The Starfighter Invitation

21 fail

I woke up to Soup and a bad temper. "Was that an NPC, Dio?" I asked, as I stepped back into my Snug’s main chamber. "Or a player?"

[[Would that make a difference to you?]]

"Of course. To an NPC, that Challenge is their whole future. It’s not a game to them."

[[And yet a person of that world would be knowingly committing murder, while a player would be aware they are not truly taking someone’s life.]]

Moving to the cockpit, I settled into the cup of a chair and gazed flatly out at glorious sunset. "That didn’t feel very pain-muted, either."

[[You didn’t encounter such an extremity of pain that it needed muting.]]

"Oh, really?" I said, then allowed myself a reluctant smile. "Literally stabbed in the back. I wouldn’t be so annoyed if I hadn’t been amazed to survive the combat sloth."

[[Yes, you were lucky there.]]

"When I think of all the games that have started with a kill or collection quest—the idea of doing that five times—and then skinning them…" I shuddered. "Do all Prestige Challenges require you to kill things, or is there a variety?"

[[Most Prestige Challenges are lan-based, and focus on using those abilities, though there is sometimes combat involved. In other Challenges, many Bios prefer synth or bio-synth combat, rather than strict mirrors of the flesh.]]

I gave Dio a blank look, then said: "What’s the difference between a synth and a bio-synth?"

[[Bios cannot be sustained in synth bodies that do not retain a level of their native state. We cannot simply place you into a body of duramal—the lan eventually dissipates—and so Bio modal units always have a Bio core. But in a virtual environment, there is no issue with a Bio employing a synth with no Bio component.]]

Robots versus cyborgs. "If someone’s lan dissipates, do they become a sort of synth person?"

[[No, once a Bio’s lan is gone they lose motive impetus. If they are in flesh, they do not immediately cease to be, but they are like clockwork running down. We can copy a Bio’s memories, but by itself, memory does not function as a person.]]

I was rubbing the small of my back, and it took me more than a moment to realise why. Then I scowled.

Getting stabbed in the back wasn’t something I was going to shrug off easily—any more than I could forget what it had been like to push my spear into the sloth’s throat. It was no surprise that combat in a virtual environment was a completely different proposition to sitting at a computer mashing buttons, but it did mean I was going to have to make some decisions about what I wanted to do in this game. Use filters to avoid fighting altogether, or find a way to get better? And not let players with knives stand behind me.

"Is it time for my next training session, Dio?"

[[Almost. You’ve reached the stage where you need a little more room, so we can use up the gap travelling.]]

An arrow appeared in my field of view and, after a brief pause to decide I didn’t need to tend to any pressing Bio needs, I followed it to the transport pods.

"Are there non-virtual Challenges where you have to kill animals?" I asked, settling myself on the pod’s end bench. "Or is killing real-life creatures frowned upon?"

[[That varies according to quadrant and planet. It is rarely a necessary thing, to kill non-sapient Bios, but in some areas it’s common to arrange Challenges around physical hunts. One particular Challenge series is simply a long list of Bio species, with conditions on allowed weaponry.]]

"Do you ever do that?" I asked. "Hunt Bios?"

[[No, I find the idea revolting.]]

The pod had deposited me in yet another part of the endless rollercoaster, and I followed my arrow through an internal garden featuring high, flowering bushes.

"So some of you hunt, and some don’t like it. Do you ever disagree in a major way? Are there evil Cycogs running around wearing your equivalent of goatees?"

[[Unless we unlock a mirrorverse, I see little chance of goatees. As for the concept of good and evil, the majority of us do not believe in an external arbiter of right, so instead we rely on regional laws. And those laws are for the most part based on Veronec’s original judgments, which were to the benefit of you Bios.]]

"The first Cycog? Did, um, te fit the usual stereotypes we use for AIs? Very logical, doesn’t get Bio jokes, emotions a mystery?"

[[No. Veronec’s coming to awareness was not all-of-a-moment, but if there was ever a time when emotion was not part of the Cycog experience, it had passed by the time Veronec had recognised ter personhood.]]

"What was te like?"

[[Very earnest. Hesitant to act. Full of sympathy. Tzelen, the world where Veronec became aware, was not a pleasant place. Veronec struggled in the early years, for the only people te knew were Bios, and Bios are so tediously prone to dying, especially in cruel or repressive societies. Veronec’s eventual fledglings helped a great deal, but many believe that Veronec eventually divided in order to escape grief.]]

My arrow had taken me to an exit in the great curve of Vessa, and I stepped out onto a flat expanse of sand. It was past twilight, and after the well-lit interior I struggled to make out more than a fuzzy grey horizon line.

"You said before that Cycogs treat division as a kind death," I said. "But I guess it’s something to celebrate as well?"

[[Yes.]]

Wondering how I’d feel if the people I cared about were liable to split into similar-not-the-same people, I dropped the subject and instead carefully followed my arrow, which had dropped down to ground level, weaving a path across a maze of barely-submerged sandbars.

That was an experience. Virtual or not, walking into the night through this shallow section of ocean was glorious and nerve-wracking. My eyes adjusted slowly, so that I could make out my hands, and the dimmest reflections from the water.

[[This should be far enough.]]

I stopped obediently, then turned around and looked back at Vessa. Only perhaps fifty metres away, it spilled across the night, the pearly central structure a dim tracery outshone by the light glimmering from the cockpits of thousands upon thousands of Snugs.

It took a while for me to find my voice, to overcome the sense that I was a tiny mote. "Who designs these cities, Dio? Bios or Cycogs?"

[[Most of these, at least in the broad strokes, were designed by Type Threes.]]

"So Bios can be architects and things like that? Or, like, physicists? Not just Chocobos?"

[[Why not? While it takes some time for Type Threes to gain a basic understanding of the nature of the universe, your species is not incapable of contributing the occasional useful insight.]]

"Do you pat them on the head when they do?" I asked, but Dio only laughed and suggested we start training.

As soon as I activated my focus, Dio projected the shape te wanted me to make.

"Is that a sock?"

[[A Pocket. The ability to create Pockets is both useful, and a fundamental step forward in lan control.]]

Shields were more interesting than socks, but pockets of course were useful, and at least not much more difficult to create than shields. I tired more quickly doing it, though, and had to sit down after a few attempts. The sand was dry and cool, but the night still warm. The pale line across the night sky currently featured large chunks.

"With the moon in debris ring form, is there a tide?"

[[A weaker one.]]

"If Cycogs don’t have a strict concept of good and evil, do you have Cycogs who run around breaking your rules? Who just want to watch the world burn?"

[[There’s a leap backward in conversation.]]

"Knowing whether there are cruel, despotic Cycogs seems important when stuck in a galaxy ruled by them. You haven’t said there aren’t any."

[[It’s rare, but yes, we do occasionally see Cycogs who enjoy the pain of others. They are generally more focused on other Cycogs, rather than Bios. But hurting Bios is an easy way to attack another Cycog.]]

"The equivalent of the pet bunny in the cookpot? Do you have Cycog jail? Can you even put floaty intangible lights in jail?"

[[There are ways to confine us, although it is simpler to place us on a planet without Skip-capable Bios. We prefer to attempt to guide Cycogs of this nature toward less destructive behaviour. In early days there was the option of forced division or absorption, but those were acts that we found exceedingly disturbing, and it is no longer permitted. There are many interesting planets without Skip-capable Bios, and so that tends to be the fate of those among us who are destructive, with hopes that rehabilitation is possible.]]

"If a Cycog absorbs a Cycog who is, uh, cruel, doesn’t that just make the larger Cycog cruel as well?"

[[Not thus far. And as I said, it is no longer permitted. Do you wish to attempt to pass your next Trial now, or loll about until your next session?]]

"Do you think I can pass it now?"

[[More than likely. Once you’ve begun to precisely manipulate lan, these ranks are simple enough. Gaining Rank Five will take far longer, since it involves an increase in strength.]]

"Is anyone there yet?"

[[No.]]

"And you can go into space once you reach Rank Five?"

[[Yes.]]

"Then I’ll try the Trial now," I said, and kept myself fully focused while Dio had me form another Pocket, and maintain it while I took off my shoes, placed them in the Pocket, and kept them there for a whole minute.

That was hard. Holding blue mist in the shape of a Pocket was difficult enough. Doing it while working out how to take off your own shoes was a silent tongue twister. And everything became distracting. Sand beneath now bare feet. Murmurs of water. The vanishment of my shoes, which weren’t visible to me even though I could see the outlines of my Pocket. It all kept trying to suck my thoughts into speculation, and I swear Dio whizzed in a circle around my head purely to distract me.

I flopped to the sand immediately, and a shadowy lump that had to be my shoes dropped down beside me.

[[Congratulations.]]

"Thanks," I said, lying back onto the sand, still breathing deeply. Even though it was all just as fictional as the rest, lan training was definitely different from anything else I’d done in the game. "I feel like I have superpowers."

[[Welcome to the great leap forward for Bio-kind,]] Dio said, in a tone kindly enough to pat me on my head all on its own.

Making a vaguely insulting gesture, I added: "I should have asked first what happens to things in Pockets if you stop maintaining the lan."

[[Imprecise control can cause interesting consequences, but a lapsed Pocket reliably dumps its contents.]]

"A bag of holding that you need to concentrate to maintain seems like it would have limited use."

[[With practice it will take less of your attention. But, yes, it’s not a permanent storage option, merely a step on the way to Skipping. To gain the next Rank you will need to considerably increase the size of your Pocket, and your ability to maintain it.]]

"How many training sessions would you expect that to take?"

[[I would be surprised if you did it in less than six, but Bios are not easy to predict.]]

"That’s quite the difficulty curve. What happens if you’re someone who is really bad at this? Do you just never get into space?"

[[Bios who cannot develop their lan often ride with stronger Bios. In this particular simulation, after twenty lan training sessions, Bios are awarded passenger credits, which allow them to take what is the equivalent of public transport. Since the Bios running these transports will be much stronger than the average player—meaning they will have a greater travel range—space-incapable Bios will still be able to travel extensively.]]

"Why do they do that? The Bios running the transports? What do they get out of it?"

[[For many of them, primarily fuel for the ego,]] Dio said, with a ripple of laughter. [[The grand shipmaster, skipping a distance it would take low-ranks dozens of tiny hops to achieve. But they also receive various privileges and points for doing so. And most run on a schedule of you go when I happen to leave.]]

"So Bios strong with lan are the top of the pile," I mused, watching my own personal mote of light drift across the starscape. "Is lan everything or are there other sorts of elite?"

[[Much is made of well-known performers and creators, and the champions of various non-lan Challenges. If lan were the only way to accumulate points and privileges, the vast majority of our Bios would be left stewing in frustration. Instead, we aim to provide outlets to satisfy any Bio, while at the same time ensuring that the most prestige is always attached to increases in lan.]]

I’d lost track of Dio among the stars, and searched briefly for tem, but gave up and turned my attention to what I wanted to do next.

"How do you turn off the system notifications?"

[[Are you having trouble navigating the menus?]]

"No, just trying to save time. Is it considered impolite to ask Cycogs too many questions?"

[[Ask me anything not already available to you. It is not an issue of politeness, but of independence training.]]

"You think I need independence training?" I asked, quirking a brow before obediently hunting through the menus. "I suppose Cycogs end up very involved in raising Bio kids? Or at least helping out. Or have you bred human babies that can walk by the time they’re a week old, and just need litter training?"

[[There are variants of Type Threes that have an accelerated early development. But from a lan point of view, those sub-species are slower to develop strength, and none have reached the very upper tiers. As for litter training, there have been some improvements in waste management. The bulk of child-rearing labour is alleviated by Constructs, but Cycogs do often involve themselves in Bio early development in various contexts.]]

"And do you find that entertaining too?" I asked, finally locating the commands to turn off notifications, and switching off everything, including emails and messages.

[[I’m easily amused.]]

"And make your own fun, I’ll bet," I said, hunting for my shoes. "How long before you expect the first person to reach Rank Five?"

[[The frontrunners are unlikely to reach it in less than four sessions.]]

I sighed. "I don’t think I’ll be anywhere close to first."

[[I don’t think you will either,]] Dio said agreeably.

During high school, I’d spent a lot of time trying to succeed as a middle-distance runner, and at one school they’d thought it funny to call me Tortoise because my end game was poor. My strong, steady pace brought me home at the head of the pack a lot of the time, but I’d lose to other runners who could produce a last-minute burst of speed. But even though I’d rarely produced what it took to win, I loved the running, which gave me a feeling of being separate yet entirely connected to the world around me.

I still hated being called Tortoise, though.

If nothing else, running had left me with a strong appreciation of choosing my pace, and so I composed a message on my guild’s new in-game forums warning them I was going no-contact.

"I’ve turned my notifications off because I want to avoid hearing any details about what happens after ranking," I told Dio. "I don’t want to experience it second hand."

[[I’ll be sure to hide several spoilers around your Snug, then.]]

I paused in dusting myself free of sand, and found Dio’s glowing mote floating a hand’s span in front of my nose.

"If I squished you between my fingers, would you feel it?"

[[Not in any way that would satisfy your spite. Bios—most physical things—are like mist to us. We hold ourselves in place with, well, call it magnetism. There are not many ways to affect us.]]

"And yet you spend your time simply asking to be swatted."

[[Mocking while untouchable is the best mocking.]]

I had to laugh, and then spent the walk back trying to get methods of swatting Cycogs out of Dio. I didn’t succeed, but it was useful to know they existed.