《Solarversia》 Solarversia Chapter 01 The minute Nova Negrahnu heard about Solarversia she was convinced she was going to love it with every ounce of her being. Enabled by virtual reality, a technology that had been promised again and again, but had only just come to fruition, this game was what she¡¯d been dreaming of since she was a little girl. In Solarversia, the normal rules of existence would cease to apply. It sounded like a magical world, a place to fight monsters, fly through the sky and explore the Solar System, and all from the comfort of her own home. From the expression on the face of her best friend, Sushi Harrison, she wasn¡¯t the only one who felt that way. ¡°Who was it that sent you the link?¡± Sushi asked, without looking up from her iPad. ¡°Burner. But it¡¯s been going mental on social media. He and Jono have already signed up.¡± Sushi cleared her throat and read out the press release Burner had sent them. ¡°Solarversia is billed as an exciting new form of entertainment, fit for the 21st century. An amalgam of virtual, augmented and mixed realities, Spiralwerks, the London-based company behind The Game, claim that it integrates every form of digital entertainment that came before it. One hundred million players will vie to be the last person standing through a series of challenges that blend racing, fighting, strategy, psychology, lateral thinking, creativity, popularity and cold hard luck. Solarversia will last an entire year and the Grand Champion will be awarded prize money rumoured to equal ten million pounds.¡± Their mouths dropped wide open. ¡°Ten million?¡± ¡°That¡¯s just for the winner. It pays a prize to everyone in the top thousand, and there¡¯ll be tens of thousands of quests throughout the year, paying their own bounties.¡± ¡°Oh, my God. It even includes Krazy Karting,¡± said Nova. ¡°This is insane. Check out the signup screen.¡± The screen was blank, except for two counters and a button. The first counter, displaying the number of signups, had just hit fifteen thousand and was rising rapidly. The second one displayed a timer, and was ticking down to The Game¡¯s start date on the 29th February 2020. ¡°We have to wait four years for it to start?¡± Sushi asked. ¡°That¡¯s the day after my eighteenth birthday.¡± Nova grabbed her friend¡¯s hand. ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll still be best friends then?¡± ¡°Are you kidding? Of course we will. If we can be best friends from two to fourteen, I think we¡¯re safe for life, aren¡¯t we?¡± Nova nodded uncertainly. ¡°But Seattle¡¯s such a long way away from Maidstone.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s both sign up to play. I bet you my winnings we¡¯re still best friends when it starts.¡± ¡®¡®OK. You¡¯re on. And we better had be.¡± The girls spent the next couple of hours learning about the world of Solarversia and all it entailed. It was the puzzle aspect of the Gameworld that thrilled Nova the most. Although Krazy Karting was her favourite driving game ¡ª she was already ranked in the top few hundred players in the world ¡ª her real passion was lateral thinking and puzzle solving. Brought up on a diet of sudoku, crosswords and jigsaws, she had started to think of ways to create more complex puzzles of her own. When she stumbled upon a blog post that described the grand prize in more detail she sat bolt upright and inhaled until her lungs were full. ¡°This is getting ridiculous. You¡¯ll never guess what the Grand Champion gets to do.¡± ¡°Apart from working out how to spend ten million pounds, you mean?¡± ¡°Something way more important than that. Solarversia is going to be a quadrennial event. After 2020, the next one doesn¡¯t start until 2024. And the Grand Champion of the first one will help to design the second one. Sush ¡ª I¡¯ve just found my dream job. I absolutely, categorically need to win this thing. My life doesn¡¯t make sense without it.¡± ¡°If you do win, I¡¯d be happy to attend to the commercial side of the prize for you, ensuring the cash gets spent in a suitable manner. So you can ¡ª you know ¡ª focus your attention on the design aspect of the prize. That¡¯s so like me, putting others first.¡± Nova slumped into a pile of pillows. Game design had been top of her list of jobs since she discovered that it was a thing. This was the daddy of all such jobs ¡ª and she¡¯d need to beat a hundred million people to get it. If that wasn¡¯t the toughest job interview in history, she didn¡¯t know what was. Once the girls¡¯ accounts had been verified, they were guided to an area that asked them to create their avatars ¡ª three-dimensional representations of their real-world bodies. Nova stood in the middle of Sushi¡¯s room, held her arms out and looked straight ahead, while her friend scanned her from head to toe with her phone. The iPad, which she¡¯d leant against some school books on Sushi¡¯s desk, rendered a 3D mesh of her body in real time. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.¡°Hold still, will you? Else we¡¯ll be here all night.¡± ¡°You can talk; how many times did I have to scan you? Nothing wrong with wanting to look my best in front of a global audience.¡± She glanced at the screen to assess her avatar, which was slowly revolving about the y-axis. ¡°No way, look what you¡¯ve done to my stomach.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯ll find that your love of curry, rather than my phone-handling skills, did that to your stomach. You don¡¯t want to look perfect in any case. There won¡¯t be enough difference between your Normal Avatar and your Super Avatar. Besides, people that know you well, like Burner and me, will know you were sucking it in. You can¡¯t polish a turd.¡± The Game required each player to create two avatars: an ordinary, realistic version, and a ¡®super¡¯ version, described by the creators as the version of their self the player would ideally want to be, given the chance. Changes to height and weight would be subject to certain limitations in order to ensure that avatars didn¡¯t interfere with Gameworld features such as player transportation, but Spiralwerks had specified that they wouldn¡¯t enforce any other restrictions. Finally content with their figures, they pranced around Sushi¡¯s bedroom to a series of tutorial videos that captured the way they moved. They jumped up and down, drew weapons, shot at targets, hugged each other and pulled off all manner of dance moves. Every action fed into their personal Solarversia Avatar Movement Algorithm. After the moves came the sounds: they spoke in their normal reading voices, then laughed, yee-haaed, shrieked and made numerous other noises that captured them in the throes of death. As it neared midnight, they collapsed on Sushi¡¯s bed, exhausted. It was the night before the Harrison family¡¯s big move from the UK, and Nova was sleeping over at her friend¡¯s house to prolong the moment of goodbye for as long as possible. ¡°That¡¯s our Normal Avatars sorted, then.¡± Sushi scrolled down her profile page to check what else was required. ¡®¡®We still need to decide what our Super Avatars look like, choose our avatar names, catchphrases, vehicles and player numbers.¡± Nova cocked her head to one side and dug her little finger into her ear. ¡°It doesn¡¯t start for three and a half years, but I think the Solarversia jingle might already be stuck in my head.¡± ¡°That gives me an idea. Why don¡¯t we download the jingle and use it as a ringtone for one another? Every time it goes, it will remind us of tonight.¡± They jolted into action again. Once the jingle was synced to their devices, Nova brushed her hair behind her ears and looked at her friend. ¡°You are going to call me, right? All the way from the States?¡± ¡°Of course I am, you eejit. You better not be too busy to speak. I won¡¯t know anyone over there.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. They¡¯ll go nuts over your British accent, while I¡¯m stuck here, Billy-no-mates in the ¡¯Stone.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. Life¡¯s going to be so boring without you. Who else do I know who can turn literally anything into a game?¡± ¡°That¡¯s true. Making toast will never be the same, huh?¡± They laughed. Earlier that evening Nova had devised a whole series of complex tasks and hoops to jump through which culminated in a slice of toast. ¡°I¡¯m not going to forget you, OK? How about we make a deal? If one of us wins Solarversia, we have to promise to split the prize money with the other one. We¡¯ll be apart, but we¡¯ll be playing it together. For each other.¡± Nova smiled. ¡°Solarversia Sisters, eh? So we¡¯ll be rooting for each other all the way? I saw something in the rules about virtual wills. There can only be one winner, so that means one of us is going to die at some point.¡± Virtual wills were a feature that allowed players to leave all the items in their possession to a friend, once they had lost their third and final life in The Game. They watched over each other¡¯s shoulders as they named each other sole beneficiaries of their wills. ¡°One last thing. If I¡¯m going to Seattle, we need to make it ultra official. Put your headset on and bring up that Halloween app with the fake blood module.¡± Nova held out her arm and watched as her friend pressed hers against it, smearing dark red blood all over their wrists. ¡°Solarversia Sisters forever,¡± they said in unison. Nova grinned. It felt good to have a backup plan with the person you trusted most in the world. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ZFF6NVK Chapter 2 coming on Tuesday Solarversia Chapter 02 Casey Brown placed his foot on some loose shingle and felt his leg slide out from under him. It was probably the fourth time that hour, but right now his grasp of time was even worse than his grasp of space. Each hallucinogenic episode had been more intense than the last. They began when the colours of his surroundings started to move, until eventually trees merged into bushes, the hills became waves in an ocean, and the sky looked like it wanted to swallow him whole. Scarier still was when time appeared to move in reverse for several seconds and he¡¯d somehow known the answers to questions he hadn¡¯t yet asked. Or had that even happened yet? As his leg slid out, his shoulder came forward to cushion the blow, the instinct to protect the head kicking in despite his state. Pain coursed through his central nervous system, and for a second he thought he¡¯d never make it. But he¡¯d thought that a thousand times over the last few days and had willed himself on, desperate to make it. Only twenty more yards, Case, you can do it. Warriors win. He felt dirty, his brow caked in sweat and mud, God-knows-what matted in his hair. A hot shower, a greasy hamburger and his bed: these were things he¡¯d never take for granted again. His bloody hands shook despite the mild Mississippi afternoon, and his wrists ached from the chafing of the old piece of fishing rope that tied them together and attached them to the net of rocks he dragged behind him. Going up the hill, like he was now, had always been easier: the rocks were below and couldn¡¯t fall on him, as they¡¯d done countless times on his journeys down. The task had been to climb the hill a hundred and forty-four times and this was his final ascent. He was nearly there. Only fifteen yards to go. Warriors win. Willing him on from the top of the hill was Wallace, one of the people that had introduced Casey to the Holy Order in the first place, and the guy in charge of these initiation rites. Wallace wasn¡¯t much older than Casey but years of smoking had taken their toll and the crow¡¯s feet around his eyes gave him a craggy, hardy look. ¡°Come on, Casey, ma boy, you¡¯re on the home stretch! You¡¯ve gone done the hard bit. That¡¯s right, put your back into it, soldier, it¡¯s mind over matter.¡± On his hands and knees, Casey grabbed hold of a grassy tuft, hauled himself another yard and could now make out his comrade¡¯s grin beneath his black Stetson. Dragging the net of rocks with a renewed sense of purpose, he powered through the final few yards and collapsed at the base of his target, an old wooden pole. The circular disc on top of it was engraved with a series of curly swastikas, the Holy Order¡¯s emblem. During one of his hallucinogenic episodes the pole had looked like a magical toadstool. The symbols had grown hands and legs, which had interlinked and danced around, taunting him in his weakened state. Using the pole to steady himself with one hand, he held the other out and looked at his friend. ¡°The knife, please.¡± Wallace smiled a yellow-toothed grin and flipped the knife in the air. Casey caught it by the blade and turned to face the pole. ¡°Hope I never see this fucking thing again, long as I live.¡± Suddenly aware that his cigarette smoke was making it harder for his friend to catch his breath, Wallace wafted the air with his hand, took one last drag, and flicked the butt to the ground. He retrieved an emergency ration bar from his backpack, removed the silver foil, and broke it into pieces while Casey carved his final notch. ¡°She¡¯s a bitch, ain¡¯t she? The first hundred ascents are bad enough. The next forty-four are pure torture. Never thought I was gonna make it, right up ¡¯til the end. It¡¯ll all be worth it, trust me.¡± His hands shaking, Casey swapped the knife for the ration bar and collapsed on the floor. Three and a half days of mental and physical exertion had broken him. Wallace rummaged through his backpack again, this time pulling out a walkie- talkie. He flicked a switch, waited for it to crackle and hum, and then held it to his ear. ¡°Looks like we have ourselves a winner. Get the truck ready, I¡¯ll be down soon to help pack the tents away.¡± He switched frequencies and spoke again. ¡°Tell Father that the eagle has landed. I repeat, the eagle has landed, over.¡± *** Artica Kronkite pulled his jacket tight and cursed the biting February wind. As he walked the last stretch of his daily commute, he spoke into the mic embedded in his glasses. Costing more than the average Londoner¡¯s monthly mortgage payment, their thick oblong frames incorporated technology that was able to augment his surroundings, but also kept the swirls of unkempt hair out of his stubbly face. ¡°Hannah, let Carl know that I replied to the HGR guys. They reckon there¡¯s an issue with the larger drones, bloody ridiculous. We¡¯ve been working on this thing for six months, and now there¡¯s a problem. I told them, they screw up the opening ceremony, we never do business with them again, period.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.He rounded the corner into Redchurch Street and looked up to the roof of the building opposite. A black hand appeared from behind and clamped itself round the Victorian chimney, cracking it down the centre. Another hand appeared and grabbed onto a spare satellite dish. Using its newfound brickwork grips, the hulking gorilla poked its head over the building and let out a scream that Arty thought sounded more like a dying giraffe. It stared right at him, and then was gone, as fast as it had appeared. Bricks and tiles, dislodged by the impatient primate, smashed as they hit the pavement below. Six commuters walked on by, unaware of the virtual carnage that his glasses had made seem real. A new message from Hannah appeared in his field of vision: ¡°Where are you? Meeting in Chess. Urgent.¡± His voiced reply was automatically transcribed to text and sent to her: ¡°Two minutes away.¡± The area in front of Spiralwerks HQ buzzed with reporters, gamers and fans, some of whom had turned up every weekday for the past year, so eager had they been to meet the staff. Arty signed promotional posters for the fanboys, posed for selfies with the gamers and ignored the inane questions from the reporters. Unmanned aerial drones hovered overhead, fulfilling various tasks. Some captured live footage; others delivered breakfast orders to nearby digital agencies. Arty pushed through the mob and entered reception, admitted through the sturdy metal gates by a robotic security guard whose facial recognition software could tell identical twins apart at a hundred metres. The intelligent paint covering the circular edge of the double-storey lobby displayed an aquatic scene. Orcas, tiger sharks and scuba divers accompanied his ascent in the lift, which made a bubbling sound when it reached the sixth floor. High-resolution floor-to-ceiling screens at the front of the room told visitors everything they needed to know. This was mission control. Although the entire room buzzed with activity, heads still turned when Arty entered the room. It was a big day for everybody, but they all knew how much it meant to their CEO. He popped his bag on his desk and dashed over to the chess-themed meeting room. The colleagues he passed offered a nod and a smile but didn¡¯t engage him in the usual banter. ¡°... They¡¯re telling me it¡¯s a credible threat, and we need to be taking it seriously. Hang on. For those dialled in, Arty¡¯s just walked in.¡± He declined a seat, joining those standing round the table instead. The screen on the wall displayed the avatars of the dialled-in management team. The smart table around which they crowded was overlaid with images and holograms pertaining to the meeting. ¡°OK. Tell me what we¡¯re dealing with here.¡± Arty addressed Hannah McCreadie, the Head of Communications and a close ally. She was a patient woman whose ability to understand and react to complex problems had gained her a lot of respect within the organisation. ¡°You remember those nutjobs in the US we heard about a few weeks back?¡± ¡°You mean the techno-mystical wannabe terrorists?¡± ¡°Them indeed, ¡®the Holy Order¡¯. They just issued a hit list of corporate targets. Guess who¡¯s on top?¡± Hannah nodded at the list on the large screen at the front of the room. The room fell silent while Arty studied it. ¡°Is there any indication why? We build games in virtual worlds, for God¡¯s sake, it¡¯s not like we sell crack-laced sweets to kids.¡± Hannah shrugged, exhaling through pursed lips. ¡°When you say that they ¡®issued¡¯ the hit list, how exactly? To whom and when?¡± ¡°Emailed to a generic address at each of the companies on the list. Arrived at one minute past eight this morning. They used an anonymous remailing system making the original source untraceable. We¡¯re expecting the story to break any moment.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re telling me that this, rather than the start of The Game, is going to be the news tonight?¡± ¡°We¡¯re doing what we can to stay on message.¡± Arty stared at the list for a long while. Finally, noticing the worried expressions on the faces of his team, he clapped his hands and smiled, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt. ¡°Let¡¯s not lose focus on what we¡¯ve got to do today. We¡¯re only fourteen hours from the opening ceremony. Everyone needs to be at the top of their game.¡± Members of his team started to move. ¡°That¡¯s it, get a move on, we haven¡¯t got time to waste. Except for you, Carl. I want to know what¡¯s going on with those bloody drones.¡± **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK Chapter 3 coming on Friday Solarversia Chapter 03 Chapter Three Nova sat cross-legged on the sofa in the lounge and checked the Solarversia countdown clock for the hundredth time that day. On the night of the sleepover with Sushi, when they¡¯d signed up to play, the timer had displayed what seemed like an impossible number of days to wait. Now, with the days and hours both on zero, and the minutes about to tick under fifteen, she felt ready to burst. ¡°How do you like your magic goggles then, love? Are they better than the old ones?¡± ¡°Much better, thanks, Dad. The resolution is out of this world. Not quite as good as actual reality, but not far off, either. And the skull pads read my brain waves, so I can control my avatar¡¯s movement by the power of thought. Which means I don¡¯t have to carry my haptic gloves around with me any more.¡± ¡°I understood the first bit, when you said they were better than your old pair,¡± her mum said. ¡°The rest of it might as well have been in Chinese.¡± It was quarter to midnight on the 28th February 2020, the day of Nova¡¯s 18th birthday. Her parents had given the present she¡¯d been longing for: a BoonerMax virtual reality headset. Resembling a pair of futuristic ski goggles, the streamlined latticework of gunmetal titanium encased more computing power than some families had in their entire homes. Headsets like these allowed users to alternate their view of the world as they saw fit. Switched off, they functioned like a normal pair of glasses. In ¡®augmented mode¡¯, headsets displayed your immediate environment, but overlaid text, images and objects onto it, altering it in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Advanced headsets, like the Booners, were even capable of occluding objects, effectively rendering them invisible. Full virtual reality immersed users into entirely fictional worlds. Nova removed her Booners, exhaled onto the rim and lovingly rubbed it with the sleeve of her jumper. Already, they were her favourite thing in the world. At the front of the lounge the Solarversia opening ceremony played on the TV. The final few floats of the parade pulled into the Olympic Stadium to complete a circuit of the track, cheered on by a crowd of eighty thousand people and watched by several hundred million more online. The build-up to The Game had been impossible to ignore. Cities had been inundated with interactive billboards that flashed up the profiles of new entrants from around the world. These square-shaped profiles provided a snapshot of information about the player: their avatar name and picture, nationality, vehicle choices and, in Nova¡¯s opinion, the most important piece of information of all, their number in the Player¡¯s Grid. The grid was comprised of ten thousand rows by ten thousand columns, with square number one bang in the centre. Numbers two to nine were positioned around it, and numbers ten to twenty-five around that. The numbers spiralled out like a snail¡¯s shell all the way to one hundred million. It was common practice to scan the grid number of interesting profiles on billboards and flip into augmented or virtual mode on a headset in order to view the person¡¯s position in the grid and check out their bio. In the run-up to the start date, the marketing for Solarversia had become unavoidable and, to gamers like Nova, utterly tantalising. Characters from Solarversia kept popping up unexpectedly in augmented displays all over the world. She and Burner had participated in an event at Maidstone¡¯s Mote Park, which had involved a bunch of geocached clues that led to the lake ¡ª where a fifty- foot dodectapus known as Banjax was found lurking. Displays like this had become tourist attractions in their own right. Lots of people seemed to agree ¡ª Solarversia was the largest, most exciting thing ever to have been created in the history of the world. Burner¡¯s brother Jono had gone so far as to attend a boot camp to train for it, lured, like so many others, by the large cash prizes for the top thousand places, and the promise of instant worldwide fame for those who made it further. Discussion of tactics and strategy had been endless, and tens of millions of pounds had been waged in bets. For Nova and her friends, the opening ceremony represented three and a half years of hype, excitement and trepidation. Hearing the Solarversia jingle in her headset, Nova slipped it back over her head. All her old settings were already synced to her new Booners ¡ª it could only be a message from Sushi. ¡°Hey, birthday girl, have you checked out the fireworks cam yet? It¡¯s seriously rockin¡¯.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been too excited to do anything other than sit here and watch the clock count its way down to midnight. I can¡¯t believe The Game starts in ten minutes. It doesn¡¯t seem real. Send me the link.¡± Nova switched to camera mode in her Booners. An array of video feeds appeared in her view, a thousand different perspectives available at the touch of a button, her gaze or the sound of her voice. She selected the fireworks cam by staring at the link in the message from Sushi. Half a second later she appeared to inhabit a 360-degree camera affixed to an aerial drone that hovered above the fireworks display in the stadium. Rockets exploded around her, some so close that she instinctively jerked away from them, while Crackling Comets zoomed past her face, leaving behind glistening tails of multicoloured light she couldn¡¯t help but try to touch. She breathed deeply through her nose, trying to smell the sulphur that hung thick in the air. Mr Negrahnu peered over his newspaper. ¡°Has it started yet?¡± ¡°As I¡¯ve mentioned several thousand times, it starts when the counter hits zero. You¡¯re worse than a little kid.¡± ¡°Says the person sitting there oohing and ahhing like there¡¯s something wrong with their brain.¡± She volleyed one eye back to the lounge and glared at him. ¡°I¡¯m oohing and ahhing because I¡¯m floating in the middle of a fireworks display. Take a look for yourself. TV ¡ª sync to Booners.¡± The TV switched channel to mirror the view in her headset. Mr Negrahnu leaned forward in his seat and peered over the rims of his spectacles. ¡°OK, I¡¯ll admit it. That¡¯s pretty cool.¡± He watched a couple of rockets explode into a shower of light before retreating to his crossword. Nova exchanged a wide- eyed look with her mum. It wasn¡¯t often that her dad made a complimentary remark where modern technology was concerned. She glanced at the countdown. Seven minutes to midnight. Still enough time to check out some of the other views. Once upon a time people hopped channels. Then they surfed the ¡¯net. These days they volleyed cams. She chose one positioned on the lead float, which had just completed its lap of the track. Its crew had stripped down to T-shirts despite the cold February air, their bodies warmed by a cocktail of rum and dance. Steam rose from their backs while the float¡¯s chunky sound system doled out electro-flavoured sonic booms. Her kind of tunes. Around the stadium mighty lasers fired beams at huge disco balls, which diffracted the light into millions of sparkling shards. The sound of a gong reverberated around the stadium, causing the crowd to erupt into a fresh chorus of cheers. Nova switched off cam mode, perched her Booners back on her forehead and rubbed her hands with glee. The digits on the timer were counting down the final 60 seconds ¡ª the Year-Long Game was about to begin. *** The central podium in the Olympic Stadium was bathed in light. A holographic chimp dressed in a smart suit flickered into view. He climbed the stairs at the front of the stand, followed by a group of holographic monkeys half his size, who lugged a wooden cargo crate between them. They pushed and they heaved and they strained, willed on by every person watching. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.¡°Come on, arkwinis, we¡¯ve waited long enough,¡± Nova said from the edge of her seat. ¡°Ark-whatnies?¡± Mr Negrahnu asked. ¡°The chimpanzee in the suit is called Arkwal, and the little ones are the ¡®arkwinis¡¯.¡± The arkwinis placed the crate to the right of the larger ape and then waddled back down the steps and out of view. Arkwal leaned in toward the microphone. ¡°Alright, Earthlings?¡± He wouldn¡¯t have sounded out of place tending a market stall in the East End. ¡°Thank you for accepting Emperor Mandelbrot¡¯s invitation to the Year-Long Game. To win, you¡¯ll need a combination of skill, luck, insight and creativity. But let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves. Everyone starts The Game in the same place: Castalia, the Emperor¡¯s flying palace.¡± Arkwal paused to look around the stadium, eyes narrowed, as if searching for someone or something in particular. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved what seemed to be a red baton. With a flick of his wrist, the baton extended into a full-length telescope, the height of an arkwini. The spotlight followed him as he walked up to the wooden crate. He tapped it with the telescope then stepped away as it collapsed outward, revealing an object shaped like a miniature space shuttle with streamlined cylindrical thrusters pointed at the heavens. Arkwal stowed the compressed ¡¯scope back in his pocket, strapped on the jetpack and clamped his thumbs down on the thrusters. The stadium erupted with sound and light as the holographic jetpack roared into life, firing a wild array of sparks down at the podium. He looked skyward, saluted the crowd and blasted off into the heavens. Nova flicked her visor back down. Every gamer knew that flying was far more enjoyable when you were totally immersed. The top of her display transformed into a dashboard that displayed a whole host of counters and instruments, including the distances from various landmarks: the Eiffel Tower, the Great Pyramid of Giza, and their destination, Castalia, the flying palace. She stuck her arms out in front of her and tilted left and then right, mimicking Arkwal¡¯s motions as she followed him through a virtually rendered night sky. Headsets like hers used voice and thought commands combined with special audiovisual processing to move her avatar around in the virtual world. When she held her hands out in front of her, the camera on her headset translated her movements into the virtual world in real time. Digital natives like Nova, Burner and Sushi could move around in the virtual world as adeptly as they could in the real, running, jumping and fighting their way through whatever game makers threw at them. She accelerated to a speed that blurred her surroundings beyond recognition, leaving the figure of Arkwal as the one thing that remained in focus. Before long, she watched as he deployed a giant parachute, slowed to cruising speed, and then ejected the device. It fluttered away, a new passenger on the South Atlantic trade wind express. A short way ahead of them a floating palace was coming into view. *** Arkwal hit Castalia at such a high speed that he smashed straight through its north face, showering bricks, debris and dust everywhere. He skidded along the marble floor of the Magisterial Chamber for fifty metres or more, and then slowed to a halt. He picked himself up and brushed himself down, and stopped for a few seconds to examine his elbows, which had taken the brunt of his crash landing. The Chamber was an enormous cube, the length of a football pitch in every direction. Hanging from the ceiling were thousands of multicoloured vines of varying length, some of which were swaying from side to side, following the recent disturbance. Still coated in a smattering of dust, Arkwal took his position in the centre of the room. With his arms outstretched above his head, he yelled, ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, here¡¯s Gorigaroo, master of the gong.¡± Far away on the other side of the chamber, a figure with the head and powerful upper body of a gorilla and the abdomen and mighty hind legs of a kangaroo could be seen, swinging from vine to vine. As he reached the southwest corner of the chamber, he let go, landed briefly on the marble floor and bounced up again, high into the mess of tangled creepers overhead. Finally he came to rest beside a golden gong suspended by several of the vines. He pulled a wooden club out of his pouch, leaned back, and then struck the gong with immense force. When the sound waves reached Arkwal, they troubled the floor around him, causing the patterned marble to vibrate. He bent his knees, leapt up to the closest vine, swung away from the pulsating ground, let go to perform a somersault, and landed at the edge of what was now a circular hole in the centre of the room. ¡°And now, ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for me to introduce His Royal Highness, Emperor Commissaire de Spielen, von Unglai D¡¯Acheera Nakk-oo, Mandelbrot!¡± Slowly, something rose through the hole in the floor: an amorphous blob perched upon a circular dais. As it passed into the room, the blob began to bubble and shake. Suddenly an enormous fist protruded from the jelly. It unfurled slowly, and Arkwal hopped into its palm and sat himself down. He flicked his wrist to extend his telescope and rested it between the thumb and index finger of the giant hand. The telescope faced the north wall of the Magisterial Chamber, the facade of which was already in the final stages of repair, being reclad in marble by a team of diligent arkwinis. Satisfied that the work was being done to the highest standard, Arkwal nodded his approval. Meanwhile the amorphous gloop continued its metamorphosis. Other body shapes appeared, each one made of the same gooey substance, which looked mauve from one angle, purple from the next. The centre of the circle bubbled with the greatest intensity and rose fast, at first resembling a volcano and then, as it reached towards the ceiling of the room, a totem pole. Hundreds of mouths burst into view up and down the length of the pole, each formed in its own peculiar way. One contained dozens of teeth pointed at vulgar angles and several tongues, which took it in turns to lick one another. Another contained only a tongue, as long as a hockey stick, that whipped in and out of surrounding mouths, as if it was scared of being bitten if it stayed in place too long. A small but perfectly formed set of lips near the top of the pole started to sing. It was an anthem of sorts, sung in the sweetest soprano, and its chant began to spread down the pole like a Mexican wave, with mouth after mouth joining in harmony. The lower the mouth, the deeper its voice. As the mouths sang and their anthem reached its crescendo, the newly repaired north wall of the chamber began to crumble, revealing behind it a grid of millions of tiny squares, bathed in a warm violet light. ¡°I¡¯m happy to announce that the Player¡¯s Grid is in place,¡± said Arkwal, now standing in the middle of the giant fist, his arms extended above his head in a triumphant gesture. ¡°The Year-Long Game can begin. Emperor Mandelbrot has asked me to wish each of you the very best of luck and would like to remind you that There Can Be Only One!¡± **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK Chapter 4 coming tomorrow Solarversia Chapter 04 ¡°Take me to my square,¡± Nova said. She flew across the Magisterial Chamber, leaving Arkwal and the Emperor behind, and zoomed in to her square in the bottom left of the grid. Like most players, she¡¯d fretted about her player number for months before making her final choice. The number determined the position of the square within the grid ¡ª which quadrant it was in, and how central it was. To make things interesting in the lead-up to the start of The Game, Spiralwerks had gamified the entire number choosing process. Released in batches, most had been available for free and were distributed on a first come, first served basis. Other ¡®cooler¡¯ numbers ¡ª the low ones, round ones, primes and so on ¡ª were sold, auctioned or offered as prizes in a multitude of promotional games. As a result, securing a good number had become something of a sporting pastime. Although numbers had no direct bearing on how well the player would perform in Solarversia, the unspoken agreement was that the lower numbers ¡ª those closest to the centre ¡ª were the coolest. At least, that¡¯s where most A-list celebrities had ended up. The dilemma people faced was whether to lock in a number early, and risk missing out on a better one, or to wait, and risk having to choose an even higher one when all the central ones went to other people anyway. As well as wanting to be fairly central, Nova and Sushi had wanted to be next to one another within the grid. They¡¯d spent ages debating the merits of various numbers, and arguing about who was going to be odd, and who was going to be even. In the end they settled for squares in the bottom left quadrant: Nova chose 515,740 and Sushi, one space to her left, chose 515,739. Numbers were semi- permanent. They lasted until a player crashed out of The Game for good ¡ª at which point their finishing position became their new number. Now, finally, after years of waiting, Nova hovered in front of her profile square for real. Although she¡¯d seen it a thousand times ¡ª had dreamt about it on several occasions ¡ª it still excited her beyond words to see it on the wall of the Magisterial Chamber. Squares had a mystical quality about them; they were gateways to another world that made the normal one look terribly trite. Her number was plastered across the top of the square like it was the most important fact about her. On the left-hand side beneath it was a picture of her avatar¡¯s head, and beneath that her avatar name, nationality, catchphrase and shortcode. The task of choosing a name and a catchphrase had caused her so much trouble she came close to quitting before The Game even started. She ended up with ¡®Super Nova 2020¡¯ and ¡®Supernova¡¯s a Blast!¡¯, a lame pun that she regretted immediately. The system of shortcodes had been devised by Spiralwerks to help players visualise each other¡¯s locations in the grid more easily. Each quadrant had been named after a suit in a pack of cards ¡ª the lower left quadrant was designated ¡®C¡¯ for Clubs. In addition, each concentric ring of numbers was itself numbered. The number one square in the centre of the grid was ring one. The numbers round it ¡ª two to nine ¡ª comprised ring two, and so on. Nova¡¯s number, 515,740, was in ring 359, giving her the shortcode of C359. As well as appearing in profile squares, shortcodes were also the license plate numbers on each of a player¡¯s three vehicles: their car, boat and plane. There had been thousands of models to choose from, and millions of ways to customise them. Nova adored her vehicles ¡ª she¡¯d modified them to look like something from the set of Tron ¡ª and loved the way they glistened and rotated in 3D on the left-hand side of her profile square. As she approached her square it turned transparent to reveal a cubic room with walls made of swirling yellow plasma, and a floor and ceiling as black as the night. This was her Corona Cube, the place that she would start in the world of Solarversia whenever she logged on from that moment forward, and her exit point whenever she wanted to log out. The black ceiling displayed two constellations: portals to parts of Solarversia. One was named ¡®Castalia¡¯ and led back the way she had come, into the Magisterial Chamber of the flying palace. The other was named ¡®Solarversia¡¯ and led to the Gameworld, which was modelled on the Solar System. Nova looked up to the Solarversia constellation and traced her finger over its constituent stars. As she touched the last one a harmonious jingle sounded, and three objects, recognised by people the world over, appeared floating in the centre of the room: a rock, some paper and a pair of scissors. A datafeed appeared in her display, informing her that she¡¯d been matched against player number 38,043,551, JoLem from Poland. She was about to find out whether of hours of strategising were going to pay off. A fifteen second countdown began. Those who let it count down to zero would automatically forfeit the game. ¡°Paper,¡± she announced, annoyed by the doubt she could hear in her voice. She winced as the result flashed on the screen: ¡°Scissors beats paper. Winner: JoLem.¡± Losing players were matched against each other after a twenty second delay. It took her five attempts in total, winning with scissors, against the paper of a Chinese player. She took her headset off, twitched her nose like a rabbit, and swept her long hair behind her ears. ¡°Finally. Thought I was going to be here all night.¡± ¡°Told you scissors would win. Mum does know best occasionally.¡± Nova bit her tongue. Annoyingly, her mum had suggested scissors earlier in the evening, but there no point arguing about it now. She replaced the headset to find that her victory had caused the floor she was standing on to give way. She fell into a winding tunnel, illuminated by the occasional spotlight, until eventually she popped out of the end, her arms and legs flailing as she fell two storeys to a crash pad on the ground. Her headset flashed a message: ¡°Welcome to Alpha Island. Population 543,286.¡± Looking up, she noticed hundreds of entwined tubes like the one she¡¯d emerged from. Castalia seemed to have grown player-spitting dreadlocks. As she glanced around, datafeeds were overlaid on the objects she looked at. Castalia was revealed to be floating a kilometre overhead, and was still populated with several million people. When she looked at another player, a feed appeared above their head, displaying their profile information. She only needed to glance at a building or a landmark in the distance to be told how far away it was, and how long it would take her to reach it. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.For now, she wanted to get her bearings. Players seemed to be heading in the same direction ¡ª toward a signpost. She stared at it and said ¡°Lock on to target: Run.¡± The signpost was taller than a triple-decker bus and surrounded by scores of other players who were either babbling to each other about the various destinations, or taking selfies in front of it. Nailed to the post at head height was a sign that said ¡®Out of Order¡¯. ¡°How can a signpost be out of order? Are the directions wrong?¡± her mum asked. ¡°Nope. Signposts double as teleport machines, except they won¡¯t start working until the Teleport Quest has been completed. It¡¯s the machine that¡¯s out of order, not the signs.¡± She tried to find a destination whose name she recognised. The Forest of Fun ¡ª 1 km , Conga World ¡ª 5 km, The Travelling Circus of Nakk-oo ¡ª 3,213 km. The closest location, only a hundred metres away, was the Fire Demon¡¯s Obstacle Course. She locked on. *** Nova had completed the Blazing Balls and the Scorching Skyscraper obstacles without incident. Now she stood motionless, eyes locked with a Luminous Lavadile. She exhaled slowly and edged forward. Still no movement from the beast. It opened its mouth and emitted a long, deep growl. Another step, this one bigger. Her eyes darted from the lavadile to the side of the fire pit it guarded. Could she make it? Three or so metres to go. Flames licked the side of the beast¡¯s head and she could have sworn it just moved toward her. This was it . No more time for pussyfooting. She stepped onto her right foot and launched herself forward as far as possible. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the thing make its move. She landed on the bank inches from the molten lava and scrambled up the side as fast as she could. Behind her she heard a whooshing sound and then a snap. She rolled onto her back and saw that the powerful jaws had clamped round her left foot. A glistening globule of molten lava trickled down one of its teeth and landed on her leg. It made a gentle hiss as it burned through the fabric of her trousers. Damn thing, get off already. Her health score, displayed in the top right of her visor, ticked down a second time. The snap of the jaw had cost her eight points, the globule a further five. She was already down to 87 health points and The Game had only just begun. Not the start she¡¯d hoped for. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a long piece of flint. She grabbed it, sat forward and rammed the sharp end into the creature¡¯s eye. It released her leg in an instant and plunged back into the lava, powered by its strong tail. She made it to the top of the pit and turned to take in the scene. There were several hundred other players navigating the fiery assault course. To her left, less than thirty feet away, a guy was in serious trouble. A lavadile, longer than hers, had fastened its jaws around his legs. He thrashed around, trying to break free from its clutches as it pulled him ever closer to the red-hot bath. His arms spasmed with pain as it finally dragged him under. An even worse start than hers. She arrived at the last obstacle, Nico¡¯s Nets, feeling out of breath, though she hadn¡¯t moved from the sofa all night. Virtual worlds could do strange things to the brain. She pinged Burner and Sushi to compare notes. They were further ahead and had managed to retain perfect health scores. How did that happen? Although Sushi and Burner were respectable gamers in their own right, they weren¡¯t in Nova¡¯s league, not close. She gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate. Nico¡¯s Nets were stretched across a path ¡ª all players needed to do was crawl beneath them to cross it. On the other side, a finishing line displayed a count of people who had completed the obstacle course ¡ª over forty thousand ¡ª and also a count of people who had lost a life tackling it ¡ª nearly three thousand. She did her best to put thoughts of death out of her mind and to remain calm. The netting was plumbed in to the lava pit. An old man dressed in rags stood at the side and worked a brass stopcock covered in valves. He pointed at Nova and laughed. ¡°Dare ye cross Nico¡¯s Nets? If ye¡¯s feeling cold, Nico will warm ye up.¡± He scowled and turned one of the valves to release several gallons of lava into the front section of hollow netting. A Dutch guy, halfway through, turned and screamed. Nova saw his health score decrease from one hundred to zero in the space of a few seconds. His avatar flashed a few times before disappearing. ¡°Nico warmed that gentleman up, though some might say a bit too much. Who¡¯s next?¡± The mechanics of the game were obvious ¡ª when the nets were blue, they were safe to crawl under; when they were red, lava coursed through them. She watched a few more people attempt it, trying to discern any patterns or tricks. It took her a couple of minutes to work out a plan. She crawled halfway and paused. It looked safe ¡ª but she knew better than to continue. As expected, the old man turned the rusty valve on the far side of the stopcock. The netting in front of her turned red while Nico taunted some new arrivals behind her. When the netting ahead changed back to blue she scrambled like mad, and got through unscathed. Just beyond the finishing line was a cube the size of her dad¡¯s shed. The sides looked like they were on fire. It was a Corona Cube, like the one she had entered back in Castalia. Cubes like it were scattered all over Solarversia and acted as safe houses that avatars could stay in when players wanted to log out. While she was there, nobody could do her wrong. She stood in front of the cube and chewed on her lip. It had been such a long day, and after a couple of glasses of cider, she felt a bit dreamy. But it pained her to know that Burner and Sushi were further ahead than she was. And she wanted to pick up Flynn already. She volleyed her display back to the lounge for a second. Her mum had fallen asleep in her chair; her dad must have gone to bed. Volleying back to Solarversia, she walked up to the cube and passed straight through one of its faces as it turned transparent, content to have completed the obstacle course. This was a year-long game, not a piddly game of Monopoly. A marathon, not a sprint. Up in her room, Nova got into bed and lay awake for a while. Fragments of Solarversia were juxtaposed with pieces of reality. The gooey purple mess in the centre of the Magisterial Chamber was supposed to be the Emperor? She¡¯d already lost a handful of health points? Images flickered in her mind: the flying palace, the lavadile snapping at her foot, her revision books. The last image wouldn¡¯t budge. She only had three months until her exams, the ones that would determine the university she went to. If she made the grades she needed. They were exams that would affect the entire course her life, or so her teachers kept telling her. And now she knew something to be true, something she had hoped for, and dreaded, in equal measure. Solarversia was as addictive as she¡¯d thought it would be. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK Chapter 5 coming soon! Solarversia Chapter 05 Nova hadn¡¯t eaten breakfast cereal in years, but she¡¯d persuaded her mum to buy the box on the kitchen table because of the tie-in with Solarversia. It was corporate sponsorship deals like this that had enabled The Game to be offered for free. Companies had been given the opportunity to sponsor Gameworld quests, at a price determined by the quest¡¯s size, location and importance. When asked in a poll, the majority of players had confirmed that the corporate sponsorship model was the preferred form of monetisation, over alternatives like ¡®pay-to-play¡¯. Some companies had even won plaudits for the creative way in which they¡¯d showcased their products and services in VR, and had plans to replicate them in the real world. The company that made Flakeroonies had sponsored a large quest aboard the International Space Station, and their cereal boxes had reflected a space theme for the last few months. Prodding at the soggy flakes with her spoon, one leg hugged to her chest, Nova found her mind was still occupied with thoughts of the night before. How would she find enough time for revision? She should breeze psychology, her best subject by far. But sociology and English? Not so much. She¡¯d probably do what she always did ¡ª wing it ¡ª and without trying too hard, scrape into Hull University. But she never felt she¡¯d had much chance of getting into Nottingham, where Burner was hoping to join his brother, Jono, and it was looking even less likely now The Game had begun. The truth was, revision held very little appeal compared to the excitement of the virtual world. She flicked her Booners down and looked at the cereal packet. Flakes started to rise out of it as if magically unbound from gravity. When she touched them with her spoon they floated across the kitchen toward the fridge. If she flicked them they popped. Those she didn¡¯t jab, flick, poke or in some manner interfere with landed on the kitchen table, which, to Nova, looked like the cratered surface of the Moon. An arkwini in a spacesuit poked his helmet round the side of the packet, twitched his little chimp nose a couple of times like he was sniffing out danger, and then scampered out from behind it, followed by several others. Each arkwini held a garden implement of sorts ¡ª a rake, hoe or mechanical blower ¡ª that they used to gather the fallen flakes into piles. When the piles had grown large enough, another arkwini appeared, pushing a wheelbarrow, which he used to transport the flakes to the futuristic conveyor belt illustrated on the side on the box. He emptied the flakes onto the belt, which transported them to a fish tank where they were devoured by a twelve-armed octopus. Her goggles had transformed the kitchen table, and the objects on it, into a moving, living scene. This was augmented reality, a halfway house between boring, everyday consensual reality and the wild, anything-goes virtual kind. Mr Negrahnu stood in the doorway, paper in hand, shaking his head while he observed his daughter prodding thin air and muttering to herself. ¡°You do realise, love, that you¡¯re sitting there, talking to a box of cereal?¡± Nova volleyed an eye back to the kitchen. ¡°Morning, Dad. Floating Flakeroonies. I¡¯m helping the arkwinis feed Banjax, the dodectopus. He gets hungry.¡± ¡°Right. Course he does. Sorry to have interrupted you hard at work.¡± She flashed him a snarky smile. People who stuck with consensual reality through choice were either weird or old. Usually both. ¡°Feeding this Tampax creature, it counts towards your grades, does it?¡± She had to force herself not to snap back at him. ¡°We agreed that I could do what I want this weekend. My birthday, the start of Solarversia, remember? You just wait ¡¯til Monday. My books won¡¯t know what hit ¡¯em.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve seen this lot, I expect?¡± He gestured towards the TV. ¡°That¡¯s what happens when people lose their jobs.¡± On the news, clips released by a terrorist organisation known as the Holy Order were playing. Footage of workers on assembly lines was spliced with scenes of robots doing similar work. Graphs displayed exponential increases in computing power, electronic memory, data transmission speeds, and a whole host of other variables over the last fifty years. An image of a book entitled The Sacred Singularity appeared on the screen. Released by the Order a few months ago, it detailed their beliefs about artificial superintelligence: that it was on its way, that an ¡®unfriendly¡¯ version would spell the end of humanity and that the ¡®friendly¡¯ version they were working to develop would change everything for the better. Their manifesto made clear that everyone needed to join them in their endeavour, or face the consequences. No other method of evangelism was as compelling as bombs or guns, they claimed. ¡°You¡¯re not suggesting they¡¯re right?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting anything. People lose jobs to robots and artificial whatnots, which means they can¡¯t support their families, so they get angry. As for this lot, God knows what they¡¯re harping on about with their ¡®singularity¡¯. All this change is driving people mad. They don¡¯t know who they are any more. Without work to do they¡¯re losing their identities. That¡¯s all I¡¯m saying.¡± After working for twenty-three years at the local medical centre, Mr Negrahnu had been made redundant. In all that time he¡¯d never called in sick, and had only been off twice for compassionate leave, a day each for his parents¡¯ funerals. He¡¯d been looking forward to the carriage clock employees got after twenty-five years. Not so much for the clock itself, but rather what it represented ¡ª his years of loyal service. Instead, he¡¯d received fifteen minutes in a room with a new area head, half his age, and a stern-looking woman from HR. His job ¡ª to analyse scan results and medical images ¡ª could now be performed by an artificially intelligent program at a third of the cost. ¡°You know they¡¯re threatening to blow entire companies sky-high?¡± Nova asked. ¡°I don¡¯t agree with terrorism. I¡¯m just saying that this is a direct consequence of millions of jobs being flushed down the bog.¡± He shook his head, put his newspaper down on the table and ruffled her hair. ¡°Ugh, Dad, mind my barnet.¡± She smoothed her hair back down and jabbed at another Flakeroony, which began to drift lazily, like a snowflake, onto the table. She watched it melt into the surface of the newspaper, which was open on the jobs¡¯ page. One or two ads had been circled in red pen; others had asterisks next to them. She read down the list. These were jobs way beneath her dad¡¯s abilities, jobs he never would have applied for earlier in his life. The salaries advertised here didn¡¯t come close to what he¡¯d been earning as a medical researcher. And he was a proud man. Everything he did, he did for the family, for her. And what did she know, at her age, having never had a proper job, not one that needed to support a family, nor one that had been replaced by a few lines of code? She averted her gaze, feeling like a spoilt child. Her headset flashed with a message from Burner, ¡°At Fragging Hell, where are Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!you? Already rammed. Not many spaces left.¡± She flipped her Booners up and took her bowl of cereal to the sink. Now that was a better thought than these real-world concerns. Solarversia was calling. *** ¡°Are you ready, furball? Fragging Hell, here we come.¡± The furball was stowed in the passenger footwell of Nova¡¯s car, playing with the discarded plastic shell of a Kinder Surprise toy. He looked at Nova and made a clicking sound with his tongue. His name was Zhang, and her parents had given him to her on her 17th birthday. The tag on his ear identified him as a first generation Electropet, one modelled on the ring-tailed lemur. Electropets were animatronic toys, designed to provide companionship to adults and children alike. Their features and movements were so realistic that it was hard to tell them apart from the real thing. At least, it was from a distance. Up close their mechanical joints were visible through their coats, as were their orange eyes, which doubled as cameras, and the tags on their ears. Zhang had arrived with the standard factory settings. New owners were supposed to tinker around until they found a temperament that complemented their own. On day one Nova had ramped up his ¡®playful¡¯ setting to maximum and, deciding that he was perfect like that, hadn¡¯t changed him since. Her Booners guided her all the way to a reserved space on the third floor of the Medway Street car park, then, with Zhang parked on her shoulder, she walked through town. When they arrived at Fragging Hell he hopped onto the side rail to join some other Electropets ¡ª a sloth he knew and two monkeys he hadn¡¯t met before. A couple approached the rail and took a selfie with him, before he took one with them. Nova loved getting home to find crazy pictures of him posing with random people. It was further proof that he lived his own little life. She scanned the cafe for familiar faces. This place was her second home, always heaving with excitable gamers swapping war stories. Horrible paisley carpet and strips of fluorescent spot lighting separated banks of monitors and VR headsets. Not a single space was free, worse even than the usual midday Saturday crush because The Game had begun. The people she was here to see were likely to be found at the bar. She caught Jockey¡¯s eye and went over. ¡°Miss Negrahnu, a pleasure as always. Congratulations on the big one-eight for yesterday.¡± Jockey wore one of his trademark vests, a knitted number with a diamond pattern that fitted snugly round his potbelly. He often stood with his hands on his stomach, as if he was subconsciously pulling it inward, though the effect actually made him look even more like Humpty Dumpty. ¡°Thanks, Jockey. I see my score still stands.¡± She motioned to one of the overhead monthly leaderboard screens. Three weeks ago, on a wintry Monday night, she¡¯d thrown the dart of her life, smashing the Kent bullseye record by 40 centimetres, and placing top in the ¡®Bullseye of the Month¡¯ competition. ¡°Bloody good throw it was, too.¡± ¡°Do I get my prize today?¡± ¡°It¡¯s highly unlikely that anyone will beat it before the day¡¯s out, but no. I can¡¯t give that to you until February has officially come to end, including the cheeky leap day. But I do have something else for you; hang on a sec.¡± Jockey ducked behind the bar into the back, and Nova felt a hand clap her hard on the back. ¡°Happy birthday, punk. Bumped into any more lavadiles?¡± Burner said, trying to suppress a smile. With his plug ears and bulbous eyes, Nova was always astounded at his success with girls. He held a load of roasted peanuts in one hand, flicked them, one by one, into the air with the other, caught them in his mouth, sucked the roasting clean off and spat the naked nuts into the bin at the side of the bar. ¡°That, as I tell you every time I see you do it, is a disgusting habit. And no, I haven¡¯t bumped into any more lavadiles. Why, have you bumped into any more Krazy Karting finalists?¡± Along with thousands of other games, Krazy Karting had been ported across to VR, enabling its inclusion in Solarversia as one of its many sub-games. It was Nova¡¯s favourite racing game and her rank in the top few hundred players in the world had meant automatic qualification in one of ten preliminary rounds. After a shaky start in her heat last month, when her main rival, Dutch sensation Jools van der Star, had mashed her into the hoardings at the side of the track, she¡¯d made an inspired comeback, racing her way through the pack to qualify in tenth place. Although her time had been poor, placing her in 77th out of the hundred finalists, she¡¯d done it, and was in with a chance of winning the hundred grand first prize. ¡°Tell it to my hundred health points.¡± ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t know how you managed that. And as for Sushi, well, I can¡¯t even.¡± ¡°Believe it, Scotia. Plenty more where that came from.¡± She grimaced as Burner upended the packet of peanuts, tipped the remnants into his mouth, and then licked the packet clean. She¡¯d spent an increasing amount of time with him since Sushi¡¯s move to Seattle and had become good mates with him. He was funny, dependable and loyal, but also way more gross than Sushi ever was. Jockey returned with his hands behind his back. ¡°I have not one, but two presents for you.¡± ¡°Two presents?¡± ¡°First of all, here¡¯s a coupon for a drink on the house. You can use it whenever you like.¡± ¡°Thanks, Jockey. Much appreciated.¡± ¡°And then there¡¯s this.¡± She opened the card that he handed her and read the note inside. ¡°Sorry I couldn¡¯t be there for your big day, have fun without me. Sushi, aka your Solarversia Sister.¡± Nova twitched her nose a couple of times before turning to Burner. ¡°Awesome. Ten hours of prepaid time on the deluxe gaming chairs. Wanna watch the Queen of Darts on her throne?¡± Fragging Hell¡¯s side room had been kitted out by Spiralwerks, which was affiliated with gaming cafes and sports centres all over the world. It now had five state-of-the-art gaming simulators, deluxe models known as ¡®the chairs¡¯, available for hire at triple the rate of a standard rig. Burner wiped the peanut dust from his hands, gave her the finger, and followed her there. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK Chapter 6 coming soon! p.s. I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Solarversia Chapter 06 Nova handed her jacket to Burner, took a deep breath, and patted her T-shirt down. Slightly faded due to the countless times she¡¯d worn it, the T-shirt displayed the slogan SOLOS FTW. The word ¡®Solo¡¯ had been appropriated by fanatical players of Solarversia to describe themselves. Similar to the word ¡®solar¡¯, it also played on The Game¡¯s tagline, There Can Be Only One. The second word, ¡®FTW¡¯, was the old internet acronym ¡®For the Win¡¯. The phrase communicated the common belief that while it was theoretically possible for anyone to win, it would most likely be a Solo, someone dedicated to studying the Gameworld and all it entailed. The deluxe chairs were positioned on pneumatic arms capable of tilting thirty degrees in any direction. Joysticks were situated at the end of each armrest, and the footrest had pedals that made avatars run, jump, roll and drive. Nova climbed into the chair and flipped down the built-in headset, which had a technical spec that could induce drooling in the most hardened of gamers. In front of each chair was an industrial fan, which activated at pertinent moments. She entered Solarversia for the second time. The Corona Cube was unchanged, though the resolution of the headset, which was even better than her new Booners, made the plasma effect on the walls look more real, and more mesmerising. She had to make a conscious effort to turn her attention to the constellations on the ceiling. As her finger touched the last star, the plasma walls turned transparent to reveal the very spot on Alpha Island she had left the previous night. She exited the cube and checked the map. In order to properly explore the world, she¡¯d need her vehicles, starting with Flynn. Cars were stored at the garage, on the other side of the Forest of Fun, just over a minute away at her current running speed of one percent. In other words, a snail¡¯s pace. As soon as she completed some more quests her speed would shoot up. In the meantime she ambled toward the forest, her chair rocking in time as she moved. It sure beat sitting on the sofa at home. Around her thousands of avatars were headed in the same direction, running, shouting and jostling for position. Some of them, like her, were using their Normal Avatars, the ones created by scanning the real-world head and body of the player with a camera. Nova had updated hers several times since her final sleepover at Sushi¡¯s, most recently in December, after a rigorous month-long exercise regime. The Normal Avatar transformed into the player¡¯s Super Avatar as the year progressed. The player didn¡¯t need to do anything to make the transformation happen ¡ª it occurred automatically, through a series of indistinguishable changes that were applied each day they were still in The Game. Nova hadn¡¯t done anything too radical with her Super Avatar. She¡¯d added a couple of inches to her height, toned up here and there, and performed a spot of minor plastic surgery on her avatar¡¯s neck and nose, but it was nothing compared to the people who would transform into cats, dogs, and all manner of weird and wonderful beings if they lived long enough. Bobbing alongside the Normal Avatars were a smattering of Generic Avatars, ones players could switch on to hide their everyday appearance. These avatars, whose male and female versions had come to be known as ¡®Marty¡¯ and ¡®Smarty¡¯, looked like plastic Duplo figures, and were identical to one another. Players were constantly speculating as to which celebrities were masquerading as Marties and Smarties, although they were also used by people who didn¡¯t want to have to confront the realities of their body in their moments of escape, and also by people who simply fancied being anonymous for a while. Nova pulled down the stats feed in her visor to check the latest figures. More than ten million people had now left Castalia and were somewhere within the confines of Solarversia. A guy from Chile appeared beside her as she ran and held out his hand for a high-five. ¡°Hey, Nova, we¡¯re both in ring 359.¡± Staring at his head for half a second caused his profile square to appear hovering above him, a feature that players could turn off and on at will. Scanning its contents, she saw that he was right: his grid shortcode was S359, meaning his square was located in the Spades quadrant in the top right of the Player¡¯s Grid. The high-five unlocked one of the items on her March Bucket List, a feature created by Spiralwerks to help ensure that The Game was fair. Each month had an associated list of actions players needed to perform. A life was automatically lost if the list wasn¡¯t completed by the end of the month. It deterred people from spending the whole year hiding out in their Corona Cube. Any Bucket items ticked off on the Leap Day automatically rolled into the March list. When she made it to the forest, her headset chimed again: another item ticked off the Bucket List. Despite the crowd of avatars, there was an eerie quiet in the woods, punctuated by the snapping of twigs, the rustling of trees in the wind, and the occasional sound of laughter. The leaves on the trees contained jokes that had been submitted by players. She looked skyward, held out her palm, and caught one as it floated toward the ground. ¡°I organised a threesome last night. There were a couple of no-shows, but I still had fun.¡±The ¡®ta dum tss¡¯ sound of a rimshot went off as she read the last word. She shared the joke on her feed, resulting in another tick on the Bucket List, and four additional points on her speed. All too easy. She brushed past the last couple of ferns and found herself in a clearing. A large tyre, which bore the words ¡®The Greasy Wrench¡¯ around its circumference, was propped against three stacked cars. Behind it was a multistorey garage made of thousands of square bays, where cars were being jacked-up, spraypainted or waxed by a multitude of arkwinis. According to her datafeed, nearly sixteen thousand players were currently collecting their rides. That was a lot of grease. An arkwini in dirty overalls and a matching cap waddled up to her. Speaking in a high-pitched voice, he said, ¡°Hello, Nova, you must be here to collect Flynn. Follow me, please.¡± He bowed, and then toddled off without waiting for a reply. She caught up with him and joined him in a battered metal cage attached to the side of the building. ¡°Your player number, please,¡± he said, motioning toward a sturdy black box affixed to the front on the cage. As she went to punch in her digits, a disembodied voice chanted, ¡°We really wanna see those fingers!¡± She had Catchphrases switched on, which meant that specific movements, actions and behaviours were greeted by recorded phrases that The Game¡¯s algorithms deemed relevant. Players could provide feedback on catchphrases, add them to their favourites or select them to sound at given moments. In this way they acted like an in-Game user-generated commentary. She punched her digits in and the cage shuddered into motion, climbing the side of the building. She leaned over the side to look down on Alpha Island, shaped like a capital ¡®A¡¯. The track she¡¯d raced in the Karting heats traced the shoreline. She could see the roundabout where she¡¯d pulled off the Wall of Death stunt, the Fire Demon¡¯s Obstacle Course, and the Forest of Fun. Above her, Castalia floated high in the sky. As far as her brain was concerned, she was here, in Solarversia, rather than a gaming cafe in the real world, a concept the VR geeks referred to as Presence, the illusion that a mediated experience was real. Whatever you called it, she was fully immersed and loving it. The cage slowed to a halt beside a bay that matched her player number. She smiled at the gleaming car within, one she¡¯d spent many hours customising. Although she¡¯d used him for the Karting heats before The Game had even begun, and raced in him regularly, it was still exciting to officially collect him like this. ¡°Good to see you, Flynn, old buddy, this time for real. Kind of real, anyway.¡± She held out a hand and stroked his bonnet. Flynn was a dune buggy. A bare chassis exposed his motor, lots of wiring and some fat suspension. The flaming artwork that adorned each side proclaimed Doors Are for Bores. Holding onto the chassis, she swung herself into the driving seat and gripped the steering wheel tight, impatient to get going already. The arkwini toddled up to her, clipboard in hand. ¡°A few things before you get on your way. Speed. Although you only start with one point, for every ten miles you drive without incident, you¡¯ll gain a point. Navigation. Once on the road it¡¯s impossible to get lost, just consult your Route Planner. The exit. You¡¯ve been credited with a Turbo Boost. Use it.¡± He kicked the This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.front tyre and inspected the chassis. ¡°OK, you¡¯re good to go.¡± As she grabbed the twin joysticks, a stereophonic collection of voices chanted, ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines!¡± Flynn growled into life. The wall in front of her swung down to create a ramp and the turbo boost icon started flashing. Accelerating from nought to sixty in half a second, she hit the ramp at speed, cruised through the air and landed on the open road of Alpha Island, calling ¡°Yeeee-ha!¡± In Fragging Hell, the fan blasted her with air. Within a few seconds the Route Planner menu appeared in her headset, exactly like the arkwini had said it would. She could input how much time she had available, and which Bucket List items she wanted to tick off. It would combine that information with her current speed score, and the items she owned, to suggest some optimal routes. She chose a route through Lotus Bay, the town that ran along the eastern edge of the island. The seafront was lined with hundreds of exhibitions and mini-quests, enough entertainment for the entire year. The first exhibit on the route, Conga World, was dedicated to creating the world¡¯s longest virtual conga line. It was a hectic flurry of confusing movement as members swerved one way, then the other, kicking their legs out to their sides as they congaed along the coast, their hovering profile squares jigging along in time. The exhibition¡¯s datafeed was being constantly updated itself as new players joined the end, and others, somewhere in the middle, dropped out. As she viewed Conga World¡¯s billboard, the exhibition¡¯s starting point and virtual homepage, it updated to display information relevant to her. It told her that GoodGert from Namibia ¡ª player 23,154,832, who held the record for longest time at the front of the line ¡ª was only seventeen squares from her on the Player¡¯s Grid. The Russian guy who had just this second joined the back of the line? Only ten squares from Burner. It was a small world, the Solarverse; a frothing sea of happy coincidences and shared relationships. Nova joined the line and tried to look as cool as possible while doing such an inherently stupid dance. When she left the line she was rewarded with topped-up speed and her first teleport token. Hearing the dinging sounds that accompanied these updates reminded her of the joy she used to feel as a young child, dropping coins into her piggy bank. Further progress. Sweet. Instead of rushing to do something else straight away, she took a moment to take everything in. There was activity anywhere she cared to look, a sea of pulsing, throbbing motion so intense it felt quite dizzying. Even the ground she stood on ¡ª an object so dull and lifeless in the real world ¡ª was animated in a way that made it look like it possessed consciousness. The tessellated hexagons changed colour as she trod on them, and, as her datafeed now informed her, had also been programmed to react to certain commands. She dragged her foot along like she was collecting autumn leaves and watched a wave of colour fan out from under her until it met hues flowing in the opposite direction, kicked, scuffed or punted by another player. The colours collided, rebounding and fracturing into a dozen new streams, giving rise to a chorus of chimes and jingles. As she stared at the ground in awe, wishing pavements were like it for real, the datafeed informed her about several dozen variations of hopscotch that could be played, as well as a rumour ¡ª which had gone viral two hours ago ¡ª that certain combinations unlocked prizes. She found a list of patterns that were affiliated with charities and picked one. Tapping out the sequence unlocked a red cross and sounded a jingle ¡ª the company sponsoring the pattern had just donated ten pence to the British Red Cross. There were thousands of partnerships like it across the Gameworld, and exercises varied in complexity. Small tasks like that one were usually linked to minor monetary contributions, but she¡¯d heard of other ventures that required a lot more commitment. A short way in front of her, a couple were gazing upwards, pointing and smiling. The sky was violet, rather than blue, and cast a surreal, diffuse glow over the land. Following their line of sight, she quickly spotted what they were looking at ¡ª giant puffs of white cloud, shaped like faces. Far beyond them, numerous aircraft ¡ª miniscule from her vantage point on the ground ¡ª performed aerobatics, looping, rolling and spinning. ¡°Did you get your plane yet?¡± the guy called out to her. ¡°I only got my car a short while ago,¡± she said with a proud nod in Flynn¡¯s direction. ¡°You¡¯ll need to do fifty miles without crashing before you can collect your boat from Dockingtons. Once you have your boat, you¡¯ll be able to cruise to Tristan da Cunha to collect your plane. If you can complete the flying sequences, you can make a cloud in the shape of your face. The one that drifts furthest wins a prize!¡± Nova smiled. She thought of herself as a Solarversia expert, yet the world was so large and complex that she learned something new about it all the time. She focused on the exhibitions around her again and plumped for one she¡¯d heard lots about: the Tweel of Fate. As she crossed its boundary, the players around her disappeared. It was a phased zone; numerous people could inhabit it simultaneously, but it would appear to them that they were there alone. Like Corona Cubes and Teleport Machines, Tweels of Fate were everywhere. They were modelled on Banjax the Dodectopus, and looked like the kind of roundabout you might find in a children¡¯s playground. Nova grabbed hold of the tentacle nearest to her ¡ª which, rather than tapering to a point, ended in a bulbous sphere ¡ª and gave it a big push. The Tweel spun round its axis for ten seconds or so, then came to a shuddering rest. The turquoise tentacle that landed closest to her began to squirm and writhe, like it been rudely awoken, and then looked up at her. Its spherical end, which had the face of a wizened old man, opened its puckered mouth and spoke. ¡°Your fate for today is to receive three teleport tokens. Use them wisely.¡± The tokens registered immediately in her headset, while the tentacle lowered its face and solidified once more. It wasn¡¯t a bad outcome for her very first twist of fate . Pleased with her progress, and keen not to use too much of her birthday credit in one go, she volleyed an eye back to Fragging Hell and glanced around until she spotted Burner back in the main room hunkering over a plate of a chips and a burger. Realising that she was pretty hungry too, she located the nearest Corona Cube, logged out, and sauntered over to join him. ¡°I picked up Flynn, a handful of speed points and four teleport tokens. Pretty good, huh?¡± ¡°Still miles behind me then. Not that a mere mortal like yourself should ever compare themselves to the Master of the Solarverse.¡± ¡°Whatever; it¡¯s a marathon, not a sprint,¡± she said, trying hard to feign nonchalance. ¡°How¡¯s your revision going, anyway?¡± ¡°Maths and further maths should be alright. I could probably do computer studies with my hands tied behind my back. Electronics is awesome ¡ª did I tell you, Jono¡¯s asked me to send him the aerial drone I built for my coursework, reckons his professor wants to take a look? Physics, on the other hand. Don¡¯t talk to me about bloody physics. What about you?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯m doing enough to get a place at Hull. Nottingham¡¯s looking unlikely. Sometimes I wish I was a total geek like you. Although revision¡¯s a bit overrated, don¡¯t you think?¡± A better poker player than Burner would have spotted her bluff a mile off ¡ª the brush of the hair behind her ears, the lack of eye contact, and the try-hard laugh. She hadn¡¯t even opened her books. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Chapter 7 coming soon! Solarversia Chapter 07 Arty looked down at the sword in his hands. He loved the way that the jewels in its handle sparkled; sometimes he thought he¡¯d like to own one for real. It was an item known as the Sword of Sadism, and as one of the most powerful objects within Solarversia, only a few hundred of them would ever be in circulation at any one time. He moved his thumb from the yellow topaz up to the blood-red ruby, circled it back across the string of pearls and ended up on the pink sapphire. This was the combination that initiated the weapon¡¯s power move, the one that could defeat the toughest of monsters. As his thumb came to rest on the sapphire, the jewels glistened brighter and a melody played. Now the sword moved, rotating Arty¡¯s avatar on the spot until he became a human whirlwind. When he finally came to rest he gave a series of commands that allowed him to enter third-person perspective so that he could watch his avatar perform the move in front of his eyes. He knelt down and studied the power move from below, zooming in and out, cocking his head to one side or the other. He removed his goggles and found himself back in the office. Twirling a clump of shaggy hair round his finger, he pondered the problem. Something looked wrong with the whirlwind from that angle ¡ª it looked more like a grey fuzzy beard than a scary tornado ¡ª but he struggled to explain how it was occurring. A bug in the code had been raised by the tech team a few days after the start of The Game and now, having been fixed, it sat with Arty for sign-off. The feeling that players were present within the Gameworld was all-important to Spiralwerks ¡ª it was small glitches like this that gave the game away, and as Creative Director, as well as the CEO, it was Arty¡¯s ultimate responsibility to sign off everything in it. The original glitch was definitely smoothed out, but something still wasn¡¯t quite right. He saw one of the guys in the technical team frantically wave in his direction and headed over. A minor problem like the strange-looking whirlwind could always wait. The team were crowded round Carl Stedman, the company¡¯s Chief Technical Officer, who looked and sounded extremely stressed as he ran through a checklist. ¡°Carl. Guys. What¡¯s the problem?¡± ¡°We¡¯re being griefed. It¡¯s a big attack. About thirty minutes ago the surveillance team received an alert highlighting a potential traffic issue at Ripley¡¯s Junction on Alpha Island. A group of players arrived there around the same time and parked their cars bumper-to-bumper, hemming in thousands of others. The players who parked their cars got out of them, joined Conga World, and haven¡¯t been seen since.¡± Griefing was the gaming equivalent of trolling, an activity whose reward lay in the frustration of others. Griefers, usually organised in clans, harassed other players and sought to exploit aspects of the Gameworld in ways unintended by the designers. As quickly as the engineers came up with ways to block them, they would pop up to cause havoc somewhere else. Arty put on his goggles and circled Ripley¡¯s Junction from above, surveying the scene like he was in a helicopter. ¡°Those tailbacks go on for miles. Do we know how many players have been caught up in it?¡± Carl jutted his jaw out and scratched his tightly curled brown beard. The dark bags under his eyes were a permanent feature of his face, making him look like he hadn¡¯t slept in over a week. ¡°Fifteen thousand at the last count. Players are going mental on social media, as you might imagine.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s responsible?¡± ¡°Nobody¡¯s owned up yet. Some of the usual suspects have gone online to declare their innocence.¡± ¡°So what are our options? We need to act before it escalates any further.¡± ¡°Depends how organic we want the solution to be. We could zap everyone to the nearest Corona Cube. But it¡¯s difficult to tell without further analysis which players were part of the original attack. It looks like loads of people got caught up in it, and have left their vehicles in frustration. If they¡¯re in the middle of a quest, about to win a special item, and we mess with them, the fallout will be awful. If we go for a totally organic solution, like sending arkwinis out in tow trucks, it could take half a day to clear up.¡± Arty removed the goggles, gazed at a sign above one of the workstations, which read ¡®The Only Good Bug Is a Dead Bug¡¯, and sighed. Why couldn¡¯t people play nicely? ¡°OK, listen. I¡¯ve got another meeting starting now. Ideally I¡¯d like this dealt with using organic methods. Set up roadblocks to prevent the problem spreading. Get every spare arkwini on the case. And offer some small incentive for players to get to a Corona Cube of their own accord. Get one of your guys to ping me a report every fifteen minutes; we¡¯ll play it by ear.¡± Arty strolled to the lift checking his emails in his glasses. Before the lift doors could close he heard Hannah McCreadie calling his name. Looking flushed and sounding out of breath, she held a hand to her chest while she spoke. ¡°Thanks for holding the door, Arty. Something urgent has come up.¡± ¡°The griefing? I know, I was with the team just a second ago.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s worse than that. It¡¯s about the Holy Order. MI6 have been in touch, the threat level has been upgraded to ¡®substantial¡¯. That means, and I quote, ¡®An attack is a strong possibility¡¯.¡± Arty¡¯s upper body slumped an inch forward like somebody had just powered him off. Being attacked in the game world felt hard enough. Having MI6 involved took it to a whole new level. The questions he had asked himself a hundred times reared their ugly heads in his mind again. Who the hell were the Holy Order? And why were Spiralwerks top of their corporate hit list? *** The scenery hadn¡¯t changed much in the last couple of hours, but Casey couldn¡¯t get enough of it. He¡¯d lived in the same tired city his whole life, where he¡¯d fed his eyes on a diet of scrappy billboards and stark grey buildings. Out here in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, a place of peace and serenity, the air was so luscious that every breath was a treat. Save for the occasional alligator, he and Wallace, in their kayaks, seemed to be the only things that moved. Right now his only problem was his hands, which throbbed after several hours of paddling upstream. His initiation ceremony ten days earlier was a distant memory. It felt so far in the past already that whenever his bones ached and his muscles spasmed he had to remind himself why. Wallace turned to Casey and pointed the way, then changed course to glide past some creepers that hid a narrow channel from the main tributary. The men continued for some way, through vines and past bushes, steering a path that Casey knew he¡¯d be incapable of retracing even if his life depended on it, until finally they drifted into a clearing. ¡°It¡¯s something, ain¡¯t it?¡± Wallace said, noticing his companion¡¯s dazed look. ¡°Took us years to build, and it ain¡¯t even finished, not close. Welcome to the Compound.¡± Rising out of the swampland was a village on stilts, formed of a series of camouflaged buildings and wooden gangways that blended uncannily into their environment. They pulled up beside a steel ladder affixed to a small jetty. Casey used it to steady himself while he scanned the surrounding bogs. In the background an army of spring peepers emitted their sleigh-bell-like chorus. ¡°Do you ever get used to the mosquitoes?¡± he asked, slapping his arm for the umpteenth time. ¡°After a while they bother you less, but I¡¯ll get you some spray.¡± They climbed the ladder and helped each other drag the kayaks onto the jetty. Wallace pulled a pack of Chesterfields out of his jeans and sparked one up with a flick of his golden Zippo before continuing the tour. ¡°The layout isn¡¯t as confusing as it looks: it consists of four buildings and the Sub. You see that camouflaged marquee? That¡¯s the Ceremonial Lodge, reserved for special occasions. The grey building in the corner is known as the Workshop, the place we build and repair stuff. The long building with the round windows is called Control House. It¡¯s kind of like the nerve centre of the organisation. In all there¡¯s over a thousand of us, in twenty different countries, spread around the world.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a global network then?¡± Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.¡°Yessir. And growing fast. Intelligent folk ¡ª like yourself ¡ª know we¡¯re on to something. Mankind¡¯s about to lose its place at the top of the food chain. There¡¯s no harm in having a little respect for the beings that are going to replace us. You made the right decision by joining us, put it that way.¡± Casey grinned at him. The past year was full of bad decisions. It felt good to know that he was finally making some good ones. ¡°The other building you can see is the Lockup. Let¡¯s stash the kayaks there, and then I¡¯ll show you to your bunk.¡± Casey slung his sack of possessions behind his back, used his chin to clamp it against his shoulder, and then pulled the kayak behind him with trembling arms. Their morning had begun at 5:00 a.m. with the smell of coffee boiling over kerosene, and though Wallace had encouraged him to rest for days, he felt exhausted. The thought that there was a bunk somewhere for him gave him the strength to keep going. When they got to the Lockup, Wallace held his thumb up to the small metal box at the side of the door. A beep preceded the thunking noise of several bolts releasing. Wallace swung the doors back and fastened them open on little hooks. Casey took a couple of steps backward, his eyes bulging at the sight of row upon row of automatic weapons stacked on the shelves within. ¡°That¡¯s quite some arsenal you¡¯ve got there. Are we expecting visitors?¡± ¡°Expecting? No. We¡¯re like the good ol¡¯ Boy Scouts of ¡¯Merica. We like bein¡¯ prepared is all.¡± Wallace blew a smoke ring and flashed his yellow grin. ¡°What about those?¡± Casey said, nodding at the row of humanoid robots that lined the wall. ¡°Are they in the Boy Scouts too?¡± ¡°Those are some of Father¡¯s toys. Programmed them himself. They were designed to specialise in one or more tasks. The grimy one at the end¡¯s a submersible. You can slip on a headset and work on the underwater sections of the Compound from the comfort of Control House. The blue ones in the middle are Medibots. They assist Mother when she operates on people. And the beige ones are general-purpose robots, mainly used for heavy lifting and landscaping.¡± He motioned for Casey to secure his kayak against the side of the hut. Casey followed his friend¡¯s lead, lifting the craft into place on the rack and tying it against the wall, aware the whole time of the assortment of ordnance behind him. Just as he thought they were done, Wallace stopped and bowed reverentially. Casey turned to find Mother Frances standing in the doorway, a kind smile on her face. His saviour. ¡°Mother, you remember Casey Brown, the new recruit. We only just got here after spending a few days at the safe house while he recovered. Father¡¯s asked that I show him the ropes.¡± She stared deep into Casey¡¯s eyes. It was a look that made him feel wanted, loved even. ¡°Welcome to the Sub, Casey Brown. I¡¯m pleased to see you again. Everybody here has been through the ordeal on the hill. It was designed to push humans to their absolute limit, to break them mentally, physically and spiritually. And some people don¡¯t complete it. It looks cruel and unnecessary to the ignorant mind. Wiser souls know that it illuminates the limitations and fallibility of the human condition. If Father was to attempt the challenge now, he would complete it with ease and in a fraction of the time. Those that join the Order need to be willing to give everything to the cause.¡± Casey thought back to the dark time in his life, a time when he had come close to ending it all. That he hadn¡¯t done so, that he was here now, was all thanks to the two people in front of him. He owed them everything and wanted to wrap his arms around them and squeeze them tight. Instead, he fumbled for words. ¡°Yes ma¡¯am, that¡¯s me. Dedicated, I mean, willing to give my all.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear that. Father has important plans for you. I wouldn¡¯t want to see you let him down. And while you¡¯re here, you can call me Mother.¡± She nodded her head and was gone. Casey quickly mimicked Wallace¡¯s bow, conscious of being the new guy, the one with everything to learn. ¡°Don¡¯t be fooled by her size. I¡¯ve seen Mother Frances pick up a kayak, put it on her back and jog from one end of the Compound to the other. She¡¯s also one of the best surgeons in the country.¡± ¡°Frances ¡ª Mother ¡ª mentioned that some people fail to complete the initiation. What happens to them?¡± Wallace sighed heavily. ¡°The ones who don¡¯t make it, don¡¯t make it at all. We¡¯ve only had two people fail, and both times, it broke my heart. As the guy in charge of initiation ceremonies I have the grim job of disposing of the bodies. I did everything I could to help them, save carrying the net of rocks for them. When it happened the first time I tried to persuade Father to make an exception, you know, by giving them an office job or something.¡± Wallace paused to dig some grime out from under a fingernail but looked to be deep in thought. ¡°Let¡¯s just say that that didn¡¯t go down too well. Come on, it¡¯s time I showed you the Sub. When we get to the gangways, make sure you hold on tight. Otherwise you¡¯ll end up as ¡¯gator feed, understand?¡± Casey nodded his agreement, swung the sack back over his shoulder and did his best to ignore the midges that landed on his face, spitting out those that made it into his mouth. When they reached the rickety walkway, he used his free hand to grasp at branches and carefully placed his feet where he¡¯d seen Wallace tread. After a couple of minutes they arrived at a dense thicket of bald cypresses that looked, to Casey, like any other. Wallace flicked the butt of his cigarette at the nearest peeper. ¡°Damn frogs won¡¯t shut up this time of year.¡± He reached past a group of branches and yanked on something behind them. A door swung open to reveal a spiral staircase that seemed to descend into the swamp itself. ¡°Old narco sub. Father Theodore discovered it years ago. Hope you ain¡¯t claustrophobic.¡± Casey rapped on the door with his knuckles. Its dull thud suggested the metal was several inches thick. He followed Wallace down the stairs, hunching as he went, and paused at the bottom to look down the long, narrow corridor that stretched ahead. It would barely allow two men to squeeze past one another, and the ceiling, not much higher than his head, was lowered even further by a series of dim light bulbs hanging from a length of chicken wire. The walls were lined with pistons, metal steering wheels and broken pressure gauges, mementos from a former life. Halfway along the corridor, a cylindrical metal object hung down from the ceiling, flanked by two small bars. ¡°Go on. I know you want to. You can¡¯t see too much, mind.¡± Casey grabbed the bars either side of the periscope, rested his head against the worn rubber that surrounded the eyepiece and spied the top of the Ceremonial Lodge beyond the trees. ¡°You¡¯re looking at the way we came into the Compound ¡ª the only way. The entire perimeter is booby-trapped to high hell, so don¡¯t try going off on your own.¡± The end of the corridor led to a room of bunks, each one narrower than Casey¡¯s childhood bed. ¡°This is for us guys, the women are up the other end. Stash your clothes at the end of your bunk for now. There¡¯s a sink in the cupboard, use the water from the tanks above it. Take a few minutes to get acquainted with your new home. Then there¡¯s work to do.¡± **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Chapter 8 coming soon! Solarversia Chapter 08 Nova stood by the platform gate at St Pancras railway station and cursed Burner under her breath. She hated being late. If Sushi was the yin to her yang, Burner was the chalk to her cheese. ¡°If he doesn¡¯t get here in approximately three¡ª¡± she started saying to herself, and then, with a frantic wave, ¡°Burner ¡ª over here. Burner, you boggle-eyed twat!¡± She lowered her voice as a woman with young children strolled by. They ran to the nearest door, edged their way up the train to their carriage and then fell into their seats panting as the whistle blew, Burner¡¯s cheeks red as snooker balls. ¡°Why do you always do that to me?¡± ¡°Like to keep you on your toes is all,¡± he said, still catching his breath. ¡°Did you hear about Arkwal¡¯s parachute ¡ª the one he used to slow himself down?¡± ¡°No. What about it?¡± ¡°Some dude from Australia found it. Instead of sailing to Tristan da Cunha to get his plane like the rest of us, he went in search of it. Found it and won himself ten grand. Just like that.¡± ¡°Son of a Gunter! Why didn¡¯t we think of that?¡± Prizes were being won all over the place, for all kinds of things. Several people had won prizes for unlocking hopscotch patterns in the tessellated tiles on the ground. A woman from Uzbekistan had won five grand just yesterday for spinning a Tweel of Fate in a certain way, like it was the combination dial on a safe: twenty-nine rotations clockwise, two anticlockwise, twenty clockwise, dialling out the date The Game had started, the 29th February 2020. And now, ten large ones had been paid out to the person who found a discarded piece of nylon in the ocean. What else might she have missed? She looked out the window as the train jolted into motion. ¡°Did I tell you Jono¡¯s latest theory? Reckons there¡¯s an EFF switch at the North Pole.¡± ¡°No offense, but your brother¡¯s hardly the most reliable source of information. Wasn¡¯t he the one who reckoned you could get additional spins of the Tweel of Fate if you chanted ¡®Solarversia¡¯ three times into one of the tentacles? What a wally.¡± ¡°You were the wally who tried it.¡± EFF was the abbreviation for the Earth Force Field, the mechanism preventing players from exploring the rest of the Solar System. Ten switches were hidden at different locations on Earth, with a ¡ê100k bounty attached to each of them. Once all ten had been triggered the field would turn off, enabling players to travel to the International Space Station, where they¡¯d be able to board spaceships to the moon and beyond. The EFF was also the cause of Solarversia¡¯s warm violet light. As the power of a Force Field wore off, its glow cycled through the colours of the rainbow, from violet through to red, before disappearing entirely. Triggering the EFF switches would cause the light of the whole sky to change colour, a signal of epic proportions that solar travel had edged that bit closer. Nova logged on and prepared to rejoin the game world where she had left it ¡ª in New York. She¡¯d collected Bruno, her hovercraft from the Lotus Bay dockyard, and then sailed to Tristan da Cunha, the closest island, to get Hawk, her biplane. She¡¯d always wanted to visit The Big Apple, and Solarversia offered the additional thrill of landing her plane in Central Park. But as she entered the Corona Cube, she noticed something different about the ceiling. There was an additional constellation between the previously existing two. ¡°Hey, Burner. Have you seen this? The Telescopium Constellation in the Corona Cube?¡± ¡°Oh yeah, that¡¯s new. It definitely wasn¡¯t there last night. Shall we check it out?¡± She traced the stars with her finger and the Corona Cube melted away to reveal a huge domed room bustling with other players and arkwinis. Arkwal was standing on a bench at the side of the room, leaning on his telescope like it was a walking stick, in a pale blue suit decorated with hundreds of white question marks. ¡°Welcome to Castalia,¡± he said. ¡°Nothing like it exists on Earth, nor could it, given your current level of technological development. Are you ready for your grand tour? You¡¯ve already seen the Magisterial Chamber, the cubic room that forms the core of the palace. Affixed to each of its six faces is a hemispherical dome. We¡¯re in the Overdome, the topmost hemisphere, which is the arkwinis¡¯ living quarters. So, welcome to their humble abode.¡± The arkwinis and all the other members of Emperor Mandelbrot¡¯s entourage were Non-Player Characters, controlled by artificial intelligence rather than any employee of Spiralwerks. Players could interact with them to a degree, as long as the topic of conversation remained within the realm of the Game. They were remarkably advanced, Nova thought. She would sometimes forget she was talking to a program ¡ª a few hundred lines of code ¡ª rather than a sentient life form. Nova glanced around her. One edge of the dome was lined with dozens of teleport machines that seemed to be constantly in use, beaming arkwinis into, or out of, existence. She loved how they weren¡¯t quite tall enough to reach the teleporters¡¯ keypads and had to climb up the handles of the machines, cling on with their tails and swing down towards the keypads with their long fingers outstretched. ¡°The first stop on the tour is the dormitory, just beyond the dining area. Some of the little ones will be asleep, so keep the noise down.¡± The group followed Arkwal¡¯s lead into the dorm and assembled along the foot of the longest bed Nova had ever seen. Tucked inside its duvet were dozens of snoring arkwinis. ¡°As the General Manager of Castalia, I run a tight ship. Or, perhaps that should be, tight palace. There¡¯s a lot of work for us to do around here. Emperor Mandelbrot¡¯s Magisterial Chamber contains ten thousand square metres of marble to keep clean. Those vines are a nightmare for dusting. That job alone keeps thirty arkwinis busy round the clock. The surface architecture of Castalia is based on an intricate fractal pattern ¡ª designed, I might add, by the Emperor himself ¡ª and stretches over many, many square miles. It¡¯s tiring work, keeping the place clean year round. Which brings us to this,¡± he said, motioning to the bed. The mattress was shaped like a caterpillar track on the side of an army tank. At each end of the bed the mattress curved back round on itself, creating an elongated oval shape. Dozens of wheels kept the mattress slowly rolling around the oval. ¡°The beds here are as long as a bowling alley and sleep up to fifty arkwinis at any one time. To ensure we¡¯re as efficient as possible, we use Sleep-a-nator machines. When an arkwini has finished his shift, had something to eat, and is ready for bed, all he needs to do is walk into one of those machines at the far end of the bed, the one with the big ¡®S¡¯ painted on its side, and the machine will do the rest. It¡¯s best to see one in action. Ingenious they are. You there. Yes, you. In the machine.¡± An arkwini, who¡¯d been eating his lunch in peace, started to remonstrate, then, thinking better of it, reluctantly put down his sandwich. The machine looked like an airport-security metal detector, but instead of beeping when it detected its occupant, it seemed to come alive. Mechanical arms and hands appeared and stripped the arkwini of his clothes, squirted him with soap and water, scrubbed him down, and passed him underneath a fierce blower to dry him. Then it dressed him in a pair of pyjamas, brushed his teeth and gave him a little pat to send him on his way. Calmly, the arkwini stepped out of the Sleep-a-nator and joined his colleagues in the oversized bed. At the other end, the mattress was wrapping back around on itself, while the end of the duvet was being lifted off the bed by another pair of mechanical hands. An arkwini who had been sound asleep plopped off the end and landed on a crash mat. He stood up, yawned, stretched his arms, and walked towards another machine, which had a large ¡®W¡¯ on its side. ¡°The Wake-a-nator?¡± one of the tour group ventured. ¡°That¡¯s it, well done. I thought you lot looked brighter than the average group. Between them, these two machines save us thirteen minutes a day per arkwini. And with thousands of arkwinis aboard at any one time, well, you do the math.¡± Nova watched the little arkwini who had just been readied for bed. She felt quite tender towards him, the way he put his head on the pillow, sighed with a sleepy smile, and fell fast asleep, despite the fact that he¡¯d only been halfway through lunch when his day was brought to an end. It was details like these ¡ª the way in which arkwinis genuinely seemed to lead their own lives, eating, sleeping and working ¡ª that helped immerse players in the Gameworld, engaging them on an emotional level and encouraging them to explore the rich, layered backstories of its peculiar inhabitants. Nova was so intent on the little rise and fall of the arkwini¡¯s chest and the room¡¯s quiet snore that she failed to notice Burner creeping up behind her. He barged into her with his shoulder, aiming her at the Wake-a-nator. She staggered toward the machine, trying hard to retain her balance. ¡°You, miss. What do you think you¡¯re doing? Stop right there. You¡¯re not asleep, you stupid girl, you don¡¯t need wake-a-nating. I command you to stop right now.¡± Before she could stop, six pairs of mechanical arms and hands sprang to life and dragged her, screaming, into the machine. They brushed her teeth with vigour, pulled a comb through her hair and splashed water on her face. She couldn¡¯t help laughing when little puffs of perfumed air blew in her face to dry her, and was almost enjoying the experience when she realised that the machine would at any second try to undress her of her ¡®pyjamas¡¯ and put her in an arkwini uniform. There was no way she was going to allow her avatar a moment of nudity in front of this lot. She slipped down to her knees and crawled forward on her belly until she was out of the machine and out of harm¡¯s way. ¡°That was not,¡± Arkwal said, ¡°part of the tour. I don¡¯t know why I bother sometimes, I really don¡¯t. You wait until the Emperor hears about this. He¡¯s deducted health points from players in the past, you realise? It certainly wasn¡¯t my fault, that much is clear.¡± He stopped muttering, patted his suit down and then turned toward the group in an officious manner. ¡°Right then, it¡¯s time for the next part of the tour. We¡¯re heading through the skylight over there. No dillydallying at the back. And certainly no playing the fool,¡± he added with a glare in Nova¡¯s direction. The group followed Arkwal out of the skylight and assembled around him on the roof of the cube. ¡°Earlier I mentioned the structure of Castalia, and the fact that abutting each face of the Magisterial Chamber there is a large hemisphere. The architecture of the palace is based on fractal geometry. On each of the six hemispheres are six smaller hemispheres, and from each of those, six even smaller hemispheres blossom. This regression continues indefinitely; hence its fractal nature. It¡¯s the six large hemispheres that you need to know about. We were just inside the one on the roof ¡ª the Overdome. Next we¡¯re going to investigate the Eastdome.¡± Arkwal got the tour group to line up along the edge of the roof, which looked down on Alpha Island, from here a dining-plate sized ¡®A¡¯ in the middle of the The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.Atlantic Ocean. He stood at one end of the line and bent over the edge so that everyone could see him. Glancing between Arkwal and the ocean far below, Nova felt quite nauseous. ¡°You might think that if you leaned too far over the edge, you¡¯d plummet to your death,¡± Arkwal yelled along the line. He held his arms out by his sides, put a leg out and stepped forward. Nova¡¯s hands shot to her mouth; around her, the tour group gasped. But instead of falling to his death, Arkwal flopped over the side and confidently stepped onto the east face of Castalia, sticking out from its side like a nail in the wall. ¡°Well, you¡¯d be wrong. Not sure if I mentioned it, but the Emperor¡¯s a master of space and time. He can do funny things with gravity. He designed Castalia so that the six outer faces have a gravitational pull equal to that on Earth. You can walk around the outside of the palace, from face to face, without falling off. In fact, you couldn¡¯t fall off if you tried. Takes a bit of getting used to, mind. Right then, your turn.¡± Nova exchanged a worried look with Burner. They were so high that some of the birds below them looked nothing more than pulsing black dots. But as the group followed Arkwal¡¯s lead one by one, her confidence grew. She reached out, grabbed Burner¡¯s hand, and together, they flopped over the edge. She couldn¡¯t help but grin when her foot stuck safely to the side. Ahead of her the horizon appeared as a vertical line. The ocean wasn¡¯t below her, it was to her right; the sky ¡ª filled with clouds whose face-like shapes had now been distorted by the wind ¡ª to her left. She walked back to the cube¡¯s edge to flop onto the roof, seesawed back and forth between the roof and the east face for a bit, and then walked along the edge itself at forty-five degrees, pretending to balance like a tightrope walker. When she got to the cube¡¯s vertex she discovered that she could navigate three faces just as easily. She skipped from face to face, playing her own game of gravitational hopscotch. Then she knelt down, put her right hand on the tip of the vertex, used her left to spin herself around and slowly raised her body above her head so that she performed a spinning one-armed handstand on Castalia¡¯s tip. She spun for a while, taking the world in from this unconventional angle, before she heard Burner shouting for her. ¡°Come on, Scotia, we¡¯re on the move. You don¡¯t want to get in trouble again.¡± She lowered herself back down and ran to join the assembled throng who were gathered round Arkwal, standing by a skylight that looked into the Eastdome. ¡°The domes affixed to the four sides of Castalia all play extremely important roles,¡± Arkwal said. ¡°The Eastdome and its counterpart, the Westdome, are the places where all of Solarversia¡¯s game items are spawned before they¡¯re won by a player somewhere. As you can see, keeping the items sufficiently stocked is a mammoth undertaking. Only the fastest, hardest-working arkwinis are eligible to work in the East- and Westdomes.¡± Nova pressed her face against the skylight and gawped at what she saw. Inside, hundreds of arkwinis in forklift trucks and exosuits were hurrying around sorting, cataloguing and arranging a multitude of items in the largest warehouse she had ever seen. Game items were stored in huge crates on shelves that reached right the way to the ceiling: teleport tokens, weapons power-ups of every kind. An arkwini sped toward the skylight in his forklift, performed a handbrake turn, hurriedly stored the box that he was transporting on the end of one of the shelves, removed the forks from under it and whizzed off back down the aisle. A stamp on the side of the box declared that it contained sixty jars of Skidz. Within seconds the rectangular space below the content information on the box flashed into life. It displayed the profile information for a player who had just won a jar after spinning a Tweel of Fate somewhere, and the inventory number ticked down to fifty-nine. Hundreds of boxes and crates flashed in a similar manner until they were empty, whereupon they were replaced by a tired-looking arkwini. Arkwal took note of the wide-eyed expressions of the tour group. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about trying to break in, by the way. There¡¯s always one thinks they¡¯re being original and clever. They get in their plane, land on one of Castalia¡¯s faces and try to blast their way in, thinking that they¡¯re about to pull off the heist of the century. Even if you managed to break into the dome ¡ª which is highly unlikely in the first place ¡ª the anti-heist mechanism would prevent you from escaping.¡± Arkwal retrieved his telescope from his pocket, performed a few calculated twists of its cylindrical sections and then walked away. Nova went to follow him, and, finding that her feet were well and truly stuck to the ground, nearly fell over on the spot before reaching out to Burner to steady herself. Around her, everyone in the group had been similarly affected and remained glued in place until Arkwal shook his ¡¯scope, reversing the mechanism. ¡°Remember ¡ª the Emperor¡¯s a master of space and time. His palace, his rules. Next stop: the Underdome.¡± The chimp marched down the face of the cube, flipped himself ninety degrees forward at the bottom edge and disappeared to the underside of Castalia. Nova elbowed Burner hard in the ribs ¡ª revenge for the Wake-a-nator incident ¡ª and chased after Arkwal. If walking on the side of the palace had been a curious experience, walking on its underside was stranger yet. Nova looked up to see Alpha Island in the Atlantic Ocean and down, over the edge of the palace, to the great blue sky beneath her. The crowd squealed with delight when a gull flew by, flapping its wings the wrong way up, looking nothing like a creature that should have been able to fly. Arkwal hurried them into the Underdome. An enormous furnace took pride of place in the centre of the floor, gobbling down a blue gravelly substance that a team of arkwinis were shovelling into its fiery tank. Around the edges of the room, thousands of stacked crates formed erratic columns that stretched all the way to the ceiling and looked like they might topple over at any second. Each bore the flag of a different country and was stamped with the imported contents it contained: foodstuffs, plants, vegetation, minerals, liquids and narcotics. A small army of arkwinis in warehouse overalls were driving forklifts piled high with crates, slotting them into gaps or starting new stacks. ¡°Who can tell me what the flag is on that crate? Very good, madam, it is the Russian flag. As you can see from the stamp on its side, the crate contains two hundred kilos of beluga caviar, a favourite of the Emperor. Whenever he hosts a Year-Long Game on a new planet, he always samples everything it has to offer. He¡¯s still hoping to find something as tasty as the saut¨¦ed Petrifier brains his mother used to make. They have, what you lot might refer to as a certain ¡®je ne sais quoi¡¯. Now if you¡¯ll follow me, we¡¯re off to meet the Chief Molecular Gastronomer. Feel free to ask questions as we go. But keep your mitts off the food.¡± Nova quickly spotted the arkwini that Arkwal had referred to. A pair of yellow rubber gloves and a chef¡¯s hat that doubled his height complemented his bleached white lab coat. He clutched a clipboard close to his chest and strode the length of the open-plan kitchen like he owned the place. Following close behind him were a gaggle of junior chefs carrying various kitchen utensils. The Gastronomer stopped beside an oversized wok that contained a bubbling brownish paste and leaned over to inspect its contents. His large nostrils twitched as he wafted its aroma towards his face. One of his shadows handed him a ladle, which he used to taste the concoction. He swilled the paste from cheek to cheek, then spat it out. ¡°Add two pounds of chicken livers, seven ounces of margarine, and simmer for three hours,¡± he shrieked in a German accent at no one in particular. He scribbled something on to his clipboard and an arkwini ran off to do his bidding. The group fell in once more around Arkwal. ¡°The Emperor consumes five to six metric tonnes of produce every day, washed down by one of several cocktails. His current favourite is the Panama Pooky, which consists of Cognac and white cr¨¨me de cacao. Here on Earth you¡¯d usually garnish it with nutmeg; the Emperor prefers a clove or six of garlic.¡± ¡°A clove or six of garlic?¡± a well-dressed French woman asked. ¡°Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me.¡± She smirked at Arkwal, delighted with her remark. ¡°I trust you aren¡¯t questioning the Emperor¡¯s taste, madam, especially not while you¡¯re a guest aboard his palace. He¡¯s been known to eat an old baguette or two in his time.¡± Arkwal gestured toward to the furnace with a nod of his head. ¡°Unless there were any other, less inane, questions, that concludes the tour of the palace.¡± ¡°What about the North- and Southdomes?¡± Burner asked. ¡°We never got to see those.¡± ¡°A sensible question for a change. The North- and Southdomes are used in one of the final rounds, so you¡¯ll get to see them then. Although it¡¯s highly unlikely that any of you will make it that far. You know, statistically speaking.¡± ¡°Excuse me, Mr Arkwal,¡± Nova said. ¡°That teleport machine over there, the one being guarded by a bunch of arkwinis. The signpost is bare. Is it special in some way?¡± Arkwal rubbed his hands together slowly. ¡°Yes, you could say that. Every other teleport machine is bidirectional, you see. You can teleport from one to the other and back again. The machine you asked about has been programmed differently. It allows the user to teleport anywhere in Solarversia. The destination isn¡¯t restricted to other machines. And that, good people, really does conclude the tour.¡± Arkwal flicked his telescope. Seconds later, Nova found herself back in her Corona Cube. She removed her headset and looked out of the window of the train. It was stopped at a station, and through the PA system, apologies were being made for the delays due to leaves on the line. She wondered how long they¡¯d been stationary without her noticing, and wished that she, too, were a master of space and time. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Chapter 9 coming soon! p.s. Did you spot the Ready Player One reference? :-) Solarversia Chapter 09 Nova waited patiently in the Portland Building with a bunch of other hopefuls for the only item on the day¡¯s official itinerary she deemed worthy of her time ¡ª an introduction to Solar Soc, the university¡¯s Solarversia Society. She¡¯d already had the exclusive ¡®Burner Tour¡¯ of campus, which had introduced her to all the stairwells, alleyways and student bars where he and Jono had got drunk, smoked blunts, and been indecent with dodgy-looking second years. And though she hadn¡¯t seen any of the lecture theatres, facilities or halls of residence, she¡¯d fallen in love with the place, and was already wondering how on earth she would get the grades she needed in order to be accepted onto a course there. Next to her, Burner was waxing lyrical about university life to some of the other attendees. Three spotty youths from Manchester hung on his every word. She enjoyed the way he could work a crowd, but had heard the stories about Jono, smoking weed, and the gliding club a hundred times. Usually stories that combined all three. She turned away from the group to have a look around the room. Thick carpets and finely upholstered sofas complemented the old masters on the walls. Leaflets provided details about the augmented reality tour she could take, one that would bring the old masters to life, giving their history and place in the university. Across the room, a row of gilt-backed chairs were lined up against the wall. She was eying them hungrily when a student appeared at the top of the landing and addressed the room. ¡°Excuse me, folks, could I have your attention please? There¡¯ll be an introduction to the Sustainable Development Society in room C203 in approximately five minutes. We¡¯re a friendly bunch and we¡¯d love to meet you.¡± Clutching a ring-bound folder to his chest, leather satchel hanging at his side, he looked nothing like the meek freshers surrounding her. He was at home: at the university, and in himself. She kept looking at him. Since when did she go for blond surfer locks, strong jawlines and knitted cardigans with stonewashed denim jeans? Since now. As half the room headed to the landing, he turned and looked at her with the most incredible blue eyes she¡¯d ever seen. She discovered that she was incapable of looking away. A huge grin accompanied the flushing in her cheeks. She gulped, looked down at her feet, brushed her hair behind her ears and chanced another look. This time she was rewarded with a smile. Her heart fluttered. Another look, another exchanged smile, this one more intimate. His raised eyebrows willed her to join him. Her heart pounded and her cheeks warmed further. ¡°You alright, mate? You don¡¯t look too good.¡± Burner seemed genuinely worried. Where had he appeared from? She¡¯d almost forgotten he existed. ¡°I feel a bit dizzy actually. Just gonna¡ª¡± She motioned in the general direction of the washrooms before joining the herd of people heading for the landing. *** Nova wasn¡¯t able to explain how she¡¯d ended up sitting in the middle of the semicircle of chairs in room C203. She¡¯d been drawn there, inexplicably, like an iron filing to a magnet. Either side of her were people wearing some combination of bell-bottomed jeans and wooden beads. One guy even sported a tie-dye T-shirt. She couldn¡¯t remember feeling so out of place and had a sudden impulse to flee ¡ª and would have done, had the guy with the incredible eyes not joined them that second. Her heart pounded in her chest. ¡°Hey, guys, welcome to the Sustainable Development Society. I¡¯m Charlie. I took a year out after school to travel the world, and did some work in London for an NGO that specialised in microfinance to Third World entrepreneurs. It would be great to hear how each of you became interested in the topic of sustainable development, so let¡¯s go round the circle before I tell you about what we get up to here at Nottingham.¡± As they went round the group, the experience people had seemed to get more varied and impressive: expeditions through Costa Rica, volunteer projects in Tanzania, community building in Mongolia. As the girl next to her started talking, Nova¡¯s mind raced, desperately wanting to know how she had got herself into this situation. ¡°Hi, guys, I¡¯m Ayesha. Like you, Charlie, I¡¯ve been on a gap year since school. My main area of interest is renewable energy ¡ª I spent the last six months travelling through Africa, educating villagers about solar power and helping them to install arrays, principally for hospitals and libraries.¡± Charlie scribbled some notes on his tablet. ¡°Great, thanks for sharing, Ayesha, that was really interesting.¡± The group turned to face Nova. She froze in her seat ¡ª what on earth was she going to say? That she had zero experience in sustainable development? That she wasn¡¯t too sure what it even meant? Her heart beat ever faster. People her age couldn¡¯t have heart attacks, could they? ¡°Hi, there. My name¡¯s Nova Negrahnu, and I¡¯m interested in sustainable development. I built mud huts in ¡­¡± She paused and looked round the group, trying to think of a country that hadn¡¯t been said yet. ¡°In Mozambique. I built mud huts in Mozambique and I carried some bricks.¡± Everybody stared at her. Had she really said that? I carried some fucking bricks? What next, nobody puts Nova in the corner? The guy next to her started talking, something about India and yoga and transcendental something-or-other. Her words Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.replayed in her head. She looked at Charlie to find that he was staring at her. When he smiled at her, she couldn¡¯t help but smile back. And nothing else mattered. *** The flying carpet swept into the Magisterial Chamber and came to a fluttering halt in the northwest corner of the room beside an easel. Seated in the lotus position upon it was a woman. In place of a head, her neck was a thick stem that supported a blue and yellow flower reminiscent of an orchid. From her throat and down the length of her belly ran an inch-wide flap of skin, into which flew some of the millions of insects that had previously formed the carpet. Nova checked the datafeed. Spee-Akka Dey Bollarkoo was an artist from Nakkoo, Emperor Mandelbrot¡¯s home planet. She¡¯d been commissioned to paint a monthly portrait depicting events that occurred within Solarversia throughout the year. These paintings would adorn the walls and ceiling of the chamber in a series of triptychs. The insects, referred to in the feed as zapier s, emitted a low-pitched droning sound that reminded Nova of being on a plane. They buzzed around the easel for a while, seemingly taking in their new surroundings, and then swarmed into Spee- Akka¡¯s chest through the skin flap. Nova grinned. It was certainly an original way to store your transport. The other new arrival in the Magisterial Chamber was less graceful but no less intriguing. His body was arched backward, so that his view of the world was upside-down. It looked like his feet had been nailed to the ground before a strong wind had taken him by surprise, blowing his body backward until his hands met the ground behind him. His movements were crab-like. Scuttling sideways, he¡¯d come to a stop for a few suspenseful seconds, take in his surroundings, and then scuttle off again. Except for the haphazard stitches that ran down the centre of his body, he was entirely naked. The stitches ran from the top of his skull, over his flat mandible ¡ª for he had no mouth ¡ª down his torso, past his crotch and back up his spine to the top of his skull. On his right side, the skin was pure white, but covered in bruises. On the left, his skin was jet-black and disfigured with blisters and ugly welts. He came to rest in the southeast corner by a machine covered in spinning wheels, switches and buttons, and a plethora of other components. Nova flipped back to the datafeed. The black and white man was Ludi Bioski. His machine, the Orbitini, was described as a ¡®biomechanical random event generator¡¯. According to the feed, he was here to ¡®spice things up¡¯ for players. Nova zoomed in to the Orbitini and watched as Ludi righted himself to stand over the machine and began to interact with it, flicking switches, pressing buttons and whirling wheels. Mesmerised, she tried to figure out what effect his actions would have on the Gameworld. ¡°What exactly are you looking at there, Miss Negrahnu?¡± Nova volleyed an eye back to the classroom and looked up to see her English teacher¡¯s stern face bearing down on her. Shit. Old Mophead. ¡°Mrs Woodward! I was looking at ¡­ I was just about to¡ª¡± ¡°You were playing that infantile game, no doubt, rather than reading act three of King Lear like everyone else in the room. Headset, please ¡ª you can have it back at the end of the day. Along with a week of detentions.¡± Nova clutched her Booners tight to her chest. It was ridiculous that she should have to hand them over. What could be more Shakespearean than a random event generator? Ludi Bioski could have come straight out of King Lear, if only Shakespeare had been down with virtual reality. Mrs Woodward¡¯s glare hardened. Nova wiped the Booners lovingly with the sleeve of her jumper and slowly placed them in her teacher¡¯s outstretched hand. She was unable to stifle the huge yawn that emanated from deep within her. ¡°You¡¯re exhausted. Which is exactly why these dreadful games have been banned.¡± ¡°Oh, get a life, you mean old cow.¡± The room fell silent. Nova was as surprised as anyone that she¡¯d said it out loud. Mophead¡¯s nostrils flared to twice their usual size, even larger than the time Burner had set fire to the wastepaper basket in the middle of morning register. She looked terrifying. Nova¡¯s lip trembled. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, miss, I don¡¯t know what¡ª¡± ¡°Headmaster¡¯s office. Now. You can save your sorries for him.¡± As Nova went to close the classroom door behind her, Mrs Woodward called after her, ¡°And Nova, I think we¡¯ll make that a month of detentions.¡± **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Chapter 10 coming soon! Solarversia Chapter 10 Nova stared at the textbook and stifled another yawn with the back of her hand. She was only three days into her month¡¯s worth of detentions, but already they were taking their toll. She was getting home late every day, and the constant exhaustion was impacting her schoolwork and revision. Worse still, it was affecting her gameplay. Her Booners sounded the Solarversia jingle. Yet another message from Sushi. ¡°Either do your homework later, or tell Mrs Woodward to take a hike. We both know Solarversia is far more important. If you crash out of The Game through negligence, you¡¯re going to have to wait four whole years for the next one. Your choice, girlfriend.¡± Sushi knew how to push her buttons, that was for sure. Although Spiralwerks had a host of other games lined up for the intervening period, every Solo knew that the quadrennial Year-Long Games were the ones that mattered most. Nova confirmed that her parents were busy watching TV with the volume turned up and quietly shut her bedroom door. She crept over to her wardrobe and leafed through her many Solarversiathemed T-shirts. Although she didn¡¯t truly believe they brought her good luck, she preferred to wear one while playing. Most of her shirts ¡ª like the one she grabbed and quickly put on ¡ª featured creative transformations of her player number. This shirt displayed the characters Ken and Ryu from the classic arcade game Street Fighter, facing one another in a sparring pose. Ken, who was standing on the left, had been drawn with the head of a guy called ¡®Duncarelli¡¯, who happened to be Thailand¡¯s most famous ladyboy ¡ª and also number 515 in the Player¡¯s Grid. Ryu on the other hand, had been replaced by ¡®Alexander Lazaar¡¯, a techno DJ from Detroit, and player number 740. Most people looked at the T-shirt and saw a couple of guys from a computer game. Some could even name them. But most Solos knew the characters well enough to know that they¡¯d been redrawn, and instantly knew the shirt contained a puzzle to be solved ¡ª one whose answer revealed the wearer¡¯s player number. Solos competed to outdo one another in terms of their creativity, and examples went viral all the time. She patted the shirt down, put her headset on, and sent a quick message back to her friend. ¡°Twenty minutes max. Then I really do need to get back to my books.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. See you there.¡± Nova left her Corona Cube in Staten Island, New York. She¡¯d met Sushi there the previous day to attend a virtual punk rock concert, and they¡¯d promised to hang out in the Gameworld for a day or two before going their own ways. Her Route Planner informed her that the nearest Solarversia Simulator was a two-minute run from the cube. She locked on. Like Corona Cubes and Tweels of Fate, Simulators were absolutely everywhere in the Gameworld. They were in phased zones, but ones that players had basic control over so that they could train with friends, if they wanted. Simulators were modelled on old school photo booths, the kind that charged an arm and a leg to provide you with a strip of passport photos. The small entrance way consisted of a piece of hanging curtain, below which a round swivel chair could be seen. Next to the curtain was a control panel that allowed the Solo to program the type of simulation they wanted to experience. There were four categories of simulation: Knowledge, Puzzles, Combinations and Combat. Spiralwerks had promised that a thorough mastery of each would be a prerequisite for success in The Game. Although there was an element of luck in Solarversia, it only went so far. Good luck could help in the short term, but it couldn¡¯t be relied on to get you through the year. Likewise, bad luck could darken your day, but it would never kill you outright. Skill was a far more important component of a serious gamer¡¯s strategy. And it could only be acquired in the way it¡¯s always acquired: through lots and lots of hard work. Mastery of the four categories had come to be known as the Science of Solarversia or, more simply, the Science. ¡°Here she is,¡± Sushi said, hand up for a high five as Nova arrived at the booth. ¡°Combinations, yeah?¡± ¡°What happened to sticking to a balanced diet?¡± ¡°Come on, they¡¯re fun.¡± In the same way that conscientious governments urged their citizens to consume their ¡®five-a-day¡¯ fruit and veg, Spiralwerks urged their citizens to train regularly and stick to a balanced simulation diet, where an equal amount of time was spent on each category, give or take a percentage point. Billboards containing user generated artwork, much of it parodying government propaganda from the early 20th century, gently reminded people of the virtue of living a balanced life. Solos were able to display the number of hours they¡¯d spent training in the Simulators on their bios, but Nova and Sushi had both opted to keep their stats private ¡ª Nova knew her parents would go ape if they ever knew the amount of time she¡¯d spent playing. Burner and Jono both showed their stats, hoping that their ranks within the top 10% would intimidate some people. Each of the four categories contained tens of thousands of modules within it. These were the individual simulations, or sims, which lasted anywhere from two to twenty minutes. There wasn¡¯t nearly enough time in the year for a single person to complete every single module, so players were forced to pick and choose, an exercise that had itself become part of the Science, as Solos speculated on the best order in which to structure their training. Miniature Tweels of Fate, the size of a large orange, were affixed to the control panels of Simulator booths and could be spun whenever the player was having difficulty choosing a module. Sushi typed in their player numbers, restricted the outcome to Combinations, then rested her finger against one of the Tweel¡¯s little tentacles and gave it a good spin. When it came to a standstill, the topmost tentacle squirmed into life, grew several times larger and turned to face the girls. ¡°The Tweel of Fate has picked Asteroid Shower combinations. There are seven The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.in total and each one takes two minutes. Remember that a balanced simulation diet is good for your health. The Science Says So.¡± Having delivered its message, the tentacle shrivelled down to its previous size and the machine loaded the Asteroid Shower simulation. Sims in the Combinations and Combat categories transformed the booth into a dark grey grid that stretched in every direction all the way to the horizon, where it met a light grey sky, unremarkable in its uniformity. The only distinguishing feature of the room ¡ª other than the avatars themselves ¡ª was the pleated red curtain, which was programmed to follow you around so that you could always find the exit. In multistage modules such as this one, Combinations always increased in difficulty. The instructions overlaid at the bottom of Nova¡¯s display told her that ¡®Asteroid One¡¯ would require four moves. As ever, she¡¯d need to execute them in a flowing sequence. If she missed a move, performed it in the wrong place or took too long, she¡¯d flunk out. That didn¡¯t matter in the Simulator; it was what training was all about. In the Gameworld, however, a flunked Combo could mean the difference between life and death. When a large timer appeared in the sky in front of them, counting down from three, the girls fistbumped and adopted their chosen stances. Nova, who had climbed onto her bed to perform the Combos, adjusted her Booners one last time. The electrodes in the skullcap were capable of translating her thoughts into the kind of movements required within the Gameworld, both in normal play and in the simulations, but she preferred to act out the combinations for real, whenever space ¡ª and social etiquette ¡ª permitted. The pair of asteroids roared towards them, seeming to grow from the size of marbles to the size of footballs in the space of about five seconds. Nova dipped her right shoulder forward, then her left, performed a clockwise rotation of her hips, and then an anticlockwise rotation. Next to hers, Sushi¡¯s avatar performed the same sequence of moves in perfect synchronicity. A message flashed in the sky, confirming two successful combinations, and the sim took control of their avatars for a split second, making them jump into the air, knees pulled to chests as the icy comets hurtled past. ¡°Can I get a woop woop?¡± Sushi sang, gyrating her hips in a celebratory dance. Nova looked over her shoulder to see the curtain fluttering in the wind ¡ª an excellent little touch by the module¡¯s designers, she thought. They cleared the second asteroid ¡ª using a seven-move sequence ¡ª by ducking as it whizzed overhead, and the third ¡ª that demanded a ten-move sequence ¡ª by diving to the side. When Sushi burst into a celebratory dance this time, Nova joined in. They¡¯d cleared the fourth, fifth and sixth combinations in similar style, and Nova readied herself for the last one, a beast at twenty-two moves. Successfully completing all seven asteroids would win them an additional teleport token. She shimmied, spun round on the spot, dipped her shoulders, wiggled her hips and arched her back without trouble. But twelve moves in, when she was required to transition from a star jump into a caterpillar on the floor, one of her feet missed the edge of her bed and she tumbled to the ground in a heap. Cursing her stupidity as she watched the asteroid annihilate her avatar, she suffered a wave of panic ¡ª somebody was coming up the stairs. She snatched the Booners off her head, threw them on her bed and leapt into her seat. ¡°Everything OK up here, love? Your father thought he heard something.¡± ¡°Everything¡¯s fine, just finishing my homework,¡± she said, putting as much effort into shielding the blank page of her notepad from her mum¡¯s view as she did trying to conceal her panting breath. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll let you get on with it.¡± It was another little lie and she wasn¡¯t proud of it. But as soon as she heard her mum go back downstairs, she couldn¡¯t resist having one last quick peek. After all, Sushi would be wondering what happened to her. She found her friend standing back outside the booth, retrieving her printout. Nova loved little touches like that. Although training time was automatically added to your bio, booths spat out printed receipts. Nova explained her mishap to Sushi and grabbed her receipt. Fourteen more minutes, taking her up to a total of 47 hours for the year, one month into The Game. Not bad for someone revising for their A-levels. A teleport token would have been good though. She crumpled the receipt up and chucked it at the nearest patch of grass. The ground into which it dissolved immediately sprouted a new flower. Her headset dinged as a company donated ten pence to a charity supporting sustainable horticulture. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± ¡°Combat, obviously, now we¡¯ve got those combos out the way. You¡¯ll need to bring your A-game though, no slipping off the bed like a doofus.¡± Nova smiled uneasily. There was no way she could resist another quick sim. Why couldn¡¯t all of life be as fun as Solarversia? **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Chapter 11 coming soon! Solarversia Chapter 11 At 2:37 a.m. Zhang raised his head, extended his arms and stood up. His eyelids snapped open and the microscopic servos that powered the lenses in his pupils adjusted to the dark of the room. As he walked forward, his tail detached from the power socket, freeing him to jump onto Nova¡¯s bed. He sat by her head and gently rocked her awake. She looked at the time and let out a groan. She was so warm and snug, she almost told Zhang to go back to sleep and leave her alone. But she was also curious to see what was going on. There was a feature within Solarversia that alerted you if a new quest appeared within a specified radius of your vicinity. The alert told you the location of the quest and the skills required so you could decide whether or not to log in and travel there to attempt it. Burner had installed a programme to monitor these alerts while she was logged out. If an interesting one appeared, it wirelessly activated Zhang¡¯s built-in alarm. She¡¯d instructed Burner that she only wanted to be alerted between midnight and 7 a.m. if the prize was greater than ten grand. With a mixture of exhaustion and excitement, she quietly slipped her Booners on. According to her datafeed, the fourth Earth Force Field switch had just been discovered in nearby Baltimore, Maryland. Useful skills included advanced flying, jumping and climbing. Prize money: ¡ê100,000. Burner¡¯s programme had worked. Amazing. She¡¯d buy him his own gaming rig if she pulled this off. She left the Corona cube in downtown Philadelphia and whispered, ¡°Baltimore. Fastest route. Ignore all quests and exhibitions.¡± The Route Planner mapped her path to the closest Right Flights airport, but made one suggestion. A fellow player was running to the airport, having written off his car in a quest gone wrong. She¡¯d already ticked off the ¡®hitchhiker item¡¯ from that month¡¯s Bucket List, but Solarversia was designed to make the world a better place and encouraged collaboration and teamwork, at least in the early stages. She checked his profile to see how well he was doing. It was customary to tip a teleport token to people that gave you lifts ¡ª it was the only type of item that could be exchanged in this way ¡ª but if the guy was in a hurry, she wondered if she could get more money out of him. After all, Nova was more interested in one of the ways in which Solarversia mimicked the real world: survival of the fittest. Why help him if there wasn¡¯t something in it for her? His profile came up blank. He was a ¡®Marty¡¯, a male player using a Generic Avatar. For whatever reason, he didn¡¯t want people to know who he was. Nova wasn¡¯t fond of the feature; it allowed people to hide behind a veil of anonymity. ¡°Nah,¡± she said to the Route Planner. ¡°Let him run. He could probably do with the exercise.¡± She arrived at the airport thirty-seven seconds later. Right Flights worked the same way as Greasy Wrenches and Dockingtons ¡ª a copy of her plane was stored at each one. She could land, park or dock anywhere in Solarversia, teleport to the other side of the world, and her vehicles would be waiting for her at the local depot. Right Flights resembled giant helter-skelters that had to be approached by car. As soon as Flynn hit the slide that wrapped around the enormous tower, he started to morph into Hawk, her plane, and Nova soon found herself sitting in his cramped cockpit instead of the dune buggy. The Hawker Demon biplane had been developed for the Royal Air Force during World War Two, but like all of Nova¡¯s vehicles, Hawk had been modified with a series of blue neon lights to give him the Tron look. She re-familiarised herself with the controls while Hawk gained momentum, spiralling up the tower. A few seconds later he shot out the top, launching at full speed into the sky. She spent most of the journey volleying the public cams of the players already in Baltimore in an attempt to a devise a strategy. The switch had been hidden on the steeply pitched roof of Commerce Place, the fourth tallest building in Baltimore. Along with nearby Phoenix Shot Tower, a red brick building that looked like an old chimney stack, it was one of the only two buildings in the city that remained stable. Every other building, sidewalk and structure had been transformed into an inflatable object. Baltimore was a giant bouncy castle and Solos were flying all over the place in the diffuse indigo glow of the Earth Force Field. Most weren¡¯t bouncing anywhere near as high as the tower. She kept seeing people take run-ups, bounce into the air, slam headfirst into one another and collapse in a pile on a street. Health points were dropping like loose change from a tattered pocket. Other players bounced to reasonable heights, but in the wrong direction, and were flung further and further from Commerce Place with each leap they took. And driving wasn¡¯t an option. The nearest Greasy Wrench was already inundated with mangled vehicles. Those who made it to the tower faced other challenges. Ludi Bioski had been busy. He¡¯d coated the bottom half of Commerce Place in Skidz, a slippery ice-like substance that made it very difficult for players to get any purchase when climbing. A number of players had discovered a nearby quest at War Memorial Plaza, two blocks away, and won themselves pairs of spiked climbing boots. She watched a Canadian woman in crampons clear the slippery bottom half, only to grind to a halt shortly afterwards when one after another of her limbs adhered to the building, leaving her wiggling her bum and shaking her head in frustration. Others became glued to the tower in a similar manner, trapped like flies in a web. The more they struggled against the building, the more they become helplessly stuck to it. Nova¡¯s datafeed advised that Bugz had been sprayed all over the top half of the tower, and players were already wondering which items could be used to help clear it. Another strategy was air travel. Nova watched numerous attempted flyovers as avatars leapt from their planes at opportune moments to land on the pyramidal roof. It was the only part of the tower not covered in Skidz or Bugz. If they could land successfully, they could climb to the apex of the tower where the switch was based. Easy. Except for the fact that disgruntled players who had bounced their cars into oblivion had climbed up the other solid building, Phoenix Shot Tower, and were hampering the pilots. Six heavy-duty Gatling guns had been installed on the ramparts and were aimed at Commerce Place. For players who couldn¡¯t get to the airport, gunning down the opposition was an appealing second best. Prizes were being awarded for every plane shot down ¡ª according to Nova¡¯s datafeed, seventeen and counting. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. She circled the tower from a distance, weighing up her options. It looked best to approach Commerce Place from the southwest, hidden from the sight of the guns. Other players were already lining up to try their luck. Every failed attempt taught people something new, and avatars were getting closer to landing all the time. Hundreds of aircrafts were taking off from Right Flights every minute ¡ª she reckoned it was five minutes at most before someone made it to the switch. It was now or never. She banked hard left to join the queue. A French man had just made the first successful landing and was climbing the sloped roof toward the switch. She willed Hawk to go faster, her sixteen speed points seeming painfully slow as others zoomed past. Three other players landed in quick succession and clambered after the French guy, now halfway up. The four climbers inched upward. Surely one of them was going to make it. And they might have, had it not been for player 28,044, Bojango from Ecuador. Bouncing around Baltimore, he¡¯d stumbled on a hidden quest on the roof of a local fire station, which gave him the loan of a helicopter armed with water cannons and the promise of a bounty for every player he squirted off the roof. All eyes were on him as he approached the building, long jets of spray emanating from the cannons. The French guy was first to lose hold. Drenched by a deluge of whitewater, he crashed straight into the woman below him on his way down. The two of them slid clean off the edge, fell thirty floors, then bounced so high and so far that they didn¡¯t come to rest until ten minutes later. A lanky Welsh woman was next to get a face full of H2O. To her credit, she hung on a good while longer than the Frenchman, but eventually she lost her grip too. She lashed out in an attempt to grab on to anything that might break her fall, and managed to grasp the fourth player, sending them both shooting over the precipice. The roof was clear once more. Nova was wondering what to try next when a bright flash caught her attention. A sharp-eyed gunner had accepted his own mission to shoot down the helicopter, and it was now on fire and spinning wildly out of control. She felt a rush of energy zip down her spine ¡ª it was back to plan A. She yanked the controls and sent Hawk into a loop, spiralling around to position herself for an attempted jump onto the building. The commotion of the helicopter had scattered the other players far and wide, leaving her second in the queue to approach the tower. She located the autopilot button that would enable Hawk to land himself once she¡¯d jumped free. It would mean having to run to the nearest Greasy Wrench to pick Flynn up afterwards, but that would be a small price to pay in exchange for the prize money. She pressed the button at the last second and jumped for her life. Her arms and legs flailed at her sides for what seemed like an eternity until finally she slammed against the sloped panelling of the roof. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. It turned out that her jump was one for the replays ¡ª she had timed it even better than the American woman in front of her and had landed higher up the roof. Bingo. The switch was a mere stone¡¯s throw away. She glanced over her shoulders, desperate not to succumb to a pesky helicopter at this late stage. There were none in sight. Her heart pounded in her chest. Ten metres to the switch. The latticework of panelling made for easy climbing, enabling her to find a solid rhythm, arms and legs coordinating well. Seven metres. A quick check over her shoulder. The Yank remained a safe distance behind. Five metres. Still no sign of a helicopter. Three metres. Then suddenly she stopped moving. What the hell? ¡°Hard cheese, sucker!¡± the American woman said as she clambered past with a stupid grin on her face. Nova looked at the message flashing in her headset. ¡°Attention: Shadow Sucker attached. 27 seconds remaining.¡± She looked down to see a plunger attached to the wall. The woman had fired a Shadow Sucker at her, pinning her shadow in its place for thirty seconds. A disembodied voice, one of the player catchphrases, announced that her attempt was ¡°close, but no cigar.¡± Anger rose inside her like she¡¯d never known. Then Gorigaroo¡¯s gong sounded, so loud she thought she might lose her grip. Not that it mattered any more. The fourth Earth Force Field switch had just been triggered by Pedey Gonzalez, player number 75,330,094, from Florida, USA. The gong noise emanated from the switch itself and Nova watched with a mixture of interest and dismay as a series of concentric sound waves bubbled into the sky. As the waves reached the EFF, miles above them, the Field rippled and shimmered as it changed from indigo blue to blue-green, reminiscent of a sunlit ocean. Nova grabbed the Booners off her head, threw them into the corner of her room and slumped into her pillows. Had anything more unfair happened in the history of the universe? She doubted it. Mrs Woodward was right. It was a stupid game. And now it was four in the morning, she¡¯d had no sleep and she was going to fail her A-levels. Tears welled in her eyes and she felt herself sink deep into her mattress. Bouncy was the one thing she didn¡¯t feel right now. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Solarversia Chapter 12 Casey fed the next batch of hundred dollar bills into the counting machine. He liked the rapid-fire sound it made as it processed them, ¡°...fft...fft...fft...fft...¡± and felt at home in the little backroom tucked away in the corner of Control House. On the other side of the table, cigarette perched behind his ear, Wallace secured a wrapper round the newly counted bundle and added it to the pile on the table. ¡°OK, that makes $38,000. That¡¯s our best week this year. With you on board we¡¯re cleaning up.¡± Casey stared at the bundles before him. These last few weeks he¡¯d seen more money than he¡¯d made in the whole of his adult life. And it was easier to come by than he¡¯d ever thought possible. All he and Wallace had to do was stick a few ounces of cocaine in their bags, head back down the Mississippi in their kayaks, drive into town, meet their man at the drop point and make the exchange. Ten grand for a day trip down the river. It was certainly worth getting out of bed for. They were funding the Holy Order¡¯s global network ¡ª the fifty or so people here in the compound and the many hundreds in the outlying cells they communicated with around the world. Together, they were laying the groundwork for a new social and cultural order to be run by a superintelligent cybernetic organism. Specifically, they were preparing to welcome their new Master, the almighty Magi , into existence. Casey didn¡¯t understand everything yet, but he was learning and would do whatever it took. A loud noise reverberated through the building, shaking the lights in their fittings and causing a security alarm to blare into life. Casey and Wallace stopped what they were doing and exchanged an intense, wide-eyed look. Wallace threw his zippo onto the table and made a dash for the door. Casey hurriedly threw the bundles of cash into the safe and raced after him. People were streaming out of the Workshop, covered in blood, coughing and falling about the place, trying to avoid the glass from the blown-out windows. A thick, acrid taste peppered the air in the Workshop. Ivan, a mechanical engineer, was unconscious on the floor, bleeding profusely from his midsection. Brandon, one of Father Theodore¡¯s lieutenants, was there with him. He¡¯d taken his shirt off and was using it to try to stem the rush of blood. He glanced up at Casey with a look of fear on his face. ¡°Come and help me apply more pressure to this wound. Wallace, check everyone else is alright. Where¡¯s Mother with the first aid kit? Fuck, this is bad.¡± His thick, muscular frame was tense, his forearms bulging as he pressed down hard on a tattered shirt that was already saturated with the wounded man¡¯s blood. Those who hadn¡¯t fled outside seemed rooted to their spots, their faces ashen, their ears still ringing, staring at the scene in front of them, unable to process what had just happened. Casey handed his T-shirt to Brandon and the two of them did their best to tend to the injured man, trying to ignore the sight and smell of the gaping wound in his gut. Wallace looked after the others, checking them for injuries, speaking firm, quiet words like a wartime nurse. When the hubbub died down, he pulled off his shirt and handed it to Brandon. Almost at once the shirt was red through. Casey readjusted his position to better cradle Ivan¡¯s limp head. The guy was out for the count; his head was lolling and the blood kept on coming. Casey had to look away, scared he might faint in front of everyone. His gaze settled on the doorway as Mother Frances bowled into the Workshop. Beside her stood the man Casey had been yearning to see. Father Theodore. The Grand Wizard of the Holy Order. Casey froze. The Order was highly secretive, the identities of its members unknown outside the organisation. His induction had taken the best part of six months, in chat rooms and virtual worlds, each side using pseudonyms and computer-generated avatars. When he¡¯d first met Frances online, she¡¯d used the handle ¡®Zoro¡¯. It was only once the Order had completed its background checks that he¡¯d even been given a chance at the initiation, knowing full well that success in the ordeal would mean he could never leave its ranks. Until this moment he¡¯d not set eyes on Father Theodore, the Order¡¯s founder, spiritual leader and U?bermensch. All Casey knew about him were the stories, passed on by Wallace during their day trips down the river, and the rumours that flew round the compound day and night. He looked just like Wallace had described. He had a tight crop of short grey hair that contrasted sharply against his dark brown eyes, and his long, manicured beard grew to a tip that was secured tight in place with three little bands. But it was Theodore¡¯s right arm that drew Casey¡¯s attention longest. Supposedly containing a quantum supercomputer within its confines, the bionic arm was coated in a thin layer of black Kevlar and dotted with different coloured LEDs that flashed on and off in a sequence that made it look like they were communicating with one another. Frances stood by his side clutching what looked like an army issue medical kit. Casey wondered why she hadn¡¯t sprung into action ¡ª hadn¡¯t Wallace mentioned that she was one of the top surgeons in the entire country? Instead, she waited patiently, occasionally glancing between Ivan and Theodore like she had all the time in the world. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.The room went quiet as the old man surveyed the scene impassively. When he finally spoke he did so with an unmistakable tone of authority. ¡°Is somebody going to tell me what happened? Or shall we stand here in silence until Ivan has bled right the way out?¡± ¡°My instructions were crystal clear, Father, ask anyone.¡± Brandon¡¯s voice trembled as he spoke. ¡°I¡¯ve handled explosives for twenty-five years without a single incident. Ivan did exactly what I told people not to do. The canisters are fragile and need to be handled with care. If you drop them on the bench like that¡ª¡± ¡°Other than Ivan, who else is hurt?¡± A woman removed the bandage she had been pressing against her neck. A small piece of shrapnel protruded from a long, narrow gash. ¡°I was lucky, Father. I was standing behind Ivan when it happened. He took the brunt of the explosion. If it had happened two seconds later, I might not ...¡± She went silent, averted her eyes, and reapplied the bandage. ¡°We have to get him to a hospital right now,¡± Wallace said. Theodore twizzled his beard with his bionic fingers and laughed. ¡°Hospital.¡± He repeated it like the punchline of a joke he¡¯d enjoyed. ¡°But Father, he¡¯ll die.¡± ¡°But Father,¡± he mimicked. The lights on his arms stopped flashing as if they too, were hanging on his every word. ¡°You questioning my judgement, Wallace? You suggesting that folk round here take their orders from you rather than me?¡± Wallace gulped. ¡°Father, you know I would never question your judgement. It¡¯s just that¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s just that what? You think we should jeopardise everything we¡¯ve worked for?¡± ¡°No, Father. I¡¯m sorry. I spoke out of turn, and that was wrong. Please forgive¡ª¡± With the smallest gesture of his hand, Theodore restored silence to the room. He raised his arms in front of him and gestured in mid-air. The coloured LEDs blinked into action again. Half a minute later, two of the Medibots that Casey had seen in the Lockup rolled into the room carrying a gurney. So the stories Casey had heard were true. The computer in Theodore¡¯s arm was wirelessly connected to a series of electrodes implanted inside his skull. The setup allowed him to directly interface with the networked components of the Order ¡ª to communicate and control its robots and machines. Another small gesture from Theodore ¡ª a flick of his head ¡ª was signal enough for Brandon and Wallace to give up their care of Ivan. They stood and backed away. Casey felt Father¡¯s gaze come to rest on his face. He dropped Ivan¡¯s head more quickly than felt right and got up to join Wallace. The ¡¯bots aligned themselves next to Ivan, uncollapsed the gurney, and with a swiftness that belied their mechanical natures, scooped him off the floor and placed him onto it. One ¡¯bot stood by Ivan¡¯s feet, the other by his head. But instead of wheeling Ivan off to the sickbay, the ¡¯bots took hold of his head and his feet, and with their articulated fingers, began to twist. Casey¡¯s wonder quickly soured. Ivan¡¯s head was yanked sharply one way, then the other. The chilling sound of splintering vertebrae echoed round the room. Next to him, Casey felt Wallace flinch. The grid of lights on Theodore¡¯s arm continued to flicker as he turned his attention back to the people in the Workshop. ¡°What comrade Wallace forgot,¡± he said, loading the word ¡®comrade¡¯ with irony, ¡°is that my view of the world ¡ª and my understanding of it ¡ª is far superior to his. I don¡¯t kill one of my own children on a whim. The second I arrived I had the Medibots scan Ivan¡¯s life signs and communicate the findings to me. Not even Frances could have saved him. There was no way he could have lived longer, neither as a human, nor like me, one who has transcended the human condition. Ivan was a good man. He was the seventeenth member to join the Order and his contributions to us were valuable. He joined us for the same reason you all did ¡ª because he was called. He discovered a truth so powerful, so compelling, that his old life no longer made sense. But in the blink of an eye, and through his own carelessness, he became a liability that needed to be dealt with. The ¡¯bots will take his body to the incinerator.¡± Casey swallowed hard and bowed his head, obscuring the solemn expression on his face. Theodore squared his shoulders and looked at each of his followers in turn. ¡°Remember that it was never going to be easy. Nor should it be. Trials like this are sent to test our faith, to show that it is strong and pure. If in doubt, remember the pain and suffering that awaits those who fail the Magi. This changes nothing. Is everyone clear about that?¡± In silence, everyone but Ivan nodded. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Solarversia Chapter 13 Nova stood outside Fragging Hell and made herself repeat the words over and over: ¡°I¡¯m only here to pick up my prize, I¡¯m only here to pick up my prize.¡± It was a Friday afternoon and Mr McGillycuddy had let her out of detention thirty minutes early. Fragging Hell was on the way home from school ¡ª in one of those roundabout kind of ways ¡ª and she¡¯d been meaning to pick up her darts prize for weeks now. She straightened her shoulders, brushed her hair behind her ears and entered the cafe. She marched along the strip of fluorescent lighting towards the bar and tried not to pay any attention to the whoops of delight that emanated from the gaming rigs on either side. As she neared the bar, Jockey came out from the backroom and, seeing her, swooned in mock horror. ¡°Nova. Returned from the dead. You haven¡¯t been in for weeks.¡± ¡°I know. I¡¯ve missed this place. In fact, I miss everything in the world. I¡¯ve been buried in revision.¡± ¡°So you haven¡¯t been playing?¡± ¡°Yeah, I have. Just doing the bare minimum to keep up with the April Bucket List.¡± ¡°So, what do you make of teleporting?¡± ¡°Teleporting? You mean the quest got completed? We can teleport now?¡± ¡°Wow, Miss Negrahnu, you are seriously out of the loop. Sit down and plug in, you¡¯ve got to give this a go. The trick is remembering to dial round the ¡®T¡¯ the right way.¡± ¡°No, Jockey, I can¡¯t. I¡¯m here to pick up my prize. Then I need to get back to my books.¡± He looked genuinely nonplussed for a moment. ¡°Your prize? Oh, your darts prize. Only two months late. Yeah, it should be around here somewhere.¡± He winked, ducked into the backroom and returned half a minute later with a shoebox-sized package and a celebratory smile. It was an Electropet Arkwini action figure dressed like an astronaut. Nova scanned the side of the box. The action figure spoke in the same high-pitched voice as the arkwinis in The Game and came with his own little detachable helmet and space capsule. A playmate for Zhang. Nova grinned. Mission accomplished. Now all she had to do was stuff the arkwini in her bag and leave the cafe. Even she could do that. But before she could move, a message pinged in from Sushi: ¡°Have you seen the portrait? Funniest. Thing. Ever.¡± ¡°What portrait? What are you talking about?¡± ¡°Remember Spee-Akka Dey Bollarkoo, the woman who flew into the Magisterial Chamber on a carpet? She¡¯s finished March¡¯s monthly portrait. And you¡¯re in it.¡± ¡°No frigging way. You¡¯re having me on.¡± ¡°No, for real. Go and check for yourself. And Banjax has finally arrived at Castalia, you¡¯ll need to tick him off April¡¯s Bucket List anyway.¡± That settled it. There was no way she was going straight home to spend another Friday night hunched over a pile of boring textbooks. She¡¯d worked hard all week and deserved a gaming break now and then. She¡¯d even read an article recently that claimed a lot of high-level executives played casual computer games during work hours to help them chill out. She should try to find the article again ¡ª it would be good ammunition next time her parents had a go at her. She found a free space, stowed her bag under the table and logged on. The Corona Cube was a sight for sore eyes. In her inventory, the twenty-five teleport tokens she had won for getting so close to the EFF switch were now lit up, ready to use when the time was right. The Castalian constellation on the black ceiling of her cube was pulsing and glowing, indicating a new arrival at the Emperor¡¯s palace. She reached for the stars, and the side of the Corona Cube that led back into the Magisterial Chamber turned transparent. *** Nova stepped out of her profile square, fell to the marble floor of the chamber and looked around. Emperor Mandelbrot remained in the centre of the room. His central totem pole still reached up to the ceiling, though most of the mouths around its circumference had now melted away. Blobs of purple mess still oozed off the edge of his circular dais, while an assortment of limbs and other body parts looked like they were trying to poke their way out of his base. She turned around to study the Player¡¯s Grid on the north wall. It already looked different, only seven weeks after the start of The Game. On the evening of the opening ceremony, all hundred million profile squares had flickered into life. Every square had a coloured border that represented the number of lives the player had left. Mimicking the way Force Fields progressed through the colours of the rainbow as they got weaker, borders were coloured violet at first, representing three lives, changed to green when a player lost their first life, and then turned red when they only had one left. Supposedly influenced by the tradition in martial arts, Solos referred to the borders as ¡®belts¡¯. Some people went as far as reflecting their current status in the real world, wearing belts, bracelets or armbands of the appropriate colour. Belt colours were also visible on player vehicles, appearing as the trim that surrounded the license plates. When players lost their third and final life, their squares went dark, extinguished like candles in the wind. One hundred thousand squares had already gone dark, creating patches of shadow here and there in the giant grid. In that way, the grid performed an important function as the scoreboard of The Game, informing players about the current state of the competition. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for people to watch the grid like it was a giant TV, and it had become so popular that Spiralwerks had arranged for huge screens to display it in public for the duration of the year. As Nova looked at the grid, her datafeed flickered into action, highlighting the locations of her friends and the various people she¡¯d interacted with. Having signed up to Solarversia early on, she and Sushi had obtained fairly low, central numbers that they¡¯d always been happy with. She¡¯d longed to win a number in the Golden Grid, the ten-by-ten section reserved by Spiralwerks for a series of promotional competitions leading up to the start of The Game, but then, so had several million other people. One such competition had required artists to create a ¡®wanted¡¯ poster for Banjax ¡ª the creature she was here to visit ¡ª in the style of an old Barnum & Bailey poster. Spiralwerks had even offered the poster¡¯s ¡ê50,000 reward for real to anyone who acquired a live specimen of a dodectopus, a bounty that had gone unpaid. A later competition had offered a Golden Grid square to the person who submitted the best photo of the winning poster. Nova had been gutted that her own entry ¡ª of the poster printed onto material and hoisted from her school¡¯s flag pole ¡ª hadn¡¯t won, and even more gutted at the week¡¯s worth of detentions she¡¯d received. As Burner had pointed out at the time, she might well have killed herself getting the flag in position, given that the pole was on the roof, and she had kicked loose a number of tiles that had had to be replaced. Standing in the chamber, Nova witnessed several dozen profile squares turn dark over the course of five minutes and watched the replays of all the relevant deaths. Then she headed to the far side of the chamber to investigate an enormous painting that took up a full third of the south wall. It was the first artwork by Spee- Akka Dey Bollarkoo, or ¡°Flower Face¡± as Burner had taken to calling her, and had been painted in the style of Hieronymus Bosch, a Dutch Renaissance artist famed for the fantastic imagery of his large triptychs, landscapes inhabited by outlandish objects and beings. The centre of the painting featured the Emperor himself, floating in space, holding aloft his unfurled fist, where Arkwal perched, telescope in hand. Gorigaroo appeared halfway up the totem pole, using the Emperor¡¯s mouths as foot and handholds. With his free hand he was stretching towards Castalia, which looked like a balloon floating just out of reach. Plenty of players had been immortalised too. The first person to land on Alpha Island, the first Solos to acquire various vehicles, and the winners of some of the quests, depicted in their moments of triumph. Some deaths had been recorded too ¡ª she could make out a half-eaten avatar, smoking and blackened, hanging from the mouth of a lavadile. In the bottom left-hand corner were two buildings she recognised. Standing atop the taller one was Pedey Gonzalez, triumphantly pushing the Force Field switch into its off position, circled by aeroplanes and helicopters. Nova zoomed in and saw, with a mixture of pride and shame, that Sushi was right: her moment in the sun had also been preserved. There she was, desperately reaching for the switch, her shadow stuck to the building by the stupid plunger. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. She felt a fresh pang of pain as she remembered how close she got to pressing the switch herself. A hundred big ones had been within her reach. She¡¯d even dreamt about it a couple of times, dreams in which she¡¯d been the one to trigger the switch, only to wake up as poor as ever. There was nothing she could do about it now. Nothing except train harder. She shared the image on her feed, however much it pained her to do so, knowing that she might as well tick an item off the Bucket List while she was here. Her concentration was broken when she heard the faint whooshing sound of ruffled vines. Gorigaroo¡¯s gong was unmanned ¡ª he¡¯d be swinging around overhead somewhere. In the southeast corner of the chamber she spied Ludi Bioski interacting with his strange machine, the Orbitini, which stood waist-high to an average man, spanned ten metres in length and was a metre wide. The array of its components was mind-boggling. Everywhere you looked there were spinning wheels, switches, tuners, sliders, dials, gauges, buttons, handles, zips and keyboards. And then there were the parts of it that seemed to have come from a chemical lab: vials of liquid, linked to one another via a series of twisting pipes, and pots and pans that bubbled away, emitting a thick brown smoke that wafted into the massive chamber. The central interface consisted of coloured glass beads that were arranged on a spiralling double helix. Ludi spun wheels, flicked switches and mixed liquids. Then, apparently satisfied, he would slide the glass beads up, down or along his twisting abacus and the digital screen at the front of the Orbitini would display a new ¡®Event Card¡¯. Nova watched as he moved three of the orange beads partway along the double helix so they collided with a necklace of yellow and purple beads further along. An Event Card appeared: a tornado with a rating of 3 on the Enhanced Fujita scale would tear through the centre of Berlin in the next few minutes. She flipped to cam mode and checked the video feeds being labelled #BreezyBerlin. If anything, she was slightly annoyed that she wasn¡¯t there to experience it for herself. She¡¯d practiced her ¡®High Velocity Object¡¯ combinations only the week before in one of the Simulators. There had been fifteen objects to dodge, ranging in size from a flying deckchair that would knock off a handful of health points if you failed to avoid it to a small lorry that would kill you outright. The combinations had been pretty simple, and she¡¯d completed the module without error, but like every Solo knew, executing moves in the safety and comfort of a Simulator Booth was a different proposition to executing them in the Gameworld for ¡®real¡¯ in a situation like this, when health points were at risk. The first few gusts took players by surprise. She saw arms outstretched as hats were blown from heads and sallied forth on currents of air, saplings bending this way and that, doors slamming shut and bursting open. Within thirty seconds players needed to lean at unnatural angles and hold on to buildings and lampposts to remain where they stood. As the moody-looking tornado gathered speed, so too did the death counter. It ticked upwards, dozens at a time. She watched a car get flipped into the air and bowl down the street, striking people out of existence as it went. People, it would seem, who had failed to master the most basic of combinations. People who hadn¡¯t bothered to learn their Science. Nova smiled. This was survival of the fittest. Best for noobs to go out early on, leaving serious players, Solos like her and Sushi, to battle it out properly. The winds abated as quickly as they had started. Six thousand players had lost a life, all thanks to Mr Random. Nova let out a long, quiet whistle while she flicked through some of the previous Event Cards. He¡¯d made it rain teleport tokens in Tokyo, had turned the city of Strasbourg green for a week, and last Thursday had given all prime-numbered players in the upper-right quadrant three spins of the Tweel of Fate. But she wasn¡¯t here to study Ludi¡¯s Event Cards or laugh at noobs. She walked over to the northeast corner of the room, which remained empty for now. Solarversia, like most other massive multiplayer online games, incorporated a technique known as ¡®phasing¡¯ which enabled certain areas of the game world to look different to different players. Sushi, who had already visited Castalia and seen the new character Banjax, would see him in this corner if she was here. Nova, who was yet to unlock the character, only saw an empty corner. As she approached it, she heard the familiar ¡®ding¡¯ of a Bucket List item being ticked off. To her right, a small platoon of arkwinis appeared, their little monkey hands struggling to get much purchase on the taut ropes that were attached to a glass tank two storeys high. The stop-start motion of their actions caused gallons of water to slosh over the sides, drenching some, making others slip over. Water splattered around Nova¡¯s feet and she jumped back to watch from a safe distance. Once it was close enough to the wall, the arkwinis ran round to the front of the tank and pushed with all their might until it came to rest, tight against the northeast corner. Inside the tank was Banjax, the twelve-armed dodectopus. He was a deep green colour, like a pond thick with algae. Though she¡¯d seen the Tweels of Fate based on his appearance, she hadn¡¯t expected him to be so big or look so ferocious. The beast had remained relatively still during his transportation by pushing against the sides of the square tank with his tentacles. Now the tank was at rest, he released all but one of his powerful green arms, unsuckering them one by one. She approached the tentacle that remained attached to the side. About a foot back from its sucker, the tentacle swelled spherically. It looked like a python that had swallowed a football. A similar sphere was present on each of the other arms. She went close to the tank and looked into the open sucker. It contained a man¡¯s face, jabbering away so quickly it looked like he was talking in tongues. ¡°He¡¯s dishing out prizes for the Tweel of Fate,¡± one of the arkwinis said. ¡°Banjax controls every tweel in Solarversia ¡ª hundreds of thousands of them ¡ª from here.¡± The tweels were strange things and players were divided on whether you should bother visiting them. Jockey, who had been stung three times in row, losing teleport tokens and even his prized Battle Axe, swore that he would never visit one again. Burner had laughed in his face and declared that you needed ¡°to be in it to win it¡±. Unsurprisingly, his experience had been mostly positive. So had hers: yesterday she¡¯d won a bottle of Growsome that promised to add two feet to her height for sixty seconds. She couldn¡¯t wait to use it. ¡°The faces near the end of his tentacles, the ones dishing out the prizes. Are they all the same face? My friend Burner and I can never decide.¡± ¡°Have you done Master Arkwal¡¯s tour of the palace yet?¡± ¡°The one where he shows people the different domes? Yeah, I did it a few weeks ago, why?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a similar tour for each of the Emperor¡¯s entourage. Even one for the Emperor himself. Questions like that are answered on the tours. I¡¯m not allowed to divulge anything myself. Sorry, but you know what Master Arkwal¡¯s like.¡± He raised his little eyebrows, and they exchanged a smile. It was only when his little chimp face pixelated slightly ¡ª which happened occasionally due to bandwidth restraints ¡ª that she remembered he wasn¡¯t real. A shiver went down her spine. She¡¯d been caught in the uncanny valley, interacting with a program as if he was a sentient being. As the arkwini got back to his mopping, Nova saw a message flash up from her mum asking when she¡¯d be home. She quickly pinged a reply saying she was just about to wrap things up and would be there soon. Having her mum call the school to track her down was the last thing she needed ¡ª Nova had skilfully managed to omit mention of her detentions from every conversation they¡¯d had this month ¡ª but one phone call was all it would take to reach Game Over. She checked back into her Corona Cube, took a deep breath and braced herself for an evening of not really concentrating on King Lear. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Solarversia Chapter 14 The old man dissolved into nothingness and Sushi found herself standing in the middle of a deserted lounge bar. The arrangement of the place struck her as odd: the small circular tables, the stiff-backed chairs arranged neatly around them and the vulgar carpets decorated with a recurring image of an old bearded man carrying a trident. It was the view through the windows of the ocean that told her she was aboard a cruise liner. But what was she supposed to do? It wasn¡¯t like the puzzles she was used to, and besides, her avatar couldn¡¯t move from its spot. A background noise piqued her curiosity. She couldn¡¯t place it or say much about it, save for the fact that it was getting louder by the second. When the tidal wave hit the ship a few seconds later it sent her crashing against a couple of bar stools, her avatar still out of her control. The lounge windows soon cracked under the pressure of the surrounding seawater and the incoming tsunami flushed her down a corridor into the depths of the ship. She tumbled head over heels for what seemed like an eternity, and finally came to rest sprawled on her hands and knees looking like a washed-up shaggy dog. Getting to her feet, she looked up at the appliances hanging down from the floor-turned-ceiling: ovens, sinks and workspaces. She was in the ship¡¯s kitchen. Small fires were burning where boxes of cereals and other dry goods had been flung out of cupboards and onto the hobs. Water flooding into the room was beginning to swirl around her ankles. A message flashed in her display: Escape from the Poseidon. 11,762 safe spots left. And then, for the first time, she was able to move. Ten minutes earlier she¡¯d arrived at Ayers Rock in Australia. She was there to see Giganja, one of nine Grandmasters players were required to visit throughout the course of the year. Grandmasters hosted the Planetary Puzzles, a series of self- contained games that started on the hour, every hour. The datafeed had told her that there were 16,803 people there with her to play the 10 a.m. puzzle. She now knew what the puzzle was about. Unless she escaped from the ship in time, she¡¯d lose one of her three precious lives. Glancing around the steaming, smoking cauldron of a room, she desperately searched for clues, consoled only by the knowledge that every other player, in his or her phased instance of the ship, would have been as disoriented as her. First she tried looking for clues in the water. It was infused with a random assortment of cans of food, kitchen utensils and dinner ingredients. An oxygen counter appeared in her display while her head was submerged ¡ª it looked like she could remain underwater for a maximum of thirty seconds at a time. Abandoning the underwater search, she clambered onto a metallic vent that enabled her to reach several cupboards. The first two were empty. Bummer. Balancing one leg on the vent and the other on a pipe protruding from the wall, she stretched to reach the third one. Its door swung open to reveal a brightly coloured object. She couldn¡¯t make out what it was, only that the same Poseidon logo that had appeared on the carpet in the lounge was printed on its side. Heart thrashing around in her chest, she strained to reach it. Her fingers flailed towards it uselessly, so she decided to leap. Headsets like hers ¡ª the same make of BoonerMax goggles that Nova owned ¡ª worked off brain waves to move avatars around the Gameworld. The technology wasn¡¯t yet perfect, but according to the creators of such devices, it would be by the time the next Game started in 2024. She sprang through the air, snatched the object clean off the shelf ¡ª it was a snorkel ¡ª and crashed to the water below, hitting a fixture on the way down. Her datafeed told her the snorkel could lengthen the duration of any underwater excursion to two minutes. The fall had cost her 18 health points, but at least she could search underwater now without the risk of drowning. The water had reached waist height and was still rising. Swimming through a medley of bobbing potatoes and carrots, she cruised around the upturned kitchen, not quite sure what she was looking for. Other cupboards were either bare or contained nothing more interesting than the kitchen cupboards at home. And the freezer room, which had looked promising at first, also turned out to be a red herring. Wading past the thawing carcass of a lamb, and panicking slightly as she glimpsed the number of safe spots start to diminish, she spotted a discarded chef¡¯s hat with the same logo emblazoned on its side. She turned the hat inside out to find a map stitched to the lining. A dotted arrow led from the kitchen to the ship¡¯s engine room, where the map¡¯s legend indicated she¡¯d find a door in the hull that led to freedom. At last, she was getting somewhere. As she waded through the water to the kitchen¡¯s exit, she heard Gorigaroo strike his gong. He wasn¡¯t actually there on the ship; Grandmaster Giganja had mentioned that the gong would sound every three minutes, signalling a new clue. The cupboard that had contained the snorkel started flashing. Those who hadn¡¯t discovered it yet soon would. Sushi squealed with joy when she reached the engine room door. The sign above its handle ¡ª which she¡¯d had to crane her neck to read ¡ª confirmed that it led to freedom. Except the door was locked. As the minutes passed without her discovering a single additional clue, her joy gave way to fear and frustration. There were fewer than five thousand safe spots left when the gong sounded again. This time the ship¡¯s furnace flashed. Diving back under the water, she cursed at her stupidity ¡ª she¡¯d noticed a chunky metal grill affixed to its front in one of her reccies, but not thought to inspect it. Idiot girl. The grill came away from the furnace as soon as she touched it to reveal an opening wide enough for her head, but not her shoulders. Clutching hold of the sides, she poked her head inside and soon found a metal plaque bearing an inscription: Find the boy in the cabin with the keychain round his neck. She resurfaced and felt a huge rush of energy course through her body. It was all coming together. The corridor that led from the kitchen to the engine room had also led to a dozen or so cabins. After checking the first couple and finding nothing she¡¯d ignored the rest in her excitement to get to the engine room. She re-entered the corridor and did her best to ignore the visceral fear creeping through her. The water was up to her neck and gave no indication that it was going to stop. Her display flashed as the number of safe spots ticked under two thousand. She entered the first cabin and checked the only places large enough to hide a boy: the wardrobe and the bathroom. No dice. Next cabin, the water now creeping above her chin. Wardrobe empty, bathroom too. Ditto the next cabin. Come on, little boy, where are you hiding? By the time she found him, curled on the top shelf of the wardrobe in the fifth cabin, there was less than a foot of air to the ceiling. A new chart for his oxygen level appeared in the display next to hers. Shit ¡ª she was now responsible for his life too, and they¡¯d have to share the snorkel, halving the two-minute time frame. She was, however, relieved to spot the keychain around the boy¡¯s neck. Taking his hand, she started the swim back to the engine room. It wasn¡¯t far, but with the safe spots counting down in her peripheral vision ¡ª now fewer than a thousand ¡ª it felt like a slog. As they progressed along the corridor, her heart, which was already pounding, stepped up a gear as the lights started to flicker. The ship was losing power. She checked on the boy. His terror mirrored her own, exacerbated by the unnatural sound of cast iron being twisted and bent as it succumbed to the enormous pressure of water bearing down on the vessel. All of a sudden she was close to panicking, despite reminding herself that none of it was real; she was at a gaming cafe? in town, not stranded inside the claustrophobia-inducing bowels of a capsized ship. Now kissing the ceiling, the deluge of water into the craft had finally finished; the ocean had won and the exit was still ten metres away. She watched her display in horror, not knowing what to fear more, the dearth of safe spots ¡ª three hundred and counting ¡ª or their lack of oxygen. As they reached the door in the hull, the boy¡¯s key started to flash. So did the oxygen gauge ¡ª they each had less than five seconds of air. She looked up, craning her neck as far as it would go above the water ¡ª there was an air pocket ¡ª the little beauty! Kicking like a donkey on heat she surfaced into the pocket with a second to spare and was overjoyed to watch their oxygen counters slowly replenish. Waiting what she considered to be the bare minimum, she nodded at the boy and the pair of them sunk back under. As soon as they got to the handle, the little boy took charge, removing the keychain from round his neck and inserting the key into the lock. Then he moved aside and motioned for her to turn it. Clutching it with both hands, she started to wind it in an anticlockwise direction, just like the sign advised, happy with herself for thinking it through on the swim back and realizing that the direction would be the same, regardless of either the sign or the door¡¯s uprightness. The next few seconds seemed to occur in a singular moment: the handle making a thunking sound, the door swinging up and open to reveal a clear blue sky, and Sushi and the little boy being winched to safety by the waiting rescue team. She¡¯d done it ¨C solved Giganja¡¯s puzzle, the first of her friends to do so. She ripped the Booners off her face, inhaled sharply and realized she¡¯d been holding her breath for real. The panicky feelings on the boat had been strong, and for some reason she wasn¡¯t shaking them. It was hard to regulate her breathing. She rubbed her eyes. Too long in VR? She looked up and around at the gamers on chairs to the left and right of her. That was weird ¡ª the girl to her left was also rubbing her eyes. So were the group of guys by the bar who¡¯d been drinking beers and watching replays. One of the men started to cough and the others coughed in sync. Sushi sniffed the air. Something was burning ¡ª rubber? Suddenly the air burst into a thousand shards of glass. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. *** Arty wanted to relax. He wanted to go home, get a takeaway, flop in front of the TV and forget about his week. Instead, finding himself unable to leave the office, he¡¯d ordered a curry that remained untouched on his plate, his mind still on the griefing attack at Ripley¡¯s Junction. It had been consuming him endlessly. The analysis they¡¯d done on the night of the attack hadn¡¯t relieved him one bit, because it had shown that it probably hadn¡¯t been perpetrated by the ROFL Mongers or any of the other griefing clans that Spiralwerks knew about, the kind that griefed for the ¡®lolz¡¯. They were fairly sure it had been the work of the Holy Order. It was the conga line, viewed from above, that had clued them in. Lots of the players involved in the griefing attack had abandoned their cars to join the line, but after a while, most of them had got bored of waiting and had wandered off to the nearest Corona Cube to log out. The griefers had stayed in the line long enough that they reached the front and were able to control its direction. They¡¯d steered it over a bridge and looped back round under the road that passed beneath it. Carl, the Chief Technical Officer, had been the one to spot the pattern. Viewed from above, the snaking ¡®S¡¯ symbol was overlaid on itself at ninety degrees. The conga line had been distorted until it was configured like a curly swastika, a symbol that featured prominently in the Order¡¯s manifesto. They were proud to be promoting a new form of fascism, one that involved loyalty and devotion to an unseen, as yet unmanifested superintelligent cybernetic organism. And they had a beef with Spiralwerks for an unknown reason that was killing him. The whole thing made him feel sick. There had been a brief moment of euphoria following Carl¡¯s discovery. Spiralwerks had been very strict about only allowing real people to sign up and play Solarversia, and had worked hard to prevent people from creating multiple accounts. So they¡¯d sent the details of the players involved in the griefing attack to MI6 and the FBI, confident that they were about to help catch the lunatics behind it. Today Arty had received a call. Yes, the people involved in the attack were real, but every one of them had been ruled out as having anything to do with the Order. Each avatar was real, but they belonged to down-and-outs, vagrants and beggars who had been approached a couple of years back and been paid a few bucks to stand still while someone waved a phone over them. The euphoria had quickly soured. Arty stuck his fork deep into the mound of rogan josh and lifted it carefully to his mouth. Then he pushed his chair back from his desk and changed channels on the big screen until he came across one of the numerous Solarversia programmes. Some were dedicated to certain aspects of the game, such as quests, exhibitions or vehicle choices, others were punditry shows, following celebrities and players that were doing well, having won lots of money or obtained a special item of some sort. Many featured user-generated content. He chose to watch a show about the Planetary Puzzles, one of the types of quest he¡¯d been heavily involved with in the creative stages. Players had to face nine Grandmasters in total, one on each planet in the Solar System. They progressed in difficulty with the planet¡¯s distance from the Sun. Mercury¡¯s Grandmaster, Killanja, was the easiest, then Meganja on Venus, ending with Brontanja on Pluto, the most difficult of them all. Players would have to face every Grandmaster, though not in any particular order, and such visits were included in Bucket Lists later in the year. Unsuccessful attempts at puzzles lost players a life, although the item was ticked off the list for the attempt. A problem that Spiralwerks had encountered as soon as they began working on Solarversia was the viral nature of information. As soon as one person knew something, everyone in the world could know it. The minute a puzzle had been played, word of how to solve it would be out there, on forums, on social media, in tweets. There was no way to prevent the spread. The only way round it was to find a solution that meant no puzzle was ever played more than once. But in a game supporting a hundred million players over the course of a year, the number of individual puzzles Spiralwerks needed to devise stretched towards infinity. It had taken a lot of false starts, but the team had eventually managed to created an artificially intelligent program, which spawned hundreds of thousands of unique puzzles at the right level of difficulty, puzzles that were surprisingly varied and fun to play. These were the Planetary Puzzles. The TV presenter of the programme introduced a player who had just faced Giganja, the Grandmaster in charge of Earth¡¯s puzzles. Arty loved these segments, where the person watched a replay of some recent action and spoke about what had been going through their mind at the time, discussing the reasons they¡¯d acted in the ways they had. Suddenly the programme cut to a sombre-looking man in a newsroom. ¡°We interrupt this programme to bring you some breaking news. A series of explosions have been reported across the United States, all occurring shortly after midday. Five cities were targeted, killing nineteen people, injuring many more. The death count is expected to rise. Some viewers may find the following scenes disturbing.¡± The first and most devastating blast had struck the Electropets¡¯ Headquarters in Menlo Park, California. A knot formed in Arty¡¯s stomach ¡ª Electropets were on the Holy Order¡¯s corporate hit list. Someone had gained access to the building carrying a bomb in a suitcase and detonated it in a busy lift. Eight people, severed from life in an instant. Arty watched a fire crew pump water into a mangled, blackened lift shaft before the programme cut to an eyewitness account with a clearly shocked, middle-aged American-Asian woman who spoke in fits and starts: ¡°It was lunchtime. My colleague Jerry asked if I wanted to grab yum-cha. I walked to the elevator with him before realising that I¡¯d forgotten my purse. Jerry even made a joke about it. I can see him laughing right now ¡ª I always forget my purse. I told him I¡¯d join him. He said he¡¯d save a place for me in the line. It was so loud it shook the entire building. I fell into the water cooler. I can¡¯t believe it. I can¡¯t believe Jerry¡¯s gone.¡± The next piece of footage was from a gaming cafe in Seattle where multiple lives had been lost. No, thought Arty. His fork, suspended in mid-air since the newscast began, clattered to the ground. Was the cafe affiliated with Spiralwerks? Was this an indirect attack on them? The entire front section of the cafe was missing, as was the top half of the van parked outside. Every window in the vicinity had been blown out of its frame. The road was chock-full of police cars, ambulances and fire engines that struggled to pass one another. People were either hugging each other in tears or sitting on the curbside, hands on heads, staring into space. This wasn¡¯t right, it couldn¡¯t be happening. He grabbed his tray with shaking hands and put it on the desk, suddenly feeling sick. The newscast reverted to the studio. ¡°All of the targets appear on a list that was recently circulated by the Holy Order, an organisation comprised of ¡®techno-shamans¡¯ who have declared allegiance to an artificially intelligent being ... who doesn¡¯t exist as yet. The Holy Order claim that this being ¡ª who they refer to as the ¡®Magi¡¯ ¡ª has contacted them from the future and persuaded them to help ¡®give birth¡¯ to it. The Order¡¯s manifesto, entitled Sacred Singularity, provides an explanation of the reasoning behind their bizarre beliefs, stemming from a thought experiment known as Roko¡¯s Basilisk. The group claims that the logical outcome of the thought experiment is that the world will become a far better place once the Magi is in charge of it, and use this explanation to excuse their terrorist attacks.¡± Beside him, Arty noticed that Hannah had entered the room. She¡¯d initiated a bridge call in Settlers of Catan, the meeting room down the corridor, and wanted him to join them as soon as possible. He nodded to her and mumbled his confirmation while anger rose inside of him. No, he wanted to say, no, I cannot join them. It would be a meeting focused on death and destruction. What did he know about such things? Nothing. He was a creator, an innovator. He made things, didn¡¯t destroy them, and he wanted it to stay that way. All of a sudden, the Year-Long Game had deformed into something bearing more resemblance to a Year-Long Nightmare. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia Solarversia Chapter 15 The days after the blast were the hardest of Nova¡¯s life. As soon as she stepped through the front door that evening, she knew something was wrong. Her parents wore the sombre expressions they¡¯d had the day her grandmother had died. They made her sit down on the sofa before they gave her the news. At first, her body went numb. Then it shook uncontrollably, while tears had streamed down her face. Eventually they¡¯d helped her to her feet, up the stairs and to her room. She¡¯d taken the Valium her mum had handed her without question and, for the briefest of moments, had hoped she wouldn¡¯t wake up. At least, not until everything was back to normal again. Everything seemed lost. Nothing had meaning. Her books lay unopened on her desk; her Booners were discarded where she¡¯d left them, somewhere downstairs probably. She didn¡¯t care. Even Zhang couldn¡¯t comfort her. His playful demeanour was so unsettling that she turned him off for a bit. Her dad spent most of the time in his shed, aware that there was nothing he could say or do to make things better, while her mum waited on her hand and foot, and was there to cuddle and cry with. Messages of sympathy poured in from Burner, Jockey and many school friends she didn¡¯t know cared. She read them, touched by their sentiment, but found that she had nothing to say in reply. The only person she wanted to talk to had been taken from her, forever. How could her Solarversia Sister be gone? The footage from the destroyed gaming cafe in Seattle had imprinted itself on her mind. She¡¯d forced herself to view the attack from the 360-degree cams in the area, like it was the bare minimum she could do for her friend, to have been there with her until the end. A single feed had captured Sushi at the moment of the blast. Thank God it had been grainy and slightly out of focus. A mercy, however small. One second Sushi was there, the next she was gone. And it hurt, like nothing she¡¯d known. Nova had often heard it said that it was the small things in life that meant the most. So it was with her friend¡¯s death. Hearing their favourite songs played on the radio was enough to send her to her knees, immobilised by grief. She changed her route to Maidstone High to avoid the Japanese restaurant where Sushi had earned her name because the sight of it left her winded. But the thing that made Nova saddest of all was not having Sushi to play with. Not having someone tempt her to bunk off homework to play a quick sim. Not having someone to practise her Combinations with, or to patiently listen while Nova described her latest idea for an amazing game she¡¯d devised. And, stupid as it sounded, she hated that she¡¯d never get to see her friend transform into her Siamese cat Super Avatar. One evening, a week after the blast, Nova¡¯s world was shaken for a second time. She¡¯d retreated to her room with a bunch of movies she¡¯d liked as a kid when her Booners signalled an incoming message. She froze, almost choking on her own breath. The message ringtone was the Solarversia jingle, the one she and Sushi used as a ringtone for one another. She hadn¡¯t set it to go off under any other circumstance. She stared at her Booners for a while, mulling possibilities over in her mind. They¡¯d definitely just played the jingle, she was sure of that. She¡¯d never known Burner do something this twisted. He might have been immature and prone to taking things too far, but this? He wouldn¡¯t have dared. Perhaps some jerk from school had recently discovered trolling. She clasped her ponytail and threaded it between her hands while she pondered a list of likely suspects, people she might have offended somehow. The Booners sat there, on her desk, containing a mystery all of a sudden. She reached out to them a couple of times like she was scared they might leap up and attack her before she could allow herself to grab them, then peered into the display from a safe distance. The message was from Sushi, its subject line a simple one: ¡°I¡¯m on Soul Surfer.¡± An old memory stirred from its slumber. Her eyes flitted to the ceiling while she said the words out loud. Soul Surfer. The ghost of a smile crept across her face as she remembered what this was about. She hadn¡¯t been the victim of some sick prank after all. Soul Surfer was the name of an app they¡¯d got excited about a few years ago, the same way they¡¯d gotten excited about a hundred different things. She strained to remember the details ¡ª something about a computer algorithm pretending to be you once you¡¯d died, allowing your spirit to live on. It was immortality for the masses, served in a bottle shaped like an app. She was conscious of the concerted effort she made when slipping her Booners on, the way she carefully brushed her hair behind her ears, straightened her shoulders, even cleared her throat ¡ª like she was about to go on a virtual date. She paused a few seconds, took a deep breath and opened the message, all the while reminding herself to keep her expectations low and to stay on guard, knowing that it might yet turn out to be a phishing scam of sorts. The message was from the CEO of Soul Surfer rather than Sushi herself, an introductory few lines that explained the purpose of the app. ¡°Dear Nova Negrahnu, I¡¯m sorry to learn that you recently lost someone you were close to. Sushi Harrison listed you as her ¡®best friend in the world¡¯ on her profile and indicated that you might be interested in this novel way of communicating with her now that she¡¯s gone. Soul Surfer has been helping millions of people just like you deal with their grief since 2017. We¡¯ve created a computerised version of your friend, who now exists on our servers, and is waiting for you should you choose to proceed with using the app. My sincerest condolences, Charlotte Applewhite, founder and CEO of Soul Surfer Inc.¡± Beneath the message was a personal video from Charlotte, which Nova vaguely remembered from the time she and Sushi had read about it. She¡¯d lost her husband and only child, a son in his early twenties, in a road traffic accident. With an interest in machine learning, the funds from the sale of a previous start-up, and a laser focus fuelled by grief, she¡¯d been the perfect candidate to work on such a controversial idea. Feeding in every known piece of information about her loved ones ¡ª photos, videos, email transcripts; input from everyone that knew the deceased ¡ª she slowly iterated algorithms that approximated their personalities. Word got out about what she was doing, other bereaved people started asking questions, and before long she was swamped with requests to make the software available to the public. Nova explored the app further. She flinched when she saw Sushi¡¯s profile. It knew the time, location and cause of her death. If she chose to use the app, it would take Sushi¡¯s entire digital footprint and create a specific ¡®instance¡¯ of her, one unique to Nova. Anyone else who used the app to talk to Sushi would receive their own version of her. Every time Nova interacted with her instance of Sushi, she could provide feedback to her friend ¡ª or at least, the computer algorithm learning to be her ¡ª to make her more Sushi-like. Slowly, over time, the different instances of the program would diverge, creating multiple copies that embodied her different personality traits as remembered by the people who knew her. She removed the goggles, placed them on her lap and exhaled slowly and deliberately. Life without Sushi was incomprehensible. They¡¯d attended the same nursery from the age of two and had, according to Mrs Negrahnu, been inseparable from the day they¡¯d met. Nova had been playing with a tipper truck in the sandpit when an older boy had steamed over and snatched it from her. Spotting the incident from the other side of the nursery, Suzy ¡ª as Sushi was still known back then ¡ª had intercepted the fleeing boy, grabbed the truck off him and returned it to a teary-eyed but grateful Nova. A couple of years later when the two girls were already the best of friends, their mums arranged a quick visit to the local sushi joint for the four of them one evening. On arriving at the restaurant Nova had burst into tears, distraught at the prospect that they were there to ¡®eat Suzy¡¯. When the adults burst into laughter, Suzy put an arm around her friend, drew her close and promised that she¡¯d always be there to protect her. It was the incident that had earned Sushi her nickname. And now, what was this? A computer version of her Solarversia Sister? She didn¡¯t know what to think. Would she be offended if Nova didn¡¯t use the app? What would Sushi want her to do? They sounded like ridiculous questions, and Nova surprised herself with the amount of serious thought she gave them. She imagined the roles being reversed. What would she have wanted Sushi to do? Win Solarversia, of course. But also ensure that justice was done, that whoever killed her was found and sent to rot in a jail somewhere. She put her Booners back on without knowing why and, instead of returning to Soul Surfer, opened up The Sandbox, a generic app that allowed you to build simple virtual structures. ¡°Create cube, sides three metres in length. Place me in the centre. Colour the ceiling black.¡± She paused, suddenly aware that she was recreating a Corona Cube. The pulsing yellow walls of plasma didn¡¯t seem appropriate. ¡°Colour the walls blue. Actually, make them different shades of blue. The wall I¡¯m facing, give it a title in large white letters along the top. Title: ¡®the Holy Order¡¯. Perform Google search on title. Display results on wall. Group by file type.¡± The wall came to life in front of her face. The top layer, just below the title, started filling up with text-based documents: the Order¡¯s manifesto, articles and forum results blossomed into view. Beneath that were images: symbols from the manifesto including the curly swastika, avatar pictures of the homeless people involved in the griefing attack and photos of the destruction caused by the bombs. The bottom layer of results was made up of videos, mainly newscasts and opinion pieces. She stepped back from the wall and tried to take it all in at once, feasting on the newly assembled gestalt, allowing it to permeate her being. It was several minutes before she moved or spoke again. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°On the wall to my left, create a timeline. I want the bombings in the middle. Before that event I want to see the places that the Holy Order showed up online. To which sites did they post their manifesto and in what chronological order?¡± The timeline flowered into existence: a thick horizontal line from which a series of vertical branches soon sprouted. Some of the documents, images and videos on the main wall flashed before moving around the cube to append themselves to the branches, their size determined by the relative importance of the search result. She studied the line up close, interacting with its contents, increasing the size of some of the results and flicking others out of existence. ¡°Place the list of corporate targets on the wall behind me.¡± And so it went. Nova paced around the cube, adding and subtracting information from it, sorting it, visualising it in different ways, doing everything she could to make sense of it. She had been going at it for three hours straight before she began to wonder where she was going with it all. What exactly was she looking for? If a major clue stared her in the face, would she even know it? She kept being drawn back to the section of wall with the maps on it: one that showed the companies on the hit list and one that showed the locations of the attacks. She glanced between the maps and the section of wall that contained the symbols while a vague idea bubbled away in the depths of her mind. As much as she valued her independence and wanted to do this without help, if she was going to do this properly, she¡¯d need reinforcements. She messaged Burner. ¡°Are you there, mate?¡± The Sandbox automatically positioned a static picture of his avatar floating in mid-air in front of her face. She gently pushed the picture to one side so that she could continue staring at the composition on the wall. A few seconds later, his avatar replied. ¡°Hey, Scotia. How you doing?¡± ¡°Yeah, not so bad.¡± She paused, realising that for the first time in a week, she actually felt pretty good. ¡°I¡¯ve got something to tell you.¡± ¡°Listen, you¡¯ve got every right to be annoyed with me, mad even. I know that sending a couple of messages was pathetic ¡ª I should have come to see you. It¡¯s just that I¡¯m really crap with the whole death thing. Never know what to say. End up talking bollocks and making it worse. Which means I didn¡¯t visit, and that was wrong. If you want me to come over right now, I¡¯m there.¡± She smiled, touched by the very un-Burner-ish outburst. ¡°I¡¯m not annoyed with you at all. I haven¡¯t really felt like seeing anyone, including you.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s good to know. What¡¯s up?¡± ¡°It¡¯s Sushi. She¡¯s back. Kind of. You ever heard of an app called Soul Surfer? We signed up for it, years ago. I¡¯d forgotten all about it until a few hours ago when I received a message from her.¡± ¡°Woah, spooky shit. What was it like?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I mean, I haven¡¯t seen her yet. But the message made me realise I should be doing something about her death rather than wallowing in self-pity.¡± She swallowed back some tears. ¡°It¡¯s the Holy Order. I want to help find them. Sandbox: give Burner view access of the room.¡± His floating 2D avatar disappeared and was replaced by his 3D avatar, now standing next to hers in the cube. They did their usual fist bump before he started glancing around at the reams and reams of data that now adorned the walls. She started explaining her train of thought ¡ª why she¡¯d grouped certain results together but ignored others ¡ª and didn¡¯t stop talking until several minutes later when, suddenly out of breath, she glared at him, impatient to kick off whatever master plan they would end up devising together. ¡°Wait a second, mate. Sushi died and that¡¯s the worst thing that¡¯s ever happened. If you died, I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do. Grieving, and wanting to do something to remember her by ¡ª even wanting to avenge her death ¡ª that all sounds normal. But doing something to find the loonies behind all of this? Trying to hunt them down when the FBI, with their billions in funding, haven¡¯t managed to. Are you sure? With all due respect, it sounds a bit crazy.¡± A feeling of anger flared inside her. She watched it from a distance, knowing that she had no right to be angry with him. If anything, he¡¯d just spoken sense. She went and stood directly in front of him and wished that they were doing this in person so that she could use her puppy-dog eyes on him. Instead she¡¯d have to convey her desperation through her voice. ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m being ridiculous. There¡¯s a vanishingly small chance that we¡¯d be able to find something the big guys missed. But they do miss stuff. And not just rarely either, but all the time. History¡¯s full of examples of regular people like us spotting some random pattern or detail and going on to solve a crime or figure out a mystery that¡¯s eluded the experts for decades. And besides, this is Sushi we¡¯re talking about here. If I do nothing, then I¡¯ve failed her. And if there¡¯s one person who might be able to help find something the FBI have missed, it¡¯s my old mate Burner.¡± ¡°What exactly did you have in mind?¡± ¡°The kind of geeky stuff you¡¯re always going on about. You¡¯re into AI and data and drones and stuff. I don¡¯t know what I have in mind. I was hoping you¡¯d come up with something. Like, look at all the symbols in the manifesto. Those are kind of like the logos of the Holy Order ¡ª their calling cards. Maybe they¡¯re out there in the world somewhere. These drones you¡¯re always going on about ¡ª like the one you built ¡ª they can fly to places we can¡¯t.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re suggesting that we feed the contents of the manifesto, and any associated metadata, into a program, upload it into a bunch of drones, have them scour areas of interest looking for locations ¡ª hideouts, safe houses, that kind of thing ¡ª while they upload footage into the cloud for analysis? At which point we analyse the results, iterate the program and repeat the process until we find something.¡± By now he was pacing up and down the cube, one hand on his chin, the other wagging a finger while he spoke. Nova realised that it was good, after all, that he wasn¡¯t there to see her grinning at him. ¡°Jono knows people,¡± he continued. ¡°There¡¯s a couple of guys in his year who have been working on this semantic analysis idea. Bloody clever, they are. They¡¯re about to drop out of uni to start a company. We could approach them, help them test their program, be guinea pigs. It¡¯d be an amazing case study if we pulled it off.¡± He paused and looked at her, suddenly aware of how the conversation was going. ¡°You¡¯re right, it¡¯s a ridiculous idea ¡ª a million to one shot. And if we hire a bunch of drones, that could cost hundreds, maybe thousands, of pounds, you know that?¡± ¡°Seeing as there is a chance ¡ª however small ¡ª do you think you could look into for me? I can give you access to edit this room. You can speak to Jono¡¯s mates, get their take on it. Just get me a rough estimate of the cost. I¡¯ll find the money, you don¡¯t need to worry about that.¡± ¡°OK. Let¡¯s give it a try. We¡¯ll need a name. What about ¡®Project Drone¡¯?¡± ¡°Project Drone,¡± Nova repeated. ¡°I like it.¡± ¡°You need to do me a favour in return. Don¡¯t get your hopes up, alright?¡± Once Burner had left the room she punched the air and performed a couple of pirouettes. This felt good, however crazy it was. She was actually doing something. A feeling she¡¯d constantly had over the last few days came back to her ¡ª the urge to tell Sushi what she was up to. And now she could. She left The Sandbox, returned to Soul Surfer, ticked the box to accept the terms and conditions and found herself sitting on a bench next to her friend on a hill overlooking Seattle. ¡°Hey, Nova, how are you?¡± Sushi¡¯s long blonde hair was tied in bun, leaving a wisp of hair to fall either side of her ears, the way she usually wore it. Her green eyes ¡ª which Nova thought sparkled more than usual ¡ª were complemented by the opal necklace she wore on top of her black turtleneck sweater. She looked every bit as sweet and beautiful as she had the last time they¡¯d talked. Nova took her hand and they sat for a while in silence. Suddenly her need to talk was gone. She had questions to ask, but now wasn¡¯t the time. She wanted her old friend back, the real one. She would give anything for that. But the next best thing wasn¡¯t so bad after all. **************************************************** Full book available on Amazon here: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B00ZFF6NVK I''m on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/tobydownton and Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/solarversia