Dream Drive Ch. 07

"I'm going to run Isis," Charles said.

"Absolutely not," Miller said.

"Boss, maybe I should go first, at least," Steinson said.

"Who goes first!?" Miller shouted. "This shouldn't even be on the table!"

"Mr. Ransfeld," Mivra said, "perhaps I might test it before you take an unnecessary risk."

"Could you even use it?" Charles asked her.

"A Dream Drive is designed for a human brain," Miller said. "The android is malfunctioning."

"I don't know," Hepburn said. "It might be worth a try. A robot sent in first to check things out -- like an asteroid probe."

"A robot can't use a Dream Drive," Miller repeated.

"This is magic," Hepburn said. "Throw science out the window."

"No," Charles said. "I'm doing this myself." Charles popped open the chip slot on top of the helmet and snapped the Isis cartridge into it. "Everyone clear the room, just in case. Mivra, you stay and observe."

"Understood," Mivra said. "Again, I caution against this action."

"As do I," Miller said. "Even if you won't listen."

"I appreciate the concerns for my safety," Charles said. He gestured to the door. "If you would."

The other three filed out. Charles hefted the helmet and slid it on. The small pistons on the inside pressed gently to the outside of his head, locking it in position.

"Are you certain about this?" Mivra said.

"Not at all," Charles said.

"I do not understand you," Mivra said.

A message flashed on the visor -- a confirmation of if he wanted to enter the Dream Drive.

Charles spoke one word. "Yes."

Charles's vision went dark, and then he was standing on a pure white field, white in all directions for as far as the eye could see. He'd done this a handful of times in his life, on the occasion that business absolutely had to be conducted in virtual space, so he knew what to expect. On his left was a familiar square token, floating in midair, that portrayed the vista of mankind's virtual hypercity -- the Dream Hub.

On the right was a second square. It held the silhouette of a tree on red backing; a red pentagram was carved at its base. The name of the game hovered at the top of the image.

Charles punched the word, Isis.

Connecting to Crux Game server...

Connected.

Welcome, Charles Ransfeld.

In another moment, Charles was back in whitespace.

Standing in front of him was a man that Charles recognized immediately as Emil Mohammed.

His hair was black; long, but combed back neatly. He had a beard that was greying, as if to match his eyes. His navy, ankle-length robes gave him the look of a wise sage.

"Welcome to Isis," Emil said. "You've been selected as a beta tester for my game. Congratulations!" The image of Emil smiled. "I hope you enjoy it.

"This is something I put my heart and soul into," he continued. "I feel it is something that will truly change the world. Please treat Isis with the respect it deserves.

"You'll first do character customization, and then enter the game. But before you do, I'd like to ask you to keep your original appearance. It's just my opinion -- but it's part of the respect I mentioned. Put yourself in the game as you really are, and play the game as you wish to play.

"I'm trying to do something with Isis," Emil said. He glanced into the white emptiness behind Charles. "I've repeated these words many times, now, but I'll say them once more. I had to go beyond the Hub, beyond simple virtual reality. I'm trying to make a reality so real, so encompassing, so much better, that you would watch the old one burn just to stay in the new. A reality that is powerful, gripping. Something that seizes your heart and never lets go. That's the kind of world I envision."

The holographic message turned and looked directly at Charles. "I have made that world. Or rather, I'm making it, still. All good things take time. But we're well on our way."

Emil bowed, and began to fade away. His translucent lips uttered two more words. "Good luck."

And then, he was gone.

Charles then saw an image of himself floating before him. It slowly rotated. There were two buttons below it.

Character customization

Retain Default Appearance

Charles didn't hesitate; he struck the button to keep his appearance the same. A confirmation popped up; he struck it before the box finished expanding. Emil's blathering about video game culture was wonderful, but more practically, he didn't have time to waste dyeing his hair a different color.

Only, it wasn't video game culture. It was real. Charles smiled. For someone that wasn't in the know, it had all been just a nice introductory message, but it had a second meaning. Emil was hinting at what was at stake.

He was a man of vision. Charles would happily take him up on his offer to make a better world. Perhaps they might see eye-to-eye.

The world went black.

****

"Here, Jackson."

"Huh?" Jackson looked up at her. "Chaki, you can't be in the ring."

"I'm not in the ring." She tapped a hand on the line in the grass to emphasize her point, then unplugged the cap of the bison-heart pouch. "It's water."

Jackson took the pouch and slurped greedily. Katran, sitting on the opposite end of the ring, looked more than a little jealous.

"Not too much at once," Chaki said.

Jackson took one more big gulp then let it down with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks. You rock."

"I rock?" Chaki asked.

"It means you're great."

"Earth words are put together so strangely," Chaki said. "How does comparing me to a rock possibly mean I'm great?"

Jackson made a weak laugh and shrugged, handing the pouch back to her. "Don't ask me. I didn't make it up."

The duel had gone on for almost six hours.

The sky was turning orange; the sun was setting behind the mountain. The battlegrounds were deep in shadow. All the other fights of the first round had been completed -- as well as every single following match that could be fought without knowing the outcome of Jackson and Katran's fight. The crowd was mostly gone; some were eating at the feast. Others had brought their food back with them. A few dedicated individuals hadn't budged, but they were in the minority.

The fighters were taking a mutually agreed-to break; both of them were sitting inside the square dueling ground, on opposite edges. Jackson leaned back easily, hands propping him up. Katran rested with his legs neatly folded, his spear set across his lap.

A tall, thin silhouette appeared -- Malaki, jogging up with a container of her own. She kneeled next to Katran and offered it to him. He smiled and accepted it readily.

"Heh," Jackson said. "Copycat."

"I mind not," Chaki said. "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

Jackson turned and gave her his little smile. Their bond flashed. "I'm glad my fiancé doesn't need prompting."

Chaki smiled back. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and mentally tried to push warmth and support through it and into him. "You did look a little thirsty."

"By the way, I'm starving to death," Jackson said. "Think you could get me a snack?"

"All men ever think about is food," Chaki said. "I don't think anyone will complain about water, but wasna may be out of the question."

"Damn."

"End the fight, and we might eat. By the way, how is..." She lowered her voice. "...your health bar?"

"It dipped a little lower than I would have liked a few times, but these rests keep it high. I heal fast after a few minutes outside combat."

"Jackson?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you trying to accomplish, exactly?" Chaki asked.

"I'm improving my skills," Jackson said.

"Don't you need to use essence for that?" she asked.

"I think our abilities level up differently."

"How so?"

"You have to burn essence to improve," Jackson said. "I only have to do that for combos. It makes sense -- you can recharge naturally, but I can't. I can increase the level of my base active abilities by practicing the same action without essence. And I'm constantly leveling up my passive abilities. I even unlocked a few more. And I'm grinding my stances, too. Since I have no essence, I can build my foundation of abilities. That's what this is really about - I'm trying to see if I can get a new stance." He frowned. "Nothing yet, though."

"Wait, grinding?" Chaki asked. "What's a combo?"

"Grinding is what they call it in games when you put your nose down and grind out experience," Jackson said. "When there's something you're having trouble with, you go back, grind some easy enemies for experience points, and then try the hard thing again. It can be dull, but it works every time. Combos -- those are when I chain more than one active skill together. Short for combination."

"Oh." Chaki took that all in for a moment. "Why Katran?"

"Well." He flopped a lazy hand at his opponent. "I was gonna quit to piss him off, but then I thought, 'why not use him?' He's the best warrior around. I get more experience in live practice, and even more in a real fight. And it's definitely working. I can feel it."

And Chaki could see it. In the past hour, Katran had landed two or three hits. At the same time, Hanta had informed her that Jackson had passed up several big openings that could have decided the match.

Katran was skilled, but he wasn't undefeatable. Even if he was facing a total novice, after a hundred fights, he might lose one from nothing more than bad luck. But Jackson wasn't trying to win; he was dragging the fight out as long as possible. He was using Katran's stubbornness and sense of honor to lock him into a grind.

"You can be rather fearsome when you put your mind to it," Chaki said.

"I like games," Jackson said. "But I like winning at them more."

"I admit that it's somewhat satisfying to hear you state it outright." She rubbed his shoulder a bit. "I think I like that side of you."

"You do?"

"Mhmm." Chaki tried to feel him out in the bond. He was there -- a ball of patchy steel, protecting a molten core of which she'd only seen brief glimpses. "I feel it's a glimpse of your true self."

"Huh," Jackson said. He didn't add any further thoughts, but his brow bent in consideration.

Suddenly, he smiled. "Well," he said, "my experience gains have bottomed out. I don't think I can get any more from him, specifically." He stood up, picking up his spear as he did so. "Ready yourself!"

Malaki quickly scooted back as Katran climbed to his feet and hefted his weapon. The warrior bent his knees. "That is the first time you have said those words to me," Katran said.

"I'm playing to win, now," Jackson said. He drew his spear in short; his hands turned a smokey yellow. Katran mimicked his stance.

Jackson's hands shifted on the spear; they glowed red. Katran started to adjust, but Jackson was already there, lunging across the square in two quick steps and driving forward a huge thrust.

The attack had too much momentum -- Katran couldn't risk blocking. He threw himself out of the way, nearly stumbling over his feet as he ran along the edge of the square. Jackson was right on top of him, chasing him down while still in his offensive stance.

Katran tried to stop and turn, but Jackson was there, flying in with another thrust. Katran whacked it away with his own spear, but he was off-balance and retreating backwards. Jackson kept on him without pause, attacking with all his weight behind his spear.

In just a few moments, Katran was in the corner of the arena. Jackson kept attacking -- at this rate, he would exhaust himself, but Katran was still reeling, trying to find his balance and mount whatever defense he could manage.

Jackson feigned a thrust on the right. Katran raised a block in that direction, leaving himself wide open on the other side.

Jackson ran forward. He didn't even use his weapon. He tackled Katran at chest level, wrapping him up with his off-hand and dragging them both out of the arena. Their spears went flying as they fell.

Katran hit the ground first; Jackson followed just after, rolling past him. A cloud of dust rose around them from the impact.

They both lay there, looking up at the sky and breathing. It turned into a long, strange moment. No one watching said anything. Shaka and Chaki exchanged glances, then looked back, ready to react should Katran lash out like Boonta.

"Well," Katran said. He was still on his back. "I touched outside the battleground first. It is my -"

Jackson's hand shot into the air. "I forfeit!"

Everyone stared. The cheer that had just started rising for Jackson was choked off. Chaki's mouth fell open.

Across the field, there were more people watching -- Hanta, Vuntha, Shaka, Landri, Palla. Even Boonta had crawled his way back after a few hours, standing alongside Yukatan. Every face was a mixture of shock, surprise, and raw confusion.

"But, why?" Katran asked. His voice echoed all their thoughts.

"Come on, man," Jackson said, sitting up. "I'm hungry as shit and I'm not fighting five more rounds against those guys." Jackson pointed at the other competitors, already lined up and waiting for their fight to finish.

"You are giving up because you don't want to fight anymore," Katran said flatly. "That's it?"

"Well, you kinda gotta admit that I had a totally bullshit advantage the whole time. The look on your face was worth it, though."

"I don't understand you," Katran said.

"Me neither," Jackson said. He got up, took up his spear, and waved at Chaki. "Come on, let's eat."

Chaki numbly moved to walk with him. The others caught up swiftly. As they trudged across the grass toward the feast -- no one speaking a word - they heard laughter.

It was Katran. He was almost doubled over; his arms were folded across his abdomen. He was laughing so hard his eyes watered. "Hey -- Tatanka -" He gulped a breath. "Enjoy the feast. Let us fight again!"

Jackson nodded. "Sure, we should practice more later."

They had reached the edge of the battleground, edging around the crowd that still lined the slope leading to the four arenas. People parted for Jackson, giving him unabashed stares as he walked by. Jackson ignored them and headed straight for the smoke and smell of the cooking soup in the distance.

"Jackson," Hanta said, "what was that all for?"

"For fun and training," Jackson said. "I enjoyed fighting him, but it would be a pain in the ass to keep going. My stomach hurts from not eating."

Even as he said the words, a pale screen flashed in front of Jackson. Only he and Chaki could see it, of course -- they both stared at it.

You are hungry.

- 5% Strength penalty

Jackson looked at her, raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. Chaki shrugged back.

"But you just gave up, right at the end," Palla said. "Why? You'd won!"

"Did he win?" Shaka said. "Without his blessing, Jackson would have been killed a dozen times over." The old woman's lips curled up in a proud smile. "Perhaps he was acknowledging the true winner of the match, Palla, and setting pride in the bottom of the trunk, where it belongs."

"Maybe he was just hungry," Vuntha said. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"I'm standing right here," Jackson said.

"I know."

"It was definitely the hunger," Chaki said.

"Here we go," Jackson said, sighing.

****

Jackson's hungry status effect didn't last very long. He had three bowls of soup and was munching on a bag of wasna mixed with ground up red berries. The fruit gave the salty meat an oddly pleasing sweet-and-sour flavor.

There was dancing, and drumming, and a few calls of blessing by any number of the spirit guides. Jackson stayed out of the limelight, holding position with Hanta and Vuntha.

Vuntha had been eliminated in the third round of the tournament; he'd been pushed out of his arena. He did well overall. Jackson had the chance to see him together with Drana, at the feast. From the smiles on their faces, he thought things were going to work out pretty well for them.

Katran ended up winning the games, and was presented with the gem-flower. Jackson could sense the power inside of it. It was similar to an essence crystal, but tinted with something else. It was like stained glass rather than plain transparent.

Jackson asked Shaka where the crystal grew, but she deflected the question, saying that he'd see for himself soon enough. He accepted the answer without complaint and focused on his soup.

Jackson sighed. It had been a long day, and it still wasn't over.

"Jackson?" Chaki asked. They were seated around one of the many fires scattered around the feast, legs folded beneath them.

"Hmm?"

"What was the sigh for?"

"Lots to do," he said.

"I see." Chaki scooted a bit closer, putting her empty bowl on the ground. "So, why did you forfeit against Katran? Really?"

Jackson looked at her; he took in her deep brown eyes, and her skin, yellow-red in the firelight. She watched him watching her.

"I dunno," Jackson said. "I wasn't fighting to win, just grind my skills. I didn't really care about the outcome. I guess...I felt like it, so I did it."

"You felt like it."

Jackson remembered something -- the message that Emil Mohammed had left for him when he'd first started Isis, back when he thought it was a game. "I hope I can find answers soon," Jackson said. "With the tower, the angels, the demons. Whatever's going on, it's important, and I guess the point of Isis is that I have to do something about it.

"But back when I started this -- the guy that made Isis, Emil Mohammed -- he left me a message. He told me to do what I wanted. Be who I wanted to be. So I'm just gonna do that."

"Be who you are?" Chaki said. "Well, that works for me. I've been telling you to do that for more than a tenday."

"Glad I have your approval."

"So what shall we do, Jackson?"

"Go on adventures," he said. "Fight evil, right wrongs. Something like that. As long as it's not too far out of the way. Or inconvenient. And I feel like it."

Chaki smiled and rubbed his arm. "I have a feeling, Jackson, that such events will have a way of making themselves convenient to you."

"Don't give me credit before you see it."

"Fate chose you for your role. And it chose me to ensure that you will not falter." Jackson felt a warm pressure as Chaki laid her head on his shoulder; she glowed through the bond like a lantern. "Have faith."

"Faith in what?" Jackson asked.

He almost regretted the question. He knew what she would say -- the same thing everyone had been saying. Have faith in yourself. Be more confident. You can do it. Or some other banal, meaningless phrase. Something that told him he had to dig out an answer from within, a task at which he inevitably failed.

"Faith in us, of course," Chaki said.

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

"No one is perfect, Jackson," she said. "Together, though...that's what I would bet a horse on. Fate has shown us the path. We must walk it."

Jackson slowly put an arm around her, cradling her to his side. Chaki made a satisfied humming sound and curled her legs in, tucking up against him. He rubbed her back, looking into the fire.

Together?

Last time I tried that, it fell apart. It was torn apart.

Jackson steeled his heart and clenched his jaw. He nodded. It felt like ten weights were tied to the back of his skull, trying to drag him back and stop him, but he nodded just the same. "Got it."

And they sat there, heated by the fire. Chaki tapped his chest, then pointed. Jackson glanced in that direction. He could see Vuntha and Drana, seated together at another fire. Drana was stealing kisses off Vuntha's chin, while Vuntha was frozen by the idea of affection in a public setting.

But then, Vuntha turned, caught Drana's head, and planted his lips on hers. Drana's eyes widened in surprise, and then she fell into the moment, kissing him back.