The Goddess Quest

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "Verse?"

  "The Omniverse. What we call this virtual reality. Well, specifically, we call your United States the Parallel United States or PUSA.. Your world the Parallel Earth."

  "Jeez." Derald rubbed his forehead. "Excuse me for a minute. I need another beer."

  He returned with two – one he was already guzzling.

  "Okay," he said. "Where the hell were we? You were saying I live in the Parallel United States?"

  "Right."

  "Okay. I have a question." The beer was adding a burr to his words. "Since you mentioned my mother, when and where was she born?"

  "What's her full name? Where does she live now?"

  "Mary Ellen Hanson. Auburn, Nebraska."

  Exercising her expert online search skills, Alex located a probable match.

  "Algona, Iowa, 1989. Seven pounds, three ounces. Parents, James and Margaret Hanson."

  "Uh...you got it." His brow wrinkled. "You don't have a receiver or something in your brain?"

  "No."

  A minute passed where Alex contemplated how much easier and less frustrating it would be to simply kill the sim and continue with her quest.

  "One thing I'm confused about," said Derald. "Why are you telling me this? I assume you wouldn't just walk around telling everyone."

  "Because when I heard about you longing for something outside your present life, when you said you wished you could travel like I am, I thought I might have something to offer you. Something that would help us both."

  "Well... okay. I'm, uh, listening."

  "I need to get somewhere in North Carolina. I'm on a quest."

  "I've read about quests recently in Out There Magazine. 'Interview with an Avatar,' I think it was called. Someone claiming they were seeking a magic dragon or somesuch bullshit in the Arizona desert. If they won, they'd get some big prize – money and 'awards of power.'"

  "Sounds about right." Alex had never looked much into fringe subjects in the Verse, but right now, she was wondering why. Interesting stuff.

  "Is that what you're doing? Playing a game?"

  "A specific kind of game. There are several. A quest is a much longer contest involving multiple steps and solutions. They're not usually my thing. Too time-and energy-consuming. But this one has a reward I couldn't resist."

  "What's that?"

  "Godlike powers. Actually, strike the 'like.' I will be the most powerful being in this universe if I succeed."

  Derald's Adam's apple rolled up and down. Dude was buying this on a gut level regardless of his reservations. As Fox Mulder might've said, he wanted to believe.

  "That's kind of scary, man," he said.

  "Don't worry. I plan on being a benevolent god." Alex smiled. "For the most part."

  "I don't remember ever hearing about avatars becoming gods."

  "They've never had a contest like this before. The best gamers in the world are competing."

  "And you want me to give you a ride to North Carolina?"

  "Soul City, to be exact."

  "Never heard of it."

  "Neither had I."

  Derald shook his head. "I don't know, man. I can't just take off from work, even if I wanted to. Gerry would shit-can me for sure. I could lose my place, be out on the street."

  "Did I mention that I'd compensate you generously?"

  Derald's face lit up a little. "And you just want me to drive you to this city? Nothing else?"

  "Nothing else that I can think of now. Or, alternatively, you could let me borrow your driver's license and truck for a few days. I'd pretend to be you."

  "You don't look that much like me."

  "I could say I lost weight and had major cosmetic surgery." Alex smiled at him.

  "I don't think so. I can't see handing my license and truck over to someone I don't know."

  "How about I pay you two thousand in cash?"

  Derald's face lit up some more, but he shook his head. "My pickup's worth more than that. Not even talking about my driver's license and credit cards."

  "Well, feel free to name a figure."

  "I don't know, man. Sounds pretty dicey, if you know what I mean. I could see giving you a ride there, though. But why do you need that? Why not just rent a car or catch a bus if you have that kind of money?"

  "I could. But if you were with me, that would offer a kind of identity shield. Not that you have people asking for your papers or prying into your personal affairs like on my world, but still, without an identity, it's kind of hard to do a lot of things. You could help with that."

  "Okay. I might consider it for...let's say three thousand? I'll tell my boss I've got a sick relative I need to visit or something."

  "Three thousand clear. I'll pay for all expenses – gas, food, lodging?"

  "Better yet." Derald risked a small smile. "Jeez, my ex would really think I'm crazy now."

  "Just one more reason to do it."

  "Man, I need to think this over some, you know?"

  "Fine. But could you do me a favor? Could I crash on your bed for a few hours while you're thinking? I could use some rest."

  After a brief hesitation, Derald said, "Sure."

  ALEX WOKE up with a hunger for steak and some quality time with Brandon.

  She started a grass-fed steak from the freezer defrosting – one of a small stock of "healthy meats," including grass-fed hamburger, which her mom had agreed to keep on hand – and called Brandon. Her "lesser half" was only too eager to drop what he was doing and join her.

  "You could just terminate the sim and take his identity," said Brandon. "Why bother with all the negotiations?"

  "I know, but it feels like I'm chipping away at my soul when I do that." Alex sighed. "I guess I'm getting religious in my old age. The sims have become so...lifelike lately. Or maybe it wasn't lately. Maybe I just haven't had enough contact with them to see the richness of their back stories."

  "Maybe they're becoming conscious." Brandon lowered his voice to an ominous, Outer Limits whisper. "Sentient programs."

  "That's what I meant about getting religious. A religious faith is it would take to believe that nonsense."

  "Some say believing a machine can't become conscious is based on religious faith."

  "Some people struggle with logic. And a program for a person isn't even a machine."

  "A virtual machine?"

  Alex brushed the subject away with a dismissive wave. "Whatever. I'm just sick of slaughtering things that act like they're conscious. And I have a feeling I can play a better game without doing that. The Verse GM prefer non-violent solutions, I'm sure of it. I can sense the resistance and penalties every time I do it. It might seem like the simplest solution, but I'm starting to think that's an illusion."

  Brandon was nodding. "Hey, can I have some of that steak? The smell is making my stomach gurgle."

  "Feel free to defrost a piece and fry it yourself."

  Brandon frowned and shrugged. "So what if 'Derald' turns you down?"

  She shrugged. "I guess I'll walk away. I don't need him to get where I'm going."

  Alex polished off her steak and yams while Brandon looked on, drooling.

  "Jesus," she growled. "I said you could have a steak if you wanted."

  "Nah. I'm not much of a cook. I'll pick up something at Burger King later. I could use a beer, though, if you've got some."

  "Check the fridge."

  Brandon wheeled over and popped open the refrigerator doors. "Three bottles of Sam Adams."

  "What the hell. Bring me one, too. Be nice to actually drink a non-virtual beer."

  "You sure as hell earned it."

  Brandon dug a bottle opener from one of the drawers – he'd eaten over enough to know where most of the stuff was – and joined her at the kitchen table. They clicked beers.

  "To preserving one's soul," he said.

  "Why? Are you in danger of losing yours, too?"

  "Every day, sister." He gave her a dopey smile. "Every day I go without your lovin' touch."r />
  "God, you haven't even had a sip and you're already fucking drunk."

  "Yeah, sorry. I guess I've just been missing you a bit lately."

  "Yeah. Me, too. Hopefully, I can spend some quality time with myself soon."

  Bran's laugh was perfunctory. Alex drank her beer. An icy stream turned all warm and fuzzy in her tummy. The reality of the sensation jarred her. Reality was good for something after all.

  "Soul City, huh," Brandon murmured. "Figures you'd get caught up with the brothers. Almost as if the GM know about our friendship and are working it into the story line."

  "I almost wouldn't put it past them. You know, I'm training to do what they do and I still can't quite figure out how they're doing it. All these in-depth back-stories. They have to be using an incredibly powerful creative algorithm – or AlphaOmega's inserting its personality into it somehow – or both."

  "Your idea of creating a direct feedback loop between you and the Verse reality..." He drank his beer and frowned. "Could their more sentient behavior be a consequence of that?"

  "I thought of that. I'd have to be feeding into the story line and characters somehow, but I can't see how that would work. It's not like Verse technology can read minds."

  "Not that we know of." Brandon looked around. "Where's your mom, by the way?"

  "She's on a date, believe it or not. Not that she's calling it a date. Just 'lunch with an old friend.' One of the doubtless many professors who've been secretly letching after her for years."

  "Well, she is pretty hot." He flinched a bit under her cool gaze. "For someone her age, I mean."

  Alex continued to regard him without mercy. Brandon lowered his eyes.

  "So what's next?" he asked.

  "I'm going to get some rest," she said. "Then I'm going to rob an ATM."

  ALEX REJOINED her avatar. A dim light from one corner of the dingy room shone in her eyes. Derald was flopped back in a mangy recliner, a magazine folded in his lap, snoring. No new memories. Apparently, Derald had chosen not to disturb his guest's slumber.

  And Alex could think of no good reason to disturb his. She rose quietly and moved to the door, removing a cap hanging on the wall before slipping outside. A quarter-moon cast a pale light into the two AM darkness. She jogged along the north edge of town through vacant fields and empty parking areas, following the buildings and street lamps fifty or sixty meters distant on the main drag. Fortunately, the convenience store was located on the north edge of town, bounded by a vacant field on that side.

  Three street lamps attended the store. Alex popped the light bulbs in the front and rear lamp, leaving the furthest lamp on the main street south of the store intact. It shed minimal light on the store and its absence might make a passing cop curious, if there were any cops making the rounds in this sleepy town.

  Alex jogged to the back of the store, breaking the lock on the backdoor and entering. A single lamp cast the interior in ghostly light. She left it on for the moment, thinking it might do her more good than harm. The ATM machine sat near the front window, but she had no problem moving it with her mind to the back of the store where she could work out of sight of possible prying eyes.

  She popped open the side of the machine with a single thought and peered inside at a stack of five metal boxes which she assumed held the cash. Some kind of conveyer belt/roller system tugged the cash out of the boxes and slid the bills toward the exit, she guessed, but there was no need to figure that out. She telekinetically tugged on the top box, which snapped free with a creaking protest. The small box had a key lock, but she pried open the top. Voila! A bundle of cash held in place by a spring clamp. She split the clamp.

  The rest of the boxes sprang out in short order. She checked some of the bills –all of them twenties. Now she just needed a convenient way to carry the hundreds of bills. A pair of small backpacks hanging from one wall caught her eye, the kind of packs kids carried books with while making the rounds between their mindless classes. She unhooked one with her mind – or thought she'd unhooked it – but it caught something as it hopped free, dragging down a small display case, stuff clattering on the floor. Alex cringed, but told herself to chill. Did a falling sales item truly make a sound in an empty store?

  Alex stuffed the cash into the kiddie backpack. Her guesstimate was between three and four thousand in twenties. Certainly a start. And almost too easy. She shouldered the backpack half-expecting to hear sirens start up outside, but all she heard was the hooting of what might've been a Great Horny Owl. As a final touch, she reinserted the boxes, closed the side panel, and levitated the ATM machine back to its original position. Probably pointless, but it might delay discovery for a few hours.

  She imagined the shock on the store manager or employee's face when they discovered their gutted machine. Then the local cops would have a tizzy. They'd check the camera video. Nothing much to see there. The last clip before all went dark: three people in the store doing mundane things. More head-scratching as they noted the crushed cameras. How the hell had that happened?

  Alex ran back to Derald's dingy apartment, a big smile on her face. When she wasn't killing people, this was sort of fun. Maybe more fun – and more stress – than she'd ever experienced in a contest. Of course, she'd never been on a quest like this. The Mother(fucker) of all quests, it seemed.

  Alex slipped back into Derald's apartment and then into his bed while he snoozed happily on his recliner. She tucked the cash-stuffed backpack under the bed and released herself to her body and true sleep.

  DERALD WAS ruffling through her backpack when Alex rejoined her body.

  "What the fuck?" she demanded, sitting up.

  "I was about to ask you the same thing," said Derald. "Look, man, sorry about poking around in your stuff, but I thought I needed some answers. I didn't find any ID or anything, just this." He held up a wad of cash. "This and the backpack weren't here when you sacked out. Where did they come from?"

  "I had them tucked away in a safe place. I went to retrieve them while you were sleeping."

  Derald regarded her, not a hint of acceptance in his face. "Who travels around with a child's backpack" – he raised it with one hand and tapped the frog print on its back – "filled with cash and nothing else?"

  "A bank robber who likes cute little froggies?"

  Derald dropped the pack on his kitchen card table, his face dark with cognitive dissonance and disheveled sleep.

  "I don't know, man," he said. "This just doesn’t feel right."

  Alex stood up and made a show of stretching. Despite her pacifistic resolutions, she was tempted to crush his skull, grab his truck keys, and get the fuck out of town. She could load him in the pickup and drop him off in a field or lake somewhere. Didn't seem likely anyone would miss him much. But she was determined not to roll that way now – not until she had to, anyway.

  "That's cool," she said. "Guess I'll be on my way then. Thanks for dinner and letting me spend the night here."

  She grabbed her pack and started to zip it up. Instead, she reached in and counted out ten twenties, dropping them on the table.

  "For your trouble. Best of luck, Derald."

  Alex reached the door. Started turning the handle.

  "Hold on a sec, Alex. Or whoever you really are."

  Alex turned back.

  "Thanks for the money. I appreciate the gesture, but...do you have to leave this instant? Maybe stay for breakfast and talk a bit? I don't start work for another hour or so."

  "We can talk. I don't need breakfast."

  "I don't, either." He patted his stomach with ill affection. "Think I'll just have some coffee."

  He started a cheap dribble-machine hissing and groaning and leaned against the sink counter, facing Alex.

  "What are you really going to do in North Carolina?" he asked. "The God's honest truth."

  "What I've been doing all along," said Alex. "Follow the clues and solve shit."

  "Will it be dangerous?"

  "Based on how things h
ave gone so far, I'd guess yes."

  "You're not doing much of a job of selling me."

  "I won't lie to you. It could get hairy." She paused, looking him in the eye. "You could die."

  She thought she saw him shudder. His jaw tightened.

  "And you can't?"

  "Nope. Not here. Certainly, I can and will die in my world. I have a rare neurological disease. I may not make it even to your age."

  "How old are you? Twenty-three? Four?"

  "Twenty-four. And by the way, I'm a girl." She wasn't sure why she'd told him that, but she enjoyed his shocked his expression. "A dumb blond, no less."

  He squinted at her. "You mean you're a trannie?" He coughed into a hand. "Sorry, I mean transsexual?"

  "God, no. You do know what 'avatar' means, right? This is just a projection of me. I could take any form here – male, female, or anything in between. Even something nonhuman."

  "I'm sorry." He was shaking his head and frowning with determined denial. "I just can't accept that."

  "But those possibilities follow logically, don't they?"

  "At this moment, man, I'm not sure what logic means. Except that I really could use a drink and it's only six-thirty in the morning."

  "Derald, I could stand here for days trying to get you to understand. Or you could come with me now. We'll have plenty of time to talk on the road."

  "You're okay with me risking my life while you aren't – or don't believe you are?"

  "I'm okay with it if you are." Her smile withered. "I'll say this much. If we get through this, I won't forget what you've done. You will, but I won't. The rewards could be great. Also, I promise that if things start going seriously south, I will do everything in my power to get you out of harm's way. And I have a lot of power – and soon, Zeus willing, I'll have more."

  Derald poured a cup of coffee with a shaking hand.

  "Or my offer of renting your identity still stands. Forget the truck. I'll find my own way. You could say, in a few days, that you just lost your wallet. Twenty-five hundred in cash right now for one week. I'll even send it back to you, assuming I'm not eliminated."