Multiplayer

by John C. Brewer

  Izaak toggled his view and the UAV view came up in his HUD. Dozens of ‘hot spots’ were moving into the shattered city from a single location where they kept appearing in the restored part of town. The first wave was just a few streets away. “No!” Izaak exclaimed, knowing their quest had just tripled in difficulty. “We got to get out of here!”

  They bolted out of the building and ran smack into the two Reavers they’d been working so hard to avoid, but the Reavers were more surprised. Izaak instinctively stuck one with a grenade which exploded and blew him across the street and into a wall. The other Reaver opened up with his chain gun, sending brilliant arcs through the dark streets. T-Reg caught a full volley across the chest and was thrown backwards.

  “I’m down to nothing!” she shrieked.

  “Bayern, L3r0y, get your butts over here, now!” said Izaak, then turned to Veyron. “That is why you’re here! Incoming!”

  Everyone dove away as a rocket shrieked in and exploded next to them, tearing a gaping hole in the side of the building but sparing them the full force of the blast. Veyron leapt to T-Reg’s side and in a few seconds, the vanguard sprang back to her feet with full health.

  “Guys!” said Alkindi. “Those other Reavers are inbound on your location. You got to pull out, now. We’re coming to get you!”

  Izaak opened his fan shield all the way and sprang in close with his arc sword, trying to avoid the heavy weapons of the mercs. The nearest merc swung with the end of his chain gun, a melee blow that would normally have brought Izaak’s shields down to half or less. But he hit the fan shield instead and Izaak’s shields stayed nearly full. Izaak counterattacked and cleaved a deep gash in the armor of the chain-gunner. Then T-Reg unleashed a volley into him, just as c’Irith stuck him with a grenade from behind. The merc stumbled forward and Izaak swung again. With his dissipater field down, the plasma arcs cut through the plate and bit into virtual flesh. The merc went down to his knees. T-Reg and Izaak finished him off with their arc-swords.

  Another rocket flashed in and hit the body of the merc they’d just dispatched. The first merc wasn’t dead! Izaak should have been killed but his fan shield saved him again. They were all stunned and there was no time for Veyron to heal them. The merc came striding in, a submachine gun in one hand and a small plasmace in the other. Scarobs appeared like vultures, waiting for the battle to end and pick up the scraps.

  Hector had resigned himself to the replication tank when BayernFC and L3r0y bounded around the corner. Tracers streamed out across the darkness and knocked the merc back. The Reaver lowered his shoulder and charged BayernFC. They smashed into one another and pulverized half a building. The Reaver pulled out his rocket launcher, but BayernFC thudded one shell after another into the merc with his auto-cannon. Then L3r0y joined him. The rounds went off as they struck, blowing off pieces of Mk.III armor and equipment until the last one buried in virtual flesh and blew the merc apart at the waist with a digitized spray of red goo. An instant later his fusion cells overloaded with a rising shriek and scattered the remains all over the street.

  “Coming your way,” said Darxhan. “Meet at the green dot.”

  Alkindi used the UAV to mark a spot on the image it was transmitting and Izaak led them straight to it. From the UAV, they could see more Reavers converging on the site of the battle and still more emerging from the spawn point.

  They’d only gone two blocks when a six-wheeled vehicle roared up and cut off their route. Izaak raised his gun to fire before realizing it was being driven by Alkindi.

  “What a piece of junk!” Izaak exclaimed, as it lurched to a stop.

  “It may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid,” Alkindi joked. “She’ll make point-five past light speed.”

  “Very funny,” laughed Izaak. It had no sides or roof and the engine sat out in the open. Alkindi stood behind the engine controlling it with levers. Behind him, seated on the long, wide, flatbed were Darxhan and Rada.

  “Just get on so we can get out of here,” exclaimed Darxhan.

  Izaak had them head north out of the city. When he was convinced there were no UAVs tracking them, they turned west and doubled back toward their lair. They watched as the countryside slid by, alert to scarobs and the occasional thork that blundered into their path.

  As they reentered the city, T-Reg sat up straight and stared ahead. “What’s that?” she said.

  There ahead was a human figure standing by the side of the road. It wasn’t a thork and it wasn’t a merc.

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Alkindi.

  “Ram him!” said Izaak.

  They came closer and Alkindi increased their speed to maximum – which wasn’t very fast. The figure didn’t move. It just stood there watching them.

  “It’s Thrylos!” said Veyron, as Alkindi swerved to hit him “No!” she cried.

  Izaak yelled, “He said we’d meet again!” Izaak and the mercs opened up with their heavy weapons and someone threw a grenade which detonated an instant before they roared through the smoke and flame.

  “What’d you do that for?” cried Veyron. “We don’t even know who he is!”

  “Because we don’t know who he is!” Izaak cried back.

  Veyron looked back, but all that was left as they roared away was a cloud of smoke.

  Ch. 14

  On the walk home from Hector’s house, Sabrah teased Chaz about sitting so close to Tyra. Even in the dark, she could see his cheeks turn red. But Sabrah knew her friend well. If the blushing wasn’t a complete admission, his insistence on talking about game details was. And that was fine. Sabrah had had a good time at Hector’s, and was glad Chaz did, too.

  Sabrah watched him march off through the misty night after they’d reached her house, then she crept inside, pausing as she entered. Chaz wasn’t the only one with a secret. She did like Hector. She’d liked him from the first time she’d met him in Algebra. And things between them had changed since the soccer game. But the last thing she wanted was a boyfriend. No reason to mess up her life even more.

  “Sabrah, is that you?” came her mother’s voice.

  “Yeah,” she said, and went into the den where her mother was curled up on the couch with her stepdad. It made Sabrah sick to her stomach. She thought back to her conversation with Hector and was ready to give him an answer: What was the worst thing that could ever happen to her? What her own father had done.

  “Did you have a good time with your friends, honey?” her mother asked.

  “Sure. Hey, Brad,” she said to her step-father. Then to no one added, “I’m going to go watch TV in my bedroom.” Actually, she wasn’t sure which was worse. What her father had done, or what her mother was doing.

  She locked the door behind her, changed into an oversized sleep shirt, and turned on the TV. Then, she switched on her game console and brought up Omega Wars. It took just a moment to awaken her character in the hibernation chamber. Everyone else was sound asleep. It was strange seeing them this way and somehow it made it all seem more real. Her gaze lingered for a moment on Izaak. She even liked his avatar. She deactivated the sentry mines and unlocked the door, then stole out into the darkness with one purpose in mind. Thrylos was probably dead, but she had to know. And if he wasn’t dead, she intended to find out who and what he was.

  It was night in Alanya, much like the one in her own neighborhood, and she tried to backtrack to the place where they’d attacked the helpless drifter. It was farther than she thought, but when she got there, Thrylos was gone. She could see the blackened earth from the explosion under the moonlight, but no body. But he had to be dead. No character could have survived that attack. Carried off by thorks perhaps? Veyron scanned her surroundings. It was dark and silent on the edge of the junkyard. And she knew there were probably Reavers still out patrolling and she didn’t want to run into one of them, though none had come this far. For a moment, she concentrated, trying to access sight or some other power. Anything. But nothing happened. Almost nothi
ng. Three scarobs appeared out of the darkness. They landed on a nearby pile of rubble and regarded her with lidless, silicon eyes.

  “I don’t have any tech,” Veyron said, backing away. “So just leave me alone.”

  They crawled down from the rubble and marched mechanically after her, keeping their distance. “I said, stay away!” she yelled, and threw a rock. Then she turned and a pack of thorks ran out of the shadows and surrounded her, snapping and screeching. Sabrah dropped her controller on the floor in fear. By the time she picked it up, a hulking humanoid-like creature with fat, drooling jowls, and yellow fangs, swung at Veyron with a rusty metal mace. It struck her and took her health down by half. She concentrated, searching for something, anything that would help, but it was no use. Nothing happened, and she cringed as another thork prepared to make the final blow.

  All of a sudden, a swarm of scarobs descended on the thorks, their scimitar wings whirling and plasma torches flashing like lightning in the darkness. The thorks were enraged, and Veyron slipped from their midst, running into the shadows where she watched the short but fierce melee. After several of their number had fallen, the thorks broke and fled snarling into the darkness. The scarobs chased them a short distance then returned and collected the parts of a damaged comrade and flew away like enormous bumblebees.

  “Never seen that happen before,” came a voice out of the darkness. It had an odd accent.

  Veyron looked around. “Who’s there?” She heard something above her and a figure stepped off the roof and slowly descended to the ground. “Thrylos!” she exclaimed.

  “What are you doing here out in the dark all by yourself? It’s dangerous.”

  “I came looking for you. After my friends shot at you, I was afraid you were dead. How’d you do that?” The words tumbled from Veyron’s mouth, as Sabrah felt her own eyes go wide.

  “First things first,” he laughed. “As you can see, I am still whole.” He looked at her more closely. “Yet I see you are not. Here, let me help.” He stepped forward and an instant later, Veyron’s health was at full.

  “You’re an empath,” she said brightly. “That’s how you floated down! Can you teach me to do that? I saw how the metal plates were knocked off the car. And you survived their attack tonight. Can you teach me?”

  “What is there to teach? It is like thinking. You just do it.”

  “I’m just totally useless,” she said, more miserable than ever. “All I can do is heal. That’s it.”

  “Healing is not a bad thing. It may even be the best thing.”

  “I’m not talking philosophy,” Sabrah retorted. “I want to help my friends. But all they do is help me.”

  “Receiving help is often more difficult than –”

  “Give it a rest! Jeeze, you sound like my mother or something.”

  Thrylos laughed. “Apologies. You know, your friends tried to kill me tonight. If you had been helping them, I might be in a replication tank right now.”

  “Fair enough. But I still want to learn how to be an empath.”

  “Perhaps you are approaching it wrong,” he said. “I didn’t learn any of this. I did not even try. I haven’t even been doing it very long. My first characters were vanguards and mercs. I wanted to meet the enemy head on and destroy him face to face. But I was terrible and, most of the time, I came up against kids and you probably know how that went. I tried being a smuggler and it was boring. I’m not a cybertech, it just isn’t in me. And I’m certainly not a barbarian. So I tried the empath route and before long…”

  He turned to a nearby building and stood there for a moment as if in concentration. Then the character suddenly lunged forward with an open palm. There was sort of a deep whump and one of the walls of the building gave way, collapsing in a pile of dust and broken bricks.

  “Oh my God! Can you teach me to do that?” Sabrah had never run into such a powerful empath. What luck!

  Thrylos laughed, “I don’t even know how I do it. But perhaps I might be able to help you discover how not to do it. The mind is a complicated, confused place that is often at odds with itself. If you will tell me a little about yourself maybe we can discover how you might succeed. A source of strength perhaps. Or a weakness that is blocking your efforts. Let’s start with your name.”

  Name? She froze for an instant and remembered everything she’d ever learned about online stalking. But this Thrylos seemed different and might be able to help her. Besides, he wasn’t asking for her real name. She sized him up on more time before stating simply, “Veyron.”

  Ch. 15

  A big, black SUV pull to a stop in front of Sanjar’s house. The same kind of car that had brought news of Hector’s father’s death. The door swung open and Mr. Zahedi climbed out to the cheers of friends and supporters, a peculiar mix of people from the neighborhood and Muslims from the local mosque. Hector’s mother had made him go and he stood there, sullen-faced, in his dark blue Bayern Munich jersey. He’d wanted to wear his Inter Milan shirt but his mother had promised to cut it up if he did – with him still wearing it.

  Mr. Zahedi emerged from the car and started up the walk, his face beaming with joy. His family gave a shout and ran out to meet him. Mrs. Zahedi, Shah, and Sanjar were all smiling and jubilant. Hector gritted his teeth. So different than the day they’d reported his father as dead. The memory of his mother’s cry echoed through his head. People with brown skin had done it. Brown like Sanjar’s. Like the ones who were cheering now.

  A professionally dressed government spokesperson followed Mr. Zahedi up the walk and stopped at a forest of microphones. She waited for the cheering to subside before speaking. “The Government of the United States must investigate potential threats to security,” she said firmly, standing beside the family. Dozens of cameras were pointed at her from local channels and even one from CNN. She went on: “The world is a dangerous place and we cannot take chances. However, intelligence about potential threats comes in many forms and sometimes is wrong. We are happy to say this afternoon that Steve Zahedi has been cleared of any and all charges related to his recent investigation by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” She went on to explain that the buckets Hector has seen were originally used for pool chemicals, but had been filled with compost from the Zahedis’ back yard, to be used as fertilizer for trees in Veteran’s Park.

  The woman stepped back and Mr. Zahedi leaned forward to the cheer of the crowd. The once sinister, black eyepatch now made him appear as a wizened sage who had seen enough hardship to guide others in avoiding it. Hector scowled. He was going to emerge more popular than before! They all were. Like they were the victims, when no one here even remembered his dad.

  Cameras rolled as the crowd waited anxiously for his words. The silence grew.

  Mr. Zahedi wet his lips. “In the country I come from,” he began, voice quivering with emotion. “When people are arrested by the secret police, there are no cameras. They do not appear on the news. Their family does not even know what happened to them. Or why they were taken. And everyone knows asking questions can be very,” he paused and licked his lips again, then swallowed heavily, “dangerous. All too often those who are taken are never seen again. Families and loved ones are left to wonder about their fate and live in fear.

  “I was arrested on suspicions that I was involved in terrorism. And that is why America, my adopted homeland, is the greatest country on Earth. While this was a difficult and trying time for my family,” he turned and smiled at his wife and patted Sanjar’s shoulder, “my arrest did not happen in the middle of the night. It was no secret. I was never abused in any way, but was treated well. There was an open investigation. I was at no time placed under harsh interrogation. I was always in contact with my lawyer. My family was never threatened. And just a few short days later, I am back home. America is great because when mistakes are made there is accountability. Because a man is innocent until proven guilty. Because there is justice.” Tears from his good eye rolled down his cheek and he hugged his wife.
The crowd began to cheer again. “Because I am back with my wonderful family, and my wonderful neighbors.” He raised his arms in triumph. “Allah Akbar! God is Great! Allah Bless America!”

  Everyone cheered and one of the reporters could be heard crying above the din of the crowd, “Mr. Zahedi, will you run for office…”

  “So,” Helen said to Hector with a triumphant smile. “You must really feel like an idiot.”

  Hector ground his teeth and watched the crowd. Watched his mother hug Mrs. Zahedi. Watched Pappous kiss Mr. Zahedi on each cheek. Watched his sister embrace Shah. Watched white people, black people, and brown people shake hands and smile. It was just like his dad always said things should be. Except he wasn’t here. Sanjar wore an enormous smile and stayed close to his father. His father had come home. But Hector’s never would.

  Ch. 16

  It had been over a week since the LAN party at Hector’s house, the last time the Spartans had all been together, and they weren’t making nearly as much progress as Hector wanted. Whatever Mal-X and his clan were doing in Alanya, they weren’t going to be doing it forever and Hector didn’t want Vera or the slipgate disappearing on him. But he was having trouble getting everyone together. Either they had homework, or sports, or school play practice, or whatever. Hector was getting annoyed that no one seemed committed to the quest and tonight was no different. It was raining but Hector knew Deion would have a soccer game anyway – soccer didn’t stop for weather. He couldn’t get in touch with the Germans or Tyra. And when Tyra didn’t play, neither did c’Irith. Alkindi, whoever he was, wasn’t online and Hector had no way to contact him. Sabrah texted him that she was at her dad’s house without a game console. So Hector was surprised to find Chaz’s Rada missing when he brought Izaak out of hibernation. The other Spartans lay motionless in the dim light of their sleep chamber and with such stunning Omega Wars’ graphics, the absence of the nearly-naked, red-headed barbarian was obvious.