Know Thy Enemy

by Dawn Chapman

  “Mr. Pierce is a broken man,” said Curtwood, “I don’t mean just his body. The accident that cost him his legs not only killed his parents and sister, but it took the five people in the other car. According to the reports I’ve read, nobody visited him at the hospital for nearly two weeks. He was a popular kid at school, but no one cared enough to look in on him.

  “Then this lad came along—Wayne, I believe. They went to school together, but they were far from friends. He came to the hospital with a portable game system, played video games throughout recovery. Mr. Pierce, who was preparing to join the Marines before the accident, suddenly had the will to fight again.”

  Wilkinson played with the empty cup in his hand. He’d read the reports, but they hadn’t convinced him Pierce was right for the task.

  “The game was part of his recovery, Mr. Wilkinson. He learned to walk, to fight again through the game. That’s what makes him the best.”

  “A beautiful story, but I don’t think we should put the human race’s faith in him.”

  “He’s a wild card, I know,” said Curtwood. “But we’ve tried every other method—the best gamers, most heavily trained soldiers. It’s time for something different. A combination of both. Which do you prefer: a star who wants to take pictures with the president, or an antisocial killer who can massacre every Maxol standing in his way?”

  Wilkinson stayed quiet. He understood what the doctor was saying, however he didn’t like it. But it wasn’t important; there were bigger things at stake. “Think he can do it?”

  “Yes. I’ve been watching him for a while now. I do. The kid’s a killer, what we need to save mankind.”

  Wilkinson felt bile rising in his throat.

  Pierce

  Pierce hung upside down from the ceiling, tied by his legs. He looked around. The hotel room was huge. There were people below. He could smell gasoline. And blood.

  Wayne was down there, walking hand in hand with Lynette. She wasn’t a doll anymore, but a real woman made of flesh. They laughed, walking, talking, kissing. Pierce opened his mouth, but no words came out. Someone came along: a boy dressed in a sports jacket.

  Wayne said hello, but the boy punched him in the face, Wayne popped like a balloon pierced with a nail.

  Lynette shouted, then tried running, but the boy grabbed her arm, and she popped as well. The boy laughed. Pierce wanted to go down there, kill him with his bare hands, but the boy didn’t care. He was laughing his ass off, then he looked up, stared at Pierce.

  That’s when Pierce realized the boy was made of plastic. And he was smiling at him. His face was just like Pierce’s before the accident, with no scars, just a cruel smile.

  Pierce shouted….

  He woke covered in sweat. It took a moment to realize he was in the hotel. He gazed around the room. Pierce clapped; the lights shimmered on. There was no one else there. His legs pulsated with pain. He inhaled, held the breath, then exhaled. After a few moments, he started to feel better. The pain was still there, but it was familiar now, pain he could live with.

  The wheelchair sat by the bedside. He pulled himself into it. The room was big enough to push the wheelchair around while his heartbeat slowed. Pierce was used to having nightmares where he harmed Wayne, like in the bad, old times, but this one was somehow worse.

  Maybe it was Lynette’s presence in the dream, or maybe it was the fact she was real while the plastic boy was an exact replica of Pierce in his teens.

  Scientists knocked at his door just after dawn, bringing breakfast. He was still chewing the overcooked bacon when Wilkinson arrived. He didn’t bring Lynette along. Instead, he had a newspaper.

  “Had a good night’s sleep?” Wilkinson asked, bored. “Checked the news? We made up a bunch of stories, justifying your absence from the events we scheduled. Wanna read?”

  “I don’t read newspapers,” said Pierce, crunching a piece of bacon before finally giving up on it.

  “Why am I not surprised?” In response to that, Pierce took a swig of green juice.

  “Hope you’re ready. Tonight’s the real thing.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve prepared myself. When the time comes, I’ll do what I have to.”

  Wilkinson sat by Pierce’s side. “Listen, kid. I know you think this is going to be like playing some computer game. They say you’re good at it, but let me give you some advice. I deal with people every day. I’m not a psychiatrist or anything, but I’ve done business with all kinds. It’s not hard for me to spot a pretentious brat. One who thinks the world’s his playground.” He pointed his finger at Pierce’s chest. “And you are certainly—”

  Pierce grabbed and twisted it. Wilkinson fell on the ground with a scream of pain. “And if I wanted that broken, it would be.”

  Pierce picked up his knife and spread jam on his toast. “I’ve broken my fair share of fingers in this life.”

  “Shit!” Wilkinson made it back into his chair. A bone stuck out from a knuckle. “I’m gonna sue you for everything you’ve got. You just wait.”

  “We’ll all have to wait. If I’m just a brat, as you said, things are gonna get ugly.”

  Without another word, Wilkinson left the room.

  Pierce finished his breakfast and picked Wilkinson’s paper off the floor. Across the front in big black letters, he read: “Presidential Dinner Cancelled.” There was no mention of the kid born without his hands. Pierce didn’t feel like checking the rest for any official lies. All he could think about was calling Wayne to play some games or talk about shit—the only thing which still amused him.

  Pierce was in the tub with cold water up to his chin when the team of scientists came later to take him to their central research facility. No ceremonies this time, no sex robots, no Wilkinson. They helped him dress and set him in the wheelchair.

  Down the elevator, to the subterranean parking lot, which was empty apart from a limousine—the same one as before.

  Pierce was the only passenger, and it was a long trip. He stared out the window at the empty streets, the huge buildings, and the occasional street animal which had survived the heat pollution. Some of them had suffered mutations, and the sight of a five-legged dog reminded Pierce of Chopper. Would he be able to find the little creature again in the real game?

  The limo soon crossed into the desert past the city’s limits. Apart from abandoned cars and a few skeletons, all Pierce saw for two hours was sand. Thick, toxic, orange sand. It was everywhere now. He picked a bottle of water from the fridge, drank it slowly, thinking of what lay ahead.

  Almost a year before, he’d been contacted. Apparently, the government was monitoring the progress of several gamers in the virtual world. Pierce’s scores were legendary. It didn’t take long for them to open a file on him to find out everything there was to know about his life.

  They offered a lot of incentives. They let him in on the info that this world wasn’t going to last long, but they’d found somewhere else. A new, better world, a fresh start for mankind. The problem was, they’d have to learn that world. And they wanted Pierce to play in the most important game of all time.

  In the old days, they’d have invaded or fought anyone who tried to take their place, but now they had too much to lose. This time, things would have to be done differently…

  On the horizon, a huge concrete dome appeared. The limo approached slowly and steadily. Big steel doors opened to let them enter. Things weren’t so orange on the inside. A group of masked men came to wash down the limousine before they opened the facility doors. Green dust sluiced off tinted windows.

  Pierce was carried in his wheelchair into what seemed to be a giant factory. Scientists in red coats strode past working computer pads. A big black man with a shaved head and a big belly saluted. “My name is Doctor Curtwood. Welcome to the Benign Facility. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

  As a formality, Pierce shook his hand. “When do we start?”

  “In a moment. If you don’t mind, I’d like to perform a quick medi-exam.”
He took what looked like a long pen, touched Pierce’s arm with its tip. In a second, seven small green lights and an orange one appeared along its side. “Remarkable. I see you are in top physical condition.”

  “What’s that last light? The orange one?”

  There wasn’t a pause. A blunt, “The state of your legs, obviously,” came from the doctor, who’d set the pen down and added, “Sorry we couldn’t solve that. Well, actually, we could—”

  “I don’t care. Are we going to start or not?”

  “I’d advise you to have a meal first.” The doctor took a vial from his pocket. A nurse brought a glass of water. “These’ll keep you fed long enough.”

  Pierce took the pills. He was starving but felt completely satisfied seconds after he swallowed.

  The doctor smiled. “Let’s go then.”

  A guard coughed and offered to push the wheelchair, but Pierce declined. He grabbed the wheels, followed Doctor Curtwood through the huge facility. This place is… Pierce tried not to gawk around. It felt as though every scientist there was staring—at him.

  “This’ll be quite different from the experience you had before,” Doctor Curtwood informed. “Tell me, how’d you rate our simulation?”

  “It was good.”

  “It was the best we could do—with our technology. What we wouldn’t do to have access to what they have. It’s something we’d like for the future.”

  They came to a glass pod in the shape of a kidney, completely smooth. It didn’t seem to have doors of any kind. “How am I supposed to get inside that thing?”

  Doctor Curtwood laughed. “It’s easier than it looks. Before we open it, I’m supposed to ask, are you positive you want to do this?”

  Without hesitation, Pierce answered. “Yes. Put me inside right now.”

  Doctor Curtwood nodded to one of his colleagues. A team of men took Pierce from his chair and undressed him, leaving only his underwear. Pierce didn’t complain. His eyes remained focused on the pod in front of him. Curtwood approached it, touched a spot with the tip of his fingers. A door opened at the pod’s top. Dark inside, darker than anything I’ve ever experienced. They laid Pierce down on a big cushion, shifted his legs to make him as comfortable as possible, which wasn’t much better. Pierce stared at Doctor Curtwood, who rested his hands on the pod doors. “I’m sure,” he said before the doctor could ask again.

  The tip of Curtwood’s finger shut the pod’s top.

  Pierce was locked inside.

  Chapter Nine

  Drayk

  Drayk didn’t want anyone escorting him. He wanted to slip out the gates, return home, and hide. Put his head under his pillow, to sleep it off, knowing there was never going to be an easy way to exit the guild’s main building.

  As the gates opened, a shout came from behind. It was Drei, headed his way. Drayk held back as Drei glanced toward the guards. She grabbed Drayk’s arm and moved with him as the gate clanged behind them. Drei, out of the guards’ earshot, spoke.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault there’s this thing in my chest.”

  “Your father didn’t want you inside the game. You should respect that.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Drayk’s face twitched, fists balling at his sides. “I respect the fact both my brother and I are going to end up soldiers in a war we don’t want to fight.”

  “You think this is easy on any of us?” Her eyes darkened. “We have to abide by their rules. And they have extensive rules.”

  Drayk’s eyes drifted toward the guild. “No, I don’t think any of this is easy. Fighting in a game’s just so much harder than dying in the real world, isn’t it?” Drayk didn’t wait for a reply. “I may have noticed you around, dressed in good clothes, obviously fed well. But, no, this life is not…” he waved around the grounds’ path, “…easy. But for some, there’s definitely a better place than here.”

  Drei reached into her pocket, pulling something out. “Here.” She grabbed Drayk’s hand and pushed a small plastic card into it. “I didn’t give you this.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to just above a whisper, “There’s a way into the game without being part of Hygon’s Guild. But, you have to find a way to get there. Follow these instructions, tell no one.”

  Drei shot a glare to the guards, who still watched from the gate. “I have to get back.” A quick pat on his shoulder. For the guard’s benefit? “We’ve a long way to go to get where we’re needed. That science base won’t sort itself, you know. There’re still a few mysteries to solve.”

  “Think I’ll see you again?”

  “No doubt whatsoever.” Her smile brightened Drayk’s mood, prevented him sinking deep into depression. “Don’t actively look for us, though, or Haal will know I gave you those backlander details.”

  He was about to say his thanks, but Drei turned sharply on her heel and marched back to the guild’s gates. He couldn’t help but stare as the metal doors clanged. Drayk placed a hand on his chest with a pat. This day’s taken one heck of a turn for the worse.

  Now Drayk had much to think about. Returning to Frool Halls would seem much more depressing, as he’d have to see the aftermath of Cale’s party. The thought that he’d missed their Dragawn flittered across his mind, but as he took tentative steps away from the guild, toward home, sudden exhaustion washed over him. Checking the position of their planet’s moons, he noted from the twins that it was early. There was even a hint of their sun rising. That meant he’d been awake for almost two days. No wonder he was exhausted. Even if his body hadn’t done much, his mind sure had.

  The scent of morning air that drifted toward him from the gardens contained misty dew. It cooled his skin as it ran in rivulets down his central scales into the muddy grounds.

  Frool Halls seemed quiet. Drayk slipped inside with only the thought of hitting his bed with, hopefully, lots of time for sleep.

  He closed the door, stripped out his wet, muddy clothes. Climbing in bed, he pulled the blanket around him, shivered once, and drifted toward slumber.

  The bed creaked a few moments later, and Drayk felt it. Opening his eyes, he stared, tired, into Cale’s frowning face. “Where have you been?” his brother asked, then looked away. “You went to Hygon didn’t you?”

  Drayk wanted to tell Cale everything, but when he opened his mouth, no real words came; it stung. Instead, he asked, “Was the party good?”

  “Of course it was.” Cale forced a smile. “I’m the most popular guy at the school.” But Drayk saw the hurt in the twists of his face, in his skin’s pallor.

  “Sorry.” The words sounded false.

  “You knew what you were doing,” Cale spat. He rose and walked to the door, with his shoulders hanging low, his feet dragging. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and you can tell me all about your escapades then.”

  The words, “I didn’t get in,” slipped out, but Cale had slammed the door. Either he hadn’t heard, or he didn’t want to acknowledge the outcome, or the consequences.

  Drayk tried to push himself up to follow, but his bones ached. The covers didn’t give much warmth, yet he settled back down, soon to drift into a fitful sleep. He dreamt of the strange aliens from the game. And how hard his brother’s sadness had hit home.

  The day’s heat woke him much later. Drayk’s tongue had lolled as he’d slept, covering his pillow with drool. He wiped his face, sat up and stretched.

  The curtains didn’t hide the outside world; their sun was high. Must be late, no chance of food. His stomach grumbled. Rooting around for some clean clothes in the grimy room, he pulled on slacks then a shirt.

  The kitchen area wasn’t much better than their room. Cale sat there with someone, his back to the door.

  Haal.

  Drayk flushed as Haal glanced up. “There he is,” Haal said with a smile. “Sleep well?”

  Drayk wasn’t sure what to do, so he nodded and moved to get to their fridge. As barren as it was, their rations lasted the week. Barely. He pulled out some juice, retrieved a
glass, leaned on the fridge, glancing from Cale to Haal.

  In the end, he was the one who started the conversation. “Did you tell him everything?” he asked, feeling the weight of his words on his slight frame.

  Haal nodded. Cale’s grim face turned to meet Drayk’s gaze. “What’s this thing in your chest?” he asked. “I don’t understand. Why’s it there?”

  “Makes two of us.” Drayk sighed, sipped his drink.

  “They drafted me already.” Cale pushed a reading device toward Drayk, his face solemn. “Haal brought the news. I was waiting till you woke to tell you.”

  Drayk took the device, thumbing through the drafting letter.

  Due to your unique skill sets, we’re moving your draft date forward. Report to Station Hanlex in three weeks.

  “You’ve got three weeks?” Drayk struggled to believe it. “They can’t be serious!”

  “They are,” Haal said. “And they’ll enforce as necessary.”

  “Where’s my letter? Why aren’t they drafting me?” Drayk slammed his glass down, spilling the reddish liquid over the counter.

  Haal’s eyebrow raised, but it was Cale who answered. “You know why.”

  “This?” He tapped his chest. “Because I’m weak? I don’t have the stature you do? Cale, that’s rubbish, and you know it.”

  “I know.” Cale averted his gaze. “Their logic is stupid.” Drayk wiped up the mess. “They need more people like you to work with computers, ships, their systems.”

  But it was Haal who added, “You can do more that way than most of their best engineers can.”

  “Doesn’t make it any easier.” Drayk felt tears forming, so, turning away from them both, he focused on the spill. The reasons were obvious to everyone. My twin’s the total opposite. He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt for Drei’s card. That made his decision. I’ll do anything to get back into the game. Save Cale from the real war.

  Cale pushed his chair back to stand behind Drayk. He rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’ll see, Drayk. It’ll work out. We’re in this together. Always.”