OtherEarth

by Jason Segel

  “Is that really what you think of Fons?” I ask. “You think he’s just a bunch of code?” If so, I hope to hell Fons never hears about it.

  “God created men,” says Alexei. “Man created the Children. They are no more our equals than we are God’s.”

  It’s almost funny to hear the guy talking about God—without a moment’s thought about what God might think of him. The Kishka was right. I should never have wasted my time feeling sorry for this dick. “What about the female inside?” I ask him. “The one who was just in your bed.”

  Alexei’s jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. I think I just tripped one of his wires. “She’s different,” he says.

  “Is she? Who gave you the right to decide who’s your equal and who isn’t?”

  Alexei glares at me. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t consider you an equal either.”

  “No, here in Otherworld, I’m clearly your superior,” I inform him. “You’re wearing a disk now, Semenov. If I wanted to, I could kick your ass into next Friday. The rules have changed.”

  He stares at me with those icy eyes. I suspect he’s imagining all the ways he’d like to murder me. I really hope he tries, but the boat is drawing closer.

  “Simon Eaton!” someone calls out cheerfully. It’s definitely not Fons. I have no idea who the hell it could be—or what they have to be happy about.

  I wheel away from Alexei and turn back toward the railing. A tall, rugged man with a full beard is rowing in our direction. He’s dressed like he’s been living in the woods for some time. I bet he smells like he has too.

  The canoe pulls up alongside one of the house’s stilts. “You know this guest?” Fons asks me. “You can vouch for him?”

  I honestly can’t say if I can or can’t. There was something familiar about the voice, but the fur-covered face doesn’t ring any bells.

  “Simon, it’s Marlow!”

  Whoa. I can see it now. The avatar is an older, beefier, and infinitely hairier version of Marlow Holm. Back in the real world, I was never Marlow’s biggest fan, but I’m absolutely thrilled to find out he’s alive. So thrilled, in fact, that when his avatar leaves the boat and climbs up a ladder to the porch, I actually give it a giant hug. Elvis must be rubbing off on me.

  “How’s Kat?” Marlow asks, and I instantly let him go. I forgot the bastard had a thing for my girlfriend.

  “Kat’s good,” I say. “She made it out of the facility. She’s awake and healthy.”

  “Thank God. I’ve been looking all over for her in Otherworld, but no one’s seen her since I arrived. I was seriously worried that Kat might have died.”

  “That’s funny,” I tell him. “While you’ve been looking for Kat, we’ve been looking for you. In fact, we still are. Any idea where the Company might be keeping your body?”

  “It’s not at the facility?” Marlow asks.

  “The facility is gone. The Company shut it down right after Kat escaped.”

  “Then no.” Marlow shakes his head. “I have no idea where the rest of me is. So I guess you know what happened?”

  “Yeah—” What I wish I knew is what to say next. Marlow was brought to the facility the same night I rescued Kat. He’d been in a car crash, and the damage to his body was extensive. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to use it again.

  “I’m not looking for an answer,” Marlow tells me. “I was conscious until I arrived at the hospital, so I already know I’m a mess. I was just wondering if you did.”

  How much does he know, though? Does he know that the Company arranged the car accident that killed his mother and probably crippled him? Does he know that he’s the last person being held in one of the Company’s capsules? Is this the right time to tell him?

  Fons has finished securing the boat and climbs up to the porch to join us.

  “Where did you find this man?” I hear Alexei ask Fons. “Why would you bring him here?”

  “I found him in Karamojo,” Fons informs his mentor. “He’s been killing the guests there. I thought you might like to meet him, so I forced him to leave.”

  “He was very persuasive.” Marlow nods toward the gun that’s tucked into Fons’s belt.

  “I apologize,” Fons says. “It was the only way.” There’s respect in his voice. The same kind of respect with which he addresses Alexei. I glance over at the Russian. I can tell he hears it too. “He says he’s wearing one of the disks.”

  “Why have you been killing guests in Karamojo?” I ask Marlow.

  Alexei sneers as if it were the stupidest question he’s ever heard. “Why else? For the fun of it.”

  “Fun?” Marlow grimaces. “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it. The guests have been slaughtering Children. Milo cracked true AI, and the Children are sentient. That makes all of this real—and these asshole players are out there shooting Children like rabbits.”

  “You could have died in Karamojo,” I point out.

  “So what?” Marlow replies. “I had to do something.”

  He says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. As if anyone would do the same in his position. But they wouldn’t. Marlow’s wearing a disk that could end his life at any moment, and yet he’s devoted what could be his final days to saving a species that only exists in a digital world. Back in New Jersey, I thought he was just another douchebag whose life revolved around sex and drugs. Now I find myself wishing my motives were as pure as Marlow’s. I’m not sure I’d be risking my life for anyone if it weren’t for Kat.

  Alexei doesn’t seem quite so impressed by Marlow. He moves in closer, chin up and chest out. His avatar is at least a foot shorter than Marlow’s, and it’s becoming clearer and clearer that height is not the only way in which Alexei is smaller. I think even Fons is starting to see it.

  “Who is this person and how do you know him?” he asks me. I love how Alexei assumes he’s the one with the power here. If he wanted to be in charge, he should have chosen a burlier avatar. If we have to, Marlow and I could take him out in a heartbeat.

  Wearing a bemused expression, Marlow peers down at the smaller man. “I believe you’ve already been given my name,” he says. “Who the hell are you? And why do you keep interrupting my conversation with my friend?”

  Friend might be a bit generous. The only things Marlow and I have in common are our disks and our shared love of my girlfriend. We’re friends in the same way two tattooed bikers at a Republican fundraiser might be buddies for a night.

  “Calm down, gentlemen,” I say. “I know Marlow from the real world. He’s wearing a disk like us. The Company has been keeping him a prisoner in Otherworld.” I turn to Marlow. “Alexei is a business associate. I need to borrow an Otherworld headset, and Alexei has one to loan.”

  “And both of you are friends of the Children,” Fons adds eagerly. He obviously brought Marlow to meet Alexei thinking they might join forces. But from what Alexei’s told me, he’s not interested in sharing any glory.

  “I’ve heard about you. You’re famous for rescuing Children,” Marlow says to Alexei, doing his best to smooth things over for Fons’s sake. “You must be thrilled to hear that there’s a way to destroy all the Otherworld headsets. If it’s true, the three of us could soon be the last guests in Otherworld.”

  Alexei rudely ignores Marlow and directs his next question at Fons. “You told this guest about the virus?” He’s obviously not very happy, and his reaction has apparently taken Fons by surprise. The Child doesn’t appear to have an answer ready.

  Marlow fills the awkward silence. “So who’s this genius trapped in a cave on the ice fields?” he asks me. He must find the scenario hard to fathom.

  “James Ogubu,” I tell him.

  Marlow’s jaw drops. “Busara’s dad? No way! He’s alive? What’s he doing here in Otherworld?”

  “The same thing you are.
He’s trapped,” I say. “He came here with a virus that could destroy all the headsets. Milo caught him and imprisoned him in the ice.”

  “The virus Fons was telling me about is real?” Marlow is suddenly very serious.

  “Apparently,” I say.

  “Then why isn’t it out doing its thing?” Marlow asks.

  I’m about to explain the situation with Busara when my Russian companion decides to rejoin the conversation. I get the sense he feels left out whenever he’s not the center of attention.

  “The man in the ice must make a safe disk for me before the virus can be released,” Alexei says.

  This time Marlow doesn’t acknowledge Alexei. He’s had enough, and I don’t blame him. Nothing’s more annoying than a disrespectful douchebag who keeps butting in. “What’s this guy talking about?” Marlow asks me. Alexei answers anyway.

  “That is the deal that I made with Mr. Eaton and his Ukrainian friend. They need a headset to take the man’s daughter to see him. I have offered them a headset they can use. The price is a disk with the bugs removed.”

  “So James Ogubu is gonna have to build a safe disk for this guy before the virus can be released? You know that could take a long time, right?” Marlow demands. “Months, maybe.”

  Fons looks to Alexei, who’s avoiding his eye. “In months, the Children could all be dead.”

  Alexei cannot be persuaded. “If the headsets are destroyed, I will not be able to visit Otherworld. That’s why the debugged disk must be top priority. Once I have the new disk, I’ll decide what to do with the virus.”

  “You’ll decide?” Fons seems to be hung up on those words. “You’ll decide what happens to the Children?” I know what he’s thinking and I completely agree—there should be no decision to make.

  “I am the one who can give the man what he asked for,” Alexei tells him. “Without me, the man’s daughter won’t be able to see him. Without me, there is no virus to release.”

  Fons is silent, but his normally stoic expression has vanished. He’s been stabbed in the back, and his face reflects it. He just found out that the man he considered a hero is just another headset sociopath. The only difference between Alexei and the guests he’s been killing is that Alexei got hooked on glory instead of blood.

  “You’re a liar.” Fons lifts his gun and points it at Alexei’s head.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Alexei says. “None of this is real.”

  Wow, this situation went downhill fast.

  “Fons, don’t,” I plead. I’m not sure he really understands what it means that the Russian’s wearing a disk. If Fons pulls the trigger, Alexei is gone for good—and so is my best chance of getting my hands on a headset. Without a headset, there’s no hope at all of releasing the virus.

  “He won’t do anything,” Alexei sneers. I’ve never heard anyone make such a simple phrase sound so insulting.

  Fons’s arm shakes and his lip quivers. His world has crumbled. His hero is a fraud. But he doesn’t look able to shoot.

  When the gun falls from Fons’s hand, Marlow quickly kicks it out of reach, and Alexei starts to laugh.

  This time, the tentacle responds. It whips around and whacks the Russian’s avatar in the stomach, slamming Alexei back into the cabin’s wall. Then Fons turns and dives over the railing and into the murky water below. I watch for his head to surface, but it never does.

  I glance back at Alexei, who’s curled up in the fetal position on the wooden porch. I’m glad he’s alive, but I hope it hurts like hell.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Marlow deadpans behind me.

  I open my eyes and have no idea where I am. It’s becoming such a regular occurrence these days that I’m not even freaked out. All I know is that I’m staring at a lovely ceiling and my body is comfortable for the first time in ages.

  “Where the hell am I?” I wonder out loud, and someone beside me laughs.

  “You’re at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel,” Kat says.

  I remember how we got here—dropped off in a black sedan driven by a silent Russian. One of Alexei’s men had called ahead and booked a suite at the hotel. Another escorted us inside, and I’d be willing to bet that’s the only reason the hotel doormen let four dirty and bedraggled teenagers enter. I would have preferred to stay somewhere a little less fussy, but Alexei insisted the Waldorf Astoria was the safest place to be. The Chinese government owns the hotel, and Chinese tech firms have long been the Company’s biggest rivals. If they end up spying on us, which is highly likely, they’ll probably like what they hear.

  “The Waldorf Astoria is the best realm of all,” I tell her, pulling the covers up over our heads. “Can we stay?”

  “You have no idea how awesome it is,” Kat tells me. “There’s bacon in the living room. And the Internet.”

  “The Internet?” I joke, though to be perfectly honest, it’s hard to imagine such luxuries. “How long have you been up?”

  “Hours,” she says. “I told the others to let you sleep. It’s going to be a very long day for you. But if you get Busara to her dad, it could be the last trip any of us have to make.”

  We keep hoping every trip will be the last one, and it never turns out that way. But I don’t think it would be helpful to say so.

  “So the delivery came?” I ask.

  “Half an hour ago,” Kat tells me. “Busara is bouncing off the walls.”

  “Let her bounce,” I say, pulling Kat toward me. “You can’t rush recovery.”

  * * *

  —

  I must have been too tired to appreciate the suite’s living area last night. The décor is a little too frilly for my taste—lots of flowers and silk. You could call the style rich grandma. In fact, before she died, my dad’s mother lived in a house that looked an awful lot like this. I was hardly allowed to touch anything there. The memory makes me want to jump on the couch cushions or play catch with a vase.

  “What have you guys been doing? Kat, you were supposed to get him up!” Busara cries as we emerge from the bedroom. “It’s been an hour!”

  “I was really tired,” I tell her, pretending to yawn to cover my grin.

  “Totally exhausted,” Kat adds.

  I see Elvis smirking on the sofa, a tablet computer in his hands. “So do you think you got enough rest?” he asks. “If so, come over here, I’ve got something to show you.”

  I grab a piece of cold bacon off the room service cart and plop down beside him. The second I get a glimpse of what’s on the iPad, I straighten up again. A video is on pause, and the word OtherEarth is written across the screen.

  “It’s a new ad,” Elvis says, handing me the tablet. “Go ahead. Hit Play.”

  It’s a point-of-view scene of a man running through Central Park. The only thing you can see are his fists pumping, but you can tell from his sleeves that he’s wearing a dark gray suit. There’s a gun clenched in one of his hands. He flies past joggers and strollers and old ladies with dogs. You can hear the air being sucked into his lungs and his heart pounding in his ears. Seeming to catch sight of something, the man changes course and charges down an empty path through the woods. He’s alone in the forest when he comes to a sudden stop. Something has appeared on the path in front of him—a massive beast, bipedal yet reptilian, with a mouth that’s mostly teeth. The man raises his gun as the creature hurls itself toward him, pumping three bullets into its chest in quick succession. Stone dead but still moving forward as it falls, the beast skids to a stop at the man’s feet.

  The man gives the creature a kick to ensure that it’s been eliminated. Then he lifts his hand to his face and removes a pair of glasses. In an instant, his suit sleeves are gone, as is the gun. And the beast on the ground has vanished into thin air. A female jogger passes by on the path. When she doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, it becomes clear—our hero is
just a jogger too. The man puts his OtherEarth glasses back on and the dead beast reappears. In the distance, there’s another one. The man starts running again and the commercial ends.

  “OtherEarth,” says a voice that sounds a lot like Tom Cruise. “Your world, only better.”

  “It’s augmented reality, just like I thought,” Elvis says. “They’ve turned New York City into a giant sandbox. That’s why they needed such detailed maps. I’m sure the rest of the country will be playable soon.”

  “So OtherEarth is going to let everyone in New York star in his own private action movie?” I ask. I can only imagine what that’s going to be like.

  “What do you want to bet that’s not the only kind of movie you can star in?” Elvis says, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Pervert.” Busara is standing over us.

  “How would you know?” Elvis asks.

  There’s something weird going on between the two of them, and I have no interest in being in the middle of whatever it is. I glance down at the tablet and scroll through a list of suggested videos. It’s mostly Company-related news clips. ENGINEER LOCKED IN OFFICE FOUND DEAD BY SECURITY. HEART ATTACK CLAIMS COMPANY GENIUS. The guy in question looks young for a heart attack. If only it could have been Todd.

  “Simon. We may not have Semenov’s headset for much longer,” I hear Busara plead. “Can we please get started?”

  She’s right—and for once she asked nicely. I grab some more bacon and hand the tablet back to Elvis. It’s time to take Busara to Otherworld.

  * * *

  —

  The headset wasn’t the only thing that was delivered this morning. An omnidirectional treadmill has been set up in one of the bedrooms. And an adorably juiced-out Russian who appears to speak less than ten words of English is standing guard outside our suite.

  I understand Busara’s impatience, but she’s already driving me nuts. She hasn’t been to Otherworld since the two thousand new players arrived. She has no idea what to expect, and yet she refuses to listen. I’m still chewing my bacon when she jumps on the treadmill. Her haptic booties are already on. The gloves come next. I don’t even have a chance to put on my disk before Busara’s slipped on the headset.