A World Called Memory

  Copyright © 2019 by M J Sweeney

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.aworldcalledmemory.com

  Acknowledgements

  For the fantastic artwork:

  Dale Ziemianski

  For my Editors:

  Tony Chen and Taylor S

  Contents

  Prelude

  Wormhole

  Part One

  Hold Up!

  Queen Armadillo

  Three Moons

  Part Two

  Randain

  Eragdas Alfar

  Empty Throne

  Part Three

  Geras Anandiel

  Popina Circle

  Ligan on Fire

  Part Four

  Elz Kerjiggy

  Necromancer

  Appendix

  Eragdas Maps

  Glossary

  39 Gods

  Prelude

  Sydney, 3 March, 2049

  I often wonder if anyone is really aware that they’re facing a defining moment in life until it’s actually passed. I was sitting on my beat-up leather couch, and gingerly fingering a circular implant attachment. It was gunmetal grey in colour, and about four centimetres wide and two centimetres thick. The bottom end was tapered slightly, where it was meant to go into an occipital node. It had no other distinguishing features, just like any number of other attachments that allowed you to directly interface with TerraNet and immerse yourself online. Despite the fact that I had done it many times before, this time the simple action of plugging it in triggered a whole new level of uncertainty. This time, if I followed through, I knew I would never sit on this couch again.

  What I held, and what I was about to do with it, was also illegal. Connecting to foreign worlds such as Memory was not so bad or objectionable, but the unique option of full immersion was. Although considered legitimate consciousness transfer, it was still a kind of suicide. Full transfer to another world was a one way ticket—to heaven or hell, I didn’t know—but there was no coming back. This was the stark reality I faced: I could stay in this world and start trying to deal with all the problems I had, or I could go to a new world and see if I could make good there. But there was no option for returning.

  For this reason, various religious groups and extremists had been trying for some years to get game manufacturers offering such technology put out of business. They claimed such technology was the devil’s ploy to gather souls and convert them to evil, away from the light that the religions offered. But all they’d succeeded in doing was creating a black market, for although consciousness transference was currently technically illegal, it was still sought after. So people like me had to resort to either the black market or bribery to acquire the technology.

  There was also some debate as to whether such worlds were real and independent, versus man-made. Although it was clear the technology involved created some kind of microscopic wormhole—either to a new galaxy, or an artificially created extra dimension—no one seemed able to definitively prove it was one or the other. On the one hand, we had local servers and technology here on Earth that allowed us to look at worlds like Memory, but no way to actually influence them directly. At least, not from this side. This seemed to speak for the idea that these worlds were independent. In addition, the quantum physics involved seemed to point at the probability that although the worm-hole was man-made, including the servers that powered it at our end, the connection at the other end was powered by an independent entity.

  On the other hand, these worlds all seemed to operate with various game-mechanics, a twenty-first century Earth-based system for assigning numerical data to human characteristics. It seemed illogical that such alien worlds would adopt our modern, rather arbitrary values. Religious groups and extremists all decried the existence of aliens, claiming it was a government scam to reinforce even more control and restriction. Some conspiracy nuts posed the idea that these worlds were controlled by a series of government-made artificial intelligences that were slowly and surely taking over our minds and souls.

  Most of that was beyond me. I knew little of the maths or physics involved, or the religious implications, and didn’t care to find out. It was enough that I could attempt the transfer myself.

  Why was I here? Why this choice? The short answer to that was that I only had access to two full immersion games. What put most people off from transferring into a unique new world was actually the most appealing to me. If I was fortunate enough to be granted full consciousness transfer, I wouldn’t be able to come back to Earth. The first choice I had was Black Eye—a sci-fi galaxy with cyborgs, aliens, and epic space-battles. The second was Memory, set in a more isolated world in the Andromeda Galaxy, but with elves and dragons and magic. How it was known these worlds existed in those galaxies I didn’t know, but I liked the finer details.

  This choice was quite simple. I had less experience and interest in sci-fi than fantasy. I was also a close-combat kind of fellow, and didn’t mind getting my hands dirty. So I really liked the sound of Memory. Since a young age, I’d always been into fantasy games and fantasy stories. Even as an adult, the adventure worlds were a relief from the starkness of my working life. Plus, I’d always liked playing such games as an elf—long-lived, good-looking, and smart as hell. What would it be like to actually experience being one, in the flesh?

  The longer answer to why I was here… well, that was more complicated. My name—Carradine Bartholomew Sacks—was one that I didn’t particularly want anymore, and not just because it was such a mouthful. Life hadn’t been so kind to Carradine Sacks, and it was time for a fresh start. My first name reminded me of my parents and grandparents, and not in a bad way, but they were all dead. It was also cool to be named after an iconic martial arts movie star from a bygone era. Yet this felt like ancient history and wrapped up in too many of my bad choices—which was the whole point of why I sat here.

  My occupation—if you could call it that—was a bouncer. Well, it kept me occupied. I wasn’t the biggest fighter, nor was I the fastest or the most talented, partly because I didn’t go looking for fights. Considering the size of most bouncers, I was smaller than average, though a little bigger than most guys—I was also stronger than I looked. This was often useful, as the adage “pick on the small guy” was often applied in my case, and I didn’t mind surprising the assholes.

  It had never been my aspiration to be a bouncer, and despite a degree of ambivalence about it, it wasn’t long until I was employed as the cooler. Probably the main reason for that was that I wasn’t quite so hot-headed compared to the others, and I was also relentless when it came to protecting the club’s best interest, even to my own detriment. This more than anything got me the higher paid job and helped me keep it. Which is why I was given the task of not only ejecting the rubes that got out of hand, but also making sure my co-workers heads were on straight and the club wasn’t going to be liable... a tightrope walk between legal and illegal. Despite that, I was essentially just hired muscle, and an occasional debt collector.

  In this day and age (it was 2049 for god’s sake!) you’d think we’d have sorted out such things as sex and violence and greed. But no.

  Earth hadn’t had any significant wars since the East African purge of 2033, which only lasted a few weeks anyway. Many borders had opened up since then with free trade. Individuals from most countries could work in different markets—traveling across borders got easier and easier. But the American/EU trade conglomerates controlled so many of the day-to-day d
o’s and don’ts, that many, if not most, civil liberties had been eroded.

  As overall safety increased, so too did the laws that governed it. You’d also think with all the New Puritans running around, places that offered gambling and prostitution would shut up shop. But no dice. Over half our patrons were the very same puritans, some in disguise, some not, come to let off some steam after a hard day in the Office of Ethical Regulations. I must admit, I did get some satisfaction from smashing some of those faces, but I can’t say any of them really deserved it. They were a product of their environment, just as I was.

  But this was old news.

  The main question: was I happy with my position of authority, job security, and semi-reliable team mates? No. Perhaps I should have been, but I wasn’t. I worked for a family corporation that was neck deep in corruption—gambling, prostitution, drugs, bribes to the right officials. Every day in the business, it just felt like I was getting more and more dirty. It’s only after so long that you realise the satisfaction of thumping some drunk fucker who’d salivated over the wrong girl is completely hollow—as all such violence is. Without purpose or spirit, it saps your soul and drags you down to hell—before you know it, you’re living in a self-created misery, day-in day-out.

  After some years of this, and after my wife had left me… well, this was also after my son died. Shit. I know I’m not telling this in the right order, but some secrets are hard to share. Samuel died from leukaemia… fuck that’s hard to say. I usually found it easier to pretend it never happened at all. He… was only five years old when he passed, so I was pretty messed up after that, and not a good husband. I won’t sugar coat it. When he died, I just couldn’t handle it, and I behaved like a real piece of shit.

  I don’t blame Belinda for leaving me. It was better that she did. Maybe our relationship was on the way out anyway, even before Sam got sick, but that’s no excuse. At one time, I blamed her for bitching and moaning too much, and for complaining about my involvement—or lack of it. But nowadays, I could only blame myself for what happened, and how I’d stuck my head in the sand. It still stings a bit to admit that, and only proves how hard it is to let go of some fights. Eventually, all I had was my job. Working at the club had given me something to do, but not really for the better.

  Then, along comes an opportunity for a brave new world. A different life? Fuck yeah! Sign me up! This journey—if I made it—was not unlike that of the immigrants of old, traveling by longship from one country to another and looking for a chance at a new life—adventure, wealth, friends, maybe even love.

  So, there I sat. My initial enthusiasm had curbed a little, facing the stark reality of what I was about to do. I kept thinking, "The blue pill or the red pill, the blue pill or the red pill?" Safety and predictability, or risk and adventure? Put that way, my choice became clear. Clicking the metal attachment into place, into my left occipital node, I lay down on the couch. I counted back from ten… nine… eight... I was drifting into the TerraNet fugue state…

  After a short hum and beep, the translucent interface popped up, with a three-dimensional background. I had used cortical-reality gear before, but this was a whole level of difference. A kind of framework was around me, like sitting at the edge of a cliff, or perhaps a portal? I was peering down a very long tunnel, with a disturbing kind of emptiness all around me—it looked like the vacuum of outer space. In fact, stars seemed to be glittering in the distance. Down at the very end of the tunnel, I could dimly see colour, what looked to be grass, trees, and water—maybe a stream of some kind. Enticing but distant, well out of reach.

  The interface was semi-transparent, hovering in front of my eyes, warping and distorting to the sides of my vision, but coming into view as I turned my head. There was a logo at the top:

  [A World Called Memory]

  The interface allowed me to type by blinking or thinking, or gave me a virtual keyboard with virtual fingers. I started to use the keyboard out of habit, then changed my mind. Better to get used to the full immersion thing sooner rather than later. I blinked at the interface and accessed the first screen.

  Login

  New User? Blink for yes

  Options

  / Latest Events /

  / Monthly or Yearly Subscription /

  / Full Consciousness Transfer /

  Swallowing through a suddenly dry throat, I blinked on the third one. I had been told earlier this part would be quick. Either sudden acceptance, or rejection and back to options one and two.

  I felt a tickle as the implant device seemed to be scanning me, and found myself recalling a few turning points in my life. The death of my parents when I was younger—a stupid car accident—my failures in various jobs from paramedic to IT consultant to bouncer, each one worse than the next. And then the crowning glory: the death of my son and subsequent divorce. I shut down each thought one after the other, having had some decent practice at that. Fucking big-brother is watching... and invading.

  I had been told very clearly that this scan was vital, but I should also prepare myself for disappointment. For the Gods of Memory (or the AI controlling it), did not accept just anyone as a candidate for citizenship—whether it be as an elite adventurer (as I was planning) or something else. Most fanatics, or those trying to escape persecution, arrest, or legal problems, were simply rejected. I’d also been told many of the elderly, the sick, or otherwise handicapped were also usually rejected. I didn’t particularly fit in to any of those categories, and hoped Memory would accept my particular psychological profile.

  Just as I began to grit my teeth in annoyance, I was pleasantly surprised by a soft series of beeps and a ding. It seemed the scanning software had accepted me.

  Login successful

  Create New Character

  Select: / Race / Class / Divine / Statistics /

  Shit. I’m in. Accepted and done! My heart was beating rapidly, so I took a moment and drew in a few deep breaths.

  I blinked on Race and saw a short list. First, human, then elf, dwarf, sprite, and beast races. Each of those had four to five sub-races, so I did a quick count—twenty-five playable races. A lot of the standards, plus a couple extras.

  I blinked on sprite and found the sub-categories: ‘sprite,’ ‘pixie,’ ‘gnome,’ and ‘goblin.’ Next, I blinked on pixie. An avatar that could fly would be really cool. A little flying elf woman popped up on my interface and zoomed around. She was tiny, a little bit sexy, and really fast. She came with bonus agility and some speed and combat bonuses, but with a big minus to vitality, strength, and carrying-capacity.

  After what I’d read about healers and the lack of healing potions in-game, I thought the need for high vitality would be a priority, so little elf-like pixie would be a no-go. Besides, did I really want to spend the rest of my life as a little boy (or girl)?

  After reading some of the online manuals and looking up the forums, there were two classes that stood out for survivability: warriors and rogues. Healers or priests (the names seemed interchangeable) could also have good survivability, but if there happened to be a fight, they were usually attacked first. “Kill the healer!” was a typical RPG battle slogan.

  The problem with most warrior-tanks was that although they had good physical defences, they didn’t always have the best mental resistances, and also little or no healing abilities of their own. A rogue’s survivability was because of their dodge and fade abilities for hit and run, but they were still a bit squishy. One little mistake and you were toast. Mages made great crowd-controllers and were usually good damage-dealers, but they lacked the ability to engage and take a hit or dodge consistently. Almost no chance to solo with those.

  There were four sets of the typical fantasy stereotypes—Warrior, Priest, Mage, and Rogue. Each one of those had a further two subclass specialisations; for warrior it was barbarian and knight. There were also higher level warrior specialisations (level 60 and up); advanced classes like Blademaster, Battlemage, Divine Knight and Warmaster. There was als
o the option of hybrid classes where you could mix different classes and class abilities from level 1, which gave some obvious benefits plus a few drawbacks.

  Spell-casters typically needed both high intellect and high charisma—the latter apparently because it provided mana regeneration, while the former gave you flat increase to mana itself. If I picked this option, and also went into warrior, I would have limited choices with increasing my warrior stats; such as agility, strength and vitality. So I wasn’t really sure if it was workable. There was a heal-over-time spell that didn’t require much ongoing mana, but it didn’t seem to do enough in combat. Something about that stood out, though. A heal-over-time would do more total healing than a single shot heal, but only if you levelled it up, and only if you lasted long enough in a fight for it to be effective.

  I thought about my choices. What did I prefer? A mage? Not really. I mean, it would be really cool to cast offensive spells, to really feel that kind of power… but, know thyself. From what I read, they had to study a lot—reading, writing, deciphering old tomes, learning runes. There was no such thing as an ‘instant learn’ spell-book. You had to actually study for hours and hours, days and weeks. I liked learning stuff, but spending a lot of game hours studying books? No thanks. Or actually visiting grave-sites and peering into entrails? Not my thing at all. Some people might be able to handle that on paper, but for real? I don’t think so.

  On the other hand, I didn’t mind physical training, doing exercises and such. I also preferred the camaraderie of other warriors; I had in real life, so that was unlikely to change while in Memory. A warrior class, but not a brute; I really didn’t like being hit. Much better to avoid a haymaker than try and survive it, as my old boxing trainer used to say. Thinking of the healer option, I wondered how to make them both effective.

  I started looking at races again, then hit on it. Only one race had a regeneration special ability, other than werewolves, and werewolves weren’t playable at the beginning. I checked the specs and found it stacked with other heal-over-time. Great, a bit of a plan was coming together. I’d start with the base warrior class, and add the priest class as a support—definitely a hybrid.