The Goddess Quest

by Lawrence Ambrose

  In the Real, the majority of mainstream mouthpieces – prominent government spokespersons and the dominant news networks and magazines – dismissed the alternative visions presented by the Verse as "pure fiction." But skeptical parties wondered if the purveyors of the Official Truth weren't indulging in some fictions themselves.

  An official history of Parallel Earth (including the United States) was available online in all the usual outlets. Alex had slogged through it once.

  The Omniverse founders had next to nothing to say about their personal philosophical or political views. Glenn Willers once said in an interview that he favored the idea "that people should be free to pursue their bliss," describing himself as a "bleeding heart libertarian." Brian Thompson once described Parallel Earth as an "alternative world, a place of playful possibility that permits us to experiment with other ideas." A few argued they were Communists subtly undermining American values. Others just thought they were nuts. The "snowflake generation" referred to it as "Oink" (a derogatory shortening of Ominverse, Inc., which Alex rather liked, despite her loyalties). But the bottom line was that Parallel America was a far different, and in many ways a far freer, place than its model.

  Rolling up into the foothills turning swiftly into mountains, Alex pulled into a turnout and entered virtual Reno's airport website on her cell. She checked schedules from Reno to Rapid City. An American Airlines flight in four hours to Rapid City Regional Airport fit the bill. She had no credit cards to reserve the flight or a rental car in Rapid, but she thought the odds were good on a Monday in May that some seats would be available. A shame to set aside her fun ride, but that wasn't her priority. The BMW would be fine in the Reno-Tahoe International Airport. Not that the Olivia sim would care. Hopefully, the game itself wouldn't care, either.

  Just under two hours later, the Reno airport rolled into view south of the highway. She parked in economy long-term and rolled her bag into the terminal. She purchased a one-way ticket to Rapid City for $175. That left her with $25 from the $200 Olivia donation, plus $169 and change from her own original two hundred dollars. She purchased a $150 prepaid credit card in a terminal store and used that card to reserve a Honda mini-van for $35 a day in Rapid City.

  While waiting for her flight, Alex used her cell to tour the Indian Museum of North America, various exhibitions, shopping and eating establishments, and the area surrounding the Crazy Horse sculpture itself.

  Her flight departed on time at 3:10. That would place her in Rapid City at 5:20 – she'd lose an hour that far west – with another thirty to sixty minutes waiting for her luggage and getting her rental car. So, leaving the airport at around 6 PM, arriving at the Memorial a bit before seven. The Crazy Horse bus tours would be over for the day but the museum and the displays were open until eight.

  Not many passengers were flying. Unlikely any of her competition was onboard, but she checked them out discreetly regardless. She didn't detect any avatar tells: no searching gazes, no pretend-casual looks. But then at this level of competition, she couldn't expect anything obvious. If anything, she was the one showing tells, taking in everyone as they boarded and now again on her way to and from the bathroom.

  Arriving at the Rapid City Regional Airport, Alex got her car rental processed, and returned to the claim area to grab her bag just as it rolled in.

  She'd never visited Rapid City in real life, but the area she drove through in her rental Honda mini-van struck her as an "armpit city" much like Lodi or Bakersfield in California: dingy, grey, lifeless. The scenery and vibe improved as she emerged from town and headed up into the mountains, passing some touristy museums – the Dinosaur Museum and the Reptile Farm – that looked halfway interesting.

  The highway curled around and eventually deposited Alex in a large, sprawling parking lot alongside the Indian Museum and adjacent buildings. A crowd swirled through the parking lots and around the place, a mixture of sims and avatars. The differences were subtle at first sight – a slight woodenness and lack of animation in the faux families and couples versus the more focused and energetic presences of the avatars. Avatars tended, of course, to be far more attractive and fit on average, while sims reflected the normal mélange of overweight and average-looking individuals.

  Another way to tell them apart was how they reacted to her Dionysus. Alex had devoted her considerable programming talents to modeling her avatar and it showed: everywhere he went he left a trail of staring men and women and giggling girls. Not all were avatars: the Verse's sims were sufficiently realistic to also check him out, but not with the emotional energy of the real people.

  At times, Alex wondered if she'd made him too beautiful, too striking. It was not usually an advantage to stand out in the virtual world. And now, after Dionysus's battle with Athena, which had garnered moderate reviews but nearly two million views, his chances of being recognized had radically increased. But sometimes you just had to sacrifice a little something for art.

  Alex purchased a Crazy Horse cap and a pair of sunglasses, dampening the interest in him from other avatars a bit. She walked around the buildings, paying little attention to the crowds, in search of the "brave nation's canopy" from the general clue. That was why Alex missed the young girl walking up behind him.

  "Hey," she said, falling into step beside her. Long blond hair, willowy build, sparkly blue eyes set in a pretty girl next-door neighbor face.

  "Hey," said Alex.

  "You're Dionysus, aren't you?" She'd had the good grace to lower her voice.

  Alex took a moment to tamp down her surprise. "Who's asking?"

  "I'm Lainey. Lainey Madison. Real name, by the way. I live in New York White Plains. Feel free to check me out. And don't worry, I'm not a gamer, except in the dilettante sense. But I'm a gaming fan – and a great fan of yours!"

  Alex logged into the Real with a subvocal command. The search terms Lainey Madison New York White Plains brought up several images in the air beside the girl. It was a match: Lainey Madison, 17, senior at White Plains High. Daughter of Milton Madison, owner of Madison Beverage Company, and Lisa Madison, advertising executive at Dreamscape. Didn't get much more transparent, public, or successful than that. The girl obviously came from money.

  The search also revealed she had a Facebook page devoted to her travels in Parallel Worlds that included a fan page devoted to Dionysus35567. Alex chuckled.

  "You like my real world bona fides?" The girl was smiling.

  "They're okay."

  "So you are Dionysus35567, aren't you?"

  "I plead guilty to the charge."

  "I can't believe it! I really can't believe it!" She was practically hopping while she walked. "It's such an honor! I've always dreamed of meeting you! I think you're the handsomest and coolest avatar in the Verse! And I loved the way you put that bitch Athena in her place!"

  The girl thrust her hand out at Alex. He shook it with a mild grip.

  "You're not a fan of Athena's?"

  "Oh, she's okay. Nothing compared to you."

  Alex couldn't help being charmed.

  "My only complaint is that you don't respond to my fan letters." She feigned a tragic frown.

  "Don't feel bad. I almost never respond to fan mail."

  "I know, I know. So could I ask you something else? We all wonder what you really look like, of course. Most of us in my little fan club – which numbers 78,000, by the way – believe you're probably an ugly little basement-dwelling nerd. But some of us, including me, think your avatar might resemble you. You wouldn't happen to be willing to confirm or deny that, would you?"

  "Well, it is based on me, but I had to tone down his looks a bit for safety purposes," said Alex. As they walked, she continued to focus on their surroundings. "Since seeing my true form could cause blindness or even spontaneous combustion."

  Lainey's smile was rather anemic. Too bad. Alex had made it abundantly clear for years that she would never discuss anything about her real life. Almost all top gamers kept their identities secret, b
ut many of them did correspond with certain fans or fan clubs or attend public events within the Verse. A small few did reveal certain aspects of their real identity. The idea of fans constantly pressuring her to reveal personal things was Alex's main reason for avoiding fandom.

  "Message received," said Lainey.

  Alex glanced at her with slight surprise.

  "You're working on something, aren't you?" she asked.

  "Yup."

  Her smile waned for a moment before resuming its original brightness. "You'd rather not say. I get it. Any chance of hanging out a little? Or I'd be happy to help if I could."

  "What I'm working on doesn't permit any intentional assistance from avatars," said Alex, impatience starting to edge into her voice.

  "Oh. Interesting." She made a quick puzzled face. "You don't usually get involved in competitions."

  Alex was finding it hard not to feel a little flattered that this girl and apparently many others followed her Verse "career" and could speak authoritatively about her modus operandi. On the other hand, she was growing impatient with her young tag-along and less and less willing to spare her any of her attention. On yet another hand, she was missing Brandon and the camaraderie they'd be enjoying if he were here now, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant to have. Still, she needed to stop fucking around and...

  Her thoughts ground to a grudging halt as they approached a sales booth under a canopy displaying a Native American on a mustang and the words: Lakota Nation. "Brave nation's canopy?" Alex's heart started beating a bit harder.

  The person sitting under the canopy was an older Native American man wearing aviator-style dark sunglasses. Alex stopped in front of the sales booth, which displayed a number of sculptures of wolves and bison and Crazy horse – and one wood carving, strangely enough, portraying the state of California. Buy your state? Alex looked from the canopy to the California wood carving to the Indian.

  "A clue?" asked Lainey.

  "Uh...no." Alex feigned casualness and forced himself to focus once again on his unwelcome guest. "Just interesting sculptures. The virtual detail is amazing."

  The girl stared at the figures with a puzzled expression, as if she couldn't imagine what her avatar-hero found so interesting.

  "Anyway," said Alex, "it was good meeting you, Lainey. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention where you saw me. I'd rather not give my competitors any clues."

  "I understand. I will say I met you, but I'll say it was somewhere else."

  "Thanks."

  Lainey brightened when Alex offered Dionysus's hand to her. She shook it gravely. That's right, Alex thought. You now have a private pact with a god.

  As the girl walked away, Alex made a mental note to disguise himself more effectively before he went out in public again. His heavily televised battle with Athena had changed things. Fortunately, the short attention-span of the masses pretty much guaranteed the details of Dionysus's appearance and his exploits would fade from public consciousness soon enough.

  Alex turned back to the booth, where the Native American gazed impassively at her from behind his dark sunglasses. His hard, craggy features, she thought, would've been at home in the white granite beside the dead presidents. The Indian offered neither smile nor greeting.

  "I'll take the California carving," Alex said.

  Alex handed the Indian a ten-dollar bill. For change, the Indian slapped down a large coin bearing a one-dollar denomination. Alex picked it up, turning it in her large male hand. One side bore an image of Mount Rushmore; the other side, a likeness of Crazy Horse. Not exactly normal change. A small buzz of anticipation started to build. Native coin joins enemy.

  "Is there anything you want to tell me?" When the Native American stared at her blankly, Alex added: "About the coin?"

  "Stick it where the sun don't shine."

  The proprietor's deep bass drum voice resonated as if uttering some profound Indian saying. Alex chuckled softly, pondering the implications. Testing a theory, she selected one of the bison statues, also listed for nine dollars, and forked over another ten-dollar bill. This time the Indian set a normal dollar bill on the table.

  "Thanks," said Alex. She was about to give the subvocal command to enter the two statues into her digital inventory when she realized only physical possession counted in a Reality One contest. Ah, well. She walked away, leaving the statues on the table.

  The unusual coin was the clue, she thought, but to what? She entered the building complex and wandered past exhibits and stores toward the main museum. She was fairly convinced that she had what she needed to solve the first stage – the "brave nation's canopy" "state," "native coin joins enemy" all added up – but what to do with the coin? Sticking it where the sun didn't shine was suggestive, but could apply to anything from a cash register to a urinal. As usual, she'd keep moving and keep her eyes open until the solution presented itself.

  The memorial closing was announced a short time later. Nothing Alex had seen jumped out at her. Possible she could've missed something, but she doubted it. She accessed her PA (physical assessment) – an ongoing evaluation of her energy stores and physical needs – which encouraged her to use the restroom and purchase two sandwiches and some bottled water on the way out.

  Outside, dusk was underway. She removed the mystery coin from her jeans pocket, twisting it in her fingers. The two images, Crazy Horse and Mount Rushmore, were the clues, she was sure of that. Should she drive up to the Crazy Horse statue? From the parking lot, she could see chain blocking the road leading to the Crazy Horse statue. So she'd risk arrest or battling off private security without any clear indication of reward. Not a good bet.

  The second part of solving Stage One might reside at Mount Rushmore. The poem and the coin suggested a two-part solution. The question was whether she'd solved part one or had more work to do here. The coin suggested that she had to get to the Crazy Horse statue before moving on to Rushmore.

  It appeared she was stuck here for at least another day. But then that just confirmed her wisdom in renting the Honda minivan. No overnight parking here, but one of the nearby turnouts would do just fine. No need to worry about an uncomfortable, backbreaking night in the van: the physical assessment metrics weren't nuanced enough to penalize her avatar much for spending a night tossing and turning in a van.

  Alex didn't have much experience with Reality One overnighters. The vast majority of games didn’t require overnight stays, and she avoided them even more than she avoided time-limit direct competitions, which were often one in the same. You might be able to sleep uncomfortably without penalty, but in Minimum Avatar Performance mode (MAP) in a Reality One scenario, you could get in trouble if something unexpected happened. Alex, with some help from Brandon, had spent many hours over the last two years handcrafting her avatar's MAP programming to align Dionysus's behavior as closely as possible to her own in her absence, but it couldn't match her conscious control.

  Alex stretched out on the smooth but barely cushioned back floor of the van and issued her check out command. The Omniverse disappeared in a rainbow-swirl of imagery, replaced by the sterile white walls of her bedroom. She tugged her arms and legs out of their cushioned restriction sleeves and tilted her REM induction helmet and visor back off her head. She flexed her arms and legs and inhaled a few steadying breaths before sitting up and rolling out of the AFIRM module.

  Now it was time to feed, water, and drain her real body. She drank reverse-osmosis water, showered, and stuffed her face with fresh greens, fruit, nuts, beans, and sprouted-grain bread. Then she stretched out in her bed beside the AFIRM and immediately dropped into a sleep where she dreamed of waking up tomorrow morning and riding a tour bus up to the Crazy Horse monument.

  ALEX AWOKE in the middle of the night to a low buzzing-honk and flashing red light. It took her dream-dazed mind several lengthy moments before she turned her head and received a rifle blast of red light directly into her eyes.

  "Fuck..."

  Alex groaned and ma
de a token attempt to rise. Her body counseled caution. She slowed her breathing and brought her thoughts to heel. Her avatar was calling her. That meant someone or something was interacting with the van. A cop telling her she couldn't spend the night there? A thief trying to break in? A grizzly thumping on the door? It was hard to work up a lot of enthusiasm to get out of bed. She could let her MAP program handle it.

  And she could wake up in her avatar tomorrow morning in jail with her van returned to Avis. This was no time to be a lazy ass. Gritting her teeth, she hauled herself out of bed.

  She tapped off the alarm, crawled onto the cushioned frame, hit the initializing button, lowered the REM helmet, and squeezed her appendages into the restraint cuffs –

  Sensations gripped her body before her virtual eyes processed what was happening. A body was straddling her avatar – riding him. Hot wet shocks crackling up from his groin signaled Alex that her engorged dick was very likely sliding in and out of a slick, clenching vagina. Her hands gripped a narrow, writhing waist.

  "What...the fuck?" Alex whispered.

  "Yes!" Her unknown rider cried in a hoarse, high-pitched voice. "Fuck me! Fuck me harder!"

  The voice was familiar. As was the sentiment. Alex wanted to curse her Minimum Avatar Performance program's lack of foresight, but since she was the one who'd done the code (except for a few minor touches from Brandon), and she was surfing the rising waves of an approaching orgasm, the wise course appeared to be to ride this one out and perform damage control afterward.

  By the time her guest was squeezing out Alex's virtual juices in a rip-roaring climax while screaming "I'm coming! I'm coming!" as if the whole world needed to hear this glad gospel, Alex thought she knew the identity of her visitor. She also believed she knew, based on the best orgasm she'd ever experienced, that she'd just made it with her first AFIRM Gen 4 avatar. From the moment she'd awakened in her avatar, she'd felt the superior computer force pushing her own system to its pleasure-simulating limit.