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

by Harmon Cooper

  Rocket: You’re Frances’ next of kin.

  Me: No I’m not.

  Rocket: Yes you are. She had her information changed while you were in recovery.

  Me: What? She doesn’t have a family?

  Rocket: Just a sister in Ontario. Married to a Humandroid technician. Q we need you here.

  Me: We?

  Rocket: Zedic and I are waiting for you to dive.

  Me: Dive where?

  Rocket: Steam. You need to ask Ray Steampunk more about Tritania. It is a huge fantasy world. Finding Strata Godsick’s son won’t be easy.

  Me: What makes you think Ray knows anything about Tritania?

  Rocket: He oversaw the development of the world. Board of Developers – BoDev. Something common for especially large Proxima Worlds.

  Me: All right, and what if we do find his son? What then?

  Rocket: Haven’t thought that far ahead. You’re the boss – you come up with something.

  Me: Order breakfast and have a taxi pick me up.

  Rocket: A taxi is almost there. I ordered it as soon as you responded.

  Me: Breakfast – pancakes, bacon, biscuits, hash browns, sausage, eggs, toast and beer.

  Rocket: The FDA won’t like that.

  Me: Since when does the FDA care about what we eat?

  Rocket: Since the 2040s, when more than seventy percent of the nation was obese. That was before my time, but you should remember the Consumption Limits that were put into place.

  Me: Vaguely. I’ve tried to forget the 2040s – they were some shit years. I’m pretty sure you with all your hacking expertise can figure out a way to order a proper breakfast. I was able to order quesadillas the other day and no one got on my ass.

  Rocket: Have you checked your email?

  Me: I rigorously avoid my spam folder.

  Rocket: The FDA Monitoring Group will fine you if you don’t respond to their emails. Further, they’ll force-remove the messages from your spam folder and put them in your inbox.

  Me: Dammit, bill the FCG, yes the government, for our food and make it look like we’re hosting some guests.

  Rocket: Who are we hosting?

  Me: Heads of State? GoogleFace executives? AppleSoft programmers? Twitter celebutards? The King of Bhutan? Don’t make this difficult. I’m hungry and I’ll be damned if I’m diving to Steam without a proper breakfast and a cold one. A man has his needs and mine are calorie-based. Comprende?

  Rocket: Got it, Q. See you soon.

  ~*~

  Taxi Driver LP J-8675309: Mr. Quantum Hughes. I am now outside Hopkins Medical Center. Waiting charges may apply. For more information click here.

  Sunrise tones make Baltimore look somewhat less shitty. The buildings dipped in twilight, the city quiet or just waking up – it’s almost beautiful. Almost.

  With my trusty cane at my side, I shuffle into the waiting room. A mother sleeps in a chair while her kid bobs his head up and down, playing some iNet game with an accelerometer hack. Stupid if you ask me, but no one asked me.

  A step outside and I’m greeted by the early morning calm. The city of Baltimore is peaceful and quiet, as most cities are before their raucous residents awake. The taxi is your standard affair, yellow with a plastic sign on the roof, light-up letters on the inside window that read occupied. A driver stands in front of the taxi, wearing a neatly pressed suit.

  “Mr. Hughes?” he asks, opening the door. His pupils dilate ever-so-slightly.

  I don’t say anything as I get in. He can read my life chip, and that’s plenty.

  We’re in the air a few moments later. Unlike the drivers in The Loop, this one picks up on the fact that silence is golden. His mechanized professionalism allows me to watch the city come to life all around me, from lights turning on as alarm clocks sound off to transport vehicles racing to get their products to their customers. I even catch an EBAYmazon drone touchdown on a rooftop.

  Me: Rocket.

  Rocket: Yes?

  Me: I want a cane with a sword inside. Called a swordstick.

  Rocket: Why?

  Me: So I can pick my teeth.

  Rocket: ???

  Me: I forgot how to order stuff off iNet, EBAYmazon. Show me some examples and order one for me.

  Rocket: Really?

  Me: Seriously. They aren’t illegal, are they?

  Rocket: Well they are, but you can order them anyway if you ship from Canada.

  Me: Now there’s the America I’ve come to trust and love.

  Rocket: Here are some images. Choose which one you like.

  The images load quickly.

  Me: These look like toys. I’m not talking about a souvenir here and NO DRAGON HANDLES.

  Rocket: All right …

  More images appear.

  Me: NOW that looks promising. Number two please.

  Rocket: United Cutlery Commando Survival Cane. High carbon steel blade hand forged in Kyoto, clay tempered, over 60 HRC blade hardness – whatever that means.

  Me: Me likey.

  Rocket: So I should order it?

  Me: You’re catching on.

  Rocket: And who should I bill?

  Me: Uncle Sam and if he can’t pay, Aunt Samantha.

  Rocket: Aunt Samantha?

  Me: Aka Frances Euphoria. Don’t worry, I already asked her if it was okay. She said yes.

  Rocket: Let me confirm it with her.

  Me: Are you kidding? She’s resting, kid! Let the poor lady get some shuteye. I’m your boss, right?

  Rocket: Technically.

  Me: I don’t like your tone.

  Rocket: It is hard to tell a person’s tone on an iNet message.

  Me: Order it.

  “Sir, we are approaching our destination. Are you awake?” the Humandroid driver asks.

  “Yeah, I’m up. Just handling some things over iNet.”

  Chapter Three

  Rocket is in a faded shirt that reads Hakuna Matata. His jeans have various brands printed all over them, from Dolce & Gabbana to Dior, which is part of the new co-op trend running rampant through the fashion world. I’ll never understand fashion – just give me a black suit and a pair of Italian stompers and I’m good to go.

  “What? Is it my pants?” he asks.

  “You catch on quick.”

  “Quantum.”

  I turn to see Zedic Woods peeking out from the conference room. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and his hair has been freshly shaved into a Yeezus fade.

  “Get a haircut?” I ask.

  “No, got ‘em all cut. Once a week, brother.” Zedic is in a hoody under a tweed jacket. His pants also have multiple brands screen-printed across the fabric, which is a trend I seem to have missed. He seems twice as cool since yesterday, when he helped me unhook from my dive vat.

  “They’re prescription … ” he points at his sunglasses. “I left my regular glasses at my gig last night.”

  “Gig?”

  “My husband and I have a band. He plays laptop and I play a guitar.”

  The phrase playing laptop is something I’ll never get used to. Somehow, the laptop became an actual instrument in the 2030s, which goes to show you just how bad music has become.

  “I’m not gonna lie,” Zedic says on the tail end of a yawn, “I’m straight up tired. My gig didn’t finish until eleven due to Baltimore’s sound curfew and then I had a few drinks with some friends and now I’m here … if you get my drift.”

  “So you’re drunk?”

  “A little.”

  “Good, I’ll catch up.”

  Rocket shits a brick. “This morning’s dive is very important! Ray Steampunk may know more about Tritania and … ”

  I wave his concern away. “We’ll be fine. Our tiger mom is currently at the hospital, meaning a good morning brew and a briefing is in order. Did you order the swordstick yet?”

  “You’re getting a new cane?” Zedic asks with a grin. His teeth are large and white, perfectly aligned.

  “The drone should be here sometime w
ithin the next few hours,” Rocket says. “I billed Aunt Samantha as you said.”

  “Don’t worry; it’s an early Christmahanukwanzivus gift from Frances. Totally her idea,” I say, winking at Rocket.

  One step into the conference room and I’m greeted by the pleasant smell of sizzled bacon, greasy sausage, fried eggs and crisped potatoes. Nothing like a little cholesterol to jumpstart your day – I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

  “Looks like you’ve already started.”

  “I like my breakfast hot,” Zedic says as he returns to his chair. He stabs a hunk of pancake and stuffs it in his mouth.

  “Rocket, you getting a plate?” I call out.

  “No,” he says as he slides into the room. “I already ate my breakfast.”

  “Nuts?”

  “Organic peanut butter on gluten-free bread.”

  “You on a diet or something?” I ask him.

  Rocket picks up a McStarbucks coffee cup, holds it with both hands. “I was an obese child.”

  “Weren’t we all?” I ask as I shovel scrambled eggs onto my plate.

  “I wasn’t,” Zedic says with his mouthful.

  “I was two hundred pounds overweight by the age of thirteen,” Rocket explains. “I got my stomach stapled, changed my diet, and poof.” He turns, showing me his thin frame. “Now I look more like an Indian man.”

  “Indian man?” I ask as I drizzle my pancakes with syrup.

  “Have you been to India?” he asks.

  “Nope, I’ll be staying Stateside for the foreseeable future.”

  “Most of the men are thin. Well, not all, but most.”

  “I don’t plan to go to Asia anytime soon. I do enough traveling in my own country.” I glance around the table, noticing that something is awry. “Rocket, beer me. You too?”

  Zedic nods. “Let’s do this.”

  “Yes! Sorry, I forgot. Beers in the fridge. You sure you don’t want coffee?”

  “Maybe later.”

  Rocket catapults out of the door and I turn to Zedic. “Is he always this hyper?”

  “His name fits him more and more every day.”

  “That reminds me,” I say, thinking of the first time I saw Zedic in his dive vat. “Where’s your divemate?”

  “Sophia is in California. She had a family emergency.”

  “Everyone all right?”

  “Everyone’s fine; just another round of eligible suitors.”

  “Huh?”

  “Her parents are second generation Americans and her relatives are always trying to find her a husband in China. Her family is rich-rich-rich, so they actually fly the bachelors out.”

  “Sounds terrible.”

  “It’s not that bad,” he explains. “She just tells her parents no and they get angry, write her off, forgive her, and then look for more guys for her to marry.”

  “Yikes. She single?” I ask as I saw into my pancake. One fluffy, tender, butter-and-syrup drenched bite later and I’m in heaven.

  “About the only thing Sophia could date would be a Humandroid – she’s a perfectionist.”

  “More than Frances?”

  “Please,” Zedic says. “Frances is like you compared to Sophia.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Rocket bursts into the conference room with two small beers.

  “Dammit! What is with the small beers lately? Something happen in the last eight years or something?” My eyes drop to the beer and from there to an FDA label on the side of the ice-cold can. “FDA again?”

  “Yeah,” Rocket says, “only eight ounce beers are sold from midnight to six.”

  “Well, you better bring two more then.”

  ~*~

  “Tritania is a fantasy world based on three floating continents,” Rocket explains.

  “In the sky?”

  “Yes. Travel between the continents is done by airships, dragons and griffins. You have to be at a certain level to travel to the next continent. Some people have wings, but this seems to only be people on the northern continent, Ultima Thule.”

  “That’s the name?” I ask.

  “The northern continent is called Ultima Thule, the middle continent is called Polynya, the southern continent is called Hyperborea.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “I researched the names,” he explains excitedly. “All are former names for the North Pole.”

  “Where Santa lives?”

  Zedic laughs at this.

  Rocket continues, “The capital cities of each continent are named after the Three Musketeers. So for Ultima Thule, the capital city is Athos; for Polynya, the capital city is Porthos; for Hyperborea, the capital city is Aramis.”

  “Should I be taking notes?”

  “Don’t worry, Quantum, I’ll be there to remind you of names and stuff. Oh yeah, I almost forgot: the people of Ultima Thule have their own language called Thulean. The other continents speak English and/or Thulean. So there’s that too … ”

  Zedic asks, “They have an in-game language?”

  “Yes, but English is spoken as well. As I said before, Thulean people have wings – not all but some – and their own language that they can use to speak to one another. There are NPC giants too, on Polynya.”

  “Giants now? Why do I feel like we’re getting in way over our heads?”

  Zedic asks, “How are we supposed to communicate with them?”

  “Easy,” Rocket says, “I have a dictionary and I took a crash course in Thulean grammar last night. Again, most people just speak English, but some players refuse to speak anything but Thulean, and some of the magic is done with Thulean words.”

  “Why do we need to go to Steam?” I ask as I thoroughly enjoy the savory pork and sage sausage, and chase it with the eight ounce, frosty-cold barley pop. Yummy in my tummy is an understatement. Just to be polite, I belch into my napkin rather than just uncork it like I usually do.

  “Because we need to know where to look,” Rocket explains. “Tritania is big and with three floating continents, we could be there for a while searching for Godsick’s son. Maybe, just maybe, Ray Steampunk will have some info that can give us a leg up.”

  “Alrighty,” I say, turning to Zedic. “Have you been to Steam before?”

  “I was there before you,” he says as he finishes his puny eight ounce beer. I can see my reflection in his sunglasses, which is slightly unsettling. “Once you came out of your digital coma, I took a different assignment.”

  “So you’re familiar with the asshattery there? Good.”

  “Ah, Steam isn’t so bad,” Zedic laughs. “You should see Barbie World!”

  Chapter Four

  The familiar Brian Eno tone tells me that I’m about to do what I’ve – apparently – been put on this earth to do: dive to different worlds, kick ass and take names. Too much? The sixteen ounces of beer I’ve just chugged beg to differ. Nothing wrong with confidence as long as one can back it up. Unfortunately, I can’t back it up in the world I hail from, which gives me that much more reason to dive.

  “You’re going to spawn in Locus again,” Rocket says.

  “Can’t you put us on Ray’s airship?”

  “No,” he says, “just like last time.”

  “Well hell.”

  “He already knows you’re coming. He’ll meet you at Machinery Hall.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Sine waves appear on my NV Visor. I’m familiar with the drill, but I try to stay awake a second longer every time. I want to experience the exact moment in which I move from one world to the next, from one form of existence to another. No can do. My rapidly blinking eyes succumb to the hypnotic waves and soon, I’m drifting off like a baby with a tummy full of WalMacy’s Fair Trade Sustainably Produced De-Caf Vegan Kosher Halal Gluten-Free Ersatz Soy Pabulum.

  ~*~

  Zedic Woods materializes in front of me. He’s ready to give orders in his captain’s uniform with gold l
ace and flashy epaulets. A cravat is tucked into the front of his shirt and there’s a Steam Pack already on his back. The two moons of the world are present as always, as is the twilight orange tint to everything, and thin gray coal smoke above our heads.

  “Here we go again,” I say.

  “You have a golden player indicator?” Zedic asks.

  “Ray hooked me up.”

  I turn towards Machinery Hall which looks like the fusion of an enormous steam engine and The Royal Albert Hall. Large shafts come out of the engine and into the ground, giving the entire structure the appearance of a mechanical spider.

  “Where’s the door?”

  “There.” Zedic nods to a stairwell that sinks into the ground.

  “What is Ray Steampunk’s deal with being inside something?” I ask as we move to the stairwell. “Maybe he didn’t have enough blankets when he was a child.”

  “Or his NPC avatar could simply be trying to keep up with appearances.”

  “You knew about that?”

  Rocket: I told him.

  The stairs leading underground are cut from marble, the walls host to a wide variety of gears arranged to look like budding flowers – rusty oranges, polished gold, pewter finishes, pirate ship browns, verdigrised brass. After walking two or three stories down, we come to a door made of bronze, which opens before I can knock.

  The entire underground bunker is crafted from metal with billeted corners. Our footsteps echo as we advance, which makes the place seem more cavernous than it is. The end of the hallway looms into view and soon, we step out onto a balcony overlooking a mammoth machine with plunging arms, fine-toothed gears and nodding cranks.

  “Down here,” Ray Steampunk says. I track the sound to the golden indicator over his slicked back hair. He’s in his armor like last time, standing like a statue of a Soviet Man of The Socialist Future, arms behind his back.

  Gears whirr and clank as a gangway is extended to our balcony.

  “Impressive?” Ray asks as we make our descent. His mouth doesn’t move when he speaks, which is almost as creepy as it is annoying.

  “I guess. It’s just a big engine, right?”

  He shakes his head. “Not any engine, Quantum. This one is modeled after the Centennial Steam Engine, which powered the 1876 World’s Fair. It was constructed by an American engineer named George Corliss and it supplied free steam power to the fair through a network of underground shafts. This is the heart of Locus; it powers everything.” He points to the corners of the room. “I’m assuming you saw the shafts outside?”