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  “A friend.”

  “Girlfriend?” I said dryly.

  “No. Not that, no.” He was flustered. The boy was socially awkward, a common problem with the latest generation. Everyone was so plugged into the computer that interaction, face-to-face like this game had, was hard.

  “So meet her. I know well enough that people from your world have ways of communicating.”

  Carver’s next journal entry was about a whale that devoured ships. So far he’d recounted five boring days of nothing where he sailed with a crew in search of the beast.

  Day Six: If this whale isn’t white, I’m going to punch that man in the face and kick her metal box. Not that she’ll even notice. Maybe I’ll scrawl nasty notes on the walls nearby.

  “Well. Uhhh…” Awesome Jr. said with his standard eloquence.

  “Not that easy?” Slowly, because today was a bad hip day, I pulled the bookmark cord into place and closed my journal. The book was set down and both my hands clasped together.

  “Well. No.” The young man had a flush to his face that reached to his ear tips.

  “Okay. Awesome, what exactly do you want from me?”

  “A quest?” He sounded confused.

  “A quest. To do what?”

  “I don’t know. Something? Don’t you… give me something to do? Then show me where something is?”

  Oh, joy. He was one of those Travelers. A fresh-faced boy with no clue what he wanted to do and who had joined just to follow someone else. It made my own confusion about this game seem annoyingly commonplace. This was still less annoying than the type who screamed “I’m going to be a great adventurer.”

  “No.” My head shook slowly and both hands felt tired from where I’d been holding the book.

  “Uhhh…”

  “Here’s a quest. Take this map. Visit the people on it, and ask how other Travelers are doing. Then come back here and tell me what you learn.”

  I watched the pop-up display my newly formed quest. I’d learned enough of Carver’s desires over the last few days to get a feel for where I’d missed opportunities. He’d want to know how the new players were doing in this world. If they were still around, the NPCs I’d sent them to would have an answer. Soon the journal was open again so my perusal of Carver’s past could continue.

  Day Seventeen: The whale wasn’t actually a whale. It was a squid-looking creature. Not that it was called a squid; everything in here looks a bit off. They’ve gone down different evolutionary paths.

  It was white and a few hundred feet long. The creature had seven arms instead of eight and a hammer-like shape to its head that was probably useless for swimming. That was something else.

  Oh, and it killed a good portion of the crew before we vanquished it. Boat’s a mess, taking on water in places we shouldn’t be. People are downstairs fixing it. I lived. The Captain, a fine woman who filled a corset to bursting, was pleased with the results. She looked even better with the corset off, but we both decided to keep the boots on.

  This kind of thing can’t be good for my heart. It does assist my will to live though, and the medics say I need as much of that as I can muster.

  Goodness. Carver was single-minded. Dragon to be slain, ladies to be laid, for great justice! I doubted he was the only one in Continue who went about with such focused desires.

  Awesome Jr. would get distracted by everything that moved. His path would probably go right by the brothel, which had lured at least two new players over the last few days. Either way he’d be busy for a while, so I could skim through the last of William Carver’s Journals.

  Plus, and this was the real reason, walking hurt. A nosy sort of boredom had overtaken me recently to boot. Plenty of reasons existed to send a new player out to find other newbies.

  He might not find the kid I’d sent to moo at a cow though. Hah. I hoped this new player, Awesome Jr., did find that would-be assassin. I’d like to hear how the first week in Continue had treated him.

  After Awesome Jr. wandered off, I poked at the hood of Carver’s robe. This thing was ugly, bland, and scratchy, but the hood did well in the rain.

  It also occasionally housed a sleeping [Messenger’s Pet]. The tiny creature had started napping there a few days ago, after I’d cracked the fifty-percent marker. It turned out two of Old Man Carver’s traits included [Relaxing Presence] and [Monster Tamer].

  [Monster Tamer] had likely been triggered after he hunted down the horse thing described in one of the earlier journals. Those were some of the less odd traits too. Carver had one squirreled away in his list of abilities called [Point Man], which, from the text, had less to do about being in charge of a group or scouting and more to do with scoring points with the ladies.

  Peg had been right. If the journals were to be believed, this old body had touched more women than I desired. I’d walked him home early after reading about one of the less savory encounters and left myself on autopilot in a hot tub. I didn’t know if the old man’s writing should be praised or reviled for the descriptive terms.

  Repeated hood tapping finally woke the creature. A head popped out of folds in the hood and a yawn of jaws snapped together with a click.

  “Help that poor boy out. Make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

  The tiny creature growled in displeasure.

  “We can stop at the bakery on the way home. How’s that?” Paying for goods in-game was cheaper than adding items into my ARC and far less messy.

  Sure enough, the greedy little fellow flew off.

  Almost two weeks and I still hadn’t found a name he responded to. A few people had stopped to ask what he was, and I told them a baby dragon. They found it funny since Old Man Carver had a title called [Dragon Slayer] tucked away in his character sheet.

  I’d read the description. That trait should have made any dragon or dragon-related creature instantly dislike the body I was in. Yet the [Messenger’s Pet] seemed completely indifferent. Guessed it wasn’t a dragon, or didn’t care about William Carver.

  That made him the only creature for miles that showed little interest in this body I inhabited. The whole thing was a weird contradiction that sat on the back burner of my problems.

  “Far too smart sometimes,” I muttered at the fleeing tiny dragon.

  Chances were he’d get distracted at least a dozen times while helping the new player.

  Hopefully there wouldn’t be any more dead [Coo-Coo Rill]s in my Atrium. That was a mystery unlikely to be revealed any time soon. Trying to figure out the silly program-altering creature’s secrets took up a lot of my spare time.

  “Father says you wanted a break today, Mister Carver.” The younger guard from earlier managed to sneak up on me. It should have been impossible from the way his armor jangled.

  “I do, Dayl, if you’d take over for me.”

  “Sure thing, Mister Carver, sir. Father says you’re back to practicing with Peg. Is that true?” Dayl’s headgear slipped out of place, and he hastily pushed it back up

  “I am,” I said.

  “Father says you’re…”

  “Dayl,” I barked.

  He snapped to attention while his armor rang in protest. “Yes, Mister Carver?”

  “Shut up now.” Oh look, another percent on my progress bar.

  “Yes, Mister Carver, sir.”

  I grumbled and headed off under canopies of trees, past the bakery and across town. Each step was painful but not unbearable. Working with Peg on exercises had been extremely helpful, almost like physical therapy. Every time I logged out, the dull ache from Carver’s body and these exercises lingered and kept me tired.

  Mylia was walking nearby, which was part of the reasoning behind my request for a guard. I’d made no progress on her side quest yet. None of the new players I’d talked to had provided any sort of useful opening. Mylia herself was nearly an enigma.

  “Are you going to visit the children tonight? They’ve been asking when you’ll share more stories,” she said.

  I grunted
and kept walking, cane alternating with my slightly more limber body.

  “I tell the little ones that you’re not up to it most days.”

  “Oh?”

  She had mentioned before that William Carver read stories to kids. I hadn’t pursued it enough, among everything else going on. That was nearly two weeks ago. Goodness. I was almost halfway through this strange existence and still things blindsided me.

  “Can you visit this evening? You seem to be moving much better. They’d love to see that you’re doing well.”

  “I’ll make time, Mylia. For the children of course.” I tried to sound gruff and serious.

  Reading children a story would be emotionally painful.

  A reminder of how life didn’t go. I paused mid-step, clenched both eyes shut for a moment, and tried not to sway. In real life, I could push through these moments, but in the game, with Carver’s weakened body, it was harder to stay upright.

  Happy place. Focus on a happy place. The sky was glorious. The world around me was bright and lively. People went about their day, pleasantly chattering away.

  “Of course, Mister Carver.” Mylia smiled.

  I could see an almost glow of happiness pass over her features, but I fought to keep Carver’s eyes focused forward.

  “I’ll leave you to your rounds and let the children know to expect you.”

  I nodded and gave a half wave. Old Man Carver would never show weakness in front of a lady! The moment Mylia was out of sight I tracked down the nearest bench and rested. A journey to Peg’s required pit stops, despite my navigating far better than I had the first few days.

  This was how most days seemed to go. I’d log in, wander to the beach bench, and alternate between reading or helping new players. NPCs from about town would drop by occasionally with very friendly conversations that reminded me of the day-to-day life I’d “forgotten” in the last few weeks.

  Players occasionally tracked me down. Sometimes they came back three or four times to ask about other skills. I’d update their maps after asking them to complete a new quest. More than one player was sent to pick up cupcakes for my [Messenger’s Pet] friend. I challenged one girl to come up with a name for the tiny creature, but she failed to get a positive response. After nearly fifty names and complete failure, I updated her map with the location of a farmhand who had a certain way with animals. She’d tried hard.

  One older man, who had to be near Carver’s age, had started the game and sat on the bench with me. We said nothing for two hours as the sun set. I left him a map leading toward one of the town’s three mystic tutors. This one focused on more theoretical puzzle stuff. In the morning, the scroll had been gone and the older man hadn’t turned up again.

  One player had logged in and run around until he was out of stamina. He lay there, gasping with an overly excited look on his face. Once the endurance bar was full, he took off, kicking up dirt and sand all along the beach. His shouts brought a smile to my face. The player hadn’t outright said it, but I was willing to bet his legs were damaged somehow in real life.

  Each player that popped in was a little different. They asked for different things, spoke in ways that didn’t line up at first. Part of me started to realize that this game was routing players from all over the globe to this starting zone.

  How did I understand them then?

  I asked Beth one day between rounds as William Carver. She left me a voice mail explaining that since the game was all digital immersion, it didn’t actually use an English language. In essence, the system was translating conversations super-fast from the Earth languages to another set of world gibberish and back.

  It wasn’t like people showed up in the game being clearly Asian, or Indian, or any other obvious ethnicity. These players were all human though. My city, [Haven Valley], was on the border of two human Kingdoms. They had a very loose alliance that was constantly teetering, according to Dayl. I sighed and put all those thoughts out of my mind and read another passage from Carver’s final journal.

  Recently I’ve felt everything catching up. The irony of my situation is that being forced into bed rest has increased my play time. They were kind enough to dial down the feedback so my ticker doesn’t feel the strain like it used to.

  Of course, everything else is less sensitive, but I should be happy this old goat got a few final rolls in the hay.

  I reread the notes I’d scribbled down two years ago when I first started visiting here. I’m sad to think of all the people I’ve left behind over my journey. I made so many promises to visit, and I couldn’t fulfill half of them. Strange.

  I feel like this world is more real than the other. Maybe it’s merely a wish of mine, to hope that if my body dies there, that I can keep on adventuring over here. To live like a child again, in a world where so many dreams are possible.

  I should call Michelle and thank him before it’s too late.

  Abruptly, halfway through this final book, the entries stopped. No word of his time as a Guide, or this town, or how he came to settle here. Nothing of value citing what had happened or where he was going to end up. This was his form of retirement I guessed, but what filled in the gaps?

  I shoved the book into a pocket and kept onward with my journey to Peg’s.

  One possibility that worried me was that William Carver had died before being able to write another entry. At what point had the computer literally taken over his life? I’d thought it was fairly recent, but the NPCs around here acted like Carver had been a firm presence well before any other player had started the game.

  I should write some letters. To make sure Carver got one last chance to say good-bye.

  “Let’s see,” I mumbled, looking over the weapons. Heavier ones actually made my progress bar improve. Lighter ones meant I could last longer, but they were a really slow decline.

  “You better not be trying to break your arms again, William!”

  “No such luck, Peg!” My yell was more of a mumbling grunt into the wall. I’d had to lean close to see how the handles looked.

  Carver had a skill called [Weapon Evaluation] that seemed to rank the value of items. According to the details, it was a sub-skill of [Identification] that focused only on weapons. The more I studied the lineup, the more accurate the rating was. Using the game’s feedback, I picked a larger two-handed blade. It looked big compared to the frail arms and body I resided in but wasn’t exactly an over-the-top anime sword either.

  “Seriously, William! You retired!” Peg was shouting at me and alternating with some other person. They didn’t look to be a player, just an NPC being trained by another NPC.

  I smiled, and the image of a fit William Carver came to mind, one holding up a giant sword in preparation to swing. The Carver in the journals wasn’t the sort of man who did well with concepts like block or parry, but who relied instead on a strange brute strength. With game stats, it was easy to see how real life limitations wouldn’t prevent a character with high strength from making any play style work.

  There had to be some in-game benefit to knowing martial arts of some sort too. Sadly that was not me. I danced at best. When in the comfort of my private little program, I shook my groove thing like a madman, pretending to be any number of famous figures in their videos. My “Thriller” imitation was excitingly depressing for a middle-aged man with a gut. The moonwalk skill had taken countless hours to get down, and I could do one in real life too. Dancing looked terrible on a man with my belly.

  Throwing someone over my shoulder with a twist and shout, however, was beyond my skills. Maybe I’d try it out when I made my own character. I could train to be a cage fighter. Oh, a staff was kind of cool. I bet I’d be pretty good with a Bo staff. Or a bow and arrow, that would be neat. I could count my kills and make friendly fun of dwarves. But Old Man Carver was all about the two-handed sword.

  I ignored Peg’s worried shouts and stumbled to the practice dummy. My exercise would go on for about an hour in-game and leave me tired and breathless. Afte
r that, I’d rest, eat a snack I’d conned from one of the new players as a quest, then move onward to my next destination. That was the plan, and that’s how it went.

  After replacing the weapon in its home, I stumbled to a bench and pulled out the map. Evening was coming on soon, and I wanted to see those children Mylia talked about so often. Their home was on the outskirts of town. Carver’s notes said it was an orphanage with about twenty children. Sometimes they were adopted, but that was less likely than the child moving on or getting a job. According to this, Mylia had been there for about six years.

  Odd. I wondered if that had any relation to Carver being in this town for six years? I’d have to figure out a way to get information about her eventually, without violating Old Man Carver’s prideful personality.

  “By the Voices, William, what nonsense are you up to now?”

  “The usual.”

  “You always stare at that scroll as if there are secrets buried in the ink somewhere.”

  “There are.”

  Peg snorted. “Doubt there’s anything really useful there. All I see are little squiggles for buildings. Any fool new to this town would learn it easily enough, even those narrow-minded Travelers you send here.”

  “Here”—I pointed at an alley—“is an alley known for pickpockets and thieves.”

  Next there was a location right outside of town, north along the water’s edge.

  “Here is a cave that is good for meditation if anyone’s willing to sit inside it overnight.”

  Finally I pointed to the south, near the main road out of town. “Here’s where Henry lives, and he’s always willing to teach Travelers how to make bricks in exchange for labor.” Henry sat along the edge of town, waiting for traders and long-distance Travelers who might need his crafts.

  “There are a lot of secrets in these maps, and I have to remember where they are to help out the new Travelers.” After much testing, I’d found out that certain NPCs could be spoken to more easily than others. Our balance of giving and taking must have met Carver’s needs.

  “Mh. I guess you’re right about that. Pretty sharp for an old man! I hope I remember things half as well as you do when I get that old!” She slapped me on the back with an overly excited grin.