IN SILENCE AND total darkness, Joel’s sense of balance drifted and began to slip away. He put out an arm to steady himself. That made it worse. Sensations and sounds inside his body seemed to be amplified.

The complete lack of sound disturbed him. Shuffling and tapping his foot on the polished floor, he didn’t catch the slightest sound.

He couldn’t catch any of the tight metallic, jagged zing that he associated with even the best phase-shifting audio inversions. Not even the faint liquidity of sound that hot predictive AI noise maskers made. As he lifted his hand to one ear to move the earpiece away, his balance was unsteady.

He scraped the floor with his foot softly as he pulled the earphone a half-inch away. “Ah, ah,” The grinning voice made him jump and he let go the headphone. He recognized the voice. It seemed to come from inside his head.

Shaken, he caught a faint whiff of the polished floor in the gaming room. He focused a moment on his sense of smell. That brought him a sense of reality. It helped him to relax. His balance was better but he still felt unsafe.

He concentrated on the weight of the headset and visor. The sim suit, exo frame and gloves. The resistance that the fabrics made to his movement.

He wanted to take off the headset completely. Before he lifted the visor, out of the darkness, Molson approached him.

Joel physically reeled. Trying to steady himself, he lurched forward. his hand was out. When it reached Molson, it went straight through. Still unsteady and confused, Joel said, “You‘re not here.”

“I’m here in virtu.”

“Not physically?”

“Physically, no.”

“Where are you? Physically.”

“Let’s not do that now.” Molson told him, “The Gabriel said to me that for anyone else to win, there was only one way. That was to kill you.” Molson’s face darkened. “I was pretty sure that he was lying.” He shook his head. “I don’t think there was ever any way. Not really.”

“So, why do you think he told you that?”

“I think he told me because I was the only one who would stand a chance of bringing it off. I could have made it happen. I had the training. But still you beat me.”

“I guess he knows what he’s doing.”

“He wanted you to be fully prepared.”

Joel nodded. “Do you know what it is that he wants me prepared for?”

Molson looked sad. “I have an idea. Actually, I think I know.”

Joel waited.

Molson’s head shook. “No. I can’t tell you.” He blinked. If I did, he’d wipe me anyway.”

Joel said, “Wait…” but Molson faded away. Was that really Molson or was it some AI construct? It seemed like Molson. it reacted like him. And it was evasive like Molson. If it was faked up, it was way better than any AI synth Joel had seen.

If it wasn’t faked, then that meant Molson was still alive, at least in some sense. Maybe that meant that the others were, too. But how? Joel shivered.

From the dark, he heard a voice behind him. “I thought it was you from the start, if I’m honest.” Angelo!

Joel was happy to see him his smiling face. Then he started to wonder what it really meant.

Angelo told him, “You do deserve to win it.”

Joel said, “I’m not so sure that’s even a good thing.”

“No.” Angelo’s smile glinted. “Neither am I. Good luck to you, though.”

Joel started to ask him, “What happened…” but he was gone.

Hacker’s voice approached. “You were good. No taking it away from you. You earned it.” He stepped up and shook Joel’s hand but the grip was virtual. Then Hacker too faded away into the darkness.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Joel turned to see Ben standing beside him. “You were the one I thought was going to win.” Ben’s smile looked genuine. “That’s why I tried to team up with you.”

“Ben.” Joel laughed. “You tried to team up with everybody.”

“Okay, it’s true. But I did call you first.” then Ben said, “If you’d gone for it, if you took the pitch, I don’t think I would have called any of the others.”

“I do, Ben. I’m sure you would have. And I think you know it, too. You’re a schmoozer.” he laughed. They both did. Joel’s head shook, “You’re still schmoozing me. Even now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ben’s chuckle sounded completely real. But his handshake was simulated in the glove. Joel knew that from the touch. But Ben’s voice was still real, “Maybe you’re right.”

“How is it there? How are you, Ben? Where are you?” but he was gone, too.

Joel felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. From behind him, a loud voice he knew well enough. “You fucker.”

Joel turned, “Carter!”

“I should have won, you fuck. In any sane and real universe, I should have been the winner, easy. There’s no fucking way you should have beat me. You didn’t beat me, in fact.”

“No. No, Carter. Molson did.”

“Right. Fucker. And there’s no way I could have seen that coming.”

“I would bro hug you, Carter.”

“Could be tricky.” And then Carter grinned as he started to fade.

Joel called after him, “I want to talk to you some more.” With Carter’s fading smile, Joel saw the nod. “What if I need to get in touch?” but by then he was talking to himself.

Alone in the dark silence, his balance was unsteady again. Like he could only keep equilibrium with a point of reference. Something external to relate himself to.

~~

The scene of the high chamber began to resolve in front of him.

The same arched space was bathed in warm daylight. The old man stood taller, more straight. His alert posture made him look younger, more vigorous. As though all the time he had been playing the part of an old man. The shadow of the hat still covered his face, but the gleam of his eyes shone straight out at Joel.

Behind him, the goddess statue of Honey was formed of luminous green smoke, billowing in clouds and whirls. The statue’s form was static. The face, Honey’s face, was at rest.

The old man’s finger crooked and beckoned him near.

He had no intention of moving but Joel’s feet began to drag him to the platform as the old man started to nod. A hollow grin stretched across the old man’s face.

Joel felt like a puppet. It was like he was being operated, but from the inside. He had a sensation of falling as the scene dissolved again. As the green smoke statue of Honey faded to a wisp and vanished, it left him hollow and empty inside.

His arms were dragged out in front of him. His body and neck jerked and felt like they would snap as he was hauled forward. His hands gripped on a bar that yanked him. The bar was pulled on a long, taut cable, harnessed to a team of six huge, ghostly, howling arctic dogs.

He rode on a pair of skis. They hovered like his airboard. Obscured in freezing mist, the landscape was cracked and collapsing ice, punctuated with thick, bare, black trees like dead hands, and tall, white rocks. His skis bounced a foot above the jagged, icy wasteland. The cold cut him like thin knives.

Joel found control of the dog team through the bar. He twisted on one side and the dogs sped up. Tilting the bar, the team of dogs turned. But they steered slowly. There was a lag.

As the dogs rushed at a rock on the right, Joel left it late to tilt the bar. When his signal told the dogs to turn, they were already at the rock. They leaned and took it sideways. Like ninja dogs they ran horizontally. But he couldn’t tilt. He almost smacked into the rock head on.

All he could do was to swing the skis out in front of him. The hover force was only just enough to stop him splattering against the hard stone. Not enough to stop his ankles and knees from taking a heavy hit.

All the joints of his legs hurt enough that he wanted to stop. The dogs weren’t going to allow that. Deep inside his mind he heard a chuckle. That dripped through him, colder than the ice.

The dog team rushed right at a distant glacier. Vast chunks of the ice creaked and moaned on the glacier face. Parts of it split off, collapsing in a slo-mo tumble. Massive shards splashed into pale blue water.

An albatross wheeled and dived over the dogs. its beak spread wide as he rushed toward it. He ducked but he couldn’t get far enough out of the way. His hunched shoulder collided with the beak.

The bird squealed and squawked as it spun away. Joel’s shoulder hurt like it had cracked. The dogs tore on across the tundra. As he stretched and wriggled to get his balance and poise back, Joel realized that the sensations of impact and the pain, the jars and tears and lingering soreness and aches were all synthesized.

His concentration drifted as he marveled. The experience was so incredibly convincing and persuasive. A low tree branch whacked his head as he passed. The burst of white stars and the red in his eyes reminded him just how persuasive.

More low tree boughs were ahead. And more rocks. Joel crouched and he concentrated on steering early. He wanted to take a hand off the bar. To try and find some weapons or defenses.

He could free one hand if he could just move the other to grip the bar at the center. As soon as he slackened his grip a fraction, he felt the bar ready to tug away from him. He knew that he couldn’t chance it. All that he could do was to hang on to the bar as he hurtled behind the dog team. He ducked and body-swerved to dodge the tree stumps and branches trees and birds and debris.

The dogs snarled and leaned forward. They pulled him faster over the ice and snow. They were headed for the cliff face of the collapsing glacier. A choppy, roiling stretch of green and blue water was between them and the ice cliff.

When the dogs turned again, Joel saw they were aimed at a dark crack in the cliff. It was across about a hundred feet of water. Ready for a softer thrill ride on the skis as they flew over the surface of the water, Joel tightened his grip on the bar.

The dogs leaped off the ice-shelf and plunged straight into the water. Joel was pulled behind them until the cable slackened. He and his skis dropped into the water.