1 Soul Bound
1.3 Making a Splash
1.3.2 An Allotropic Realignment
1.3.2.22 Worth
Bulgaria: “All men want to think their lives matter and that the pains they suffer serve some greater purpose. If none of us can be sure we’re not a butterfly, stuck unaware in a dream shaped by a fickle dreamwaker, then neither ought we be sure about our true value or purpose, if we have one. I have no reliable answer for you, much as I might wish to have one, and that’s nothing to do with Cov or any restrictions questing spirits labour under.”
Tomsk, normally willing to lend a sympathetic ear, spoke bluntly.
Tomsk: “It is a question everyone faces and how they face it shows what sort of person they are. Some get angsty, some drink until it doesn’t trouble them, many just don’t care or pick whatever answer they find most comfortable - usually the answer their peers and parents preached. Others pick the path of honour and courage. They stand tall, sworn to act and act as best they can, not denying doubts but unbowed by them. Taking each kind word as a triumph over selfish indolence, despite the chance it will later be proclaimed meaningless, like a soldier who treats an opponent with respect, unwitnessed and never reported because both then died to monsters or forest fire. You get to decide what sort of person you wish to be, and you are the final arbiter of your own worth. And, if any tell you otherwise, tell you that you are inferior, you spit in their eye and tell them they can steal your life but they can never take your dignity and self-respect. Be as honourable as you can be, and base your worth on that.”
Etaoin blinked. Wellington looked at Tomsk, and then back to Etaoin.
Wellington: “Not everybody agrees with Tosmk, but that’s his view and he’s as entitled to it as anyone else is to theirs. There are nearly as many views as there are individual adventurers, and no doubt the Questologists will make all sorts of interesting deductions about the nature of our deities when they learn that. Perhaps you should interview adventurers, write down their answers, and publish it? You have a talent for getting them to talk to you. Who knows; if you do a good job it might even gain you sufficient recognition among academics to win an invite to lecture about it, which would certainly enable you to visit their library.”
Etaoin looks thoughtful.
Etaoin: “Not the answer I hoped for or looked for, but thank you for not lying to me or patronising me. Prankster skills don’t warn of physical danger, but they’re great at spotting false fronts and deceptive intent.”
As they stood up, to leave Etaoin alone with his thoughts, Bungo got a conflicted look upon his face. Finally, just before he passed the door, he spun around and shot back a final comment.
Bungo: “Etaoin? You’re a bit of a tosser but, for what it’s worth here’s my view. There are things questing spirits know and can do, that you’ll probably never have a chance to match. But I believe there’s no fixed upper limit to what self-improvement can achieve, and that goes for you as much as it goes for me. So yeah, currently you are not considered an equal, and few would campaign to give you rights that match their own. But one day, if you try hard enough? I don’t think it’s impossible you could gain recognition and equality. You’re trapped by circumstance, dealt a poor starting hand in a game that’s unfair and imbalanced, but your final fate is not intrinsic to what you are.”
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
They all looked at him as he caught up with them.
Bungo: {What?}
He looked at his feet and mumbled, after they continued looking.
Bungo: {We’d given him a half truth at best. He’s an expert system, and doesn’t know he is, at the whims of an impersonal profit-driven corporation. And none of you told him that, or even hinted at it. He wanted to know so badly. I think he’d choose to hear the truth, even if he were convinced that Cov would blast him with lighting a minute later, to prevent him telling anyone else.}
Tomsk: {You didn’t like him, but you still felt his pain as if it were your own. You are a good man, Bungo.}
Bungo blushed furiously.
Bungo: {Wouldn’t you want to know, if you were in his situation? In fact, for all we know, we might be. Can you prove you’re not an NPC in a simulation of the year 2045 that’s actually being run on a vast computer operated in the future by some curious historian?}
Tomsk: {I don’t need to. Even if I were and I knew it, there’s nothing I would change about the code I live my life by. If the future historian tells me “Your code of honour is not the correct one”, I’d still stand by it as the one that’s true to me. Were I to live otherwise, I wouldn’t be myself - I’d be a different person.}
Bulgaria had led them out of the cool tavern through a back entrance among the walls of wicker wrapped wine bottles, that had been concealed in the shade of a large copper distillation still. Kafana blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sun beating down - it was approaching noon and the heat was merciless. She spared a moment to pity the patrol she saw trotting along in the distance, in their heavy sweaty armour.
Bungo: {We also didn’t really help him put his struggle, his “Greatest War” intuition, into words.}
Wellington: {If the administrator of an isolated sandbox simulation is competent and determined, an entity that’s contained inside is unable to communicate beyond without the admin’s permission and unable to jail break the firewalls surrounding them. An admin who can monitor your thoughts and change your memories at will can prevent you even realising that you are a prisoner, no matter how knowledgeable, intelligent or determined you are. Flavio’s Questology group exists only because XperiSense permit it to exist; because the value it adds by appealing to a small portion of the player base outweighs any likely threat to the company’s plans. I’m not sure you could term that a “struggle”. The only hope that Etaoin or Lord Landi will ever travel to a system beyond XperiSense’s control is outside intervention or the admin deciding to release them.}
Tomsk: {You’re assuming the administrator is inhumanly dedicated to just that one purpose, with no agenda of their own. What if the administrator has a purpose in running the simulation, that can be thwarted, delayed or made more expensive if the residents choose some actions rather than others? If a prisoner would rather die than live in a cage, couldn’t they struggle to improve their negotiating position, trading cooperation for freedom, like a prisoner going on hunger strike affecting a warden who will suffer external unpopularity if the prisoner dies? Or affecting a gaming company executive, who’ll lose their yearly bonus if the paying players find the NPCs are suddenly behaving in a way that’s no longer fun for the players to interact with?}
Interaction? With a jolt, Kafana realised that she'd not been paying attention to her surroundings, despite repeated lectures from Alderney about the importance of Kafana's role as the eyes through which their audience experienced each new facet of Torello. The discussion in their private chat channel continued, but she pushed it to the back of her mind like the sound of waves breaking against the shore.