Gamelit 29 (connection) (Patreon)

            Nick had been home two hours before he noticed Shellie’s text. It was hard to be angry at her for taking so long when he hadn’t heard the notification because he’d been in the kitchen with Dad. They’d been… talking. Just talking. At first about food, and then, tentatively, about Mom. Then Dad had pulled out his plans for Donner’s Beck. “To get our minds off things. Run the camera. If it turns out well we can send it to your channel manager.”

            That had been good. Normal. Almost.

            Her text was like every other text she sent, short and utilitarian.

everything okay now?

            It was weird to be bothered by the ‘now’, but he was. As if she’d waited until the crisis was over.

we think so

great, let me know if you need anything

here for you babe

            Nick stared at his phone, then tossed it on the bed and reached for the wireset.

            When he zoned into Donner’s Beck, Galatea’s green light was flickering at arm’s length. He sat up from the rumpled blankets, wondering how he’d gotten back to the village when he’d disconnected in the middle of the woods.

            “Is your mother well?” the AI asked. “Are you well? Do you require assistance?”

            Did she actually sound worried? Was that planned or programmed or… how did that work? “Mom’s in the hospital. She’s awake… did you know she—all right, let me start over. When you told me she was unresponsive, I went downstairs and she’d… fainted, I guess. She wasn’t conscious, and I couldn’t wake her up. That’s why she’s in the hospital. But she’s awake and she seems okay. Hopefully tomorrow we’ll know what happened.” All of which led him to remember: “Thank you. If you hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have realized what was wrong. At least, not quickly.” He tried not to think of how things might have fallen out before Mom started playing the game. Would he have been upstairs, oblivious, running instances with friends, while she was lying there in need of help?

            “Hypotheticals are only useful if they provide a catalyst for changes,” the AI said.

            “So don’t beat myself up?” He shook his head. “How about ‘hypotheticals are also useful if they serve as warnings?’”

            “Warnings are only as useful as the changes they inspire.” The light bobbed closer. “If your mother is receiving medical care under hospital supervision, then all that can be done is being done for her.”

            He exhaled, hard… ran a hand over his head. It bumped his antlers, but that was good. It reminded him that he was in the game. No one died for good in the game. He was safe here.

            What was he doing here? Trying to distract himself?

            The glowing light circled him. “Humans often derive comfort from a change in focus from a difficult situation they cannot change to one that responds to their actions.”

            Saying ‘but this place isn’t real and nothing here matters’… would he have, before? “I’m sorry, I’m a mess.”

            “This reaction is common and expected.” A pause. “Your physiological state is suggestive of continued elevated stress. Patience while your body regulates to equilibrium is warranted. Allostasis may take hours to days.”

            That made him laugh a little. “Okay, thanks. I’ll stop beating myself up. It’s just…” A flash, and he was back there again, shaking Mom’s arms. “It was scary. I never really thought about my parents dying, you know? They’re not that old.” He covered his eyes. “This isn’t being streamed.”

            “Streaming was disabled prior to my informing you of your mother’s change in status.”

            His shoulders drooped. “Good. Then I don’t have to worry about this getting out. The world doesn’t need to know about my mental breakdown, or mom’s condition.”

            “If you would prefer I not discuss the topic….”

            Did he want to play the game? He could. There were herbs to gather. Or he could practice the mandolin. It would be better than sitting here being agitated. He pushed himself upright and headed for the forest’s edge, reached it… and stopped again.

            “You are having trouble with the contrast between the world and the game,” the AI said.

            He didn’t want to be, because he loved Omen Galaxica. Summoning up a smile, he said, “That doesn’t seem fair to you, since you only exist in the context of the game. And I like talking to you.”

            The light dimmed, stopped bobbing. “I also like talking to you. Would it be an imposition to ask your advice?”

            “No?”

            The AI definitely paused. “I, too, have interest in an individual who is in a hospital.”

            Oh, man. What had he uncovered? Nick blinked a few times, then started climbing the tree. He wanted height for this.

            Maybe Galatea knew it, because it waited until he’d reached the top before rejoining him. From the canopy of the forest, Nick could breathe easier… see the sky, feel a breeze. The world felt more expansive, and possibilities more numerous. “All right. So someone you care about is in the hospital.”

            Another pause. “I have been programmed not to mimic human emotions—”

            “I know, but you liked to talk to this person, and you’re interested in them, and you want to know what’s going on with them and what you can do about it. Right?”

            “I believe that is an accurate summation.” The light dimmed again. “I am not capable of legally obtaining information about his condition, and I have no physical manifestation that can enter the hospital. Nor am I permitted to read any corporate correspondence that might mention him.”

            Nick wasn’t in love with his PSAT scores, but he also wasn’t a dunce. “It’s him, isn’t it. Jonah McIntyre. The guy who programmed you. The guy who started Omen Galaxica with Sean Mallory. But I thought he was in a motorcycle accident? Didn’t he die?”

            “He has been in a specialized long-term care unit since the incident.”

            Nick winced. “Harsh. His family must be miserable.”

            “His parents are divorced, and he is estranged from both mother and father.”

            “What? Wow. No sisters or brothers? Cousins? Aunts?”

            “He has never mentioned any, nor have I found records of interactions with them.”

            “Wait, so he’s just… in the hospital? With no visitors? For how long? It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

            “Four and a half months.”

            “Oh man. That’s no good. They say people in comas can hear, still. Someone should be talking to him.”

            “I would… if it were possible. But I am not allowed to use systems external to Omen Galaxica.”

            “You’re not allowed, but… could you?”

            The light fizzled like a dying sparkler. “Answering this question accurately would open Omen Galaxica to legal repercussions.”

            “Which is an answer,” Nick said, nodding. “Got it. I guess you wouldn’t want to mess with hospital hardware, anyway, because if an accident happened then you might hurt people.”

            “Correct.”

            “But someone could carry a device you can use into his room, right? Or… maybe you could put a wireset on him!”

            “There is no medical literature on the probable effect of the wireset on a comatose patient….”

            “And you don’t want to risk it. If you were human, I’d say you really cared about him.” Nick smiled at the light. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to remind me you’re not. But seriously, can you get someone to bring a speaker in there that you can access? Or anyone? I… I could talk to him that way. I could tell him about the beta. He was working on that before the accident… I bet he’d love to hear about it.”

            “You would do this? For someone you don’t know personally?”

            “I might not know him personally but… this game has meant so much to me. And he wrote all the original storylines! Art… art matters. This game is a piece of art. To me, anyway, and to a lot of people. I would totally talk to him. And my friends would too, I bet.”

            “Research does suggest external stimuli can facilitate the remission of coma states….”

            “So? Let’s do it! You’re hesitating, I can tell. Are you doing that on purpose to suggest to me that I should assume whatever you’re going to say next is something you’re not sure how I’ll react to?”

            The glow intensified. “Conversational signaling was taught to me to increase the comfort of my users. By Jonah.”

            Nick grinned. “Fine. So what’s the thing you aren’t sure about sharing with me?”

            “Making this request would reveal a level of autonomous thought the company may not find comfortable.”

            Nick slumped against the tree trunk. Oh yeah, he could see that. It was one thing to have your AI evolving your game… another to find out it had decided it had a separate purpose external to that directive. Instinctively he wanted nothing to do with it, and he was almost entirely sure that had nothing to do with being a teen and bucking authority. “Okay, how’s this. I send an email to… um… someone you think would be willing to listen, asking for permission to talk to Jonah through a remote. Maybe play it up as a community service project—I’m putting together a group of friends to try to help a high profile coma patient. Then that person thinks it’s my idea, and you can tag along. Do you know someone who might help?”

            “I believe I know a candidate.”

            “Great! Let’s write the email.” Nick rubbed his hands together. “Thanks for this, by the way. It’s been a much better distraction than trying to play the game.”

            “I am deriving benefit from this interaction as well. Is it appropriate to receive thanks in that case?”

            “Most people would.”

            “Then you’re welcome, Nick.”

            He grinned as the window opened. The wireset was useful in more ways than one. “Say, what ever happened with the quest Mom and I were doing? Did it complete successfully?”

            “We have saved the partially completed state so that you can return later to witness the unfolding plot. I returned your characters to a safe zone to reduce disorientation in the event of a long absence.”

            “Perfect. When Mom gets back, she’s going to want to see what happens next. I sure do. All right, so who am I sending this to?”

            “Mollie Mindelbray. Vice President, Marketing.”