Continue Online (Book 1, Memories) by Stephan Morse

illegible.
    I
focused on the card and tried to understand the gibberish. Was this
hand written? Tilting the card revealed an ink like sheen.
Considering this was digital the effect was kind of amazing. There
were very definite letters, but none looked normal. They had strange
bends and twists in unexpected places. This was likely an actual
language but which one was beyond me.
    “ ARC?”
    “User Legate.
Awaiting request.” The ARC registered vocal commands issued
while logged in. It could do text as well, popping up like Beth’s
in-game display had. Most of those options were turned off when I
first got this shipped.
    “ Translate
this?” I waved the card.
    “ Command
not executable.”
    “ Huh?"
I shook my head. ‘Huh’ was not a recognized keyword to
the machine.
    "Repeat?”
My mind boggled at the computers denial. Either this wasn’t
something that could be translated or maybe it was encrypted.
    “ Command
not executable.”
    “ Smug
machine,” I muttered. Luckily it didn’t have an AI like
Hal Pal did.
    I
flipped over the card again. The design was a deep obsidian. Golden
lettering that looked almost liquid. Light reflected off of the desk
lamp to one side of my bed. There wasn’t a lamp there in real
life, this was an adaptation from the Atrium.
    “ Any
hints?” I asked the ARC interface. It didn’t respond.
    “ Negative,
User Legate.”
    I
lifted the box and spilled everything out. My hands scattered around
the packing material. The box was torn further, inside out, thrown
around to one side of the room. Now I was upset. All that build up,
all that interest and play time for a card that wasn’t
understandable.
    From
one side of the room to the other went the path. I ignored the
blinking phone which meant I had a message. There was a mess all over
the floor that got kicked around the room as I paced. Analyzing the
packing peanuts for a pattern or other hints didn't help me either.
They looked normal and real. Packing peanuts had mostly been done
away with due to recycling concerns over five years ago. This
reminded me of an old test, how to keep an idiot busy. The card would
read 'turn over' and have the exact same words on the backside. I
flipped it over. The backside was blank which meant at least I was
being spared that indignity.
    Time
passed while I logged out more than once and stormed around my tiny
house in frustration. Eventually, I logged back into the Atrium and
pondered what to do. Time wasn't condensed at this stage of the ARC.
That feature was only available in certain programs.
    Finally,
I noticed something odd. There was a door exiting my Atrium that
hadn't been there before. More blinks ensued as I struggled to recall
the last time there had been a new installation on my ARC. Most of
the programs I had all used one exit point. For me, that exit point
was tied to my dance program. Sports programs had never interested
me, and I wasn't one of those teenagers who felt the need to learn a
martial art.
    Wait.
    The
left door was lit up. Curiosity brimmed as I neared the door and
ventured a peek inside. This was right where my dance program was.
The right door was new but completely dark. Why had the dance program
initialized? Was someone in my Atrium?
    I
waved my hands and checked out the internet connections. No visitors
were inside. The only people who ever access it were family, and Beth
was too busy murdering monsters in the very game I had hoped to be
playing by now.
    "Hello?"
I questioned.
    Swing
music was clearly playing through the speakers. Mostly stuff from
seventy years ago which was an era that belonged to my great
grandparents. Long ago I bought that program and a few others to
expand my dance skills into more genres. Never before had this
program started without a command. I walked inside with my mystery
card in one hand. The lights were up high, clothes were straight out
of a black and white movie. It sounded like there was a live band
playing nearby.
    The
image of my