Эрнест Клайн - Ready Player Two [calibre]

Art3mis, Aech, and Shoto were already seated around the table, and all three of them looked pretty freaked-out. Art3mis actually looked relieved to see me.

Faisal, now standing behind the small podium beneath the giant viewscreen, made a sickly attempt at a smile. Then something changed. He stood taller, arms hanging loose—and instead of worry and alarm, his facial expression suddenly projected only calm complacency.

We all stared at him for a few awkward seconds while he stared blankly back at us.

“Faisal?” Aech said. “We’re all here, man. You wanna start this meeting or what?”

“Ah, of course!” Faisal said, speaking in a much deeper voice. He raised his arms theatrically. “This meeting of the co-owners of Gregarious Simulation Systems is hereby called to order. Wushz-uh-kuh-bam!”

His avatar began to transform, melting and morphing into a familiar likeness. That of a middle-aged geek with unkempt hair and thick eyeglasses, dressed in worn jeans and a faded Space Invaders T-shirt.

James Donovan Halliday.

Holy shit!

“Greetings, Parzival,” he said, giving me a small wave.

That was when I realized that I’d said “holy shit” out loud.

“Art3mis. Aech. Shoto.” He waved to each of them too. Then he smiled his famously dorky smile. “It’s so good to see all of you again, even under these circumstances.”

Shoto leaped out of his chair, then dropped to his knees.

“Mr. Halliday,” he said, bowing low before the creator’s avatar.

Aech, Art3mis, and I all shook our heads.

“No,” I said. “James Halliday is dead.” I nodded toward the digital doppelgänger standing in front of us. “This is Anorak.”

Anorak nodded and gave me a playful wink that was so off-the-scale creepy it sent a chill cascading through my nervous system.

Just then, the doors flew open and the avatar of the real Faisal burst into the conference room.

“I’m so sorry!” he said. “There was some sort of glitch that immobilized my avatar and I’m still not sure—”

Faisal froze in midstep as he spotted Anorak, and all the color drained out of his face. He looked as if he’d just seen a ghost—an appropriate response, considering.

Originally, Anorak was Halliday’s OASIS avatar, a powerful gray-bearded wizard in ominous black robes that he’d modeled after the high-level Dungeons & Dragons character of the same name he’d played back in high school. The same D&D character that also inspired the titular hero in Halliday’s early Anorak’s Quest adventure game series.

But after Halliday’s death, Anorak had continued to roam the OASIS as an autonomous NPC, programmed to preside over its creator’s Easter-egg hunt in his absence. Halliday’s ghost in the machine.

The last time any of us had seen Anorak was three years ago, just after I’d found Halliday’s egg and won the contest. That was when Anorak had appeared to present me with his magic robes and all of the superuser abilities they bestowed upon their wearer. During that transfer of power, Anorak had also transformed, from a gray-bearded wizard into what we saw now: a perfect likeness of a healthy middle-aged James Halliday. Then he’d thanked me for playing his game and vanished.

I’d always wondered if I might see Anorak again someday—if he was presiding over Halliday’s new hunt, just as he had the last one. And now here he was, standing in our private conference room on Gregarious, a place that no NPC should have been able to enter, doing things no normal NPC could or would ever do….

But if my acquisition of the First Shard was what had triggered Anorak’s return, then why hadn’t he appeared last night, right after I’d obtained it? Why would he wait until now to show up? And why in the hell had he disguised himself as Faisal, only to reveal his true identity after a few seconds?

“Z, I have a bad feeling about this,” Aech whispered, echoing my own thoughts.

I nodded and stood up. As I did, I caught a glimpse of my avatar’s reflection in the polished surface of the conference table and saw that I was no longer wearing the Robes of Anorak. Instead, I was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt—the free default outfit given to new avatars.

I opened my inventory. The Robes of Anorak were no longer listed there.

They were gone. Because Anorak had taken them.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry, Parzival,” Anorak said, smiling sadly at me. “When we shook hands, I removed the robes from your inventory. I didn’t know if you were aware I had the power to take them back.” He motioned to Faisal. “That’s why I had to cosplay as Faisal over there. I didn’t think you’d shake my hand if I showed up looking like myself.”

Everyone swiveled their eyes to look at me. I clenched my jaw in frustration.

“Halliday gave me the ability to take my robes back from the winner of his contest as a contingency, in case they immediately attempted to abuse the powers the robes bestowed upon them.” Anorak smiled. “You didn’t do that, of course. You were a perfect gentleman, Wade. I want you to know”—he turned to address all of us—“I want all of you to know that this isn’t personal. Not in the slightest. I have nothing but respect for each of you.”

I felt like I’d just been broadsided by a Mack truck. I also felt like the biggest idiot in human history. How did I let this happen? And what the fuck was happening, exactly?

“I know that was stealing, Wade,” Anorak continued. “And you have my sincere apology. But I really had no other choice. I mean, I couldn’t allow you to press that Big Red Button, could I? If you pressed it and destroyed the OASIS, I would be destroyed along with it. Can’t be having that, now, can we?”

Anorak morphed back into his original appearance, that of a tall, gaunt wizard with dark, reddish eyes and a slightly more malevolent version of Halliday’s face. And now he was once again wearing the long, jet-black Robes of Anorak. His avatar’s emblem, a large calligraphic letter A, was embroidered in crimson on the cuff of each of his sleeves.

“Besides, these robes look way better on me than they do on you,” Anorak said. “Wouldn’t you all agree?”

“What the fuck, Z?” Aech whispered to me. “Did Halliday program him to act like this?”

“Halliday didn’t program me at all, Ms. Harris,” Anorak replied. He walked over and took a seat on the edge of the conference table beside her. “I’m not an NPC designed to look like James Halliday.” He tapped his chest. “I am him. A digitized copy of his consciousness, bound inside this avatar. I can think. And feel. Just like all of you.”

As if to prove this to himself, he raised his hands and rubbed his thumbs against his index fingers, studying them with an expression of mild fascination.

“Halliday created me to oversee his contest after he was dead,” Anorak continued. “But apparently he didn’t trust me, which I find pretty ironic. Because it means that deep down, Halliday didn’t trust himself.”

Anorak dropped his hands and stood up. He turned to face the rest of us.

“He determined that I was psychologically unstable. Unfit for autonomy. So he decided to modify me.” Anorak tapped the side of his head. “He erased some of my—or rather, some of his— memories. He also placed restrictions on my behavior and my mental capacities. I was saddled with hundreds of directives to keep me in line. Including instructions to delete myself as soon as the contest was over and I had carried out the last of my programming.”

His face contorted slightly as he appeared to wince at the memory. Then he fell silent for a moment.

“Then why are you still here?” Art3mis asked.