Reaper

by Janet Edwards

  “What about you, Jex?” Hawk’s voice dragged me back to reality.

  I hesitated before reluctantly replying. “I signed up for the career path route to becoming a doctor.”

  “Something went wrong?” There was a sympathetic note in Hawk’s voice. “You didn’t get a place on the training course?”

  I couldn’t talk about how I’d been robbed of my future as a doctor now. Not when I’d just been robbed of my future in Game as well. I dodged the question. “I got a place on the course, but not all the medical cadets make it through to the end of training and qualify as doctors. I was dropped from the course a year ago.”

  “So you’ve been doing the same as Nathan since then, saving up for your annual and lifetime Game subscriptions?” asked Hawk.

  “Yah,” I said.

  “Women have a big advantage when it comes to saving up for their lifetime Game subscriptions though,” said Nathan. “They can use the baby bonus shortcut. Men don’t get paid anything for fathering children.”

  Given I’d just been thinking about the problems my mother had had returning to the real world, I couldn’t help glaring at him. “Nathan, fathering a child just involves giving consent for your DNA sample to be used. Are you really claiming a man should get the same bonus payment as the mother who has to spend a year in real life having the baby?”

  Nathan took a nervous step backwards. “Point,” he acknowledged. “I just meant that you could earn a lot of credits very quickly. Especially if the doctors decide it’s safe for you to have twins. Are you rated for twins, Jex?”

  “I’m not sharing my medical history with you, Nathan,” I said coldly.

  Actually, I was twin rated. My mother had a health issue that made the doctors restrict her to having single pregnancies. I’d expected to have inherited the same problem, but was pleasantly surprised when I had my sixteenth birthday assessment. My tests all came back clear, and the doctors were happy to rate me for twins.

  I realized I was being unfair to Nathan. He didn’t know how much my mother had loathed her time in the real world having a baby, or how it had affected her relationship with me.

  “I think I’d like to have children eventually,” I added in a friendlier voice, “but not because of the baby bonus. My father was a good parent, calling me every week from Game. I’d like to do the same for my own children one day.”

  Even as I said the words, a new thought hit me. It would be unfair of me to have children now, because having a Game reject for a mother would be a blight on their future. I was hit by a wave of emotion that was oddly similar to how I’d felt when I heard my father was dead.

  Fortunately Hawk didn’t ask me any more questions, just wandered across to the nearest freezer unit. He put out a golden hand as if about to clear the grime from the viewing window, but abruptly frowned and moved away again.

  “There’s something deeply disturbing about this place,” he said. “My life in Game has always seemed totally real to me. I’m standing in my castle right now, wearing a virtual visor that shows me the view from this droid’s eyes, a microphone that transmits my voice, and a sensor net that makes the droid copy my movements.”

  I was startled by Hawk’s mention of a castle, though I shouldn’t have been. Ordinary players in Game had a house that varied in design depending on the particular world where the player was a resident, but I knew the rules were different for Founder Players. They had diamond bracelets, their own private world of Celestius which no other players were allowed to enter, and castles in the air rather than houses on the ground.

  Hawk was still talking. “I’m seeing freezer units that hold the frozen bodies of players, and thinking that somewhere there’s a freezer unit holding my own frozen physical body. I could take this droid to that freezer unit, and stand looking down at myself. I could even touch my own body. Which one of me would be real then? The virtual Hawk in Game, the droid I’m controlling, or the frozen body that I left behind four hundred years ago?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, just gave a violent shake of his head. “I’d like to leave the body stacks now and see where you live. Could you take me to your rooms?”

  I exchanged panic stricken glances with Nathan. The idea of showing our rooms to Hawk was deeply embarrassing, but we couldn’t refuse a request from a legendary Founder Player.

  “If that’s all right,” said Hawk.

  “Yah.” Nathan’s voice had an odd, strangled note. “It’s just that we’ll get into trouble if we leave work before the end of our shift.”

  “I’ll make arrangements with your supervisors,” said Hawk. “Moment.”

  He glanced sideways, as if he was looking at something we couldn’t see. There was a long pause and then he nodded. “That’s all sorted. Let’s go.”

  Hawk walked away in the direction of the nearest transport stop, moving at the usual rapid, tireless pace of controlled droids. Nathan and I shared another look of despair before getting on our buggies and driving after him.

  There was a four-person pod waiting at the transport stop. I didn’t bother trying to work out whether Hawk had arrived in it, or summoned it when he was making arrangements with our supervisor. My mind was fully occupied with picturing the state of my room when I left for work, particularly the heap of discarded clothes on my unmade bed. I was desperately trying to work out the crucial point of whether my underwear had been on top of the overalls or hidden underneath them. I had a bad feeling that the underwear was on top.

  Hawk paused by the massive black cube of the transport stop vending machine, and studied the slowly scrolling display of its contents and prices. “Sandwiches. Soap. Socks. Sweets. Does this machine really sell all these things?”

  “Yah,” said Nathan. “Things like overalls and phones too. You can order items that aren’t in the basic range as well, but those get delivered to your room.”

  “Do you buy all your things from these machines then?” asked Hawk.

  “Most things except food,” I said. “I’d rather eat the vending machine socks than the sandwiches.”

  Hawk finally lost interest in the vending machine, and we all climbed into the pod. “Where are we going first?” he asked.

  I wanted to get the embarrassment over with as quickly as possible. “We can go to my room first. It’s in one of the nearest big accommodation blocks.”

  I punched numbers into the pod guidance system, and it started moving.

  “If we’re going to meet a lot of people in this accommodation block, then I’d better change back to being the bird,” said Hawk. “I don’t want to attract a crowd of onlookers.”

  I glanced at the time display on the pod guidance system. “I doubt if anyone will see us at all. The kids on the same shift as me will all be at work, and those on the alternate shift will be asleep.”

  “What about the career cadets and anyone who isn’t working today?” asked Hawk.

  “Cadets have rooms in special class A accommodation blocks, and kids work every day unless they’re having medical treatment,” I said.

  There was total silence for the next few minutes. When our pod stopped, I led the way onto the platform, past the broken double doors that had been stuck open for the last three weeks, and through a maze of corridors to my room. Once I’d punched my combination into the lock, I opened the door and sprinted across to the clothes strewn on the bed. My underwear was, as I’d feared, on top of the overalls, but it just took one lightning movement of my hand to yank the sheet down to cover the whole lot.

  I relaxed, turned round, and was filled with embarrassment again as I saw both Nathan and Hawk were looking at the set of Game pictures on my wall. The droid Hawk had a bemused expression on his face as he studied the image of his Game self fighting the Kraken. Nathan was examining the picture next to that, which showed the silver-haired Jex on Ganymede.

  Depression overwhelmed me, sweeping away trivial emotions like embarrassment. For the last year, I’d been looking at that image of the f
uture Jex on my wall, dreaming of walking the beaches of Ganymede, fantasizing about spending time with my father and getting to know him better.

  Perhaps the fantasies about my father had always been unrealistic. Most people would say he’d more than fulfilled his obligations to me by calling me regularly when I was a child and offering to act as my sponsor when I entered Game. They’d say it was unreasonable of me to hope that he’d spend time with me when I was a player as well. I’d never know the truth now that my father was dead.

  The sound of Hawk’s voice intruded on my misery. “You work a twelve-hour shift each day, Jex, but you can’t afford a better room than this?”

  I stared blankly at the Hawk droid for a moment, then realized he’d finally torn himself away from the image of himself fighting the Kraken, and was looking round at the rest of my room. My brain gradually made sense of his question and I forced myself to answer.

  “When you’re a cadet, all your food and accommodation is provided, so you only get a modest payment in credits. I didn’t save much of that, because I expected to have my subscriptions paid for me when I entered Game. When I was dropped in mid-training, I was left with just under a year to save enough credits to pay my first annual subscription to Game, so I had to get the cheapest possible room.”

  “I’d no idea that teenagers would be so focused on paying Game subscriptions,” said Hawk. “Volunteers for the ten year trial period of Game didn’t have to pay anything, and we were all credited with lifetime subscriptions when Game opened to the general public. I’ve plenty of friends who aren’t Founder Players, but they all paid their lifetime subscriptions long ago.”

  He studied the shelf with my store of nutrient bars. “I hope these things aren’t all you get to eat.”

  Nathan seemed to have worked out that I was upset, because he answered that question for me. “We get our meals and sandwich packs from food outlets.”

  Hawk nodded. “I can hear a strange thumping noise.”

  “That’s the plumbing,” I said wearily. “The main circulation pump for this accommodation block is on the other side of my wall. I get an extra discount off my room rent because of the noise.”

  Hawk turned to look at the Game pictures on my wall again. “You’re thinking of starting in Game on Ganymede, Jex?”

  “Yah, but that’s not possible now.”

  “Why not?” asked Hawk.

  “My father was a resident of Ganymede and was going to sponsor me, but now he’s dead and ...” Another wave of emotion hit me. I let the words trail off and rubbed moisture from my eyes.

  “There are very strong feelings in Game about the deaths in the Avalon world crash,” said Hawk. “I’m sure Ganymede will honour your father’s memory by offering resident status to his daughter.”

  I was sure Ganymede would be willing to offer me resident status for my father’s sake, right up until the Admission Committee saw my Game record and discovered Unilaw had questioned me about the bombing. After that, they’d never let me set foot on the sands of their beaches. Hawk obviously didn’t understand that, and I was in no state to explain it to him.

  Hawk turned towards the door. “Thank you for showing me your room, Jex. It’s helped me understand just how much teenagers focus their lives on their futures in Game, and how angry they must have been to have to wait an extra year to start living their dreams. Can we all move on to Nathan’s room now?”

  Nathan and Hawk headed out of the door. Hawk’s words showed he expected me to go with them, but I hesitated. My phone was still lying on my bed, and its message light was flashing. If we ended up going back to the body stacks, and my buggy detected I had a phone with me, then I’d lose my job, but that flashing light might mean my mother had sent me a message about my father’s death.

  I couldn’t walk away from that flashing light. If Hawk took us back to the body stacks, I’d just have to throw this phone away and buy another from a vending machine later. I grabbed the phone, stuffed it into the pocket of my overalls, and chased after Hawk and Nathan.

  When we arrived back at the transport stop and stepped into a pod, I hoped I’d have the chance to check my phone messages on the journey, but I was out of luck. Nathan’s room turned out to be in another of this cluster of accommodation blocks, so the pod had barely finished accelerating before it was braking again.

  I could see a tense, embarrassed expression on Nathan’s face as he led us to his room. I wondered if it was because he’d left clothes on display as well, or because his room was hideously untidy. Nathan didn’t seem the type of boy to have decorated his room with pictures of semi-naked women.

  He opened the door, we went inside, and I blinked in shock. Nathan’s room was larger than mine because this was a class C accommodation block. There was a neatly made bed, and one wall with shelves holding obsessively well-organized piles of clothes and possessions. It was the other three walls that stunned me. Every inch of them was covered with pieces of paper, each one holding what seemed to be a hand-drawn image of a player or creature from Game.

  I took a step closer to the nearest wall, and saw there were notes written on the papers too. Comments about things like shapeshifting to water form made sense to me, but there were a lot of abbreviations and what I guessed were technical terms as well. I was awed by how much time Nathan must have spent working on these, and then I remembered that the buggies in the body stacks scanned us for forbidden electronic devices like phones, but would ignore simple paper and pencils.

  “I see you’re aiming to become a Game Tech, Nathan,” said Hawk. “Is that another reason you didn’t sign up for a career path? You have to be free of other commitments to apply to become a Game Tech?”

  “Yah,” Nathan said swiftly, using the defensive tones of someone who’d suffered a lot of cruel teasing about his ambition. “I know that the candidates who make it through the application screening phase can have to wait decades or even centuries before they’re actually recruited as Game Techs. I’m also well aware that nine out of ten candidates will never be recruited at all, but my dream is to help design new Game worlds one day so ...”

  He broke off for a moment, clearly struggling with his emotions, then spoke again in a calmer voice. “Official Game policy is to keep everything about world and creature creation totally secret from players to avoid spoiling their Game experience. That means the Game design courses in schools only teach the very basics, but I’ve been trying to work things out for myself.”

  Hawk glanced up at the ceiling. “I can see that.”

  I looked up at the ceiling myself, and was stunned to see that was covered with papers as well. Now I knew why Nathan never complained about the boredom of working in the body stacks. I knew why he was so incredibly knowledgeable about all the different Game worlds. I knew the reason he wanted to start in Game on a brand new world with all the latest advances in worldscape and creature design. All Nathan’s oddities made far more sense now.

  “Have you put in your Game Tech application yet?” asked Hawk.

  “Yah,” said Nathan, in a depressed voice. “Candidates enter their applications and take their screening tests a few months before they enter Game. I was called in for mine before the Leebrook Ashton bill increased the age for entering Game. I scored very highly on the technical aptitude test, and the personality assessment test rated me extremely suitable, so I made it through the application screening phase.”

  Hawk stepped closer to one of the walls, studied a piece of paper, and then moved on to a second and a third. I grabbed my chance to sneak my phone out of my pocket, and furtively checked my messages.

  There were two text messages. The first message was the official notification of my father’s death. It said that as his next of kin, I would be informed of funeral arrangements in due course.

  The other message was from the girl who lived in the room next to mine. There was nothing from my mother. It was foolish of me to have thought there might be. My mother always avoided anything unpl
easant, and you couldn’t get more unpleasant than my father’s death.

  I automatically checked the message from my neighbour, expecting it to be about meeting for a meal tomorrow, and was shocked by the words I saw. “Get out of here before the rest of us force you to leave.”

  I didn’t understand how my neighbour knew I’d been questioned about the Avalon bombing, but then I remembered the boy who’d seen me dragged off by the Unilaw droid. He’d have guessed that was connected with the bombing, told all the kids in neighbouring rooms, and the news would have spread rapidly round our accommodation block and beyond.

  I didn’t know any of the kids in my accommodation block very well – I’d left all my true friends behind when I was dropped from my medical training – so they’d naturally react by ordering me to leave. It wouldn’t matter whether they thought I was innocent or guilty. They’d be afraid that just living on the same corridor as me, or saying hello to me in passing, would get them dragged in for questioning by Unilaw as my accomplice.

  I bit my lip. Once I got back to my room, I’d have to pack my things and leave. I’d probably find myself jobless within days as well.

  “I’m sure you’ve a very good chance of being recruited as a Game Tech, Nathan,” said Hawk. “You must be exceptionally gifted to have worked out so much about Game creatures that you’ve only seen in replays of Game events.”

  “Yah, but ...”

  Nathan broke off his sentence, seemed to hesitate for a second, and then his expression changed to that of someone about to make a desperate gamble. I realized he was going to explain about the problem with our Game records, and appeal to Hawk to help us.

  I felt my hands clench in tension. I hated the idea of begging anyone for help, and it was horribly presumptuous of us to make demands on a Founder Player like Hawk, but this was the only hope for both Nathan and me. If Hawk would just put a few words on our Game records, say that we’d been helpful, it would change everything for us.

  I listened intently as Nathan started talking, ready to join in with my own plea. “When we were questioned by Unilaw,” Nathan began, “that ...”