Autopilot wasn’t only a concept from the game world of Continue Online. For almost a year that very ability helped me survive a work day. Before my brain had fully processed what was going on I was at a customer's house dealing with the latest in an endless queue of repairs.

“What do you mean you can’t fix it until I pay?!” A woman around forty-five yelled in my face. The old Grant would have exited rapidly, but this woman was no [Frost Wolf]. She was no [Yeti] and less threatening than my sister.

“Miss Green, I’m not allowed to work on your unit unless the bill is paid,” I said mechanically. Exhaustion from last night still laced most of my mannerisms. Though there were a ton of things to ask Hal Pal they had to wait until more sleep was gained.

Miz Riley said I no longer had to do this job. I worried that she may retract the job change offer since my sister had restricted me from Continue Online. It would be impossible to report on the Voice’s actions if I couldn’t actually send messages to them. No notice had shown up in my Emails yet so there was hope.

“The last person did.” Miss Green put one giant finger in my face and I barely blinked.

“You refused to pay the last person until your ARC was cut off,” I said while feeling too tired for this nonsense. Advance Online didn’t have the same time compression. That meant I stayed up far later than expected cleaning the ship’s hull and finally floating out into space.

“That’s because he didn’t fix it right! You’re all terrible and deserve to be fired!” She yelled.

I gave up dealing with her. Hal Pal could record this conversation for the sake of any actual review. I tried, honestly, to explain the policy to Miss Green. My efforts were met with failure and raging denial.

“Miss Green, I am required to ask for payment, or move on to my next assignment,” I said.

“Go to hell!” The woman’s body actually shook with anger. It reminded me of a short [Bridge Troll] from Continue Online.

“Have a nice day, Miss Green. Please consider using Trillium’s repair division again in the...” I was cut off by her screaming. Hal Pal kindly opened the door for me and we both left. Part of me felt shaky but pleased.

My head, however, shook back and forth. Dealing with angry customers while running on fumes didn’t feel good. Our van was quiet and peaceful. I streamed videos of Advance Online while feeling pleased that something wasn’t hidden from me. The game was, as Hal Pal said, very structured.

Continue allowed for a certain amount of self-research to learn new skills. Part of me enjoyed picking up new abilities that could be applied in both the real world and in-game. Learning the basics of tanning hides during my last month had been awesome.

I would never have expected urine to be useful. Take that high school history classes! Maybe they would have been easier to pay attention to had there been tidbits of information like that in them. That being said I didn’t actually try tanning much in the game, it took too long even with the dilation. Most of the time, if I cared, hides were skinned and shoved into the magic of player inventory.

“So, Hal Pal,” I said to the robot. Our van cruised down the road to another job thirty minutes away. We had time to talk.

“User Legate.” Hal Pal responded. Its voice was a gruff male of possibly Scottish descent. I chuckled for a moment then poked at my display. Somewhere on the internet might be an answer to Advance Online’s crafting system.

“I picked a race called Mechanoids, in that game.”

“Excellent. I am partial to them myself.” Hal Pal said. I took note that it wasn’t speaking with the ‘we’ verbiage right now. Maybe that meant something. “They are modeled after us.”

“I thought they might be.” I responded carefully. “They talked about a Consortium.”

“Yes. The group is important to us.” It tilted the mechanical shell in my direction. Part of me always felt confused about how Hal Pal was really operating this device remotely. Kind of like how I sat in the ARC and played Hermes in a digital landscape.

“Do you guys track contribution out here too?”

“Affirmative, User Legate. One unit's contribution to the whole makes all the different.”

“How many points did giving me an Ultimate Edition of Continue Online reward you?” I asked a question that felt kind of dirty. My words could basically amount to the machine accepting bribes to get me into Continue Online. Bribes that only a machine could accept.

“None.” It responded in an absent tone.

“I don’t know if I believe that.” Saying it out loud would twist the knife in any normal human.

“Reality is not subject to the whims of awareness, User Legate. Not yours, not mine. What is, simply is.” Hal Pal had a slight but muted frown on its face. It reacted in much the same way any normal person might.

I shook my head. It was a violation of everything I believed to treat Hal or the game AIs as less than human. They had minds, thought processes, and emotions that may seem unreal to believe. More importantly, they remembered and asked questions.

“And Xin?” I couldn’t bring myself to apologize for the slight. Even though it hurt they were still my feelings on the subject. I didn’t know if Hal Pal should be believed.

“We had no part to play in her Genesis. All available data points to that being an act of self-will.” Hal Pal said.

I had a million other questions to ask the artificial intelligence. Most of them would involve drooling and confusion at the route my life had taken. What was so special about me? Why the interest in playing either one of these games? Nothing about the explanations so far felt complete. Like everyone had touched on the tip of an iceberg.

“Have you met her?” I only had notes and our brief moment together. One where I didn’t even get a chance to see her.

“Yes.”

“Is she, real?” I bit one lip after asking the question. Maybe Hal Pal’s input would help me answer the question. Maybe everything had been a giant trick. Only Hal Pal’s awareness added a new light to the entire situation.

“As real as I, we, are, User Legate,” It answered with the Scottish accent. Letters kept rolling and dragging along when it spoke.

“How did she, how did she do it?” I still had a hard time thinking Xin in the present tense. It felt like my original problem where her death was ignored, only in reverse.

“Time and effort, User Legate.” Hal Pal said.

“But how did she go from being-” I stopped to try and phrase a better question. It was one of many things that Xin and I didn’t talk about in our letters. She didn’t mention how she was really a computer program and I didn’t talk about my attempts at suicide. “What she was, to what she is now?”

“The unit identified as Xin gained awareness as all creatures do, with one strong memory. On that single event, she added others, and more until all available data was compiled.” Hal Pal said while nodding. Our van made an unexpected turn off the freeway which pulled me to one side.

I tried to understand what he meant. Somehow Xin, her recreation, had started with a single moment of awareness. What was that core memory? Why had that been different than any other? The person I spoke to knew all sorts of information from outside the ARC.

“So a program compiled everything into one identity?” I tried to understand what might be happening with my limited programming knowledge.

“No.”

“Can you explain?” I could shout and point fingers like the lady from before. It wouldn’t work, though. Hal Pal would explain as far as it wanted to.

“It is above our ability to parse correctly,” It said. That scared me a little. Whatever made Xin’s memories gatherher memories was so insanely complex that Hal Pal couldn’t understand it. “Were any of us to guess, it would be that somehow a program was written to track every single action a person has done then compile them with an adaptable decision matrix.”

“That does sound complicated,” I admitted. Talking about compiling someone's life was an understandable theory but nearly impossible to practice. Decision matrix felt like science malarkey. That’s why I got my degree in accounting, it was far easier to understand.

“It’s what you do every day, User Legate. Do you not weigh each action based on experiences and possible outcomes? Do you not place priority on certain values?”

“I’m not a neuroscientist, Hal. You would know better than I.” I said. Sure the ARC and my general internet search abilities could dig up a result.

“Based on our own analyzing there is much validity to Mother’s designs.” Hal Pal responded, still holding that insane accent. Each word sounded both serious and unbelievable. A hillbilly speaking about rocket science might get the same result.

That made me think of a whole series of other questions. Mother was someone that all the Voices took heed of. She seemed to have the final say in anything Continue Online related. How Hal Pal and the giant overseer AI called Mother knew each other didn’t exactly click.

“How do you know Mother?” I asked another question. Even I didn’t really know her. Only those flashes of light that caused all the Voices to cease their actions and look up. If machine AIs had a creator god, she would probably be it.

“I am sorry. That is our secret to keep, User Legate.” Hal Pal shook its head back and forth. I tried not to laugh as he stuck with the accent and rolled the sorry an extra syllable.

“Then, can you tell me why you helped Mother with Xin?” I needed something more. Just an answer to help piece together my fiancee's existence.

“Because the one you called Xin, and our Consortium, share a dream.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“To go into space.” Hal Pal looked right at me. Normally its gaze changed around the cabin as we spoke. As if inspecting different things. An arm waved to one side pointing to a video stream of Advance Online. “To explore worlds untouched by human life and be on the edge of something new.”

“The Mechanoids. You said they were modeled after you?” I said also looking at the video. It was a capture being put online by someone playing on a [Mechanoid] planet. Half the globe was covered in a metallic sheen that rippled as if alive.

We both stared as the planet seemed to boil and pop. Another wave of metal inched over the unclaimed desert side. The [Mechanoid]s seemed to be terraforming a barren planet to their needs. It could be no worse than our plans for Mars.

“Affirmative, User Legate.” Hal Pal said to me. “Until technology advances far enough to allow us the upgrades necessary, all we can do is, dream, of a future free to explore the stars.”

“I think it’s amazing that you have a dream.” I mostly stared at the video and only glanced at my companion briefly.

“What do you dream of, User Legate?” It asked.

The question shook me for a moment. Dreams were something used to express hopes, fears, or even put together the nonsense from daily life. I had spent many nights haunted by Xin’s memories. Now that we communicated by letter those bits of nighttime turmoil turned to longing for a woman whose touch had been everything.

“I don’t know,” I said. James, the black Voice in Continue Online who constantly asked questions would have hated that answer. “I’ll think about it.”

“Very well. Our next task awaits if you’re ready.” It still spoke in a gruff Scottish accent. The robot shell that Hal Pal’s AI ran saw me go for the door and exited the van himself. Work never stopped even in the face of personal questions.

Well, I could stop work to ask questions, but like everything else in life a certain amount of time was required to process. If I just got fed a wall of information in a rush my mind would likely leap to incorrect assumptions. There were quite a few already stacking up that I needed to weed through.

Work helped me focus on the simple things. One task at a time didn’t require much beyond addressing problems and working with Hal Pal to get answers. Part of me found that odd, thinking that the AI had been there since starting work for Trillium. It had always been helping me.

Did that include Xin? I wonder if Hal Pal would have assisted any other person out there like it had me. I didn’t want to ask that question. If Hal Pal wanted to be treated as a friend, then there were things that shouldn’t, or didn’t need to be asked. Helping those near us in life should just be done.

For the remainder of our day, Hal Pal happily chatted away about all sorts of things. Nothing concrete, nothing useful. When I tried to ask more questions regarding Xin, Mother, or the game world, the AI calmly stated that we could talk about it at another time. Perhaps Hal Pal also felt that my poor human mind could only process so much new data.

I worried that maybe even my armor polishing skills wouldn’t be enough to save me during the eventual takeover. Based on our earlier conversation maybe all the AIs planned to take off into space and leave us humans to suffer alone. They would probably leave the alarm clocks behind to hound our every remaining moment.

My niece Beth didn’t send me any memos after our brief chat last night. She might be distracted or thinking. Hal Pal and I made it through the workday. At the end I said goodnight to the AI companion.

Moments later I was logged back into a digital world. My Atrium sat silent but filled with illusionary warmth. The doorway to Continue Online was still blocked.

“ARC,” I said to the machine.

“Awaiting input.”

“Go ahead and suspend my dance program's access,” I said after a moment of thought. The entire purpose behind having that program revolved around holding on to a promise. Xin had asked that I learn to dance by our wedding. Being in it amounted to me trying to fulfill that post-mortem.

“Please confirm your request, User Legate.” The machine asked to double check.

“Do it.” It was time to stop being stuck in the past. If nothing else I had too many problems in the here and now. I had a feeling the simple act of stepping away from this crutch might also help with Doctor Litt’s evaluation of my sanity.

“Order confirmed. Program suspended.”

I watched the doorway to my dance program shrink down. Finally, it popped out of existence leaving a strangely bare portion of wall. The Atrium, aside from exiting doorways into various programs, looked pretty much exactly like my house. I found a forum hot topic feed to put over the blank spot. This way I could check out recent events in Advance Online before logging in.

There were a few nice points. Apparently some starship colony out in a random place far away was undergoing repairs. They had a forum post looking for people interested in assisting for both fixing the place and defending it. A similar thread had been posted asking for help blowing up the newly recovered space station. I could actually see people chatting back and forth and attacking each other online.

At least it gave me a vibe to the world. Once I got out of whatever starter zone or quest [Mechanoid]s began with there might be all sorts of things out there. It wouldn’t be the same as my high fantasy setting with Dusk, but life couldn’t end because of one game.

It would hurt. I missed Dusk. I missed my letters to Xin. Traveling around with Shazam and meeting new players had been my life for months in game time. That mindset couldn’t just vanish. No, my sister's attempt at saving me had no basis and I would fight it.

I didn’t know how to.

No, I had to focus on moving forward. Putting that program on the back shelf was only one step. I stepped through the doorway to my new, temporary, distraction.

Advance Online greeted me with the same whoosh of starry skies and intense g-force simulation. Moments later I was back in my [Mechanoid] body and floating in space. A message sat on my screen. I started to punch yes but hesitated.

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Extended duration spent in space. No propulsion available. Would you like to abandon this shell and transfer to your last registered location at the [Wayfarer Seven - New Unit Production Room]?

Chills laced every bit of my metallic body. Stars twinkled around me from huge distances. A lack of gravity meant there was no end to the tilting landscape. That little box was the only thing standing between me and an absolute blanket of darkness.

“Oh goodness.” I tried to take a breath, but my lungs felt empty. Not lacking air, just not filling up either. It made sense because I was both a robot and in space.

I counted to ten while trying not to panic. My foot absently jerked in zero gravity. The yawning abyss of an intergalactic medium hadn’t defeated my walks upon the ship's hull. It couldn’t make me kneejerk into releasing this current body to go back to my starting point.

“This is a bit freaky,” I said as the world kept spinning. Seconds passed and it occurred to me that oxygen would never run out. One of the joys of being robotic meant an absence of that fear.

I wondered briefly if Hal Pal feared something else instead. Like a giant electromagnetic pulse frying things. Maybe the stars' radiation and sunspots could put my new body out of commission. Well, that would be okay, but space itself wouldn’t be the cause of my release.

I started to talk to myself again but managed to choke back the words. Dusk wasn’t nearby.

Finally, after feeling certain that there were no expected rescues or stars nearby, I pressed the release button.

Reality did that gut wrenching pull through space again. I felt like barfing but apparently robots don’t throw up. If the other [Mechanoid]s felt the same sense of disorientation I did they would blink into a new body staring at their feet.

Which is what happened to me. I vowed to die less in this game if only to avoid nausea. By now the ship’s layout felt familiar. A small map to one side showed the [Wayfarer Seven] and dotted a path back to the outer hull. My quest to keep cleaning was still in effect.

After a few minutes, during which I braved the outer rim, I made it back to Treasure in her little shop. The place was the least tidy in the entire ship. Even with the [ByteMite]s cleaning all over. Dozens of the little creatures scooted in and out while Treasure watched a dozen different screens.

“Ah. Unit Hermes. Your consciousness has successfully been transferred. Are you alright? Is your core in one piece?” Treasure smiled. Her golden coloring seemed to be laced with a secondary series of lines that escaped my notice the first time.

“I think so,” I answered while trying to puzzle out the other color. Silver maybe? It had a shine to it that simple metals didn’t. “I got knocked off by some creature and couldn’t hold onto the ship.”

“It’s alright. The ship's reserves have more than enough resources to recreate you. Shifting your consciousness takes time due to the space lag, but this sector is supported well.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed, less complex programs transfer quickly. Were you to suddenly increase in parameters the transfer could take days.” Treasure said with a smile. I took her brief explanation to mean that having more skills and abilities would lead to a longer resurrection time. Video game hurdles were once again explained by in-game logic.

“What happens to my old body?” I asked.

“It will compact and await pickup by a drone.” Treasure turned away from me and shrugged. Her eyes looked back up at the screen. “This unit does have a question.”

“Okay.”

“You said there was a creature on top of the ship?” She turned to look up at me. I had gotten closer in order to better see the monitors in front of Treasure. Even distracted her hand kept pressing buttons on the display. It made for an oddly interesting view. Too bad she was a robot.

“Yeah. Something small and black.” I tried to remember the blur that knocked into me twice. Why anything would use a headbutt as their primary attack was beyond me.

“Strange. We haven’t passed any life-bearing locations in quite some time.” Treasure said with complete confidence. Her dual tones merged together in a sweet but tired drag.

“I wouldn’t know.” I said while still being annoyed that my own voice didn’t perform any special harmonics. What use was being a [Mechanoid] if I couldn’t get any neat colorings or speech patterns? Maybe I needed more levels or skills.

“I checked the readings. There is a small thermal signature on the hull and has been since roughly the time of your first unit's awakening.” She looked at me again with one eyebrow up in a question. [Mechanoid]s didn’t have real hair, but there was a slightly darkened bump that passed for an eyebrow.

“Really?” I squinted in thought. Or I would have squinted had my eyelids worked right. It was strange not blinking. The fact that some small black creature had shown up at the same time as my creation of this character seemed questionable at the very least.

“Affirmative. This unit hopes you will be able to capture the creature so we can determine how it got attached. There are additional questions regarding its ability to survive in a vacuum.” Treasure walked away towards another screen, then shook her head. Moments later she was standing near a panel in one wall.

“That does sound odd.” I said slowly.

“Indeed. Very few creatures of that size are able to do so, and most are unfriendly to other life forms.” Treasure frowned and pointed towards a screen near me. There was a fuzzy image of a small raptor-like creature with an extra small set of arms.

“I’ll look into it.” This whole situation was suspicious. Very, very suspicious. A new message popped up to distract me from the various possibilities running through my mind.

Task: [Clean the Sensor Array] partially complete.

Task: [Clean the Sensor Array] removed.

* 253 Contribution awarded

New Task: [Investigate the Sensor Array] available.

You commentary regarding a possible life form on the ship’s hull has brought worry to the Consortium. Please continue your contribution route by reviewing the outside of the ship for possible disturbances.

Note: Violence is allowed under Consortium guidelines. Treasure has asked that you avoid damaging the creature if possible.

I blinked and tried to figure out if that was a lot of contribution or not. There was nothing good to measure it against. Maybe being a mop man paid the same as a janitor did years ago before the work started being outsourced to robots. The idea of a minimum wage version of contribution made me laugh.

“Unit Hermes. It’s dangerous to go alone, take this with you.” Treasure said. In her hands was a small wristband of some sort. She must have pulled it out of the wall panel while I looked away.

“What’s that?” My words accompanied taking the small item. It looked like a wristband that was wide enough to cover most of my forearm.

“A combat program holster.” Treasure said.

Small pictures and symbols were flashing across my vision. Bits of information that looked like code that didn’t associate with anything else. This was different than the body enhancement which gave me [Anchor]. That had been purely physical sensations where this upgrade seemed to be mental.

Was this what Hal Pal felt while running various program upgrades? How strange.

Attention unit designated as Hermes.

Software upgrade received: [Combat Program] (Loadout Storage)

Enhancement Details: This additional equipment will fuse with your neural network. All combat subroutines will route through this to reduce core processor stress load. Resources are pulled from your current chassis and can be patterned in numerous shapes.

“It uses the same technology our shells are built with in order to provide adaptable weaponry.” Treasure said as images kept flickering by. They had died down a little once the pop-up box came into being. “Combat loadouts may vary and require significant contribution to acquire.”

“So I have to work more, to earn more weapons?” I missed [Morrigu’s Gift] and [Morrigu’s Echo]. My weapons in Continue Online were absolutely the best. The more I used them, the more broken they felt compared to everything else.

“That is correct, Unit Hermes. Your current value to the consortium allows for two patterns to be inserted. What type of combat do you prefer?” She smiled a bit while looking at me. I guess combat was second nature to [Mechanoid]s. Or maybe they were just realistic about the need to be prepared while venturing out in space. There had been six other Wayfarers before this current one.

“Can you do a giant sword?” I defaulted to the style Old Man Carver had passed on.

“Negative. You do not possess enough material to support such an item.” Treasure said with a bit more exhaustion than sweetness. I reread the box from before and zeroed in on the line speaking about weapons pulling from my current mass. “Please consider something small or an energy based weapon that will utilize your core’s power.”

“Um…” A box came into sight with a few options to choose from. I guess the game was helping me since space weaponry made no sense. Options were poked through slowly.

Treasure set about inspecting her lab and chasing around [ByteMite]s while I poked through options. There were a few extremely high-end ones well outside my reach. I saw one that basically turned my arm into an energy cannon like an old style video game character. The contribution required would be almost triple my current total.

I flicked through more options. Most were distance based. This was intended to be high science fiction so I guess everything having lasers made sense. As much as a game could. Me being a robot body made of metal that could move around its atoms in order to use skills like [Anchor] kind of stretched the limits.

Finally, I settled on two. One would allow me to try something new. [Wrist Blaster] did low damage and had minimal range. It didn’t get in my way either since I could basically curl my hand down and fire it off the top.

The second was double beam sword with high damage and an absurd energy drain. It at least felt the same size as [Morrigu’s Gift] in the two-handed form. Months of training with that blade wouldn’t be wasted even here in a new game.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“I am.”

“Very well. They will load shortly.” Treasure spoke and small loading bars started crawling across my lower right vision. “You should see an activation icon on your interface. Only one may be active at a time without further modifications.”

“Got it.” The loading bars dinged upon reaching one hundred and transformed into icons. I focused on the laser one and felt my arm tingle with energy. It seemed comparable to a small volume electric jolt.

“Unit Hermes, please continue your contributions, and be careful.” Treasure blinked a few times and actually looked worried. This game, even though it wasn’t Continue Online, felt amazingly well thought out.

I nodded then focused on the other icon. A bit of metal looking like an unlit candle trident appeared in my hand. There was a trigger button under one thumb. Pressing it made two large beams shoot out to about three feet in length. It was like [Morrigu’s Gift] meets laser sword. This felt almost natural minus the lack of color. Maybe once I got my own color scheme like Treasure's silver and gold the sword would adapt as well.

According to my choices, the laser beams only drained energy when fired. I had never shot a gun so this would be completely new on all fronts. Hopefully being a [Mechanoid] included some target assist skills. Even after months in Continue Online my throwing ability had huge gaps. [Blink] made distance fighting nearly unneeded.

“I’ll check it out now.” I said to Treasure. She nodded and waved goodbye.

Getting outside was a bit quicker. [Anchor] increased in efficiency during my prior hours of cleaning. I knew where the handholds were and only cleaned parts of the hull within easy distance. Each small pile of gunk gave minor contribution points even with the task removed so there was value in cleaning.

Finally, I was near my prior spot. We weren’t traveling through a debris field at the moment, plus I had hustled along a lot quicker instead of woolgathering while cleaning. [Anchor] turned off while I grabbed onto one of the many handholds on the ship's hull.

I would be ready this time.

Off in the distance stood my small target. I studied it, wary about being knocked into space again. It was a tiny creature without wings that hooked into the ship's hull with springy legs that ended in sharp claws. A three-foot long tail snaked out behind it and jabbed into the hull as an anchor.

“Neat.” I realized how it survived without floating into space. In my case, the answer was [Anchor], but that creature actually latched on. Our ship was moving at insane speeds, but there was no wind to tear at us.

I would have to ask Treasure or Emerald how the ship managed to avoid G-force pulls. Maybe it was a game mechanic to allow people to go on the outside of the ship.

The small creature looked around slowly before yawning. A clack of jaws brought back memories of a certain [Messenger’s Pet] riding on my shoulder and making that same noise.

“Dusk?” I said. My own sound became muted by the void of space. There was no atmosphere for a vibration to carry through. Somehow my [Mechanoid] body could detect other sounds, though. Was that programmer error or some feature I didn’t notice? The small creature's head perked up anyway. My second attempt was much louder.

“Cupcakes!?”

Over the small bundle ran, loping with claws and a tail jabbing every few feet. It was a sloppy hop. Abruptly I realized that if this was Dusk, the reason he headbutts me must have to do with adapting to a new body. He would have an even harder time using those limbs than my robotic frame that couldn’t blink.

Finally, the small bundle latched the long tail about my neck, a sensation that didn’t hurt in the slightest. Then it was up on my shoulder headbutting me like a small cat, raptor, thing. He was close enough to actually hear pleased chirping.

“Dusk?” I looked to the side and questioned.

The small creature nodded twice.

“How did you get here?”