The Greystone Chronicles: Book One: Io Online Page 4

  Lainey just giggled happily to herself as she set down her own plate and took a seat across from him. “You stay in the game for half a day, and I’m to blame?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant!” Alexander gave her his most accusing look. A year ago he had convinced her to try to the game. When she logged in with him, and saw that his avatar’s class was “Knight”, she had fluttered her eyes at him and acted all damsel in distress-ish. Upon logging out, she promptly told Alfred all about the Knight in shining armor who protected the virtue of innocent maidens. Since then, both she and Alfred often referred to him as “Sir Knight” and generally gave him endless shit as he recovered from long sessions.

  Deciding to change the subject, Alexander asked “Alfred, any messages for me?” before munching on a delicious slice of bacon.

  “You have one voice message from Princess Sasha. She called while you were showering. Shall I play it for you, Sir?”

  “She is NOT a prin… you know what? Just, yes. Play the message Alfred.”

  “Of course, Sir Knight.”

  “Yo! Dork boy!” Sasha’s excited voice blasted through the house sound system “Awesome lootz!! You’re like our very own leprechaun. Rub your tummy and magical things happen! Wait… that didn’t sound right. Shit. Anywayyyy…” she was clearly still on an adrenaline rush from either the boss fight or the luscious bounty of gear, “the guys wanna do another run ASAP. You pick the dungeon. Call me and we’ll set up a time. Tell Lainey I said to punish you like you’ve been a baaaad boy!”

  Lainey snorted while drinking her orange juice. The two women in his life. They both teased him, and looked after him, like he was their little brother. Sasha had been his best friend since they were five. For the last decade and a half they’d seen each other nearly every day, either in person or online.

  Lainey had been hired by Alexander’s father when he was 15, as his symptoms had started to develop in earnest. She was his personal trainer, housekeeper, nurse, and confidant. Initially, Alexander had been angry with his father for hiring her. He was determined to take care of himself. Five years later, he couldn’t imagine life without her.

  “Ok, Sir Stabs-a-lot. You heard the princess. Time to put in some work. Finish your food, take your meds, and meet me in the gym.” Lainey smacked the back of his head as she danced past him. “Alfred sweetie, can you hook me up with some mood music in the gym? I’m thinking… Nine Inch Nails!”

  “Of course, Lady Elaine. It would be my pleasure.” Alexander could hear a smirk on Alfred’s imaginary face.

  Alexander grabbed the tiny plastic cup that Lainey had filled with his morning meds. He tossed back the pills and washed them down with the last of his orange juice. Seems like there are more pills this week. Wonder what I’m taking now? Wonder if it matters at all…”

  At age 11, Alexander had fallen down. He was at the park near their home, chasing Sasha while threatening her with the most dire of fates… cooties! He was on flat, open ground. There was nothing to trip over, no sticks or rocks in his path. It was as if he momentarily forgot how to run. His feet tangled, and his momentum drove his face into the ground. Being eleven, he popped right back up and continued his quest for cootie delivery. He was oblivious to the thoughtful look on his father’s face as he watched the boy run.

  Three months later, he and his father were sitting on their game room sofa while “testing” his father’s latest VRMMORPG video game design. The two of them sat in front of a 55” flat crystal display on which two avatars dashed around a farmer’s garden whacking veggie-stealing moles with oversized wooden mallets. This was an in-game tribute to the old mole game that gave Jupiter it’s start. Out of the blue, Edward noticed his son’s avatar running in a circle. He looked over to see Alexander focused on his controller, eyes wide. His thumb was depressing the “left” button, and it was clear that he couldn’t make it release. Alexander looked up at his dad, tears in his eyes. “Daddy, my hand won’t move.”

  Later that week, Alexander played 3D holo-battleship with a pretty young nurse in the waiting area of the best neurologists in the country. His father was down the hall, quietly listening to three somber doctors tell him his son was dying. Their tests, they said, revealed that Alexander was suffering from NDS, Neuromuscular Degenerative Syndrome. Similar to ALS (better known as Lou Gehrig’s disease), but extremely rare. They explained that his son’s antibodies were attacking healthy brain tissue, specifically the neural pathways that connected his precentral gyrus to the motor neurons in his spinal column. Edward didn’t hear most of their words over the roar of blood rushing through his ears. It was as if they were speaking to him through thick glass. He heard words like “genetic anomaly” and “experimental treatments”. But the words that rang clearly, the words that stuck with him, that repeated themselves over and over in his head were “no known cure”.

  Alexander entered the gym to see Lainey performing her warm-up stretches to the blasting accompaniment of Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer”. This did not bode well for him. The aggressive music was Lainey’s way of telling him she was going to work him hard this morning.

  What’s she stretching for? I’m the one who’s going to be doing all the hard work! He grumped to himself.

  That wasn’t fair. Lainey was great. She pushed him hard, sure, but never harder than he could handle. At the same time, she rarely let him off easy. Alexander knew that without Lainey, he might not be able to walk and move as well as he could today. Some days, when he was feeling low, or sleepy as he was this morning, or just not in the mood, she had to be tough on him. But he knew it was for his own good, and that she didn’t enjoy it any more than he did. He loved her for it, even as he complained or attempted to escape her ministrations.

  “Hey, Lainey. I’m kinda sleepy. Long night in the game, big breakfast. How bout we do this later?” he ventured loud enough to be heard over the semi-disturbing lyrics.

  “Get your lazy ass on the table, Knight boy! You know the drill. You’re mine for the next hour. You can sleep after.”

  Resigned to his fate, Alexander lifted himself up onto a massage table along one side of the room. Most people enjoyed a good massage. Went to nice spas to get them. Even gave gift certificates for them to friends. Not Alexander. There was nothing soothing or relaxing about what Lainey was about to inflict upon him. This was physical therapy; the manual manipulation, loosening, stretching, and even tearing of muscles that had tightened, shortened, or atrophied from lack of normal stimulation.

  Alexander was always in pain. While the deteriorating connections in his brain often failed to transmit his mind’s instructions to move those muscles, there was nothing whatsoever wrong with his pain receptors. It was just one of the cruel ironies of his condition. There was normal everyday walking around pain… and then there was Lainey kicking his ass pain. Which was a whole other level of fun.

  “Let’s go. Off with the shirt. Lay down on the table” Lainey was done stretching and was approaching with a grim look on her face. “If you’re gonna be stupid enough to lay in that chair for twelve hours straight, you gotta pay the price.”

  “I know. I’m sorry Lainey,” Alexander said as he complied with her instructions and laid himself out on the table. “We were in a dungeon full of demons, and there was just no safe place to stop and log out. So we just had to keep going until we killed the boss.”

  “Just had to, huh?” came her skeptical reply. She looked at him with what he had come to know as her “don’t bullshit a bullshitter” face. “More like you got all into your killing spree and never even looked at the clock! I know you, Sir Knight. Now. Take a deep breath, and raise your right leg. This is gonna hurt you more than it hurts me!”

  After a full hour of pushing, pulling, lifting and stretching of all of his limbs, neck, and torso muscles, Alexander actually felt better. Lainey had worked with him nearly every day for five years now. She had tracked his progress, monitored the ongoing deterioration of his coordination and strength,
and constantly revised his therapy to compensate as well as possible. She knew exactly what he’d needed today, and she made sure he got it.

  Physically and mentally exhausted, Alexander hit the shower again to wash away the pain-sweat from his “massage”. Donning a pair of clean boxers and an “Eat the Rich” t-shirt, he stumbled into bed and was instantly asleep.

  He awoke to the sensation of his bed moving slightly. Opening his eyes, he was assaulted by the glare of late afternoon sunlight beaming through his window. “Alfred, shades please…” he mumbled as he tried to cover his head with a pillow.

  “No can do kiddo.” His father’s voice, not Alfred’s. Alexander rolled over and opened one eye, to take in the blurry image of his father sitting on the edge of his bed. “Welcome back to the world of the living! Get yourself together and meet me in the kitchen. Lainey’s got dinner almost ready.” His father punched him affectionately in the leg before getting up and leaving the room. Alexander was inclined to just put the pillow back over his head and sleep some more, despite the smells drifting in from the kitchen.

  Sun’s still up. Dad’s never home this early.

  Curiosity outmatching his desire for sleep, Alexander rose from his bed. Making a short trip to the bathroom, he used the toilet, splashed some cold water on his face, and attempted to wrassle his hair into some semblance of order. Then he pulled on a pair of jeans, slid his feet into his slippers, and headed for the kitchen.

  “Smells good, Lainey!” he offered, as he entered the room perked up a bit from the cold water and the grumbling in his stomach. “Whatcha making?”

  Before Lainey could answer, his father interjected “I asked her to make something special for tonight. One of your favorites. Gnoll steaks with dragonfire seasoning!” He grinned at his son as Lainey giggled.

  “Blech. Gnolls are all stringy and way too gamey for me. Even Lainey can’t make them taste good!” Alexander played along, smiling broadly. It was good to have his dad here. They didn’t get to spend much time together these days.

  “I saw your boss kill this morning. Using that torch was clever! None of our alpha testers thought of that during the run-throughs. That fight usually lasts much longer. The boss often heals himself 5 or 6 times before they manage to damage him enough to keep him away from the pool. Or the group runs out of heals and dies. And that trick with the stinger! You’re definitely your father’s son.” His dad smiled at him, shaking his head. He often watched the live feed in his office when Alexander played the game.

  “Yeah, about that, pop,” Alexander sat at the kitchen table across from his father and looked at him suspiciously. “Those loot drops. They seemed… unnaturally valuable and useful. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

  “What do you mean, Alexander?” Richard tried to look innocent. And failed horribly. Causing Lainey to snort. “You know I have Heimdall route your game feed to my monitor wherever I am in the building. I like to watch you play. But I don’t do any programming anymore, son. You know that!”

  Alexander shook his head “You may not program yourself anymore, but nothing would prevent you from calling down to the dungeon and having one of the guys beef things up a bit.”

  His father adopted a grave countenance. “I would never do that. That is strictly against our corporate non-interference policy. Any programmer or developer caught altering the loot drops on behalf of a player would have to be removed from the building and dismissed!”

  “But still you look guilty!” Alexander pressed, causing Lainey to actually giggle.

  “You really do” she added helpfully, which earned her a dirty look from Richard.

  “And the loot drops were clearly over the top. So if you didn’t have one of the guys do it, and you didn’t do it yourself…” Alexander’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in an astonished “O” shape. “Odin!! You talked to Odin, didn’t you! You instructed him to upgrade my loot drops! Which means you didn’t technically code anything yourself. Because you didn’t have to!”

  Knowing he was caught but still resisting, Richard said “One does not ‘instruct’ the All Father to do anything. One suggests. One bargains. He has a mind of his own.” As if he’d suddenly remembered something important, Richard added “Oh, and Odin has something he’d like to show you. I’d like you and Sasha to come to the office around 3pm tomorrow. I’ll have a driver pick up both of you. Lainey, it might be good if you could come as well?”

  Chapter Four

  Never Let the Dwarf Decorate

  Logging back into the game the next morning, Alexander found himself back in his room in Stormforge. His group had formed a guild called Greystone a year or so ago and bought themselves a small home within the city. It had a bedroom for each of them, plus a few extras for guests, as well as a kitchen, meeting room, a large training room, and a great room with a giant fireplace and a stone mantle. The great room was decorated with half a dozen large padded chairs, as well as two long leather sofas on either side of a low stone table that sat near the hearth.

  Entering the great room from the hallway that led from the living quarters, Alexander found Max sprawled out on one of the sofas, cleaning his fingernails with his dagger and smiling to himself. The dwarf, meanwhile, was sitting in one of the chairs, arms crossed in front of him, glaring at Sasha as she stomped a foot and pointed at him accusingly.

  “I can’t believe you brought that nasty thing into our home! Setting aside that it’s ugly as hell, it SMELLS!”

  “This be a guild hall, lass. And that be a badge of honor!” The dwarf’s face had begun to turn red.

  Alexander poked Max in the back of the head and whispered, “what’s going on?”

  In answer, Max simply grunted and pointed his knife up and over his shoulder. Following the Ranger’s direction, Alexander looked over his own shoulder, toward the fireplace. His eyes grew wide for a startled moment before he burst out laughing. Mounted front and center above the massive hearth was the severed head of the Demon Lord snake they’d killed the day before. In the light of day it really was quite ugly, especially since Brick had apparently made no effort to clean or prepare it; having simply somehow jammed it onto a spike mounted in the stone. It still had an arrow protruding from its left eye, and the jagged edge where its head had been blown from its torso was actually still dripping black ooze onto the mantle below.

  Sasha is right… it smells!

  “Hey, buddy,” Alexander half chuckled as he called out to the Dwarf. “While I really do appreciate the sentiment, and I generally hate to say that Sasha’s right, ever…” he ignored the hostile look from a very agitated druidess, “that thing really does reek! How bout you take that bad boy to a taxidermist and have the goop cleaned out. Maybe get the eye replaced, and have it properly mounted? Then we’ll put him back up there with a plaque commemorating your great victory.”

  “We most certainly will NOT!” Sasha stomped a foot again. “It’s bad enough I share this place with you three slobs. I will not have that ugly thing sneering at me every time I walk in the room!”

  “Please, lass,” the dwarf pleaded. “It be a first kill! This’ll tell all what enters that Greystone are a force to be reckoned with!”

  “I agree,” Max backed up his friend with a wink that Sasha couldn’t see. “I believe it’s even an ancient Dwarven tradition, right Brick? There’s supposed to be a dedication ceremony, followed by consuming mass quantities of ale and dwarven spirits!”

  “Exactly right! Wouldn’t want to deny me heritage, now would ya lass?” Brick picked up without missing a beat. Sasha looked from one to the other, a slightly doubtful expression on her face.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Alexander added his two cents, a smile on his face. “Don’t get the eye fixed. I kinda like it with the arrow sticking out. Gives it character!”

  Realizing she’d been outvoted, Sasha made rude gestures at each of them, then stomped her way toward the kitchen, growling, “don’t think for a minute I believe that �
��tradition’ bullshit. You just want an excuse to hang that ugly thing and have a party. Idiots!”

  Alexander fist bumped Max and Brick as he followed his friend into the kitchen. He opened their magically cooled fridge and grabbed two bottles of juice. Handing one to Sasha, he used his best negotiating voice. “Tell you what. The very next fluffy pink unicorn boss we kill, you can have the whole thing stuffed and put it right there in the corner. And Brick will have to sit on it for a photo shoot!”

  Doing her best to remain angry, Sasha looked stonily at him for a moment before the sheer ridiculousness of that visual, combined with an alarmed “wait, what?!” from the dwarf made her snort-laugh. She walked back into the great room and plopped down on her usual spot at the end of one of the sofas, mumbling “idiots”.

  Crisis averted, Alexander moved to sit next to Sasha, leaning in to gingerly place his head on her shoulder, prepared to be violently rebuffed. When no bruising occurred, he looked across the room to Brick. “Speaking of trophies, don’t you have something else to show us? Hmmm?”

  “Oh, aye. The box!” The dwarf exclaimed as he reached into his inventory bag and pulled out the stone box that had sat upon the pedestal in the boss cave. “I figured since ya so sweetly ran it straight over and planted it right under me arse, ye just wanted me to have it!” he grinned at Alexander.