CHAPTER 2
“Contact left!” Cold blue tracers ripped through the zone. “They’re coming bridge!”
The team shifted fire, filling the space under the bridge with explosive orbs, crackling disks, and showers of golden sparks. A light flashed there, and a broad, shimmering field of many colors burst into being and began to advance, held forth by a lumbering, ogrish figure who with his other hand continued to pump out fist-sized rounds from his gun. Behind him came several more, spanning the range of dreams: a slender, robed figure with a head-dress of branching sculpture standing nearly three feet high; a waifish girl in a short, bright miniskirt, plodding under the weight of a spinning, howling six-barreled Gatling gun. A man in form-fitting, futuristic armor literally bouncing off walls and other structures while firing machine pistols in both hands.
“Necro bridge!”
The shield of many colors did not last long under the defenders’ withering fire, but it allowed the attacking unit to advance far enough to reach hard cover and begin to spread laterally. The ogre dashed toward the defenders’ right flank with surprising agility, continuing to lob explosive projectiles into the defended zone, while the Necromancer followed him, one hand raised toward the ogre, the other raised toward the beleaguered defenders, and great sizzling purple-black bolts of something not quite like electricity issuing from both. Several arcs of his fell lightning reached individual defenders and affixed to them, sucking the very life from them, which vital energy he channeled through the other crackling beam into his hulking companion. His sorcery earned him the attention of the defenders, and one brave soul dashed in close, trying to disrupt his concentration with a concerted onslaught of sword strikes. The intrepid swordsman failed to heed the deceptive speed of the ogre, though, who dealt him such a blow that his body ricocheted off a pillar and skittered across the cobbled square. The Necromancer, rescued in the nick of time by his hulking companion, repaid that debt by focusing all of his wicked will upon the stunned swordsman, and in moments the latter was reduced to a desiccated husk.
“Kwix is down.”
“Frickin’ randos.”
All of the swordsman’s vital energy, of course, came pouring into the ogre, swelling him with supernatural vigor. He charged into the square, into the defended zone, and the defenders were forced to scatter as he bounded first one way and then the other, lest he club them to death with his enormous gun. Scatter they did, breaking out toward the perimeter, using colonnaded verandas and windowed storefronts—all the plate glass was long gone—as shelter from the ogre’s grenades and bull-rushing charges as they continued to spray fire toward the cloaked wizard, and all of this while dodging the attacks of the other invaders.
“Necro’s half!” called the defenders’ fire-team leader as he personally pressed the attack.
Another burst from his rifle found its mark inside those black robes. “He’s one! He’s one!—“ And then a bullet traversed his skull and he fell. In the air hung a long, thin, perfectly straight wisp of condensation, left behind by the projectile that killed him, and one could even make out the gap in that trail where his head had been.
“SHIT! I’m down!” the fire-team leader transmitted from beyond the grave. “Mistra high right.”
“Necro’s down,” called one of his men, as a final spray of bullets brought the Necromancer’s dark work to an end.
“My ult’s up,” called another.
“Mistra’s moving roof. Mistra’s roof.”
“Face my judgement and repent!” declared a booming female voice, a titanic alto echoing across the town square. A radiant, angelic figure had appeared suddenly, towering no less than three stories high. She raised a phantasmagorical sword and then brought it down in a blow of tremendous force, and ripples of white light blasted outward, leveling several nearby walls. The ogre dove and rolled, and he was powerfully scorched by that light but managed to avoid the brunt of it.
“Damn it! Grum’s still up. He’s low—and I’m down.”
(Their comm channel dinged, the tone of a new user connecting.)
“I’m down too. God.”
“I’m coming back in,” announced the fire-team lead. “Where’s our Bones?”
“Trying to shoot that Mistra.”
“Frickin’ randos!”
“Wait for me.”
“Holding at gate.”
Several of the resurrected defenders gathered at the gate, where their leader was busy harrying the enemy with his rifle. “Anyone got an ult?”
“I’m 75%.”
“Let’s go. To the right.”
They rushed. They cut right. They made a good show of it. “Grum’s down.”
“Mistra’s down.” “Satori left.” “On ‘im.” “95%.”
And then a clock struck zero.
“TIME’S UP! YOU LOSE!” declared a dramatic, god-like voice. Text to the same effect burned itself onto their screens, just in case there was any lingering doubt.
“Aaah!”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah. We got legit owned.”
“Hey guys,” said a new voice, female.
“Mal!”
“Mal!”
“Maaaaaaaallll…”
“’Sup, Mal?”
“What’s up with y’all? I logged in just in time to hear a bunch of people dying and M complaining about randos.”
“Getting pub-stomped, apparently,” said Nailoo, the team leader.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, they were good.”
“League team?”
“Probably.”
“We needed your Raiza, Mal. Where were you?” That was 2n1njas, pronounced “Two-Ninjas,” or, more often, just “Ninjas.”
“I was on a date, if it’s any of your business.”
“What? Noooo!”
“Nooooooo!” echoed M. Technically, his username was MMMMMMM, but everyone called him M for short.
“Who is he?” demanded 2n1njas.
“I’ll kill ‘im!” added Daitetsu249.
“Is he a sports guy?” asked M. “Is he the starting outside… wing… backer… captain—I don’t actually know anything about sports.”
Melody giggled over her keyboard. Her mic was on voice-activation, so her reaction did transmit. “Actually, he is an athlete. Track and field.”
“Oh, God, he’s a track guy? What’s his name?”
“Why on earth would I tell you people his name?” asked Melody, entirely rhetorically. The answer was obvious, and immediately demonstrated:
“So we can fill his hard drive with kiddie porn,” chimed in 2n1njas. B33tle53x thought it was hilarious, judging by the sounds his mic was picking up. (Melody refused to call him anything more than just Beetle.)
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“Yeah, no,” said Nailoo. “Mal, I’m happy that you have an actual life. But we did get stuck with two randos in that match. We probably could have taken them if you’d been there.”
“God, guilt trip, much? I’m on now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, well…”
MATCH FOUND, announced a message on the match-menu screen, and a moment later that screen faded and they were taken to the character selection display.
“So what’s his name?” asked 2n1njas.
“Doran.”
“Doran?!” demanded a chorus, almost in unison.
“So much kiddie porn,” said Ninjas.
“Sounds like he probably already has a pretty good collection,” said M.
“Oh, Dorian…” swooned Beetle.
“You guys want me to play or not?” demanded Melody.
“YESPLEASEPLAY,” M all but shouted across the voice-over-IP connection.
“Then be nice!”
“Yeah, cool it, guys,” added Nailoo, as character-selection faded and the team’s chosen cast spawned into the match lobby. Melody huffed. They didn’t mean anything by it, but they could try her patience. She pulled her chair up, settled her headset, and made herself comfortable on the mouse and keyboard, moving about and taking a few shots at random objects in the lobby to warm up her fingers. 2n1njas was busy shooting M in the face, while Daitetsu attempted to pistol-whip a volleyball in such a way that it would bounce off a wall and strike 2n1njas. The timer to match-start began counting down from thirty. “So does this Doran know you’re a gamer?” Nailoo asked.
“Yeah, he knows.”
“No, but, I mean, like, a serious gamer. Does he know you’re actually good at it?”
“I mean, he knows I play, and that I enjoy it. He seems to respect that.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah, at least one of us is getting some,” said Ninjas. Beetle’s snorting laugh could be heard.
“Sorry, that was rude,” said Ninjas. “I have only rude jokes. Forget I’m here.”
“Yeah…” said Melody. “Anyway, where’s Cookie?” she asked. “He’s usually super reliable.” TheOneTrueCookie was the seventh and final member of their merry band, and one of the originals on the team, notable for his tendency to be almost always online, especially on a Sunday evening.
“Not on,” said Nailoo. “His Y-Chat is on, but it’s been idle since I got on. Guess he’s got a life, too.”
“I guess,” said Melody. She had particularly wanted to talk to him tonight.
The match began, and they did much better, in part because Melody was with them (which meant one fewer randomly-assigned stranger on the team and one more player who knew what she was doing), and partly because they did not get assigned to a match opposite a professional tournament team enjoying a night on the town. With the help of Melody’s Raiza, they dominated the randomly-assembled squad of opponents, handily winning two rounds in a row for the match.
In truth, Melody could play most of the characters well, not just Raiza, because her shooter fundamentals were strong. She was fast and accurate on the mouse. At the end of the match, their team dominated the killboard, with Nailoo, Beetle, and “0x00_Malady” boasting the top three kill-counts, in that order. But Raiza was her specialty, her “main.” Raiza’s special ability was teleportation. With a tap of the appropriate key, she could teleport to a visible location within range. Not only that, but if one held the key down to charge the power, it could effect a group teleport: As the key was held and the power charged, a bubble would expand around Raiza to a limit of three meters, and when the key was released, everyone inside that bubble would travel with Raiza, all appearing at the destination point in the same relative configuration. Melody had developed a particular and satisfying knack with this ability. Of course this made her indispensable for team mobility, as she could move their well-organized and disciplined group of fighters out of a fatal funnel or chokepoint or into a position of advantage, such as high ground, in an instant. But Melody had mastered other uses as well. The teleportation effect was indiscriminate, and Raiza’s base damage output (damage per second, or DpS, in the parlance) made her a dangerous opponent in a stand-up fight. Routinely, Melody would steal troublesome enemy avatars off the field of battle with a well-timed small-radius teleportation, transporting herself and her victim to a remote location where she could engage him or her in single combat. Often as not she won these one-on-one fights, and if they began to go south, she could simply teleport away. Finally, every now and then, she managed to teleport enemies into environmental hazards, or even off cliffs. Taking an enemy with her, she could teleport herself to the edge of a precipice, and if the original geometry and orientation were correct, the enemy would materialize over empty space and fall to his death.
These kills, both her isolation duels and the occasional environmental kill, were extremely satisfying. They helped the team, they attested to her skill as a player, they looked sexy and cinematic, and they made opponents extremely angry. All of this made her Raiza a force to be reckoned with and a celebrated phenomenon on the team, and that, of course, made playing the game with this team one of Melody’s favorite pastimes and certainly her best means of relaxing after a hard day.
“You should totally stream,” observed Daitetsu as they waited for the next match to be made. “Girls who can actually play always have popular channels.”
It was not the first time this subject had come up. The scores were representative: Nailoo and Beetle were her betters in terms of raw skill. However, a female who was serious about the game was a rare thing, an object of fascination to socially challenged male gamers including her own teammates, and they were perennially devoted to her big showbiz break.
“You would get mad subs,” Daitetsu concluded.
“N-n-n-n-n-n-no,” said Melody. “I’ve got enough to do as it is, with school and everything.”
“And Dorian, you mean. Unh! Unh!” This was Beetle’s best approximation of what he was sure sex sounded like. Beetle was fourteen or fifteen years old at best, the youngest of their cadre, and Melody was fairly certain he would not have been able to locate the relevant parts of a female body with the help of a map and compass, but even so, his antics were offensive. Fortunately, most of the other members were more mature. Relatively more mature. Slightly more mature. Some of the time 2n1njas was more mature.
Okay, Ninjas was not much more mature, but at least he could admit when he was being immature.
“Beetle, shut up, or I will kick you from the channel,” said Nailoo.
“It’s Doran,” corrected Melody, “and no, I mean my school project and the TA work I do to keep my scholarship. Also, ew. Perv.” She regretted saying it as soon as it was out of her mouth, because such reactions only rewarded Beetle’s puerile mind with the attention it craved, but she couldn’t help herself. Sadly, the little twerp was a gifted gamer, often trading places with Nailoo for top kill-count, and for some reason he actually played well as part of the team—followed directions, understood tactics—so it was hard to justify giving him the boot for no other reason than that he was occasionally impolite to the one girl among them. In truth, Melody had been the recipient of far more grotesque rhetoric as a female gamer. Most gamers were boys, and boys were by nature crude. It was just life. This team was a relative haven compared to the open Internet.
“How is the thesis project going?” asked M.
Melody hesitated just the barest moment and then said, “So far so good. The consciousness layer has been collecting data for a week, now. We’re seeing the differentiation we expected in the network, so apparently it’s working.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Heh, the ‘consciousness layer,’” said 2n1njas.
“You can’t make me stop calling it that,” declared Melody in defiance. It was pretentious, but it fit.
“Let us know if it does actually achieve consciousness,” said M. “I’ll be moving to a bunker.”
“It’s not actual consciousness,” said Melody. And he very well knew it wasn’t. “It’s just an observational layer. And a really good name.”
“So, but the underlying neural network is working as expected?” asked Nailoo. “Over a commercial network?”
“A volunteer test domain, but yeah. The neural node bots are running on actual machines communicating through actual Internet routers. It’s a full proof-of-concept.”
“That is really cool,” said Ninjas. “Why are my school projects not that cool?”
“Because you’re not getting a Master’s in neural network AI,” said Daitetsu.
“Fact,” admitted Ninjas.
“So can this thing, like, hack the military, or what?” asked Beetle, finally working up the courage to speak again after his censure by Nailoo.
“No!” said Melody with a laugh. “Nothing like that. This project is really just a different way to implement a software technology that already exists. Our purpose is to prove that you can do it using all the normal computers that already exist on the Internet—including the ‘Internet of Things.’ It’s basically a super-distributed-computing concept for neural networks.”
“It sounds very cool. Are you being scouted by any of the Big Data corps yet?” asked M. “You know what I’m talking about. You could be making big money soon.”
Melody took a long breath. “I’m not, uh, really thinking about that, yet. I still have a couple of semesters to finish, plus this project, and I’m just one member of a team, of course. If anyone’s going to get a big-name job out of it, it’s one of them, I’d say.”
“You’re being modest.”
Melody did not reply. She sat with her hands hovering over her keyboard and mouse, looking down at them as thoughts of her future, and the implications of employment by one of those big, big companies, tumbled through her mind. Not for the first time. Indeed, they were not the first to suggest that avenue to her, nor to imply that it was foredestined. Yet… she knew about those companies. What you had to do once you went there. What you had to believe. How you had to think. The corporate cult. She could not imagine herself as a corporate cultist; the idea struck her as abhorrent. But she dared not say so, lest she close doors on herself. To reject the corporate cult often meant ruin, professional and otherwise.
“Anyway,” she said instead, “it’s a ways off. We’re still working on the data we’ve already collected. We have to analyze that before we can even start the next phase of our test.”
“Well, good luck,” said Nailoo. “And years from now, when you’re coding the benevolent AI overlord that will save us all from ourselves, don’t forget to pop on and play a round or two with us every now and then.”
“Seriously, that’s not how AI works,” said Melody.
The start of a new match saved her from having to try to explain it all over again. By the time that was over, her bedtime was fast approaching, and Melody never gamed past her bedtime if she could help it. Sleep was too precious to her.
“Good night,” said M.
“Night!” said Ninjas. “Say good night to Dorian.”
“Doran,” corrected Melody, yet again.
“You on this week?” asked Daitetsu.
“No, probably not. Or just a little bit, late, if I am. Going to visit fam.”
“Oh, right on. Have fun with that.”
“Have they met Dorian yet?” asked Nailoo.
“Oh my God!” Melody snapped, playing up her exasperation for comic effect. She gave a great sigh. “What if I said I was taking him on this trip?”
“Oh man!” said Ninjas. “Guys, I think it might be serious. I think she might be serious about this guy. We must kill him!—”
“Good night!” She ended the VOIP app before they could get in any more jabs. Then she took another deep breath in the somewhat welcome silence of her bedroom. “It might be a little serious,” she said to her computer monitor.