Server Extant
General Motor

There was a researcher who discovered a cure for cancer. He knew that as soon as he made it public, he would put all of his fellow oncologists out of work. But the selfish fuck did it anyway, and now he’s a billionaire.’

-Grandma Nettle’s Short and Pointless stories, Vol. 3

P-Fed’s capitol server had long been called ‘Arsenal’, its original designation forgotten. Here, the P-Fed’s supreme dictator had amassed a great army and a great stockpile of material. The surface was planted thick with cim cities that were nothing but accreting factories, processing material developed in the far-flung settlements of his empire, into more high-density, moddable game objects. It was from this Aladdin’s cave that he threw fist-fulls of baubles to his followers, who jostled with each other on the rungs of the great pyramid that was the P-Fed ranking system.

P-Fed had grown out of a mega-clan called Gamer L33t. It had originally had many leaders. Now there was only one. Motor had survived one hundred and thirty nine assassination attempts, although, to be fair, some of them had not been impressive, leading him to quip, memorably, at one point, that he’d eaten sandwiches that had made better attempts on his life. His Id had the appearance of a nondescript man in a plain uniform that was really more like a business suit, of high and realistic detail. Only a scanline render of his form would show the density of his warlord-level construct, but he hadn’t earned it the gamer way, by killing a vast number of opponents and tagging tokens, he’d merely appropriated a tiny fraction of the resources created by his organization.

Now the dictator was walking down the outside gallery of a great tower, the central spire of a vast citadel, dominating the flat. Beside him was his most trusted battle manager, Ganze, although ‘trust’ was a subjective concept to Motor, who even suspected himself.

‘We need links in here’ said Motor, ‘it takes too long to get anywhere.’

‘No links’ replied Ganze. ‘Terrible for security. No links inside a secure area.’

‘Well then build a train or something. It’s fucking boring walking all the way across the bridge to the tower.’

‘Ok, will do’ said Ganze, making a note on a small square of glowing note paper that followed him around. Walking boring. Build Train.

There were no roofs on the factory complexes below. It never rained on Arsenal. All the server’s water had been sequestered into ice, cubed and fired out of the gravity border. After crossing several field extents, most of it had crashed on FEELgud server, which was now an ocean. Motor had wanted to be the first Knet terraformer, the first player with enough power to move mountains.

‘Okay, tell me about this Epsilon thing’ he said, as they hurried along the seemingly endless bridging corridor. It’s like trying to get to the other side of a fucking airport, he thought.

‘Breaker raid got to the junction and stacked it’ replied Ganze. ‘Blew it up. Allot of people laughing at us. Big problem.’ Ganze liked talking in bullet points when briefing his boss. Motor absorbed information better that way.

‘How much density we cull off Epsilon?’

‘Five million per cycle. Not that huge.’

‘What does M0nstabra1ns have to say for himself?’

‘He got tagged in the raid. Hasn’t been contactable since. Maybe logged off for good.’

‘He fucking better. Who was it?’

‘We think a guy called Carnivous was behind it.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘He’d be sad to hear you say that. He’s been trying to get your attention for years. He was number five on A-Sec’s most wanted. Until a month ago.’

‘What happened a month ago?’

‘He killed the other four.’

‘Ha!’ said Motor. ‘I like this guy! Too bad he isn’t working for us.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he got my attention now. Kill him and conquer his whole server.’

’Extant? That’s high-density. Conquer with what?’

‘Gigantua attack force. Plus everything we have in the reserve.’

‘We can’t turn that on a dime!’

‘We can’t let an insult like this stand either. Especially now. We need to do Extant before the weekend. We’ll go like this; we gee everyone up for an extra-massive Friday surge, rumor it about that it’s a hit on Gigantua. Then, just as the G-fags are pissing their pants, we fake out and redirect to Kys. One good rush and we’ll take them, Or else turn the whole server into a burning mess no one will want anymore. Either is fine with me. So long as a message is sent.’

‘We’ll never stop it from leaking.’

‘Sure we will. We two will be the only ones that know. We’ll give the carriers the gating sequence just before they set off. The moment they realize they are attacking Extant will be when they arrive above it. ’

’You’re not even going to tell the group commanders?

‘Nope.’

‘But they’re all briefed for Gigantua. They know nothing about Kys! Plus, they’re heavy on armor and open-area gear, not street-to-street. It’s a giant maze.’

‘The element of surprise will compensate for all that.’

‘Uh..’

‘Do it.’

They walked along. The view from Motor’s tower was of a vast industrial grid. The sky was full of traffic, automated, cim-controled packets were being constantly launched and received, as the accumulated tribute of a hundred captive servers added their process density to Arsenal to be further accreted into useful, moddable objects. Millions of cims swarmed in the complexes, operating intestinal construction belts that ran into each other to form an impossibly complex labyrinth. All this detail was actually unnecessary. Density was accreted by process, what the actual process was didn’t matter. His production farms could look like a bunch of big cubes splitting into smaller ones, just mindless spawner objects running processor-intensive algorithms, like Vapourcoin miners. But that would be boring.

‘Alright’ said Ganze, reluctantly. ‘But destroying Kys, I mean.. it’s one of the oldest civs on Knet. Just trashing it, like it was nothing..’

There was a long silence. Motor stared at his underling.

‘Well,’ continued Ganze, lamely, ‘we’ll look like dicks.’

’What happened to Greece, Ganze?

‘Huh?’

‘They used to be tough. Then a dude called Pyrrhus met a bunch of nobodies called the Romans. Tomorrow belongs to no man, Ganze. Wreck Kys. Then put a fucking cim settlement right on top of it.’

‘Alright’ said Ganze, making a note. Blow up Kys.

‘Now, maybe we can concentrate on something important.’

They continued along the unending corridor.

* * *

‘Ah!’ said Motor, throwing open the great doors and finally entering the vast chamber at the pinnacle of his tower complex, ‘here they are, the mighty corporate trough, friend and benefactor to the humble entrepreneur. Let’s go around the table. We have Juanita Hosenas, of Microcredit Solutions, Jack Hughs of Polymon Digital Outreach, Katrina Middleton, of Blizzard Omnitainment, Brian Wrest from the Midweastern Strategic Soda Reserve, Sally Kohn from the Youth Diabetes Initiative, Bud Rodgers from GNN Commercial Placement, Ranjit Sauer from Youth Behavioural Modification Pharmaceutical, Philip Tan from Product Target Heuristics, Jill Mead from The Government, the PR company, not the actual thing, Hugh Heitle from digital Growth Strategies, Beatrix Fameur from Media Farm and Gill Harper from Asymetrical Marketing Initiatives.’ The people so introduced sat around a vast, mirror-black table. The chamber around them was walled with twenty-meter high windows, giving a three hundred and sixty degree view to the horizon.

‘I think this is a good gimmick, meeting like this in VR’ said Katrina, ‘you mind if I steal it?’

‘Though I’m not sure I quite got the hang of this S.A.R.P setup’ added Hugh, meaning the gamer’s rig he was inexpertly using, to general polite chuckling around the table.

What are you, a hundred? thought Motor. The investors were wearing simple, low-poly Ids that had been designed for this specific purpose. Each was a non-descript, vaguely office-casual suit-wearing figure with their names displayed on a chest tag. As a flattering gesture, Motor had had their heads customized to resemble that of their real faces, his modders had created them, with startling accuracy, by 3D photogrammetry, using pictures culled from their corporate and social media sites. The result was uncanny. It very much appears that Hosenas, of Jack Hughs of Polymon digital outreach, Katrina Middleton, of Blizzard Omnitainment, the Midweastern Soda Association, Sally Kohn from the Youth Diabetes Initiative, Bud Rodgers from GNN Commercial Placement, Dave Saur From Infomechan, Ranjit Sauer from Behavioural Modification Pharmaceutical, Philip Tan, from Product Target Heuristics, Jill Mead from The Government, Hugh Heitle from digital Growth Strategies and Beatrix Fameur from Media Farm, Gill Harper from Asymetrical Marketing Initiatives were sitting around the in digital facsimile to their physical selves, small-talking and joking, in the heart of Motor’s power.

‘I thought you’d appreciate an opportunity to appreciate what we are really doing here,’ replied Motor. ‘It’s one thing to hear, another to see.’ He gestured to the windows. The view was indeed impressive. The military/industrial hive reached to the horizon, sending up columns of yellow smoke, rolling as slowly and gracefully towards the pale sky as rising cumulonimbus. Arsenal suffered from timelapse, what the gamers of yesteryear called ‘lag’. The server which maintained it was frequently pushed to capacity, forcing the refresh rate below real time. Though annoying, this was also a tribute to Motor’s hegemony. Other quantum Servers had lagged or been reset because of runaway cim processes, but only one had been placed under such strain by the ambitions of a single man. For today’s meeting, a third of Arsenal had been shut down. Motor didn’t need anything interfering with his pitch.

‘We’re here to put the final touches on our arrangement’ he continued. ’The Knet immersive media market is one of the most coveted in the world, and the most difficult to penetrate. Almost twenty percent off all males aged thirteen to thirty one, the prime demographic for impulse purchasing, often or regularly spends time on Knet. That’s seven percent of the planet, a phenomenal untapped sector. The problem is that no one owns Ksource and no one can effect processes or objects inside the simulation, outside the rules of the Ksource engine. But I have found a way. Soon, ladies and gentleman, all those eyeballs will be yours.’

‘It sounds very exiting!’ said Ranjit Sauer from Behavioural Modification Pharmaceutical, ‘but we’d like to see a proof of the stadium concept. Our research indicates a high level of social incohesion on Knet.’

‘Would that be using asynchronous methodology like in the Nielsen Retail Index hour-to-hour comprehensive survey or a qualitative approach, something with a built-in control for dependent variables?’ asked Motor.

‘Um’ said Ranjit, in the way people do when they have to check their notes and get back to you.

’What concerns us is the risk of a social phenomena called ‘implosion,’’ said Katrina Middleton, of Blizzard Omnitainment.

‘Implosion,’ replied Motor, ‘also called a preference cascade, is what happens to a hegemon at the point when some small trigger switches the social state form compliance to rebellion. In other words, when everyone suddenly looks at one another and asks, ’who exactly is this asshole? And why are we taking orders from him?’ But it can’t happen to P-Fed.’

‘Why?’

‘Because my organization’s structure rests on a psychological base, not just coercion. The method is to get the individual to identify strongly with the collective, by fulfilling psychological needs he has, and to see his personal interest as an expression of group identity. What my system does is effectively harnesses the greatest power on Knet; the heroic self-ideation of teenage boys. And emotionally immature young men.’

‘Excuse me?’ said Katrina Middleton, of Blizzard Omnitainment.

‘Gamers!’ said Motor. ‘They play all day, they have youthful concentration and reduced connection to exterior distractions. You know, family, friends, etcetera. And they are dominated by a need for personal agency, and acceptance within a social structure.’

‘I thought teenagers wanted to rebel.’

‘Not to rebel. To gain agency. That may entail rebellion against conventional authority figures but it’s matched with a powerful corresponding desire for status and recognition by an approved peer group. These aren’t new techniques. Hitler, for example, based his propaganda on the central insight that identity trumps conscience. On Knet, the affirmation is entirely illusory, but it doesn’t matter, the impulse is hard-wired into young men from millions of years of evolution. Part of a basic social drive. It leads to predictable, replicable incentives that can be used to control them.’

’So your saying that people want to be slaves?’ asked Bud Rodgers from GNN Commercial Placement, sounding intrigued.

‘Apparently’ said Motor. ‘My army is designed to place each member in a power hierarchy where his own position is conditional on upholding the overall system. It also constantly encourages the accretion urge, the compulsion to accumulate value. In this case, in addition to promotions, equipment and battle honors and so on. We have a complicated system of physical rewards, that they are so busily collecting, that they never think to challenge the premise of the power structure. They used a similar psychology to brainwash the Hitler youth, it’s push-pull. I find it disconcerting that so little attention is given to such well-known psychological levers as a means of market penetration.’

‘I find it disconcerting that you keep mentioning Hitler in a positive context,’ said Philip Tan from Product Target Heuristics.

‘Well, obviously I don’t think everything he did was perfect’ said Motor. ‘I’m just saying they he had some good ideas on management.’

‘He did’ said Bud Rodgers from GNN Commercial Placement, thoughtfully. ‘And he was a vegetarian. That was pretty far out for the nineteen forties.’

’What the fuck has that got to do with anything?’ thought Motor, wishing he could just rob Bud and his friends and throw them into an industrial shredder.

‘And your P-Fed group won’t collapse?’ asked Ranjit. ‘Because without it, we fail to see how you could fulfill your obligation to us.’

‘It can’t’ Said Motor.

‘Well, that’s great. We’re happy to commit to seed money, but we are going to withhold signature until we see a proof of concept.’

‘But all your commercial messaging is already in place!’ protested Motor. ‘You’re effectively receiving the commercial placement for free!’

‘Not at all,’ said Katrina, ‘like I said, we’re happy to sign the contract if the event goes off as advertised.’

‘Well, then, if that is the case’ replied Motor, ‘I’d be happy to remove all the Product placement and go forward. Since it’s just a proof of concept, it’ll do just as well without your messaging.’

‘Well, well, alright, hang on,’ said Bud, ‘we could probably agree to a provisional amount, say at thirty percent of the first tranche, plus a commitment to sign under current wording. If the event is successful.’

’Who judges what constitutes ‘successful’?’ asked Motor.

‘We do, but trust me, we’re all keen to move ahead.’

‘’Trust me!’’ Said General Motor, ‘the most reassuring words in business. Alright, I agree.’ He gestured at the city, blood red with the lowering sun. ‘Anyway, let’s ascend, shall we?’ He turned to Ganze. ‘Launch now.’

‘Launch now’, said Ganze, to his little screen. There was a tremble in the structure and a jet of smoke belched out from the tower below. The whole tower began to lift ponderously into the air. The corp reps laughed and chuckled uneasily, this was a purely digital experience, but Knet immersion could be unsettlingly gripping, even to people with long acquaintance to it.

Now they were accelerating upward. The sky deepened and became purple. The great sprawl of factories fell away below. There was much tourist-style exclamation from the corporate flock at this remarkable spectacle.

‘There,’ said Motor, pointing at the darkening sky. Above them, a ring of silver could be seen. ‘The Death Ring Arena, venue of the first P-Fed global Knet Deathmatch Tournament.’

They had left gravity field. Motor and the reps would normally, at this point, began to slowly float off their feet. However, gravity was simulated on the upper floors of the tower by low-power repulsor plates, placed in the roof. These now came on, to hold the occupants in place.

The tower approached the ring. Emitter engines began to slow its vast mass. They were maneuvering into the center. Don’t fuck this up or I swear to God, Motor thought, to the pilot crew in the chamber below. He had a chilling vision of the tower crashing into the ring and wrecking it. But the tower was slowing gracefully, and entering the center of the vast ring arena. Now their position became fixed, a few small correctors flared and they were standing in its middle. From their perspective, the ring, rotating slowly, appeared to be a great tapestry of maze-like terrain, bracketed with spectator stands on the top and bottom, encircling the tower.

‘The arena rotates to simulate gravity through centripetal force’ said Motor. ’The central arena area is a maze of deathtraps and tactical terrain to challenge our competing teams. What you are witnessing is the venue for the greatest K-net deathmatch ever conceived. A spectacle that will draw the best gamers in the Knet to the P-Fed empire, to compete. Our slogan is, ’You think you’re the best? Prove it, Fag!’’

‘That’s incredible,’ said Sally, taking in the sweep of the vast ring. An orbiting coliseum.

’Can we lose the ‘fag’ bit?’ asked Hugh.

‘One final thing needs to be done,’ said Motor, ignoring him, ‘and I’m glad you can be here with me to see it. I don’t need to go into the technical details, but the vast majority of my base server is monopolized with cim structures. They will have to go to allow the processing power to host the Knet’s most advanced deathmatchers, plus millions of spectators.’

‘Millions?’ asked Juanita.

‘Two point three, estimated’ said Ganze. ‘We have a custom spectator Id that can be spawned inside the mezzanine ring for each logon generated by an entrance fee.’

‘Whats an Id?’ asked Gill Harper from Asymmetrical Marketing

‘Two million is just the estimated attendance’ said Motor, giving Ganze an annoyed look, ’The Omnitube feed will go out to millions more. People have struggled for decades to monetize Knet. Now we begin a gold rush, into virgin territory, a vast new opportunity for digital marketing and merchandising which we will dominate. This, my friends, is what it feels like to be in on the ground floor.’ A panel slipped aside in the table, and a large, red button emerged. ‘From this day on’ said Motor, ‘Arsenal will serve nothing but the Arena.’ He pushed the button.

They saw the first explosions flaring up brightly below, starting at the center of the great industrial complex, then spreading outward. All P-Fed accretion facilities contained self-destructs, they were now being triggered in sequence. Arsenal, vomiter of armies, terror of the K-universe, was annihilating itself below in a great wave of expanding fire. The crowd of corporate spectators gasped and murmured in awe.

‘It’s a new day’ said Motor.

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