by George Ebey
But it wasn’t going to be enough.
Not giving up without a fight, the enemy bot aimed its launcher in the air and shot, igniting charges in the sky around it and taking out several drones like they were paper airplanes. A few remained, pinging off pot shots and keeping it busy, but it was clear that they just weren’t going to be able to eliminate enough of its life power to bring this thing to an end.
Disappointment crept into Helen’s mind, but she quickly chased it away. Now it was clear to her: If they wanted to win, they’d have to get into the fight themselves.
And now that the other bot was distracted, it was the perfect time.
“Misty, we’re going to have to hit with the Gatling,” Helen said.
“Then let’s do it.”
A moment later, DEBBI raced out from behind the boulder and came face-to-face with the battling enemy bot. Though they were smack in the middle of a simulated moonscape, Helen felt as if they were standing in the center of a Wild West street, getting ready to draw down on the man in the black hat.
Across the way, the enemy bot stopped lobbing grenades at the pesky drones and fixed its own cold eyes on DEBBI. This was it, and Helen knew it.
“Take the shot!” she screamed.
Misty didn’t disappoint. The Gatling opened up, spraying a barrage of simulated laser bullets directly into the enemy robot. The lasers sparked and ricocheted off the enemy’s exposed torso, lighting it up like a Christmas tree while its health-meter dropped like the New Year’s Eve ball.
“Oh, yeah!” Misty shouted as the Gatling continued to bear down on the enemy.
Suddenly, though, some of the drones broke off and came at them, forcing her to shift her focus from the enemy bot. The first drone charged with its buzzard beak extended, looking capable of a true bite rather than a simple laser shot, but Misty raised the Gatling and zapped it, turning its boxy body into a supernova of sparks.
The remaining two drones coordinated their attack, flying in arcs and circles to avoid Misty’s onslaught. The technique worked, creating anger and frustration for Misty as she panned the Gatling around, spraying a wide berth of lasers and hitting nothing.
Helen watched tensely as her friend worked the weapon, secretly begging for her aim to be true. Misty needed to take out those drones before the enemy bot realized they were distracted, came for them, and ended the game. The other bot was stunned for now, but it still had some fight left in it.
Then, on the next flyby, Misty finally found her groove, and fired just as the drones were about to cross each other. She guessed right, hitting them when they were precisely lined up, and taking them both out with one well-aimed burst.
The two drones exploded like the planet Alderaan, eliciting cheers from both Helen and Misty.
But the result of the victory was a complete drain of the Gatling’s ammunition. All guns required reloading when emptied, and it took extensive code to write it. The faster you reloaded, the more code it took. Helen had done her best to make that process as quick as possible, but with the gun fully drained, it would take Misty at least two minutes to recharge it.
This was time they didn’t have. Every second that ticked by was a second that left them vulnerable and unable to use their primary weapon.
Across the way, Helen saw the enemy bot twitching and beginning to move again. Which meant the thing was still operational; Misty’s Gatling attack definitely hadn’t been enough to stop it. Its health bar must be on its last tick, she thought. But it wasn’t out for the count just yet.
Then, abruptly raising its weapon, the enemy bot launched a single grenade straight at DEBBI. Fa-whump!
Helen watched the vid-screen in horror as the glowing orb arced through the sky, heading directly for her. It seemed to float there for a moment, like a rogue asteroid heading straight for Earth on a trajectory that no one but God could stop.
She felt the color drain from her face. The second that thing touched down, it would be the end. The end of DEBBI, the end of the contest, the end of her hopes and dreams.
She only had one chance.
Raising the laser rifle, she fired off a wild, desperate shot only seconds before the grenade blast enveloped the entire vid-screen in a brilliant and all-consuming white light.
MATCH! WINNER!
For a moment, Helen simply sat at her control station with her eyes clenched shut, the game announcer’s words echoing through her headset. The match was over. Someone had won.
But who?
The second she opened her eyes, she got her answer.
A collage of animated ribbons, confetti, and fireworks flashed across her vid-screen, along with the words: WINNER! WINNER!
Relief rushed through her in stress-melting waves as the screen’s blinking declaration brought a shout of joy from her stunned lips. This was it. The match was over. And they’d won! After what they’d gone through, she could hardly believe it.
In her headset, she could hear Misty squealing with delight, and joined in, unable to contain herself.
Her final shot must have landed, and it must have been just enough to deplete the rest of the enemy’s health-meter and render it terminated. Then she saw, in the corner of her vid-screen, DEBBI’s own health-meter, revealing the robot’s final reading.
A mere 2 percent.
The enemy’s grenade had hit its mark as well, and though it had drained DEBBI severely, the damage it inflicted hadn’t been enough to achieve victory. And there hadn’t been time for it to launch another. Helen’s laser rifle shot beat the other team to it, and secured the outcome of the match forever.
They’d won by a whopping 2 percent.
Before she could contemplate it any further, however, Misty was out of her chair and darting toward her. Helen took off her headset and stood up just in time to receive an excited hug from her best friend.
“Isn’t it awesome? We totally blasted that bolt bucket!”
Helen joined in the celebration, the tension drifting from her body for the first time in what felt like hours. They’d won, and the relief that came with that was an amazing feeling, like the weight of an anvil suddenly falling from her over-burdened shoulders.
But there was a part of her—a tiny voice—that wormed its way into her ecstasy and warned her not to get too excited just yet. The match was close. Too close. And she couldn’t help but think that there was more they could do to improve on their technique before the next bout.
Still, she decided to keep these thoughts to herself. They’d won. No sense in belittling that now. Besides, Misty was having a blast, and she didn’t want to do or say anything to kill that buzz just yet.
“Come on,” Misty said. “Let’s go watch them reset the arena.”
Smiling, Helen followed her friend around the other side of the operator’s station to the stage where the arena sat. The space was used for everything from boxing expeditions to Magic the Gathering tournaments. Today it was the site of the First Annual Under-Eighteen Battle Bot Invitational.
The entire operation was set up inside of Theater A at the conference center, and designed so the stage sat in the center of the room, with elevated bleachers for spectators to watch the action. Already, most of those who’d chosen to stay and watch the match on the network of screens wrapping around the room had gotten up and left, to walk the floor of the convention or get a bite to eat.
To Helen, the place now seemed eerily calm—a strange transition from the pure adrenalin she’d felt just moments before.
The arena sat smack dab in the middle of the stage—nothing more than a large metal box with a big lid on the top. The operator’s stations, which were basically just a couple of fold-out tables with a vid-screen and control console for each player to use, sat on either end. Helen and Misty’s was on the west side of the stage. The competition had used a similar set-up on the east side.
To check out the arena in its current state, all they had to do was walk around the other side of their operator’s station and look down.
&nb
sp; “Look,” Misty said. “They’re opening it up.”
A large cable with a hook on the end was descending from the ceiling toward the box, where a stage worker clipped the two together, then gave the signal to lift. As the tether began to retract, the top of the box went with it, revealing the inside of the arena.
Peering down from their new vantage point, Helen and Misty could clearly see the inside.
Helen marveled at the sight—nothing but an empty square, smattered with an array of sensors and projector nodes. Gone was the moonscape and any evidence that it’d ever existed. The only objects from the actual match were the robots themselves. Amazing. All this stress, all this worry—about something that might very well determine her entire future—and it all came down to an illusion of reality.
There were people, she knew, that lived for this sort of thing. They practically spent their entire lives playing games. To them, the fantasy world of the game was better than the real world. Helen didn’t count herself in that camp. Yes, she liked to play. But she liked the real world, too. She liked her home, and her room, and the gadgets that she could actually touch with human hands.
Up in the rafters, the winch carrying the arena lid came to a halt, while the stage worker stepped into the box and picked up DEBBI, the robot little more than the size of a shoebox in his hands. After giving it a quick once over, he placed it back behind the starting gate and stepped out of the box. With that little move, all of DEBBI’s readings—health, power, ammunition—would be reset before the next—and final—match.
On the other side of the arena, the owners of the rival robot were stepping into the arena to retrieve their defeated unit. There would be no going back into the starting gate for them. Helen watched them closely—a boy and a girl about her age. They looked alike, which meant they were probably related. Maybe brother and sister. Neither of them could hide the look of disappointment in their eyes, and Helen suddenly wondered if they’d been counting on winning just as much as she was.
She pushed the thought out of her mind as two men approached. One had a microphone. The other, a video camera.
She recognized them right away. The microphone guy was a real slick talker. Tall and skinny, he went out of his way to try to act hip, despite the fact that he was pushing thirty. The designated reporter. At the opening of the tournament, he’d paid them little attention. But as things progressed, and DEBBI started winning, he’d quickly begun to take notice. Now these little interviews were becoming routine.
“So, ladies, it looks like congratulations are in order. You up for a couple of questions?”
“Let’s do it,” Misty said without skipping a beat.
Time was money. So no more than five seconds later, they were placed side by side, the cameraman aiming his lens directly at them while Mr. Slick Talker jumped right into it.
“Greetings, game fans. This is Rex T, and I’m here with Team McKenzie/Hunter. The girls have just won the semifinals and will be advancing to the final match against Team Kioko. Ladies, how’s it feel to be heading to the big match?”
“It feels great, Rex. We couldn’t be more excited to be here…”
And that was it. Misty was off and running. Early on, they’d decided that she would be the one to take the reins during all the Q&A sessions. She had a knack for it. While Helen was soft spoken and couldn’t care less about how her glasses framed her face or how her cherry-red hair looked in its trademark ponytail, Misty took to the attention like a pro, her blond hair and jade-green eyes a perfect match for the spotlight. The camera loved her, and she loved it right back. She was comfortable in these situations, and could think on her feet, give answers that sounded expertly crafted, and leave the audience wanting more. It was her greatest talent.
So be it. Helen was more than happy to stand off to the side and let the love flow. She had more pressing things on her mind, like how important this tournament was to her. When she’d first learned that MARSCORP was hosting it, she knew she had to find a way to get in.
The First Annual Under-Eighteen Battle Bot Invitational was just one part of a larger convention, which featured the latest in artificial hardware and interplanetary robotic application. Anyone who was anyone in the field was sure to be there, including the world’s best tech professionals, all jockeying for the attention of MARSCORP and its top brass. Fabricators, designers, engineers—all of them wanted a piece of the pie.
Helen didn’t really care about any of that. It was the tournament that interested her most. The grand prize was simply too important to pass up. Winning it could very well ensure that her family didn’t end up on the street.
Just getting a chance to compete was tough, though. First she had to submit an essay showcasing her knowledge of modern space-based mechanics, with an emphasis on robo-human synchronization. From there, she was required to design her own robot competitor and get it approved by the tournament committee. Helen had spent her entire life obsessed with the idea of robotics, and had already had a thousand and one ideas about it. Putting it all to paper had been something else entirely, though, and she’d been relieved when her initial essay and designs were finally accepted. But that was just the start.
Next she’d had to build and test the unit, to make sure it would actually hold up in a virtual arena. Fortunately, she was an accomplished gamer. Misty was, too. They’d often competed as teammates on various online platforms, and in one particular game, a popular RPG called Seti-World, their avatars were practically legends. When it came to gaming, Misty was pretty much her right hand.
After she told Misty about her plans to enter the MARSCORP tournament, Helen could tell that her friend was completely hooked. And teaming up made perfect sense. They’d already spent so much time in these worlds together that they could practically read each other’s thoughts.
Once DEBBI was finished, they’d spent many hours practicing in a simulation, testing the interface software and perfecting their gaming technique.
And now they were here, on the brink of winning it all.
But they hadn’t won it yet. And she wasn’t about to relax until this whole thing was finally over.
“Again, great job, ladies,” Rex T. said, shaking Helen out of her thoughts. “Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks, Rex,” Misty said, as if she and the smarmy announcer had been close chums since forever.
Then, as quickly as they’d appeared, Rex and the cameraman broke away and were on to their next mark. The interview was finally over.
Good.
Now they could get back to business. They had a few hours to kill until the big match—plenty of time to discuss their strategy, maybe work in a simulation or two. Whatever it took, that’s what they’d do. It was time to focus, dig deep, put their game faces on, and really get in the zone.
But before she could convey this very intense and personal pep talk aloud, Misty turned to her and said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go get a corndog.”
HELEN OPTED OUT of the meal.
Her stomach was too knotted up to even think about it. Misty, on the other hand, would probably scarf down two dogs, and chase them with a milkshake, to boot. That girl could eat like a linebacker—and still be skinny as a rail. It was another thing that Helen admired about her best friend. Despite the pressure, despite the thrilling yet terrifying fact that they were just one match away from winning, Misty could still find time to unwind and enjoy herself. Helen wished she had that level of confidence, and secretly longed for the chance to search for that tiny, hidden island of fearlessness that must have to be floating around somewhere in the vast ocean of her mind.
Maybe the time is now, she thought.
In fact, maybe it would do them both some good to unplug for a little while. Sure, she could spend the next couple of hours in a simulation program, obsessing over every possible scenario they might face. But she was already too keyed up. Too nervous. Was that really the best way to be? Perhaps it made more sense to try and take it easy for a little bit; t
o go into the final match rested, centered, and ready to focus. It was exactly what Misty would do, and Misty always seemed to come through okay. After all, she reasoned, there was such a thing as being too prepared.
So she left Misty at the food court and went to walk the convention floor, hoping that a little alone time would do the trick.
The floor was littered with booths devoted to various topics, most of which pertained to advances in space-faring technology and mechanics: advanced ion propulsion engines, subspace split-time communication relays, next-generation robotic appendages with simulated real-muscle dexterity… You name it, they had it—a practical heaven for self-proclaimed tech freaks like her.
And it was a little overwhelming. But she did her best to take it all in as she walked the floor. The flashing lights. The buzzing sounds. The energy.
Yes, she decided. This was awesome—her kind of place, her kind of people. And to her delight, she could feel herself starting to relax already.
When she finally reached the center of the convention hall, she came face-to-face to a large-scale model of the planet Mars, hanging from suspended cables in the rafters. The thing was massive and complete, with accurate renderings of various Martian landscapes and geological features: things like the Olympus Mons volcano, the Valles Marineris canyon, the Cydonia facial formation, and an endless array of ancient mountains, craters, and canals. The whole thing even rotated on its cables, showcasing its intricacies and detail for all to see.
MARSCORP certainly spared no expense.
And with that thought, any sense of relaxation vanished, replaced by a sharp edge of tension that wasn’t likely to go away anytime soon.
MARSCORP. There’d been a time when the name and the work they were doing would have completely thrilled and excited her. But not now. Not since her father announced that he was planning to go into business with them … and pretty much risk the family’s entire financial future on it.
Looking up at that giant model of the Red Planet, Helen saw it for what it was: the newly minted setting for one of the most amazing, and potentially dangerous, advances in the history of modern science.
