“You don’t have to go into the Army. You could do something else.”
“What else is there?” Hector answered, realizing he didn’t even know what else he might do. He’d never thought about it. “You know what they say, ‘like father like son.’”
“I don’t want to be anything like my dad,” she said quietly. Hector looked quickly over at her and saw that her head was hanging down with sheets of silver and black hair framing her ivory face like a manga drawing. “I hate him.”
This was inconceivable to Hector. “How could you hate your dad? My dad was the coolest person I’ve ever known.”
“My parents are divorced,” she said reluctantly, picking at blades of grass. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“You brought it up.”
“Well, I wish I hadn’t.”
On the field, one of the girls on the other team caught a ball in her own penalty box and she wasn’t the goalie. A few parents laughed, a few screamed angrily, as the referee blew his whistle and awarded a penalty kick. Sabrah’s sister Caitlynn scored, giving their team the lead. All the little girls jumped up and down like pink bunny-rabbits.
“Did you hear about Sanjar’s dad?” she said.
“Yeah, that was pretty amazing,” he said, but didn’t look at her. “A terrorist. Who’d have thought?”
“He’s no terrorist,” she said solidly. “He owns the Gas-N-Go, and he’s really nice. Some racist warmonger probably turned him in. Some dork who thinks anyone with brown skin and a moustache must have an explosives belt strapped around his waist. Lot of people like that around.”
Hector laughed weakly. “Well, we’ll see. I’m sure they’ll investigate.”
They watched the game for a few minutes. The silence was awkward. As attractive as Sabrah was without all the emo-makeup, they weren’t really clicking. Still, Hector liked sitting next to her. There was a gentle breeze and she smelled good. Like… flowers.
“So what do you do for fun?” Sabrah finally asked, with a smile. “If you don’t play soccer anymore. And you don’t care about school. And you hope to die in a war some day.”
Put like that, Hector wondered if maybe his mother wasn’t right. “Have you ever heard of Omega Wars?” he asked anyway.
Her eyes lit up. “I play it all the time!”
Hector suddenly felt at ease and gushed about Izaak and Darxhan, Mal-X, Alanya, and the Spartans. Sabrah told him that her favorite character-type was the empath and that she had one named Veyron she was using to try to learn powers – so far unsuccessfully. The empath character-type was supposedly the most powerful in the game, but Hector had never met an empath that could do anything. Still, he agreed that the idea was interesting, even if the sensor headset made you look goofy.
“Can I ask you something?” Hector said, as the referee blew the whistle to end the game. He felt like he could talk to this girl. That she was ridiculously good looking didn’t hurt either. And this was fresh on his mind.
“Okay.”
“What do you think is the worst thing that can happen to you?”
Sabrah frowned in surprise, and Hector suspected she might have been expecting him to ask her on a date. “I guess when your favorite character gets killed and goes to replication.”
Hector laughed. “Sorry. This isn’t Omega. I mean in real life. It’s something my mom was telling me last night when she was chewing me out. She said dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you. Or flunking algebra.”
Sabrah frowned again. “I guess it would be worse to get some terrible disease. But that probably isn’t what she was talking about. I don’t know. Maybe to be really fat. Like five hundred pounds. Or be blind. Or fat and blind. And diseased.” She eyed him closely. They were really pretty eyes, thought Hector. “What about you, Hector? What do you think is worst?”
This was an easy one. He’d seen it. “Getting your head cut off and having the video posted on the internet.”
She winced. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad.”
“I’ve seen it,” he said, remembering the screams.
They walked out into the parking lot together, trailing their mothers, and sisters, and grandparents. “It was nice talking to you,” Hector said, then had a thought. “You want to ride home with us? You could help me with my Algebra.”
Her face brightened for an instant then the corners of her mouth drooped. “I can’t.” Her mother called and she frowned. “We’re going shopping on the way back.”
“Well, have fun,” said Hector, surprised at how disappointed he was. “See you at school?”
“Sure,” she said brightly, and turned to follow her family.
“Sabrah,” Hector suddenly called after her. “We’re playing Omega tonight. Why don’t you join us? Clan Spartans.”
She smiled. “Sounds like fun.”
Hector felt his guts squirm, but it was a good squirm. He could like this girl.
“You know Hector,” she said, as they parted. “You probably shouldn’t watch stuff like that on the internet. It might not be good for you.”
Ch. 11
“Mom! Tell Hector to get out of my bathroom,” Helen called down the stairs.
“Hector,” came his mom’s voice. “Get out of your sisters’ bathroom.”
“You can’t let her!” Hector cried, jogging downstairs. “You need to stop her!”
“Stop what?” Mom asked, as Hector trotted in.
“She’s going on a date with Shah!”
“Shah’s a nice boy.”
“A nice boy?” Hector asked in disbelief. “Mom! Do you hear yourself? His dad’s a terrorist. The FBI arrested him. He’d locked up.”
“Do you ever want to play that game of yours again?” his mother asked sweetly. “Ever in your pitiful life? I don’t care what your doctor said, Hector. Shut up and help me unload the car.”
“What’s this?” his mother suddenly asked. She set the cooler on the table and picked up a large padded envelope.
Helen came around the corner, casually inserting earrings. “That came in the mail today. It’s addressed to the dork.”
“Helen,” his mother snapped.
“Sorry. The putz.”
“Helen!”
She handed the package to Hector and he read the label: WorldSoccerShop.com. His eyes lit up. “My new Inter jersey!” He ripped the package open and pulled the shirt on.
“You look like a crusader,” Helen said with a frown and a tone to match.
Hector’s smile reached across his face. “Isn’t it awesome?” The jersey was solid white with a huge, red Templar cross that spanned the entire front of the shirt and reached from neckline to hem.
“What is that?” said his mother.
“Inter Milan away jersey,” Hector said proudly, sticking his chest out.
“Italian soccer?” asked his mother. “I thought you were a Bundesliga fan.”
“Oh I still am. I saw them playing on TV the other day and loved the jersey.” Of course, what he really wanted to do was wear it around Sanjar. Now, since his dad had been arrested for terrorism, it was going to be even more fun.
They finished unloading the minivan from the soccer trip and after dinner Hector logged on to Omega Wars. He’d sent a message out to some friends asking if they’d join him and Darxhan on a new quest.
“Did you hear about Sanjar’s dad?” was the first thing Darxhan said when he and Izaak linked up in their hidden basement.
“Yes, yes, yes,” bubbled Hector. “There’s been FBI guys over at his house like, all day.”
“Do you think he’s a terrorist?”
“Yes.”
“You do?” Darxhan sounded surprised.
Mistake, thought Hector, not wanting any kind of trail back to himself. “I have no idea. But if he is, isn’t it a good thing he got caught?”
“Man, that would be pretty weird. Your next door neighbor! A terrorist! Who’d have thought?”
“Can we just play the game?” snapped
Izaak with a sudden pang of guilt that both surprised and angered him. What he’d done was heroic. So, why did it embarrass him?
After unlocking the basement door in Alanya, Izaak and Darxhan ascended the narrow, concrete steps and studied the deserted debris field that seemed to stretch in every direction.
“So, did you tell everyone about Sabrah?” asked Darxhan. “Your German friends aren’t too fond of empaths. Or newbs. I think an empathic newb would probably –”
The sound of German swearing came from the stairwell and a second later a head and massive shoulders emerged. It was BayernFC. “Could you have made the door smaller, Hector?” The huge body beneath the head barely fit. Right behind him was his brother, L3r0y J3nk1ns, who also commented on the tight squeeze. Both were heavy-duty mercs like Darxhan, except that BayernFC was an enhanced human and L3r0y was a cylork – a cybernetic thork. They were friends of Hector from when he’d lived in Germany. Their father was an American soldier and their mother was German, though they currently lived in the U.S. Both tended to speak with German accents, partly because their mother was German but, Hector suspected, mostly because they liked the way it sounded. When they weren’t fighting each other, they were almost unbeatable in both Omega Wars and on the soccer field.
“So, who’s this empath,” asked BayernFC.
“We don’t need no steenkeeng empaths,” echoed L3r0y. They both sounded like miniature Arnold Schwarzeneggers. “And no newbs.”
“She’s a friend of mine,” said Hector.
“Is she any good?” asked L3r0y.
“I don’t know.”
“She’s cute,” said Darxhan. “If you like the bride of Frankenstein.”
“She looks better without all that makeup on,” retorted Izaak, surprised at how defensive he’d become.
Just then T-Reg –Tyra’s character – and c’Irith emerged. c’Irith, the character of one of Tyra’s friends, was a talented and clever smuggler. Outside OmegaWars, Hector had never met her, but knew she didn’t live nearby. She was dark and wore skin tight clothes over a frame that was simultaneously athletic and voluptuous. Both their characters were enhanced humans, eHumans. They had all gamed together before and answered Hector’s call for help by joining his new clan.
“Who looks better without makeup?” asked T-Reg, hitting the tail end of the conversation.
“An empath.”
“An empath?”
“The fraulein Izaak invited to join our new clan,” answered BayernFC.
Everyone groaned and complained about how useless she was going to be when another character climbed up the stairs out of the dark pit. “Shut up, you guys,” Hector blurted. She emerged and Hector knew instantly it was Sabrah’s empath, Veyron. It was the only character he’d ever seen that looked exactly like the human counterpart; dark clothes, pale skin, long, jet-black hair, and plenty of piercings. Apparently her character’s hair hadn’t caught up with the real world just yet.
“Guys, this is Veyron.” said Izaak clumsily. “She’s an empath.”
“Can you do teleport?” asked BayernFC.
“No,” answered Veyron.
“Organ burst?”
“No.”
“Invisibility?”
“No.”
“Shockwave?”
“No.”
“You can at least heal, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Not completely useless,” said BayernFC.
“Shut up you moron,” said Izaak. “I asked her because she’s about ten times smarter than you. So just deal with it.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” said Veyron.
“No,” Izaak shot back. “I want you here.”
He was staring the rest of them down when a nearly naked woman emerged, clad in a stainless steel bra and matching, metal panties. Milk-white breasts bulged like twin Zeppelins from the armored lingerie and her hair was a volcanic eruption of red. In her hand was an enormous battle axe.
“Whoa,” said Darxhan.
Veyron introduced her. “This is Rada, everybody. She’s a barbarian.”
“No kidding,” the giant merc added.
Hector groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted was people he didn’t know involved in his Alanya quest. It really annoyed him that Sabrah had invited this girl into his game without checking with him first; a major breach of online etiquette.
“Hope it’s okay,” came a male voice from the ravishing body. Male? Hector wondered.
“Do you know how ridiculous you look?” said T-Reg. “What do you think those panties are going to feel like after they rust a little. And can you imagine wearing that bra in the winter? Your nipples would –”
“Please!” snapped Izaak. “I don’t want to talk about that!”
“I could stand to hear a little more,” said Darxhan.
“Shut up!” barked Izaak. “We’re trying to be serious here.” His quest was falling apart before it even got started. And he knew his mom had one eye on the clock.
“Serious?” said T-Reg. “He looks like a fool.”
“Can we just forget what he – her, she looks like? Can we? Please. And get on with this. Because I’ve only got a limited time to play before my mom pulls the plug. So if you’re done?”
“I’m done,” said T-Reg. “But he still looks stupid.”
“Please forgive her,” said Izaak, turning to Rada. “Sometimes she has trouble controlling her mouth.” Then he wondered why he was defending this character that he didn’t know and hadn’t invited.
“At least I don’t wear a metal thong,” T-Reg muttered. “Can you imagine getting your period wearing those?”
The boys howled their disgust at the thought while all the girls laughed.
“Party foul!” yelled Hector. “Party! Foul! What’s the matter with you T?!”
When Izaak finally got everyone calmed he took a deep breath and turned to the barbarian. “So, who are you on the outside? Do I know you?”
“That’s Chaz,” said Veyron.
“I was in your school last year,” said Rada. “Chaz Martin. I’m home-schooled now.”
Chaz, thought Izaak. Chaz Martin? The dork who got in trouble all the time? How had this so quickly become a disaster? “Okay,” he said weakly. “Welcome.”
“We can leave,” said Veyron. “If you don’t want us here.”
“No, no, no. We need all the help we can get.” A barbarian and an empath were no help at all, he thought. So, why was he being polite?
“So what’s the quest,” asked, BayernFC. “You said it would be good.”
“A portable slipgate,” Izaak answered, and heard them “ooh” and “aah.” “These guys are using this area to train for invading someone else’s base and they’re going to use their slipgate to do it.” Then, supported by grunts and occasional comments from Darxhan, he told them about their adventure and the discovery of the slipgate. But he left out the part about Vera. He didn’t want them thinking he dragged them here for his own ends, which is exactly what he was doing, though admittedly, a portable slipgate was far more useful than Vera. She was just gravy. “Now,” he said upon finishing. “We’re going to need a base around here. This basement just isn’t going to do it. Need something larger and not in the middle of town. Darxhan and I saw some possibilities north of town. And there’s a box canyon with some buildings in it that I saw on Google Earth that would be perfect. I want the mercs to go check it out. And you too, Rada.” He looked her up and down. Soft porn was not the kind of thing to take into a Muslim village. “You just stand out too much to go into town. Like walking in with a big sign. Be careful of the scarobs up north. The rest of us are going back to the old city and look around some more. See if we can come up with anything.”
Darxhan, BayernFC, L3r0y, and Rada clunked off to search for a base while Izaak, Veyron, T-Reg and c’Irith crept toward town. They hadn’t gone far through the rubble and blasted buildings when Veyron suddenly halted next to a dilapidated old car. It
might have once been red, but was now rusty and faded.
“What?” said Izaak.
“Look in the car,” she said.
They did, and promptly brought weapons to bear on a figure sitting motionless inside. Then they all jumped when he turned his head and looked at them.
“Greetings,” he said in an odd sort of accent. Quite unlike the others Izaak had heard in the area but at the same time similar and somehow familiar.
“Who are you?” Izaak asked. “What are you doing here?”
“You can call me Thrylos, if you want,” he said, climbing out of the car. The character was old with short white hair, grizzled beard, and dressed in a tattered green cloak. And not only did the character look old, he sounded old. “As for what I am doing here, I might ask you the same thing.”
“But you were just sitting there,” said Izaak, guessing he was probably a non-player character. An NPC. Old people didn’t play video games. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I had hoped to avoid this manner of confrontation.”
“Don’t get smart,” quipped Izaak. “We could kill you easily enough.”
“We can’t kill him,” said T-Reg cautiously. “Bad form to kill drifters. Bad luck.”
“He’s no drifter,” Izaak retorted. “He’s an NPC. Look at him.”
“Well, we can’t take him with us,” said c’Irith. “He might be working for… I don’t know.”
“Yes, who?” said Thrylos. “Who might I be working for?”
“Them,” said Izaak. “Either way, she’s right.”
“Who’s right?” asked Thrylos.
“Both of them,” said Izaak shortly. “So, back in the car, old timer.”
“You’re so polite,” replied Thrylos with thinly veiled sarcasm, and climbed back into the car.
“You can thank me for not killing you. But since we can’t have you following us.” Izaak pulled out his PlasmAll, an arc-welder Izaak could use to fabricate metal, and welded each of the doors shut. After that, he cut metal plates out of the hood and trunk.
Thrylos watched calmly from the front seat. “So much for restoring it now. And it had such a good body.”
“Very funny, old man,” said Izaak, welding the plates over the windows. He had to be an NPC, but Izaak didn’t want to kill him just in case he was a drifter.
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