by Allen Zadoff
The statement tells me everything I need to know about Lee. A powerful father, and a son who’s not living up to his potential, at least in his father’s eyes.
I was reading Lee wrong. The questions he was asking had nothing to do with me. They were about him and his feelings of guilt.
He’s opened up with me, so I want to be gentle now.
“I was just acting on instinct,” I say, trying to make him feel better. “Who knows what I would do if it happened again?”
“Maybe you’d do the same thing.”
“Yeah. Or maybe I’d poop my pants.”
He laughs. “That would clear the room, huh?”
“Whatever gets the job done,” I say.
“All kidding aside, maybe my father could use you on his security brigade. He needs another body up there.”
For real?”
“He’s short a guy,” he says, his voice low.
“How did that happen?” I say.
Lee does a quick circle with the flashlight, making sure nobody is close enough to overhear us.
“One of his bodyguards had to leave.”
I think about the soldier from The Program. He was in this same camp four months ago, and now he’s dead. Could this have anything to do with what Lee is talking about?
“This bodyguard,” I say. “He wasn’t doing a good job?”
“He wasn’t loyal,” Lee says, his voice turning cold. “So he was dealt with.”
I don’t say anything.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Lee says. “I’m just letting you know there’s an opening.”
Lee turns his flashlight toward a medium-sized square building set apart from the other structures. “We’re here,” he says.
The front door is locked, and Lee flips open a metal plate next to the door to reveal a digital keypad.
He moves to block my sight line with his body. I back up like I’m giving him his privacy, but I shift subtly so I can see over his shoulder. He holds the flashlight under his arm and types in a four-digit code.
9 6 6 4
He turns the handle, and the door opens.
“This is where you’ll sleep,” he says.
“I get my own place?”
“Pretty cool, huh? I’ll get you settled, then I have to get over to the meeting.”
“I hope you guys have cable,” I say.
“We’ve got better than cable,” he says.
“ARE YOU A GAMER?” LEE SAYS.
We’re standing in what looks like a hotel room at a three-star property. A stripped-down space, but clean and obviously designed for guests. There’s a large bookshelf filled with titles, but that’s not what Lee is referring to. He’s pointing to a sixty-inch LCD screen that fills the wall in front of us. It looks enormous in such a small room.
Even better is what’s on the shelf underneath it. A state-of-the art gaming system, its wires running back through the wall and up out of sight into the television screen.
“ ‘Gamer’ is a little bit of a stretch,” I say. “But I play once in a while.”
I’m thinking of Zombie Crushed Dead!—the MMPORG game world where I meet Mother for emergency conferences, the anonymity of thousands of players serving to obfuscate our operational communications. In fact, if I can get online here—
“I’ve got a game going right now,” I say. “Can I log in and play it?”
“You mean out in the real world?” he says, pointing up and out. “No can do. It’s an intranet setup. We only play each other.”
“That’s how you guys spend your time? I’m surprised your dad lets you play games. Mine hates when I do that.”
“It’s not just a game. It’s training,” he says. “I helped to design the whole thing.”
“You programmed it?”
“Not myself. But I supervised the programmers. And I’m the one who came up with the idea behind the scenarios.”
“So it’s like a flight simulator?”
“That’s a good comparison. It develops hand-eye coordination, strategic thinking, and familiarity with military maneuvers. ‘Serious play,’ my father calls it.”
“So you go back to your rooms and play each other?”
“Only some of us have them in our rooms. But we have a couple game centers in common rooms around the property.”
“Sounds awesome.”
“Actually, it’s a trade-off. We don’t have computers, iPhones, or tablets of any kind.”
“But you’ve got this.”
“We do. Everyone in the encampment has a profile programmed in. Our characters have physical attributes and skills based on our real-world talents. As we train in real life and get stronger, our characters get stronger.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say.
“You have a profile, too.”
“I do?”
“Preprogrammed, based on your application. And a few other things we know about you.”
What do they know about me?
Lee says, “The game tracks your score and compares it to everyone else’s in the encampment. Ranking is everything here. You’ll see.”
“I can understand why you guys want to live here,” I say, smiling.
“Not yet, you can’t,” he says, suddenly serious. “But I’m going to show you. If you’re interested.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re here,” he says. “In fact you’re guaranteed to be here at least until morning.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have to lock you in tonight. Standard operating procedure. Sorry.”
“No problem,” I say. “I can’t see shit out there anyway. Where am I going to go?”
He laughs.
“See you in the a.m.,” he says, and goes out.
I hear him walk down the hall. The exterior door opens and closes, accompanied by the sound of a lock clicking shut.
As soon as I’m sure he’s gone, I take out my iPhone.
I move around the room looking for any indication of a signal, trying different angles and heights, testing the limits of the jamming system. The phone stays in search mode, unable to connect to a cell tower, to Wi-Fi, to anything.
No signal of any kind.
I look at the sixty-inch screen mounted on the wall. If I can’t explore Liberty tonight, I can explore the game they play, acclimate myself to the culture. Maybe kick some online ass in the meantime.
I power on the system in my room. An avatar appears on the screen—a generic boy, roughly my height and size, rotating in space. On the back of his shirt is written DANIEL X, as if he’s wearing a sports uniform with his name stitched there.
I click the character, and I’m presented with a series of game scenarios:
Laying Plans
Waging War
Tactical Disposition
The Use of Spies
The Attack by Fire
I think about where I’ve seen phrases like this before, and it only takes a second for me to remember. The Art of War, Sun Tzu’s classic text of military doctrine written in the second century BC. I studied it as part of my training.
I’m guessing this game is based on the military principles in the text.
I click to open LAYING PLANS, and I’m presented with a colorized map. I study it for a few moments, and I realize I’m looking at the planning schematic for the encampment. I see the main road coming in through the mountain where I drove with Francisco. Camp Liberty is designed as a large oval shape surrounded by mountains. One main road coming in, and a smaller service road exiting from the side. There are two main buildings, a long rectangular house dead in the center of the configuration, and another building that I haven’t seen yet, set far back from the other structures, neatly tucked into the side of the mountain. The main building is surrounded by several smaller structures set at random intervals around it. I try to determine which structure I’m in, but it could be one of several.
I study the map more closely, and I see notations for defensive positio
ns set up around the encampment.
Laying Plans
This scenario represents the positioning of forces to maximize the defense of the encampment. But why would they need to defend a camp for kids? Defend it from whom?
Maybe I can find out.
A dialogue prompts me:
Are you ready? Y/N
I press Y, and the map races toward me in 3-D, like I’m being beamed down from space. The world of the encampment comes alive around me onscreen. My avatar stands in the area near the main road. I hear him breathing in a way I never breathe. He is winded, his breath ragged.
There’s a scream next to me. I turn and see a man on the ground at my feet writhing from a gunshot wound to the stomach. He turns over and I see a name on the back of his shirt: P. MERCURIO.
The earth jumps a foot from my feet. It’s a gunshot impact. I see flashes coming from the main road.
I run.
I note a statistics box on the lower right, and I see there are fourteen active players currently in this scenario. Suddenly P. Mercurio’s name pops up in red in the box then fades out. Now there are thirteen active players.
I’m starting to get the hang of this.
I move through the digitized world of Camp Liberty. There are a lot more than thirteen players on the board. When theses avatars turn their backs, they’re identified numerically, for example as COMPUTER 1249, which means the computer is generating additional characters to populate the world. These characters stream out of the buildings, confused and upset. Some of them are caught in the open and mowed down, others carry weapons and run in a zigzag pattern like they know what they’re doing. Almost everyone is moving toward the main building in the center of the encampment.
The earth rumbles beneath me, the sound of large armored vehicles moving down the main road toward the encampment.
“Daniel, this way!” a character shouts.
He runs in front of me, motioning for me to follow him. The back of his shirt says L. MOORE.
It’s Lee.
I follow him toward the house at the center of the encampment. If the game world is as realistic as I suspect, I can use it to learn the layout of the main house.
I lose Lee in the throng of running people. Some of them are panicked and screaming, others calm. There are different entry points to the main house, and they seem to know which to head for. The ones who make it are let into the house.
A character runs into the front door of the house. I make for the same door and turn the knob—
It’s locked.
“Access denied,” the game says and sends a painful warning vibration through my controller.
Gunshots pepper the wood around my head. I duck low and run for a side door.
“Access denied,” the game intones again.
I turn and I see a figure watching me from across the way. There’s something different about him, something unlike the other characters on the board. At first it seems like he might be dead because he’s not moving while people pass by him.
But I note a subtle swivel of his head. He’s standing still, but he appears to be monitoring me.
Who inside the game might be watching me? It’s not Lee. I saw him disappear into the main house.
I move toward the unknown figure, trying to angle around to see the name on the back of his shirt. I slide along a wall, edging ever closer to him.
Suddenly a bullet impact throws wood splinters past my character’s eyes.
I’m temporarily blinded. When my vision returns, the unknown figure is gone.
I hear shouts behind me. Men in blue jackets are racing into the encampment, the letters ATF emblazoned in gold across their front. They carry assault weapons.
ATF. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.
I’m beginning to understand why the camp is set up like it is. They think they’re going to be raided by the government. Not just raided but attacked. And they’re preparing to defend themselves against it.
I watch the ATF agents streaming into camp inside the game. My first feeling is that I should trust them. They work for the government, and though they’d never know it in real life, so do I.
In the game, I step out where the ATF agents can see me, and I raise my hands in surrender.
They lift their assault rifles and commence firing on my position.
This should never happen in real life, law enforcement firing on unarmed civilians. But in the ethos of the Camp Liberty game, it’s us versus them. This ATF has shoot-to-kill orders.
I turn and run.
I make for a small house set apart from the main structure. I fling my avatar’s body against the door.
“Access denied,” it says.
I feel my pulse quicken as the ATF agents advance on the encampment.
This is just a game, I remind myself.
But it’s amazingly realistic in its depiction. The screaming voices, the rumble of trucks, the hiss of tear gas cartridges falling and releasing their contents around me.
I even hear my character coughing. His movement slows. I press harder on my controller, but I cannot make him run faster.
I cannot get away from these agents with guns.
One last chance, a glass window in a small building off to the side. I run toward it and throw my character into the air, hoping to hear the window shatter.
Instead there is a loud buzzer.
“Access denied,” the game says again.
That’s when the bullets hit me.
A vibration passes through the controller along with a mild shock that causes the muscles in my hand to contract.
I look down at my character’s stomach, blood seeping through his shirt.
I press the controller, but it’s like trying to move through wet concrete.
I glance up to see an unknown figure standing passively to the side, watching me. It’s the one from before, the one who was monitoring me.
My screen begins to dim.
The character turns and begins to walk away. I look at the back of his shirt through the encroaching haze. Every character has a name or a computer code imprinted on the back of their shirt.
Every character except his.
There is no name. His shirt is blank.
My screen goes black. There is the sound of wind, a low howl like a storm blowing through an empty field. A single word appears on the screen:
Terminated
A data block floats in and centers itself on the screen. These are the stats for my character, Daniel X.
Active player ranking: 14 out of 14
Chance of survival in an equivalent real-world scenario: 0%
Chance of survival in all scenarios: 32%
Universal ranking: 128 out of 128 statistical players.
I’m not only dead. I’m dead last.
No matter.
Because in playing the game, I’ve seen a map of the encampment. I can find my way around.
Enough play. It’s time to get my mission on track.
I have to call Father and let him know where I am.
I take my iPhone from the desk. I glance at it and see no service.
I think about how a group could accomplish electronic blocking in an environment like this. I imagine a central device radiating from the center of the encampment, with additional devices, electronic repeaters, up in the mountains.
Up high. That’s where I’ll have to go to get a signal.
It’s late now, well past midnight. It’s time to use what I have learned from the game.
CALCULATED RISK.
That is what I am trained to assess. All actions carry risk. Stepping out of the house in the morning exposes you to risk. Likewise walking on the street, getting into a car, flying. All of them are risky, but a normal person doesn’t see it that way. Because once the level of risk falls below a certain threshold, a normal person no longer sees the activity as inherently dangerous.
Not me. I know the truth.
All actions carr
y risk, but the risk must be assessed.
Leaving my room in the dark and walking through an armed encampment. Attempting to escape into the mountain, high enough that I can get a signal and call The Program.
Extreme risk.
Staying in my room without contacting The Program, knowing that I am undertaking a mission that was not planned and for which I can receive no support.
Greater risk.
My decision, then, is simple. I have to talk to Father or Mother.
So I choose the greater of the two risks and prepare to go outside.
I explore the room, looking for anything that might be helpful to me. When I open the closet, I find a row of forest-themed camouflage pants and brown T-shirts. I select something in my size and slip it on. I put my iPhone into a buttoned pocket on the camo pants. I make sure to wear my special glasses.
I walk down the hall to the door. I turn the handle. It’s locked, just as Lee said it would be. But I know the code. I type it into the digital pad.
A moment later the door lock clicks open, and I step outside.
THE MOON HAS DISAPPEARED COMPLETELY BEHIND THE CLOUDS.
I walk out into a dark so profound that my eyes are useless.
No matter. I will use my other senses. I listen for the distant metallic pounding coming from the workshop. I track the way it bounces off the mountain side and triangulate that back to where I am standing. In this way, I can echo-locate the mountain and move toward it, making my way to the edge of the encampment.
I have one primary objective.
Ascend.
Ascend until I can get a signal on my iPhone, until I can inform The Program of my location, and together we can develop a contingency plan for this mission.
Ascend.
But I must remain undetectable as I do it, or my mission will end tonight.
IN THE DARKNESS, I USE WHAT I HAVE LEARNED FROM THE GAME.
I head behind my building, walking silently across dirt and grass, my arms in front of me feeling for obstacles. Several times I note sentries moving in the darkness, but I drop into a crouch and wait for them to pass, moving on their assigned rounds.
