The General entered the room and removed his jacket. He handed it to his new aide and walked over to join Thorn in the sitting area. “So, Mr. Thorn, what did you think of the facilities?”
“They’re quite impressive,” Thorn said appreciatively. “I had no idea how much thought and planning went into some of the training; I would be surprised if there are any better soldiers in the world.”
“There aren’t,” The General said. “It isn’t just soldiers, Thorn. If you look at any significant leader in this country, you’ll discover that they were also trained by us.” The General held up his ring for Thorn to inspect. It was a gold signet ring, with the symbol for infinity embossed into its surface. “Now that you’ve seen this ring, you’ll likely begin to notice that many powerful and influential people wear it.”
“It does look familiar,” Thorn said.
“Any person you see wearing this ring is a graduate of Infinite Solutions Division,” the General smiled, “which means that they owe the majority of their success to me.”
Thorn considered the implications of the General’s statement. Without coming right out and saying it, the General was letting him know how powerful he was on the world stage.
“How much are you currently worth, Mr. Thorn?” the General asked.
Thorn shrugged. “I’m wealthy enough that if I had children, then their children would never have to work a day in their lives.”
The General smiled. “So it isn’t money that motivates you.”
“Money motivates everyone,” Thorn said. “It’s not my only motivating force, though. I simply want to do my part to help this country remain the great power that it has always been. If I should happen to make a few billion credits as a result,” he shrugged, “I would consider that fair compensation for the benefits that I can bring to the table.”
“What benefits do you think you can offer us , Mr. Thorn?” the General asked.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Thorn produced his laptop computer and turned it on, positioning the screen so that both men could view it. He typed some commands on the keyboard and brought up the graphic of a tropical island. He pressed a key and the image of a person appeared in the middle.
“I can put you into this scene, General. Our process for immersing a subject into a virtual reality matrix has been perfected. You lie on a table and close your eyes. When you open them again, you will find yourself in a different body, and discover yourself in this place. You’ll hear every sound and see every detail as if you were truly there. If desired, I could even block the knowledge that you exist somewhere else and have been placed inside a false reality.”
“Interesting,” the General said.
“Yes,” Thorn agreed. He pressed one key at repeated intervals, and each time he did, aspects of the scene disappeared. Eventually the screen was entirely white with only the graphic of the person remaining. “I can remove any or all of the items in this reality. They can be replaced easily with whatever scene the imagination can conceive.”
Thorn typed a command and a dragon, large and fierce, stood in front of the person. A few more typed commands filled in a medieval landscape, complete with a damsel trapped in a tall stone tower. With a final keystroke the entire scene became animated; the dragon started to move towards the person, breathing fire and roaring in rage.
“When you are inside the simulation…” the General started to ask.
“It’s as real as if we were sitting here at this table,” Thorn assured him, “just a bit warmer when the dragon’s fire burns the flesh from your bones.”
“Incredible,” the General said. “So the sky’s the limit when it comes to what can be simulated?”
Thorn chuckled and typed on the laptop. The medieval scene disappeared, replaced by the same man floating in the void of outer space. “The sky isn’t the limit, General. Only your imagination is.”
“Can you replicate exact conditions? Our gravity, physical and scientific laws, bodies that react identically to our own?”
“Absolutely,” Thorn assured him.
“Are there any limitations?” the General asked.
“Yes,” Thorn said. “We can only put a few individuals into the same simulation at once, and the more complex the simulation, the fewer players that can occupy it.”
“Is there a way to address that?”
“Absolutely,” Thorn said. “Build and equip more powerful computers with larger capacity. I already have technicians working on the details. If we had enough money, then we could solve these issues very easily.”
“How much money do you want to come and work with me, Mr. Thorn?”
Thorn handed him a sheet. “The amount I require is at the bottom of this page, General.”
The General glanced briefly at the page, then looked back at the computer screen with the simulation running on it. He looked at Thorn seriously. “This is more money than a decade’s worth of GNP for most countries.” He paused for a moment, then nodded and smiled grimly. “Nonetheless, I can guarantee that amount for you.”
Thorn suppressed a smile of triumph. He’d expected more resistance.
His happiness was abruptly halted by the General’s next sentence.
“However, for that amount, I will require greater control of the project.”
Thorn smiled calmly and said nothing while the General waited for an answer.
Thorn stood up and closed the laptop.
“I understand that you are a very powerful man, General, and I have the utmost respect for you. It’s your prerogative to insist on such control. I’m sure that dealing with civilians is unpleasant, mostly because we aren’t required to stand at attention and say, “Thank you, sir,” when you kick us in the teeth like enlisted people are. But if you intend to change the rules of the game whenever you like, then I'm going to have to pass on this partnership.”
The General said nothing as Thorn left the room. After a few moments he reached for the phone and dialed a number. “Thorn just left. It seems that he’s willing to walk away rather than concede control to us.”
“Is there no one else with this type of technology?” asked a woman’s voice.
“No,” the General said.
“Do we need Thorn alive, Donovan?” she asked.
“It appears that the answer to that question is yes, at least for now.”
“Okay, then. Get him back on board,” she said.
“He has other offers on the table,” the General said. “I think after what just happened he’ll decide to explore them first.”
“We can at least eliminate the others who are making offers, right? Don’t tell me we can’t kill anyone right now; I don’t need to hear that kind of negative talk from you.”
The General smiled. “Yes, we can do that.”
“Excellent.” The General could hear the pleasure in her voice. “Then get to work, Donovan, and let me know when he’s back in line. I’d like to see things moving forward in less than a month.”
“Yes, Madame President,” the General said, and hung up the phone.
Chapter 8
Brandon’s first day in the Games Facility was not what he had hoped for.
There were no games to be played; instead the children spent both the morning and afternoon touring the facility and listening to their guides. The wealth of information on the details of the Facility and its procedures were a bit overwhelming; Brandon was positive that he would forget most of it, and from the looks on the other kid’s faces, he guessed he wouldn’t be the only one. By day’s end they had learned everything they would need to live in the Game Facility. Brandon knew where he would sleep, eat, learn, play, and compete. Their guides were very thorough in their orientation.
Cadet Walsch and the other senior gamers from the train were their tour guides for the day. The recruits learned that there would be minimal adult involvement during a normal day in the facility. Adults acted primarily as instructors and referees for the older gamers. The new kids, or
Baggers as they were called, were to be kept together. Baggers were expected to learn from the older and more experienced Gamers about the basics. They could expect help getting started in the simple, entry level games.
After dinner they were shown to their barracks where each kid selected a bunk that would be theirs until they moved up in rank. There were a dozen newcomers in Brandon’s group, eight boys and four girls. The beds were standard, military issue bunks with thin mattresses and rough woolen blankets. At the foot of each bed was a small locker. Brandon opened his and found a bar of soap, two towels, underwear, socks, and some plain pants and shirts.
Lights out occurred not long after that. Brandon lie down on his bunk, closed his eyes, and promptly went to sleep.
===
A strange sound caused him to open his eyes. Brandon sat up in his cot and looked around the room. It was dark; everyone else was asleep. A faint light shone from the bathrooms at the far end of the barracks where the sounds seemed to be coming from. Brandon stood up and walked carefully toward the source of the noise.
He walked through the doorway and stood in the center of the room. Suddenly, the doorway behind him became a solid wall, and the lights dimmed. The floor began to shimmer, taking on a dark silvery colour, like black sand on a beach. Brandon heard a skittering sound, and three small whirling patterns formed on the floor in front of him. They darkened in colour as they spun and began to emit a high pitched whine. The whining stopped abruptly, followed by a distinct popping sound as the circles on the floor exploded upwards. A black rat emerged from each hole. They looked uglier than normal vermin, with ragged, oily fur, long claws, and yellowed teeth. Brandon noticed that their eye sockets were empty, which made them look even uglier. The three rats remained very still, making eerie chittering sounds and slowly turning their heads from side to side in a searching motion.
Brandon sensed another presence to his right. He turned his head very slowly and discovered that the wall beside him had opened onto a lush, tropical rain forest. The green landscape was tinged with a faint but noticeable golden glow. In the tree closest to him, Brandon noticed a giant sloth gazing at him as it hung lazily from a large branch.
“Don’t move,” the sloth said. Its voice was deep and rich, and the tone of its command made Brandon obey without hesitation. “Don’t make a sound or move an inch. If they hear you, they will attack.”
Brandon followed the sloth’s advice and remained frozen in place. The rats didn’t move, but continued to chitter excitedly, stopping simultaneously every few seconds to move their heads and listen.
How long will I have to stand here? Brandon thought to himself.
Sensing his thoughts, the sloth replied. “Not very long. They will soon move along to continue their hunt.”
Would they eat me? Brandon asked silently.
“They most certainly would,” the sloth said. “A small boy like you, with no protection or knowledge of the world you are living in…? Yes, they would eat you, and be pleased with their good fortune at finding such a tasty morsel.”
After a few tense moments, the rats abruptly dug down into the floor, disappearing as quickly as they had materialized. As they vanished, Brandon felt the golden glow from the rain forest begin to fade as well. He looked toward the sloth, but the jungle scene was slowly fading as the bathroom wall began to reappear.
“Farewell, young one,” the sloth said, raising one arm. “I will see you again soon.”
What is this place? Brandon asked. Where are you going?
The sloth chuckled. “It is you who are going, Brandon. This is a dream, and you are leaving this place to go back to your other dream.”
I feel like I’m waking up, Brandon thought.
“So young, and so naive,” the sloth said. “You are simply moving from one dream into another; goodbye for now.”
Brandon opened his eyes and found himself lying on his bunk. The other students were waking up around him. He felt like he’d only been asleep for a few moments, but the night had passed entirely.
It was time for his first day of gaming lessons
Chapter 9
The mess hall was a huge, underground cavern with tall walls and a rough natural stone ceiling. It looked like the great halls described in books that Brandon’s last teacher used to love to read to the class. He imagined bats or owls suddenly swooping from the dark rafters and causing havoc.
Brandon was an instant celebrity among the rest of the facility, but it hadn’t been a positive thing so far. He sat alone at a table in the back, ignored by the other students as they laughed and joked around him throughout the giant room.
An older student bumped Brandon’s table as he walked past. “This the baby superstar?” he asked his friends as he passed. The other boys laughed and slapped the student on the back.
“More like a toddler,” Brandon said.
The student stopped, turned around, and walked back to Brandon, towering over him. “What did you say, snot?” he asked.
Brandon stuffed his mouth full of food, then looked up at the boy with a big smile on his face. “I said,” he crunched loudly, food dribbling down his chin as he spoke, “That I’m more like a toddler. I’m almost out of diapers; that’s how I know I’m not a baby.”
The other kids laughed at Brandon’s joke, but the main boy silenced them with a dark scowl.
The boy leaned forward until he was only inches from Brandon’s face. He was tall with brown hair and dark eyes. He looked around 13 or 14, his nose was normal width and length, and cruel, thin lips formed a straight line as he glared at Brandon. “I hope by some strange miracle that you advance enough to face me in the Games, little one. When I’m done with you, you’ll be wearing diapers for the rest of your life.”
Brandon said nothing. Instead, he continued to smile and chew loudly, not appearing concerned that an older and much larger boy was in his face uttering threats.
“Come on, Lohkam,” one of the other boys said. “Leave the brat alone. He’ll wipe out of trials and be gone before the week is out.”
“Yeah, Lohkam,” Brandon said. “Leave the superstar alone. Save it for the Games. I’ll never catch up to a smart guy like you.”
Lohkam glared silently, then straightened up and smiled at his friends. “I hope you do, puke,” he said to Brandon as he walked away.
Brandon smiled and continued eating. He was just finishing up when a silence swept over the room. Five men walked into the dining hall, casually strolling through the room as if they owned the place. They were talking and laughing as they walked, calling out names and exchanging comments with students. It seemed like everyone in the room knew who these men were, and adored them.
Brandon leaned over and got the attention of a girl at the table beside him. “Who are those guys?”
“Those are the A’s,” she said. “The right hand of the A’s.”
Brandon looked at the men in awe; of course everyone knew who they were. Brandon had never dreamed of seeing them this close up.
Each year, a group of Centre children turned 18 and were released from the Centre as adults. Their years of training and conditioning often resulted in them entering the military where they excelled over their peers. The best graduates were offered prestigious positions working directly for General Donovan. Each year he selected graduates to fill 20 spots. Not all were filled from this Centre; there were many Centres around the country for the General to select from. The twenty spots were broken down into four groups of five, and named after the body. Five became the right hand, five the left hand, five the heart, and five the soul. Collectively they were known as the Avatar of the General. When it was announced to the public that the General had infiltrated a rebel group and destroyed them, or the General was delivering supplies to assist a starving nation, these elite groups were the ones they were speaking about. No one knew for certain how many Avatars of the General currently operated in the field, but they were given letters to distinguish them. Brandon could recall
hearing about Avatar H one time on the news.
The A’s were the best of the best, and the Right Hand of the General were the top five of that group of twenty.
That’s who Brandon was looking at in the mess hall; the five most skilled soldiers in the entire world.
Brandon sat in his seat and silently watched them from the back of the room. It became apparent that the Hand of the General had a leader, and that’s who Brandon found himself watching the most.
He was a tall muscular man who appeared to be in his late twenties. His skin was tanned with a few white scars visible on various parts of his body; his features were sharp and handsome. His short cropped hair was white and looked stylish despite its messy appearance as it stood up at various angles. Even from this distance the man’s most remarkable characteristic were his eyes. They were a blue colour unlike any that Brandon had seen before, and they twinkled with clever mischief wherever they looked.
Brandon watched the General’s Right Hand work the room until it was time to go to class. As he stood up to leave the room, he heard a friendly voice from behind him.
“Nervous on your first day?”
Brandon turned around to find himself face to face with the man he’d been watching. Brandon wanted to say something witty, but he couldn’t seem to make any sound.
The man grinned, and continued to speak. He was obviously used to receiving this type of reaction. “I wanted to come over and meet you, young man. It’s Brandon, right?”
Brandon recovered his voice and answered. “Yes, sir,” he said.
The two shook hands. Brandon swore that he felt a tingling in his hand from the contact.
“Don’t call me sir,” the man said. “I’m not some old fart. Call me by my name; I’m Cooper.”
“Oh, I know who you are, sir. I mean, Cooper.” Brandon said.
Cooper smiled and slapped the boy on the shoulder. “We got here late today, and you likely have to get to your class.”
Brandon nodded.
Interlude-Brandon (The Game is Life) Page 3
