Ready Player One (29 page)

 

I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal.

—Groucho Marx

Art3mis: You there?

Parzival: Yes! Hey! I can’t believe you finally responded to one of my chat requests.

Art3mis: Only to ask you to cut it out. It’s a bad idea for us to start chatting.

Parzival: Why? I thought we were friends.

Art3mis: You seem like a great guy. But we’re competitors. Rival gunters. Sworn enemies. You know the drill.

Parzival: We don’t have to talk about anything related to the Hunt.…

Art3mis: Everything is related to the Hunt.

Parzival: Come on. At least give it at shot. Let’s start over. Hi, Art3mis! How have you been?

Art3mis: Fine. Thanks for asking. You?

Parzival: Outstanding. Listen, why are we using this ancient text-only chat interface? I can host a virtual chat room for us.

Art3mis: I prefer this.

Parzival: Why?

Art3mis: As you may recall, I tend to ramble in real time. When I have to type out everything I want to say, I come off as less of a flibbertigibbet.

Parzival: I don’t think you’re a flibbertigibbet. You’re enchanting.

Art3mis: Did you just use the word “enchanting”?

Parzival: What I typed is right there in front of you, isn’t it?

Art3mis: That’s very sweet. But you’re full of crap.

Parzival: I am totally and completely serious.

Art3mis: So, how’s life at the top of the Scoreboard, hotshot? Sick of being famous yet?

Parzival: I don’t feel famous.

Art3mis: Are you kidding? The whole world is dying to find out who you really are. You’re a rock star, man.

Parzival: You’re just as famous as I am. And if I’m such a rock star, how come the media always portrays me as some unwashed geek who never goes outside?

Art3mis: I take it you saw that SNL skit they did about us?

Parzival: Yes. Why does everyone assume I’m an antisocial nut job?

Art3mis: You’re not antisocial?

Parzival: No! Maybe. OK, yes. But I have excellent personal hygiene.

Art3mis: At least they got your gender correct. Everyone thinks I’m a man in real life.

Parzival: That’s because most gunters are male, and they can’t accept the idea that a woman has beaten and/or outsmarted them.

Art3mis: I know. Neanderthals.

Parzival: So you’re telling me, definitively, that you are a female? IRL?

Art3mis: You should have already figured that out on your own, Clouseau.

Parzival: I did. I have.

Art3mis: Have you?

Parzival: Yes. After analyzing the available data, I’ve concluded that you must be a female.

Art3mis: Why must I?

Parzival: Because I don’t want to find out that I’ve got a crush on some 300 lb. dude named Chuck who lives in his mother’s basement in suburban Detroit.

Art3mis: You’ve got a crush on me?

Parzival: You should have already figured that out on your own, Clouseau.

Art3mis: What if I were a 300 lb. gal named Charlene, who lives in her mom’s basement in suburban Detroit? Would you still have a crush on me then?

Parzival: I don’t know. Do you live in your mother’s basement?

Art3mis: No.

Parzival: Yeah. Then I probably still would.

Art3mis: So I’m supposed to believe you’re one of those mythical guys who only cares about a woman’s personality, and not about the package it comes in?

Parzival: Why is it that you assume I’m a man?

Art3mis: Please. It’s obvious. I get nothing but boy-vibes coming from you.

Parzival: Boy-vibes? What, do I use masculine sentence structure or something?

Art3mis: Don’t change the subject. You were saying you have a crush on me?

Parzival: I’ve had a crush on you since before we even met. From reading your blog and watching your POV. I’ve been cyber-stalking you for years.

Art3mis: But you still don’t really know anything about me. Or my real personality.

Parzival: This is the OASIS. We exist as nothing but raw personality in here.

Art3mis: I beg to differ. Everything about our online personas is filtered through our avatars, which allows us to control how we look and sound to others. The OASIS lets you be whoever you want to be. That’s why everyone is addicted to it.

Parzival: So, IRL, you’re nothing like the person I met that night in the tomb?

Art3mis: That was just one side of me. The side I chose to show you.

Parzival: Well, I liked that side. And if you showed me your other sides, I’m sure I’d like those, too.

Art3mis: You say that now. But I know how these things work. Sooner or later, you’ll demand to see a picture of the real me.

Parzival: I’m not the sort who makes demands. Besides, I’m definitely not going to show you a photo of me.

Art3mis: Why? Are you butt ugly?

Parzival: You’re such a hypocrite!

Art3mis: So? Answer the question, Claire. Are you ugly?

Parzival: I must be.

Art3mis: Why?

Parzival: The female of the species has always found me repellent.

Art3mis: I don’t find you repellent.

Parzival: Of course not. That’s because you’re an obese man named Chuck who likes to chat up ugly young boys online.

Art3mis: So you’re a young man?

Parzival: Relatively young.

Art3mis: Relative to what?

Parzival: To a fifty-three-year-old guy like you, Chuck. Does your mom let you live in that basement rent-free or what?

Art3mis: Is that really what you’re picturing?

Parzival: If it were, I wouldn’t be chatting with you right now.

Art3mis: So what do you imagine I look like, then?

Parzival: Like your avatar, I suppose. Except, you know, without the armor, guns, or glowing sword.

Art3mis: You’re kidding, right? That’s the first rule of online romances, pal. No one ever looks anything like their avatar.

Parzival: Are we going to have an online romance?

Art3mis: No way, ace. Sorry.

Parzival: Why not?

Art3mis: No time for love, Dr. Jones. My cyber-porn addiction eats up most of my free time.
And searching for the Jade Key takes up the rest. That’s what I should be doing right now, in fact.

Parzival: Yeah. So should I. But talking to you is more fun.

Art3mis: How about you?

Parzival: How about me what?

Art3mis: Do you have time for an online romance?

Parzival: I’ve got time for you.

Art3mis: You’re too much.

Parzival: I’m not even laying it on thick yet.

Art3mis: Do you have a job? Or are you still in high school?

Parzival: High school. I graduate next week.

Art3mis: You shouldn’t reveal stuff like that! I could be a Sixer spy trying to profile you.

Parzival: The Sixers already profiled me, remember? They blew up my house. Well, it was a trailer. But they blew it up.

Art3mis: I know. I’m still freaked out about that. I can only imagine how you feel.

Parzival: Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Art3mis: Bon appetit. What do you do when you’re not hunting?

Parzival: I refuse to answer any more questions until you start reciprocating.

Art3mis: Fine. Quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter. We’ll take turns asking questions. Go ahead.

Parzival: Do you work, or go to school?

Art3mis: College.

Parzival: Studying what?

Art3mis: It’s my turn. What do you do when you’re not hunting?

Parzival: Nothing. Hunting is all I do. I’m hunting right now, in fact. Multitasking all over the goddamn place.

Art3mis: Same here.

Parzival: Really? I’ll keep an eye on the Scoreboard then. Just in case.

Art3mis: You do that, ace.

Parzival: What are you studying? In college?

Art3mis: Poetry and Creative Writing.

Parzival: That makes sense. You’re a fantastic writer.

Art3mis: Thanks for the compliment. How old are you?

Parzival: Just turned 18 last month. You?

Art3mis: Don’t you think we’re getting a little too personal now?

Parzival: Not even remotely.

Art3mis: 19.

Parzival: Ah. An older woman. Hot.

Art3mis: That is, if I
am
a woman …

Parzival: Are you a woman?

Art3mis: It’s not your turn.

Parzival: Fine.

Art3mis: How well do you know Aech?

Parzival: He’s been my best friend for five years. Now, spill it. Are you a woman? And by that I mean are you a human female who has never had a sex-change operation?

Art3mis: That’s pretty specific.

Parzival: Answer the question, Claire.

Art3mis: I am, and always have been, a human female. Have you ever met Aech IRL?

Parzival: No. Do you have any siblings?

Art3mis: No. You?

Parzival: Nope. You got parents?

Art3mis: They died. The flu. So I was raised by my grandparents. You got parentage?

Parzival: No. Mine are dead too.

Art3mis: It kinda sucks, doesn’t it? Not having your parents around.

Parzival: Yeah. But a lot of people are worse off than me.

Art3mis: I tell myself that all the time. So … are you and Aech working as a duo?

Parzival: Oh, here we go.…

Art3mis: Well? Are you?

Parzival: No. He asked me the same thing about you and me, you know. Because you cleared the First Gate a few hours after I did.

Art3mis: Which reminds me—why did you give me that tip? About changing sides on the Joust game?

Parzival: I felt like helping you.

Art3mis: Well, you shouldn’t make that mistake again. Because I’m the one who’s going to win. You do realize that, right?

Parzival: Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.

Art3mis: You’re not holding up your end of our Q & A, goof. You’re, like, five questions behind.

Parzival: Fine. What color is your hair? IRL?

Art3mis: Brunette.

Parzival: Eyes?

Art3mis: Blue.

Parzival: Just like your avatar, eh? Do you have the same face and body, too?

Art3mis: As far as you know.

Parzival: OK. What’s your favorite movie? Of all time?

Art3mis: It changes. Right now? Probably Highlander.

Parzival: You’ve got great taste, lady.

Art3mis: I know. I have a thing for evil bald bad guys. The Kurgan is too sexy.

Parzival: I’m going to shave my head right now. And start wearing leather.

Art3mis: Send photos. Listen, I gotta go in a few minutes, Romeo. You can ask me one last question. Then I need to get some sleep.

Parzival: When can we chat again?

Art3mis: After one of us finds the egg.

Parzival: That could take years.

Art3mis: So be it.

Parzival: Can I at least keep e-mailing you?

Art3mis: Not a good idea.

Parzival: You can’t stop me from e-mailing you.

Art3mis: Actually, I can. I can block you on my contact list.

Parzival: You wouldn’t do that, though. Would you?

Art3mis: Not if you don’t force me to.

Parzival: Harsh. Unnecessarily harsh.

Art3mis: Good night, Parzival.

Parzival: Farewell, Art3mis. Sweet dreams.

chatlog ends. 2.27.2045–02:51:38 OST