Rocket: Okay.
“One last thing. As promised, I have something that will greatly help you in Tritania.”
“What’s that?” I ask, seeing my reflection in the NPC’s dark eyes.
“A dragon, the same dragon I used when I took part in the world. There’s only one problem, however.”
“Yes?”
“The dragon is held captive by a group of orcs in Hyperborea, the southernmost continent.”
“Surely you can’t be serious.”
Ray smiles. “I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley.” He continues, “Since Tritania is a quest-based world, it is very hard to give ownership of an item from one person to the next. Even transferring something as simple as a weapon requires the initiation of a quest or some type of agreement. Once you login, you’ll see that I already have a quest ready for you. Rescue Mirror from the Cape of Chuckchis.”
“Mirror?”
“My dragon,” Ray Steampunk says. “It’s the only way to get to the next continent, Polynya. Well, that and experience points, but I’m sure you’ll be able to round up some EXP doing what you do best.”
“Which is?” I ask.
“Causing trouble, flagrantly disobeying the rules and winning the fights you inevitably start.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Ray.”
He smiles again.
Chapter Six
Goodbye Steam, hello real world. Goodbye Quantum, hello goodbye. Good night feedback, good day to you all. A spark of hope in the darkest of places; honey dripping from the barrel of a gun – I awake on the other side of time with a plastic taste in my mouth.
Feedback ripples, beelines through my skull and I ignore it, ignore the sound of the fall and the circumstance rendered in pixels and concepts of existence. I awake happy to be trapped in the moment, the dive vat, my own skin, my avatar’s morphing form. I am what I eat and all I eat is pancakes.
“I’m get you in a moment, Zedic, I’m unhooking Q first.” Rocket busies himself with my rig while I adjust to the harsh light on the other side of my eyelids. A blinking iNet message reminds me of where I am. As soon as my hand is free, I use my finger to access the message.
Frances Euphoria: Where are you? When are you coming back?
Another message beeps, this one from the Fat Nazis. Somehow, they’ve managed to get around my toxic spam folder. Breakfasts Under 300 Calories: Lose Weight on Autopilot through These Easy Breakfast Concoctions (Sponsored By the Soylent Agriglut Health Foods Conglomerate). Rabbit food ad? Delete.
“I need to go,” I say, as soon as the breathing tube is out of my mouth.
“Shower first?”
“After that.”
Zedic says, ‘aren’t we diving to Tritania today?”
“I need to go through the data that Ray Steampunk is sending me,” Rocket says, his voice loud in my ear. “It will take me a few hours as there are several gigs worth of information. Dungeon schematics, secret passages, basics.”
“So that’s a no?”
“Yes,” Rocket says, “tomorrow. You two were supposed to meet with the CWO today, but he has to get ready for a poultry exhibition.”
“Our Cyber-warfare operative is getting ready for a poultry exhibition?” I ask.
“Yes, he raises endangered, heritage breed geese. And de-extincted Phorusrhacids, but he doesn’t show those. He finds it relaxing; he likes birds better than people.”
“Where is he exactly?”
“Gun Barrel City,” Zedic says. “In Texas.”
“Of course it’s in Texas. Where else would it be?” I run my hand through my hair to strip away some of the vat goo. “Let’s get some rest for today and reconvene tomorrow. I’d like to visit Frances anyhow. We can go to Tritania first thing in the morning.”
I look over at Zedic, watching Rocket unhook him. His sarcophagus dive vat is similar to mine, sleek in design and bolted to the floor.
“You sure, Quantum?” Rocket asks.
“Yeah, we could all use some rest. I barely slept last night.”
“Same here.” Zedic wipes some gel off his face. “But I have a gig tonight too, so let’s not start so early tomorrow.”
“A gig?” I ask as I flex my fingers. The vat liquid is sticky between my fingertips. I rub them together until I can feel my own skin again.
“Yeah, at a bar called Paddy’s Pub.”
“You’re kidding.”
As I recall, Paddy’s Pub is the same place that my ass was handed to me, boxed, wrapped and topped with a pretty pink bow, just a few days ago.
“Nope, Paddy’s Pub – the one and only.”
“That’s near my hotel.”
“You should come,” he says. “I’ll put you on the list.”
“Can I come?” Rocket asks.
“You have work to do, Rocket,” I remind him. “Besides, it’s a bar and like most bars, you have to be a certain age to enter.”
“I got you, Rocket,” Zedic says. “I’ll put you on the list too. The door guy is my friend. No booze though.”
“Really! All right, sure! I have most the day, so I can get the research done for Tritania.”
“That settles it then,” I say as I lift myself out of the vat. “I’ll see you two tonight.”
“Don’t forget your new cane!” Rocket nods at a rectangular box in the corner.
~*~
Shower away. I double up on the scrub-a-dub due to the fact I didn’t bathe last night. No sense in being a stinky bastard said the stinky bastard. With all the choice spots sparkling, I towel off and hop into the same clothes I wore yesterday.
“Time to open my early Christmahanukwanzivus present,” I say as I enter the Dream Team’s dive room. “I think mummies are wrapped less than this.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Rocket says. The Dream Team monitor is at his station using the subcutaneous finger sensor to scroll through some of the documents Ray sent him.
The end of the package meets the tip of my teeth and I try to get her open the old fashion way. “Damn filament shipping tape,” I say after a minute or so of nibbling at the package. Zedic appears, his sunglasses on again.
“Need some help? Let me access my inventory list.” Zedic pulls out a Swiss army knife attached to his keychain and gives the package a quick discectomy.
“I feel like a kid at Christmahanukwanzivus!” I say as I tear away the bubble wrap. One tug of the handle and the blade emerges.
“Damn, is that thing even legal?” Zedic asks, his eyebrows pressing above the frames of his sunglasses.
“United Cutlery Commando Survival Cane, item number 1 in my real world inventory list,” I announce proudly. The cold halogen light above us reflects off the blade, giving it a sheen that would bring a tear to a samurai’s eye. “A carbon steel blade hand forged in Kyoto,” I tell Zedic as I lift the blade in the air. “Worthy of anointing!”
“Man, you gotta be careful with that thing,” he says, laughing.
“With great power comes great responsibility.” I tilt the swordstick sideways. It hits my palm and I offer it to Zedic. “Care to give it a whirl?”
He takes it from me and twists it in the air. “You crazy, Quantum, seriously.”
“No, I’m just overly cautious. Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after me.”
“But for real though, are you sure you can use this thing, I mean…” he hands it back to me, blade facing down. “The real world is different than the Proxima Galaxy.”
“The point in having this weapon isn’t to use it,” I tell him as I stick it back in its sheath that doubles as a cane. “The point is to never have to use it, but to be ready if necessary. Just like a concealed handgun license.”
“A what?” he scratches the back of his head. “Oh yeah, what they still have in the South.”
“Other states too,” Rocket says, distracted by what he is doing. “Arkansas, Mississippi, Oklahoma, Texas, Arizona and New Mexico.”
“Consider this
my concealed weapon. Mum’s the word, got it?”
“Just be careful with it,” Zedic says. “You’ve already got enough problems with the detectives.”
“Oh! That reminds me,” Rocket says. “The F-BIIG will be here tomorrow morning to get another statement from you.”
“F-BIIGie piggies … ”
“Your lawyer will be here as well.” Rocket reaches for an energy drink in front of him and takes a big pull from it.
“Dammit, I told Frances that I don’t need a lawyer!”
“And she told me that you promised you’d lawyer up if she bought you that swordstick.”
My mouth comes open and snaps shut. Touché, Frances, touché.
~*~
The closest florist to the Hopkins Medical Center is on the rooftop of a twelve story building. The invention of aeros and sky-based transportation has shifted businesses skyward. Sure, they’re still street level – you can’t swing a cat without getting pussy on the oversized window of a McStarbucks – but smart investors purchased rooftops starting in the 2030s, which has gone on to create the real estate term empty building, used when the entire building is vacant aside from its rooftop.
“I’ll just be a second,” I tell the Humandroid taxi driver.
“Waiting charges apply,” he reminds me.
I get the urge to test out my new swordstick but I swallow it down. “Real world,” I remind myself as I step out of the taxi. “Real world.”
The sheer, overpowering, concentrated virulence of the Toxic Floral Tsunami that rolls out the open door and engulfs me makes my eyes itch and burn and my nose run like an eternal fountain of mucous.
The wide variety of flowers, flown in from the far reaches of globe, are very telling of humanity – we’ll spend thousands upon thousands of dollars to fly in fresh roses from Peru for Valentine’s Day but we can’t help the same Peruvian families struggling to get a leg up on a planet where third world is slowly becoming fourth world due to the disparities between developed and developing countries. Will the favelas of Brazil or the slums of India or the shanty towns of Africa ever catch up to the countries with flying cars and technology that would make twentieth century science fiction writers drool like fanboys? Likely not, and because of this, Proxima Worlds continue to propagate. If the twentieth century was one of great wars and unheard of advancement, the twenty-first will be one of escapism and corporatocracies.
“What would you like?” The man behind the counter asks. Scratch that – he’s Humandroid too.
“Damn, you people are everywhere.”
“Pardon?” The droid is in a green apron over an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Just something for a friend at the hospital. Whatever you got. Keep it under a fifty.”
“What type of illness?” he asks.
“Why?”
“The type of illness has a great deal of influence in flower selection,” he says. “For general illnesses, I recommend a combination of lilacs, lavender and honeysuckle. If you’ve never experienced the Zen-like feelings these flowers can create … ” his eyes nearly explode with excitement. “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s truly marvelous!”
“I’m sure it is.”
“If your loved one is suffering from post-weight gain depression, burgundy and New England blue hydrangeas are a good bet. As you may know, acid levels in the soil dictate the color – who’s to say that bubblegum pink isn’t your thing or sky blue won’t cure your loved ones’ Blues? My point – hydrangeas give you options!”
I clear my throat, but he doesn’t get the hint.
“New conditions call for new flower arrangements. For example, this year’s flu season will definitely be defined by oranges – burnt, not sherbet – and maroons. For a loved one suffering from fast food withdrawal – yes, a serious condition, I know, but no one likes spam and the FDA’s newest form of spammy health reminders can be vexing – might I suggest a red and white bouquet, spray roses interspersed with genetically modified calla lilies, something both calming and alarming at the same time. These colors are proven to put your loved one in their happy place.”
“Enough,” I tell the droid. The handle holding my cane trembles. Easy, boy. “Just give me some red ones.”
“Might I ask what your friend is suffering from? It will help in the selection process.”
“Real world physical trauma induced by NV Visor overload subsequent to a Proxima World metaphysical assault.” I say, quoting Frances’ admission summary.
“Proxima-related stress? Why didn’t you say so!?” The flower droid smiles ear to ear. “In that case, you definitely want to go with daisies and violets. Definitely. Shakespeare used these flowers in nearly one hundred of his plays. If the Bard of Avon used them, surely someone in the mid-twenty-first century would want to replicate him! But earthlier happy is a rose distilled, than that which withering on the virgin thorn grows, lives and dies in single blessedness. Wonderful!”
~*~
Daisies and violets it is.
After being dropped off at the rooftop entry point of the Hopkins Medical Center, I take the elevator to Frances’ floor only to have Nurse Ratched stop me.
“You’re here to see Ms. Euphoria?” the Humandroid asks.
“I am.”
“She’s been moved to the third floor, room three hundred thirty-nine.” Her eyes dilate as she looks at me.
“No need to scan me,” I tell her, “I’m just fine.”
“Have you been following FDA guidelines? I’ve cross-referenced the data taken from you in Cincinnati regarding your blood pressure. Would you care to take a look at it? You’ll notice that–”
“Listen, Florence Nightingale, I’m here to see my friend, not get a check-up. My body is fine, my diet is fine.”
Nurse Ratched presses the digital clipboard against her chest. “I’ve cautioned the staff about you.”
“Ooh! Cautioned the staff? Am I really that bad? I’m just trying to see a friend and deliver these flowers.” I shake the daisies and violets at her.
“Nice selection,” she says, moving past me.
I turn to say something but figure that it’d be better to save my breath. One floor up and I stop in front of Frances’ door.
Me: I’m here. You awake?
Frances: Come in.
The door pops open and I step inside. Frances Euphoria sits up in bed, her legs covered by a blanket. Several leads trail from her, and various medical equipment softly beeps and boops and pings in the background. On her right is a haptic chair with an NV Visor hanging from a pewter knob.
“You diving?” I ask.
“Nope. This is the soon-to-be outpatient room, so it’s there if I want to use it.”
I hand her the flowers and she gives them a big whiff.
“Nice, huh?”
She smirks. “They’d be nicer if you hadn’t bought your assault commando cane there with my money.”
“What’s a couple hundred dollars between friends?” I ask. “I’ll pay you back, as soon as I get my paycheck. I do get a paycheck, don’t I?”
“Eventually,” she says. “Budget cuts went into effect right before you came out of your digital coma. The Dream Team doesn’t have enough money to pay your salary and the salaries of everyone else. That being said, we are able to write off your expenses, which will be like paying you a salary if we file it correctly. Further, we’re given government perks such as the hotel you’re staying at. Don’t worry though, you have Proxima Unemployment coming in at the end of the month.”
Proxima Unemployment is a program for people who have come out of a digital coma and can’t find work. The Proxima Company foots the bill while a person is in a coma and helps them get back on their feet after they are out (which is the least they could do).
“How long does that last?” I ask. It’s been hard to keep up with the paperwork and numbers since getting out. My brain itches every time I read another insurance statement, benefit claim statemen
t or anything loaded with lawyerese.
“Until the next budgetary session,” she says. “You’re good at least a year.”
I take a seat in the haptic chair.
“You doing all right?” she asks. Frances seems slightly loopy, as if she’s still on a few pain meds. Her hand comes out and I grab it.
“Dove to Steam today … Damn! You won’t believe what Ray gave Zedic and me.”
“What’s that?”
“Steam Enforcers.”
“Get out!” she says, shoving my hand away. Frances laughs for a moment. “I was watching this YouTube video earlier of this actress from this 1990s TV show called Seinfeld. She always said this and pushed someone. Get out! They spliced the YouTube video with pictures of kittens so it looked like she was pushing someone and then that person was turning into a kitten. Big fluffy kittens.” Her eyes dip into sorrow. “I’ve always wanted a kitten.”
“Damn, what do they have you on?”
Her hand drops back onto mine. “Get out.” she whispers.
“I can take the flowers back and bring you a little furball instead … ”
She laughs, sniffs the flowers again. “It’s okay, I’m actually allergic to cats. Not fair. I always liked cats more than dogs.” Frances pretends to drool. “Stupid dogs. My mom had six; they were terrible.”
“Say, where are your parents anyway?” I ask. I might unravel the mystery that is Frances now that she’s all loosey goosey.
“Hey, you’re not thinking about yourself for once,” she says a bit too harshly.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been out of your coma for a while now and you’ve never asked me about my parents.”
“I just thought it was a touchy subject. Besides, I noticed you listed me as next of kin, which makes the question worth exploring.”
The Feedback Loop (3-Book Box Set): (Scifi LitRPG Series) Page 36