Cat's Quest

by Roman Prokofiev

  “We’re ninety-percent certain. Going by the weird messages in the system logs, it is somehow linked to the procedural generator.” Ashot Agasyan shook his head.

  “Yamato, I don’t see your marketing head here. Where is she?”

  “She...couldn’t attend. She’s out of town with her family.”

  “Fire the incompetent wretch. A newbie who finds a magic sword is the perfect opportunity to draw in millions of new players. You could have turned this into publicity rather than a problem. You should have reached out to him instead of banning...”

  “As project lead, I take responsibility for the mistake,” Yoshiko said, bowing.

  “Stop it. It’s not funny. I hope you realize what kind of money I’m talking about. Your task is to restore Sphere to working order, as soon as possible! If you unblock the player with that item, will it solve the glitch?”

  “I’m afraid, it’s not that simple,” Yamato said, shaking his head. “The procedural generator simply won’t start. There is one way, but I don’t like it.”

  “What is it?”

  “A rollback. We back up game state twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. If we try booting Sphere from the latest backup point, it might fix the problem.”

  “Then I don’t see why you haven’t done that yet.”

  “Mister Agasyan, if we rollback Sphere, we’ll lose all changes made after the backup point. All unlocked achievements, cleared dungeons, obtained items—everything will disappear. Can you imagine how that would affect the game’s reputation? We’ll be lambasted! Eaten alive! The players will be hysterical!” The Armenian wiped the sweat off his forehead and stared at the Japanese man.

  “Are you serious? The future of the project is at stake, and you’re talking about reputation? We don’t have time. Solve the glitch, compensate the players for their losses however you want, give them gifts and bonuses, preferably in-game, of course. You could grant everyone a week’s free playing.”

  “I’m afraid a week won’t cut it.”

  “Well, that’s your problem. Deal with it—that’s what you’re here for. But Sphere must be up and running, as soon as possible!”

  * * *

  Ashot Agasyan disappeared into the leather depths of his premium Turbo Air, and his stout companion jumped into the driver’s seat, pressing his thumb against the car control sensor. The engine purred, in barely more than a whisper. Security officers boarded the other cars, identical black Turbos, preparing to move out of the campus in a New Tokyo suburb that housed the Sphere of the Worlds project.

  “Wait, Yuri. I want to talk to you.”

  “Yes, Ashot. I’m listening.”

  The broad-shouldered, middle-aged man was Agasyan’s chief of security. They had known each other since the old days, when the grass was green. They had run together in the same circles of Moscow’s street-racers, the children of the elite. Yuri had been a student at the FSB Academy back then, while Ashot—not yet Mr. Agasyan—was the son of a major player in one of the megacorps.

  Yet, times had changed, and that old country disappeared from the map, giving birth to a new one. In an ecology-crazy world, hydrocarbon made less money than VR games, and that’s what Ashot had invested in. After one of the cleansings, Yuri’s career in the agencies that must not be named was suddenly over. Ashot could not let such a fine professional get away, and so, the childhood friends were reunited.

  “Yuri, you know that an uncontrollable project is shit. We can’t know what could happen next. We should get rid of it.”

  “You want to sell Sphere? Finding a buyer for a project of this class won’t be easy. But I suspect you’ll have to spend some time doing that.”

  “You may be surprised, but I’ve already gotten an offer.”

  “Hmm. Really?”

  “Yes. And for a sum much less than the project’s real value.”

  “Interesting... From whom?”

  “Some venture fund. I don’t know who’s behind it yet. That’s not important, though. It’s as if they knew, we would run into problems with the game and put a line out. Yuri, do you get what I’m saying?”

  “You think it’s the competition?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ashot, I’ve already told you—this story with Balabanov is fishy.”

  “You’re talking about the missing data?”

  “Exactly. Nothing can disappear completely without trace! I suspect the info was purged intentionally.”

  “Sabotage? But Yuri, you looked into that, didn’t you? You didn’t find anything.”

  “True. But I've got an instinct about these things. I’m telling you, this case stinks.”

  “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “I do. Send me the info on that venture fund, and I’ll try and find the beneficiaries. I’ll pull a string.”

  “One more thing, Yuri. Are you watching that Japanese guy? Lately, his behavior’s been a bit odd.”

  “I’ve had my eye on that samurai for a long time. My people inside his team are watching him. So far, it’s all right.”

  “On our side, but are you following his in-game actions?

  “Hmm. No. That’s my oversight. I’ll arrange it, Ashot.”

  “Do that. Keep him on a tight leash. Inform me of the slightest provocation.”

  * * *

  It was morning, and I could barely force myself to open my eyes and wake up. Outside, dawn was breaking. My communicator was beeping, where I had left it on the nightstand, as always. Something had happened again, this time at night. It was a message from the Watchers’ operative channel.

  ATTENTION ALL!

  BREAKING NEWS FROM THE OFFICIAL SITE!

  ROLLBACK!

  THE GAME WILL BE STARTED FROM THE MOST RECENT BACKUP: 05.05, 00:00 NT, 21:00 Moscow!

  SPHERE WILL BE UP FROM 3:00 MOSCOW TODAY!

  PLEASE GO ONLINE! KOMTUR.

  I looked at the clock. The numbers 2:37 were shining on the screen. A rollback? I had encountered this kind of thing before. It meant that the game would be started from a backup point, and everything that had happened after that point would automatically be rolled back, canceling all changes and subsequent progress.

  Hmm, what were we doing at nine o’clock yesterday evening? I struggled to remember the exact time I had exited the game, but it was probably around one. Working on that assumption, at nine, the battle would have been in full swing.

  So, not all is lost! We can replay the battle, save the Err, the city, and Weldy? Not me, though. My account’s banned. All I can do is rely on the guys. But what if I try?

  I had no idea whether these things were connected, or whether the rollback would cancel my ban.

  2:48. There was no harm in trying. I got out of bed.

  “Oleg, where are you going, honey?” Alena raised her sleepy head, as I started to carefully untangle myself from her arms.

  “Have you lost your mind?” She mumbled, watching me climb inside the capsule. Then she made a cuckoo sign, turned around, and burrowed herself in the pillows, returning to sleep.

  ENTERING THE GAME...

  It worked! I was standing on dry yellow grass, breathing in the air of Sphere with gusto. My ears were ringing with battle cries, and a large cavalry was caught in a deadly battle only a hundred yards away. What was happening? What moment of battle was this? Were the forces of Eyre already retreating in defeat or not yet?

  I looked around but didn’t see anybody. The Watchers raid had three, no, already four icons lit—the others were probably still asleep. Actually, there weren’t many players on the battlefield. One dragon rider from the Pandas dashed above me in the air, but I did not notice anyone else. It made sense. Three o’clock, Moscow Time, meant six in New Tokyo, and everyone was sleeping like a baby. Only the most stubborn players would set their alarms to enter the game at such a time. The admins had not picked the best time to turn the servers back on. I wondered why.

  Bang! I started in surprise. A square-shoulder
ed, red-bearded dwarf landed beside me, a double axe in his hands. A second later, just a few steps away, Valkyria appeared out of thin air. She was tense, crouched in an archer’s pose, her bow drawn.

  “Hi Cat,” Flame boomed. “And they said you were banned!” Valkyria, on the other hand, simply smiled at me. There was no time to waste. A wave of riders poured down on us, bristling with sharp spears. We soon got swept up and separated, lost in a sea of green cloaks, shining armor, and horse rumps covered in chainmail mesh. Grandees surrounded us, filling the space in between with clashing steel, bared horse teeth, and the barley ear pattern on capes and tabards.

  “Players! Help us!” General Laort came forth. “We’re trying to cover our Err’s retreat! The people need him! He must survive!”

  You are offered a quest: Save the Err!

  Note, this quest is classified as faction, epic! Refusing it will significantly decrease your reputation with the faction!

  General Laort asks you to save Endved Elyon, the Err of the Eyre Nation.

  Success conditions: Endved Elyon must return to Dan-na-Eyre alive.

  Reward: reputation, information, (varies).

  Note: number of quest participants unlimited.

  He had just given us the same quest, again. That meant that the nightmare with our defeat, the Err’s fall, Pandas taking the slaves, Weldy—everything could be fixed! We just had to prevent PROJECT HELL from getting to the Crown of Eyre! Fate was giving us a second chance. We joined the new raid, which already had fifteen Watchers, then connected to the voice channel. Komtur’s commanding voice rumbled in our ears.

  Komtur: ...double DKP for this raid! Thank you, Watchers!

  Komtur: Everyone, report your status. I’ve got a visual on the enemy.

  I jinxed it. Even the early hours and the May holidays didn’t help us. Those madmen couldn’t not be waiting—their alerts no doubt worked at least as well as ours. In less than five minutes, the astral ship appeared on the horizon, once again, surrounded by a swarm of birdies. Another swarm of dragon riders descended upon the battlefield.

  Our raid already had thirty players. Or was it still thirty? It didn’t matter; the only thing I knew was that the Watchers had no chance of surviving direct combat.

  I made a decision. Over the past few days, something had changed inside me. Now, I knew—here, in the world of Sphere, everyone was out for themselves. I could not trust anybody. I could only rely on myself and my own strength. I had to save Weldy and Eyre from destruction, and there was only one way to do that: prevent PROJECT HELL from seizing the Err’s Crown.

  Subordination be damned, I linked Komtur the newly received quest via a PM and jumped into the saddle. Just as before, the Err and a small group of riders separated off from the others and headed into the forest, while the majority, headed by Laort, encircled us, preparing to defend themselves.

  I followed the Err. A message appeared in the chat,

  Valkyria: Cat, where are you going?

  HotCat: To save the Err! Are you with me?

  Looking over my shoulder, I saw Ivan and Maria following in my footsteps. Good; that would make things easier.

  The Err’s group—he was a great mark to follow, in his gleaming full plate and golden cloak—clashed against the Dyrian cavalry who outnumbered them, and a battle ensued. Bent over Snowflake’s mane, I urged her to gallop while pulling Aelmaris from the sheath.

  * * *

  When the defense crumbled and the infantry turned to run, it was clear that the battle was lost. Having forfeited the strings of command over the army, all Endved and his commanders could do was watch their own defeat. It seemed that in the ensuing chaos, only their small group managed to keep some semblance of order. Still, they were now surrounded on all sides.

  “My Lord, Err!” Laort turned to Endved. “Leave before the enemy closes in on us. There is still time!” Following his command, a score of grandees circled the Err, shielding him from both sides.

  “I won’t let you—” Endved tried to argue, but Laort interrupted him.

  “You must return to Eyre, my lord. We will hold the enemies off.”

  He clapped the rump of the Err's and signaled to the knights. Terrified, the horse startled and charged forward. In a second, the “barleys” caught up with the Err, covering him from the sides.

  “This way!” one of the grandees shouted, waving to the right, where the combatants weren’t as numerous as in the other directions. “To the forest!”

  Endved looked over his shoulder. Laort and his “barley” engaged the attacking Dyrians, and everything disappeared in a cloud of dust, clatter, and roaring.

  Wind whooshed in his ears as he dashed madly forward, and arrows whistled above his head, raining down on everything around in a shower of thorns.

  “We won’t make it!” Somebody close by yelled in desperation. He was right. On the left, blocking the path to the forest, rode a line of Dyrian knights, pushing back scattered footmen.

  “To battle!” Endved shouted, pulling out his sword. “For Eyre!”

  They crashed into the midst of the Dyrian cavalry, and the bloodshed commenced. The Err cut down a passing Dyrian rider, straight away, sending him slumping to the ground, and then promptly missed a blow directed straight at him. His ribs and armor crunched with the force of the blow. The Dyrians were as enraged and bloodthirsty as the warriors of Eyre; their number was greater, and they advanced resolutely, even if they were having to pay two for one. Four men surrounded the Err, swords blazing. Endved was defending himself fiercely, overpowering the first and knocking the second down with the help of his heavy spear-carrying stallion. The third opponent suddenly winced, dropped his poleaxe, fell from his saddle and and collapsed to the ground. Behind him, Endved saw the face of one of the “barleys,” who was brandishing a bloody sword. He was baiting the enemy and shouting.

  “Err, to the forest! Go!”

  Fires blazed, drenching Endved in a wave of unbearable heat. The cries of people burning alive filled the air across the battlefield. His horse reared up and threw him off, frightened, wanting nothing more than to flee the biting flames. Endved’s armor glowed with heat, but saved him, nonetheless, and the young Err scrambled to his feet, his sword raised. The black monsters, who had scattered his warriors and the Dyrians, bared its teeth, full of needle-like fangs, and threw its head back, preparing to breathe out another wave of fire.

  Then it disappeared in a bright flash, turning into puffs of smoke and patches of dirty ash. Two more flashes blazed, piecing the air like a blue-red fiery thread, and the monster’s riders, two players, evaporated, leaving burned armor in their wake.

  Three people rode out of the smoke. The first, a short red-bearded guy, pulled his reins, making his horse raise up on its hind legs, and trampled the Dyrian, who was still trying to stand, and then finished him with a blow of his poleaxe. He was covered from behind by a girl firing a bow non-stop. The third player, whose sword burned bright blue, crashed into a crowd of the approaching enemy, swinging his fiery blade. Every strike turned an opponent to ash. No more than a minute later, the Dyrians were either fleeing in terror, or were already dead.

  “Err!” the dwarf screamed. “Take a horse and follow us into the forest! They’ll be here soon!”

  * * *

  Svoy: Now that’s a kick in the head! (censored) My party’s ready.

  Tentacle: I have only two players online.

  Peacemaker: I’m here, plus three of mine. Others are offline.

  Mirgus: Where are Illith and Tao?

  Tentacle: I called Ilya, he’s awake and will log in soon. As for the boss... He’s not answering.

  Mirgus: Dammit! Without him, we can’t coordinate with Pandas!

  Svoy: We don’t have much time, we need to decide something! Mirgus, what about the Watchers?

  Mirgus: IDK. My mole’s offline!

  Tentacle: I’ll try writing Jerkhan...

  Svoy: (censored) rollback... Try it, we’re on the block! We need
to get the Err and take the Crown!

  * * *

  As we rode under a canopy of leaves, I reined Snowflake in hard, and blocked the road, stopping those who were following me.

  “Eyre’s over there!” Flame gestured with his hand. “What are you doing, Cat?”

  “They’ll be looking for us,” I replied. “Everybody thinks we’re fleeing, saving our own lives. We need to think outside the box. Let’s stop.”

  “This will confuse them,” Valkyria nodded.

  “Players, we need to make haste to Dan-na-Eyre,” said the young Err, riding up close to us. “Why have you stopped?”

  I looked at the Err, studying him. Endved Elyon looked glum and sulky, his lips stretched into a pale line, and a thin rivulet of blood was trickling down his temple and cheek, disappearing under the gorget on his neck. He was missing a fourth of his hit points—the Err had gotten hit during the battle, both by NPCs and the fiery breath of Steel Guard’s protodragon. Out of his squad, four “barleys” had survived, all of them by the skin of their teeth.

  “Err, you can’t go back to Eyre,” I said. “All exits to the city will be guarded by the enemy. They’re waiting for you. If we go there right now, you’ll die!”

  “You don’t get it,” Endved said, clenching his teeth. “It’s my city, my people. They’re waiting for me! I must get back.”

  “It’s you who doesn’t get it, Err! There are people out there hunting you. The enemy wants your head, or more precisely, the Crown. You won’t help Eyre by dying in vain!”

  Endved stared at me closely. I could all but feel the calculations being made by the AI that controlled the young lord. Then he answered,

  “Who are you, players, for me to believe your words? I don’t know you. I repeat, I must get back to Eyre, with you or without you.”

  Valkyria: Cat, you don’t have enough influence to persuade him! He’s a lord, a faction leader. We need a player with perfect reputation!