by Jacob Gowans
With her blessing, they went to the front porch to talk. “This one’s going to require a little more work,” Dr. Rosmir reported. “He’s unfit, has mild asthma, and definitely shows traits of having an autism spectrum disorder.”
“What do you recommend?”
Dr. Rosmir scratched his head as he thought. “Start with giving his mother instructions to get him on a diet. Put him on cerebral accelerators for the autism. I’ll check in on him in a couple weeks to see how he’s progressing.”
“Will he be ready to start with the next class of recruits coming up?”
“That’s six weeks away? I guess so. He’ll need more time than that to catch up to speed, in terms of his maturity. And you get to tell him he can’t play Universe Whatever anymore. How do you think that will go over? Sounds like early stages of a gaming addiction. The autism is probably part of that, too. If you think you can start him on that soon, go for it. But he won’t catch up to his peers emotionally for several months.”
Byron nodded. “I have seen worse. So have you.”
“No doubt about that. Remember that skinny Atkins kid? When was that? Nine years ago?”
“Ten. Brandon Atkins. And yes, I remember. I almost told him no.”
“Well, he was weird. So was his family. You had every right.”
They returned inside and sat down with Gabriel and his parents. The younger brother was sent upstairs. After both parents understood and signed agreements of confidentiality, Commander Byron began. “I appreciate the trust you have shown us. Let me tell you a little more about our school and our situation. If you read or watch the news, you know tensions are high between the NWG and the CAG. Our constitution prevents us from forming a standing army, so we employ people with anomalies which give them special abilities.”
“You mean my son’s gaming skills and things like that?” Mr. Joel asked.
Dr. Rosmir looked as though he had to bite his tongue in order to not respond sarcastically to the question.
“No, Mr. Joel. Back when Gabriel accidentally pushed Tobias down the stairs—”
“It wasn’t a push!” Mrs. Joel protested. “Gabriel would never—”
“I know.”
“Tobias nearly broke his neck. Gabriel didn’t mean—”
“Exactly, your son displayed an ability to use kinetic energy projection. We call it blasting. Let me demonstrate it for you. Do you have a glass or cup I can borrow?”
Mrs. Joel nodded and retrieved a large plastic cup from the kitchen with a picture of The Flash on it.
“Careful with that!” Mr. Joel warned.
“Thank you. Please watch.” Commander Byron placed the cup on one end of the family’s small coffee table. Then he steadied his hand about six centimeters away. The Joel family’s attention was fixed onto the cup. Using a gentle blast, Byron pushed it to the other end of the table.
Mrs. Joel’s hands flew to cover her open mouth. Mr. Joel jumped back into the couch. Gabriel clapped twice and shouted, “COOL! He’s like Professor X!”
“No, I am nothing of the sort. This is—”
“Wait a minute!” Mr. Joel cried. “Are you going to ask us to give you money and things like that? Is this some kind of a trick? How do I know your doctor friend didn’t just pull that glass on a string? Or maybe it’s all some elaborate hologram!”
Dr. Rosmir raised an eyebrow at the commander.
“I assure you, Mr. Joel—”
Mr. Joel stood up. “I think this is very suspicious. My son is on the verge of getting his first pro gaming contract. You interrupt us during our most important guild battle to date, which we WON by the way! Now you want to prove to us you’re a real superhero and things like that!”
Commander Byron calmly raised a hand to speak.
“No, I’m not finished. My son has a real future in this business. He’s broken a couple records and things—”
Byron released a second hand blast aimed at Mr. Joel’s chest. Gabriel’s father left his feet and his back hit the cushions of the couch. Mrs. Joel gasped, “Asher!”
Mr. Joel sat in his seat, stunned. When the shock finally wore off, he began nodding dumbly like a bobble-head toy. “I believe you now.”
With that taken care of, Commander Byron finished his presentation about the training Gabriel would receive at headquarters, the expectations that would be set for him, and gave a vague description of the hazards involved. Gabriel became increasingly giddy, promising to do whatever it took to become a real superhero. Mrs. Joel hesitantly agreed. Mr. Joel, however, still wasn’t happy.
“You can’t take my son away! He won’t be able to play in our guild. And—and you say he can only call home once a month? Why?”
“Those are the policies we employ to help the kids focus on their training. Your son is not going to have time to fulfill his daily schedule and be in your gaming group.”
“It’s called a guild!” Mr. Joel said heatedly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “He has a chance to go pro and things like that!” Before Byron could respond, Mr. Joel left the room while his younger son stood on top of the stairs, shooting a toy gun.
“Go back to your room, Tobias!” Mrs. Joel shouted.
“I don’t care about the guild, Mom!” Gabriel whined. “I want to go to superhero school.”
Byron rubbed his temples and sighed, glancing at Dr. Rosmir as he did so. “I think we need to start from the beginning. . . . ”
Commander Byron didn’t get very far. Mr. Joel ran back into the room only a couple minutes after he’d left, panting. “Are you going to be training my son to be a terrorist?”
“Excuse me?” Byron couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
“A terrorist. You heard me. A terrorist! They’re saying on the news that NWG terrorists set off a bomb in Wichita . . . you know . . . over there.”
The commander jumped to his feet. “I know where Wichita is. Where is your holo-screen?”
“Right there,” Mr. Joel said, pointing through the kitchen, into the den.
Commander Byron, flanked by Mr. Joel and Dr. Rosmir, stood in front of the screen as Mrs. Joel turned on the news.
“—unable to provide live footage at this time due to air travel restriction in CAG territory, but the reports we are receiving from CAG officials state that a B-bomb has been detonated in Wichita, a ghost town in the middle of America. A group called the Crimson Sox has stepped forward claiming responsibility. This group is known to be the largest NWG terrorist organization operating in CAG territory. They state that if demands are not met which include surrender to NWG control, they will next target a major populated city.”
“What’s a B-bomb, Dad?” Gabriel asked.
Dr. Rosmir stared at the screen, answering the question as though he read the words from a dictionary. “A bomb that unleashes a pulse of energy, which destroys all cellular junctions, causing loss of life to all living organisms except one-celled bacteria and viruses.”
“Huh?”
“Is this your people’s doing?” Mr. Joel asked Byron again.
“No. We would never. . . . ”
The voice from the holo-screen continued, “The CAG’s response has been swift. The Speaker for the President released the following statement moments ago: ‘We will not tolerate a threat on CAG soil. These terrorists will be caught and face justice. With recent reports that these terrorists are working in conjunction with the NWG itself, we may consider this an act of war. If we must increase security, so be it. If we must further tighten control over our borders, we will do so. We will take any steps necessary toward ensuring the safety of all Americans. Let our enemies know that we will find them and destroy them whether here or abroad.’”
Rosmir caught Byron’s eye and gestured to the screen with a jerk of his head. “Your parents?” he hissed. “Aren’t they—didn’t you—?”
Commander Byron nodded as his heart banged against his ribs. “Yes,” he whispered back, “they found the resistance.”
9.
Loser
Saturday June 3, 2086
After two weeks of new leadership, Major Tawhiri’s changes in Psion Beta headquarters had become quite apparent. He enforced strict curfew rules: 2130 Sunday night through Thursday night and midnight on Friday and Saturday nights. The exception to the rule was that the winning team of each week’s Game got to stay up until 0100. Everyone hated the change. They brought up their dislike for the new rule in their weekly meetings with the major (something Byron had never done), but the major insisted that they all adhere to the rules, like it or not. Tawhiri also implemented dietary restrictions. This irked Sammy’s friends, particularly Brickert, who normally gave no thought to the fact that he ate a hamburger or pizza almost every day. Now the Robochef counted their calories and forced them to take vegetables and fruit on a regular basis. Brickert and Sammy threw the vegetables away until the Robochef refused to give them anything but salads.
“You used to be my friend!” Brickert yelled over-dramatically at the Robochef when this happened. “Now you choose Major Tawlooli over me? Curse you, Robochef!”
Perhaps the biggest change that Tawhiri enacted was the end of rankings. As he explained it, “The rankings are great for the people at or near the top, but detrimental to those who struggle with physical combat.” Instead, he arranged for the Betas to meet with him in the sim rooms once or twice a month for one-on-one training sessions. Kobe and a few others complained loudly about this at the Sunday meetings, but no one could change Tawhiri’s mind.
Sammy was grateful for Tawhiri’s decisions. Earlier curfews meant less time for Jeffie and Kobe together in the evenings. And he knew that since his Anomaly Eleven had not returned, it was unlikely he’d ever achieve top ranks in the personal stats, despite everyone’s expectations of him. Always occupying his thoughts was the Game ever closer. At first, he told no one about it. The choice was his, and his alone. Advice from others would only taint his thought process. For several days, Sammy teetered back and forth between intentionally losing and going all-out to win the Game. On days when he and Jeffie shared a moment, or he sensed some of their old camaraderie, he wanted to stay. On days when she gave him the cold shoulder to spend time with Kobe he daydreamed about packing his bags and leaving.
After mulling over his options for three weeks and still not coming to any resolution, he told Brickert about his dilemma during one of their tri-weekly joint training sessions in the sims. They hung back in the sim room to talk. Sammy rubbed his sore leg while Brickert raised some important questions: what would Sammy do for fun when he wasn’t busy on missions or in training? Who would be his friends? A bunch of twenty- and thirty-year-olds? Al and Marie? By the time Sammy graduated, they’d be married and more interested in doing . . . married couple stuff. On the flip side, going on real missions, seeing new challenges, and working with people of different anomalies sounded pretty cool, while the thought of three more years of the same sims and instructions at Beta headquarters did not.
“What’s wrong with you?” Brickert pointed to Sammy’s left leg, which he favored each step he took from the sim room.
“Nothing.” Sammy tried to correct his limp, but the ache was significant.
“It hurts still? You didn’t even work that hard.”
“It goes away fast. No worries.”
Brickert frowned as he watched Sammy, but said nothing more. They walked in silence, but Sammy could hear his friend thinking about what to say next. “Well, I’ll tell you, it all comes down to one question. Do you feel like you still belong here?”
“What—”
“No, forget about me and Jeffie and whoever else is here. If none of that mattered, would you want to stay?”
Sammy didn’t answer out loud, but he knew the truth in his heart. They walked in silence until they reached the rec room where Brickert had promised Natalia he’d meet her after Sammy finished tutoring him.
“Because the way Tawhiri’s changing things, I might want to graduate early, too. Curfew sucks big, big—”
“Good night, Brick,” Sammy said. “Have fun with your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend!”
As the days rolled on, Sammy limped through them, often literally, after a grueling workout in the sim rooms. Between his already busy daily schedule and tutoring Brickert after hours on the fifth floor, Sammy had little time to think about his upcoming decision. He rarely saw anyone but Brickert and Strawberry, who liked to watch her brother and Sammy as they trained. She even hinted that she, too, would like to receive private classes from Sammy, though he knew it wasn’t for the same reasons as her brother.
One Friday after lunch, Sammy found Jeffie waiting for him outside his sim room.
“Heya Sammy,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“Is it true that you might be graduating early?”
Sammy swallowed hard as he looked away from her. “Where did you hear that? Brickert?”
“No, not Brickert. Is it true, though?”
“Uh . . . there’s talk.” Sammy knew he hadn’t lied very well and hoped Jeffie didn’t notice. “How are things going with you? You and Kobe doing well?”
“Yeah,” Jeffie said, “well, you know how it is. I miss our late night chats. A lot.”
Sammy raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“I do! I—I don’t know. . . . Things aren’t the way I thought they’d be when I found out you were coming back.”
“What do you mean?”
Jeffie stared hard at Sammy. “I don’t know.”
“You already said, ‘I don’t know.’”
They grinned widely at each other, and it reminded Sammy of their old conversations. The moment felt good.
“Did I?” she asked. “Maybe it means I don’t know.”
“But what don’t you know?” he pushed.
“I don’t know,” Jeffie answered at the same time Sammy said, “You don’t know.”
She punched him in the arm while they both laughed. “Let’s hang out tonight.” She dropped her voice when suggesting the idea. “It’s Friday, after all. I’ll ditch Kobe early and we can talk somewhere alone. It’ll be nice.”
Sammy inwardly rejoiced at the prospect of spending any time with her. “You sure?”
Jeffie paused for a moment before beaming toothily at him. “Yep, positive. I’ll send you a text.”
Through all four hours of his sims, Sammy thought about Jeffie. He didn’t perform well and he didn’t care. After dinner, Kaden and Kobe organized a gaming tournament. Everyone was invited. Sammy’s initial reaction was excitement. He hadn’t gamed at all since returning from the hospital, and he had lots of fond memories of Beta tournaments in Star Racers and other such things. On the docket for the night was a virtual sword fighting game called Classic Duels. He didn’t particularly care for it, but since everyone was playing, he joined. In the first round, Kaden paired Sammy against Brillianté, whom he easily beat. In the second round, it was Hefani. Hefani was tougher, but Sammy moved on to fight Antonio in the third round. Then he got a text from Jeffie:
I’m in sim room 7. You coming?
He looked around the room and realized she wasn’t there.
Didn’t even see you go. Yeah, gotta beat Antonio. Five minutes.
“Buckle up, Sammy,” Antonio taunted as they put their VR helmets on. “You’re about to find out why they called me The Raper in my boarding school.”
Kawai, who was helping Antonio get the helmet screwed on correctly, smacked him on the back of the head. “It’s rapier, moron.”
Sammy’s field of vision went white and he was instantly in a dojo with a hundred different swords in front of him on a wall.
“CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON,” an ominous male voice announced.
Sammy chose the same sword he’d used against Brillianté and Hefani simply because he was used to it. Antonio would then get to choose their surroundings.
The room melted into a domestic scene. A large living room with three bookshel
ves standing side by side, a sectional couch with an ottoman, and a fireplace surrounded him.
Antonio appeared about six steps away, his sword held at the ready and a cocky grin on his face. “EN GARDE!” the voice shouted.
Sammy knew Antonio was good. He’d watched him beat Jeffie and Ludwig in the earlier rounds, although dominated would have been a more apt description. As the game began, he remembered standing in Stonehenge with his four friends, battling it out to the death in a similar virtual fighting game. Jeffie had been particularly angry at him that day, though now he couldn’t recall exactly why. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Jeffie killing him, and then Brickert cutting her down.
Why was she mad at me that night?
Antonio advanced with well-taught form. Sammy stood in place waiting. At some point between that moment and Antonio’s first swing, Sammy realized how stupid the game was. He’d never held a real sword before, and he probably never would. He hardly bothered parrying the first two attacks by Antonio, then dodged in order to make it look like he hadn’t given up. Antonio kept himself balanced and controlled, carefully working Sammy into a corner. Once Sammy had nowhere to go, Antonio methodically out-maneuvered him and finished him with a fatal thrust. It was quick and easy, exactly what Sammy wanted.
“Sorry, Sammy!” Antonio said as they got up from their small cubicles. “I tried to go easy on you so you didn’t look so bad, but I couldn’t wait around all night.”
Sammy gave Antonio his biggest, fakest grin. “Much appreciated. Maybe I’ll get you next time.” After giving his friends an excuse for bed, he left the rec room. Without delay, he headed to the stairs and didn’t stop until he came to sim room 7. He knocked and the door opened. Jeffie let him inside.
“Took you long enough,” she said as she poked her head out the door and checked both ways down the hall to see if anyone else had seen him enter.
“Subtle, Jeffie, very subtle. You should be a detective if this Psion thing doesn’t work out. You’ve got the skills.”
