"What was the combination you used to get it open?"
"4141."
He pressed the keys. The door didn't budge.
"Hmm."
"If you could get it open as quickly as possible, I'd appreciate it."
"The only way we could get it open quickly would be to break it," he said. "We usually only do that as a last resort."
"Then let's consider it a last resort."
"May I ask what you have inside?"
"You can ask, but it's personal."
"I'm afraid we'll need to know. Otherwise, the contents could belong to someone else."
Alex was about to strangle the mindless little amalgam of zeros and ones. So what had the oh-so-clever designers placed inside? A key? More clues? Whatever it was, she was fucking taking possession of it. By force, if necessary.
"A piece of paper and a key," she said.
The sim nodded. "And this is urgent?"
"Very urgent. I need them to continue my business here."
"Very well. We'll contact our locksmith and have him tend to this as soon as possible."
"When will that be?"
"Later this morning. Possibly afternoon."
"That's how you deal with an urgent request?"
"It will depend on his schedule, sir. We will let you know shortly."
The sim departed. Alex was rapidly wearying of dealing with the mindless creatures. She wasn't about to sit around twiddling her virtual fingers waiting for the hotel locksmith's schedule to clear.
She accessed Maxiworld – the Omniverse's equivalent to Google – and searched for local locksmiths. Most avatar-owned businesses had taken to including something in their title or description such as "avatar" or "non-sim owned and operated" to distinguish themselves from the legions of sim businesses. Not to say that sims couldn't perform services or produce things, but when things got complicated it was best to have a live brain on your side.
Alex located a business: Any Time, Any Place: Avatar Car Repair and Locksmith. She called it. A mechanical-sounding voice almost certainly a sim answered. Alex asked for the owner.
"He's out on a job. I can take a message or give you his cell if this is urgent."
"It's urgent."
Alex entered the cell and called it.
"Dale here. How can I help you?"
"Can you open a hotel safe? I'm staying at the Wynn and so-called 'management' is twiddling their fingers about getting it open for me."
"You got valuables inside?"
"You could say that."
"They tried the override combination?"
"Yes. They're supposedly going to send up their locksmith but it could be a while. I'd rather get this done quickly, if you can do it."
"Not a problem. I can get it open one way or the other. I'm a tad tied up right now, but how about in a couple hours?"
"How about right now? I'll double your normal rate."
"I don't know. I got an irate motorist on my hands. And my usual minimum rate is $100 for a road call and $100 per hour after."
"How about you get this safe open and I pay you $500?" Impatience clipped Alex's words.
"I'll be right over. Just give me your room number."
He arrived in just under ten minutes, a bald, muscular avatar-dude in blue dungarees with rolled up sleeves strode into the room as if he meant business.
"Nice," said Alex. "You look like the old-style Mr. Clean."
"And you look like a rock star. Can't quite place his name." He laughed and offered his hand. "Mine's Dale Bryant."
"You do locksmithing and car repair in the real world?"
"Sure, when I get a chance. But I live in a small-ass town in Oklahoma. Not a lotta local work, 'specially for someone of my coppery skin tone."
"Native American?"
"Afro-American. With some Arapaho thrown in."
Alex led him to the safe.
"Just gonna try a couple things..."
He brought up the override code and, apparently not trusting her word, entered all nines. When that had no effect, he tried all zeros. Then he broke open his bag of tools. He unscrewed a small metal plate from the front that Alex hadn't noticed and inserted a small circular tool into an opening. The safe remained unopened.
"What we have here," Dale grunted, "is a failure to communicate."
Alex kept quiet. She knew from experience there wasn't any point in suggestions when you didn't know what you were talking about. Dude seemed to know what he was doing. Only a slight jerkiness in his motions revealed his rig was likely a mid-level MEM. Not cheap, but not a bank-buster, either.
It was interesting to consider how the Verse and other Large-Scale Interactive Online Networks had expanded business opportunities – in effect, creating a whole new economy. Now you didn't need to live in or near a big city to run a big-city business. They also offered an extreme democratization of the work force and even higher education, which more and more universities were offering in VR. No one need know your sex, race, or age. You could assume any identity and try any field or business you wanted to free of stereotypes or judgment apart from your actual performance. Not only race, sex, and age – you could also be severely handicapped and still compete on the same level with everyone else. Alex was especially fond of that bonus.
What wasn't so awesome was Dale Bryant dropping his hex wrenches and other tools back in his case.
"Not working?"
He shook his head. "The electronics in this thing just plain ain't on the level. Tell you what: the only way I see in his to break this motherfucker, if you'll excuse my French."
"Then break it."
"These things cost a few hundred OD."
"I'll cover it."
"You sure? If the hotel locksmith breaks it you won't have to pay. You can't hold off for a few hours?"
"No. Do what you have to do. I'll even add another $250 to the total."
"You got it. Time to bring out Big Betsy." He dragged a DeWalt angle grinder out his bag and plugged it in. He unfolded a heavy cloth under the safe.
"That will cut through the lock?"
"Diamond blade versus two half-inch bolts? Piece of cake. Please stand back."
He slapped on some goggles and revved it up. The blade squealed into the steel. A line of sparks streamed down to a cloth he'd laid out on the floor.
Someone knocked on the room door.
"Hotel maintenance," a deep male called. "Locksmith."
Dale thumbed off his grinder and raised one brow to Alex.
"Hold on for a second," said Alex. "I'll take care of him."
"Sorry," she called through the door. "This isn't a convenient time. Could you come back in an hour or so?"
"I thought this was supposed to be urgent."
"I've changed my mind. Please come back later."
"I heard a power tool being operated in your room. Modifications to the room are not permitted."
"No power tools. You must've heard it coming from somewhere else." Alex waited for a response. When none came, she said: "Thanks for coming by. I'll see you in about an hour."
"It may be later."
Alex resisted grating her teeth. "That's fine."
"Yes, sir."
She placed her ear against the door, hearing the footsteps retreat. She nodded to Dale. The reassuring whine of blade cutting metal resumed. One nice thing about VR: loud noises couldn't actually injure your ears. Alex stood by as Dale finished the cut and switched off his grinder.
"Fucking little mindless sims," she muttered.
"Tell me about it. You should try dealing with Bureau of Revenue sims." Dale stepped back with a grin and motioned her to the safe. "You're good to go. I'll turn away or leave if you want some privacy."
They both jumped as the door thumped.
"Security!" an authoritative voice announced. "You'll need to let us in your room, sir."
Oh, Christ. Alex nodded to Dale, who hastily rolled up his small tarp and packed his bag. She slipped past him t
o the safe. She cracked the door. Inside was a small brown flat metal object that resembled a mini-bone. She checked to make sure Dale wasn't looking – he was making a point of studiously packing his tool bag – and slipped the flat metal bone into her front jeans pocket.
Alex handed Dale her credit card. He inserted it into a portable card reader.
"Mr. Milner!" the man outside yelled. "This is security. We are entering your room!"
Alex shut the safe. Unless the sims were unusually clever and thorough, they would never think to check the safe. And even if they did, she'd just shrug and proclaim her innocence. How could they prove otherwise – and what would be their incentive to try?
The door opened, jamming against the safety lock. Angry eyes glared in at them. Dale handed her card back to Alex.
"Thanks," he said.
"Thank you." She raised her voice. "I'm coming!" She added quietly, "you fucking morons."
Dale laughed. He followed her to the door. She slipped the safety latch free. Two big guys in suits confronted them.
"What – "
Dale eased between them, smiling back at Alex as he headed down the hall.
"Who is he?" one of the men demanded.
"A friend. Visiting. Does that violate hotel regulations?"
"We'll need to check your room."
"Feel free. I'm going out."
Dale held the elevator door for her as she jogged down the hall. She squeezed in.
"Lobby?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"A man with a plan," he said. "I gotta admit, I'm damn curious what was in that safe."
Alex looked at him and smiled. What could it hurt? She slid out the flat metal bone and held it up.
"That's what you were so all-fired eager to get? You got a tiny robot dog at home?"
Alex laughed. "It's actually for a dog here in the establishment."
"Well, good luck with that, compadre."
Alex lingered in the hallway while Dale headed to the front doors with a departing wave. When he was gone, she moseyed over to the glass dog sculpture. The big mutt's darkened eyes regarded her blankly. Then she noticed a slight parting in its blocky mouth. She bent closer to it. The parting had a slot-like appearance.
"Doggie want a bone?"
Alex slipped the "bone" out of her pocket and probed the slot. After some initial resistance, the bone slid all the way in. In that instant, the entire lobby boomed with a classic rock song:
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the Storm
A few travelers rolling in luggage looked around with puzzled expressions but the people behind the front desk showed no reaction. Alex listened intently.
There's a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin' like a toad
Take a long holiday
Let your children play
If you give this man a ride
Sweet family will die
Killer on the road
Alex frowned. Ominous. This next stage, she had a feeling, was going to be a different kind of game.
The tune changed suddenly to a few lines from another Doors song:
Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind
The eerie words faded. Alex appreciated the Doors' gloomy gospel with its thin strains of happiness and transcendence peeking through. She'd discovered them the same way she'd discovered the Beach Boys, Jimi Hendrix, Tom Petty, and Bob Dylan – by studying the Verse founders, who were young "baby boomers" and big fans of sixties and seventies culture.
She waited for three or four minutes after the song ended, keeping her eyes and ears open for further clues, but spotted nothing. Was this the clue for the next stage or yet another clue for this one?
Then Alex noticed the artist's plaque in front of the statue. The words had changed.
Congratulations, Dionysus35567! You are the first to solve Stage Two!
100,000 OD has been added to your credit card balance, which includes a 50,000 bonus for being first.
You have also been awarded a suspension of your PNQ.
You have received already your Stage Three clue.
The words transitioned back into the fake artist's pseudo-biography. Alex breathed out. She was still ahead, with a Doors' songs as her next clues. Riders on the Storm and Peace Frog. Images of highways, accidents, death, and hitchhikers you definitely did not want to pick up, crowded her fragile eggshell mind.
Back in her room, she zipped up her suitcase – no packing necessary, since she hadn't removed anything. Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding. She recalled that as a child Jim Morrison had witnessed a car accident on a desert road that he'd later referenced in Peace Frog and maybe somewhere else. What highway?
Alex commanded a link to the real world Google and searched "highway child jim morrison witnessed car accident." She skimmed through a few sites offering no specific information until she hit pay dirt with at an article about a film called Dawn's Highway by Brad Durham. Fast-forwarding through the film took her to the stretch of highway, NM-30, where the accident had occurred.
But it wasn't quite that simple. Morrison had also made a film about a hitchhiker, starring himself. A hitchhiker she thought might've killed someone. Killer on the road. Where had Durham made his movie?
Another search showed the movie made in L.A. and the Tahquitz Canyon near Palm Springs in California. Palm Springs wasn't much more than two hundred miles from Vegas.
Alex palmed her cell, calling Avis to extend her car rental and confirm she could drop the van off out of state. Having her Physical Needs Quota removed might not be the sexiest superpower, but it removed some annoying hassles, especially while traveling. Now she wouldn't need to worry about feeding, relieving, or resting her avatar; the only physical limitations were her own. She'd no longer need hotels. She could dedicate every moment in the Verse to solving the game.
So what next? The Tahquitz Canyon or an obscure highway near Los Alamos? What about Los Angeles? They'd filmed part of HWY there.
Killer on the road. On an impulse, Alex searched the Maxiworld for deaths involving hitchhikers and roads. Her eyes blinked wide when half a dozen articles about someone called The Highwayman popped up. The Highwayman was a fuzzy, near-mythical virtual personage that might have been responsible for a chain of deaths and disappearances up and down California and across the southeast, reaching all the way to Kansas City. Witnesses were limited to a few avatars and sims, and the descriptions ranged from a hulking middle-aged man to a "beautiful, brooding" woman.
The theory proposed by the sim community was that "shapeshifting" was an augmented skill. The Verse officially acknowledged the existence of people possessing special powers, calling them Augmented Individuals or Augments. There was even a government agency, the Department of Augmented Regulation and Enforcement (DARE), created to deal with them. What Alex considered one of the most interesting Verse developments of the last decade.
Also, some individuals practiced crime for recreation in the Parallel Worlds. Not a popular pastime in the alternative big LIONs, since criminal acts were banned in GoogleVille, AmazonWorlds, and Yahooland. None of them had even created Reality One-level imitations of the real world, focusing more on the standard exotic worlds and creatures. Not a lot of fun attempting to mug or rape a fire-breathing dragon or an acid-spitting werewolf.
One of the many controversies – and attractions – created by "Oink" was that it allowed all "normal human" activity in Parallel World, including theft, murder, rape, assault, and everything in between. Groups on the religious right complained and occasionally pressured government officials to outlaw certain aspects of Omniverse. So did some groups of on the left, which decried the Verse's lack of "psychological safeguards" and "safe places, as well as its failure to duplicate the real United States'
recent gun control legislation, which had outlawed several semi-automatic rifles, including the popular AR-15 platform. Liberals saw the Verse founders' failure to incorporate certain U.S. policies and regulations – particularly the Verse's looser regulations on zoning, banking and currency, gun control, taxation, and education – as "cheerleading fascism," while conservatives lamented the lack of laws restricting drugs, prostitution, and pornography. No dominant mainstream group was officially happy with the Omniverse, yet it remained larger and more financially successful than all its competitors combined.
Alex liked to believe that meant that the majority of people weren't as "cucked" as appearances suggested, perhaps preferring the Verse's looser laws as an escape from normal life drudgery.
But virtual serial killers, rapists, and other "recreational criminals" were a different class of escapees. Officially, most practiced their perverse arts exclusively in VR. A few famous "crossover" exceptions existed: the "Sniper Killer" had practiced his deadly skill in the Parallel Worlds, picking off dozens of sims and avatars alike for over a year before starting up in the Real. A rapist who preyed on college girls in PUSA for several months began raping them in real life. A crew of Parallel Canada bank robbers had started robbing actual banks. Some speculated that the crossover was much larger than Omniverse Inc. acknowledged, and one group, the Virtual World Anti-Crime Organization, had used these examples to lobby for outlawing "virtual sanctuaries for practicing real crime."
So far, to Alex's enormous relief, their regulatory efforts had failed. Not that she had any affection for virtual criminals, but she thought it just as likely that VR crime, like pornography, could be a "relief valve" for sociopathic/criminal tendencies rather than a breeding ground for it. She'd even written a paper arguing that thesis in Wendell Martin's class (he'd given her an A-). But more than that, she didn’t want to see the Omniverse's Parallel World's gritty reality castrated by a bunch of over-sensitive "please don't trigger and/or micro-aggress me" types.
Still, criminals were rarer in the Parallel Worlds than in real life, and Alex had never had a personal encounter with any of them. It was starting to look like that trend was about to end. It seemed they wanted her to catch a killer.
The Goddess Quest Page 11