The ultimate prize was a drink of Ambrosia, which would confer unprecedented powers to the player – all Grade 10 – including teleportation, flight, super-strength, invulnerability, telekinesis, and psychic abilities, and several other capabilities that Alex had yet to read and memorize.
On top of the powers, which made the avatar-god the most powerful being in the history of the Omniverse, the winner would receive fifteen million Omniverse Dollars, the highest monetary award in the history of the Verse.
The Goddess Quest involved five discovery stages. Players were free to skip the stages at any point and attempt to locate the Ambrosian drink itself or "free range" – playing without formal clues – much as one might solve a Wheel of Fortune word puzzle with an inspired guess based only on a letter of two. But, unlike the famous TV game, a wrong guess at a critical juncture could eliminate you.
The general-clue poem was penned by some bonehead programmer who Alex believed should never, on pain of death, quit his day-job:
Oh starry night within thy mind
what fizzy truths may be bequeathed?
Our green draughts become divine
Beneath our toupee-lives hair-wreathed.
"So basically, you're looking for Donald Trump?" Brandon asked, scratching his head. "A drunk Donald Trump?"
Alex laughed and read on to the first stage clue:
Some say criminal, some say great
Some say a manifest destiny
Might makes right, or might makes hate?
Come face to face with history.
Its gait is slow, its path straight,
A ride of hope and misery.
Do not despair, buy your state
Beneath a brave nation's canopy
Purchase done, pursue your fate
Where native coin joins enemy.
They were sitting in her bedroom around her computer table, presently occupied by a large screen PC and a laptop. A few feet behind them next to her bed was her Ares Full Immersion Recreation Module, Generation 3, which strongly resembled a classic SF cryogenic chamber – or a casket.
Alex dutifully entered the two poems into the Google search engine just as she knew the other ten contestants were doing. Both poems turned up lists of other poets, though none of them had written those lines. On a hunch, Alex performed a search of the first four lines, which struck her as somehow fundamental to the location. That search produced some articles on manifest destiny but her gaze locked instantly on the third search item on the first page: Mount Rushmore.
"Interesting coincidence," said Brandon, pointing to the Rushmore article. "That does look like a solid hit."
"Yeah." Alex's mind was whirling. Statues, yes. But "gait," "ride," "hope and misery," and "brave nation's canopy"?
Alex opened the Rushmore article. The place was also the site of the Crazy Horse Memorial, which featured the face of a Native American. They'd been working on the statue since 1948, and only a small fraction of it was finished. That might explain the "gait is slow." And the Native American's "ride" had plenty of misery and Crazy Horse was, well, riding a horse. It half-added up. She didn't see any photos related to a "brave nation's canopy."
"I wonder how many others thought to break up the search terms that way," said Brandon.
She gave him a sour smile. "What would you guess their average intelligence is?"
"Probably high enough to parse that poem in a dozen different ways. But maybe not that way. Or maybe they found something even better? Who knows?"
"True," said Alex. "Which is why I'm going to spend most of my remaining waking hours searching for something better before game-time tomorrow morning. You care to join me?"
Bran grinned. "Like I have something better to do?"
TABULA RASA, as Wendell Martin put it. At eight AM sharp, Alex as "Alex Anderson Milner" in her Dionysus35567 form, walked out of her parallel house in Jefferson and headed for the Amtrak station downtown, a solid three-mile walk. She consoled herself with the knowledge that plenty of small cities and towns didn't have Amtrak or bus stations.
She'd considered a more exotic and humorous pseudonym, but liked the idea of bringing part of her real identity into a game for once and also the ease of remembering who she was supposed to be. It wasn't as if anyone would believe "Alex" was her actual name, anyway.
On the way to the Amtrak station, Alex purchased a burner phone for $30.28 at Walmart. She knew from her research that Amtrak was currently charging between $140 – 160 for Denver tickets and that the last train today would be leaving just after ten. She was cutting it close with time and money, but she needed the damn phone. She didn't have enough money to make it to Mount Rushmore in any case. Necessity was the mother of improvisation, as gamers liked to say.
Jogging through Jefferson, working up a realistic sweat and hints of fatigue, Alex was feeling a little less happy about her zeroed out status and the fuzziness of how she would win or earn money/awards en route to Mount Rushmore. In theory, she could skip some meals and hitchhike from Denver (the nearest airport) to Mount Rushmore – about a five hundred mile jaunt – squeezing out her last pennies. But that merely postponed the inevitable.
Non-listed awards – "NAs" or "Non-listings" – were part of the fabric of all the Verse's worlds, including Reality One versions. There were basic patterns – usually someone needed help or something appeared to need correcting – but no set formula was involved in spotting and solving NAs. It was more an instinct thing. Alex found their chance element slightly annoying – she preferred the pure skill aspects of the game – but sometimes they could be helpful and even fun.
Like that old lady struggling with changing a tire on her blue van directly ahead of me. It was starting to rain, and the lady was fumbling with a car jack, practically begging for divine assistance. She had all the signs of being an NA.
Alex checked her cell: almost nine and she was still a good fifteen minutes from the train station. Cutting it close, but she could really use the money and/or power if this was an NA. Dionysus35567 to the rescue.
"Could you use a hand?" Alex asked, coming up on her.
"Oh, yes, thank God, young man!" the woman cried, and then laughed. "My husband always did this. I'm afraid I'll put the tire on backwards or something."
Changing tires was one of the many things – including shooting firearms, swordplay, martial arts – Alex had done many times in VR but never in real life. She had the woman unlock the rear doors and wait in the van while she pried out the jack. Inside the plastic bag that held the instructions were several twenty-dollar bills.
Ka-ching!
Alex could walk away now, but it was possible more loot or power awards were present. Or the money might just fly away on the breeze if she failed to complete her mission. Also, on rare occasion, the sim in need was a minor deity capable to dispensing great rewards – or perhaps a nasty little curse if you made a wrong choice. There was also the possibility that the sim was an avatar who might appreciate the good turn. Alex's policy was to treat everyone as if they were actual people until proven otherwise. You just never knew what kind of weird virtual karma might play out in the Verse.
She pocketed the cash – two hundred dollars – and cranked down the spare tire. Reaching under the van earned her several splats of oil on Dionysus's muscular forearms. Alex hoped the old lady had a cloth or paper towel inside the car. She dragged out the tire.
The rain intensified. Alex picked up the pace, exchanging tires, placing the flat one in the rear of the van along with the tools. Still, she was drenched by the time she was finished. Her reflection in the windows as she walked to the front looked like some dude who'd just crawled out of a dirty river. The elderly lady rolled down her window.
"Oh, dear," she said. "I'm so sorry to put you through that! Please, let me pay you for your time and suffering."
"Oh..." Alex wondered if there was a trap involved. The Verse designers were fond of meting out and testing kindness in their worlds, at times hint
ing they were encouraging goodness in the real world. "That's, uh, okay."
"Well, at least let me give you a ride to where you were walking in this horrible weather."
"Thanks. That would be great."
"Thank you, young man. It's the least I can do."
Alex jogged around the van and hopped in beside her, taking pains to avoid rubbing her grease-splattered forearms on the interior.
"I've really made you into a mess, haven't I? Help yourself to some tissue."
Alex tugged a handful from the box on the armrest between them.
"Where to? I'm Olivia, by the way. Olivia Graham."
"Alex."
She eased the van back into the road in typical slow-motion old-lady style and they inched up to the exact speed limit of twenty-five miles per hour. Still beat walking. Her cell now read 9:20. Plenty of time.
"Where are you off to, Alex?" her elderly chauffeur asked.
"South Dakota," said Alex. "Mount Rushmore."
"Oh, yes. I visited ages ago with Albert." She smiled with a hint of sadness. "I was so happy to read they finally finished Crazy Horse."
"They did?"
"Yes, five or six years ago they put the finishing touches on the statue. I think it turned out magnificently."
Not in my world. Alex glanced at her. It had been a while since she'd interacted much with a simulant, but she seemed more human than most. Assuming, of course, she was a sim.
They entered the station parking lot. Not a lot of cars, but then it was May, not exactly the height of tourist season.
"Well, this is it," said Olivia. "Best of luck to you, Alex. Thanks again for saving me from drowning."
"No problem." Alex grasped the handle. Something made her pause, calculations flashing in her head. "Olivia..."
"Yes?"
"When I was changing your tire, I found some cash with the tools." Alex dug out her wallet. "Two hundred dollars. I took it. I'm sorry, I'm just feeling a bit desperate right now. I've got a long ways to go and not much travel money."
The older woman stared at her with puzzled and rather blank eyes. Alex wondered if she'd just crashed the program with her ridiculous honesty. But then Olivia smiled and half-nodded.
"I understand," she said. "Thank you for your honesty."
Alex slid the bills out of her wallet and laid them on top of the tissue box. She waited and prayed for the kindly old lady to tell her to keep it, but Olivia continued to smile at her serenely.
"Okay." Alex forced a smile. "Bye, then."
She was about halfway out the door when Olivia said, "Wait just a moment, young man."
Alex turned back, working hard to keep a poker face. This was it. Or not.
"I have an idea," she said. "Bear with me. This is rather out of the blue. But I'm thinking..." She pursed her lips. "I'm thinking I have an extra car. It was my husband's. I never use it. It's been sitting in my garage since he died three months ago. Still registered and insured. I'm sure it drives fine..."
Alex gripped the sides of her seat while the wind and rain whipped around them outside.
"Is this trip of yours a vacation?" Olivia asked.
"No. It's what you would call a quest, I guess."
"What kind of quest?"
"I'm looking for something..."
"Something spiritual? Something of great meaning to you?"
"You could say that."
"That's kind of what I thought. It's urgent that you get there as soon as possible?"
"Very urgent."
"Then I'd like to help. How would you feel about borrowing my husband's car?
Alex felt the tide turning. She smiled. "That would be fantastic. You're sure?"
She gave Alex a conspiratorial smile. "Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts."
They drove to one of the nicer older neighborhoods in central Jefferson, parking in the driveway of a two story with a two-car garage. Nothing fancy, but probably worth half a million in the quaint but snooty environs of Parallel Jefferson. Olivia invited Alex in with her.
"Why don't we get you into some dry clothes?" said Olivia. "My husband's about your size. His closet's upstairs. There's a shower, too. My guess is that you'd prefer starting your quest in clean clothes and washed?"
Her eyes twinkled. Alex was beginning to suspect that some Omniverse employee, probably higher-level, was running this avatar. Her Turing test-exceeding behaviors seemed highly suspicious. Even the founders were known to appear in games at times under select circumstances.
"You're very generous, Olivia," Alex said, deciding to play it straight and safe. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."
"It's my pleasure."
She led him upstairs, one hand on the handrail, a mountaineer climbing each step. On the second floor, Alex followed her into one of the rooms.
"We started sleeping apart the last few years," said Olivia, nodding to the single bed. "His snoring. It worked out better for both of us – until it didn't."
"Why didn't it?"
"He had bad sleep apnea. One night three months ago he stopped breathing and I wasn't there to hear him."
She spoke matter-of-factly, her face averted, but Alex spotted a wisp of moisture in the corner of one eye. Alex had to give the writer props. She was drawn into the older woman's tale even knowing it wasn't real.
"Bathroom's there." Olivia pointed to a door. "Closet's there. Help yourself. In fact, feel free to pack a bag. There's a suitcase in with the clothes. I'll just leave you on your own."
"Thanks."
Alex pawed through the closet. Plaid work shirts, wool sweaters, dress slacks, and some sports shirts with logos you might wear on a golf course. Mothball smell pervaded everything. She picked out some jeans, work shirts, sports shirts, sweaters, and a pair of jackets. She found socks and boxer shorts in a nearby dresser, and laid them out with the clothing on the single bed. A medium-sized polycarbonate suitcase joined the mix.
Alex stripped in the bathroom and stepped into the bathtub-shower. The warm spray was intoxicating, as with everything else ever so close to the real sensations. She let her bladder empty and it felt so natural that she wondered if she was pissing herself in her module. Man, she'd hit the fucking mother lode with Mrs. Olivia Graham. Should she be wasting time showering and changing clothes? Why not leap in the car and make a mad dash cross-country? But she knew enough about quests to understand this was a marathon, not a sprint. The winner would be the one who stayed cool and paced herself. That was the conclusion she'd come to after thinking about it half the night and brainstorming with Brandon. She'd had limited experience with "expiration contests," generally avoiding them, but the love of gaming was by its nature exception-making.
Downstairs, she gave her cell number to Olivia, who also made a copy of her California driver's license and had Alex sign a paper she'd printed up and also signed which gave her permission to drive the car. The paper included Olivia's phone number. All amazingly thorough and lifelike.
They hugged at the garage door and exchanged good wishes. Alex grinned when she saw that the husband's "sporty" car was a teal green BMW M3. Olivia opened the big garage door and waited on the top step as Alex inserted the key. After a series of ominous clicks, the BMW rumbled to life. Not bad after three months sitting idle.
Olivia looked a bit tearful waving goodbye. Alex had to believe they'd devoted some extra programming with her.
Finally, she was off to the races. The car's clock, still on time despite the weak battery, read 10:45. She'd only be a few minutes out of town right now if she'd taken the train, facing numerous stops and delays on the way to Denver, where more transportation problems would've needed solving. Now she could drive straight through, beating Amtrak by a half-day or more.
She caught Highway 80 going east five minutes after leaving Olivia's and would plot the rest of the trip on the fly with her cell. She'd memorized the basic layout of U.S. highways and major roads well enough to know she had hundreds of miles on 80 befo
re diverting north toward the Rapid City area in South Dakota.
Alex was about fifty miles down the road when she popped open the small cooler Olivia had placed on the passenger seat, saying she'd made her a tuna sandwich. She felt the plastic-bagged sandwich and a water bottle but also something else: a small envelope. She tore open the envelope with one hand, spilling out twenty- dollar bills. The same $200 she'd found and returned to her in the van. Nice to see her good deeds so far were going unpunished.
The miles melted away. Sometimes, if Alex blinked or turned her head abruptly, the scenery would flicker or a nearby car might stretch or contract as if passing through a distorted lens, but 99% of the time the illusion of driving a sports car down a dull stretch of highway was seamless.
Another option, brought into play by Olivia's generous donation, was stopping at an airport and flying into Rapid City, if possible. That would be a roughly two-hour flight, but as in the Real, parking and making your way around a major airport and standing in line was time and energy-consuming. One big improvement, Alex thought: no TSA. Parallel U.S. was patterned after the United States, but it was more an alternate world than a duplication. PUSA was a more innocent 50's style America that never fought in Vietnam or had skyscrapers burned down by terrorists. There was no surveillance state in Omniverse's America, no endless wars in the Middle East, no militarization of police, no uproar over immigration or gender, and no private prisons. A tiny number of school or other mass shootings scattered over decades. And, oh yeah, an actual honest-to-God space program that had continued after the Apollo Mission, beginning with the elimination of NASA and the creation of the Department of Space Exploration and Colonization (SEAC).
Utilizing a combination of proprietary Tesla technology principally developed at Lockheed's infamous "Skunk Works" – and, some speculated, alien technology from a crashed alien craft (officially denied) – SEAC had unveiled a series of increasingly advanced spacecraft featuring anti-gravity and space-warping capabilities. The result, as Skunk Works Director Ben Rich had famously announced at SEAC's first major press conference: "Ladies and gentlemen, we now have the ability to travel to the stars!"
The Goddess Quest Page 6