by Char Cam
Laughing, Ophelia stepped through and gazed around in astonishment. In this entire convention-sized room, people played the same online game she did and she would actually be meeting others who could understand her conversations. She remembered her last conversation with her assistant, Trish McIntyre, before leaving on vacation. “My mount is parked outside low on thorum, and I’m parked in a heavy mob area. I’m gonna aggro a roving patrol if I don’t log outta here soon, so I’m just trading this item before I hearth to another zone. Good journey.” She’d zipped out, and soon received a call from that same assistant asking for a translation.
“...In English, not game speak,” Trish had demanded dryly.
“What? What? Oh. Oh, um, I said my car is parked outside. I’m low on gas and there’s heavy traffic. I’m gonna get a traffic ticket from the meter reader if I don’t leave soon, so I’m just dropping off the work schedule before I leave on vacation. Take care.”
“Why didn’t you say that then?” Trish had asked humorously.
“I did. I can’t help it if you’re linguistically challenged.” Ophelia grinned hugely as she gazed around her now. She wouldn’t have to translate here.
“This is Computer Hall,” Magdar explained, leading her through a huge maze of spacious office cubes set in fours. “People sign up for computer time in three hour blocks. They can play the game, or study online--basically it’s a big library room for computer use.” Ophelia guessed there must be about fifty square feet of laminated flooring upon which the cubes were arranged. A gallery of windows and sliding glass doors along opposing walls bordered the two sides of the room. Through them, she could see wild gardens of trees and flowers with white-stoned paths leading into murky depths. In such a large room, the cacophony of sound should have bombarded her ears. Instead, voices were muted, with only an occasional outburst as someone failed or succeeded in their game play. Her guide sailed through the body of humanity with barely a ripple. His goal was clear: the far end of the room where a cinder block enshrouded entrance with the humongous painted notice arching overhead--Absolutely NO ADMITANCE until Level 150!--guarded the passage to mysteries untold.
“Hey! Hey Magdar! Wait up, man.” A gangly teen with a frizz of bright red hair barreled toward them. He skidded to a stop, barely missing bumping into the object of his earnest plea as he stared at papers in his hand. Breathlessly, he offered them. “Got a problem with my English paper. Look, see? I meet the grade requirements on everything else, but man my English teacher gave me a low score on my paper. You know what she said? I had too many facts! I’m like, 'What? It’s on history. Isn’t it supposed to be facts?' And she’s like, handing it back and not changing her mind. So like, I was wondering--"
"Hello Brian. You have Ms. Dibbs for English, don’t you." Magdar whipped from somewhere on his person an electronic contraption that could have been a tablet, except it had far too many buttons. He played with its blinking lights a moment, then nodded at the teenager. "You’re a Go. I’m making an exception for everyone in her class. This does not mean you slack off! Got that?”
The kid yelled a 'WHOOP' and pumped his arms in victory. “Magdar, you Rock!”Suddenly he noticed Ophelia. “Hey, hey, is this the latest Golden? Hi! Hi, I’m Rocketfuel on Grassland realm.”
“Sonetshea, White Orchid realm,” Ophelia replied offering her hand.
“Grats, man. I wanna be you when I grow up.”
Ophelia laughed. “Friend me,” she urged, referring to an ingame feature that let players link with special friends, “and I’ll help you level up.”
“Way coooool! I’ll do that. Good Journey inside. Hope you get the ult prize. Gotta go. Times passing on my play time.” As suddenly as he appeared, the young player scampered rapidly back into the pulsating masses.
Magdar chuckled and motioned for her to follow him. “This has become an impromptu ‘latch-key kid’ center. Some of the kids can’t afford a game subscription, but they come in anyway. I started a student plan. They bring me a report from school with passing grades each month and they earn themselves free game time. I usually don’t let grades slide, but Dibbs consistently fails students and I’ve seen some of the papers she failed. Reports are subjective, but when sentences are constructed well and the info is logically presented? One paper should have been an A++. She gave it a D. Some of the teachers have caught on and see this center as a way to encourage their students to do better. But there’s ones like Dibbs that abuse them instead. She should be fired, but the school’s desperate for teachers of any kind.” He shrugged. “Her day won’t last long. I’m out there recruiting. Got myself on the school board so I’ll be able to help her out the door. And speaking of doors...”
They had finally arrived at the arched gateway that only the elite could enter. Magdar inserted an orange key card into a lock mechanism and opened the door to usher her quickly through like there would be a mad rush to get to the door before it closed. Excitedly she stepped through.
The immediate quiet was of an undisturbed ancient tomb and rather than being uncomfortable, it felt like a relief after the subdued noise of Computer Hall. A long hallway stretched left and right with brightly painted walls lined with colorized pictured scenes from the game. It gave her the feeling of a college dormitory without the madly dashing students and their mayhem. Numbered doors equi-distanced broke the smooth wall surfaces and Ophelia’s breath quickened as she thought of what lay behind them.
They went to the right and five doors down. Magdar stopped and explained. "These doors all lead to the private rooms of guests. Make a note of this door number please. It is number twenty seven."
Ophelia nodded, "Twenty seven. Got it."
"Whenever you visit other guests rooms, use this hallway,” he said pointing up and down the hall they were in. “It’s the only access between them. Security won’t allow unauthorized personnel through any other entrance point. Only an authorized card can open the hall doors. You‘ll have to open the door for your guests to enter your area." Magdar then opened door number twenty seven with another card swipe, this one blue, and they entered another corridor. There were four widely spaced doors in this hall and the area reminded Ophelia of an exclusive hotel. Plants and decorative alcoves with statues of game characters or stylized pieces of sculptures lay hidden within.
They went straight back to the end of the hall, which widened to a small austere lobby. Papers sat neatly on the surface of a single plain two foot square table. Magdar held out one of the two chairs bracketing it and indicated she should sit.
“Before you begin your sojourn, we must go over the formalities,” he said, looking stern.
“Of course,” she agreed. What else could she say?
“In front of you are the parameters of your stay. I’m going to read from my copy. You follow along and fill in the blanks on yours as we come to them. Some choices are provided. Please print them in the space provided. Do not circle; print. Exactly. Use your invitation as a reference for some of the answers. This is a kind of insurance for protection in case of emergencies and such. Is that fine?”
“Oh. Yes, its fine.” Anything, she thought. Let’s get to the good stuff!
Pen in hand, she dutifully followed along and printed where applicable. “I, Ophelia Ransom, do hereby enroll myself as an Elite of Azdromadarim as a magic inheritor. I permit only myself as the single pressence in residence. I consent to a withdrawal of funds to be determined on agreement from parties concerned in case of damages. I authorize accommodations at issuance signed agreement.
Is everything clear so far?”
“I guess. You’ve got some typed errors, did you know?”
“You printed exactly what your choices were?” Magdar asked concerned.
“Hey, level one hundred fifty, elite puzzle solver here. I’m no noob. Exactly what it asked for,” Ophelia assured him.
Magdar sighed in relief. “Yes. We paid for a lot of copies. No refunds. So no use wastin’ ‘em. But policy is policy and it still
counts. The missing words are ’of a’. You wouldn’t mind just printing them in would you?” He pointed to the blank space after ‘issuance’ and lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Of course not,” she obliged cheerfully. “There. That does read better.”
“Wonderful! And now for the Last Bit. If you can Fill in This Quote from the Game, you’ll receive an Extra Bonus Reward!”
Ophelia laughed and proceeded to fill in the quote from a misguided player who became famous saying it during a recorded botched raid. ‘New body better sit up on my tree! You ar rival noobs in Azdromadarim!’ She handed the paperwork to Magdar and waited with a smile as he glanced over it and nodded with satisfaction.
"All is in order. Now, you’ve been assigned a room.” He handed her a green holographic card with the number thirty flashing across its face. “Would you like to see it,” he waved back down the hallway, “or would you like to get straight to some action?" he asked with sparkling eyes.
"Action, please!"
Magdar laughed delightedly, and on cue, a door opened behind him.
"Greetings! I’m Allon, Gatekeeper--"
"Of Azdromadarim! You look exactly like your game portrait," Ophelia said dryly. "How could any player of Azdromadarim not know who you are?"
Allon was tall, of apparent middle age, almost emaciated, with wire glasses perched on a narrow nose. His light blue eyes peaked through shrewdly. Darkly blonde hair cut very short on a military style, nevertheless had elongated, closely cropped sideburns trailing down to his chin. The Gatekeeper smiled secretively. "The truth is beyond knowing..."
"You must experience it. Gotcha."
Allon smiled more naturally. "We’ll deal well together. Come this way please. There’s something you’ve been looking for all your life beyond this next door."
“Can’t wait,” Ophelia said, bouncing to her feet.
As Allon led Ms. Ransom off, Magdar glanced once more at the paperwork. A strange glow lit his eyes and suddenly he held only a single paper in his hand. He smiled with amusement. No one ever noticed what they were really agreeing to when they filled in the blanks. Magdar read the paper once more, now devoid of extraneous words. ‘I, Ophelia Ransom, an Elite magic inheritor, permit my essence withdrawal. I authorize issuance of a new body upon arrival in Azdromadarim.’
Sean Ransom was excited. He was about to ride on his very first plane! Alone! First Class too! He felt grown up. Though only twelve, he was going to a music symposium for gifted musicians in San Francisco! He was young sure, but adults called him a prodigy. Whatever. As long as they let him play any instrument he could pick up, he didn’t really care. His slightly tilted bright green eyes glittered with anticipation and he flipped his dark longish bangs sharply right. His styled hair was military short on the sides and back and air blew coolly over his scalp. It kept him alert after his ‘too excited to sleep’ restless night. His phone rang. He rolled his eyes.
“Mo-om. I’ve got my seat belt on and my stuff tucked away. I’m ready for take-off,” he explained tolerantly. His mom should know by now he could handle himself separated from her. He grinned because she didn’t do so well separated from him. She, herself, had left on a way earlier flight for L. A. to claim her prize at a role-playing theme park. She’d had her assistant, Trish McIntyre, pick him up and bring him to the airport and see that he was safely aboard.
“You’re on a plane by yourself?” an outraged woman demanded.
Warning chills fluttered down Sean’s back like a harbinger of doom. “Who is this?”
“Answer me, young man!”
Sean hung up. No one should have this number. He knew who the woman must be. His father’s mother. His dead father’s mother; Catherine Ransom. The one he held responsible for his father’s death. If she and Arthur Ransom hadn’t been so unforgiving, his father wouldn’t have joined the army. Wouldn’t have been in Afghanistan. Wouldn’t have been blown up. Wouldn’t be dead. He’d have a father.
His phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID. Same number. He thought it through. She would call again. And again. He’d have to shut her down now so she would understand he wanted nothing to do with her. He answered his phone’s demanding ring.
“Don’t--don’t hang up,” the woman softly begged.
“Tell me who you are and I’ll decide if I want to stay on.”
“Sean? Is this Sean? I-Im Catherine Ransom. I’m your grandmother.”
“No,” he said coldly. “You’re my father’s mother.”
“What has your mother told you about me?” Catherine asked stressfully.
“My mother has only talked about you one time. She said you’re the reason we’ve run all our lives. She’d explain when I was older. I never asked her again about you and I never will. I know all I want to know. I wanted to find out more about my dad and I did some research. You know my mother? The ‘harlot’? Just last night I tucked her into bed after she cried herself to sleep. Again. Holding dad’s picture. In my entire memory, my mother has never gone out on one date. How’s that for the slut, huh? And you can keep your Ransom riches. I wouldn’t let it sully my shoes. Especially if I turned out like you two. That’s what I know from my research. And, as you may have discovered, we’ve taken back our legal name. Our name, despite your attempt at invalidating my parent’s marriage. We’ve stopped running. We aren’t hiding anymore. Now that I’m twelve, I have the legal right to decide where I want to live if it ever becomes an issue. If you kidnap me, I will do everything in my power to escape and see that you are duly prosecuted. Is there any point that I missed?” Without waiting for an answer, Sean continued, “Also, I can’t help but feel less than respectful of someone who would call a child behind the mother’s back, expressly against permission. I know for a fact she wouldn’t want me talking with you. I’m doing so as a courtesy, though with very little courtesy I suppose, to express my own displeasure and a desire for no further contact.” Quiet weeping assaulted him through the phone and he almost, almost felt bad about that. Then his grandfather came on the line.
“Listen you little hussy--” Sean hung up. Turned his phone off. He burned with anger. His mother had been hurt enough. He would keep this call from her. He worked very hard at forgetting the call. By the time he landed, he’d pretty much succeeded.
TWO
Allon led her through to, in what Ophelia’s mind equated as, an antechamber more in line with a pressure lock or quarantine area. He turned and held out a special gold card to her. "Hold on to this. You can’t enter the game area without a card on your person. Also, I need you to place your hand here for palm recognition. It’s another security feature."
A small metal pad extruded itself from the unmarked wall in front of Ophelia. She placed her hand on it, then laughed in delight as sparkle dust erupted from the ceiling directly above and settled on and about her.
As the security pad receded, Allon raised his arms, hands palm outward, then moved his arms side outward until they rested once more against his body. A shimmering in the wall to the left turned translucent and became a doorway; but not any doorway Ophelia had ever seen. Warped waves of color folded in and out of focus, bending and twisting as if pulled. They spread and formed a pathway to…. Suddenly a blast of sound staggered Ophelia. The view through the door morphed abruptly into dozens of people roving about in a large, fountained city square. High overhead, a domed greenhouse ceiling protected all with shaded screening. Little kiosks abounded and the people visiting them were... not exactly human. Ophelia laughed in wonder. The costumes were astoundingly authentic and so very realistic.
"This is wonderful!"
Allon bowed slightly and smiled. "Welcome to Azdromadarim, your city, Kada. Rule us wisely." Allon offered his arm to escort her through the door.
Ophelia gasped. "That’s right! That’s right! Master level rules the city! Oh my gosh!" She placed her hand on his forearm, glad it was there as she stumbled through an invisible, heavy substance within the doorway; and
because she was so busy looking at everything, she had no idea where she walked. "We’re starting already?" She stopped and whipped out her cell and started taking pictures, trotting up to nearby buildings to gaze inside. "Look at the architecture!" A building in the shape of a boot advertised shoes for sale. She peaked through the window of a giant pin cushion and saw sewing supplies. A candy shop looked like a chocolate bar. Nowhere was a building in the traditional rectangle or square of the outside world. It was just. Like. The game! And everywhere people bowed or curtsied respectfully. To her.
"Come, Kada. Your city and a new world await you. We’ll pick up your royal court and begin your journey."
Allon led her into the roving humanity and Ophelia had to concentrate on not loosing him as she raptly watched everything but where she was going. Within a short walk, though, they joined a group of people kept aside from all the throngs of surging shoppers and tradesmen.
"Well, here they are then," said a woman who could have been Magdar’s relative. "Kept ‘em safe for ya. Welcome, Your Highness." The woman bobbed a curtsey. "I'm off then. See you all around." Then the woman rushed off to be swallowed into humanities mass.
"Right," Allon said drawing their attention. "Follow me then. We’ve not far to go." Allon set off at a leisurely pace, giving all a chance to gaze around.
Ophelia counted eleven people in the group, making her the twelfth member. They were from different nationalities and widespread age groups: a willowy Chinese man in his late sixties, a teen dressed in a sari, her waist length and lustrous dark hair flowing freely, a tall, dark, and craggy faced man of around forty who could probably hold his own in a fight if the look of his slightly crooked nose was anything to go by. Ophelia’s own green eyed, obsidian hair with the vague hint of her Korean grandparents didn’t stand out with this crowd.