Alvin Baylor Lives!

by Maximilian Gray

  Alvin sighed and dropped his attempts to communicate. He didn’t want to be in the news, either; the attention could upset Alteris. Best to shut up now.

  “Relax. I’m here to promote The Hope, lady,” said Vance. “I don’t need to print anyone’s dirty laundry.”

  “You can print mine,” said Chico.

  Vance nodded with a smile and resumed talking. “So answer the esteemed cardinal’s question. What’s the prediction that required a team phase be added for entertainment?”

  A worried Chow looked toward Xi-Michaels and received a nod.

  “Thirteen seconds,” said Chow. “Data analysis predicts that Alvin Baylor wins in thirteen seconds.”

  The stunned group turned to stare at Alvin.

  He gave an awkward half smile and pointed at Zuck. “He’s the one who predicted it.”

  The table turned to look at the ex-pro and now data magnate.

  “I’ve seen bad analysis and that’s what this reeks of,” whined Holloway.

  “I don’t care what the computer says, I am a champion,” said Chico.

  “Richard, why didn’t you tell me this?” asked Oona.

  “Sometimes the algorithm gets it wrong . . .” said Zuck.

  “Mr. Zuck, would you care to explain the vagaries of fuzzy data analysis?” asked Chow.

  Zuck shook his head.

  “Hot damn,” said Vance. “So what are you charging people for?”

  Zuck snapped at the comment. “My data is always accurate. This is an extreme case . . . the calculation—”

  Xi-Michaels cut him off. “This is an indicator we must respect. We will ensure an excellent show for our spectators!” His face drew into the widest smile yet. For the first time his white-gloved hands rose up into the hologram, and he clapped quickly in a gesture of completion. “Thank you, everyone. Mr. Chow, please make sure our guests have very pleasant meal. But don’t eat too much before competition!” He laughed shrilly and his holo disappeared.

  Chow bit his lower lip as he looked at the players. The group exchanged pensive, angry stares. Then Chow took a deep breath and raised his arms. The doors behind him opened up as the waitstaff entered bearing the first course.

  “Oh yes!” said Vance.

  Alvin looked around the table as the food was served. Oona and Zuck regained their composure in front of the help. The others ignored him, except Noura Al-Tahtawi, who returned his stare. Her eyes were smiling from the black niqab. She seemed to be enjoying the chaos.

  Sixteen

  The next morning Alvin reported to the entertainment deck for the tournament. A row of male and female dancers performed a kick line around the pods while virtual fireworks exploded from the walls. There were a smattering of old ladies and young kids, but the crowd appeared to be mostly crew. He hung back while Katy and the other game attendants began putting the players in their pods. Anton Vance ran from pod to pod trying to get quotes from everyone. When the rest were all in, Katy walked over to him and led him to his pod. Vance jogged along with her.

  “Baylor, any final words before the match?” said Vance.

  “No.”

  “You’re the only working man in the contest, does that give you extra motivation?”

  “No. I enjoy competition, that’s all.”

  “Is it really competition when the odds have you so far ahead?”

  Alvin stopped at the door to his pod, one leg in. “What’s the difference? I still need to beat them.”

  “That you do. Good luck, kid,” said Vance.

  Alvin nodded and stepped in. Katy followed after.

  “Not interested in stardom?” she said.

  “I don’t need that bloodsucker writing me into public dramas.”

  She laughed. “So how was the lunch?”

  “Well, we all had one thing in common,” said Alvin.

  Katy began tying down the restraints. “What’s that?”

  He gave her a wry grin. “We dislike each other.”

  “Yeah, that I saw coming.”

  She leaned over him to secure his torso. “What about Oona? She give you the business again?”

  “No. She was cordial. She has that Rita girl playing for her.”

  Katy leaned close and snapped in the chest strap. “Rita’s hot stuff, but you’re better. Be careful, Oona’s free with her money when she wants something.”

  “You speak from experience?” he teased.

  “I only have eyes for you, Al. Any other brilliant observations?”

  “I got a read on most of them, but I left after the salad.”

  “All that ‘I must go study them’ crap—and you walked out?”

  “It got uncomfortable. We were told the bookie algorithm had me on top in thirteen seconds.”

  She stopped and cocked her head.

  “Thirteen seconds . . . the muthafucking champ!” She socked him in the shoulder.

  “Ouch . . . I’m gonna need that arm.”

  “Not really,” she said as she secured his head. “Shit, that’s fast, Al. They didn’t say it was that fast. You think you can pull it off?”

  “I don’t know. It mighta scared them a bit. The only one I couldn’t figure was that Arabian princess.”

  “So, she’ll take you an extra couple seconds.”

  Alvin gave a smile. “Let’s do this.”

  She lowered the chair and gave him a peck on the cheek, then stepped out of the pod.

  Alvin heard it seal shut with a clunk. He tried to relax, but his adrenaline was pumping.

  “Contestants, the competition is about to begin. Please prepare for synaptic redirection.”

  He closed his eyes and felt his head start to buzz. When he opened them again, he was lying on his back in total darkness. The sound of his breath filled his ears. He pushed up into the black against a hard surface and it cracked, filling the darkness with light.

  Alvin sat upright and looked around the room.

  His pod was long and low, like a coffin. As his eyes adjusted to the virtual world, he saw the blurry silhouettes of players rising from their own black sarcophagi. They were outfitted in black suits that rose up to cover their skulls, leaving only their faces and the tops of their heads exposed.

  Their avatars were idealized renditions of themselves. Alvin used an actual scan. He was fit enough now that he’d dropped the boozing and some extra weight.

  Who the fuck is who?

  Zuck jumped out of the far pod. His athleticism was distinguishable from the others and he too used a real scan. The pros always did for licensing and endorsement purposes. Alvin’s vision cleared enough to see the aggression on his face. Then his heads-up display kicked in, followed by the cacophony of the crowd and a droning announcer. They were surrounded by a stadium of virtual spectators. Every object and person in the room momentarily received a digital outline as it was scanned. There looked to be hundreds watching.

  Alvin muted his audio feed and stared at the cheering faces and the fumbling of the players in silence, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was cross-play between his physical body and his virtual one. Concentrated breathing helped him to unify the two. As he breathed deeply his physical body did so as well, and his mind relaxed into the virtual environment.

  When he reopened his eyes, he saw colored piping illuminating the players’ uniforms. Red versus blue; those were the teams for the first phase.

  On each side of the circular platform, a doorway filled with colored light. Alvin turned up the volume as his heads-up display finished self-diagnostics.

  “Choose your weapons and enter the arena,” said an announcer.

  He walked to the blue side and removed a rifle from the wall rack, then took a step toward the exit and through the shimmering blue field into a small room.

  A young, sturdy man wearing a cowboy hat entered after him. It was Tex Holloway, seventy years younger.

  “Yeehaw!” he yowled as he gave Alvin a little elbow to the ribs. He twisted the ends of his musta
che just like he did in real life. Alvin smiled and kept his eyes on the door.

  A stocky, dark-complected man entered. The pair stared at him curiously.

  “It’s nice to finally say hello,” he said in a deep baritone.

  He leaned up against the wall and crossed his legs in distinctly feminine fashion.

  “Noura Al-Tahtawi I presume?” said Alvin.

  “Yes, Alvin Baylor.” Her avatar smiled.

  “So ya do talk?” asked Tex.

  “When custom allows, Mr. Holloway.”

  “You folks got funny customs,” said Tex.

  “A rude American—how unusual. Or are you just a Texan now?” said Al-Tahtawi.

  She laughed and Tex grimaced and pulled at his mustache. Alvin ignored the animosity. He felt assured by his decision to leave lunch after the salad.

  These people are a bad mix.

  “Attention, players. We have a last-minute ruling for tonight’s tournament. We are allowing overclocking for capable players.”

  Alvin heard the words and felt his spirits drop. The countdown in his display started ticking down from sixty.

  “You clocking it?” asked Tex.

  “No,” said Alvin.

  “But they did that for you,” said Tex.

  “No, not me. My implants have a limiter installed.”

  “Richard Zuck,” said Al-Tahtawi. “He and Oona were whining about you.”

  “Shit,” said Tex.

  “Let’s stay out of tight corners and play a distance game,” said Alvin. “The reflex advantage works best in a surprise encounter.”

  The duo nodded then stood silently while the timer counted down.

  We’re fucked.

  The countdown finished, then a flash of light blinded him.

  He was no longer in the small room. He stood on a rocky perch overlooking a valley. Pinpoints of starlight dotted the black sky. In the valley below sat a crashed starship surrounded by large crystals that jutted through the wreckage. Starlight glinted off them, casting light patterns on the dusty gray surface. The game field was an alien moon.

  Man-sized letters suddenly dropped from the sky and crashed to the ground in front of him. They spelled “Relic.”

  “All right, we got a capture-and-return match,” said Alvin.

  The letters disappeared and a green ring of light, nine feet in diameter, took their place. Then a slow ping sounded in his ear while an arrow appeared in his view indicating the direction of the relic.

  A blaring horn declared the beginning of the match.

  “Move to that ship and keep to cover,” said Alvin.

  “Yeehaw!” exclaimed Tex as he charged down the hill.

  “Seems I have the longest gun. I’ll hang back and snipe,” said Al-Tahtawi.

  She smiled as she swung the rifle forward over her shoulder and took a knee.

  A red muzzle flashed and the cowboy dropped face forward to the dirt.

  Alvin ducked behind a boulder.

  This is a free-for-all.

  “You see that to the left?” said Alvin.

  Before he got the words out, Al-Tahtawi let loose a shot from her rifle and he saw Tex’s killer fall. It was Chico.

  Alvin ran out from the boulder and dashed down the hill. He crossed the field going from rock to rock. He heard another, “Yeehaw!” as Tex used his boot thrusters to leapfrog overhead. He had respawned.

  The cycle of death and rebirth would continue until the relic entered the green circle. Two captures would end the match.

  Okay, old man, you’re the bait.

  Alvin dashed for the crashed starship.

  A shot crossed the field from beside the wreckage. Tex leaped over it. Then from the same spot came another shot headed for Alvin. He ducked it with a front roll, and when he came up Tex was face down in the dirt and Zuck was standing next to him.

  Damn, that’s fast.

  Zuck fired.

  Overclocking bastard.

  Right through Alvin’s forehead.

  Back on The Hope proper, Hong Chow and Chan Xi-Michaels watched from a regal bedroom with decor purchased from the Palace of Versailles. Chow wore linen dress slacks with suspenders and an undershirt. He was comfortable on the edge of the enormous canopy bed. His dress shirt and jacket hung over the one of the baroque chairs. Xi-Michaels, dressed in a black overcoat with tails, spun around in circles on a set of prosthetic wheels and clapped his white-gloved hands excitedly.

  Both men were transfixed by the six player feeds of the game floating before them in their Opti-Comps.

  “Ooh. I’m so excited! I need to be emptied,” said Xi-Michaels.

  Chow got up from the bed and removed the man’s overcoat, revealing an ovoid translucent bag that hung from metal collarbones. Save for a head and the organs contained in the bag, Xi-Michaels was all metal skeleton and tubes.

  Chow neatly folded the overcoat and placed it on the antique bureau before retrieving a round container and a tube. He inserted the line into a port at the bottom of the man’s metal pelvis, then turned the gasket knob. Dark waste began flowing into the receptacle.

  “Mr. Baylor is dispatched so easily,” said Chow.

  “Yes, he’s very cautious. I did not expect that,” said Xi-Michaels.

  “Do you think he really has a chance?” asked Chow.

  “Mr. Zuck certainly thought so after running the analysis,” said Xi-Michaels.

  A tone sounded. Rita Takata had captured the relic.

  “He’s just lost the first round of a team match. Mr. Zuck is overclocking. How can Baylor win?” said Chow.

  “Quantum computers calculate the possible as well as the probable, Hong. Why do you think the Americans destroyed theirs? Nobody likes being outsmarted. It doesn’t matter either way. If Baylor loses, I cover the house with the money Alteris is paying me to ferry him. And if he wins . . .”

  “Then Ms. Oona and Mr. Zuck will want their bribe money back,” said Chow.

  “Yes. She will make noise and Vance will have a story about a commoner being cheated. Then I will find out why Alteris sent Baylor,” said Xi-Michaels.

  “You really think Meyer is trying to double-cross us?”

  “She’s up to something. First that scientist and now this man. The payloads have been light for the last year. She’s slowing the deliveries. I think she’s trying to cut us out with some sort of automation.”

  “How can she? Alteris doesn’t have a big enough fleet. She needs us,” said Chow.

  “Yes, and we need her business. It’s too expensive entertaining these guests. Without our percentage of the rare metals, I can’t keep this going,” said Xi-Michaels.

  “Perhaps we can add a new convenience fee for the guests? A twenty-five-percent oxygen tax?” said Chow.

  “Hahahaha! That is why I love you, Hong, you are terrible person just like me! I will consider it.”

  Hong Chow watched the next round begin. This time the players rushed into the ship before firing. He focused on Zuck’s and Alvin’s feeds.

  Rick Zuck ran solo through the cramped corridors. He leaped a crevasse and came upon the other team. He fired, sending Noura back to the spawn point.

  Then Chow gasped as Alvin kicked Tex into Zuck and unloaded over the man’s shoulder. Zuck’s head was reduced to digital pulp.

  “That’s unsportsmanlike,” said Chow.

  “Ooh. I like him,” said Xi-Michaels. “I’m finished.”

  Chow disconnected the tubing and sat down on the bed to continue watching the game from his Opti-Comp. He placed the container near his feet should his master need to be relieved again.

  Back in the game, Tex gave Alvin a dirty look.

  “Don’t do that again,” said Tex.

  “Start using your fucking brain and I won’t.”

  A clanking noise from down the hall ended the discussion as the two took up ready positions at the doorway.

  Alvin peered down the ship’s wrecked corridor. A reflective crystal shard punctured the craft
. It had torn through the vessel’s decking and hull, giving a clear view to the outside. Alvin’s display showed a flashing icon and he heard a pinging sound. The relic was near—beneath the punctured mess.

  “Noura, see the hole in the ship?” said Alvin.

  “Yes, but no one is there,” she said from the hilltop spawn point.

  “They will be,” he replied.

  Alvin pointed to the crystal shard jutting through at the bend in the corridor. It reflected the dark hall to the right. Tex looked puzzled as he crouched on the other side of the doorway. Then Alvin pointed to his own teeth and then back at the crystal. The cowboy nodded. He saw it too now, reflecting out of the dark: a titanium grin.

  Alvin motioned for him to stay back, then ran and leaped down the hallway.

  He arced high through the air and caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the crystalline stalagmite as he bounced a grenade off it and around the corner. Chico and Rita rushed forward straight into the blast. Their avatars were sent to respawn.

  Alvin landed where the floor had torn open. He stooped in the crevasse made by the crystal breach and waited for the smoke to clear. The pinging in his ear was a constant tone now. Something green and spherical shimmered in the darkness to his right.

  There it is.

  A noise came from the edge of the crevasse and he fired.

  Zuck stepped forward into the shot. A millisecond later Alvin took one to the head. He lasted just long enough to see a red dot appear on Zuck through the open wall. Then blackness.

  Little blocks of light popped into existence. They came hurriedly, and in a matter of moments his vision of the battlefield had returned. He stood back at the green circle of light, next to Noura Al-Tahtawi on the rocky perch.

  “I got him,” she said.

  “Good.”

  In the distance, he saw Chico walk into view through the damaged hull. Noura tensed up as she aimed, then a shot from across the field went right through her scope. She dropped and her body rolled down the rocks and dematerialized.

  Alvin leaped out of the way as another blast hit the rock face beside him. He scrambled to cover and heard a tone howl. Someone had the relic.

  “Yeehaw!”