Dream Drive Ch. 03

The fire dimmed. There was a strong breeze. The flaps of the tipi fluttered. Jackson felt his spine shiver.

Shaka looked at him, and her gaze was like the dimming fire. Dark. Unreadable. "Shakhan spoke to us. The Great Guide said that people would begin to appear from another world. This world is itself the final gateway to the Above, what will soon become the pinnacle of Babel. We would know them immediately, for they would be marked with the symbol." She pointed a finger at him. "You are a chosen warrior of Shakhan. For five years, he has foretold of your coming. You are the first. Others shall surely follow. We are to bring you to the place Under-The-Mountain, where this world touches the Beneath, and there you shall meet with Shakhan, and the Great Guide shall grant you a vision."

"What vision?"

"Shakhan has not seen fit to tell us. We have discussed the matter at length, and I believe your actions have confirmed what we suspected was the case. You, and the others, shall be warriors sent to scour Babel of demons, and spare the world that connects to the Above."

"Damn." Jackson took a breath. That was definitely a hell of a mission. "So, what now?"

Shaka slapped her leg and leaned back. Her croaking laughter filled the tipi. The grim spell that hung over the room broke, as if the sun had moved out from under a cloud.

"What?" Jackson asked. "I wasn't joking."

"Ah, Jackson Vedalt," she said, "I tell you the gravest thing I have ever heard; I tell you that the demons are warring with the angels, I tell you that you are to march in the army of Shakhan, and you merely ask what comes next. You have no sense of self."

Jackson wasn't sure how to react, so he did the thing he usually did when that was the case. He shrugged. "I guess."

"At the end of the Mountain Meet," Shaka said, "the spirit guides gather to journey Under-The-Mountain with the tribe elders. There, we commune with Shakhan; it is there that we receive visions most strongly. When that time comes, we will bring you with us, and you shall meet with Shakhan face-to-face."

"I have a feeling I'll hear what you just told me."

"Indeed," Shaka said, "for Shakhan is the guardian and foundation of the tower. I should think that those he marked with his symbol would share this purpose. But new revelations are likely. Shakhan tells us only what need be known, and no more."

"Hang on," Jackson said. "I already know that I was banished from the top of the tower because of this." Jackson pointed at his wrist. "Supposedly it makes me a danger to people and angels. Why would I get banished from the tower for being made a guardian of the tower?"

"It is a strange contradiction," Shaka said. "Perhaps demons convinced the other men that you were not to be trusted as a means to get rid of you. Or perhaps it was a device to bring you here, so that Shakhan could meet with you. The spirits sometimes work in ways that seem contrary, at first, their purpose only later becoming clear."

"Huh. Maybe." Jackson wasn't convinced, but he didn't have any better theories. "So I meet with this Shakhan guy, and then I go kick some demon ass. Sounds good."

Shaka chuckled. "Shakhan guy? I suppose that after you meet her, yes, you'll go 'kick demon ass'.

"Shakhan's a chick?" Shaka raised her eyebrows. "Uh," Jackson said, "not that I have a problem with that, or anything."

"Be careful with that tongue, or Chaki might shorten it with her knife," Shaka said. "Now, I expect it to take us ten days or so to reach the mountain, where the Meet shall be held. In the meantime, I will teach you runes."

"When do we start?"

"Not today," Shaka said. "I think half the tribe believes me immortal, but our ordeal has exhausted me. I plan on sleeping until the feast. We will start tomorrow."

"Sleep..." Jackson's yawn came on suddenly. He covered his mouth. "...sounds real good. Is there a spot I can crash?"

Shaka patted the furry floor of her tent. She stood up and rummaged in a corner, then threw him a blanket. "I hope you do not snore."

"Err, both of us, here?"

"Chaki is young, but I have seen more than 60 winters, Jackson. I am beyond modesty." Shaka promptly rolled over and drew the blanket around herself. "Someone knows to wake us when evening has come on in full. The feast will be after sunset. Sleep."

"I will. I'm just going to go home, first."

"Ah, back to your world?" Shaka opened her eyes and watched him. "How long?"

"Just a few minutes," Jackson said. "I'm not too worried, but it's been more than half a day. I need to check in."

"Will you return here?"

"Yeah. I think it puts me back more or less where I was."

"Do not be long."

"I won't." Jackson started to say the words, but he stopped. "Shaka. Say Shakhan wants me to leave this part of the tower..."

"Mmm. You would be leaving us behind. We might make war without you. Her edicts will supersede any promises you make to me."

Jackson wasn't sure if he liked that idea. He liked Shaka. He liked Palla. He definitely liked Chaki. And...these people were good. Strong. He wanted to know more about them.

Jackson didn't fit into the tribe, yet. He was a square peg being pushed into a round hole. But compared to home, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He could see a future here. He could see life here.

"Game menu," Jackson said. He logged out.

The process was a lot faster, this time. He supposed the software - or magic, or whatever the fuck it was - recognized Shaka's tipi as a secure location. He was back on earth, lying on his mattress, staring up at the roof of his room.

He drew his Dream Drive off his head and set it down on the bed next to him. He looked down at his hand. The pentagram scar wasn't there anymore.

The alley out his window was nearly pitch. He went to his desk and sat at the computer monitor. The clock told him it was 4am. That meant Isis was a little over half a day ahead of real life. Or behind. He decided not to worry about that part.

A few clicks brought up his camera's recording. It now had several hours of footage. He skipped back to the beginning.

He saw himself lying on his bed. His helmet clicked into place, pistons locking it to his head. His body went still, and his breathing evened out.

A rune appeared on his red helmet. A pentagram. It flashed white. A matching symbol flashed on his hand. His body melted away into thin air, starting from his head. It was as if he was ink, and someone was washing him away with the universe's whiteout. It only took a few seconds.

Well then.

Jackson deleted the video footage. As an afterthought, he ran a scrubbing program to permanently clear his optical drive of the data, just in case. A little paranoia went a long way.

The implications really were staggering. Magic existed in the real world. He was being transported somewhere else.

On an impulse, Jackson said the words again. "Game menu."

A light flashed on his wrist. He flinched away from it - but it was just his scar. It unraveled across his skin, revealing itself. The translucent screen of the Isis's menu appeared in front of him. It showed a picture of him standing, arms at his sides, in his white T-shirt and blue jeans. He was equipped with a smartphone.

A chuckle bubbled out of Jackson's mouth. It was the half-ecstatic, half-frightened laugh of a man that had just discovered his life had been turned into a video game by magic.

He spent a few moments flicking through the panels. Everything was still there - his skills, his statistics. He still had 25 essence left. In the upper corner, he could see his health bar again. Did that all still apply in real life? He could try to use a skill, but he didn't want to waste the essence.

Jackson stayed in the screen for a moment, flicking through his options. He entered the user interface section. There was almost three scrolling pages of choices to adjust his heads-up display, including a few things that hinted at a party system and individual enemy targeting. He promised himself to go through it more thoroughly at a later time and kept on for what he was looking.

There was a slider to display his health and essence, but it had two segments: Isis, and Overworld. The Isis side was on, but the Overworld half was off. Assuming that Earth was the Overworld, Jackson flicked it on. There was another tab, too, that enabled him to turn on a minimap. And at the very bottom, he noted an option that would fade out his HUD after a few seconds, to keep his vision clear. Hey, was that a...

He stopped himself. He'd be there all day if he kept it up. He allowed himself to turn the fader on. "Close menu."

The screens vanished. His sight was now overlaid with his health bar and essence counter on the upper left. In the lower right, there was a small map of his immediate surroundings. It was labeled 'Jackson's Apartment'. He was a little green arrow in the center. He turned toward his window, and the arrow rotated, pointing the way he was facing.

He tried reaching out and touching the map. Immediately, it expanded in his view, a full-color blueprint of his home. A compass pointed out which direction was north. The rooms were all labeled - Jackson's Room. Mom's Room. Bathroom. Living Room. Kitchen. A little blue pointer marked the front door.

Jackson tapped the map again. It shrunk back into the corner of his vision. He went for his door. The green arrow followed his progress. Another giddy laugh burst out of his mouth.

Jackson went down the hall. The door to his mother's room was closed. He was wondering how he'd test the fader option when he noticed that his health bar and minimap were gone. As soon as he thought about it, they reappeared, as if the game was reading his intentions. It didn't make much of a difference at the moment, but if he turned on a lot of the HUD options, having a clear field of view would be important at times.

He made his way into the kitchen. He scrunched his nose at the smell of scummy food. She still hadn't cleaned up. There was a sticky note taped to the fridge.

Went out. Be back later.

It was rare she even bothered leaving a note. Sometimes he wondered if she'd just leave one day and never come back. Sometimes he wondered what he'd do if something happened to her. Probably report it to the police, or something.

He sat at one of two chairs at the little plastic table. He didn't like this place. His apartment was grey. Colorless. There wasn't any life in his life. But there was life in Isis.

He saw a knife sitting on the counter, the same one he'd used to open the package his game came in. An idea struck him. He snatched it up and raised it near his hand.

Wait. If he was wrong about this, he'd kick himself. Several times.

Jackson went to the sink. He thoroughly scrubbed his hands, and the knife, until it was sparkling clean. Still not satisfied, he located the bottle of isopropyl alcohol under the sink, doused a paper towel with it, then scrubbed the knife sterile. He sat down, then swabbed a big spot on the front of his right forearm with more alcohol. The bone would stop him from going too deep. Probably.

Jackson padded the table with more paper towels. He took a few breaths and settled himself in the chair. He positioned the point of the knife next to his skin.

He flicked it across his forearm, cutting as lightly as he could. He winced and drew back. Fuck. He should have known better than to -

He blinked. No more pain. He pushed the skin around with his hand. Nothing. No sign of a cut.

"Holy shit." His eyes went to his health bar. It had dropped almost imperceptibly. He looked back at his arm. "Fucking shit!" He stood from his chair so fast he knocked it back to the floor. "I'm invincible! Holy fucking shit!"

Jackson felt like he'd just won the Olympic gold for...for something. He picked the chair up and sat back down. He made another cut, then another. No blood, no wound.

He decided to get a little more daring. He swept the knife deep into the soft space between his thumb and forefinger. It felt like getting a vaccine; a sudden, uncomfortable jab, then nothing. He flexed his hand. Not even a scratch - though his experiments had nicked his health bar a bit more.

He set the knife down on the table and leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands through his hair. What did this mean? How was it possible? What would happen if his health bar ran out? Would he start taking injuries, like normal, or would he just keel over?

Emil Mohammed had been working with Crux on this game for five years. His message to Jackson back at the start of all this was clearly intended to communicate that this was not just a game. What did the man want from all this? What was the point? Demons, angels, the Tower of Babel? Magic? Had he discovered magic somewhere on Earth, then set all this in motion? What for?

And then it hit him. Five years. That was the same amount of time that the spirit guides had been getting visions from Shakhan.

Jackson felt a crawling sensation slide over his neck. He swallowed. Everything seemed connected, but he had no idea what it all meant. For a moment, he considered the idea that he really didn't want to be involved in any of this.

He dismissed it almost immediately. He didn't exactly have any other pressing appointments. What he'd told Chaki was the truth - if he died right then, right there, no one would care. He was empowered by the world's apathy. The world didn't care about him, so he didn't need to care about the world. He could do whatever he wanted.

His life was empty. Isis filled it.

He'd meet with Shakhan. And then, well...he'd figure it out.

Crux's Top Gamer competition would be over in one more day, but half of the finalists were already eliminated. They'd be getting their packages in the mail soon, if they didn't already have them. Jackson wondered if they'd pop into the game in the same place he had, or even if their data chips would be enchanted as his was. Shaka seemed to think that there would be others like him.

Assuming they did come into the same world, if the base of the tower was a whole planet, or even just a continent, the chances of a small handful of people coming into contact were extremely low. He didn't really get any hints to start out with; the fact that he'd lucked into finding Shaka, Chaki, and Palla was just that - blind luck. Or...maybe what Chaki said had merit. Maybe it was fated. In a world where magic was real, who knew what was possible?

Wouldn't they all have to go to the mountain, in the end? That was the gate up to the next level of the tower - the obvious step forward. Then again, there could be more than one route.

Jackson decided not to risk trying a triple thrust with the kitchen knife, but it seemed all but certain that the remainder of his skills would carry over to the real world. If that was the case...

His head started roiling again. If the other players gained the same abilities, then who knew what they could all get away with? He could probably take a bullet or two and walk away. He could fight crime. Hell, if he had the motivation, he could be a criminal. Superhero, or supervillain?

The finalists would enjoy exclusivity in the game for two weeks. After that, every other beta player, selected in the big lottery, would be getting their copies. Isis would be flooded by over 5000 players. Emil Mohammed was creating thousands of superhumans to fight demons, sure. But who was watching the watchmen?

Jackson's eyelids felt heavy. His brain protested against thinking any harder than he already had. He grunted, pushing himself out of the chair, and walked back to his room. He'd consider life, the universe, and everything at a later time. Right now, he wanted sleep.

A few moments later, he was back in Isis. The tipi was quiet. Shaka's head rotated. She cracked an eye to take him in, grunted a half-breath through her lips, then rolled back over.

Jackson pulled his blanket over himself and went to sleep. It was black and dreamless.

###

There was a voice calling into the tipi. "Shaka? It is the time you asked for."

Jackson pried his eyes open. He had the timeless grogginess that comes after taking a nap in the middle of the day; his body had no sense of the when. And he could have definitely gone for another few hours.

"Thank you, Drana." Shaka was already sitting upright and folding her blanket. She looked like she'd slept for days.

"I have water, should I be able to enter."

"Please."

Drana stooped through the flap of the tipi. She was a wide-hipped girl, shorter than Chaki, but she shared the rich brown skin and dark brown hair of the People-Under-The-Mountain. She was carrying a sewn, watertight container. She looked at Jackson, and her eyes widened. "Oh. You're..."

"Hi," Jackson mumbled. He rubbed his eyes.

"This is Jackson Vedalt," Shaka said. "Jackson, this is Drana. A good friend of Chaki."

He tried to sit up straighter. "Nice to meet you."

"Yes. Likewise." Drana set the container on the ground and clasped he hands. She gave Jackson a short bow. "Thank you for helping our tribe."

"Sure."

She flashed him a grin. "Chaki admitted you were exotic, but she played it down. I guess he wants to keep you all to herself."

Jackson blinked. Shaka chuckled. "Don't let her teasing overcome you, Jackson. She flirts with every man in the tribe."

"Just the handsome ones." Drana winked at him. "Such a scandal, this young warrior and Shaka, sleeping together in her tipi! What will Chaki say?" She laughed and ducked out of the tent.

"She seemed friendly," Jackson offered.

"She is a bit young, still," Shaka said. "But a good enough girl. Here. These should fit you well enough." Shaka offered him a set of hide leggings and a shirt, as well as a coat.

"Why do you have men's clothes?"

"They were my late husband's garments."

"Oh." Jackson looked down at the bundle. "...yeah. Didn't think of that. Sorry."

"For the sake of the spirits, boy, I won't crumble at the mention of my dead partner." She cackled. "I used to be young and pretty too, you know. Now, off to the creek with you. You should be clean for this."

"Actually, I'm going to pop back to my world again," Jackson said. He set down his bundle. "I've got a better way of getting clean. Be back in a few minutes."

"Alright. Then I am to the creek myself. Come find me when you return."

"Got it."

Jackson logged out and appeared back in his apartment. A line of bright sunshine outside the window told him that several hours had passed. He started for the bathroom. Loud snores coming from an open door on the other end of the hall told him his mother had returned at some point.

He hopped into the shower. Praise be to the electron. After all the running, fighting, blood, and general crap that he'd had to deal with, a good modernized scrubbing was exactly what he needed. He'd been trying to roll with it, but his OCD was going haywire with all the dirt and sweat and smells.

Jackson made the shower a quick one, then stepped out and toweled off. The mirror had fogged up, but his hair was always a mess, anyway. He rubbed it dry enough that he wouldn't be worried about the Dream Drive getting wet. Come to think of it, he'd wasted all that time rebuilding his computer. Isis ran on magic, not technology.

Or did he? It seemed like a blend. A magic that used technology to enhance itself - or the other way around. He'd have to use his Drive wirelessly and see if he could notice a difference.

When he logged back in, the tipi was empty. He could hear the wind and sounds of the camp outside - people, the barking of dogs. They had quite a few of those. Jackson undid his belt and worked the torn-up leggings off.

He was stepping into his new set of clothes when Chaki ducked under flap. "Shaka, I don't know if Drana told you, but -"