A crash came from the vicinity of the kitchen. His mother was throwing dishes at her third husband, or else he was taking them out of the cupboard and smashing them against the floor out of spite. Good. If the sonofabitch was breaking dishes, then he wasn’t hitting his mother. Devin turned the volume up as far as he could stand it.
It was a sorry testament to the debasement of what passed for a home life that he found the rage and fury of synthetic battle more calming than the usual household background noise. The game restarted where he had left off, but before he could engage play he was interrupted by a pop-up. He didn’t bother to read it, wiping it from the screen with a keyboard touch. The contents were identical to the pop-ups he and his friends who had the same game had been receiving for more than a week. A standard anti-virus safety upgrade, the pop-ups declaimed. Downloaded and installed automatically, without the need for action by the gamer. He made a rude noise. How many times were they going to have to run the upgrade? he asked himself.
He shrugged. The pause was brief and insofar as he could tell did not in any way affect gameplay. His friends Colton and Bophan and Marie, with whom he often multiplayed, had suffered through the same string of repetitive upgrades and likewise had reported no perceptible changes. Colton and Marie were running the Durgeon version IV offense while he and Bophan maneuvered the Terran defense forces. Over the past couple of months their two-way combat had shifted back and forth. Sometimes the Colton-Marie Durgeon forces were in the ascendant, other days and weeks it was the Devin-Bophan fighting machine that came close, but could not quite manage, to push the heinous invaders off the planet.
He smiled to himself. Unbeknownst to that sometimes supercilious Colton and know-it-all (but really kinda pretty) Marie, their wily opponent had an ace up his sleeve. Or rather, a flash drive.
Removing it from the drawer of his battered, second-hand desk, he slid it into an open port. Re-activating the game, he hit OFF-LINE PLAY and waited while the flash drive booted up. Wary of his mother, hating his stepfather, uncertain about his teachers, he had learned long ago to trust no one. That distrust extended to and included everyone he had ever met (except Colton and Bophan and probably Marie, even though she was a girl). It did not exclude the authors of the textbooks he was required to read, the presenters on the television and web news, nor even the manufacturers of the games to which he fled and in which he loved to lose himself whenever anarchy descended upon his home. Distrust had kept him safe.
He felt of the back of his head and winced. In his house, safe was never more than a relative term.
So when Gcube announced they were running a full recall on unused copies of Durgeon Invasion: Part IV, and pushing out a safety upgrade to those already in the hands of consumers, he was immediately suspicious. Other games had done “safety” upgrades and recalls because some clutch of distraught mothers had objected to a particularly bloody sequence, or one that pushed the boundaries of R-ratedness, or featured a character whose design, or morals, or actions to which they objected. Having been forced to learn at a preternatural age how to make hard decisions in his life, Devin was not about to let some faraway computer company make decisions for him where his gaming was concerned. So, just in case, before the first safety upgrade could be pushed to his console, he had saved the game he had been playing to a separate, isolated drive.
As soon as its contents had been re-installed on his computer, he hit Resume for the game. Colton and Marie were still off-line and Bophan wouldn’t be home from his part-time job for another hour. That gave Devin more than enough time to see whether the alterations the Gcube people wanted him to install for the latest version of the game were actually to his benefit or to theirs. All of his critical material—schoolwork, serious gameplay, his private diary—were safely ensconced on other password protected flash drives as well as on his out-of-date but still serviceable laptop, which was not connected to the internet. A third set of his vitals resided in the cloud. So even if something went seriously wrong with his unaltered version of Durgeon Invasion: Part IV and went so far as to damage his computer, everything else was isolated and safe.
And if it killed his computer, he could reiterate his frequent plea for a new one.
The familiar Durgeon Invasion opening screen appeared. A couple of keyboard clicks shot him past the most excellent but long since viewed and memorized opening CGI sequence, whereupon without further delay he found himself back on the most recent battlefield. This one was set somewhere in the South Pacific, among volcanic islands and involving exciting underwater play. Here, Colton and Marie had gotten the upper hand over him and Bophan, but neither of them knew that Devin and his partner were secretly marshalling a flotilla of singlesubs with which to hit the Durgeon craft from both above and below. It was all a matter of strategically repositioning …
A pop-up appeared. With relief Devin saw that it was not the dread safety upgrade. He made a face. He hadn’t called for a new character. Nor did he recognize this one. He read the sidebar with interest. A senior officer, no less. The accompanying graphic was impressive, featuring a powerfully-built older man clad in advanced underwater gear. It was unusual, Devin knew, to see a senior officer character dressed for on-field battle. Usually they were only accessible when boardroom strategy was being discussed. He was intrigued.
Even more so when the character removed its rebreather mask and spoke.
It seemed to be looking directly at him.
“Greetings, soldier. I am General Valentin Sharffen and I’m taking command here.”
“Whoa!” Devin grinned at the monitor, whose metal frame featured Pollockian stains rendered in tomato sauce and smeared chocolate. “Where’d you come from?”
“Origins are unimportant. The state of battle is. There is more at stake here than you can imagine.”
“I know, I know.” This bit of character-gamer interface was brilliant, Devin thought. Damn brilliant. “The fate of the Earth, etc., etc.”
On-screen, the character nodded approvingly. “You are straightforward, soldier, and absolutely correct. What is your name?”
“Devin Butler.” He was grinning from ear to ear now. “Sir!”
The character smiled. This is great, Devin thought. Was this part of what Gcube wanted to delete from the game? He couldn’t imagine why.
“Are you prepared to receive orders, soldier?”
Devin found himself sitting up straighter in his chair. “Yes, sir!” He flinched as there came a crash from the kitchen that reached him even through the game’s music, sound effects, and his headset.
An expression of concern crossed the face of General Valentin Sharffen. “Is there a problem, soldier?”
Without hesitation or considering to what he was replying, Devin mumbled softly. “It’s Crapon. My stepfather. He’s beating on my mom. When he’s not beating on her, he beats on me. Blames her for stuff, just beats on me ’cause he can, I think.”
Sharffen’s expression tightened, his gaze narrowed. “Plainly a coward. I hate cowards. They put their fellow soldiers in peril. They risk success on the battlefield. They are an embarrassment to the species.”
“You can say that again.” Screaming from the kitchen. His mother. There were knives in the kitchen. Sometimes Devin thought of—but Crapon was a grown adult, and a pretty big man. The probable outcome of Devin’s fantasizing, if ever translated into action, was all too predictable. One didn’t have to be a gamer to see that. “I wish—I wish I could …” His voice, pitiable, trailed away.
“I think I perceive your problem, soldier. Perhaps I can help.”
Devin’s gaze rose to meet the black CG eyes that were peering unblinkingly back at him. He wasn’t at all sure what was going on here, but …
Another player? Another something—else?
“How could you help?”
“Will you trust me, soldier?”
Trust. A word, a condition, that Devin had long ago abrogated to ensure his very survival. He didn’t trust anyone, no
t really. But this—character—wasn’t real. It was part of a gaming program. Nothing more. And yet. And yet.
If he was going to trust something, since real people had always let him down, why not trust something that was not real?
He felt funny. Like when his mother had had too much to drink, when she tried to blot out the interminable gloom that had descended over her life like an impenetrable blanket.
“Sure. Why not? Why shouldn’t I trust ‘you’?”
The character on screen grew ramrod straight. “I’m promoting you to Lieutenant, Devin Butler.”
Oh, well, that was kind of neat, Devin mused. A game character was promoting him instead of him promoting a game character. Interesting twist. He saluted.
The image on screen saluted back. “Now,” it said as it lowered its right arm. “Go and fetch your miserable excuse of a stepfather.”
Devin swallowed. “Here? You want me to bring him in here?” He gestured at his surroundings. “But this is my room. This is all I got.”
“Go get him.” The character shape was unyielding. “You told me that you would trust me. Tell him there’s a problem with your computer. Tell him you need him to help fix it.”
Devin laughed in spite of himself. “Fix it? Man, Crapon can’t fix a goddamn leaky toilet! He doesn’t know anything about computers.”
“Tell him.” The character image was insistent. “Tell him that your joystick controller is stuck. Tell him you need his strength. To break it loose.”
“He’ll probably just break it,” Devin muttered.
“This is an order—Lieutenant. Instruct him as I have told you.”
Shaking his head, wondering what he was doing, Devin pushed back his chair and rose, still gazing at the monitor. “What if he breaks my controller? I won’t be able to play Durgeon Invasion anymore. I won’t be able to play any games.”
“Trust me,” General Valentin Sharffen said again. “Something will break, but it will not be your controller.”
So Devin, dubious and dazed, went hesitantly into the kitchen, and interposed himself between his blubbering mom and raging stepdad, and made the request. It was met with besotted amusement by his stepfather, who raised a big, heavy hand, but did not strike.
“So you need my help with your damn computer?” Carpon chuckled. “That’s a goddamn first!”
“The controller arm is stuck,” Devin repeated deferentially, still waiting for the first blow to fall. “I need you to try and fix it.”
“Oh, I’ll fix it! I’ll fix it just right!” Smiling crookedly, Carpon shoved the boy aside and lurched toward his room.
Later, after the police and the ambulance had left and while the coroner was still dictating his report, and unbeknownst to all but a handful of teenagers, the war for the future of Earth began in earnest.
Previous Publication Information
“Unvasion,” copyright © 2004 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Absolute Magnitude.
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“The Man Who Knew Too Much,” copyright © 2006 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Futureshocks, edited by Lou Anders.
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“Perception,” copyright © 2006 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Firebirds Rising, edited by Sharon November.
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“Consigned,” copyright © 2007 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Fate Fantastic, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Daniel M. Hoyt.
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“Cold Fire,” copyright © 2008 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Analog, November 2008.
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“Pardon Our Conquest,” copyright © 2009 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Federations, edited by John Joseph Adams.
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“That Creeping Sensation,” copyright © 2011 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Tales from the Greenhouse.
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“Rural Singularity,” copyright © 2013 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in The Mad Scientist’s Guide to World Domination, edited by John Joseph Adams and Diana Gabaldon.
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“Seasonings,” copyright © 2013 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Robot Uprisings, edited by Daniel H. Wilson and John Joseph Adams.
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“Our Specialty is Xenogeology,” copyright © 2017 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Cosmic Powers, edited by John Joseph Adams.
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“Chilling,” copyright © 2006 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Baen’s Universe,
June 2006.
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“Ten and Ten,” copyright © 2006 by Alan Dean Foster; first appeared in Analog, Jan/Feb, 2018.
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“Valentin Sharffen and the Code of Doom,” copyright © 2018 by Alan Dean Foster; appears for the first time in this volume.
About the Author
Alan Dean Foster is the author of 125 books, hundreds of pieces of short fiction, essays, columns reviews, the occasional op-ed for the NY Times, and the story for the first Star Trek movie. Having visited more than 100 countries, he is still bemused by the human condition. He lives with his wife JoAnn and numerous dogs, cats, coyotes, hawks, and a resident family of bobcats in Prescott, Arizona.
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