“I’m drawing a blank here,” he said.
The cursor popped back and erased his asterisk.
A final idea occurred to him. If the guy wasn’t anywhere, maybe he was nowhere. He could query for employees with blank location data. It was likely a fruitless play, but he had nothing else. He was famished and needed to get out of the system before someone caught him. Before hitting Enter he modified the command so it would log out and dump the logs after returning the search result.
He dressed himself and went to shave his scruff off. The bathroom mirror began feeding out ads.
Gotta find the cord for this one.
Fireworks exploded out of the mirror and a voice announced his choices for “Ringing in the New Year.” The voice jabbered about various ballroom parties throughout the ship.
I should ask Katy.
That was the proper thing to do. Make plans, go out, do things. He was, after all, going to be here for months. He couldn’t just loaf around the spa and visit her at the gaming pods.
As he went through his grooming, the New Year’s ad shuffled off to be replaced with one for cosmetic surgery, then specialty mood-altering cocktails, then a Mixed Martial Arts event, and finally the VR Gaming Tournament. He ignored the tournament ad as always and left the bathroom and then his room.
As he strolled down the hallway and off to the dining quarter, a couple of old men nodded and said hello to him. Then a younger couple also waved. He found it odd.
Am I putting out a warmer vibe?
He walked the synth-stone hallways until his nose caught the wafting scent of pizza. He followed it to a service window and ordered a slice.
“Here you go, Mr. Baylor,” said the clerk.
He took a bite while leaning up against the small counter.
“Mmmm, nothing like the printed stuff,” he said.
“Oh, no. That’s stuff’s the worst,” she said in agreement.
She’s friendly.
It was the best pizza slice he’d ever eaten.
A couple walked by with a child in tow. They were discussing what to eat, and the boy looked at Alvin. He was wearing an old pair of oversized Opti-Comp goggles and grabbed at his parents for attention. Together they all looked at Alvin and waved.
He smiled and waved back.
What is going on?
He looked at his reflection in the mirrored window of the pizza shop. A quick peep of his face highlighted it with a yellow selection box. A pop-up showed his name and declared him the current favorite in the VR tournament. The Hope had updated his records. People thought he was going to play. They were rooting for him.
Oh hell.
He peeped the tournament details in his Opti-Comp for the first time. There was a portrait of Rick Zuck and a bunch of blank spots.
Shithead, asshole.
The pot was two hundred million in U.S. coin—eight times the cost of his apartment. It was chump change to The Hope’s travelers. To Alvin it would mean never working a day again. He could return to Earth, sell his home, and move to South America.
He stared at the glowing golden button that said, “Enter the Fray.”
Alteris might not like the attention, but it was harmless. Besides, he’d been told to enjoy himself. Worst-case scenario, if they reneged on the agreement for the apartment, he could tell them to fuck off—so long as he won.
If I lose, I’ll still be the same schmuck.
It was a risk, but the payoff would be life changing.
This is a second chance.
He selected the golden button and prerecorded cheers erupted. All at once, the walls of the ship displayed a new ad for the tournament. It showed his portrait and Zuck’s. The other players were still blank.
Nothing like jumping in with both feet.
The Hope had multiple bustling parties on New Year’s Eve. The ballrooms were so packed with revelers that long lines ran out each doorway. Alvin squirmed in his rented tuxedo jacket as he and Katy walked across the synth-stone floor.
Fucking crowds.
He had been invited to the most exclusive party after enrolling in the tournament. The invite listed The Hope’s owner, Chan Xi-Michaels, as the host. There were billionaires who couldn’t get into the room, and though Alvin was not keen on bumping elbows with The Hope’s luminaries, he figured it would impress Katy.
As they approached the ballroom at the end of the hall, he didn’t see a line streaming out the door; instead there were armed guards. They wore tuxedo jackets with their gold-plated rifles.
He grimaced and stretched his arms out in front of him. The fabric wanted to give.
“It’s not supposed to be comfortable,” said Katy. “It’s for looking good.”
“What’s wrong with both? I can hardly put my arms out,” he said.
They approached the door and the guards nodded politely.
“Welcome, Mr. Baylor,” said one of them.
Alvin nodded hello with relief as they entered the room. Then he stopped in place, stunned by the sea of partygoers ahead of them.
“C’mon,” said Katy as she cut through the crowd.
He kept his eyes on her in her stunning blue dress. Plenty of other eyes were on her, too, and he found himself sending dagger stares. She looked back and frowned at his antics.
“You need a drink,” she said.
As they made their way across the room, Alvin heard a shrill laugh.
At the center of the room, Chan Xi-Michaels was holding court. His cherubic face towered over the surrounding guests. A floppy black bowl cut topped the smile. Alvin could hear a whirring sound mixed with the high-pitched laugh as they got closer. He saw wheels down on the floor where Xi-Michaels’s feet should have been. The cluster of sycophants around him obscured the rest of his body.
“That’s him. Is he on a scooter or something?” whispered Alvin.
“No. I heard he had an accident a few years back. Those are his feet,” said Katy.
A waiter walked by carrying a tray of champagne. Alvin snatched two flutes and nodded in thanks. He handed one to Katy.
“Shit,” he said. “There’s Zuck.”
He motioned to a table in the corner. Zuck hadn’t seen them yet. He was talking to a heavyset black woman in a cardinal’s frock.
“Is that Oona?” Alvin asked.
“Oona Amaru, first female cardinal of the Catholic church? Yep, that’s her. She bet big money on Zuck before you made the cut.”
“Great. Let’s not go over there.”
“That’s fine. I’m not here to dote on the rich and spoiled. I’m here to be with you,” said Katy.
“Say no more.” He smiled.
Zuck finally looked over and saw them. He smirked.
Alvin glared back and Katy tugged his arm to take him in another direction through the crowd.
“That looks cozy,” she said, pointing to a roped-off corner of the room covered by a satin overhang. Underneath were several unoccupied booths. They made their way to the ropes, where an usher eyeballed them before letting them into the covered area. They took a seat at a black-velvet banquette in the corner.
“So when are you gonna start practicing? You can’t just chat me up at the pods if you wanna win,” she said.
“I just decided today. I’ll start soon.”
“C’mon, Al. You’re ready to rumble. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I’ll start training day after next.”
“You gotta go after things or they don’t happen,” she said.
“I know. Look, sometimes I just want to hide away from everyone.”
“We’re doing that now. When you get over your hangover tomorrow, go hit the pods.”
“Okay, Mom.” He chortled.
“They’re going to be gunning for you. Zuck especially,” she said.
“He takes it too seriously.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Point taken. I’ll come by and start practicing.”
“Don’t worry, Al. Tonight, we’ll just drink the
free champagne.”
“Cheers,” he said.
They clinked glasses and guzzled down the first drink.
“Two hundred million’s a heck of a lot of coin for folks like us,” she said.
She’s using the word “us” now.
“Chump change to this crowd,” he said. “They’ll make more betting on the match than I can make winning it. And if I do, more than half will go to taxes and fees. The rest—well, I guess I could retire in Chile.”
“I hear Antarctica is melting and flooding the coast,” she said.
“That’s why it’s affordable.”
She laughed then said, “Oh my god—look at the fashion show over there.”
She pointed to an elephantine man holding his wife’s purse. He was wearing a white tux with advertising patches all over it. His wife was dressed in orange that matched her husband’s hair. She gesticulated drunkenly while speaking to a group of Chinese in transparent plastic suits with multicolored fabrics beneath. They complimented one another on their attire.
“That guy looks like a parade balloon,” said Alvin.
“Maybe his wife’s purse is weighted to keep him from floating away,” she said.
As if he heard them talking, the man looked over. He smiled and waved, then fashioned his fingers into gun barrels and pantomimed shooting at Alvin.
“Uh-oh, you got a fan,” she said.
“Yeah, I seem to be picking ’em up lately.”
A waiter came by and offered more champagne flutes.
“To new fans,” said Katy.
They clinked glasses.
“Enough about me,” he said. “Where were you before you came to The Hope?”
“I was in China . . . for a while.”
“Oh, really? Must’ve helped you get this job.”
“The truth is I’m ready for a change,” she said.
He wondered if she was just on The Hope to land a whale and retire.
“So what’s next for you?” he asked.
“I’ve gotta get back to Earth. I need to pay off a debt. That’s why I took this. Pay’s good, so long as I live lean up here.”
“I can wine and dine you and call it company business for a little while.”
“I won’t stop you,” she said.
“So what will you do when you get back?”
“I don’t know. I never finished school. Without a degree I don’t have many options.”
“I didn’t finish, either.”
“I think it’s different for men. People feel sorry for you. Too ADHD and aggro to help yourself and all. Women have to make it on their own.”
“Hey, I didn’t get my gig on charity.”
“No, of course not. That came out wrong. I think you’re different.”
“How so?”
“You’re the one holding yourself back.”
Her words felt like a gut punch.
“I’m know. I’m lost.”
“Everybody is, Al, but they don’t have the luxury of complaining. You have a gift you should be using.”
“I tried. I was kicked to the curb. I guess I’ve been lying in the gutter all this time.”
“You’ve got a second chance now. Take it.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good.”
They spent the next hour getting drunk and cozy until the man in the patches stomped up to the table.
“Mr. Alvin Baylor, put ’er there!” he shouted with a thrust of his hand.
Alvin was boozed up and met the man’s handshake with gusto.
“I hear you’re a regular ringer. Social says you used to play in college.” His voice slowed as he got to the end of each sentence. He kept pumping Alvin’s hand up and down.
“I did play in college,” said Alvin.
He looked over at Katy, who smiled politely, then back at the man, who was still holding on and saying, “Yeah, that’s what I hear. They say the smart money’s on you.”
“I can’t say if the money is smart. I just play,” said Alvin.
“Hah! Hahahaha!”
His laugh was sickening, but he let go of Alvin’s hand.
“If you’ll excuse us, we were just going to dance,” said Alvin.
He got up from the table and cut in front of the man on his way to Katy. She stood and the man looked her up and down with a lascivious expression.
“Ooooh! My money’s on you, Zeus!” he shouted at Alvin’s back as they disappeared into the crowd.
“Horrifying,” whispered Katy.
“Hold me,” said Alvin with hound-dog eyes.
She laughed and they slow-footed it among the other dancers. It was near midnight, Beijing time, and the vid screens began their countdown. The room went still and the crowd began counting backward as the number ten lit up a thousand times across every surface in the room. As the numbers reached zero, the shout went out.
“Happy New Year!”
Every inch of vid-screen-paneled wall, floor, and ceiling pulled back to reveal the stars outside. This ballroom had real windows. Chan Xi-Michaels’s laughter could be heard above the gasps.
Alvin and Katy kissed as “Auld Lang Syne” began playing. They danced in silence among the crowd. The light of a thousand stars sparkled in her blue eyes.
After a few songs, the room began to thin and Alvin could see the cardinal from Chicago, Oona Amaru, over Katy’s shoulder. Zuck was gone. Oona beckoned Alvin with a wave.
“Oona calls,” he whispered to Katy.
“It might be easier to indulge her. She likes her way.”
“Okay, I’m drunk, anyway,” he said.
They walked over to the table. Oona was upbeat. She looked cartoonish with a tiny cardinal’s hat perched upon a giant afro. She was seated with a petite woman dressed in a revealing set of black straps. The woman could barely keep her head up.
“Why hello, Mr. Baylor! It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please,” she said motioning for them to sit. “And a hello to you, Ms. . . . ?”
“Katy’s fine. Your friend looks a little tired.”
“She’ll be fine. We’ve had a long day.”
Oona laughed and rubbed the girl’s thigh with a fat hand. The woman’s head wobbled and her mascara ran down her cheeks.
Katy’s eyes narrowed at the scene and Alvin second-guessed the decision to chat.
“Your Eminence, it’s getting late, perhaps . . .” he began.
“Oh, nonsense, it’s New Year’s Eve.” She pushed the words off her tongue with regal countenance. “Call me Oona. They say you’re a favorite in the tournament.”
“That’s what I hear,” said Alvin.
“Yes, people do talk. Earlier, I was discussing the very topic with my friends Rick Zuck and Chan Xi-Michaels. Chan was disappointed that he didn’t get to meet you tonight.”
“He seemed occupied. I didn’t feel it was my place to interrupt.”
“Yes, we all have our place, but tonight you belong here. That could change, of course.” Oona kept her smile.
“I imagine it will if I don’t perform, but you shouldn’t worry about that. It’s up to me,” said Alvin.
Oona laughed and puffed her chest out.
“You are an interesting man, Mr. Baylor. Are you so sure of yourself?”
“I am when it counts.”
He felt his blood pressure rising. Katy stood still, wearing a barely neutral expression.
“Oh, how very masculine,” said Oona. She turned to her girl-toy and said, “Don’t you think?”
The woman nodded, but she didn’t know to what.
“Well, Oona. It was illuminating, but it is getting late.”
Alvin pressed his hands on the table, preparing to leave.
“Oh, don’t go, Mr. Baylor. Stay, entertain me with your thoughts. What makes Alvin Baylor tick?”
“Hmm, maybe it’s aggression?” He cocked his head slightly.
“Aggression? I thought we’d taken care of that with grade school medications,” she said.
“How charming. I respect all people, even men who’ve skipped their doses.”
He sneered at her and she leaned back and smiled.
“Al . . . let’s go.” Katy grabbed his arm.
“But she wants to know what makes me tick . . . tock, isn’t that right?”
His gaze was square on Oona.
“Please, indulge me with your experience,” said the cardinal.
“The struggle is won by the most aggressive participants. It’s nature’s way, not man’s.”
“A reasonable misunderstanding, Mr. Baylor, but cunning has always been the determining factor. You’re not going to win. Richard has already topped your score. Isn’t that right?” said Oona.
Alvin looked at Katy questioningly. She nodded.
“Good for him,” said Alvin. “Now excuse us, please, we have to go fuck and I think you have some business of your own.”
He motioned toward the passed-out woman at the table.
Oona Amaru maintained her smile. “Of course. Don’t let that booze go to your head. We want you to make the tournament.”
His head set lower; eyes glaring.
“He’ll be there,” said Katy. She pulled Alvin away.
“So Zuck passed me?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to upset you, so I didn’t say anything.” She hugged him tight as they walked toward the exit. He was rigid with anger. Katy said, “Don’t let her get to you. She’s worried about the money she bet. I don’t think they expected someone like you to come along and spoil the fun.”
“She can have fun losing,” he said.
“You’re one hell of player, Al, but don’t be naïve. They won’t just let you win.”
He stopped at the door and gave one last glance to the star-speckled ballroom.
“You’re right. I’ll see you at the pods tomorrow. I’m gonna go get some rest.”
Alvin awoke on New Year’s Day with a hangover. It irritated him. His thoughts were focused on the tournament.
Posting the high score had lasted all of a week. If he didn’t cut back, lose the gut, and get himself tuned up, he wasn’t going to take down a twenty-year pro like Rick Zuck. He needed to practice.
He ordered up a can of Refuel from room service and got himself dressed. It was time to take the tournament seriously. Time to kick the boozing. He had nearly six months of Katy and the good life ahead of him. There was no reason to stay drunk.
Alvin Baylor Lives!_A 21st Century Pulp Page 9
