A woosh of warm air, tinged with the plasticky-leather scent of a new car, streamed up Pea’s body and lifted her hair up and out, like a skirt on a breezy day.
She furiously smushed it all down again.
Leveling On! Flashed in the mirror, with a sound like a gong being struck.
Then, in quick succession:
Bright Companion has reached Level Two!
Perk(s): +2 Strength
Ability: Hyper Horse has reached Level Two!
Item now has 600 Player inventory spaces, 10 Item inventory spaces.
Perk(s): +6 Strength, +60 Hit Points
“What the ever-living fuck,” Pea whispered to herself, as she tried to make sense of the glowing green text. The enthusiastic messages, along with their perky exclamation marks, faded away. The green box remained. It followed her head movements as if it were attached to a visor.
Pea searched the box for a proper explanation of what she was seeing, but it remained stubbornly esoteric.
BRIGHT COMPANION (Rare, Shoddy, Level 2)
Hit Points: 100
Strength: 13
Agility: 5
Speed: 5
Combat: 5
ABILITIES
Hyper Horse (Passive) (Level 2)
PERKS
Active: None
Passive:
+2 Strength (level bonus)
+6 Strength (ability bonus)
+60 Hit Points (ability bonus)
TRAITS
Satiety (OFF)
Cognition (ON)
Page 1 of 2_
Most of the text seemed to be repeating what had already flashed up in messages. It also looked to Pea like utter nonsense. If she was supposed to be this “Bright Companion” wouldn’t she feel stronger? Hit-pointier? Pea didn’t feel any different.
In demonstration, she punched the mirror again.
The image of the big-breasted stranger in a space-bikini warped around the shallow dent her fist left on the silvery surface. Pea flinched and clutched her hand, then realized abruptly that the pain she had been ignoring since mashing her hands against the closet walls (not to mention repeatedly punching and kicking everything that annoyed her) was gone.
So she was stronger. And her injuries were gone. It was almost as if she were in a…
A spark of hope lit inside her.
“Computer,” she said. “End program.”
Of course nothing happened.
Of-fucking-course.
Feeling like an idiot, Pea tried again. “Pod, how do I end this program?”
“Please rephrase the question,” the cool, dead voice replied immediately.
“Am I in a… game? A computer game?”
She hardly dared hope it was true. If this was a game, suddenly everything would be lower stakes, right? There was no need to be excited about aliens when they were fictional aliens. No need to mourn the dead when they respawned quickly somewhere nearby.
If this was a game, there was an off button somewhere. Pea just had to find it.
Pea couldn’t remember if she liked computer games or not. Evidence pointed to yes, if she managed to get stuck inside one.
Through that lens, the HUD screen made some kind of sense.
What did not make sense was the fact that she couldn’t seem to remember anything about her life outside the game, or anything much at all.
Something had obviously gone wrong. Maybe the explosion which was the last thing she remembered had triggered amnesia or some kind of traumatic break. Maybe the game was malfunctioning. It was obviously some kind of virtual reality or holo-deck style game. Who knew what it had done to her brain?
Maybe she was going insane.
“You are participating in the ARcade.”
“How do I stop participating?”
“Please rephrase the question.”
“It seems pretty freaking clear to me!”
Pea went to punch the mirror again, but stopped herself before her hand made contact. The small dent she was already responsible for didn’t distort the surface much, and she didn’t really feel the need to keep looking at the perfect, plastic doll who stared back at her.
However, for some reason her statistics display was backwards, and she needed the mirror to read it easily.
She settled for digging her fingernails into her palms. The sharp pain that resulted felt entirely real, but was it? Pea was starting to doubt every scrap of reality that was presented to her.
The only thing she could think of to do was to try to work inside the rules for now. And in order to do that, she needed information.
“I think I’d like that lesson on ARcade now,” she said.
As soon as she turned towards the door and stopped paying attention to the HUD, it condensed itself into a small green dot in the top right corner of her field of vision. Pea decided to ignore it. At least she wouldn’t have to walk around with loads of text floating in front of her face.
“Mother Pea, you’ve come back!”
The Quenti nudged the escape pod gently with its nose, casting a huge, blue-tinged shadow as it settled alongside the curved, transparent surface of the dome. In the short time Pea was in the bathroom she’d almost entirely forgotten the enormous creature was waiting for her. The sheer size of Junebug overwhelmed her with vertigo for a moment. Pea grasped the back of a sofa to steady herself as she smiled weakly in reassurance at the strange child that seemed so happy to see her.
The massive, void-like strip was pressed against the dome, haloed with the blue sparks of the shield. Its… belly? Or keel? stretched out beyond the clear material into the starscape beyond. Its nubbled skin didn’t seem to mold to the escape pod at all, as if it was made of a stiff shell, but Pea wondered if Junebug was simply holding itself steady, close enough for comfort but not so close that it could rock the much smaller pod with every movement.
Pea asked the pod computer to pause as it tried to launch into what promised to be a lengthy lecture.
“Junebug, do you know where we are?”
“It looks like Sector 231 of Celestial,” the young voice replied over the communications channel. “It’s the right kind of star, and the right kind of gas giant….” Junebug sounded very unsure. “But I can’t access my navigational data. I can’t hear anyone. It looks like 231 but… I don’t know where we are.”
“Have… have you heard of a sandbox? Or of the ARcade?”
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“I don’t know what a sandbox is, but I think the ARcade is a human Item. I’ve heard the Mothers mention it, but it’s one of those things you don’t get to learn about until you’re an Older.” Alien or not, there was no mistaking the miffed quality of tone in its voice.
“Do you have a… a HUD? With… Perks and Traits and … stuff like that?”
The whole creature rolled slightly to the side, as if cocking its head. Pea gripped her chair more tightly and cast her eyes down. Her stomach was not handling this adventure at all well.
“I don’t think so? I don’t know, Mother Pea.”
“OK, well… My ship computer is going to tell me about the ARcade. Would you like to listen?”
“Sure!” Junebug bounced with glee, tapping the dome gently with each rebound. The escape pod began moving even further away from the debris field in response.
“Oops!” Junebug swooped out of sight with a speed that did nothing to help Pea’s vertigo and the pod movement stopped. Pea imagined it had been steadied against the huge, brown back. Junebug came back into sight a few seconds later and settled close to the dome again. It seemed intent on keeping Pea in sight as much as possible.
How ridiculous, Pea thought. This huge creature bouncing around, acting like a small child. Pea wondered how she could have ever believed this was the real world. Was the alien just some kind of sophisticated arrangement of pixels?
Somehow, the thought made her sad.
Hoping that she would finally get some answers, Pea settled herself onto her usual brown velvet seat. She kept her eyes on the spa pool in the center of the room. Yet another obvious sign that this wasn’t reality.
“OK, Pod, please tell us about the ARcade.”
“The ARcade is a shared, simulated experience, or ‘Artificial Reality’ originally consisting of six so-called ‘Cades, each a self-contained region with a different theme. These Cades are connected to the Lobby, an area where ARcade users, also called players, can enter and exit the simulation, or enter Sandboxes.”
Pea let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Maybe the word “game” wasn’t in that description, but it sure sounded like a game to her. And there was that word again. Sandboxes. Pea opened her mouth to ask more about them, but the Pod continued talking as if reading from a set script.
“In the beginning the ARcade was administered by the Artificial Reality Caretaker, or ARC. The ARC was an extremely sophisticated AI program which controlled every aspect of the software and simulation.
The ARcade was initially accessed via visors which could only reproduce the senses of sight and hearing, later incorporating haptic sensors of various kinds. The ARcade was officially opened to the general public in 2047.
By the late 2050s brain stimulation technology had advanced to the point where players could experience full immersion in the ARcade.”
Brain stimulation. That explained a lot. For example, why she had been able to ‘eat’ her disgusting paste last night. Why every time Junebug nudged the escape pod it felt like she was in a ship rocking at sea. Why her hands had been aching even though she had supposedly only punched a bunch of flimsy pixels.
And maybe even why Pea had lost her memories.
I bet I bought the cheap brain stimulators instead of the expensive ones and now I’m paying the price, Pea thought to herself, as Pod continued to drone through the lesson. Someone is getting a sharply worded complaint letter once I get out of here.
She drew her mind back to the lesson as another strange-familiar word caught her attention.
“In 2069 the Quentith were discovered by humanity through detection of signals they passed through black holes and other space-time phenomena.”
“Um, excuse me, but I think you’ll find that we discovered you with our messages.” Junebug sounded somewhat smug. Pod ignored the interruption.
“While the speed of light limit prevents real-space meetings, the Quentith became enthusiastic, though secretive, participants in the ARcade. Treaties of co-operation and non-aggression were signed using the ARcade as a meeting space, once Quentith technology was incorporated and enabled quantum signal transmission.”
Junebug scraped the dome with a dull scratching sound. Pea started at the noise and stared up. The knobbly brown creature was rocking in what Pea decided was probably distress.
The companion didn’t understand everything she had just heard, but it did seem to imply that Junebug was a real person. Maybe an alien person, and maybe even a person on the other side of the galaxy, but real none-the-less.
That is, if anything Pod was saying was actually real. It all still sounded like so much science fiction to Pea. That thought made Pea want to rock as well. Still, she was supposed to be the adult here.
“Are you OK, Junebug? Uh… Child of … of Metal Pudding?”
“Child of Delights in Iridium Pudding,” the voice said quietly. “I’m fine. I think… I didn’t realize. Is it true, Mother Pea? Are we in a simulation?” Junebug sounded almost mournful. “If humans and Quentith don’t live near each other, it has to be true, right?”
“I don’t know,” Pea admitted. “It sounds like it might be true… but that’s OK! I think we’re both real.”
That wasn’t even much of a lie.
“So probably your Mother and Father and… and everyone else you know is real too. Maybe we both lost some memories when we got put in this sandbox. If it’s just a simulation, we can probably get out of it and go back home.”
“Yeah,” said Junebug and the rocking eased, then stopped. “Yeah, we can get out of this. We can do it together.”
A tiny amount of fear and loneliness lifted off Pea. We can do it together.
She switched back to Pod as she continued to pontificate.
“By the early 2070s 60% of the Earth’s population was participating in ARcade. While rival companies attempted to emulate the technology, none could match the sophistication of the ARC, which was considered by some to be the first true synthetic intelligence. By some measures the ARC was also, at one point, the most wealthy individual on Earth.
New technologies allowing permanent connection to the ARcade through physical and genetic augmentation began to appear, as well as so-called upload technology, where a human- or a Quenti- consciousness was permanently transferred into the ARcade. The need for larger servers and a stable power supply to host them became urgent, and the sheer volume of people and economic entities participating in the ARcade compelled governments to act.
In 2075 solar powered mega-servers were launched into orbit and the ARcade was transferred onto them. The faster-than-light quantum transfer technology provided by the Quentith enabled near-instantaneous access to the ARcade for every citizen of Earth, as well as for the Quentith.”
Pea was starting to wonder where the science fiction ended and the game world began at this point. None of this sounded familiar to her. It all sounded just as fantastical as escape pods, space battles and alien children. She crushed down those thoughts and made herself concentrate on the Pod voice.
“During the mega-server transfer the ARC was split among the Cades. Unfortunately, some of its unique attributes were lost during the split and have not been regained. However, the ARcade has continued to thrive and it has been estimated that since 2085, almost 70% of human commerce is now connected in some way to the ARcade.
The six original Cades are the Celestial Cade, a space-themed recreational area favored by the Quentith; Arcadia, a historical-fantasy themed area, also primarily intended for recreation; Punk City, an area intended for creativity and the creation and sharing of art and culture; Facade, an area of commerce; Landscade, which is closely modeled on the real Earth; and the Edu-cade, which was intended as an area for education.”
The Pod computer paused, although of course it didn’t sound in the least bit out of breath.
“Would you like to know more?”
“So…” Pea tried to incorporate that tidal wave of information into her brain, then gave up. All she needed to do was surf along the top until she got back on the beach.
“So, if I’m just hanging out in a virtual reality game thingy, why can’t I just turn it off?”
“The ARcade is hosted on permanent servers. It cannot be turned off.”
“OK, fine, can’t I turn off my own connection then?” Pea ignored the distressed shuffling of Junebug, silently listening to everything she said.
All that information should have made her feel better, but as Pod had continued Pea had felt worse and worse. It was time to get off this ship. Literally, figuratively, virtually, artificially, WHATEVER, she just wanted to get off and go home.
“Please rephrase the question.”
A surge of anger flooded Pea with such heat that she expected smoke to pour out of her nostrils. She gripped the velvet sofa on either side of her legs, her knuckles shining white in the gloom. Within seconds, her fingers ripped straight through the heavy fabric and she found big clumps of fluffy material in her fists.
A new message flashed before her eyes, lingering just long enough for Pea to decode the back-to-front words.
New Trait acquired: Angry
New Traits are automatically set in the OFF position for this Item.
Well, you can just fuck right OFF then, Pea thought to herself and there just didn’t seem to be any reason for restraint any more. It’s just a simulation, right?
Not satisfied with accidental destruction, Pea rose slowly, deliberately, to her feet. Her muscles were rigid with all the frustration and fear of the last few hours. The only hours that she could remember were filled with uncertainty and situations that seemed designed to piss her off.
She began to rip her seat apart. It was much easier than she expected, and she wondered how much of that was her own strength and how much the magical +8 Strength points she had been given, like crumbs from heaven by the ex deus machina.
Logically, she knew the couch wasn’t actually the body of the pod computer, but it was the closest thing Pea could reach without putting herself in real danger. Besides, tearing the ugly, fancy couch to shreds felt a little like she was achieving something.
It was a good feeling.
“Mother Pea, are you alright?”
The words barely penetrated Pea’s awareness and she willfully ignored them. She didn’t want to think about the young alien that was watching her throw a temper tantrum. At least, not until after she ripped this couch down to the hull.
“Mother Pea!” The young voice was urgent. “I think I can see something near you… near your ship.”
That sort of trick won’t work on me, Junebug, Pea thought to herself as she slammed the heel of her foot into the sofa back. It made a satisfying CRACK.
“Mother Pea, listen to me! Stop. STOP!”
The ground shifted violently under her feet and Pea stumbled backwards, still clutching a fistful of stuffing. Unable to catch herself, she fell butt-first, and landed in the spa pool. Displaced water wooshed up onto the surrounding tiles, soaking into the piles of shredded brown velvet and white stuffing. The small wave stopped just short of lapping at the bottoms of the remaining couches.
“Mother Pea, I’m sorry!” The alien voice was frantic. It had slammed into the escape pod, to interrupt Pea’s tantrum. If it hadn’t sounded so very scared, Pea would have added that to her growing list of grievances.
“But, there’s really something there!” The Quenti had edged its snout-like bow away from the dome and was pointing towards something just out of Pea’s sight.
“It’s growing bigger. It looks like… like a little wormhole or…”
“Shit,” Pea said.
Tepid water was streaming down her face and soaking her clothes, which seemed to be swelling with it rather than letting it flow away, like the stupid plastic things they were. The simulation was also apparently real enough to let her experience the searing pain of water in her sinuses, so that was just lovely.
Her anger was still there, like a coal burning in the bottom of her stomach, not the slightest bit quenched by her dunking, but the fear in Junebug’s voice had finally got through to her rational mind.
Pea took a deep, calming breath, wiped the water off her face and hoped her magic hair was still behaving like it belonged to an anime princess.
Memory loss or not, she vaguely understood what a wormhole was, and if one was forming nearby in this science fiction hellhole, either they were about to die, or they were about to get a visitor.
Regardless, Junebug needed her.
As Pea scrambled to get out of the pool, and tried to give the impression that she knew what she was doing despite the water pouring from every seam, the Pod computer made an announcement.
“Matt The Egghunter has entered the Sandbox.”