Krow landed on the street, to the curses of people that had to swerve around him.
"Sorry," he called out.
He snapped the grapple line, dislodging the hook.
As the rope piled beside him, he gestured the whole thing, plus the still-falling hook, into his Inventory.
He jogged away from the scene.
A reminder beeped, flashing yellow at the edge of his vision. He glanced at it.
Oh. It was his 14-hour warning.
That meant it was nearly six in the afternoon, realworld time. He looked around. It was mid-afternoon, in-game time….maybe three p.m. or close.
Krow headed for his rented room.
The warehouse could wait until tomorrow.
*
Eli turned off the gentle rolling of the bio-cradle cushions, levered his body out of the seat.
The wall said it was 5:48 p.m. November 5, 2095 and that it was expected to rain in the late night.
He stretched, removed the intravenous band wrapped around his right arm, disconnected it from the ZombieFluid container on the bio-cradle, and dropped it into a disinfectant tub. He yawned, wrapped a disinfectant strip over the area covered earlier by the band.
Other than a slight headache and minor kinks in his joints, he felt good.
The whole gaming rig had cost more than he paid for the apartment. If his muscles were sore after that much, he'd definitely be mad.
Eli changed into work-out clothes.
Exercising was still…ugh. But he still went through his stretches, then jogged to the park to use the machines.
This was his normal now: play Redlands – exercise and sleep – play Redlands – shooting lessons he hadn't been able to get out of and walking; he hadn't been able to resist continuing his walks around the city – then restart the cycle.
It didn't feel normal, really.
It had been days as a routine. He should be used to it already, right?
Maybe not.
Maybe it was because he was dividing his time between two worlds?
It felt surreal, moving between two worlds he knew existed.
Even if at this point, one wasn't as real as the other yet.
It would be easier, he mused as he started jogging on the machine, to concentrate entirely on Redlands. Just to live there and pretend it was real until it became real.
It would be easier than the low ache of grief he felt at every new thing he learned about Greatcentral City. Every new thing that one day he would never see again.
Yeah, he could just get food delivered and never step out of his apartment again.
Eli was selfish though; he couldn't, wouldn't, let go of Earth.
He wanted all of it – this world and that world, this life and that life. All of it.
An impossible dream, seeing as he gained one because the other was destroyed.
At this point in time, his existence was almost perfect. He had Earth. He had a nearly true-to-life facsimile of Zushkenar.
He had time and knowledge.
He had a goal, and the framework of a plan.
Wasn't he set?
Eli didn't like to think of the nightmares he had sometimes, of playing Redlands and finding that he couldn't log out, of walking the city and the streets turning into massive mouths full of teeth that swallowed him.
Earth was his though. Earth was his, and he belonged to her. And if he only had her for a limited time, he shouldn't hide away from her. He was hers as much as she was his.
So he played Redlands and readied for a life in another world, because that was the path he chose. And he walked the city, taking cabs to further places and walking from there, talking to random people and seeing random things – because he chose that too.
The other day, he came across a dog park and spontaneously got forced into playing race-tag with half-a-dozen canines of all sizes and colors.
It was unexpectedly fun.
Eli walked back to his apartment, the cool evening air soothing against his sweaty form, deep enough into his thoughts that he nearly walked into a bunch of street toughs half surrounding a single person.
He rolled his eyes mentally.
This was a public street. Most street-dogs were all bark.
He stepped forward. "Hey!"
The single figure turned his head.
Oh, that was the craftmaster guy that was one of Zee's HI friends.
"Keep out of this, move along," one of the group separated and moved closer just to growl at Eli. "This is our street."
Eli scoffed. "This isn't District 16."
Behind the one who claimed this was their street, he could see the leader grab craftmaster-guy's collar and tug.
Before anyone could do anything else, the craftmaster exploded into a flurry of movement.
Three seconds: four of the nine toughs were down. Four: the fifth and sixth joined them on the ground. Eli tripped the one near him trying to get into the fight. Five: they all ran away.
Craftmaster-guy straightened his sleeves, turned to Eli. "Thanks, but I had it."
Eli nodded, a little bit stunned. "Right."
Why were everyone's moves so much cooler than his?
Even failed-robber-guy at Telanweth Temple! His moves might have been predictable, but he was relentless and almost utilitarian. Scare didn't move like that when he was a Lvl 7.
The other guy stepped closer.
"I don't suppose you know which building around here Arcazy Ventre lives? The address I was given says 'Rockastre Apartments' and apparently all these buildings are…?"
Oh, Eli knew why they stopped him now. The eyeshine of bio-infotech contact lenses was unmistakable. Someone who could afford that, you rarely see those walking around this neighborhood.
Eli chuckled. "Rockastre Apartments is the whole block. The main one is called 'the Apartments', the one right there. The one on the left with the faux-stone design is 'the Rocks'. The third is the Smalls. Don't ask me why; it's the biggest of the three. Come on."
"I'm fine without an escort."
"I live in the same building. Have for five years. I'm pretty sure half the people there don't know Zee's full name is Arcazy." Oh, he remembered now! "You're Rashid, yes?"
The other peered at him in surprise and wariness. Then his face cleared. "Oh. You're…from the café."
"Eli Crewan. We should go. The streetdogs might come back."
White teeth flashed as the other grinned. "I always appreciate the chance of vigorous exercise."
He cracked a laugh. "I bet. Feel free. But, as you see, and smell probably, I already had my exercise for the day and I'm not looking to do more. Besides if you provoke them too much, they might just multiply. I'd rather you don't conduct a one-man streetwar outside my apartment. The city's got a hair-trigger on suspending transport services whenever that happens."
"There are no gangs in Greatcentral."
"Yeah, but there are tensions. And every so often, well. This district is just four streets away from the slums. If something gets caught on public record too often, the whole district would be put on a watchlist. Once that's done, we'd be semi-officially part of the slums."
"I didn't realize there was an official area."
Eli shrugged. He didn't think so as well. Then he came to live here. "Unofficially, in a time of crisis, priority of emergency services and utilities are spotty going to 'problem' areas."
Rashid frowned. "I see. That's unfortunate."
They entered the elevator. It rose to Eli's floor in seconds. "Zee's place is two levels up. Can't miss it."
"Thank you. Will I see you there?"
"Dinner with my aunt, so no." He lifted a hand in a wave. The doors closed on Rashid's nod.
Eli jogged into the shower. It was 6:43. He wasn't late yet.
The cab dropped him off outside his great-aunt's house at 7:18.
The door opened before he knocked.
Surprisingly, it wasn't his aunt. Even more surprisingly, it was an old man.
Most of Aunt Amila's friends were women.
"Are you Eli?"
"…yes."
The old man turned and bellowed. "Amila, your Eli's here!"
"Tell him to come into the kitchen," the familiar voice hollered back.
A shrug to Eli. "You heard her, young man."
"I definitely did."
"Eli, come here and help these overgrown children with their toys." A familiar grey-haired head popped out of the huddle of four similarly grey-streaked heads.
That was one of his aunt's constant friends. Her name eluded him. "I don't know much about VR headgear."
Because that was what they were poring over on the dining table.
Also, he thought he and his aunt would have a quiet dinner.
"Don't listen to her," another head came up to glare disdainfully at the woman. "She's the one who bought this."
"I'm telling you it's a network cable port!" another old man insisted.
"Why would it need that? Who uses cables to network these days?"
"Just because you're as old as fiber-optics doesn't mean people use them anymore," agreed another voice.
"We're beyond fiber-optics now."
"Beyond? Are you saying we're old?!"
"What do you call this then!"
Eli tried to back away into the kitchen.
The headgear was shoved into his arms. The familiar GT logo stared up at him. A MarkVII. New, despite the line being discontinued already.
"Youngster, what is this?" a wrinkled finger pointed at a port-connection on the back of the helmet.
Thankfully, he knew the answer. He had to do a fair bit of research into the GT MarkVIII headsets.
"It's the optional data port, for connecting to a bio-cradle."
"Cable, right?"
He swallowed, feeling their intent stares. "Uh, the MarkVI had problems with resonance between different data-transfer systems. Compatibility issues. So they put a cable port on the MarkVII, yes. All the subsequent GatesTech headsets have them."
"I told you!"
"Fiber-optics?"
I wouldn't know." Fiber optics was just something he remembered from high school science history. He knew nothing about it.
They started to bicker again.
Eli waited until they were absorbed into fighting each other and escaped into the kitchen. He sidled up to his aunt, who was plating food. "What's going on?"
"Athur took exception to Ririn buying her own headgear, apparently it's better than his. Good for her. We chipped in to order ingredients when we realized it was getting late."
"So they invaded your house?"
"Don't worry, dear. Yaken here is more than making up for it. He used to be a chef in Estonia, you know. Five star restaurant."
The man who was smoothly keeping up with three pots and a wok turned to smile at him. Then eyes caught on the bag he was holding. "Are those peaches? Good choice, boy. I'll make preserves for your aunt."
Amila beamed.
"Go put together the tables. We'll be eating soon."
The dining table wasn't large enough for nine people. Eli tripped through the small storage room to bring out the folding table. That meant the dining/living area was smaller, so he had to carry a few armchairs to the corridor.
"Must be nice to be young," one of the old men patted his shoulders. "You're still strong."
"You're just lazy!" shot one of aunt's friends, who was helping to fill the extended dining table with food and eating utensils. "You can't carry a plate?"
"Yes, Athur, come carry the pitchers," Eli's aunt gestured imperiously.
The man grumbled as the others unsubtly pretended to be busy while chuckling at him. Four were women, his aunt's old friends – one who was named Ririn. Then there was Athur the grumbler and Yaken the chef and another old man who was not introduced.
Eli relaxed as he watched his aunt laugh with her friends.
He was a little envious, truth be told. He used to have friends who just dropped by each other's houses just to chat about inane things. They all grew apart after college.
It was heartening though, to see this. He was so happy his aunt wasn't actually lonely.
In his old age, would he have this too?
He could only hope.
"You're too young for old man thoughts."
Eli nearly choked on his baked chicken. "Huh?"
Yaken, the chef, who was seated across from him, reached out to touch between Eli's brows, a quick tap. "I know the look of people having old man thoughts. Prohibited! Prohibited from people under sixty years of age."
"Bah, have old thoughts if you want." Athur slung an arm over Eli's shoulders. "As long as you let me have young thoughts if I want. Old thoughts, young thoughts, life's too short to think all the time. Now that we're free, we do what we want!"
Half the table groaned in exasperation.
Athur patted Eli on the shoulder. "Tell me, if you were my age right now, would you buy VR gear?"
Former-Eli wouldn't, current-Eli needed it, so he compromised. "If I were your age right now, I think I'd be in a wheelchair."
The table laughed.
"You worry too much! This is VR, you know! VR!" Athur sighed in despair when he didn't get the expected reaction. "You probably grew up knowing it existed. But us, we only dreamed. I was thirty years old when Augmented Reality really started pushing boundaries. That was over seventy years ago now. In my eighties when Halfworld came out. Do you know how exciting that was? Hah!" His grin grew suddenly. "And now I can see what a fantasy gameworld looks like for free!"
What?
"That wargame," his aunt clarified, with a huff. "They're opening tourist accounts, apparently."
What, really?!
"We're part of the test group," sighed Yaken.
"If you don't want to, you didn't have to sign on." Athur pointed at him.
"Game this, weapon that, monster this, is all the kids could talk about now." Yaken shrugged. "I want to see what the blasted hype is all about."
"You should come, Eli," his aunt invited. "It's on Saturday."
Whoa, his hundred-year-old aunt had a seriously more active social life than he did.
"I'll feel more comfortable with you there," she finished. "All this HP this and equipper…things…"
Eli knew for a fact his great-uncle had once led a world-championship team of gamers. Just one year, but still! There was no way she'd call anything 'equipper things'.
What was his dear aunt plotting now?
Or rather, which friend had a grandchild of marriageable age that hadn't yet been introduced until now?
He cornered her after the others went home.
"You sounded like you wanted to talk about something when you called."
She sighed. "It's…not important at the moment. Come to the game thing on Saturday, hm? You look pasty, dear nephew, you should get out more."
Eli was concerned, but his great-aunt didn't talk even with his gentle coaxing.
He went home.
It was 9:30. Too late. He'd call the doctor again tomorrow.
He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes.
Turned on the recording function of his phone.
Where was he the last time?
Ah, the mine rumors.
"I said, the guild heard rumors of a mine of ethermica in the mountains. Unfortunately, the land wasn't part of the town allocation. So the guild leaders, in their wisdom, decided to start a campaign. Being a crafting guild, it wasn't a good idea. Rumors had a penchant for spreading, after all. Then of course, when they were sent scurrying back with their tails between their legs, they announced that the less-skilled of the crafters would be trained and sent to join the campaign…."