Gamelit 20 (a lament for missing persons) (Patreon)

            Nick glanced at the bobbing light. “What?”

            Was it his imagination, or had it hesitated? “The surviving NPCs of Donner’s Beck must have feelings about their absent family members. I am trained extensively on human literature and can predict their behavior, but I was not programmed to simulate emotions and can only extrapolate what it is to miss someone. Can you explain the experience?”

            Nick frowned. “I thought all the Ais were supposed to pretend to be more human, to make interacting with them feel more normal?”

            “Many are. I was not.” This was definitely a longish pause. “It was felt to be manipulative.”

            “I guess it is, though… I don’t know. How different is it from humans pretending to feel or say things they don’t actually mean to get the people listening to feel a certain way?” He scowled. “I hate that. Everyone wants you to say what you mean, but then you do and they get angry because they didn’t want to hear it. Or they didn’t want you to say it so bluntly. It’s annoying.”

            “We have observed that how an idea is presented affects the likelihood of its adoption.”

            “Ridic true.” Nick resumed walking the borders of Donner’s Beck, which glowed slightly when he looked at the right part of the ground; helpful, since it was late evening, game-time, and getting darker as he moved through the forest. A map appeared in his peripheral vision, just like it would have before the wireset… he wasn’t sure if he wished it wasn’t automatic, or if the convenience of having it magically appear was better. If he insisted on doing it himself, would he learn mapmaking? Or get better at drawing? “But anyway. Missing someone.”

            “Yes.”

            “I… I don’t know, really. I still have all my family. I guess when Abbo and Mami left for Miami, I missed them, but it was so long ago I barely remember them.”

            “Then some part of the experience is based on timing.”

            “Uh, right. If it was long ago, or you were very young, it doesn’t hurt as much.” He was guessing here, because when had he ever experienced real loss? Except—was this dumb? “I had a friend in elementary school who moved away. That was hard.”

            The AI didn’t seem to know that missing your friends as much as you might miss a dead family member was weird. “How did this hardship manifest? If you are willing to share this experience.”

            “As long as it’s not going out on stream….”

            “This conversation is not being recorded for public consumption. It is, however, available to selected parties within the corporation who monitor gameplay for safety and quality assurance.”

            Nick guessed those selected parties were probably asleep at the wheel for most of the day. If they weren’t, they probably wouldn’t care what a teenager thought about… well, anything. The only one he didn’t want getting hold of this was Fish, and that was equal parts not wanting to be ribbed about it, and not wanting to hurt Fish’s feelings. Fish had considered himself Nick’s best friend since forever. “Danny and I used to do everything together. That… probably sounds dumb, because what do elementary school kids do, really. Play games, and take things apart, and run in circles or go swimming or climb trees. But he was easy to hang out with. We just… got along. Without any effort. When he moved away….” Nick stopped and rested a hand on one of the trees. Petted it a little, to feel the texture: smooth and in places, flaky. “It was like something was gone in my life, and no one else fit where he used to.” God, that sounded dramatic. How was that useful to an AI? “I guess from the outside, it looked like a few hours a day when I didn’t have anyone to do things with without having to worry about whether he’d have fun, or I would. We could talk, or not talk, and it would always go well. Even when we had fights they weren’t much of anything, and we got over it quickly.”

            “When your friend left, he no longer contacted you through other means?”

            “Well, sure. For a while we played games online, and did the video calling, but it’s not the same.” Nick looked around himself, suddenly wondering whether a wireset world would change things. “We didn’t go to the same school anymore, and we didn’t have the same schedule. We weren’t even in the same timezone. It got too hard.”

            The AI didn’t answer immediately, and Nick resumed the quest. Every step reminded him of his first experiences in the game, when he’d played the level 1 cavalier Ronan. But the situation was almost the opposite of normal memories. Those eroded with time, while this was in front of him, more vivid than when he’d made the memory. Was that disorienting or awesome? How could he tell?

            “Missing a person is about their absence in your daily routine,” the AI finally said. “Is this a reasonable interpretation?”

            “I think so?” Nick said. “Missing them, in particular, and in a way that can’t be replaced.”

            “Then perceiving a loss of a person’s presence in your daily life… is that sufficient? Or is some emotion necessary?”

            “That is the emotion,” Nick said. “You hurt because they’re not there and you wish they were. And nothing else you fill the time with is the same—you want them back, and you can’t have them. That’s the pain.” Thinking about the kids—those were the NPCs the AI was trying to understand, he guessed—he added, “For the kids it’s worse, because their parents and families were responsible for taking care of them and keeping them safe and helping them grow up. Missing a friend is really bad, but it’s a choice you make, you know, to be friends with someone. But your parents made you, and until you’re an adult, you depend on them for a lot of stuff. So it’s not just hurt then, it’s fear too, because there’s no one to protect or help you.”

            “The relationship between parent and child is fascinating.”

            “I guess it would be, if you don’t… uh… come into existence because of biological… processes.” There, he got through that without sounding weird.

            “You will soon have a younger sibling.”

            “And that’s a really strange feeling,” Nick said. “Let me tell you.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I’m almost done with high school!” Except how would that explain anything to an AI? Would it get it? “Most people grow up with their brothers and sisters because their parents don’t have them so far apart. I’m going to be so much older. It’ll almost be like I’m another grown-up to them.”

            “Do you wish you had remained the sole offspring?”

            “What? No. Of course not. I’ll be fun to have a kid brother. Or sister. I just… wish I’d grown up with them. The way Fish did with his sister. That seems like it would have been really cool.”

            The AI sounded… interested? “You can miss people and situations that you did not directly experience?”

            “Oh sure. We imagine them, and we have feelings about them, and then….” Nick stopped. “Explaining it makes it sound messed up. Like we come up with reasons to feel unhappy. Maybe we do? Dad says that sometimes. That we make our own realities and then stake a claim in them as if they were real.” He laughed. “Dad’s a little weird.” He came to a halt as the quest updated: he’d walked the outer boundaries of the town, now he had to inventory the remaining ‘assets’… the buildings, items, and any animals that hadn’t run away. That was going to be a lot of work, and as he faced the shell that had once been a vibrant village, he felt it like a punch to the stomach: the nostalgia of being in level 1 human territory again, the anger that someone had destroyed one of its notable landmarks, the disappointment that he hadn’t been able to share the cool stuff about it with Mom.

            His last step had taken him to the banks of the stream the village had been named for, and on a whim he pulled the mandolin off his back and crouched on the bank. By then it was full night and clouds were obscuring the moons, but not being able to see the water made the tinkle of it moving over stone clearer. He plucked one string, and then another, picking out things that sounded good together… too cheerful, for his mood. He remembered the music theorist’s talk about surprise, and “haunting tones,” and tried to remember the complicated chords that produced those unexpected sounds. The AI apparently understood because a set of guitar tabs ghosted into view. He tried the first few and liked the third immediately. From there he went on, constructing a lament for Donner’s Beck. How long that took… he didn’t know. He didn’t feel the time passing. He stopped when he was happy with the result—or at least, happy enough. Then he took a long, calming breath, and played it through straight, and didn’t mess up, and it was good.

            The clouds had dissipated; Nick watched the water trickle past, glowing in the moonslight, and then heaved himself up to start the inventory. He wasn’t looking forward to the wreckage… but he also didn’t have to live with it, because he would change it.