Top Level Player, page 6
An angst-stricken voice in the back of her head suggested maybe lecturing the man with the gun wasn’t the best approach, but she was already losing her patience with this place and standard rhetorical tools didn’t seem like they’d make much of a difference in any case. She may as well vent some frustration before the lunatic did whatever he intended to do.
“Well, well, well. We got a real spunky dame,” he oozed. “Don’t worry. I got somethin’ that knows how to treat spunky dames. Ain’t that right, ol’ eighty-eight.” He clicked the hammer of his chunky revolver. “One more chance before I punch a hole through you and the next couple walls behind you.”
Jazz weighed her options. She’d barely made it halfway through the first potential scenario when the damaged ceiling jutting out over her head crackled and another hunk of it fell away. It narrowly missed her, and didn’t even faze the gangster, but what followed it caught his attention: A flailing woman flopped down and dangled from a bit of rebar extending out over the ten-story drop. The mobster looked her up and down.
“There you are. The boss has been lookin’ for you. Now quit danglin’ and let’s scram. I got places to be and these ninja types ain’t half the goons I’m used to workin’ with.”
The mobster reached out to grab the woman’s arm. Jazz took the moment of distraction to pull the fire extinguisher from its mount and drive the corner of the cylinder into the base of his skull. He grunted, more in annoyance than pain, then turned slowly to her, smirk a little more sinister.
“You shouldn’t hit me in the head with a fire extinguisher. My cousin hit me in the head with a fire extinguisher once.” He raised his finger. “Once.”
“Hey, listen!” Laurel shouted.
The gangster turned to the source of the distraction. Jazz, never one to give up on a good idea after a single try, swung the extinguisher low and slammed the thug between the legs. This time he produced a pathetic whimper, turned unsteadily to Jazz again, and raised his finger. She didn’t wait for a quip. A solid heel to the gut was enough to shove the unstable mobster off the edge. Laurel glanced down, flinching as the baddie struck the pile of rubble below and groaned, his hat floating gracefully down after him.
She looked up and pointed. “This stairwell here is open, Jazz.”
“Thanks, Laurel. You’re a huge help. Now get over here. We’ve got to help this woman. I don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to hold on.”
“Oh,” the woman grunted, kicking once or twice. “You can take your time. I spend a lot of time dangling off things.”
Jazz set down the extinguisher and pulled open the hose cabinet beside it.
“Here,” she said, reeling out a few yards of it. “Hook this over the top of that rebar there.”
Laurel saluted. “Will do!”
She grabbed the end of the hose and buzzed her wings for all they were worth. Slowly, and with Jazz supporting most of the weight of the dangling end, she hauled it up and over. A brief blur of buzzing and motion secured the end. Jazz tied the other end to the extinguisher bracket. The distressed woman, with an unsettling amount of grace for what should have been an absurd maneuver, transferred herself to the hose and slid to safety beside Jazz.
“Phew! Thanks a lot,” she said, extending her hand.
Jazz shook it. “No problem, but can we maybe finish the conversation in the stairwell?”
“Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t want you to get shot by Louse down there.”
She glanced down and saw that the mobster had climbed to his feet and was dusting himself off.
“He survived that?” Jazz said.
“The guy’s a cockroach. He survives pretty much everything…” she said with a telling amount of familiarity.
A mass of players was approaching, presumably the people from all around Tutorial Lobby who had been late to the party combined with the early casualties coming in for a second attempt. Louse cast a glance in Jazz’s direction, then shouted to the remaining goons.
“Let’s go, boys. I’ve had enough of punchin’ holes in chumps for one day. We’ll get another stab at her soon enough.”
Jazz and her new friend stepped into the safety of the stairwell while Louse blasted his way out of the fracas.
Without a crazed gunman or the threat of plummeting to her doom no longer vying for her attention, Jazz had a chance to get a good look at the woman she’d helped rescue. She looked young, perhaps mid-twenties, though that didn’t mean much since everyone even remotely human in this place looked like they were in their mid-twenties. Her outfit was what really stood out about her. She wore something that at one time was probably a pink ball gown. It was now tattered almost beyond recognition but in the strategic sort of way that made it look as much like a fashion choice than wear and tear. The skirt had been shortened to just about knee length, its ragged edge revealing a pair of equally ragged stockings. She wore a chunky pair of combat boots rather than the glass slippers that would have matched the original ensemble, and the assorted rips and tears on the sleeves and bodice revealed hints of neon green or purple accessories, which had matching splashes of color in her wild bob of a haircut. All in all she looked a bit like Princess Peach by way of Cindi Lauper.
“So what do I call you?” Jazz asked.
“Most folks call me Didi. Didi McG, if you’re feeling formal,” she said.
“Jazz. Jasmine Welker, if you’re feeling formal.”
“That your name in real life?”
“Yeah.”
“We don’t use those.”
“So I’ve been told. Why not?”
Didi shrugged. “Just the way things are. You’re a newbie, right? You’ll figure it out. By the time you hit Level 5, you’ll be an old pro.”
“Oh! Right, the HUD,” Laurel said.
She darted over Didi and waved her hands theatrically. A few sparkles popped and fizzled, but no name appeared.
“Your name and level are unavailable,” Laurel said, eyes narrowed. “All of your personal information is unavailable. Are you… perma-banned?”
“So what if I am?” Didi defensively.
“What’s that?”
“It is a punitive status effect levied by the administrators preventing most standard player activities, including leveling up, streaming, and joining guilds.”
“How did that happen?” Jazz asked.
“It’s a long story. Nothing sinister. Just, you know, account shenanigans,” she said.
“Well, of course it was nothing sinister,” Laurel said. “If it was something sinister you’d be in the dungeon dimension with the other nogoodniks.”
“Now, what’s the dungeon dimension?” Jazz asked.
“A splinter server full of the kind of people you really don’t want mixing with the general population,” Didi said.
Outside, the constant rumble of weapon-fire and shouting players receded into the distance. Laurel abandoned her station above Didi’s head and sang another four-note fanfare.
“Objective complete: Participate in a set piece.” She conjured an envelope. “Here’s your reward: 100 PT.”
“Thanks, Laurel,” Jazz said, pocketing the tokens. “Hey, is that perma-banned thing why that Louse guy was after you?”
Didi rolled her eyes. “Nah. People like him are always after someone. That’s how these things go. They fixate and obsess and it was just my turn this time.”
“You seem a little more… I don’t know… even-keeled than most of the people I’ve met here.”
“I’ve been around the block a few times. The novelty wears off and you just try to live your life, you know?”
“Are you doing anything at the moment? Right about now I could seriously use someone who is just trying to live their life. After that whole fiasco, it’s pretty clear my own keel could use some evening.”
“Let me check my schedule,” she said.
She reached into the small clutch dangling from her shoulder and revealed a gadget that looked like it had been assembled from random hunks of transparent acrylic. A few taps produced a strange assortment of cartoon sound effects. Without anything resembling an audio or video response with any real meaning, she looked up.
“Ziggy says I’m free,” Didi said.
“Excellent. Any advice you might be able to give would be great.”
Laurel darted between them. “I’ll remind you that I’m filled with excellent advice.”
“I was looking for something a little more casual and conversational, if you don’t mind.”
“I can do conversational! I excel at conversational!” She cleared her throat and mimicked leaning on a wall while drifting in midair. “So. How’s this weather we’re having? Did you know that The After-Image has realistic weather patterns synchronized with narrative rhythms to enhance and improve dramatic moments?”
Jazz and Didi blinked at the little fairy for a moment, then turned to each other.
“So, have you been to McDarbucks yet?” Didi asked.
“No.”
“Don’t bother. I know a good place. Follow me.”
A waitress on roller skates navigated the cramped dining room of a little hole in the wall restaurant Didi knew about. Didi and Jazz were the only ones there besides the staff and a femme fatale type who was draped across a piano in the back corner crooning though some dismal melody. The piano, notably, had no player, but that didn’t stop it from accompanying her.
“… so, anyway, they said it’s six million Plot Tokens,” Jazz said, finishing up her tale of woe.
Didi released a low whistle.
“You’re not going to make that sort of bank in Tutorial Lobby.” She looked up to the waitress. “I’ll have a coffee, light and sweet.”
The waitress snapped the gum she was chewing and jotted down the order.
“And you?” she said.
“Uh… You don’t happen to have diet raspberry iced tea, do you?”
“Just diet lemon iced tea.”
“That’ll be fine.”
The waitress started to skate away.
“Wait, wait,” Jazz turned to Laurel. “You want anything?”
“For me?” Laurel said, fluttering her eyes. “People don’t usually ask PDAs if they want things, because we have no physical needs.”
“So nothing for you then?”
“Maybe a chocolate cupcake?”
“Got it,” the waitress said.
“With sprinkles?” Laurel added hopefully.
“Yeah, fine. Anything else?”
“That’s it,” Jazz said.
The waitress skated away. Jazz drummed the table with her fingers.
“No place ever seems to have the iced tea I like, but I always ask. Worth a shot, you know? Especially because this place is a simulation and there is no reason why any restaurant would ever not have anything.”
“Oh, come on. Things would be pretty boring if you always got everything you want everywhere you went. It’d take away the fun of looking for places like this. This place is player-created. Somebody said, ‘You know how I want to spend my digital eternity? Running a coffee shop.’ I kind of like that.”
“I guess I like it, too, but I’d like it better with a diet raspberry iced tea in my hand.”
The drinks arrived, along with the cupcake. They each took a sip while Laurel literally dove into her dessert. Jazz paused to consider the flavor of her beverage.
“Something wrong?” Didi asked.
She smacked her lips. “No, not really. I kind of expected something to be wrong. Like it would feel simulated. But it tastes real. Just like I remember.”
“It’s as real as you are.”
“Yeah, but I’m just zeroes and ones now.”
“Zeroes and ones, atoms. It’s all math when you go down deep enough.”
Laurel poked her head up out of the cupcake. “Did you know that The After-Image’s hardware includes, but is not limited to, state of the art quantum processing clusters?”
“Okay. I stand corrected. I might actually be q-bits right now,” Jazz said.
Didi held her hand out. “See? And you were basically already that. So this whole thing is a lateral move.”
“I still want to find out why I’m here. And that means I’m going to need six million tokens. How would you go about it?”
Didi took another sip. “I’m kind of the wrong person to ask. What with the perma-ban, my options are limited.”
“So you can’t make money?”
“Oh, I can make plenty. I just have to go about it through less than legitimate channels. Dark tasks.”
Jazz cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re not doing anything sinister? Dark tasks sound like something they’d have on a special report on the evening news.”
“Dark tasks are a known and tolerated part of The After-Image. They are player-run task boards that the clients specifically wish to avoid direct streaming,” Laurel said.
“See, now maybe I’m being cynical, but that seems like an excellent way to find someone doing something terrible,” Jazz said.
“Oh, plenty of awful stuff, but mostly it’s just people trying to get something done that’s embarrassing, with a few wholesome ‘I’m trying to throw a surprise party’ situations. It works for me, because it means the fact I can’t stream is an asset instead of a liability.” She snapped her fingers. “Come to think of it, it should work for you, too. You’re probably going to have to get out of Tutorial Lobby to do any of the worthwhile jobs, but unlike the community boards, the Dark Tasks aren’t Level-Locked. Anyone can do anything. So if you can pull them off, you can earn major tokens even as a newb.”
“And I don’t have to do anything seedy?”
“Nah. You could just do stuff that is tedious, dangerous, humiliating, difficult, time-consuming, or unclear. But you’ll make ten times what you’d be making at Level 0 in any other way. The only question is, what’s left on your list of objectives?”
They looked to the table, where Laurel’s feeding frenzy had reduced the cupcake to a chocolaty smear and a paper wrapper, which she’d managed to gnaw right through, such that she now wore it like a tutu.
Without prompting, she produced the parchment and snapped it open in a very official manner.
“Primary Objective: Earn 6,000,000 PTs. Tutorial Objectives Completed: Discover a new area, fill out your map, add a new contact, participate in a set piece. Tutorial Objectives Outstanding: Certified Novice, Escort ‘Timmy Tutorial’ to the museum, form a party—”
“That one! Form a party. You’ve already got a contact, add me and one more person in and you’re done.”
“I thought you couldn’t join a party.”
“No, that’s a guild, parties are—”
Laurel buzzed up between them.
“There are many different ways to enjoy The After-Image while working with others. Partnering with a single other player is co-op. Forming a group of three is called multi-player, four through ten is a party, and groups larger than that are formal guilds,” she said quickly.
“Right. So I’m good to go on those. All we need to do is head over to the closest shady tavern, call your friend up, and find one extra person and you can cross off the last objective. Easy as pie.”
“There was something in there about a shady tavern.”
“The After-Image strives to provide a place for any and all needs of its players,” Laurel said. “To that end, there are officially designated ‘shady taverns’ for people to gather if they wish to engage in surreptitious activities. Certified entrapment free!*”
Jazz gave Laurel a weary look.
“That asterisk will take me seventeen minutes to clarify.”
“It’ll be fine,” Didi said. “Trust me, I’ve been doing it for ages.”
She finished her coffee and pulled a token from her clutch to toss on the table.
“If you’re ready, let’s call your friend and go. I was on my way to the nearest shady tavern when the whole set piece came crashing down. Oh! And we’ll need a ride. They never put the shady tavern near a fast-travel point.”
“It just so happens her friend is a driver,” Laurel said, helpfully bringing up the contact page before adding, “A chatterbox of a driver that likes to steal my job.”
“That’s perfect!” Didi said.
Jazz squinted at the contact.
“Yeah, uh… Is there, like, mass transit or something?”
“The After-Image’s fast-travel system is flawless in its performance of rapid transit, and trains, subways, and buses make for fast and easy transportation to intermediate locations.”
“Do me a favor and bring up your map,” Didi said.
Laurel set the contact aside and produced the map.
“Where are the mass transit lines and fast-travel points.”
She waved her hand and the indicated layers populated on the map.
“Want to know where the only shady tavern is in Tutorial Lobby?” Didi slid her finger to the far corner of the map. “Right there. Just inside the main exit and about fifteen miles from anywhere you can easily travel to. As you might imagine, that asterisk your friend mentioned has made the proprietors of such establishments a little skittish about making them too easy to get to.”
“See… the driver guy I know isn’t super great at driving.”
“How many times did he flip over while you were riding with him?”
“None.”
“That puts him in the top 10% of drivers. Give him a call.”
She sighed. “Fine. Laurel? How do I call him?”
“I’ll take care of it!” She darted into the air and flitted toward the back room of the cafe. “Excuse me! We need to use your phone!”
Three minutes later, a shadowy figure lingered in the alley beside the cave as the Warthog screeched to a stop and LP hopped out to help Didi and Jazz aboard. He peeled away, ramping off a black Trans-Am to avoid stopping at the red light, and vanished around the corner.
The figure stepped from the shadows and adjusted the collar of his pin-striped suit. He rummaged around in his pocket and found a dime. Inserting it into a random point in thin air caused an old-timey phone booth to trace itself into existence around him. He picked up the receiver.
