. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Quantum!” Frances is at my arm now, trying to lower my weapon. I feel powerful in a Proxima World, a power I hardly possess in the real world.

  I move away from Frances before she can say anything else.

  Using my advanced abilities, I jab the end of my saber pistol into the NPCs chest. Steam wells out around the blade, spurts out of his nose and mouth as he falls to his knees. He grips my coat with both hands, and I give him a two hundred grain Don’t Handle The Merchandise, Buster right between the eyes.

  “Why the hell did you do that?”

  “Ah, come on, he was giving us a hard time.”

  The NPC is now face-first on the ground, his body deflating and our train cabin filling with steam.

  Rocket: You really shouldn’t have done that.

  “I’m the trigger man,” I say aloud, “and I was just getting back into the swing of things. Have you two ever heard of shoot first, ask questions later? It feels good to … ”

  … to be myself again.

  “To be an asshole?” Frances asks.

  “What were we supposed to do? We didn’t have a ticket … ”

  “All we had to do is tell him we were new players and that we spawned on the train. That’s all … ”

  “He should have asked.”

  Rocket: It was a test to see what type of player you would be. There are various classes in this world, from merchant to alchemist, hunter to benevolent player.

  “Well what are we?”

  Frances Euphoria grabs my arm. “Thanks to you, we just joined the Marauder Class. Happy now?”

  “As a clam.”

  “We just became a target.”

  “I spent eight years as a target,” I say, trying to keep my eyes off her dairy pillows. “A few hours in a make-believe world made of steam and gears ain’t nothing.”

  “Come on, tough guy, let’s get out of here.”

  She pulls me towards the front of the cabin.

  ~*~

  Frances and I are now on top of the moving train. The wind whips past our faces, makes her ponytail fly behind her like a … well, a ponytail.

  “We’ll need to jump before we
reach the main terminal,” Frances shouts over the roar of the wind. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

  There are two moons in the sky above Steam, and I can see the outline of great mountains in the distance. The sky is tinted orange and there are a few zeppelins overhead, the light from the moons curving around their great bellies. A huge cloud of black smoke heads our way from the engine of the train, obscuring and then revealing us. It even stinks of coal, which upsets my virtual stomach somewhat.

  “Let’s jump now.”

  “No, soon.” She slides a pair of Leaks over the bridge of her nose. “We’re too far from the city,” she explains, “and there isn’t an easy way to get there.”

  “No taxis?” I ask as I wave some of the coal smoke away.

  “There are steam-powered vehicles and horse and trolley carts, but those take time. We’ll want to get as close to the city as possible and then jump.”

  Rocket: There are other ways to travel.

  “Not now,” I say as I look up at the sky. A wood, canvas, and wire three-winged aircraft makes an orientation pass on us. The roar of its rotary engine dopplers in; the pilot in leather flying helmet, square-lensed Leaks and handlebar mustache paces the train, grins at us, and then gooses it and dopplers away.

  “Great, Quantum,” Frances says, disgust evident in her voice, “You’ve got the Steampunk Flying Corps on us now!”

  “Don’t make with the negative waves, Moriarty – maybe they’re just putting the eyeball on us.”

  The aircraft executes a hammerhead turn and lines up on us. Flashes of fire wink atop the cowling; supersonic red bumblebees are thunking and chunking up splinters all around us before we hear the Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of his machine gun and he zooms away behind us.

  “I think we’ve just moved beyond eyeballing,” she shouts, as she drops into a crouch.

  “The Red Baron is mine!” I access my inventory and select item 69 – Dr. Quackenbush’s Patented BolOcto Projector, and item 551 – Reaper Skull Mask.

  The BolOcto Projector looks like the illicit love child of a trombone and a snare drum, replete with tasteful Rococo flourishes. It’s all brass and silver, with a carved ivory shoulder stock and fore grip and a genuine hippo leather shoulder strap. Steam protocol is just fine with the DQP-BOP; my life bar is unaffected as it comes out of inventory. Steam protocol is not, however, as sanguine about my choice of the Reaper Mask; my life bar flashes and a warning message appears.

  Her eyes narrow, she frowns at my choice of armament and glares the obvious question at me.

  “I’ll explain in a minute!”

  Mask goes on; I shoulder the DQP-BOP. I’ve never had it out before, and I’m surprised when the Reaper Mask handshakes with it and provides targeting data, as my original plan had just been to spray and pray.

  ~Weapon acknowledged.~

  The Red Baron comes up from behind the train at an oblique angle. His engine cuts in and out as he blips it to decrease his speed and give himself longer to shoot at us. This tactic also, however, gives me longer to shoot back. I brace up as best I can while the mask provides firing cues. The triplane opens up on us again. Compressed air blasts one-two-three projectiles clear of the muzzle. A hammer blow strikes my calf; my life bar drops to 88% as machinegun bullets thud and ping all around us.

  With very subdued reports, the three projectiles burst in the triplane’s path, and twenty-foot spider webs blossom like silvered silken fireworks. The shooting stops and the engine noise is suddenly gone as the whole front of the aircraft twists off and flies apart. It drops out of the sky like a stone – albeit a three-quarter ton stone moving at ninety-five miles an hour – hits the ground and explodes into a meteor of flaming wreckage.

  “Whew!” I say, shooting Frances a genuine grin. “Now that was fun.”

  She points at the steam gently hissing out of my boot top. “You’ve been hit.”

  “Steam, not blood?”

  “Steam is blood.”

  My life bar is down to 87% and sinking.

  “I got this.”

  Item 13 – a big fluffy hotel towel, and my old pal item 33 ought to do the trick. I cut a pad and some long strips from the towel, Frances helps me off with the boot, holding the pad over both sides of a through-and-through bullet wound as I tie it on with the towel strips. The top of my pirate boot is just large enough to come up over bandage.

  “See, just like new!” I say as the wind whips against our faces.

  “What the heck is that thing anyway?” She nods at Dr. Quackenbush’s BolOcto Projector, which now rests at my feet.

  “According to Dirty Dave, it’s a live capture net thrower for exotic animals and smaller dinosaurs in some of the Safari and Dinosaur Park-type worlds. The magazine contains eight canisters, and each canister contains an eight-sided bolo net woven from Sheem spider silk. The silk is practically unbreakable, so light that the big ol’ net fits into a cartridge the size of a soup can. You saw what happened when the plane flew into it. BolOcto Projector.”

  “It’s a net gun.”

  “It’s more than a net gun, Frances, it’s a work of art.”

  “Net gun.”

  I huff as I return the net gun to inventory, open my mouth to continue my clever repartee. She holds up her hand to discourage further BolOcto discussion, scans our surroundings. “Let’s get off up here,” she says. “According to Rocket’s map, there’s a market nearby. We’ll be able to get you fixed up there.”

  ~*~

  Advanced abilities activated.

  We jump and time becomes molasses all around us. I look over to Frances Euphoria; she’s in her Leaks and there’s a smile on her face that only appears when she’s in a Proxima World. Everything around us is a blur, a blanket of indistinct shapes and darkened tones. We land, time speeds up and the train to Locus zips away.

  “Are you going to take your Reaper mask off?” she asks me.

  “Should I?”

  “For now. We really don’t want to bring attention to ourselves.” She moves her Leaks to the top of her head. “More than we already have.”

  “I’ve never been one for rules,” I say as I give her the up-and-down.

  “Just take your mask off.”

  My mask disappears.

  “Happy?”

  “Rocket says that the market is just ahead. Come on.”

  We’re ten paces away from the railroad track, near a grouping of quaint little homes connected by pipes. I can see people moving ahead, a mix of humans and NPCs. A pickup truck that looks like a cross between a Model T Ford and the Little Engine That Could puffs by. It’s all flaring fenders, wood-spoked wheels, polished brass and chrome trim and elaborate decorative pin-striping. A man with a monocle drives the vehicle, puffing on a corncob pipe jutting from the corner of his mouth. His arm is similar to Frances’ – a mechanical contraption with grinding gears; the blue indicator above his head shows he’s human.

  He comes to a stop, throws a series of levers, cranks a hand wheel, consults a sight gauge, taps it, and the rattling engine chuffs steam and idles down. “Howdy! Where you two heading?”

  “To the market,” Frances says, “he’s been injured.”

  “Want a lift?” He points down at the side runner. “I was heading there myself.”

  The man throws his thumb back at a stack crates behind him.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” I step up onto the running board and catch the grab bar on the top edge of the bed. Frances mounts up on the other side.

  He reverses the process of sight glass, hand wheel and levers and the engine clanks and hisses. “Hold on a moment … ” He cranks a lever at the center of the steering wheel. “Just got to give her a reason to get a move on.” He steps on a clutch pedal, engages the flywheel, and we’re off.

  “A daring young man and his jaunty jalopy if I’ve ever seen one,” I say under my breath.

  “What’s that?” he asks, over all the commotion.

  “Hey, you ever heard of a Ray Steampu
nk?” I shout. “Ray Steampunk.”

  Rocket: Of course he’s heard of Ray Steampunk!

  “Peanut Gallery,” I remind our in-world monitor. “Peanut Gallery.”

  The driver gives me a funny look. His mustache is trimmed in a way that reminds me of a cereal box character. Well, crunch-a-tize me, Cap’n.

  “Is this your first time in Steam?” he asks.

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Yours too?”

  Frances nods.

  “I see. Well, Ray Steampunk is the NVA Seed,” the man shouts over the clatter of the engine. “He makes the rules; he runs the place.”

  “Can he log out?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly what I asked – can he log out of Steam?”

  “Sure, he probably can,” the man says. “I don’t know why you’re asking me, though. It’s not like someone of my social standing could ever get anywhere near Ray Steampunk.”

  A message from Rocket appears directly beneath my advanced abilities bar.

  Rocket: I should have briefed you two more on Steam.

  “Yes, you should have,” I say aloud. The driver gives me a strange look over his shoulder. “I’m just going to come right out and say it – we want to meet Ray Steampunk. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Meet Ray Steampunk?” The man laughs. “Everyone wants to meet him. Everyone. It’s pretty difficult to get into his inner circle. I’ve been playing this game for years, since… since about 2054, when there were only thirty thousand players. Even I have never been able to meet him. I’ve seen him, but he is kind of like the Wizard of Oz, if that means anything to you.”

  “And this is the Emerald City?”

  “Hardly! We’re in the outer districts of Locus, the capital city of Steam. It’s more of a glorified slum.”

  “Designed to look this way,” I remind him. My life bar blinks, reminding me of my injury.

  “How many cities are there in this world?” Frances asks.

  “Several dozen, but Ray Steampunk and about half the human population live in the capital.”