Solarversia: The Year Long Game (42 page)

“This is incredible. It’s like I’m really here, in Seattle, rather than your bedroom. And we’re here with a dead person. It’s crazy.” He turned, first to Nova, then to Sushi. “Sorry, when I said dead person, I didn’t mean to … was that insensitive? I don’t know the etiquette for meeting … Souls.”

“Ah, the ‘deadiquette’. It all takes a bit of getting used to. Sushi’s alive in a computery kind of way. Treat her like you would one of my friends in the real world and you’ll be fine.”

“If it’s any consolation, the old me wouldn’t have been offended by something so trivial. Relax, and enjoy the view. Before long you’ll forget that there’s anything different about me. We Souls can be good company.”

“That was something I wanted to ask you about. Nova told me that you’re only one version of multiple copies of Sushi, is that right?”

“Yeah. When I joined the app I stipulated that anyone who wanted to, could clone me. When somebody does that, a copy is taken of my original source code, as it was on the day I died, and a new instance is created for them to interact with. I’ve always been reasonably popular because of the way I died. But since New Year’s Eve, when people discovered that Nova and I are best friends — and next to each other in the grid — my popularity has gone through the roof.”

“How does it work exactly? I mean, how would a stranger know they wanted to clone
you
, rather than someone else?”

Now that they were talking to each other, Nova relaxed. It was lovely, actually, to sit back and witness these two precious parts of her life coming together with so little awkwardness.

“Within the app, you can search for Souls in the same way you’d search for something online. You tell it the kind of person you’re interested in meeting and it displays a list of results. There are search terms for gender, sexual preference, age, interest — just like dating sites.”

“So I could create my own version of Sushi and visit her behind Nova’s back?”

“You could, except as her best friend I’d be inclined to tell her.”

“And I’d probably dump you about five seconds after being told,” Nova added, jabbing Charlie in the real-world ribs.

“Anyway, enough about deadsville. How’s the decision coming along?”

Nova let out a big sigh. Being one of the Final Million had proved to be more stressful than she’d have anticipated. A lot of things were different in Solarversia now. When it came to lives and health points, the playing field had been levelled. People kept the items they’d accumulated along the way, but were no longer allowed to make wills, and any pre-existing wills had been scrapped. Violet belts and green belts had been converted to red belts, leaving every surviving Solo with one life, fully restored to 100 health points. It gave the Player’s Grid an eerie red glow, turning the Magisterial Chamber into a surreal, hypnagogic red-light district.

There were seven final rounds, each of which would decimate the population of Solarversia from the current million down to the last person standing, who would win ten million pounds and a place in the history books. Cash prizes would be paid to the top thousand players, meaning everyone still in it had a thousand-to-one shot of making some money.

The first round was a game called Minority Winners. All players had to do was decide between black and white. That was it. Their fate rested on that one, simple decision. If they were in the minority once the count was tallied, they’d proceed to the next round; if they weren’t, they were gone.

“Just ask Charlie. It’s been agony. One day I’m sure I’ll choose ‘white’, the next ‘black’, and then I’m back to having no idea what to choose.”

“I keep telling her that it’s simple. She just needs to listen to Wesley Snipes. In
Passenger 57
he says, ‘Always bet on black.’ Everyone knows that.”

“I keep telling him that if everyone knows that and they all choose black, then it’s going to be the majority choice, and I’ll lose. Everyone knows
that
.”

“And
I
keep telling
her
that that’s what everyone will think, so they’ll end up choosing white, meaning that black will be in the minority after all. She just needs to trust my man Wesley.”

"Are you sure you're not simply arguing with Charlie so that you don't end up having had his help in making your decision?” Sushi turned to Charlie. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Nova can be a stubborn do-it-herself at times."

Nova rolled her eyes as far back into her skull as they would go. “I programmed Computer Sushi to be as authentic as possible: super annoying. Speaking of which, I can’t believe they gave us a whole week to decide. It’s been way too long. Every time I make up my mind, I’ve still got time to change it again.”

“You’ve not got long now,” said Sushi. “Precisely two hours, thirty-eight minutes and nineteen seconds. Whatever colour you choose … choose it wisely, sister.”

***

In all his years in post, which amounted to twice the average age of the undergraduates who lived there, Hu Stu Warden Professor Carmichael, had never seen so many of them crammed into the Common Room. He was a tall, stocky man who sported a wild flourish of nasal hair and had a penchant for expensive single malt whisky. After a short introductory speech, delivered with his usual flair, the room burst into rowdy applause.

Nova crept along the narrow stage to shake his hand and then turned to face two hundred or so of her fellow students.

“Thank you, Professor Carmichael, for such a complimentary introduction. It’s been a stressful week, pondering such a simple choice. Just so that everyone knows, I made my decision about an hour ago, in secret. When I enter Solarversia, the people following my progress will see that choice for the first time. If I end up in the majority and go out, the professor has promised to pour me a double measure of his best whisky. And if I end up in the minority and go through to the next round, he’s said he’ll make it a triple.”

She hoped people wouldn’t notice her hands trembling as she slipped her Booners on and synced the display to the wall behind her. She traced the original constellation on the Corona Cube ceiling — the one that usually led to the Gameworld — and appeared standing within an immense domed structure located on the northern pole of Pluto’s barren surface.

The structure was known as the Decision Dome. Over its vaulted ceiling and around its curved walls, black and white patterns swirled into one another, forming snowflakes one second, Rorschach inkblots the next, and kaleidoscopic blotches the moment after that. Nova had visited the dome every day that week to stare at the ceiling, searching for an answer it didn’t contain.

Now she stood there, one tiny person among a million. All of them, she imagined, would be as nervous as her. Not that she cared. She just wanted to beat them. According to the figure in her display, three hundred and fifty million people around the globe were watching real-time video feeds of the event and, in all likelihood, they probably felt nervous and excited too. But surely none of them were shaking like she was.

As the moment neared, the black and white patterns morphed into a face. It was deformed by the concavity of the ceiling, but it belonged unmistakably to Arkwal the chimp. His cockney accent boomed around the dome, echoing off the walls.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome one and all to the Decision Dome. There
should
be a million of you here, but as ever, some people didn’t bother submitting a decision in time. They play all year long, visit the Grandmasters, complete their Bucket Lists and then fail to make a silly little decision — unbelievable. To those of you here, well done and good luck. If luck has anything to do with it. In a few seconds, Ludi Bioski is going to teleport to the front of the room with his Orbitini. A partition will rise, dividing the dome in two, separating those who chose black from those who chose white.”

Nova looked around in a vain attempt to work out which side of the dome was more heavily populated. Not that such knowledge would be of use to her now. Like everyone in the dome she was rooted to the spot she stood in. There could be no last-minute changes of mind.

“Those of you in the minority — and I can confirm that there is a minority — will continue on to the Portal of Promise for the next round, while those of you in the majority … well, let’s just say that you don’t want to be in the majority, it’s not so much fun. Well done if you chose white, by the way. Or was it black? I’ve never been good with colours.”

As Arkwal’s face melted back into a sea of swirling shapes, Nova suddenly felt the tension in her back and the heavy weight of expectation on her shoulders. At the front of the dome the teleport machine played its jingle in reverse, signalling Ludi Bioski’s arrival. The teleporter looked different from usual. The upper part of the pole, usually so dense with signs that it looked like it must be the very centre of the Solarverse, was bare.

Ludi, standing with his back to the crowd, went to work on his Orbitini, altering sliders, flicking switches and pressing knobs. He retrieved a pair of wooden chopsticks from one of the many drawers and then opened a small glass cabinet buzzing with zapiers. Using the sticks to catch the first to escape, he fed it to a young bird-like creature whose squawking beak protruded from a little hole at the side of the machine.

When the bird had finished its treat, the Orbitini’s Event Card screen flickered into life, displaying a coin balanced precariously on its side. The naked pole of the teleporter sprouted two signs. The one that said ‘black’ pointed to Nova’s side. She knew there was one person in the crowd who would be happy whatever the outcome; she just hoped that Passenger 57 knew what he was talking about.

Now Ludi turned his attention away from the Orbitini to the stitches at the top of his head, which sutured the two halves of his skull together. With his fingers he began to pick at the haphazard stitching until it came loose. He pressed his fingers hard into the crevasse he had created and yanked the sides of his skull apart. The stitches that held his neck together ripped apart. He kept on pulling. His spine opened, and then his buttocks. He tore until every stitch down the length of his body had snapped open. His right side peeled away from his left until he stood, one foot apiece, as two distinct beings.

The black half of his body hopped over to Nova’s side of the dome, the white half to the other. The patterned ceiling followed suit, the black and white splotches sliding apart until they were divided down the centre. A partition rose from the floor until it hit the roof, sealing off the halves.

A large section of dome flapped open behind black Ludi Bioski, revealing a long glass tunnel. With his one black eye in his dark half-face, he looked at the players assembled before him, raised his one charred hand and beckoned them forward. Then he turned and, with great speed and impressive mastery of balance, began to hop through the tunnel.

Around her people started to fret, worried expressions upon their faces. Where did the tunnel lead? Toward the Portal of Promise or certain death? As their feet became unstuck from the floor, the crowd surged forward, some players whooping with delight, others groaning with fear, an underlying atmosphere of trepidation pervading the room. Nova, excited one moment, panicked the next, went with the flow, inextricably drawn toward her fate.

Black Ludi reached the end of tunnel and stood, perfectly balanced on his one foot, on the verge of a huge circular abyss. A destination marker appeared on Nova’s feed: the Portal of Promise.

“I’m through!” she yelled, although the people in the common room — having seen the marker on the video feed — had already erupted into applause. She flung back her goggles and jumped off the stage.

“Charlie, you’re a genius,” she said, kissing him again and again.

“Got to trust Wesley, I told you.”

Professor Carmichael stepped back on to the stage, armed with a bottle and a shot glass.

“Up you come, Nova.”

She winked at Charlie, gave Burner a high five and returned to her place.

“What’s the next challenge then?” Carmichael asked while pouring her triple.

Nova checked her datafeed. A multitude of diving boards, differing in length, height and bounce, were positioned around the circumference of the colossal hole.

“Looks like a diving competition. I’ve got to choose a board, a type of dive, and perform a combination of moves to execute it. I practiced dives in the Simulator at the start of the year. Wasn’t too good at them.”

“This’ll help focus you,” he said, handing her the glass. She doubted it would, but the sound of two hundred odd students imploring her to down it in one couldn’t be ignored. She necked it and did her best to disguise her revulsion as the stuff coursed down the back of her throat.

Pulling her headset back down, she looked around the entrance to the portal in earnest. Located in a semicircle of tiered seating around the far side of hole were millions of spectators, players who had gone out earlier in the year, there to egg the divers on, but also to take photos and footage, hoping to scoop one of the reportage prizes.

Enclosing the entrance was another giant dome, over which a festival of fireworks exploded in time to the music played live by a Japanese punk outfit who had won the spot in a quest earlier in the year. Hanging from the dome, hundreds of vines, like the ones in Castalia, allowed Gorigaroo to swing from side to side, while floating platforms hosted Banjax in his tank, Spee-Akka next to her easel and Emperor Mandelbrot, who was there to judge the dives.

One of the hands sticking out of the Emperor’s base made the smallest of movements and brought the entire dome to a juddering, silent halt. From his position standing on the edge of Mandelbrot’s dais, Arkwal cupped his hands and shouted through them to the assembled throng.

“Naturally, we were never going to let you reach the next round on luck alone; 471,089 of you chose ‘black’, and were in the minority. Only 400,000 of you will progress to the next round — those of you who perform best in the diving competition. The 71,089 players who perform worst will fall straight through the planet to be caught up in the cosmic radiation on the other side. Likewise, it would be unfair to the majority losers if they were to crash out due to luck. They’ll face a challenge of their own. The most skilful 100,000 will join you in the sixth round. Good luck! Or should that be, good Science?”