Mark found himself emerging from his Diver’s Bell more and more irritable as the days went by. Time spent in the real world was time wasted, while things got nearer to their breaking point in the simulation.
He went through his routine. Down a pre-workout, head to the gym for an hour, go back to his condo to make dinner, then sit down with all the maps he had drawn of his camp and try his best to war-game them by himself, even though he had no experience doing that. What he wouldn’t give to enlist the help of CSIS with this.
As he sat there, poring over his documents and data, ripping his hair out trying to decide the ‘right’ way forward, there came a knock at his door. His eyes darted to look at it, suspicious. No one ever visited him in downtime. He wasn’t even sure that was allowed.
He went to his door and unlatched the lock. He opened it slightly and peeked out. Doctor Fourier and Analise Narvaez stood in the hallway.
“Good eve- Jesus, Mark, are you alright? You don’t look so good.”
“Fine,” Mark groaned in answer. “I’d ask if I’m even allowed to meet with her outside of the simulation, but since you’re here there can only be one answer to that question. Come in.”
Where probably the two women would have expected an orderly, clean living space from someone as high-functioning and fastidious as Mark, they were only partially correct. The kitchen and foyer were tidy, but the entire living room looked as if a cartographer’s shop had teleported into a warehouse filled with wikipedia printouts, and both had violently exploded.
“Mark…” Analise said sadly as she watched him trudge back behind his kitchen counter.
“Can I get you both anything to drink? I’m having wine, myself.”
“Mark, you don’t seem well,” Doctor Fourier said.
“Oh, I don’t? Thank you for your professional insight. I’ve been at this for most of two months now, spending close to thirty two hours a day—which sounds as insane as it is—trying to figure out how to min-max the balancing act of portraying the NPCs favorably to a global human audience, and also trying to stop them from killing each other, and also trying to rise through the ranks to a spot where I can have more impact. It’s draining. Why did you bring her here?” Mark asked, gesturing to Analise but looking at Laura.
“She had her moment of enlightenment about the Vallonar. I debriefed her, and she wants to help. I’m allowing you to coordinate in secret to make your jobs easier.”
“Oh. Well, good,” Mark said, downing his glass of wine in one go. He gestured to the living room. “Well, go and sit down, Analise, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
Analise looked nervously at the mountain of work, and Prospero’s half-dead looking face. She looked at Doctor Fourier. “On second thought, Doc, I think maybe I better do this my own way.”
“I strongly advise you two to cooperate. You’re going to need it. Some of your competitors have gotten into highly advantageous positions.”
Doctor Fourier broke another rule. She set down her tablet on the kitchen counter between Analise and Mark. It was on The Unity Project’s web page, which Mark presumed to be the platform where they were running this show. A glance down the “Top Clips” section of the page read as follows: “Ame & Titania team up to take Rholben”, “Lu Ma plots against General Yarik”, “Prospero and The People of Canthari break Alaric’s first assault”, and “Asrael rides to assume command of Alaric’s Vanguard”.
“Shit, Zach’s with the Usurper?” Mark said, running a hand back through his hair. Zach Umber was the experimental cohort’s resident aggro gamer. To him, having fun was having a big sword and doing big damage. If he was already in a position of power in Alaric’s org chart, that was bad news for Mark and the Coalition.
“Whoa, look at the view counts,” Analise said, pointing one out, then another, then another.
Seven hundred million. One point four billion. Five hundred fifty million. The viewership of the experiment was ludicrous, especially since they were hosting the videos on their own platform.
“Mhm. Corporate is thrilled. They’re reeling in ad revenue hand over fist, and merchandising has been great too,” Fourier said with a flat, disgusted tone. “No doubt when our historic discovery gets released to the public as humanity’s private murder playground, it will be the best selling anything in the history of everything. But UGL will be the richest media company well before that even happens.”
“Have you been monitoring news outlets for anyone picking up the story that the AI are sapient?” Mark asked.
“Mainstream media corporations are actively doing their best to squash that story. They see the money and they want their piece of the pie. That means getting into bed with UGL and making sure this type of abuse never gets legally categorized as an abuse,” Laura explained.
“Great. So it’s radio silent?” Mark pressed.
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“Only social media, smalltime podcasters, and other grassroots sources have started to champion the cause. The good news is, both of you are fan favorites. It seems like the message of being nice to the AI at least subconsciously resonates with the viewership. When it started, Chen, Umber, and Yamada were pulling the best numbers. But their behavior since then has caused a large proportion of viewer’s to switch to your camps and Miller’s. Plus, the negative comments we’re seeing on Chen and Umber’s streams are heartening. Except for their pre-existing fanbases, you two have quickly set yourselves apart as the internet’s favorite. And our showrunners have deliberately been showing your most glowing moments in contrast to the others’ most atrocious.”
“I guess manipulative media practices are the name of the game now, as much as anything,” Mark said sullenly.
Analise looked back and forth between the pessimistic Fourier and the deeply depressed Mark. She sighed and opened her hands. “Okay, things are bad. I want to help the Vallonar as much as you two do. So what can I do?”
“How are you positioned in the simulation?” Mark asked.
Analise shrugged. “I found a very pretty river-side city called Northbend, made friends with the people in power there. I’m playing a fighter, so it wasn’t hard. Just had to take out a few bandits and everyone started singing my praises.”
“Northbend is ruled by the aging Duke Roark,” Laura explained. “Which, if you recall…”
“Right, Izra’s ‘old friend’. So we’ve got a connection through those two. How is it working with Duke Roark? Doesn’t he control the largest fief outside the crownlands?”
“Sounds right to me,” Analise said with a shrug. “I haven’t really paid much attention to the politics, I’ve just been having fun. But yeah, Roark’s really nice. Very polite. Stiff, stuffy, formal, but nice.”
“I think just about every NPC involved in politics is that same brand of stiff, stuffy, and formal. It’s just how the culture is here. Reminiscent of Ancient China,” Mark said with a smirk. “I’ve been having a great time interacting with them outside of the battlefield. This whole war thing is a real drag.”
“Yeah, I heard about the Coalition thing and the Usurper. I was really relieved when Roark said he wanted to sit this one out,” Analise said. “Lots of the people I’ve made friends with are young adults. They definitely would have been drafted to go fight.”
“Sounds like a decent ruler you found, good work, Analise.” Mark said. He smiled, some of his natural good-naturedness coming back to the surface through the thick mire of his depression and anxieties. Analise smiled in kind.
“Thanks,” she said. “I like to think I know how to pick ‘em.”
“Well, good. Izra and I have been experiencing some tension with Count Gaynes. Maybe I can convince him to leave his post behind, and we can take our people with us to Roark’s territory and set up shop there with you guys.”
The conspiracy continued until late in the evening, when finally Mark and Analise threw in the towel and decided to get at least a little sleep before going back into the simulation for another twenty four hours.
----------------------------------------
When Prospero woke the next day, he felt uplifted somewhat. Things weren’t perfect, but there were people on the outside trying to help him, and that made a difference. It also helped to know that huge numbers of people were witnessing their actions. He made a mental note to break the fourth wall more often.
Izra poked his head into the flap of his tent. “Forgive me, Prospero, but you must wake and dress as quickly as you can. Count Gaynes has arrived in our camp and wishes to see us both.”
Prospero sighed and put on his mage outfit, then used his petty magic to clean his face and style his hair, before stepping out of the tent. Izra led Prospero to the command tent, which had been appropriated by Gaynes. He sat behind Izra’s desk, and looked up at Prospero with an irritated glare.
“Congratulations on your victory yesterday, Mage,” Gaynes said, his tone neutral.
“Thank you, my Lord. I hope this meritorious deed has served you well in your negotiations with the other lords on the Council. I heard you were granted the role of Quartermaster? My congratulations as well.”
“Word travels fast. Yes indeed, the Southaster contingent has been made responsible for the provisioning of the Coalition. As a token of my esteem for your exceptional skills, I have seen fit to grant you the office of Supply Escort Commander. You will ride with each supply train to ensure they reach their destinations, and deal with any enemies that dare to come after them.”
“Thank you, my Lord. I shall attend these duties with my utmost effort,” Prospero said.
“Good. You will find the supply depot on the far side of camp. Go and report to General Hagyn, who will be your commanding officer from now as such time as our forces disband.”
Izra gave Prospero a wistful look as Prospero left the tent. He rode to the Supply Depot, where he found a disorganized mess waiting for him. The General named Hagyn was a surly man, who wore a full suit of lamellar armor and wielded a large mace. He sat beneath the canopy in front of his command tent, drinking and feasting, while the troops operating the supply depot ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, doing their best to field the provision requests of three hundred thousand troops.
Prospero felt a migraine coming on. “I have the worst fucking luck,” he groaned, staring into space as if looking directly at the camera. Then he trudged into the camp.
He hadn’t yet made it up to the Command platform before he heard raised voices and shouts near one of the gates, where a fight was breaking out. It was Tekesh and a few others dressed in Bryson’s silver livery.
Prospero rushed over. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please! What’s going on?”
“Prospero!” Tekesh roared. He smiled and bowed, a gesture that Prospero hurried to return, but the smile was quick to fade. The large man pointed at a willowy supply officer. “This bookish bastard refuses to send provisions to my camp! Ours were burned in the attack, and now my men are having to beg the neighboring camps to spare what they can.”
Prospero waved the supply officer over. “My name is Prospero, I’ve been assigned to this depot as the Supply Escort Commander by Count Gaynes. Why are we holding back supplies?”
Even as he asked, Prospero knew the real answer. Gaynes wanted to starve the Vanguard so that they could be defeated, knocking Bryson and his army out of the running for the merit of victory when all was said and done.
“Only General Hagyn has the authority to release extra provisions to any one force. Otherwise, we can only send the rationed amount,” the panicky officer explained, for both men to hear. “P-please, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Tekesh fumed upon hearing this explanation. “I wish to speak with this Hagyn,” he growled.
“I think you’d better leave this to me,” Prospero said. He cast a wary gaze up at the platform, where his burly new boss sat merrily eating, half-drunk.