Spicy Indian cuisine burbles and ferments like the One Ring’s final resting place. Always the gentleman, I turn away from her to liberate an involuntary gaseous eructation; my nasopharyngeal tract burns like it’s been napalmed, and it occurs to me that Bill Kilgore would not approve of this aroma.
“Who let the Frog King in here? Did you get any of that on you? You need some gum or something.” Frances waves her hand in front of her face. “Badly.”
“You’re the one who brought Indian.”
She scoots away, bends down to the floor to get her purse. I’m moved to observe that her pelvis likely has sufficient room for problem-free child bearing; I can’t stop my eyes from tracing over her well-rounded ass, somehow made rounder by the fact she’s in all-black on a cream-colored bedspread.
I close my eyes – those purveyors of illicit temptation – and imagine Dolly, recalling the countless hours we spent in each other’s arms. In my mind’s eyes I see the most recent addition to our life, the fenced-in lakeside vacation home. Should I really put so much stock in a digital relationship? The question comes and I suppress it.
France returns, lies with her head on my chest. Her hand lands on my stomach; spidering her fingers, she moves her hand past my belly button.
“Dammit, Quantum, why’d you have to get me drunk?”
“I thought it would help.”
“Help what?”
“No idea. I just … ” I bite my lip as I try to form the words. “The real world is just so boring compared to Proxima Worlds.”
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” she sits up and her hand drops even further south.
“I think about it a lot. The worlds I exist in weigh heavy on my mind.”
She laugh, kisses my cheek. “You’re so strange, you know that?”
“I’m not strange at all, Frances. I’m just like any other manchild – I require food, drink, affection and the occasional shower.”
“You don’t smell today.” She sniffs at my armpit.
“You’re the one that keeps sending me new clothes. I really need to take care of the dry-cleaning service here.”
Frances pushes her body up and over. She’s straddling me now, looking down at me as she examines me from a brand new angle. The light forms a halo around her head, casting dark shadows onto her face. She pulls off her top; her bra is black, lacy, and well-filled. With this gesture comes the soft smell of body lotion.
“Damn, Frances.”
“What? I can put it back on.”
“I don’t know. ”
“I thought about it,” she says as she drops her hands onto my stomach, “and I figure we’d better get this out of the way.”
“Get this out of the way?” I almost laugh. “Get what?”
“We’re both adults here, Quantum. It’s obvious we’re attracted to each other.”
“I know, I agree but … ”
She hiccups. “I really don’t care anymore what anyone thinks. You saved me from a Proxima World and I saved you. For years I thought about you and as soon as I saw you in The Loop, I knew that I couldn’t live without you. Gosh, that sounds stupid. You know what I mean though – I just like … like you around me.”
“I like you around me too.”
She drops down and kisses me. At this point I should be about to explode down south. Surprisingly, there’s little or no activity.
“Things are complicated for me,” I say.
“Why? Because of Dolly?”
I gulp. “Yes, because of Dolly.”
Frances sits up, thinks for a moment about what she’s going to say next. “Dolly isn’t real, Quantum, I am. Eight years is a long time to have a relationship with an NVA Seed, but when it comes down to it, she’s not a real person. She can’t do this.” Frances gyrates her hips back and forth. “You get it, you know what I mean.”
“Christ, Frances … ”
“You get me drunk and then you invite me to your room – what do you want from me? You don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what?”
“What it’s like to be with a real woman.”
“Shit, Frances … ”
The floodgates open and Quantum hydraulics suddenly occur. What happens next is something I’ll both cherish and regret for some time.
~*~
The next morning bright as sin. Frances is next to me, her body pressed into mine, skin against skin. Just seeing her stirs my groin yet again. Spooning, I slip inside her naturally and we start up. Hangovers be damned – I’m getting a second wind like I’ve just had an adrenaline shot to the ass.
Still attached, I roll onto my back and she sits up, moving fluidly, perfectly on top of me. The difference between VE sex and real world sex – apples and oranges is an understatement. Soft, wet, physical, real. Frances’ eyes close; her head tilts left, showing me the outline of her pert nose and chin. Her tongue lashes against her open lips. Our hearts beat together and we exist as one.
“Faster?” she asks.
I communicate physically. She gets the hint; keeps at it as the curve of her back rolls forward like a wave. My hand press into the flesh on her thighs, hard, harder until her skin turns red.
Pain from my lower back – I ignore it. Thoughts come but I blink them away. An iNet message lights up the inside of my eyelids but I ignore it. I was too drunk last night to remember how things played out. This time I’m all eyes, dialing my senses up so I can feel every sensation, ever fleeting moment of life on my skin. The sounds that reach my ears – a squeaking bed, Frances’ heavy breathing, my own heavy breathing, the frigid silence of the room, flesh on flesh.
Ecstasy and guilt hit me at once. I finish and Frances does as well, her entire body writhing. She’s up before I am, to the bathroom to wash up. Lying on the bed in a daze, I keep my peepers on the ceiling, my eyes darting from small flecks of paint that resemble lost galaxies. Yeah, I cheated, but is it cheating if your girlfriend is virtual? Maybe. I’ll let the trolls and GoogleFace commentators decide that. For now, I am happy. In the moment, sure, but isn’t this what life is about?
Frances returns some time later with a towel wrapped around her. She sits on the edge of the bed, opens her purse, and retrieves a small medical kit. She pulls out a ChapStick-sized container, which hisses as she presses it against her thigh.
“It’s a Plan B STD prevention injector – the Morning After Dose.” She says in answer to my questioning look. She rubs the red spot on her thigh. “It’s a contraceptive and broad spectrum protection against most STDS.”
“I don’t have an STD.”
“I know,” she says, “I’ve seen all your medical charts. Still, no babies.”
“Yeah, no babies. If we had a baby now, it would turn twenty-one in about 2080. Can you imagine what the world will be like then?”
“I try not to.” She presses her arms over her chest. “Close your eyes.”
“What? You’re shy all the sudden?”
“The shower sobered me up a bit. If we’re going to do this, we should be professional about it.”
I almost snort out a laugh, but am interrupted by a knock at the door. Frances opens it with the chain attached, takes two Hangover Overs from a hotel courtesy staff droid in the hallway. She tosses one onto the bed.
Standing in front of me and giving me a clear view of her backside, she quickly chugs her beverage. “We need to get to the office; Zedic and Rocket will be waiting for us. Special agents too, but the lawyer can handle them.”
“I never told you,” I say, watching her change anyway, “but you were right about the lawyer. He sure had those two dipshits by their balls yesterday.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Rocket,” I say as I enter the conference room. “Zedic.”
“Morning, Quantum. Morning, Frances.” Zedic places his elbow on the table, blinks quickly as he does something over iNet.
“Breakfast?” I ask.
“It should be here any moment,” Rocket say
s. He has a fresh sack of organic fair trade ethically-sourced cashews in front of him called Nature’s Nuts. I don’t know how good they taste, but the name makes the ten-year-old inner child in me stifle a laugh. Will I ever be mature enough not to laugh at vague references to human naughty bits? Let’s hope not.
Frances says, “All right. On the agenda today is getting Ray Steampunk’s dragon from a group of orcs off the Cape of Chukchis. From there, we’ll be able to go to the next continent, Hyperborea.”
“This is why I love my job.” I wink at Frances and she ignores it.
“Are you diving with us?” Zedic asks Frances.
“Not until next Monday. The doctor wants me to stay clear of VE dreamworlds for a few days. I’ll be monitoring, though.”
“Breakfast is here.” Rocket zips out of the room.
“I wish I had that type of energy,” I say as the door slams shut.
“Rocket was up all night leveling up his Tritania avatar,” Zedic explains.
“He’s diving with us today?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“What class did he choose?”
“Ninja Healer. He has the same reconnaissance ability as Aiden but his primary function is healing. People with healer as their main class can do a lot more than just heal a party. They can cure other ailments as well as counteract hexes cast by enemies.”
“Ninja Healer,” I say as soon as Rocket enters with a sack of breakfast burritos. “Good job.”
“Thanks, Big Daddy Q.” He gives me the biggest grin he can muster, and I let Big Daddy Q slide as I slam sausage, egg, potato, onion, bell pepper, cheese and tangy salsa wrapped in a warm, fluffy flour tortilla down my neck.
Rocket winks and hands me an eight ounce beer under the table.
All is right with the world.
~*~
A breakfast of champions commences and with any luck the hacks that Rocket has set up on my iNet account will keep the FDA off my ass this time around. Down the hatch breakfast goes with all the greasy caloric goodness I can pack in before my dive. Every time I look at Frances I see her naked, which is something I’ll have to suppress sooner or later. Still, while the memory is fresh, I might as well enjoy it.
My favorite F-BIIGie piggies show up and I’m just about to give them the one finger salute when Frances grabs my hand.
Frances Euphoria: Behave. This isn’t a Proxima World.
Me: Got it. If it were a Proxima World, I would have already used my Reason Railgun, item 459, to do what their mothers should have done long ago.
Frances Euphoria: (Sigh) You’re an idiot sometimes, you know that?
Me: Personally, I like my own company.
“Mr. Hughes,” Special Agent O’Brian steps forward, huffing like an asthmatic walrus with emphysema. Fit and ready for his Waffen SS recruiting poster close up, Agent Reynolds stands behind him in a knit tie and a MacDouchebag tartan plaid shirt, a vomitous compilation of fluorescent crosshatched colors that would render poorly on a holoscreen. Styles from the 2010s have come back into style with the hip and trendy, which just goes to show that slavishly following eye-searingly bad, utterly tasteless fashion is indeed a multi-generational phenomena.
“Heya fellas,” I say, and give them the biggest look what I can do grin I can conjure up. “We already ate breakfast, and it was good too. But there’s still some cold coffee in there if you want it. My lawyer should be here any moment.”
“We’ll need to get your statement soon.” Reynolds steps in front of the sweaty, malodorous, calorically-enhanced Sir Oinksalot. I almost feel sorry for him – he must receive five hundred messages a day from his FDA monitor.
“That’s right, Mr. Hughes.” Agent O’Brian says, “We’ll need a statement soon.”
I clear my throat. “Here’s a statement – the conference room is in the same place as it was yesterday. Try not to smudge up any of the furniture while you’re in there and if you have any questions, my lawyer will be more than happy to answer them for you. It’s been great, gentlemen, truly, but I have a dragon to capture and you two have a wild goose to chase.”
~*~
A dive vat is where I feel most at home. Questions of my humanity surface; questions of existence to commence – I am nothing more than a quirky quark, theoretically alive through experimental confirmation. The breathing tube mouthpiece rubs against my gums; the sound of Frances adjusting something on my dive vat is conducted through the tank gel.
“You ready?” she asks. “Rocket and Zedic are already in.”
I give her the thumbs up.
Her hand brushes against my face. “I had fun with you last night.”
I give her the thumbs up again.
Stars and hexagons surface from within the deepest reservoir of my skull; a band of light prisms through me, loops backwards as my viewing frustum rotates counterclockwise. Logic gates Toffoli as X becomes Y. Pure spectral color courtesy of Roy G. Biv reminds me that Everybody Hurts despite the overbearing weight of entropy.
Binary finality never adds up.
~*~
A tone and a bright flashing banner inform me that I’ve increased ten levels. Zedic has seen his banner, and gives me a grin and a thumbs-up. Rocket is dressed to the nines in his Foot Clan ninja garb complete with jika-tabi. His black silk balaclava conceals all of his face save his eyes, which glitter with excitement. His two ninjato swords cross behind him at waist level, which will make sitting an interesting proposition, and a selection of throwing stars are tucked into a wide leather belt.
“Not quite Snake Eyes or Kylo Ren,” I tell him as I equip my Buster Sword and my armor, “but a lot better than a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger.”
“Who? Mighty Morphin what?” he asks. We’ve spawned smack-dab in the middle of a big city, much larger than the town Zedic and I visited yesterday.
“GoogleFace it,” I tell him as I turn to Zedic. “So, Aramis? That’s where we’re at, right?”
“Sure is. I’ve already contacted Veenure; she’ll be here momentarily.”
“Good. I’ll call the rest of the crew.” My hand comes up and I scroll to Dolly’s Seed, item 556. The seed appears in my hands and …
Does nothing.
“Shouldn’t it be floating by now?” Rocket takes a step closer to me.
“That’s funny, it always worked before. Any thoughts, Frances?” I look up in the air.
Frances Euphoria: Try tossing it up.
“That won’t do anything.” I shake the seed, which is about twice as large as a Cadbury Egg. “Hello, Dolly, Aiden, are you in there?”
Zedic laughs, places his hand across his face. “I don’t think that will work.”
“Maybe they’re busy,” Rocket suggests.
“Hmmm … ” As I run my fingers over the seed, images of what happened between Frances and me play in my mind’s eye. Could Dolly know? Impossible.
“You planning on pawning that?”
I spin around to find Veenure, her hood covering her face and her green eyes shining beneath.
“I can’t call the rest of our guild, you know, the NPCs.”
“It happens sometimes.” She nods at Rocket. “Who’s he?”
“Rocket.”
“Is he part of the guild now?” she asks.
“Yes,” says Zedic, “although we need to formally offer him membership. I wanted to wait until you were here to do that.”
“Thoughtful.” Veenure takes a few stiff steps towards Rocket, gives him the once-over, rolls her head left and right while she thinks. “All right, he’s a noob, noober than you two, but he’ll help. I’ve never been in a party with a Ninja Healer before.”
A small banner rimmed in gold appears in front of Rocket; he quickly accepts membership into the Knights of Non Compos Mentis.
“So we have four?” Veenure says, “against an unknown number of orcs.”
“What about Chrono?” I ask. “Maybe he’d like to join us.”
The blacksmith who made our armor seemed like
a pretty tough guy. He was stocky, that’s for sure.
“I’ll send him a message. From my experience, Chrono will join any party that’s going to a location with exotic ores.”
“Is the Cape of Chukchis known for its exotic ores?” I ask.
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
~*~
While the four of us wait in a park in the central district of Aramis, I spot dragons flying overhead carrying their wares, hear the voices of vendors calling out specials at a nearby market, see countless people of all shapes and sizes and creeds. The ground rumbles as carts pulled by Mûmakil make their way through the bustling city of Aramis.
Chrono walks up pimped out in more armor than the Mk XI Hulkbuster. Zangief’s brother from a different mother brandishes a pair of silver blacksmith hammers, bows slightly as his handle appears: Chrono Lv. 28 Berserker Shield.
“Damn, you’re almost at level thirty,” I say.
“Thank you.” He turns once, hoping we’ll admire his armor.
“Sorry,” Zedic says, “none of us are metalheads.”
“Made mostly from Carbonadium,” he explains.
He pauses to see if the name registers – it doesn’t. “Carbonadium is a form of Adamantium developed in the Marvel Universe by the former USSR. Ever heard of Omega Red?”
“I’ve heard of Omega Jaguar NRG Bev,” says Rocket.
“Isn’t that the stuff that boosted the Paraguayan Economy into First World status?” Zedic asks.
“Yup, until it was banned by the WHO because the stuff was about twenty times more likely to cause cancer than processed meat, tanning beds, tobacco, M&M’s and DunkinKing’s organic trans-fat-free jumbo cranberry scones combined. Combined.”
Chrono huffs, “Okay, so no one knows who Omega Red is. Fine.”
“Easy big guy,” I say, “seemingly unrelated rants are expected at this level in the game. Did you ever use that metal we brought you yesterday?”
“The Octiron? Yeah, I tried, but apparently I need a higher grade of Orichalcum to successfully bond it.”
The Feedback Loop (3-Book Box Set): (Scifi LitRPG Series) Page 46