Multiplayer

by John C. Brewer

  Lunch that day found Hector and Deion sitting together as usual. Sabrah had joined them. She was back in her makeup and Hector wanted to tell her so badly how much better she looked in the flesh. Because Deion was right, she did look like the bride of Frankenstein.

  “You look like a Crusader,” said Sabrah, as Hector seated himself.

  Hector played innocent. “It’s just an Inter Milan jersey,” he said.

  “Soccer,” said Sabrah, shaking her head. “And you don’t even play.”

  “But I can still watch it. And I can play. I’m just not on a team.”

  “Have you seen how good he is?” Sabrah said to Deion.

  Deion grunted in frustration. “He’d rather screw around on Omega Wars.”

  “You sound like my mother,” Hector fired back.

  “Well, maybe your mother is right?” replied Sabrah.

  Hector felt his temper flare. “Well, maybe I don’t need this from you guys right now.”

  “Sorry,” Deion and Sabrah said together, and dove into their lunches.

  “So,” said Hector, and turned to Deion. “What is this amazing piece of news you texted in algebra, then made me wait three hours to hear?”

  “The Reavers,” Deion said, licking his lips with relish. “Totally wiped in their raid the other night.”

  Hector laughed aloud. “So what happened?”

  Deion took a bite of his sandwich and talked with his mouth full. “They attacked Athens with like ninety guys. Almost nobody made it out. Siggy told me all about it.”

  “Cygnus X1? Did he get out alive?”

  “He and R1ng0 and a few others bounced early. Of course GoreFiendHell was already in the rep-tank, thanks to yours truly, so he took Griepher, that vanguard he used to play all the time, and he and ValaRocker got pwned in, like, the first five minutes. He didn’t even get to watch the slaughter.”

  “What an idiot,” said Hector, feeling vindicated. “Tried to tell him.”

  “Well, that’s not all,” Deion went on, a bit more gravely. “Gore’s blaming us for the loss. Says they would have beaten the Archons if I hadn’t killed him and you had been there.”

  “Yes,” said Hector, with a devilish grin, “We are that good.” Not even he was sure he was making a joke. “But without Vera, I’m crap. We’ve got to find her, man!”

  Sanjar Zahedi sat down across from them and Hector clammed up. He was dressed in his Muslim attire and toting his Qur’an. Hector stuck his chest out and grinned inside, waiting.

  “Hey, Sanjar,” said Deion. “You doing all right?”

  He shrugged and took his food out, laid it on the table, and sat eating in silence. Sabrah passed him a card across the table. They watched as he opened and read it. Then he gave Sabrah a half smile and a weak, “Thanks.”

  “Anyway,” Deion went on, “Cygnus says when Gore and Val get out of rep they’re going to come looking for us.”

  “Ooh, I’m so scared,” said Hector, who took a bite of his own sandwich and chewed it deliberately. “Dork probably works at Game Stop.”

  “Are you guys talking about Omega Wars?” asked Sanjar quietly. “I play Omega.”

  Hector said “no” at the same time Deion said “yes.” Sanjar looked back and forth between them. Hector kicked Deion under the table who turned to Sanjar and shrugged.

  Then it happened: exactly what Hector had been waiting for. Sanjar’s eyes fell on his jersey. They lingered there for a moment and a pained expression came across his face. Hector acted like he didn’t notice, but pretended to yawn and thrust his chest out even further.

  “Got your Qur’an there, huh?” Hector said of the thick book Sanjar was carrying. Intricate runes covered the tooled leather cover, probably some kind of curse against America.

  “This?” Sanjar put his hand on the cover. “No, this is the Omega Codex.”

  Hector frowned. “What religion is that?”

  Sanjar tried to smile and even laughed a little. “It isn’t a religion, Hector. It details the physical laws and tech interfaces of Omega Wars.” Hector stared mutely. But… Sanjar carried a Qur’an. He had to be lying.

  “Oh, I’ve heard of that,” said Deion with sudden interest. “A tech manual for Omega Wars.”

  Sanjar smiled. “It helps you build things in OW.” He turned the book and Hector noticed that what he thought had been Arabic script was actually a large Greek Omega-symbol surrounded by formulae and symbols. Sanjar opened the cover and leafed through page after page of mathematical equations, electrical circuits, structures, computer codes, and even chemical formulae. It was written in an archaic script and illustrated with cool drawings and scenes from the game and back-story. Deion and Sabrah leaned in for a closer look and curiosity even pulled Hector over when he saw their eyes grow wide.

  “Looks like a spell book from Harry Potter,” said Sabrah. “I’ve got one from when I was a little kid.”

  “Except the physics and tech in Omega is real,” Sanjar added. “A simplified form of real physics used by engineers and scientists. So the stuff you do in OW, you can do in the real world, too.”

  “Where do you get one of those?” asked Hector, trying not to sound overly interested but realizing this was how techs were able to construct such amazing devices. And why his projects never really worked as expected.

  “My dad ordered it from MegaSoft. He helps me build stuff.” His eyebrows dove as a dark cloud covered his face. “He did.”

  Hector felt about an inch tall. But why should he feel bad about doing the right thing?

  “How is your dad?” asked Deion.

  “He did not do anything!” Sanjar spat.

  “I didn’t say he did,” said Deion. “I’m just asking. Is he going to get to come home soon?”

  Sanjar shrugged. “We don’t know. This government, they are very suspicious of anyone who looks like an Arab. And we are not Arabs at all, but Persians. My father has done nothing!”

  “I’m sure everything will work out if he hasn’t done anything,” said Deion, and Sanjar’s eyes flashed like lightning. “And I’m sure he hasn’t,” Deion filled in quickly. “He’ll be home in a day or so and this’ll all be behind you. Maybe even laugh about it.”

  “This is never going to be funny,” said Sabrah.

  “I just wish I knew who turned him in,” muttered Sanjar, with the nearest thing to a growl as he could muster. “Why doesn’t the coward come out of hiding?” No one said anything.

  “So what are you doing for your history projects?” Hector asked, changing the increasingly uncomfortable subject. It wasn’t the best topic, but the only one he could think of quickly.

  “I think I’m going to do something on sports in the Middle East,” said Deion. “I know one of those countries went from having like the worst soccer team in the world to being pretty good in a couple years when they stopped threatening to cut players’ legs off.” Hector could picture the grisly scene in his head, and its failure as a motivational tactic didn’t surprise him.

  “I’m going to do mine on the environment,” said Sabrah. “The people who lived there destroyed the ecological balance back in ancient times. They’re still struggling with the effects today.” Hector looked at her in surprise, having expected platitudes from her about how wonderful Muslims were, not how the morons destroyed their own land. And to prove the stupidity of these people, Sanjar didn’t get the fact that he’d just been insulted.

  “You should talk to my mom,” he offered eagerly. “She studied environmental science before she emigrated. She could probably give you some good information.” Sabrah thanked him while Hector laughed inside at the thought of Sanjar’s mother when a Goth showed up at the house.

  “Muslim philosophers,” said Sanjar, proudly giving his topic. “While Europe was in the Dark Ages, scientists in my homeland invented chemistry, algebra, and astronomy.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” mumbled Hector.

  Sanjar became instantly defensive. “Algebra is at t
he root of all modern science, Hector. Without algebra there would be no cell phones, or internet, or iPods, or your Omega Wars.”

  “All of which were invented by,” he washed down the food with a swig of juice, “ – the West. While the Middle East is in a dark age.”

  “Thanks to the West,” Sanjar said. “If the Americans would get out of the Middle East, maybe there could be peace. But all they care about is cheap oil.”

  “Four bucks a gallon ain’t too cheap,” said Hector, then remembered something his father had once told him. “Besides, everybody was fighting over there long before we showed up.”

  “You are right,” said Sanjar. “I had forgotten the Crusades!” It was loud enough that it echoed through the cafeteria. Students sitting close by turned to look and Sanjar cringed and lowered in his seat, not wanting to attract attention.

  Sabrah stopped eating. “Guys. You might want to –”

  But Hector cut her off, seeing his opportunity to humiliate Sanjar completely. “What about the Assyrians?” he fired back. “The Babylonians? The Persians. Xerxes wanted to rule the world and the Greeks stopped the bastard. Did you know I’m Greek?”

  Sanjar gave a surprised frown and sat up. “Xerxes was a great leader, Hector.”

  “Yeah, so was Hitler.”

  “Hector!” hissed Deion and Sabrah together.

  Hector could feel the blood going to his face. “Maybe you’ve forgotten nine-eleven?” he challenged. Sanjar’s eyes kept lingering on the huge, red cross on Hector’s shirt.

  “Guys,” said Deion. “Maybe you better –”

  “Maybe we wouldn’t blow up your buildings,” Sanjar snapped, “if you wouldn’t destroy our cities!”

  “Our?” retorted Hector angrily. “It’s our now, huh? Well, we’re not destroying your mud-huts. Suicide bombers are taking care of that! Now, if we could just get the rest of you guys to strap on bombs, our problems would be solved!”

  Sabrah gasped. Other kids at the table laughed and Sanjar’s face twisted in rage. Hector saw it and went for the kill. “I mean, how could you be dumb enough to blow yourself up for seventy-two virgins? What, do you get twin dongs in the afterlife?”

  The table roared with laughter and Sanjar went red to the ears. His lip curled. “You are just another crusader!” he snarled, and savagely thrust a finger at Hector’s shirt. “Damn all crusaders!”

  “Yup! I am a crusader,” Hector laughed, feeling proud. “Better than being some asshole Muslim!”

  “Your father was a babykiller!” Sanjar spat.

  Hector’s laughter stopped short. Sanjar had seriously crossed the line. “Your dad’s a pig-eating, camel-jockey!”

  Sanjar jumped to his feet. “Infidel!”

  Hector jumped up, ready to exchange blows. “Sand-nigg –” he blurted. Deion’s head spun around and their eyes met. Hector turned red to the ears and his face tingled like a grilled cheese sandwich just pressed into the pan.

  “Boys?” said Mr. Howard, suddenly appearing behind them. “What’s the problem?”

  Ω

  Sanjar didn’t get suspended. What justice was there in the world if Hector, whose dad died in the service of this country, got a two-day suspension and the Muslim who thought that was okay got off with nothing? Just a one-day detention. Nothing else. Hector didn’t care how angry his mother was. It wasn’t fair and he told her so.

  “Fair?” his mom snapped. “Here’s a newsflash for you, Hector, life’s not fair. You might as well get used to it.” Hector glared at the floor. “Now you are going to go over to that boy’s house and apologize.”

  “What?” Hector exclaimed, with rage howling within him like a banshee. “I’m not. And there isn’t a thing in this world you can do to make me.”

  His mother’s face hardened. “You will.”

  “I said, no. He called Dad a baby killer. If anyone is going to apologize, it’s that little Persian dirt bag next door. Next time I see him, I’m going to kick his –”

  The doorbell rang, cutting him off. His mother went to answer it. “At least it isn’t the FBI,” she said when she returned and escorted Hector to the door.

  Sanjar was on the porch staring at the ground while he nervously clutched a little cloth hat in his brown hands. When Hector appeared, he looked up with his big chocolate eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said, Hector. Especially about your father. It was unkind and untrue. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  That little rag-head! Begging for forgiveness so Hector would have to do the same thing. He bit his lip to control the rage swelling within him. “Me too,” he finally said, which was the best he could muster. They looked at one another awkwardly for a moment. Over at the Zahedis’ house, Shah was arguing with some reporters. Hector couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he smiled inside.

  “Well,” said Sanjar, “I guess I better get going.”

  “Yeah, I guess you better,” said Hector.

  He walked off the porch and Hector shut the door behind him.

  Ch. 13

  Getting in trouble had never been so good. Hector didn’t have to go to Algebra. And better yet, he wasn’t allowed to make up the work so he didn’t have to do it at all. It was two days of zeroes, deepening his grade problems, but what did it matter? As hard as Hector tried, he could not find a reason to care. With what he heard on the news, it seemed that playing Omega Wars was better preparation for his future than going to school. How better to prepare for the apocalypse than by playing a post-apocalyptic shooter?

  So he played for two days straight, spending most of his time stealing around in Alanya watching the strange activities quietly from the shadows. He didn’t see any more limousines or motorcades. But he did see them train. It had to be training. A pitched battle one minute, gathered into a circle the next, then back to the fighting, like they wanted to get their tactics down. But raids or any sort of organized assaults were the hallmark of experienced players, and watching these guys, Hector knew they were almost all newbs. Or rather, n00bs. Not only did most of them seem like newcomers to Omega Wars, they didn’t seem to have played any kind of MMOG.

  While he tried to keep a low profile, these soft targets just became too tempting. By the last day of his suspension he was setting booby traps, and laying mines. He’d then lure the ramshackle police force into following him where they would either fall into his traps, or he would move into a concealed position and pick them off one by one like fish in a barrel. The body count he racked up was shocking; nearly 60. Fun wasn’t exactly the word Hector would have used to describe it. More like, satisfying.

  Of course, he wasn’t supposed to be playing at all. His mother had strictly forbade him, and checked his account every day to see if he had been. But an online forum of tips and tricks showed Hector how to modify the history files stored on his console using a shareware hex editor from his computer. And his deception worked well. His mom was satisfied with his diligence in “studying” during the two days of his suspension, and agreed he could have some friends over to celebrate the lifting of his exile from Omega Wars.

  Ω

  It was Friday night and Hector glanced around the bonus room to make sure everything was in place. Funny, he’d never cared whether the place was trashed before. The doorbell rang and Hector ran to the door. He opened it to find Sabrah standing there with merlot lips and skin the color of a full moon. Her ear glistened with costume jewelry and a tiny crystal sparkled in the hollow of her perfect little nose. He tried to see past the disguise to the naturally attractive girl he’d spent the morning with a week ago, but saw only her monochromatic avatar.

  “Hi,” she said plainly, and he let her in. “So this is your house?” She looked around and then smiled, bringing back a glimmer of that sunny morning. “It’s really comfortable feeling. Lived in. I like it.”

  Hector shrugged, knowing there must be more to it. “Well, we do live here.”

  Just then Pappous appeared from the kitchen and his cheek
s and eyes creased into a million lines as a smile took over his entire face. “I’m Hector’s grandfather, Leonidas Kostakis,” he said jovially. “You can call me Pappous if you like. Or Leo. What’s your name, young lady?”

  The doorbell rang again. Hector left Sabrah in the care of Pappous and went to answer it. Deion and Tyra were waiting outside. Tyra was gorgeous as always with dark, willowy limbs, long, straightened, luxuriously black hair, and a smile that seemed to sparkle off the cover of Vogue. Deion followed her around like a puppy.

  Just as they were coming in, Chaz crossed the street and Hector frowned. His skin, like Sabrah’s, was almost luminous and his red hair glowed ruby under the tangerine light of the sodium-vapor street lamps, but Hector was stuck by the fluidity of his movement. He’d never thought of Chaz as athletic, but his movements were almost cat-like.

  “What’s up, Hec,” he announced, as he jogged up. “Haven’t see you in a while.”

  As he went through the door, Hector couldn’t help but be caught off guard by Chaz’s build. He was taller than Hector remembered with broad shoulders, and not nearly as Goth-like as Sabrah. Sabrah took pains to color her skin white, but Chaz was merely dressed in dark clothes and had naturally pale skin. He’d grown since Hector had last seen him.

  While Hector was getting everyone settled, Mom came to the door of the bonus room and motioned him out. He followed her down the hall to her bedroom where she had the news playing on a small television; footage from somewhere in the Middle East. The instant she turned around, he knew something was wrong. “What? I cleaned up like you asked.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” she hissed with fire in her eyes. “Chaz Martin? He’s nothing but trouble. That’s why they pulled him out of your school, you know. And I don’t know who that girl is, but she looks awful. Probably has her tongue pierced. And that hair! What is she, some kind of meth addict?”