Digital Heretic (25 page)

Chapter 53

Danielle

 
“
What are yo
u
doing?” I can hear noise from Carl’s cell. He’s in the far corner with his back to me. I should be glad for these moments; he spends most of his time leaning against the front of his cell watching me with those new eyes of his. I really don’t know enough about Timeless. Should I feel safe with him now that he’s an Eternal? From the little I
do
know, Eternals can still do nasty things. It’s not as clear cut as red eyes equals bad and gold eyes means they only do good.

 
His cheerful disposition certainly hasn’t changed. “I’m preparing a gourmet meal,” he says, continuing to make noise.

 
We’ve been in here for 25 days. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but this has been the most boring 25 days of my life! Nothing’s happened — nothing painful or ominous, at least. Carl says to be glad for the peace and quiet. He hasn’t said too much about Jason — his real name is Shane — but when he talks about him, I can tell he’s concerned. That alone is enough to make me nervous. I remember watching Star Wars and thinking how scary Darth Vader was, until they introduced the Emperor. A few days ago I called him Darth Vader. He wasn’t too amused.

 
Three times a day a person appears out of the darkness down the hall. They remove our empty food trays and replace them with new ones. They never say a word. Sometimes it’s a man, other

times a woman. They look like inmates in some kind of asylum, mechanically doing their task, then shuffling back into the darkness. The first few times I tried to speak with them
, but they don’t say a single word. I don’t bother any more.

 
Carl has been… different. I think he’s genuinely nervous. He spends a few hours every day with his back to me in the corner. Sometimes I can hear noise, other times nothing. I think he’s trying to dig his way out. From what he’s said, if he gets free, he will do his best to take me with him.

 
We’ve spent quite a bit of time talking. Twenty-five days with no one else to talk to… I guess we were bound to agree to put our differences aside for now. He’s still an arrogant bastard and I’ve made it clear that I still intend to kill him with the Sever Spike. He’s made it clear that he can’t wait for me to try.

 
I try to be more like Trew; he was always fascinated with people, asking them questions and then sincere follow-up questions to find out as much about their lives and struggles and hopes and dreams as he could. I think that was one of the things that made people want to be around him so much.

  Trew
would have been fascinated by Carl, that’s for sure. It’s been tough to get much out of him, but when he does let his guard down and really talk about parts of his life, well, he’s seen some amazing things.

 
I’ve reciprocated and shared parts of my life with him. He sounds pleased and genuinely surprised at some of the stuff I’ve done. The other day I told him a story and he laughed for a long time. There were tears coming from his eyes as he pictured the scene I described. When he finally stopped laughing, he said something that surprised me. Wiping his eyes, the laughter slowly fading from his lungs, he said. “You know, I’m glad you’ve lived an exciting life, Danni. I think you’ve made the world a better place for having been in it, which is a rare thing in this Game.”

 
I smiled and said, “Ya think so?”

 
He looked at me seriously, then nodded his head. “Absolutely. So many come here to play, full of grand visions and plans before they get here, then they end up wasting it.”

 
“Wasting what?” I asked.

 
“All of it.” He looked disgusted. “The entire friggin’ opportunity. Fortune favours the bold; too bad so many of them fall prey to becoming meek.”

 
“Maybe they want to be meek because of the famous quote, ‘The meek shall inherit the Earth.’”

 
He’d looked at me with a sly smile. “You’re right on the quote, but the real definition of meek intended for that quote has been forgotten. When I say meek I mean the current and incorrect version — the pathetic and weak type of meek.”

 
“How do you know what the original quote meant?” I asked.

 
“Girl, I helped write some of that stuff when it was just loose pages.”

 
“You wrote parts of the Bible?” I didn’t believe him.

 
He nodded, “And the Quran, and the Book of the Dead, and the Vedas, I’ve helped write parts of all of them.”

 
“No way,” I said.

 
He laughed, then told me a story of how he’d come to write a particular set of passages from one of these books. I sat there silently for hours, listening to him tell me such a detailed story it would fill a book. After he was done, I continued to stare at him in silence.

 
“What?” he growled. “Stop looking at me like that. Still don’t believe me?”

 
“I believe you,” I said. It was impossible not to. “It’s just such a shame that no one will ever know about your life. If one little story is so rich with entertainment and details, what must the rest of it be like?”

 
“It’s been all right,” he said with a grin. “I’ve had a good play. No regrets when you put the spike in my eye and send me on my next adventure.”

 
“Don’t you get tired?” I asked.

 
“Sometimes,” he said. “But then I just sleep and wake up refreshed and ready to go.”

 
I laughed. The more I spoke with him, the easier it was to see him as a regular man. I wasn’t sure if I liked this feeling or not, but decided I could hate him again when we were free of this place. For now, we were the last two people on Earth, and I didn’t want to be alone. As long as he behaved, I would too.

 
“There,” Carl says, interrupting my reflection from the other day and bringing me back to the present. “Prime rib with Yorkshire pudding and gravy. Should be ready in half an hour.” Carl has finished whatever he does in the back of his cell and moves up to sit next to the bars. 

 
“Sounds yummy,” I say as I move next to my bars and lean against them.

 
We sit quietly for a while, each waiting for the other to speak. It’s usually me who breaks the silence; he says he doesn’t need to talk. But I can tell he does.

 
“It must be horrible for you,” he says.

 
“What’s that?” I ask.

 
“Knowing with so much certainty what lies beyond this world.”

 
“Not at all,” I say. “It’s comforting to know that there’s more than this. Knowing that when we leave this life, we go to another place and continue on.”

 
“You know what it’s called? The next place?” he asks.

 
“Tygon,” I answer.

 
“That’s right,” he nods. “Well, I’ve lived on Tygon, and I remembe
r
living there. Would you like to hear a little story?”

 
“Sure,” I say. “I have time.”

 
“This is the story of a man named Harry. He was born on Tygon and lived a boring, unremarkable life. The first 25 years were disappointing by anyone’s standards. Born and raised by parents who were too busy living their own lives, trying to work so they could earn just enough money to put a roof over their heads and food in all of their bellies. They always wanted more, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t seem to get ahead.”

 
“Sounds much like Earth,” I say.

 
“Indeed,” he replied. “ Harry went to school and quietly became part of the herd. They taught him the basics of math, science, and art. He showed an aptitude for art, but his teachers discouraged pursuing that avenue. All teachers are trained to discourage artists. ‘The jobs are in math and science, Harry,’ they said. Young Harry blindly believed them and obediently focused on that direction of pursuit.

 
He attended secondary school and then college, graduating with a degree in computer programming, convinced that the world was his oyster. He was certain that he would do better than his parents, make lots of money, buy everything he ever dreamed of having, and make the most of his life. How do you think that turned out for him?”

 
“Not very well?” I guess.

 
“Not very well,” Carl confirms.

 
“Harry turned out to be just as unremarkable as everyone else who lived in the world of Tygon. It wasn’t entirely his fault — he was the product of years of precise and controlled systems. Those who controlled Tygon wanted the majority to be unremarkable people who didn’t think too much, want too much, or try too hard. Good little automatons was what society needed, that’s what they trained people to be, and that’s what Harry was.”

 
“Sounds familiar,” I say with regret.

 
“Yes, this could be a normal Earth child’s story,” Carl says. “One of the ways to keep the people asleep,” he continues, “is by giving

them games to play. Games of all sorts and types, but over time they discovered that computer games
worked the best. They grab a person’s full attention, allowing them to entirely forget about their pointless, miserable lives until it’s time to wake up and go back to their jobs. Then when they’re at their jobs, they don’t sit and complain about their crappy existence, they think about how fun it will be to get home so they can go back to playing their games.

 
“The more popular they got, the more complex and realistic the computer games became. Designing and building games required only a few great minds to come up with the ideas, but many mediocre minds were needed to implement the tedious details necessary to build the intricate games. Harry is one such

mediocre mind. He works for a top computer company, doing small mindless tasks with the rest of his
teammates to produce the finished product, a brilliant game for the masses. In order to

understand the games they work on, staff members are encouraged to play the games themselves in their off time. Harry plays them with his colleagues, and he does very well
— much better than the average player. Perhaps it’s because playing requires finesse, touch, creativity, the mind of an artist. Harry’s mind is that of an artist, and almost by accident it’s given the opportunity to work and thrive in the new setting.

 
One day, after years of working for the company, Harry gets exciting news from his superiors. He’s invited to become a beta developer on new games. Harry is excited, not because he’ll do more complex programming, or that he will earn more money, which he will. Harry will get to beta test the newest games before they go live. Can you guess which company he works for, Danni?”

 
“No,” I say.

 
“The company is called VirtDyne,” Carl says. He pauses to look at me, but I don’t recognize the name. He smiles and continues to give me clues. “The game that he is invited to work on and then

beta test is the newest cutting edge game on Tygon. It’s called
the Game of Life at first, but not long after it goes live, everyone simply refers to it as ‘The Game.’”

 
“That name rings a bell,” I say.

 
“Yes, I thought it might,” he says. “Harry enters beta testing and is brilliant. He knows this is a game, and the combination of a lifetime of experience playing games, writing computer code, and his true artistic mind enable him to find glitches, play and unlock scenarios that the average beta tester can’t even get close to, and really shine.”

 
“Sounds like Harry has found his calling,” I say.

 
“His bosses say the same thing. On the Game’s fifth and final beta test run, Harry is invited to join a special group of testers, an elite bunch of programmers and players who are asked to really beat the hell out of the Game; to come up with new scenarios and ideas to turn the world on its head. He does better than expected, destroying previous records, finding bugs in the mechanics of how the universe was built, and garnering a long list of high performance results. Then he exits the Game, and just prior to it going live, he gets to meet the man himself, Brandon Strayne.”

 
“The creator of the Game,” I say.

 
“Indeed,” Carl says. “The meeting turns out to be an incredible opportunity for Harry. After a very expensive and lavish night out on the town — Brandon is a generous host — they offer Harry a special opportunity. A chance to re-enter the Game with the first wave of players, not as a mind-wiped student, but as a special player.”

 
“A Timeless,” I guess.

 
“That’s what Brandon calls them. A small, powerful group of players who cannot age or die; only physical violence can kill them, and that is such a rarity that for all intents and purposes Timeless can live for hundreds, even thousands of years. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for a man like Harry, a boring regular