They opened the other door to a small room with fifteen scribes spread through the chairs. A taller woman stood at the front, her hood thrown back, with intense eyes, speaking loudly. Sithembile, Scribe 5 hung over her head. Alastair was a bit shocked at that. He’d only seen a level 4 in this game, and this scribe was higher than that. Glancing around, he saw another Scribe named Mida, level 3 sitting in the back row.
He whispered to Flor, “Let’s take good advice when offered.” Then he scooted into a seat next to Mida and whispered to her. “Hi, Mida. I’m Alastair. Someone told me that Sithembile might have some ideas and theories about my predicament.”
Mida scowled at him and indicated he should be quiet because Sithembile was lecturing. Sithembile had a presence in the room, seemingly without effort. Her voice reached Alastair easily, and Alastair took a moment to wonder if it was an inherent characteristic of the speaker or if it was excellent acoustics in the hall. Eventually, though, he began to listen to what it was that she was lecturing about.
“…in the machine. The consideration is that this ghost exists in a state, not unimaginably, but extra-temporal and invisible, with the ability to influence source code, similar to how some people consider the Goddess to influence those persons who call on her. However, my colleagues who propose this ‘ghost’ theory offer insubstantial evidence to prove the reality of the situation. Therefore, we demand that they label it strictly as theory until evidence can dictate otherwise. With that, I’ll leave you for the day.” {Alastair wondered at her lecture, wondering if she was referring to the so-called Cartesian dualism of René Descartes.}
Sithembile didn’t bother to glance around the room before she left through the door Alastair had previously peeked through. The scribes began to chatter as they collected their belongings and departed.
Mida looked at Alastair. “So, a predicament, huh? I’ll give you a minute before I need to attend to her.”
Alastair had prepared his spiel after the discussion with Horace, so he jumped right in. “So, she and I are players in a game. We arrived as released prisoners on a boat just this morning. However, we are not provided with an objective. When we die in the game, or if we make it to midnight, our day repeats and we wake up again on a boat in a temporal loop.”
Mida looked skeptical. “You still have like forty-five seconds. Want to say anything else?”
Alastair shrugged. “You’ll believe me or not based on that. We’re happy to answer questions on those or other topics.”
“So, what’s your predicament, then?”
Flor jumped in. “Without an objective, we don’t know how to increase the game day count, hence the repetition. Items, including coins, we obtain aren’t transitory. Therefore we’re unable to get ahead. The only luck we’ve had is through unlocking additional interfaces. Oddly enough, we unlock additional interfaces by petting cats.”
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Mida leaned back, rubbed her ear, and then thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll get you in with Sithembile for five minutes. Repeat what you just told me. But leave out the part about the cats. That’s a bit unbelievable.” She gathered her book and pen and then stood. “Follow me.”
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A few turns and stairs later, Alastair thought, How are there so many turns and stairs in this place? Mida stopped at an inlet and motioned for them to wait there. She knocked at the door and then entered without waiting.
Alastair took the moment to talk with Flor. “There seems strong bias against those not dressed as scribes, here. I’m sorry you’re taking the brunt of it.”
“It’s not your fault that elitists are elitists. Just don’t encourage it.”
A moment later they heard portions of a one-sided conversation through the door. “…finish the Pilirani proposal, and these people think they can just waste my time.” Another moment passed, “Layabouts looking for a handout, likely. You shoo them off. That’s PART of YOUR job!” And then another moment. “Fine. They get a minute. But they are your responsibility after that!”
Mida emerged, looking sheepishly. Alastair said, “You’re really sticking up for us. Thank you.”
“Well, you might have heard, you have a minute. Same pitch, no cats.” She then opened the door and nodded for them to enter, then came in behind and closed the door behind them quietly.
Sithembile had adopted a whole mad scientist look about her. Thick goggles sat atop her head and a few burners looked to have alchemical concoctions bubbling away in flasks and other glassware. A chalkboard with wild annotations covered two walls, and books covered just about every surface. She looked up from her current experiment at the two of them, then glared at Mida. “Well, go on, waste my time.”
Alastair took a step forward. “Flor and I were transported as players of another game into this game. Each morning, a boat drops us off at the pier and we are released to find and solve puzzles and find an objective. If we die in this game, or if we make it to midnight, the day repeats and we wake up again on a boat in a temporal loop. Flor thinks the temporal loop might be caused by a game iteration error as if the developers forgot to point to the plus one when the day finishes. Our items reset, and everything resets except our reputation with certain characters we encounter. Except for our interfaces. Our interfaces with the game persist.” Alastair had watched Sithembile closely and didn’t see any change, so to help Mida he said, “That’s all. We thank you for your time and we’ll leave you with a few seconds back on your minute.”
He turned to walk out. Mida opened the door and whispered, “Don’t leave. I have a few questions that I’d like to ask you.”
Flor and Alastair walked out, expecting to be called back any second. But the door closed behind them and they looked at each other in shock.
Alastair said, “I was sure that was going to be one of those moments that just as we left, she would say ‘show me your interfaces,’ and then stubbornly believe us after we pulled out the daemons. Or something like that.’”
Flor, “Yeah. At least, that’s what happens in the movies.”
Mida walked out, again looking sheepish. She sighed, then said, “She doesn’t believe you, and she’s given me demerits.”
Flor reached out and said, “I hope that demerits aren’t bad here. I have no idea.”
Mida gave a shallow smile. “Well, now you’ve met Sithembile. And you’ve been summarily dismissed. Would you give me the benefit of telling me your questions and stories? If there is something I can track down and prove, it might make a worthwhile thesis to get me to Scribe 4.”