Awarded Custom Ship (Rank One)
"Well," Silent said, after a small pause. "Looks like we’d better aim for beating the System Challenge instead. Who’s with me?"
Nova laughed. "Sure. Let’s do it."
38
lux
"Insta-celebrity looks rough," my father said.
I leaned forward so I could see the TV from the kitchen. A repeat of a doorstop interview of a mid-fifties white Texan man whose online identity, Redeemer, had been part of the first group to unlock the System Challenge. Whatever pride he felt at the achievement was hidden by his shellshocked survey of the crowd outside his home.
"My Cycog told me it’s common practice to keep your focus active the entire time you’re in a lan Challenge, and my group decided to do that. Not that we think anyone’s been watching our Challenges. This guy was recognised because he’s been using the same player name since EverQuest, though, not from his aged-down Core Unit."
"So I shouldn’t expect reporters if you get to the System Challenge before it’s beaten?"
"I never link my player names with my real one," I said. "I can’t guarantee there’s not enough threads out there that someone with a lot of time couldn’t put a trail together, but I’d hope that by the time they did, The Synergis would have moved on to the next sensation. Maybe someone will reach Rank Ten and distract them with new planets."
Privately, I was more focused on completing the gauntlet series without dying, so that I could ask Dio prying questions with potentially truthful answers. Getting some straight talk from my alien overlord felt like it might be more of an achievement than anything anyone else was doing in the game.
I hadn’t spoken a word about the bet to my guild or parents. I felt like that would fail some hidden test, as if Dio was an ancient and powerful fairy who had disguised terself solely to ask for my last crust of bread.
"I have news." My mother arrived with an escort of wet wind, shedding layers of clothing in a move reminiscent of a great dane shaking off a rain shower. "Your Oma has been playing Dream Speed."
"Seriously?" I came out of the kitchen with two mugs topped with stroopwafel. "Does she like it?"
"Well, you know your Oma: she’s not one to gush. Her character is called Skaði, and we’re going to meet up in-game, so I’ll see how she’s managing, maybe help her out with some Challenges if she’s having trouble. Are you heading back in soon?"
"Just for a while. My guild is having another get-together, this time on Mars."
I ducked back into the kitchen for my own mug, sadly lacking in caramel wafer since gluten still hated me out in the world. But I would make that up with a cinnamon roll when I logged back in: Dream Speed was changing my relationship with food.
"Not racing for the first?" my father asked.
"It’s research of a sort. We’re going to watch the first attempt at the System Challenge, though my party’s only going to log off again after that, since there’s a couple of real-world commitments that get in the way of us continuing our gauntlet straight away. By the time we complete the gateway series, we’ll have seen enough other attempts to hopefully be able to give it a good shot."
My mother smiled at me. "Once all this initial rush is over, and we have reached appropriate ranks, shall we leave competition and guilds behind, and just travel together a while?"
"Sure. Maybe we can get one of those multi-snug ships."
Though would that mean travelling with Oma as a passenger, sternly disapproving everything I did? A short while, perhaps.
Logging back in, I turned over the vague possibility that Dream Speed would somehow transform into a bonding experience with my Oma. Perhaps she’d appreciate my gaming expertise now, if not my stubbornly independent design career.
Or perhaps not. I knew my Oma.
Low Martian gravity doubled the adjustment period between bodies, and I kept bounding and surging when all I was trying to do was walk to the nearest transport. I slowed down, since there was no need to rush to this meet-up.
Almost my whole guild had managed to reach planet-skipping rank, and everyone else able to log on had hitched rides with other guildies so we could watch the Martian dawn together. The meet-up was a private park the guild have been able to book a couple of hundred kilometres from the entrance to The Heart of Mars Challenge—which wasn’t far at all given the enormity of Chasma Marineris—and TALiSON had been very keen on a dressy get-together, so I spent the short trip looking through potential apparel rewards, and cosmetic options.
No need to go back to my Snug for a shower, a change of clothes, or to spend hours on hair and makeup. Instead, I simply walked into the nearest vat of Soup, and walked right out again, refreshed, wearing a blue and black dress with a tight bodice and long flowing sleeves and skirt. My eyes were intricately kohled, and I’d added a tracery of vines and flowers all over my face and throat.
"Is that as instantaneous as it feels, Dio?" I asked silently.
[[Soup has a stasis effect, so do not ever rely on your perception of time. But for small adjustments such as that, it is closer to moments than minutes.]]
I nodded and walked on. Flowing, flippy skirts are fascinating in low gravity. They swish with a curious lassitude, the ends flirt out and almost seem to hang before they drop.
[[Are you dancing?]]
"Performing a serious scientific experiment," I said with dignity. "What kind of dancing is in the future? Are there spectacular zero-G ballets?"
[[Any way you Bios can fling yourselves about, you can be sure there is at least a small group dedicated to doing so. The Ves-vesan system is a particular centre of performative movement, if that takes your interest.]]
"I need to start a list."
Dio promptly reeled off a series of names—the places te liked most of all in the galaxy—and a little list made itself for me, without any need for me to write it down.
[[I’ll annotate details later, so you can decide where you want to go first.]]
"You pick," I said, comfortably. "Well, out of those that are nearest, I guess."
Dio didn’t answer, but produced what I assumed was the Cycog equivalent of humming, and out of the eerie series of notes I recognised Swan Lake. I let myself continue my scientific experiment, and could not remember a time before now that I didn’t feel ridiculous wearing such a feminine dress.
"Kaz? Oh, I love the face paint. Or is it a tattoo?"
TALiSON had opted for a Gothic princess look, black lace emphasising her pale skin, and tumbling streams of deep crimson hair providing their own opportunities for physics experiments.
"I think most of their makeup options are actually tattoos. Or, no, that’s the wrong word. It’s not ink injections, it’s skin that happens to be green and blue and white, rather than your usual flesh tone." I reached up to rub my chin. "I tried washing my eyeliner off the other day, and didn’t make any inroads. I eventually found where it shows whether a cosmetic pattern is for a physical change, or actual cosmetics, and I still haven’t decided which one I prefer."
"And either way, all those years I’ve spent perfecting shadowing have completely gone to waste." TALiSON brushed lush red curls behind one ear.
"Easier to give yourself cheekbones than paint them in, anyway," Far said, strolling up. He’d opted for a The Lord of the Rings elf style outfit. The result was positively ethereal, and contrasted immensely with his familiar aged-cynic voice. "Like my braids?" he added, twirling to display intricate knot-work.