Multiplayer

by John C. Brewer

  “I’m proud of you,” said Sabrah beside him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and gave him a hug, making Hector’s heart pound – but in a good way. Sabrah’s body was warm. And soft. And smelled good. It was like Chaz had said – there were some things that were better in the real world than they could ever be in the game world. Sanjar glanced over at the two of them, gave a coy smile, and shook his head.

  Hector felt a tear forming in his eye, as Sabrah pulled away. He shrugged it off. “Are we going to play now or what?” he asked with a fake cheerfulness. Neither Sanjar nor Sabrah called him on it, but began switching over to their regular characters in Alanya, while sending messages to the rest of their friends to join them.

  Neither Hector nor Sanjar were really sure what had happened that night in the cement plant a week ago, though they’d spent a lot of time talking about it. But piecing it together was hard, especially during the first three days following the incident. All five of them had been confined to the hospital: Hector with a bullet wound and lacerations, Sanjar for a broken arm and internal bruises from the beating, and Shah with a broken leg and some cracked ribs. Deion and Helen had been relatively unscathed but were, “held for observation.” All of them were in rooms with no television or computer access. It wasn’t until they were released that Hector, Sanjar and Deion saw the flood of emails and Facebook postings from their classmates, thankful they’d survived their ordeal.

  Before the hospital discharged them, a police detective reiterated how lucky they were to have survived the kidnapping from the local drug dealers. When they’d protested, the stiff man, whose demeanor reminded Hector more of the FBI agents who’d visited his house twice rather than any police detective he’d ever seen on TV, warned them not to spread their “faulty memories” of the event, saying it would only cause “problems.” Once he’d said that, Hector was sure the man wasn’t with the local police. Still, Hector understood why the FBI or Homeland Security or whoever it was wouldn’t admit the truth. The crippling fear that would grip the public from knowing that terrorists attacked kids in a typical American neighborhood was exactly the kind of result the bad guys wanted to achieve. They couldn’t let them win, and that’s why Hector just laughed off the drug dealer story that had hit the news. Several friends had emailed him links to the story. But Hector and Sanjar knew the truth, and wished someone would fill in the gaps – at least to them.

  Deion wasn’t much help. He knew they’d been attacked in real life by the terrorists from the game, but the trauma of the evening seemed to have erased all the details from his memory. Or maybe he didn’t want to remember. But certain pieces Sanjar and Hector never wanted to forget. They knew that either Pappous or Sanjar’s dad had killed one of the terrorists, but didn’t know if it was Mal-X, nor which of the older men had been the shooter. And neither Pappous nor Mr. Zahedi would answer.

  The summit had been conducted without a hitch, although reading back through the news, there was an announcement of a major terrorist ring being broken up in Turkey. Hector and his friends could only assume that the FBI, or the CIA, or whoever, had gone into Omega Wars, retrieved the list and the plans, and acted in time. But it didn’t feel like the adrenaline-pumped, action-packed ending Hector had seen in so many movies. They’d lost a friend in the process. A high price for their victory.

  Ω

  When Izaak awoke in Alanya, Veyron was there along with Alkindi, having returned from replication. “I have something for you,” the cybertech told him, and presented Izaak with a long sniper rifle.

  “Vera!” Izaak exclaimed, taking the weapon from his Muslim friend. “But how…”

  “Bayern and L3r0y,” Alkindi explained, while Sanjar, sitting beside Hector, gave a gleeful laugh. “They terminated Mal-X after Izaak and Darxhan zombied. They gave it to me a couple days ago to make sure you got it back.”

  “You think they took the list and the plans?” Izaak asked noting their absence from his inventory. He knew someone must have turned in the information, but this was a piece neither he nor Sanjar had figured out.

  “I asked them. All they did was bring Izaak and Darxhan back to base.”

  Izaak glanced around the dimly lit hibernation chamber. “But, this isn’t our base?”

  “It’s our new base,” Alkindi said.

  “New base?” Hector exclaimed. “What happened to the old one?”

  “It kind of got destroyed in the battle,” Alkindi told him.

  “But that tunnel and the submarine was so cool!” Izaak said, thinking back.

  “Come on,” said Veyron, leading him outside. “I think you’re going to like this one better.”

  And he did like it better. He seemed to know every stone and the view of the ocean was one he had experienced in real life. It was the citadel atop the Alanya Peninsula. Hector couldn’t explain it, but it felt like coming home.

  They had been hard at work over the past week, supervising the rebuilding of the citadel into a fortress from which they could direct the operations of the Spartans, the fastest growing clan in Omega Wars. Hector stared in amazement as he realized the work was being done by scarobs! They were everywhere. Even repairing the wreckage of Uber Pwn. Veyron explained that the robots kept to their tasks even when Sabrah wasn’t online, and seemed to thrive on having jobs to complete. Best of all, they’d become docile and completely unthreatening to the other Spartans. As far as they knew, no one else had this power, or even heard of it as a possibility, and they’d decided to keep it quiet – their secret weapon, more devastating than anything else in Omega Wars.

  The Spartans, Alkindi informed him, now controlled the entire peninsula, the city, and a narrow strip of land that ran along the beach for several miles in either direction. But the further they pushed outward, the harder the thorks pushed back. The surrounding hills were crawling with some of the largest, most dangerous thorks they’d ever come across. In fact, Darxhan was off, along with Cygnus, Rhin0, and the Germans, on an expedition to decimate a band that had been making raids into the city on motorcycles. Apparently, the thorks had gotten smarter and were now using more advanced tools and weaponry.

  “I almost wish our last adventure wasn’t over,” Izaak said as they strolled up the road toward the main gate of the citadel.

  “What?” Veyron exclaimed. “We could have all been killed! You almost were killed!”

  “Yeah,” Alkindi chimed in. “What are you crazy or something?”

  “Real stakes,” Izaak replied, taking in their digital domain. “Regular questing is going to seem kind of… I don’t know – flat.”

  Veyron shook her head in disbelief. “You better hope it’s over, Hector. Don’t forget, those terrorists are still out there.”

  To which Sanjar added, “And I bet they haven’t forgotten your name.”

  Hector shivered at the memory of Mal-X using his real name. High stakes might be more exciting but Sabrah was right, he didn’t want the consequences. Losing Chaz had been way too high a price. Losing Sabrah would be…

  “Izzy, you there?” came a voice over his headset. Hector recognized Darxhan instantly and acknowledged. “We’re on our way in. Meet us at the main gate. Got something to show you.”

  Darxhan strode up to the gate wearing the repaired Mk.IV armor from the defeated GoreFiendHell. A half-dozen mercs were with him, forming a ring around two characters: a female smuggler whose gear showed she had some experience, and a male vanguard – black with blue highlights, but with the standard kit. More n00bs wanting into the Spartans, thought Hector.

  “They say they need to speak to Izaak Ersatz,” Darxhan said, as the auto tracking cannon on his shoulder pivoted back and forth between the two. “Seems your name is getting around.”

  “That’s Izaak,” said the smuggler, in a voice that was vaguely familiar.

  “Do I know you?” Izaak asked, as the hairs prickled on Hector’s arms in real life. There was something odd about these two.

  “Can we talk alone?” the v
anguard asked.

  “No. I don’t know who you are,” Izaak answered flatly.

  The vanguard turned toward his smuggler companion. “Abort. This won’t accomplish…”

  “With due respect, sir,” the smuggler interrupted. “We want him to be cautious. He should be cautious.”

  If the digital vanguard was capable of looking annoyed at the interruption, Izaak was pretty sure he’d be seeing it. But these two were becoming stranger by the moment. The vanguard was obviously a newb, but the experienced smuggler called him “sir?” No one would elevate a newb to leader of a clan, and not many players other than GoreFiendHell demanded the servitude of that sort of title.

  The vanguard stood motionless for a moment, perhaps having some discussion off-line, then nodded.

  “With Darxhan and Alkindi and you, then,” suggested the black clad smuggler. “This is important.”

  Hector eyed them suspiciously. He had no intention of getting greased by these two, and he knew some of the Reavers, particularly ValaRocker and his cadre of sycophants, were out to get him. “What do you think, Darx?”

  “I think we ought to bust cap on these newbs right now.” His auto-cannon swiveled with a whir.

  “Just wanted to hear you say that,” Izaak laughed before turning back to the two strangers. “One condition,” he informed them.

  “What?” asked the vanguard coldly. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t used to taking orders. Not a good way to start if he wanted in the Spartans.

  “Veyron comes, too,” Izaak replied in an equally cool tone. If this was some sort of trap, he wanted to dominate in numbers, and Veyron’s scarobs would certainly accomplish that.

  “But she… No,” relied the vanguard.

  “Fine. They’re all yours, Darx.” The merc’s auto cannon locked on at Izaak’s words.

  “Wait!” cried the black-clad smuggler. She rushed forward, but it was too late. A shell shot out of Darxhan’s cannon and nearly blew the vanguard in half.

  “Hector, stop! It’s me” the smuggler blurted out. “Agent Hanson. I came to your house.”

  Darxhan turned to her. “You’re the one who nearly got us all killed!” he roared in his digitally enhanced voice. His auto cannon was preparing to fire again.

  “Deion!” barked Izaak. “Stand down, man!” Darxhan backed off with a huff but kept his weapons trained. “Why are you here?” Izaak asked suspiciously.

  “We need to talk,” the agent-smuggler answered, glancing around at the mercs ringing her. “But not here.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “My boss. But I can’t tell you more than that here.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk in the citadel, but Veyron comes, too.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Veyron, could you heal the vanguard, please?” asked Izaak, feeling stranger by the minute.

  Alkindi searched the two newcomers with one of his devices, then the four of them led the vanguard and smuggler into the citadel courtyard. Darxhan, Veryon and Alkindi flanked Izaak to protect him. It was strange to Hector. Here he was, a typical suburban teen, and a de facto warlord in a virtual world. For some reason, people showed him respect and followed his orders as if he were their leader.

  The old Byzantine Church, on one side of the courtyard, had been repaired to like-new status. On the other side, the mosque was still under repair with Veyron’s scarobs all over it like paper-wasps tending a nest.

  “Now, who are you?” Hector demanded of the vanguard, as they stopped in the middle.

  “Deputy Director Malcolm Murray of the FBI Cyber Intelligence Division. CynTell. Agent Hanson has been reassigned to my division after her performance last week.”

  “Her performance?” Izaak repeated. “What performance?”

  “Agent Hanson or, uh, her character, played a key role for us in your final battle,” replied the Deputy Director’s vanguard smugly. “Isn’t that correct, Agent Hanson?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her smuggler stepped forward. “I was on station when the battle began, and got an invite,” she explained. “Hope you don’t mind that I fought on your side. It was epic by the way. Truly epic.”

  “You took the list?” Izaak exclaimed.

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  “So you know!” said Sanjar. “You know about the terrorists plan. You can tell us what happened to Mal-X and al-Nib.”

  “Terrorists?” replied Deputy Director Murray uncomfortably. “You mean drug dealers. You kids uncovered a minor drug ring, and for that we are grateful.”

  “Bullshit,” said Veyron, and the occupants in Sanjar’s family room looked at Sabrah in shock. Her face was stern beneath her headset. On screen, they could see scarobs gathering around their company. Waiting. “You said,” Veyron continued, “that you are with the Cyber Intelligence Division. You said she got transferred there after retrieving the lists. CynTell wouldn’t be handling drug busts. Other agencies do that, not Cyber Intelligence.”

  “This is pointless,” the Murray vanguard snapped to Agent Hanson. “These are nothing but nosey kids.”

  “Nosey kids who saved your rear end,” Hector said, feeling bolder after Veyron’s words. These may be adults, and they may work for the FBI, but they all knew the truth of what had happened, here and in the real world. And no matter how deferential Hector should be out there, they were on Spartan turf now, and he was the Spartan’s leader. He was in charge here, and he didn’t like this deputy director guy. Agent Hanson might be okay, but…

  “DD is a chump,” said Sanjar off-mike.

  “I don’t trust him,” added Sabrah. “He reminds me of my stepdad, and he’s not playing straight with us.” Hector smiled. It was like his friends had read his mind.

  “So, cut to the chase,” Izaak said to Deputy Murray. “If you’re just here to thank us for saving the world, you can leave now. We’ve got work to do. If there’s something else, get on with it.”

  The vanguard stood frozen for a moment. Another conversation off-line, no doubt. When he moved again, the vanguard took long looks at each of them in turn before speaking. “The FBI and the country are indebted to you for finding the drug dealers,” he said, emphasizing the last two words as if that could convince them it was true. “And we pay our debts. Therefore, as of right now, you – the four of you – are Special Agents of the FBI.”

  Hector’s friends all began talking at once. “FBI! Agent! Cool!” said Darxhan. “Do I get a gun? Or maybe krav maga training! Or…”

  “FBI Agent?” Veyron questioned, not sounding nearly as thrilled. “That’s not exactly what I had planned for my life.”

  “Me?” Alkindi squeaked in disbelief. “You arrest my father, and now want me?” Hector couldn’t tell from the tone if he was honored or frightened.

  Izaak held up his hand to stop their babble. “What exactly does this mean?” he asked skeptically. “I don’t know if you noticed, Mr. Murray, but the terrorists nearly killed us this last time. They did kill Chaz. Now, you’re telling us we work for you? Not asking,” Izaak noted. “Telling. But you aren’t being honest with us. Sounds like a raw deal to me, if you won’t even tell us what happened.”

  “The information is classified,” the vanguard responded coldly. “But I can tell you that the drug dealer who went by al-Nib is still out there, and we suspect still using this game. All we are asking is that you keep your eyes open when you are here. And in exchange, you’ll have FBI-trained cybertechs making tools and weapons for you. We could help you become quite powerful.”

  “Or quite dead,” Sanjar replied.

  “Naturally, we’ll be watching in this world too,” Mr. Murray added quickly.

  “Give us a minute,” said Izaak. Hector sensed this would go nowhere as long as adults were involved and switched off his mic. The others did too and Sabrah called Deion on her phone, and put him on speaker.

  “So what do you think?” Hector said, looking at his friends.

  “Man, this sounds cool, but I don’t want to get killed,”
Deion said again. “Look at Chaz! No respawn, Hector.”

  “We stopped a war,” Sabrah interjected. “But, I don’t trust this guy.”

  “Trained cybertechs,” Sanjar added, sounding impressed. “We could do a lot.”

  “We don’t need their techs,” Deion shot back. “We got you, Alkindi. Your stuff’s better than anyone’s.”

  Hector listened to them go back and forth. The specter of death against defending the nation – which they’d proven they could do. The inconvenience of dealing with this Murray-guy against having trained cybertechs build who knows what for them.

  Hector held up his hand for them to stop. “You guys didn’t know my dad,” he said slowly. “My dad was awesome. But he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave us and go to Iraq. But he did. He did because he was part of something bigger than himself. I didn’t want to climb that tower the other night. Sanjar, you didn’t want to run off in the dark by yourself and try to start that truck. Deion, you didn’t want to have those guys after you. But we all did those things because they were what we had to do.”

  “Tell that to Chaz,” came Deion’s voice from the tiny speaker.

  “We can’t bring Chaz back. Nothing we do now changes that,” said Hector. “But dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you, Deion. And our hardships – the physical wounds that will heal and the friend we’ve lost – that’s what makes us strong,” he added, knowing he wasn’t making sense, but also knowing the words were true. “Would any of you trade that night for an evening of sitting at home on your nice and comfortable couch, now that you know what the outcome would have been?”

  “That’s what I did,” said Sabrah dejectedly.

  Hector shook his head. “Sabrah, your mom found you passed out on the couch. That’s hardly comfortable.” He paused and looked at all of them. “Sanjar is right. DD is a chump, and I don’t trust a guy who won’t tell us the truth, even if he says he can’t. But that doesn’t matter. al-Nib is still out there. Still using the game. We have to do this, guys. We have to do it because it’s the right thing to do.”