Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos Read online

  Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos

  Nathan P. Cardwell

  Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos

  Copyright © 2007 Nathan P. Cardwell

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN-10: 1-55404-471-5

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-471-9

  First Edition July 24, 2007

  Also Available as a Large Type Paperback

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  Subgenus One: Strophe Two. Lord Surripere, who denies Malignancy in every form, did oppose this abomination. Also did they, who sanction all that is feral and free, take great exception with Abhoron's loathsome act of profligacy. Thus was their veiled alliance born.

  Subgenus One: Strophe Three. And in the profusion of passing winters to follow, did Malignancy's complacent ego enfeeble his grasp upon the twisted children of iniquity. Thus was The Thief to slip softly amidst the wicked, depriving them of their depravity, and corrupting their corruption with temperate moderation, as a breeze softly brushing the abhorrence from their souls. In this manner were but a scant few seeds of light sown within their darkness to thrive and survive to become The Scapegrace, who shall avail in vigil of The Kindred Coterie.

  Chapter One-Two Dozen Ghouls, Two Spooks, And One Phantom

  Outside, the plaque on the door read Private Conference-Dr. Orval B. Kwibee, MS, CISSP, SCJP, CCA, Comp TIA, RHCE, MCDBA, CCNP, OCP DBA, MCSA, CCIE, CCEA, AI isn, AI ce, MCL sys PhD . This room was currently occupied by twenty-four of the military's top techno-specialists, none of which had failed to notice the door as they entered.

  There were also two other men who were not acting in a technical capacity. They wore almost identical nondescript brown suits. Their haircuts were similar, which is to say short, and parted on the right. They both stood at opposite ends of the long rectangular conference table, while between them, and on both sides, sat everyone else. Everyone, that is, but the last of the specialists to deliver his report. He now stood just as nervously as each of his colleagues had been during their own recitations.

  "Without pre-established parameters…" he began, and then took a sip of water to clear his throat. "IBOT has apparently fallen back to its basic functions, which are to enhance and optimize the program's own projected simulations. In the case of Wayward Fates, this translates into three main areas.

  "First of all, the game is fundamentally based on role-playing in a self-contained ecology of interaction between Player Characters, and what is commonly referred to as N.P.C.'s, or Non Player Characters. The N.P.C.'s are not actually target-related, but rather generations of the simulation itself.

  "In order to accomplish these directives effectively, IBOT was literally forced to divide the majority of its own resources between the N.P.C.'s by spawning what one might refer to as mini versions of the program's own A.I. sub-structure. This was necessary due to its incorporation of all Wayward Fate servers into a single simulation. This is an action we don't believe the program was designed to accommodate.

  "The resources necessary to maintain this number of targets on a single emulation has invariably presented the program with something of a paradox in its core of directives. Fortunately for us, this has effectively wiped out the program's upper dynamic structure, or consciousness, if you will.

  "This eliminates any further dynamic alteration by the program, other than those related to direct infractions of its security sub-routines. As a result, all first generation N.P.C.'s are now examples of individual programs. None of these Characters are aware of what he or she actually is. They all exist independent of both IBOT and each other.

  "There is one other enhancement in this area. The second generation of N.P.C.'s presents a slightly more complex construct. In order for IBOT to accomplish a true representation of a functioning ecosystem, it was essential to establish a functioning system of procreation. As such, each N.P.C. born, as it were, is given no more information or resources than is an actual child. This simulated child, then, acquires resources in the same way a real person would, which is to say, it learns.

  "The second area centers on the players themselves. Originally, the Subject was literally used as the memory enhancement to the assimilated program's overall augmentation. In this instance, and collectively speaking, this was far more resources than were required. As such, IBOT has constructed a new purpose for those superfluous resources, and is currently utilizing them as a means to feed both first and second generation N.P.C.'s with a secondary source of…well…personality.

  "This is not to imply that the subjects are being cannibalized. The sphere drive itself has more than sufficient storage for all of the newly spawned subject matter. The subjects are more useful to IBOT as examples of the potential, or as examples for varying combinations in possible character traits, in much the same way that the varying aspects of each parent make up the initial groups of qualities found in the children. And, as in real life, the progeny then use that in combination with accumulative experiences through their own A.I. templates, so as to achieve an individual pattern.

  "The third area is a bit more complicated. We have yet to ascertain all the details, but IBOT appears to have set up a pre-written series of sub-context that is continuing to manipulate a number of social situations. Not on a grand scale, mind you, but rather only certain key interactions. There's no way of determining what specific individuals are being influenced, other than to say that it doesn't appear to be a direct interaction. Programming translation indicates environmental tampering only.

  "To be perfectly honest, it's almost as if IBOT has set the stage for some large scale role-playing subject matter during the initial assimilation. These alterations seem to be a matter of what minor adjustments are required to maintain the original genre. Of course, this is all just hypothesis, but the evidence is persuasive.

  "The only other area affected is the chronological sequencing. The exact time ratio has been difficult to calculate. There are several fluctuating factors that appear to be causing a continuous shift, such as the ongoing presence of worldwide lag that has to be compensated for. IBOT can't affect the lag itself, but it can alter the subject's perceptions to match the lag. In this way, the subjects have no sense of it at all. This is actually in our favor as it…"

  "Could we speed this up, please?" asked the brown suit to his left.

  "Oh, yes, sir," stammered the specialist, quickly riffling through his notes. "Currently, and roughly speaking, we estimate that one hour of rea
l time translates into approximately three weeks of program time. This is a direct reflection of the supplemental resources previously mentioned, though by no means a reflection of its extent."

  "Why don't we just pull the plug? You know, turn the damn thing off?" asked the brown suit to his right.

  "Well…I'm not really qualified…"

  "If I may be allowed to answer that?" interjected another specialist. "The subliminal commands being transmitted to the subjects necessitate the suspension of a number of their higher brain functions. Until the program restores those functions, the subjects are capable of very little on their own, other than basic instinctive functions, like breathing. If you kill the power now, you'll end up with nothing but a mass of vegetables. Besides, we haven't been able to ascertain exactly how the power actually would be shut down. There is no software option, and there doesn't appear to be an actual button, or switch, or…"

  "And how many targets are we talking about?"

  "Just over a quarter million, but this number is slowly dropping. Some characters die in the course of normal game play, and from time to time, some are separated from their DIT by outside sources. Some are even dropping due to such poor connections that even IBOT can't maintain them."

  "What happens when a player dies in the game?"

  "In the original game structure, they were simply returned to what the game refers to as…a point of binding. However, IBOT perceived this aspect as a flaw, and altered it during its initial enhancement stage. Apparently, unlimited life was contradictory to the parameters being created.

  "The new interface includes a supplemental enhancement to the original character selection area. This is represented by options of reincarnation. A target's character is given the opportunity for rebirth, or they may opt for Oblivion. Oblivion represents an exit from the program entirely.

  "Of course, this is all academic, as the Oblivion option was not placed under IBOT security. IBOT didn't recognize this section of the game as a legitimate part of the world being created. As a result, we were able to institute an overriding default, thereby disabling character selection. Now, upon the death of their pseudo-selves, the subjects will have their memories reallocated, and then be released from the program altogether."

  "So what your saying is, if a player dies, then the target is freed, and has his or her memories restored."

  "Well, yes."

  "When you say reallocated, does that include memories of their experiences while in the program as well?"

  "Of course."

  "I'm afraid that simply won't do," a feminine voice asserted from the intercom mounted in the ceiling above them.

  Chapter Two, Home: Part One-Cats Pleased, Mice Teased

  One cannot subscribe to the axiom of mirth as a legitimate philosophy without first understanding and then accepting its nature. In application to the current circumstances, this meant a willingness to laugh at one's own self.

  On the other hand, the individual whose turn has come to bear such an auspicious responsibility should never depend upon leniency from the authors of such merriment. After all, why should they be lenient? They're having a pretty good time.

  As a true subscriber, Jester had a perfect understanding of the role he was expected to play. Nevertheless, after two days it was beginning to wear a bit thin. In fact, he found himself quite relieved when their combined group had finally passed the Arbitos Lowlands border.

  They parted company on good terms, and even shook hands. "Safe passage to you, Dru…Jester," Borin offered sincerely.

  "And to you," Jester returned politely. He and Merfee then turned north to complete the final leg of their own journey.

  "Oh, by the by!" Borin called, before they had traveled more than twenty meters.

  Jester knew what was coming.

  "There may yet be a few stray Gnolls about! So…"

  "I know, I know. I should watch my arse," he said, thus finishing Borin's well-used punch line. Jester felt the implied humor surrounding his admittedly minor impalement had become somewhat tiresome, but managed to offer a minimal token of not altogether enthusiastic laughter. Besides, Merfee and the other soldiers still seemed to think the so-called joke was just as funny as the previous two dozen times it had been executed.

  ***

  "I enjoyed the festival," Merfee continued as he and Jester neared the Grove entrance. "Tarots really know how to celebrate. The food, the wine, and…who was that one dancer who kept getting up on the tables?"

  "Ezlea," Jester answered absently.

  "Yes. She was rather…friendly…wasn't she?"

  "Look, there's Nef," Jester remarked as they approached the tents of the visitor's area.

  "Oh, yes, that reminds me. Umm, Jes?"

  "Yes?"

  "Be a chum, would you? Don't mention any of my involvement. It really wouldn't do for Nef to hear about that, while in her condition."

  "No more arse jokes?"

  "Oh, certainly not," Merfee agreed without reservation.

  ***

  "…and that's about the tall and short of it. After Mistress Ironwood released Jester from the remainder of his assignment, we set out for the Grove. After a league, or so, Corporal Krue and some of his friends caught up and offered to accompany us as far as the border."

  Yes. Wasn't that nice of them, Jester thought humorlessly.

  "Is that the same Corporal Krue mentioned by the Herald?"

  "No, Dear," Merfee corrected. "You're thinking of Captain Krue. The Corporal is his son."

  "Oh, I see," she nodded. "So they both play in the same Army, do they? Well, isn't that nice. I've always felt that it's very important for families to do things together."

  "Play?" Jester asked with a confused expression.

  "Yes. Isn't that nice," Merfee agreed while motioning for Jester to drop the subject. The last thing he needed was for Nefari to get her feelings hurt. In her present condition, the list for supper items alone would surely do him in.

  "Hey!" Jester exclaimed as something struck him. "Why are you two camping in the visitors' area? I've perfectly comfortable accommodations in one of the Grove oaks."

  "We didn't feel it would appear proper for strangers to simply barge into…"

  "What strangers?" Jester asked expansively while lightly punching Nefari in the arm. "You two are Family, and that's that."

  "I don't think she meant you, Jes," Merfee added expectantly.

  "Oh," Jester replied, realizing how aggressive it might appear for Wood-elves to simply move in without warning, or invitation. "Sorry, Nef."

  "Oh, I almost forgot!" Merfee quickly changed the subject. "You'll never believe who's staying in Arbitos."

  "Who?" Nefari asked eagerly.

  "Well, more like a prisoner really. I mean, it's not as if they rolled out the red carpet or anything."

  "Who?"

  "Her incarceration is only temporary," Jester intoned.

  "Who?"

  "You don't know that, Jes. A request for Sanctuary doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be granted."

  "It will if I have anything to say about it. I gave her my word."

  "What can you possibly hope to do for her?"

  "As soon as I report to the Council, I'm going straight to Arbi…"

  "Who, blast it!"

  "Squire Thistle?" a voice called from outside. At this, Jester pulled the tent flap back. A Council messenger appeared to be searching the area, tent by tent.

  "Over here," called Jester, as the young man prepared to knock on another tent post.

  "Oh, there you are. If you please, Squire, the Council wishes to see you right away."

  "Certainly, but I only just now returned. How could they know…?"

  "You know how it is, Squire," smiled the messenger as he led the way. "The trees have ears, as do the bear and wolf."

  Digger!

  As Jester and the messenger left, Nefari faced Merfee with narrowed eyes and lips drawn thin.

  He considered her for a moment
before realizing why she might be so cross. "Oh! A Dark-elf Rogue," he finally answered.

  ***

  "Have you any idea just how irresponsible that stunt was?"

  "I realize I may have acted in haste, but…"

  "But nothing! I have seven dead soldiers whose families do not agree with your idea of a necessary judgment call!"

  "But…"

  "Taking the Cavern without my authorization was more than sufficient cause for serious reprimand, but to march an entire Regiment into the Wiccaris? I'll have your commission, Krue!"

  "Begging the Colonel's pardon, but there really was no time to submit a request form. Under the circumstances, I believe I acted in accordance with all regulations. If we hadn't…"

  "Are you attempting to quote regulations to me, Captain?"

  "I assure milady, I would not presume to be so bold," Reginald replied in a controlled but strained tone.

  "Oh don't sell yourself short, Krue! I have reports dating back as far as a hundred and fifty summers that offer a fair accounting of just how bold you are!

  "Colonel Clawtorn?" inquired the Orderly as he poked his head in the door.

  "Can't you see I'm busy?"

  "Yes, milady, but the Magistrate is waiting outside."

  "Well don't just stand there! Show him in!"

  "Yes, milady."

  "I do hope you enjoy your new life as a civilian, Krue," grinned Clawtorn as the Orderly closed the door. "After I submit my report, you'll be lucky to keep your pension."

  "Good afternoon, Colonel," offered the Magistrate as he was escorted in.

  "And to you also, milord," crooned Clawtorn while sweeping gracefully into a formal curtsy.

  "Ahh, Captain Krue. How fortunate to find you here!"

  "Good afternoon, Magistrate," Reginald replied with a short, formal bow.

  "I do have some business I would like to discuss with milord," intoned the Colonel seriously.