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

by Harmon Cooper

  “Right … ”

  The boy is selling newspapers in the same spot as yesterday, on the opposite side of a fountain. A small crowd of freaks and geeks has gathered around him, all in unnecessarily bulky gear. A Charles Laughton Quasimodo shuffles past us, his prosthetic leg crafted from rusted metal and pistons.

  “Reapers have joined the Boilerplate Army in Morlock!” the newsie calls out. “Reapers have joined the Boilerplate Army in Morlock! Read all about it!”

  “Do you think Strata Godsick is there?” I ask Frances.

  Rocket answers for her, his dialogue appearing beneath my life bar.

  Rocket: There’s no way to tell unless you go to the battle. Steam doesn’t have a monitoring system like some of the other worlds, meaning I can’t tap into a local feed somewhere.

  “Thanks, have you seen him in person?” I ask Frances. “Strata Godsick?”

  Her eyebrows draw together. “I met him back when you rescued me in 2050 … ”

  “I can hardly remember any of that,” I admit.

  “Digital coma for eight years … ”

  “Two years … ”

  “You are horrible at math,” she says. “You yourself counted five hundred fifty days. That’s hardly two years.”

  “Close enough. Back to Strata. Have you ever seen him in a Proxima World? Does he ever lead the Reaper assaults?”

  “No idea. Not many have seen him since about 2054. He is hyper reclusive.”

  “Do he’s probably not at the battle then.”

  The fact that I hardly remember him doesn’t have any effect on the knowledge of what he has done. I know he’s been killing people in Proxima Worlds to collect insurance money; I know he sent people after me, both in VE dreamworlds and the real world; I know he tried to coerce me into joining his side, and that he tried to have me kidnapped or killed back in the digital coma ward.

  “We’ll have to deal with Strata later,” she says as she registers the look on my face. “If there is anyone who can bring him out of his hole, it’s you.”

  My inventory list comes up and I access Dolly’s Seed, item 556.

  A glimmering oval appears in the air before me.

  “Ever used one of these things before?” I ask her. Light radiates from the seed; a tiny galaxy of stars spirals around it.

  “Not ever. Never even seen one before.”

  Frances takes a step closer to examine it. “It sure is pretty, like something that should be in a museum or around a queen’s neck.”

  “Maybe I’m supposed to touch it … ”

  One press and the seed shatters into a million glittery pixels.

  I look up at the two moons over Locus, hoping to see Dolly or Aiden appear in a portal or a chariot of fire or something. The only thing above us is a zeppelin and a thin fog.

  “Is that it?” Frances asks.

  “Maybe I did it wrong.”

  “So this is Steam? Interesting!” I turn to find Morning Assassin, decked out in his usual duds. I can tell he’s grinning even with the balaclava on his face. My Slice Bang is in his hand, the blade facing towards the pavement.

  “Aiden! Where’s Dolly?”

  “Here.” Dolly steps out of a slit in the air like a queen surveying a lesser realm. Her hair bounces as she walks towards me.

  ~*~

  “How do you want to look?” Dolly asks Aiden.

  “Ummm … ”

  He glances at some of the people gathered around the newsstand. “Okay, I’d like my left arm to have some sort of Gatling gun attached to it.” His arm morphs. “I’d also like to be wearing a mask, something that covers the lower half of my face. No! I always wear a mask. I want something like a turtle neck, but over-sized, up to here.” He taps his hand at the bottom of his chin. “Great big goggles please, like aviator goggles only bigger, reflective red lenses, and tiny windshield wipers. For my clothing, I’d like to wear what Quantum is wearing: a cutaway jacket with tails – maroon please, big golden hairbrush epaulets, lots of gold braid and two rows of big brass buttons down the front. – and black flared hip breeches with rawhide reinforcements, big pirate boots with brass buckles and silver spurs that jingle-jangle-jingle, and a top hat with a .44 caliber LeMat Revolver mounted inside. Oh, and fingerless gloves.”

  “Get your own style,” I tell him with a grin.

  “I thought that this was everybody’s style here.” He grins back.

  “Touché.”

  Aiden looks down at his new Gatling gun. “Can you add a retractable blade to my arm? Make it three. Shoot straight out, then forms something I can twist.”

  Dolly nods and Aiden’s arm rearranges itself. He flicks his arm down and a single blade, as thick as a katana, shoots out. With the twist of his wrist, it separates into pieces, forming something that would do Wolverine justice. He takes a few slices at the air, his copy of my Slice Bang in his right hand and the blades in his left, becoming used to the weight.

  “Damn, Aiden,” I tell him. “I may need to get me one of those. Talk about Ginsu knives!”

  Dolly’s eyes flash as she takes in Frances Euphoria’s appearance. I can’t quite tell what she’s thinking – if she’s thinking – but I do sense something.

  A bolero jacket appears on the NVA Seed’s body. This is followed by a corset which tightens until her breastesses nearly pop out the top. The bottom of her corset mutates into a tiny skirt and a pair of high-heeled boots appears on her feet. She does one turn to show me her outfit; I catch her ass cheeks peeking out the bottom of her skirt.

  “It’s a little short … ”

  The skirt elongates an inch. “Better?”

  “No complaints here. Aiden?”

  “I’m sorry, what now? I was mesmerized by Dolly’s accoutrements.”

  Dolly smiles and winks, “Never heard of them called accoutrements before.”

  “Rocket?”

  Rocket: I took some screenshots, if you don’t mind.

  “Thanks, Rocket. And yes, I do mind. I’d better not catch you … ”

  Aiden says. “Is Rocket your monitor?”

  “Bingo.”

  Frances clears her throat. “We really need to get a move on, especially if Reapers are now fighting alongside the Boilerplate Army.”

  “Right, jetpacks. Oh, and weapons. Did you get the weapons made?” I ask Aiden.

  “Yes, an Almost Universal Solvent Hose Gun, at your service.”

  The weapon appears. I add it to my inventory list, item 566. It looks like it came out of the Pope’s Fancy Fitments for Renaissance Cathedrals workshop and not something Dirty Dave threw together from whatever crap he had on hand. When I say so, Dolly smiles, says “Well, I did help him out a little bit with materials.”

  If Bryanboy had owned a World War Two flamethrower, this is exactly what it would have looked like. The two highly polished chrome plated tanks that hold the separate components of the Almost Universal Solvent are lavishly engraved in a traditional oak and ivy style. They are mounted side-by-side on a rococo backpack frame of wrought aluminum openwork, with butter-soft padded leather straps and golden buckles. The smaller pressure tank is also beautifully chromed and engraved, and nestles between the twin component tanks. Polished brass and copper tubing connects the pressure tank to the two component tanks; a silken hose reinforced with woven gold wire runs from each component tank to the solid gold mixing chamber and spray wand, which is set off with carved amber and ivory grips.

  A particularly nice touch is the Lawyer’s warning on the spray wand, engraved in Blackadder script: WARNING! Before use, read safety warnings and principles of operation in Operator’s Manual, available free of charge from Dirty Dave’s Mayhem Mart. For best results, only use genuine Dirty Dave’s Chemical Components. Dirty Dave cannot be held responsible for end user’s actions.

  “I added a little hack to it as well,” Dolly says. “The chemicals will never run out and the pressure tank is always full.”

  “Very nice. You do know what a boy likes.” />
  Aiden turns to Frances. “I had something made for you as well.”

  “You did?” She cuts me down with a dirty look. “How sweet … and here I thought I’d been forgotten.”

  “How could you ever think that?” Aiden approaches her and takes her wrist. “I figured some type of wrist attachment that sprayed the AUS may be helpful to you.”

  “That’s so sweet, so thoughtful!”

  He places a device on her wrist. From there, he attaches a portion to her forearm and a trigger comes down into her palm. “ … and it’s solid gold! Just press the button,” he says, making direct eye contact with her.

  Is Aiden … ? I cast the thought away. There’s no way he’s flirting with Frances, the sly dog.

  “So we have weapons; now we need jetpacks,” I say, cutting their moment short. “You can’t just make these appear, can you?” I ask Dolly.

  She smiles again, “I am an entity of many talents; check your inventory lists.”

  ~*~

  In the air above Locus.

  Dolly zips in front of me and her skirt flaps in the wind, giving me a fairly nice view. A black and orange tiger-striped triplane approaches and I bank left to intercept. I hang about an aircraft’s length off his wings, and the pilot – a human player in a leather propeller beanie and aviator goggles – glares at me, ostentatiously charges his machine guns, and dives away as I pass.

  Aiden whooshes in front of me, his arms at his sides. He twists right, and cuts through a cloud of steamy exhaust coming from a zeppelin overhead. I arc upwards, until I’m just inches away from the whale-shaped craft. Slowing, I run my fingers along its side to feel the texture.

  I glance down and take in the world that is Steam, the city of Locus. From my vantage point, I can see that the city is actually laid out in a copy/pasted grid. The uniqueness of the city lies in how people have modified the buildings. Other than that, it falls into a pattern of three square plots, a rectangle plot and four triangle plots followed by a power plant.

  Advancing towards Ray Steampunk’s airship, I laugh out loud at what my life has become, how free it is while I’m in the air. The feeling is exhilarating; the spinning world only reminds me of how closely all worlds are related, be they of neuronal or material construction – the threads of life blur at top speeds.

  A steam missile whistles past, ending my brief reverie.

  Rocket: Air Enforcers incoming one o’clock!

  Moments later, I’m on a pair of human players in wasp-like costumes and canvas wings. The two pick up their pace, jockeying for a position of advantage.

  The one I didn’t see collides with me from behind, wraps her arms around me, folds her wings and we drop like a stone. I swing elbows behind me – left, right, left – and she anticipates right again and dodges left, I connect with my left elbow and really ring her dinner bell. She goes limp; I twist in her embrace and put her out of the game with my wrist gun. She flutters to earth like a broken butterfly, trailing steam.

  I push hard to regain altitude and aim for the Air Enforcer chasing Frances, but she deals with him before I get close. She rolls onto her back, points Aiden’s gift at him, and unleashes a cloud of AUS. The Air enforcer is too close to avoid it and he flies right into it; almost immediately his wing fabric dissolves and he explodes into steam. His screams cut off abruptly as he logs out, the chickenshit bastard quitter.

  The pop-pop-pop of weapons fire draws my attention. Aiden’s the center of a whirling furball of five or six Air Enforcers. He’s firing short bursts with his arm Gatling and manipulating the slice part of his Slice Bang like Inigo Montoya with Edward Scissorhands … hands. He’s put three down just in the time it takes for me to notice him, and looks to be having more fun than a catnip basket full of double-pawed kittens on nitrous oxide.

  I move to go help.

  And promptly get blindsided again because I failed to pay attention again. This Air Enforcer is bigger than I am, and he drives me up against the zeppelin I’d been recently admiring, knocks the wind out of me and promptly tries to skewer my giblets with a triple-bladed Wolverine claw set-up. He’s got me pinned face first against the fabric of the airship and I’m expecting to get fileted in the next two or three heartbeats.

  His head comes off and spins away; steam gouts from his neck stump and his body slides away from me. Aiden hovers there, touches the brim of his top hat with the blade of his Slice Bang, grins like a madman and jets off.

  I almost feel bad about all the unpleasant ways I offed him all those times.

  The tiger-striped triplane chases Dolly as it spits long streamers of tracer at her. She twists and dodges, flips and rolls, loops under and then comes up alongside the plane, plucks the pilot out and throws him. His sissy scream dopplers away and abruptly cuts off when he logs out and disappears; his orphaned propeller beanie makes a controlled descent, and the unpiloted triplane goes into a flat spin and plummets away.

  A pair of Air Enforcers dart in to intercept her; she turns, and in the classic Supergirl in flight pose, flies right through them, bursting them like extra-festive piñatas filled with sparkly digital confetti.

  And just like that, the sky is clear of winged foe. We hover and huddle up like a high school rollerball squad just about to go in for the second half.

  “Is everybody okay?” Aiden asks. He appears particularly solicitous of Frances, who’s got a slight scratch that’s spitting a little steam. She actually simpers, giggles, and twirls her hair around her finger as he examines her owie. I look at Dolly, and she gives me the raised eyebrows and shoulder shrug.

  Rocket: Your immediate airspace is clear for the next few minutes, but there are hostile forces en route from three directions. Recommend that you move, now.

  “Thanks, Big R, we’re outta here.” I reply. Aiden and Frances are like a pair of middle schoolers and oblivious to their surroundings – says the guy who got blindsided twice because he wasn’t paying attention during aerial combat. I snap my fingers to get their attention, “Yo, Suzy, Sam – bad guys on the way, we gots to vamoose now.

  “Let’s go!” Dolly says, zipping ahead.

  The four of us speed higher into the sky. Locus shrinks below us and I can see the slopes of Clockpunch Mountain. The cable car is about two-thirds of the way up to the landing stage and filled with tourists and pilgrims to the fount of all that is Steam. I hover alongside like a hummingbird of unusual size in outlandish Edwardian glad rags, and the looky-loos all point and exclaim and ooh and ahh. I watch the magic metallic chicken legs as they pedal away, and I land on the platform beside the garish Easter egg tank.

  The NPC conductor throws the front door open, shouts, “Oi! No free rides! Where’s your … erm … ” and trails off as he looks down the wrong end of my arm roscoe.

  “Back inside, Ringo. Keep the cash customers calm and nobody gets hurt.”

  The dump valve for the Easter egg tank is an impossible-to-miss red hand wheel the size of a trash can lid marked Do Not Open When Carriage is in Motion! I open it, steam spurts out the bottom of the tank, the legs stop pedaling and the carriage ceases its motion.

  Several of the stupider passengers do the scream for no reason when something unexpected happens as I jet away, and I’m sore tempted to go back and demonstrate a little ballistic Darwinism on them. Several of the really stupid passengers lean out the windows and blaze away at me. So much for trying to be a kinder, gentler Quantum – I should have cut the cable and killed them all in the first place like I’d usually do.

  FE Hangs back, waits for me to pull alongside her, “What was that all about? I thought we were in a hurry!”

  “Tactics, my good Euphoria, tactics. Remember what happened when they outed us as Reapers the first time?”

  “Y-e-e-s-s-s. Most of them ran away or logged out.”

  “Yeah, but some chose to stand and fight, and we’re going to have enough going on without additional unfriendly guns at our back.”

  “I’m surprised that you just didn’
t blow up the cable car or have your usual slaughterfest or something,” she observes, with just the slightest hint of snark.

  This on top of the knuckleheads in the cable car popping off at me after I didn’t kill them is not bolstering my self-esteem nor assuaging my inner child. I let go with a deep, heartfelt sigh. “Yeah, sorry about that; I’ll make sure to kill extra next time to make up for it.” She gives me a look, says nothing, jets off to fly alongside Aiden.

  Women; can’t live with ‘em, can’t shoot ‘em.

  ~*~

  We hit the flight deck and I equip everything I can possibly carry. My Steam Pack stays on, jet pack over that, the Hose Gun goes on in front, the wrist gun stays on and I jam my saber pistol under my belt.

  “Got enough gear?” Frances asks me in that almost but not quite snarky tone.

  “Better to have a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have it, sister.”

  The deck of the airship ripples and quakes. On the other side of the landing field, the two Transformer-sized Steam Enforcers have come alive, and they’ve brought a few friends.

  Air Enforcers explode towards us like a swarm of rabid, rocket-propelled killer butterflies. Aiden is already airborne, and laughs as he rises to meet them.

  “Cover Aiden!” I shout to Frances. “Dolly and I will take the Steam Enforcers!”

  Frances lifts into the air on a column of steam and sprouts a Gatling gun arm of her own. She and Aiden hover side-by-side and put out a river of fire to keep the Air Enforcers away from Dolly and me.

  The Steam enforcers are bigger that I remember them being – they’re tremendous, gigantic, Ghostbusters Stay Puft Marshmallow Man huge, Bibendum made metallic on a Godzilla scale; They’re stinkin’ big!

  I goose my jetpack and activate my advanced abilities. An Air Enforcer gets past Aiden and Frances and makes for me in slow motion; I have all the time in the virtual world to draw my saber pistol and present it so he skewers himself. He logs out and vanishes, unsticking the blade before I have to fire the pistol.