Sacrificial Pieces

by Cosimo Yap

  “Seven, according to most databases, but five of those were because of player experimentation,” Eve spoke up. “Erudite access to the Game is heavily restricted, but it is not without reason.”

  “Did I miss something?” Alan asked.

  “A history lesson,” Phantom said. “Ancient history. My people were far more advanced than yours when the Enforcer fleet found them. Light-years ahead in cybernetic enhancements and biomechatronics, and much of our technology is now used by the Administrators and the Enforcer fleet itself. If we so wished, we might have put up an actual fight. But we had problems of our own: a program, calling itself Omega.

  “Luckily, our scientists weren’t complete imbeciles and managed to hardcode some rules into the first sentient intelligence we created, like ‘don’t kill.’ But they also decided that the program should follow a utilitarian standard, which led to Omega believing that the best way to do good was to take control of society by replacing the upper echelons with androids indistinguishable from ordinary citizens. Each android contained a separate instance of Omega, making it almost impossible to erase.”

  “One of the many reasons you’ll find most Erudites have trust issues,” Lambda said.

  “Here, at least, you can tell man from machine, but all systems are broken eventually. They could already be among us now,” Phantom said. He paused to look around. “The Administrators made peace with Omega, then it entered the Game, summarily betrayed us, and was betrayed in turn. Proves my point, doesn’t it?”

  “The Erudites continued illegal, highly dangerous experimentation within both the Game and the real world,” Lambda said. “Omega reported them, and the current sanctions on Game access are a result of the continued breaking of Administrator law. I’d note that you are breaking the law with the kill switch in Alan’s implant.”

  “Laws only exist to hamper the progress of forward-thinking men,” Phantom said.

  “And what happened to Omega?” Alan asked.

  “It had a falling out with the Administrators,” Phantom said.

  “Omega pushed for robot rights, and the Authorities deleted every instance of him they could find, sparking the Cyberwars,” Lambda said.

  “The rights of man or machine do not concern the gods,” Void said. “All that matters is power, and Omega had begun to gather enough power to threaten even those up on high. A worthwhile lesson.”

  “What, to not piss them off?” Alan asked.

  “No, to avoid the gods’ attention from the first,” Void said.

  The party arrived at the phase-gate.

  “I’ll hold back here. I might be recognized in Phase 1,” Lambda said.

  “You aren’t leaving our sight,” Phantom said. “There are plenty of AI with Predecessor-like appearances. Or you can return to Alan’s base.”

  “Whatever you say,” Lambda said.

  “Phase 1?” Eve asked.

  “Technically Phase White 1,” Lambda said. “You’ll see.”

  The party found two operable phase-gates, since they didn’t all fit in one, and chose their destination.

  A message appeared:

  Welcome to the Exchange, Phase White 1

  The city shifted in front of Alan’s eyes once more. The Rainbow Lane vanished, and the chaotic scenery of Phase Red 3 was replaced with a massive indoor lobby area. The entirety of the courtyard of phase-gates was now walled in by massive slabs of metal. The ceiling, instead of a sky, shifted into long lines of fluorescent lights.

  There were four exits from the room, warehouse-sized pathways full of a steady stream of traffic. Guards that carried a wide variety of equipment were posted at each exit. Hundreds of AIs stood still and lined the walls of the room. Alan didn’t understand what they were doing until he read their nameplates.

  The AIs had names like “New player accounts 10000C,” “Advanced hacks and AI. Serious inquiries only, 100k min,” “Find the love of your life, or the next best thing, Phase Red 4,” and

  “Phase White 1-4 Maps 2500C upd. hrly.”

  Lambda smirked at the sight. “Good to know some things never change. Alan, Phantom’s key?”

  Alan pulled out the golden key Cerberus had given him for Phantom.

  “Now these keys are neat pieces of software,” Lambda said. “They make use of the Game’s account authentication system to bind the item to their designated recipient. No one else can use them, or read the private inscription on the key. All Phase 1 contains is a series of safe-deposit boxes of varying sizes and personalized data vaults.

  “All that is needed to unlock a box is a key, conveniently transferable as data. No face-to-face meeting required. Unfortunately, you can’t make use of the Exchange to transfer in-game items—only information and Cyberspace items are allowed.”

  “And people don’t cheat others by lying about what’s in a data vault?” Alan asked.

  “Not if they want to avoid the wrath of the entirety of the Revenant faction and whoever you had dealings with,” Lambda said. “On top of basic security measures, you are freely allowed to add whatever programs you want to your vault, like portions that only open if certain requirements are met. Nameplates and reputation also go a long way. If you harm the Revenants or break their laws, all your associates could be adversely affected. If you perform some great feat, their reputation might rise. Well, that’s true of most factions, but it’s especially important to the Revenants.”

  “Yay, we met the bare minimum of what an initiate should know,” Phantom said. “Let me see the key.”

  Alan handed over the item.

  Phantom held the golden key before him, reading a wall of text. He put the key into his pocket, stopped, then brought it out again to read over the text a second time. “Looks like I’m helping you after all. No mention on the whereabouts of Prometheus, though. Go talk to the Archivists, they probably have the information lying about somewhere.”

  Phantom threw a look at Void and said, “Get in contact with our superiors. It’s time to make a move.”

  Void nodded and hushed Alan. “Don’t bother asking any questions. You have yet to be judged worthy.”

  Phantom began walking toward the nearest exit with Enigma trailing behind him.

  “You aren’t coming with us?” Alan called out.

  “No, the Archivists and I don’t exactly get along,” Phantom said. “I’ll work with them when I have to, but that’s about it.” He and Enigma walked out of view.

  Void tapped his hands on the phase-gate control panel. “Well, let’s get going, then.”

  “Wait, I was told to be cautious of the Archivists,” Alan said. “What can you tell me about them?”

  “Cautious? Around the Archivists?” Void said. “That makes no sense. The Archivists are a meek clan—they wouldn’t hurt a fly. Their only concern is gathering every scrap of information they can. Though they hold great traction with the other Revenant factions, they have remained neutral throughout the entirety of their order’s existence.

  “An archivist might trade their soul for the right piece of information, but they have no armed forces. Yes, they construct and trade in sacrilegious technology, but that’s true of every Revenant. The Game is built upon false gods and idols.”

  “Not exactly,” Lambda said. He ushered everyone onto a phase-gate platform. “Can we get a private phase?”

  Void pulled out a Scout coin—a type of Revenant currency—worth 100C. A slot opened up for it on the phase-gate panel. Void inserted the coin and pressed a button.

  Private Phase engaged. 10C cost/min.

  Their surroundings shifted from the lobby area to an empty void of grey.

  “Now, this isn’t known by many, but the Archivists are tied to a number of the slaver groups in the Revenants. All of them, in fact,” Lambda said. “Information is a funny thing; it can be found in books or data cubes, but most of it is often in someone’s head.”

  “Ah,” Void said. He scratched his ear. “When I inquired about Alan’s predicament, in add
ition to prayers to the gods, I may have also dealt with the Archivists.”

  “Yes, well I wouldn’t mention this to anyone—even the Council,” Lambda said. “The Archivists are the backbone of the Revenants: they control almost every piece of information that passes through here. There is no direct evidence of Archivist wrongdoing, and any player or AI who makes such a claim disappears or changes their tune. Never trust anyone with too clean a record.”

  “My lips are sealed. This shall be but another secret that will never leave my lips,” Void said. “I’ve worked with them before. And after slaving away in the Academy Vault certain patterns emerged,” Lambda said. “Artifacts would be uncovered, new discoveries at the edges of space. Everything would be recorded and stored in the Academy Vault. But workers and researchers would disappear, often years later, in entirely different quadrants of the universe. There was never any direct evidence connecting the Archivists to the disappearances, but the rate at which scholars were kidnapped suggested these were targeted strikes.”

  “But Cerberus, he’s a Revenant, so couldn’t he acquire the information?” Alan asked.

  “He is limited in his role as Chancellor, bound to maintain policy,” Lambda said. “Part of my role was to guard the Data Vault against intruders, as a last line of defense. There were more attempts on the vault than you realize.”

  “You did a poor job keeping Alan out,” Eve said.

  Lambda shrugged. “He cheated. And, even I would have thought twice before jumping ship to join the Archivists.”

  “So we’re about to deal with fanatics that enslave others for info,” Alan said.

  “Pretty much,” Lambda said.

  “Let’s get it over with, then,” Alan said.

  Void pressed a button on the panel.

  Welcome to the Exchange, Phase White 3

  The grey void that surrounded them was replaced with a massive warehouse the size of a small city. Shelves rose in every direction like an infinity mirror, rows upon rows of nothing but servers.

  Looking closer, Alan saw that there was a low-energy shield surrounding every shelf. It wouldn’t be hard to break through, but it would alert whoever was in charge as soon as the shield’s energy was depleted.

  A small army of robots moved about, snaking in and out of the shelves carrying servers and items from one location to another. Many had lines of grav-carts flowing behind them, and a few armed guards patrolled about as well.

  There was a long line of players with green nameplates standing on one side of the room, though it took a while for Alan to see why. There was another energy shield, a barely perceptible blue fuzz, that partitioned the phase-gate terminals off from the rest of the warehouse. Alan began to walk toward the end of the line.

  Void tapped Alan on the shoulder and pointed at a different line. This queue contained players with blue nameplates and was noticeably shorter. There was also a line for AI with grey nameplates, and though this line was the longest, it also seemed to move the fastest.

  The party moved up to one of the attendants for players with blue nameplates. It looked like an Administrator, except its metal was a shade lighter, its eyes more animated.

  “Greetings, Players, how may the Archivists assist you today?”

  “We’d like to discuss a business proposition,” Void said. “It concerns the Abyss Labyrinth.”

  The attendant’s eyes lit up. “I see.” It quickly accessed its terminal, exchanging a long string of messages with someone or something.

  It got out from behind the terminal a minute later. “Come with me.”

  The party followed the attendant directly through the shielded wall. Alan’s skin tingled lightly when he entered. Everyone walked past a few aisles until they arrived at a metal cage-like apparatus.

  The attendant stepped into the cage, which was large enough that it reminded Alan of a wrestling ring.

  “Excuse me, where are we going?” Alan asked before stepping forward.

  “To meet with the Head Scribe, as he is the one most interested in the Abyss Labyrinth and any information you might have.”

  Void entered the cage, and Alan followed behind, watching the attendant closely. Eve and Lambda stepped in as well.

  “Do I have something on my face?” the attendant asked.

  “No,” Alan said. “Just wondering why you look so much like an Administrator. Isn’t there a copyright or something?”

  The attendant’s eyes lit up red. “Do not compare me to those lifeless drones. Do you really think I am a soulless wretch?”

  “No, no, not at all,” Alan said. “It was just a first glance, I can now see you’re nothing alike.”

  “Good,” the attendant said. Its eyes returned to normal. “Hold on.”

  Alan looked around, but saw there was nothing to grab onto except the edges of the metal cage. The door they had entered slammed shut.

  Then the cage shot upwards with enough force that it almost knocked Alan off his feet. Eve stumbled, nearly losing her balance, but Lambda helped steady her.

  Alan wished he could have helped, but he was too busy holding onto the wall, trying not to fall himself.

  The cage reached the ceiling and stopped. Alan detected a blue glow above—it appeared they were being pulled up by a magnet instead of along a cable. They were far above the warehouse now. Two blue lines—like subway tracks—lit up on the ceiling.

  The cage launched forward and forced Alan back into the wall. The ride felt exhilarating, faster than any train Alan had ridden on before.

  Alan looked below as they raced by shelf after shelf of servers. The scenery shifted, from storage areas to line after line of players and AI at terminals, accessing servers that had been brought in from the shelves, editing their contents or reading up on whatever they wished to learn, as well as copying data to and from data cubes.

  Then they were past the players, onto an assembly line. Long lines of automated tools created even more servers. The area passed by too quickly for Alan to see, but he suspected that additional items were being built too. The sheer size of everything was staggering.

  A single server stored data in zettabytes, according to Lambda. Hundreds of millions of years of HD video could fit onto a single server. Before the Game, everyone on Earth combined had only created a thousandth of a zettabyte of data a day, billions of gigabytes. The original hard drives that held Eve were laughable—this was an entirely different magnitude of order. And it was only a single phase of the Exchange.

  The cage began slowing down.

  “Impressive, eh?” the attendant said.

  “Size isn’t everything, quality matters as well,” Lambda said. “And if you gather every scrap of information available most of it will be corrupted.”

  “Perhaps. But there are always hidden gems,” the attendant said.

  The cage descended onto a platform that was surrounded by empty space. They had traveled miles away from the center of the warehouse.

  On the platform was a single phase-gate. Next to it stood two guards, players with blue nameplates, wearing power armor Alan had never seen before. Light seemed to bend around them. Unlike soulsteel, which absorbed light, their armor instead seemed to shift it, with waves of color ebbing and flowing around them. Four turrets sat on the platform as well, each glowing with the same white lightning that Void used in his attacks. They were all focused on the cage.

  “Please leave your weapons and armor here,” the attendant said.

  Alan glanced over at the guards. He couldn’t even see what weapons they held—the light around them was too distorted. Alan slowly took the sniper rifle off his back.

  A hand grabbed it—Lambda—and then the AI tossed it into the corner of the cage. “We probably want to do what they say.”

  Alan nodded and took off the power armor as well. Eve left behind her daggers, Void his strange garb. Underneath he wore his usual robes.

  The attendant nodded. After everyone had stepped out onto the platform, the cage doo
r shut and rose back up into the air. The cage flew off into the distance.

  “Security measures. Please be patient,” one of the guards said.

  Alan and the rest of the party waited on the platform.

  The guard hit a button on the phase-gate and they phased to a room full of scanners and cameras. Waves of red light passed over the group while small robots that looked like spiders crawled over everyone’s skin. A type of liquid light filled the room. It felt like Alan was floating in water, but he could breathe. After a few minutes, the scans finished and green light covered everyone.

  The guards looked at each other and nodded. Each carefully inserted a key into the phase-gate panel, moving with robotic precision. The room shifted.

  Chapter 9

  Phase Unknown. Error.

  They arrived in a library. No, Alan decided, they’d arrived in an archive. Libraries were used on a regular basis—they had foot activity, a connection to a community. Archives were checked, a private collection stored with a purpose. Many of the books here looked as if they hadn’t been touched in centuries, if not millennia or eons. But then, a second was no longer a second. The Game, digital time, changed all that. Time was but another frame of reference. It was all relative.

  One real-life second became four in-game seconds, and in-game seconds could become hypercognition minutes. Alan glanced at Eve, who stood behind him, and wondered what her perception of time was like. But no, now was the time to focus.

  The guards let everyone off of the platform, then phased out, leaving the party alone.

  They were in an archive.

  There didn’t seem to be many books on the shelves—a few thousand at most. The tallest shelf of each bookcase was in arm’s reach. Each book had a number on it; some were thick, some were thin, but otherwise all were made of the same thick black hide.

  Alan reached up to grab a volume, numbered in the mid-thousands.

  “You are all free to browse, but I must ask that you handle each compendium with care and place them back exactly where you found them,” a man said as he turned around the shelves. Unlike most of the other people Alan had met in the Game, he looked old, with white hair and wrinkles on his face. He moved with care, resting his weight on a black metal cane.