Ascension

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  ‘Fall for a trap? Me? Never!’ Franc grinned. They hugged and the woman turned to Re’lien.

  ‘And who is this? Edal skin?’ she whistled. ‘Trolling?’

  ‘Ssshhh…Muur. Not everyone uses fake avatars, like you. This is Re’lien. She’s using her real appearance.’

  ‘A real edal? Gosh. My apologies, kur’dal en trel’ar msaia.’

  ‘Lar kur’dal, degor eraz’dols,’ Re’lien responded, with a smile.

  Muur laughed. ‘I only know that one phrase. Enterprising folk of the Empire?’

  Re’lien’s smile broadened. She hadn’t spoken her mother tongue in ages. ‘Enterprising folk of the Imperial Fringe. You’re closer to the truth that you thought.’

  ‘What did you say?’ the woman’s eyes brightened. Dark brown.

  ‘Not a kur’dal, honourable free race. Back in Imperia, these words all have different intents. Kur’dal is a curse there. They are seen as leaches who disrupt the Imperial Doctrine. Free race would mean demon, where I came from.’

  Muur frowned. ‘What a hell, to have a society that curses the traders, the businessmen, the innovators. How does the Great Exchange survive in such a place?’

  ‘Great Exchange? Muur…that’s an exanoid name…’

  ‘Very attentive, good-edal. I am Muur, daughter of Quok of Grag-Tec Extos III. Crypto-programmer.’

  ‘Re’lien. Intergalactic Relations major. Sister of Sola. I was called the Devil Child where I came from. Why did you choose a human avatar?’

  ‘Not insecurity, if that’s what you’re thinking. Practicality. Simple as that. Exanoids aren’t good runners, or lifters, or good at anything athletic at all. Frontier is a physical-intensive game, so I chose an avatar that can handle it.

  Re’lien snorted. ‘Should’ve picked an edal, or a merka. Way tougher.’

  Muur shrugged. ‘Need some challenge. I’m sure you’re going to be playing this game on easy-mode.’

  ‘Do I hear non-roleplaying out here?’

  ‘Skite,’ Muur whispered, and then fell into a fake drawl. ‘No, madam. Just a questioning this outsider that Franc come ‘n brought.’

  A tall, broad-shouldered blonde woman, wearing a salvaged anti-kinetic vest and a black cowboy hat with a silver star, exited a cabin. She had to hunch down to fit through the doorway.

  ‘Re’lien, this is Grettaduk.’

  ‘Sherriff Grettaduk, to you, rancher.’

  Franc leaned in to whisper to Re’lien.

  ‘Grettaduk is a hardcore RPer. Try stay in character.’

  ‘RPer?’ she said aloud.

  ‘You don’t know about RPing?’ Grettaduk’s stern face broke into a look of youthful joy.

  Re’lien shook her head.

  ‘Roleplaying. Taking on a role. Staying in character.’

  ‘Acting?’ Re’lien offered.

  ‘Exactly. But more than that. Acting is off a script, for a purpose. RPing is living another life. Making a new life. One worth living. One where you choose what you want to be. We RP because real life is insufficient. Boring. Callous. Cruel. We RP because ingame, we can be anything we want.’

  Grettaduk looked Re’lien from toe to head.

  ‘You want to be an edal? Odd choice.’

  ‘She is an edal,’ Franc offered.

  ‘Don’t break character,’ Grettaduk scolded. Seems only she was allowed to break character.

  ‘I’ve always used my real appearance as my avatar. Scars and all. I have nothing to hide…but, real life is getting unpleasant. RPing sounds like it could be…fun.’

  Grettaduk nodded, satisfied.

  ‘Then let me welcome you, Re’lien, to Unity Homestead. A possibility. A new hope. A dream approaching reality. Our home.’

  “There is nothing more important.”

  Chapter 8.

  Friendship

  The stones held in the cold. Re’lien shivered. The light peeking through the decaying ceiling of the ancient xeno-ruin did little to provide warmth for her and Muur. Franc and Grettaduk were avid dungeon explorers and came prepared with fur jackets made from furry mozar. Muur, typically a crafter and rancher, didn’t expect a ruin to be so cold. Re’lien blamed Franc for not telling her. He had just grinned.

  ‘Well, better now to work up a sweat. You and Muur can carry the loot.’

  Re’lien had been playing Frontier for weeks now. She hadn’t studied for her exams. They had barely crossed her mind. All that mattered was erecting fences, building cabins, chopping trees, fishing, hunting, crafting – and her new friends. In these weeks, her new friends had taught her as many aspects of the game as such a short time could allow. They had started her off with foraging, stocking up the herbs they needed for rudimentary bio-tech (or as they called it ‘herbalism’). She then progressed to hunting. Initially, she felt a bit guilty for killing the sweet looking dugobecks. She had promised not to take a life after the escape from Xerl, but then she remembered that she ate meat in real life, and more importantly – this was not real life.

  The weeks progressed and she was taught farming, crafting, building, mining and all manner of tasks. Besides clan wars and the more violent pass times ingame, this left her with only one major ingame activity to learn – dungeon crawling.

  The world of Frontier was dotted with xeno-ruins. They were copied from real life records of ancient ruins found by explorers on the frontier. Anthropologists, archaeologists, historians and all manner of the types of people who cared speculated that the ruins belonged to ancient gray civilisations. Opponents to that theory argued that grays exhibited too little intellectual acumen to ever amount to unfacilitated civilisation building. Without the free races of humans and exanoids, these assorted academics argued, grays would be doomed to their mud-huts and superstitions. The fact that grays were spread across the stars was an evolutionary quirk – not an indication that they had mastered and lost FTL travel. Re’lien usually would find the debate invigorating. It was one that Franc argued almost as passionately as he did on the ethics of orbital bombardment. But the gamer bug had bit hard and when she was informed that they were going on a dungeon crawl – all she could think of was of loot and adventure.

  Xeno-ruins weren’t only interesting remakes of real life locations ingame. They also housed some of the rarest materials in the game. Rare xeno-tech. Computer components. Weapon parts. Cure-all medicines. If you wanted to turn your rural homestead into a thriving 36th century frontier settlement – you needed to dungeon crawl through a xeno-ruin.

  ‘This ruin’s been cleared of mobs by the next clan over,’ Grettaduk drawled. She spat out some chewing tobacco and shouldered her repeater rifle. ‘But there may still be some stragglers.’

  Mobs was the term for AI-controlled characters or moving entities. Animals, or in the case of xeno-ruins, rogue-syns and monsters. Re’lien had only seen a hostile mob while hunting. A quilled direboar. It had almost gored her when Grettaduk took it down with a clean shot. Grettaduk had thanked her for being an adept distraction.

  Re’lien was in awe of the hulking lady. Not only was her avatar at its physical peak, by design and through intensive ingame training, but her skills at the game were unparalleled by even Franc (who was a bit of a nerd). Above all that, she seldom broke character. In fact, she would only stop RPing to explain some game mechanic to Re’lien, or to scold someone for breaking character. She helped Re’lien establish her RP identity.

  They stuck to their real names, it made it easier to RP. Didn’t have to remember both fake names and fake identities. As such, she played as Re’lien, an edal pioneer who had been rescued from a fringe world by explorers and left on a new planet to start a new life. Re’lien didn’t mind that it was a little too close to the truth to be real RP.

  Franc touched Grettaduk’s arm, reassuringly. ‘No need for that peashooter, Grett. Any bad mobs and we’ll hear them clanking down the halls. Don’t need to be antsy.’

  ‘Raiders could be afoot, Franc. Real quiet like. Need to stay frosty so you
don’t bite void.’

  Her tone was serious but a faint smile belied her stern sentiments. They were all excited to be on this dungeon trip. It wasn’t only Re’lien’s first time, but Muur’s as well. Muur worked harder than Grettaduk, who had not spoken about her real-life identity, Franc and Re’lien. This meant less time for gaming. Her time ingame was dedicated to crafting and ranching, which she could calmly do while going over code in another window.

  Grettaduk took point and led the way, rifle at the ready.

  Death wasn’t a big concern in Frontier. Just a big inconvenience. A game with permadeath wouldn’t be that fun. When one died ingame, they just respawned somewhere on the map with new player equipment. The loss was the supplies and the time. Grettaduk took it more seriously. She said, in one of her non-RP chats, that when her avatar bites void, she’s going to design a new character. Franc added that she had already done this once, and after a scolding, corrected himself by stating that he missed the antics of “good ol’ Grettaduk the Departed.” The real-life names and RP personas did get a bit confusing.

  Grettaduk stopped, suddenly. And signed for them to halt. They all stopped. Muur rolled her eyes, dismissively. Re’lien didn’t know what the faux-human was being so carefree about. Only Grettaduk and Franc knew the dangers of these ruins. Best follow their lead.

  ‘Clear. And seems to be some loot.’

  They all filed into the room. There were no holes in the roof, but golden chests engraved with mysterious hieroglyphics illuminated the dark grey chamber.

  ‘Remember to check for traps,’ Grettaduk reminded them.

  Muur rolled her eyes again and Re’lien couldn’t help but grin. Grettaduk really was like a stern mother to the group.

  Franc examined the chests and poked it with the butt of his bolt-action.

  ‘Clear.’

  Grettaduk looked at Re’lien and inclined her head at the chest with a faint smile.

  Re’lien felt a stab of joy. She moved to the chest and opened it. Inside were an assortment of gold-coloured metal sheets, some extra-terrestrial looking computer chips and…a FireLance.

  Re’lien backed away.

  ‘What is it?’ Muur asked, concern showing in her voice.

  Franc took a look. ‘Some xeno-scrap metal, a syn-control chip and…a staff?’

  ‘It’s…an Imperial weapon,’ Re’lien said, voice shaky.

  Grettaduk raised her eyebrow and lifted the staff out of the chest. ‘How do the Imperials use something like this? No stock. No sights. Where’s the ammo container?’

  Re’lien paled. Franc noticed.

  ‘Grett…’

  Grettaduk froze and looked at Re’lien. She dropped the staff back into the chest.

  ‘We can offload it at a trade town. I prefer slug weapons.’

  Re’lien soon calmed as they deposited the loot into their assorted bags and satchels. Re’lien noted that Grettaduk did not pick up the FireLance. Re’lien felt her eyes moisten. Stern, serious, viciously dedicated to the RP – Grettaduk was a good person.

  The expedition went off without any more problems. While the previous clan had taken a lot of the high-level loot, there were plenty of components and rare ingredients to make the others, especially Muur, excited.

  The light through the cracks was fading and Franc had to resort to a flaming torch. All of them were weighted down by assorted baggage. Metals, tech, medicine and alien weapons that didn’t make Re’lien shiver with bad memories.

  As they approached the exit of the ruin, all but Grettaduk jumped at the sound of revving engines.

  ‘Vok!’ Franc swore. ‘You think that’s the Blood Hunters?’

  ‘Blood Hunters?’ Re’lien asked.

  ‘Bunch of griefing raiders. Been hitting homesteads across the stretch,’ Grettaduk explained.

  They all broke into a run.

  Rumble. Crunch. Scream.

  Dust filled the room as the floor caved in behind them. Re’lien and the others turned. Muur was gone.

  ‘Um, guys. I’m a bit stuck.’

  They were at the entrance and Grettaduk was surveying the outside with a pair of binoculars.

  ‘They’re headed to Unity.’

  Franc looked at Re’lien and the gaping hole in the ground and frowned.

  ‘Grett and I will go to Unity to defend it. Re’lien, can you try help Muur out of that hole?’

  Re’lien nodded.

  ‘Great. Good luck, guys. We’ll come back when the fighting is done. Otherwise, meet us at Unity. If they win, we might as well all respawn together.’

  ‘Don’t talk that way, Franc. You got me as sheriff,’ Grettaduk cocked her repeater to emphasise the point.

  ‘How could I make such a grave error,’ Franc grinned.

  They disappeared down the ruined steps and out of sight.

  The sound of their footfalls faded away and an oppressing silence fell on the dust-filled passageway.

  Re’lien approached the hole on her hands and knees, careful to not exacerbate the already failing structure of the stone flooring. Muur was covered in grey dust. She had some scrapes on her knees.

  ‘Any severe damage?’ Re’lien shouted.

  Muur winced. ‘No need to shout. Your voice is transmitted directly into my psyche. And…vitals seem fine…’

  She examined herself.

  ‘Just some scrapes and bruises. Injury ain’t my problem. More thinking about how I’m going to get out of this hole.’

  Re’lien examined the collapsed flooring. It looked like the ruin had been built atop some sinkholes, or subterranean pockets. The pressure above must have been too much and caused the floor to cave in. Or it was just a scripted trap. The hole was too deep to climb out of without aid.

  Re’lien lay down and stretched out her arm.

  ‘Jump up.’

  Muur dusted herself off and took a running jump. She ran a few steps up the wall, hand outstretched, until sliding now.

  ‘Just a tad too far,’ she frowned. ‘Gonna need a rope.’

  ‘The others will bring one back.’

  ‘If they come back.’

  Re’lien stood up and then sat on the edge of the hole, her legs dangling down.

  ‘Grettaduk and Franc seem pretty competent. The Blood Hunters will go running soon enough and then they’ll be back up to help.’

  Muur sat down, cross legged. ‘I hope you’re right.’ She smiled, faintly.

  Silence. Re’lien fidgeted with a flap on her hide-pants.

  ‘So…’ Muur finally said. ‘What brought you to Frontier? You’re obviously not a gamer. No offence.’

  ‘None taken. I was bored of v-flicks and had a lot of time to kill. So, I downloaded it.’

  ‘A lot of time? On Mars?’

  ‘I’m in the hospital.’

  ‘Oh…I’m sorry,’ Muur’s face reddened.

  Re’lien raised a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t be. No reason you would know. Only Franc does and that’s because we’re in the same class IRL.’

  ‘Franc seems to know something about all of us.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Muur laughed. ‘Grett isn’t exactly the most amiable player…’

  ‘I like her.’

  ‘So, do I, but she is an acquired taste. Franc introduced me to her. He knew me from another game. Invited me to his tight-knit clan here. He’s a good guy. Always laid back, unless you get him onto one of his academic topics. I found his…xenophilia would be the nomenclature…quite disconcerting at first, but it’s not creepy. He isn’t one of those pervert humans who like pig-people or one of those pretentious hippy gits trying to fight a trendy cause. It’s personal to him. In fact, if I hadn’t met him IRL, I would have thought him a non-human myself. I don’t know why he’s so passionate about non-human rights, but it’s a battle he’s chosen and fights for sincerely. It’s almost infectious.’

  ‘Ironically,’ Re’lien replied, no longer fidgeting with her pants. ‘I disagreed with him on a lot of stu
ff. The Ganymede propaganda, as he would call it, worked on me. I was ready to be punished for what my people did to Ganymede. But then…’

  Muur squinted. ‘Are you the one who got attacked at UNL?’

  Re’lien nodded.

  Muur made a silent oh. Re’lien continued.

  ‘I figured, why should this edal, me, Re’lien, feel guilty for what I had nothing to do with? Vok. Why should I think I should feel I have any inclination of Imperial in me at all. I’m not some newbie dissident or fifth generation immigrant. I was the vokken Devil Child. I was punished then for crimes I did not commit. Now, why the vok should I put up with it here?’

  Re’lien had clenched her fist. She was out of breath.

  Was I really this angry?

  Re’lien didn’t get angry often. And maybe that was the problem.

  Maybe I should fume more. I deserve to get angry.

  ‘Devil Child?’ Muur asked.

  Re’lien sighed.

  ‘I was the daughter of the ruler of my homeworld. When I was very young, there was a famine. My people are…superstitious. They blamed the crop failures on me. They said that I harboured demons. As punishment, I was to be beaten daily - for as long as the void didn’t take me.’

  Muur covered her mouth in shock.

  ‘This lasted for ten of my planet’s years. I’m not sure of the Terran conversion – but it was too long.’

  Re’lien paused and whispered, almost to herself, ‘A moment would have been too long.’

  ‘How…did it stop?’ Muur asked, tone tinged with the curiosity of an academic and the hesitation of a good person not wanting to awake bad memories.

  ‘I was saved by a rebel. A man named Kei. I found out later that he was using me…but he still saved me. He made me realise that there was more out there. He…’

  ‘Made you realise you were worth something?’ Muur offered.

  Re’lien nodded.

  ‘Eventually, Kei was caught and the rebellion on my planet fell. I escaped with allies and they took me to Mars.’

  Muur looked at the floor as a silence descended.