Lost in Space

by Dmitry Raspopov

  Switching through the TV channels, I found nothing worthy of attention. I was itching all over to fly. Glancing around furtively, I softly called: “Home. Show my capsule's screen.”

  “Access password?”

  I dictated my intricate password. My state-of-the-art capsule allowed remote access to the player screen, so I could see everything Masha was seeing.

  The wall flashed with bustling spacecrafts and darting missiles. She was in the thick of the battle, as befitted the third player, the team’s tank, shielding the leaders who were trying to shoot the other team’s ships.

  The breath-taking maneuvers and somersaults looked so different on the video wall than they did from the capsule. I was overcome by regret and sadness. To fly a ship like the one Masha was flying, I had to invest at least $60,000 and several years into leveling.

  Just when I was about to switch the screen off, an oh-so-familiar voice came from the speakers: “Hi Masha. How’s Viktor?”

  I turned the volume up.

  “Oh Styopa. We had such a shitty quarrel yesterday.” Despite being engaged in action, she replied to the team leader who was now her opponent in a combat. “He’s a bit better today, but he's still upset. Don’t call him. He turned his smart device off. He’d rather not talk to anyone.”

  “Masha. I know he’s your boyfriend, but you must understand. HiG is much better. With him, we are bound for championship! Just imagine: the first Russian team ever winning the Starry Sky World Tournament! This year’s winner will get thirty million dollars in prize money only. Not counting sponsorships, advertising income, and stuff like that.”

  “Styopa. I know that. But it’s not helping.” As she was distracted, one of the leaders under her guard got hit by a missile. The speaker belched out filthy swears.

  “Shut up, you blind idiot!” she barked back, vividly describing the teammate’s genealogy. “If not for your miss, third in a row, we would have long finished this sparring.”

  They started arguing, but once the leader’s voice came again, Masha muted the other man despite his yelling. “Do you know what he’s up to?”

  “No,” her voice became sad. “I won't bother him with it for a couple of days. He needs time to get over it and move on.”

  “Keep in mind the new training schedule. We start on Monday.” Saying that, the leader destroyed Masha’s ship—I could tell that by her evil hissing—then did the same to the rest. The battle was lost. Grinding her teeth, Masha reported those who played badly in her opinion, and started to look for a new game. This was no longer interesting; I disconnected and had the AI wipe the logs.

  I can repay the mortgage in full, I thought, plumping down onto the sofa and taking the smart device. At least some good can come out of this money.

  ***

  Four weeks later

  “Baby, I can’t.” Masha released herself from my embrace, and rushed over to the capsule. “I really can’t. We have a tight training schedule, you know. HiG has to be re-trained to work with our team. That’s not easy.”

  The sound of this name stabbed me like a sharp knife.

  “How good is he?” I asked with feigned casualness. “Better than me?”

  She looked away and said nothing.

  “He’s different.” Seeing how hard I tried not to take offense at her silence, she tried to fix it. “Just different. Not better or worse. Developing effective co-operations between ships takes up a lot of time. I really must go, dear. Styopa will be pissed off if I’m late again.”

  Once I let go of her hand, the girl put the access card into the capsule and dived in, closing the lid behind her so as to prevent me from intervening.

  I loitered about the apartment for a while, watching the news—where they discussed nothing but the three upcoming major game tournaments of the year—but then I broke into my bad habit again.

  “Home,” I said. “Capsule screen.”

  I did my best not to spy on Masha too often, containing the urge whenever I could. But sometimes, like now, I just couldn’t refrain from it.

  The video wall exploded with Masha’s apologizing voice. Scared, I hurried to reduce the volume, which was pointless since the capsule was soundproof. There was no chance in Hell that she could possibly hear me.

  “Oh, Styopa, stop that! I’m only two minutes late.” She took her place in the ship, ready for a start. “Two. And you’ve already wasted five grumbling.”

  The other team members did not interrupt them; by the occasional giggles in the voice chat I could tell that the guys were on her side. Everyone was, naturally, fond of the only girl in the team. I never stopped wondering how she came to be with me and not, say, with Styopa. I never showed her my love, or flirted with her like the other guys did. Her announcement in the team’s voice chat that we were officially together came suddenly. It startled me so badly that I barely managed to avoid crashing into the gate as I was flying my ship out of the carrier and into the space.

  Once we got out of the capsules and into the real world, I made no objections to Masha’s proposal. Shortly after, we moved in together into the apartment I had bought. A year had passed since then.

  “How’s Viktor?” the first player, the team’s best attacker, intervened.

  “So-so. Hasn't entered the game since then.” Masha took off, following the first numbers and keeping slightly behind them.

  “Can I call you? I have been feeling awful since then. I could talk to him. Maybe that helps.”

  “Yeah, sure. This weekend. I’ll try to prepare him.” She sniffed, but the enemies had already appeared on the screen and the chat fell silent. There had been enough talking, it was time to get serious.

  Chapter 2

  Three months later

  “Fantastic! Amazing! The whole nation is congratulating our heroes whose brilliant play tore the victory from the hands of the Chinese team! HiG was marvelous. If not for his sniper attacks, our team would probably have fallen short of the championship. Yes, I mean it. Right now my colleagues are telling me he’s been awarded the Best Player award and has become the happy owner of a Lamborghini super-car! Congrats to Drones and all fans of space battles! That was unforgettable!”

  Lying on the sofa, I listened to the TV presenter go into raptures over my past team’s victory, my mood worsening with every word. There was no one present who could drag me out of my fortnightly melancholy; Masha was far away in Vancouver.

  A couple of months had passed and I still hadn’t made up my mind on what new career to pursue. My inbox had two dozens of offers, including those sent by foreign teams; offers I couldn’t accept. Since no one knew the details of my termination agreement, everyone was rather surprised that I still haven’t joined a new team.

  Masha will get great prize money. Tardily, I realized that my apartment, and its luxurious spot and surroundings, would no longer seem incredible to her. That money would buy her an apartment just like mine if she wanted it. This realization worsened my mood even more.

  “A state courier service staff member is waiting. Should I open the door?” The apartment AI’s hologram appeared by my side as the doorbell rang.

  “What service?” I was surprised. I’d never heard of a state courier service in our country before.

  “Linking to Wiki,” the AI told me instantly. “The State Courier Service is…”

  “Hey, stop,” I interrupted. “I’ll read that later. The guy’s waiting out there. Open the door.”

  “Yes.”

  Five minutes later, I was looking at a mailman in a blue uniform, with a military gun on his belt. I must have been peering at him too closely. The guy smirked, although he had a poker face when I opened the door.

  “Sorry,” I said. His smile embarrassed me. “This is the first time I meet someone from… from your organization. I didn’t even know that it existed.”

  “No problem,” he laughed openly. “A package for you. Sign here, please.”

  I put my finger onto the package, then onto his bag.
Having my retina scanned, I finally got my hands on the hard cardboard package littered with red stamps: MINISTRY OF DEFENSE and PERSONAL.

  Parting with the mailman and scratching the back of my head in confusion, I returned to the living room and tried to open the parcel with my hands, but the cardboard was so thick that I had to use a knife. Inside of it was a single sheet of paper with several typed lines:

  The Ministry of Defence of the Russian Federation is inviting Viktor Maximov to take part in the candidate selection process for a military project.

  The project information is top secret. Security clearance level required: AAA or higher.

  Upon successful completion of the selection and testing process, all participants will be enlisted in the military service at the rank no lower than that of a Lieutenant, and given allowance according to their rank.

  The salary paid during the testing process will be 700 rubles[1] per hour. The salary paid to those enrolled in the project will be determined individually at a level no lower than 1,500 rubles[2].

  Application letters should be sent to the email below. Use your personal ID to apply.

  “What bullshit is this?” I was immensely surprised. I’ve never served in the armed forces, never came in touch with the military in any way—and yet I got this weird letter. “Rubbish.” I would consider this a bad joke had the package been slipped underneath my door, or delivered by snail mail. But a uniformed, armed mailman was too much. No one would go to such lengths just to play a trick on me.

  “Home. Browse the web for the words ‘ministry of defense’, ‘game’, and ‘recruitment’.”

  “Ten relevant results found, Viktor. Displaying them onto the wall,” the AI replied instantly and showed me a bunch of very old links. The newest one was two years old.

  “Hmmm.” I went over the letter again. A great idea popped into my head. Why not? I don’t have anything else going on anyway, and a $50,000 salary is hard to come by.

  “Home. Open the console. I need to type a message.”

  When the projected keyboard appeared beneath my hands, I quickly typed a consent message and sent it to the email mentioned in the letter. I received a reply almost instantly, confirming my registration and stating the date, hour, and the address of the test site. I was pleasantly surprised that the spot was close to my place; it was a ten minute walk away.

  “Perfect!” I rejoiced. “Home. Schedule a reminder two hours before the start.”

  “Reminder added. August 2nd, 2050, 7AM. Attend an event at Admiral Nakhimov Street, 15.”

  “At last.” My forced idleness, albeit free of money worries, had long felt like a burden, so this strange invitation came in handy.

  ***

  Coming to meet Masha at the airport with flowers, I joined the line of ecstatic fans waiting for the plane from Canada. The first-ever victory in the world tournament won by a Russian team excited many young minds. The news of their arrival spread like forest fire across social media networks. I got lost in the crowd. Lots of placards, banners, and flowers—they would try anything just to get spotted by the adored team. When the familiar faces appeared at the gate, the arrival hall was filled with a thunderous applause, whistling, and shouts of delight.

  The guys, apparently surprised by such a welcome and a mob of fans, smiled hesitantly and looked around, heading for the square where they could take a taxi or get into their own cars. They spotted me, but I ignored all of their invitations to come closer. The team no longer existed for me. After their betrayal, after them robbing me of the victory that was already close at hand, I decided to forget them for good.

  All of them but Masha... The anger and bitterness that gnawed at my heart when I saw her signature on that document were still there, but love eventually overcame anger. I pretended that our relationship was the same as before just to see what it would eventually come to. But one thing I knew for sure: our past carefree romance was gone.

  The girl saw me, but getting through the crowd of fans was not easy; they surrounded her from all sides, begging for an autograph or a memorable kiss. I had to step in and take her away, despite the crowd’s din of displeasure. They tried to stop me, but I elbowed our way outside and to the taxi that had been waiting for us.

  Giving the flowers to Masha and getting her seated, I tossed her suitcase into the truck, then plumped down by her side.

  The taxi drove off once we fastened our seatbelts.

  “How are you?” I reached for her and got a kiss.

  “Dead tired,” she confessed. “Craving for home, hot bath, and two-three days of sleep.”

  “I promise not to wake you.” I caressed her arm. “I can wait to hear how things went.”

  She was surprised. “Didn’t you watch it?”

  “Sure I did. I’m your biggest fan, after all. But I’d love to hear how it feels to play in a world tournament.” I did my best to appear carefree, although I couldn’t stop thinking about my stolen victory.

  She paused to think. “It’s nothing special. Yes, dear, I mean it. It’s just like any other tournament. More pompous, though.” She gripped my hand. “How are you? Have you found anything yet?”

  “Not yet.” I shrugged. “Got one offer. The interview’s tomorrow.”

  She seemed interested. “A different game?”

  “Don’t know yet.” I decided not to tell her that the offer was sent by the Ministry of Defense. “Tomorrow… I’ll tell you then.”

  She put her head on my shoulder. “I’d kill for some rest.”

  She fell asleep during the ride. I had to wake her once we reached our destination. Half-asleep, she followed me like a zombie while I, carrying the suitcase, opened the doors for her.

  Masha didn’t even go to the bathroom—she just collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep. Closing the bedroom door, I switched on the news in the living room.

  “We’ve interviewed the Drones captain, Stepan Mazzur Mazurenko.” Once I activated the video wall, it turned on the channel that I had been watching that morning, and the captain’s huge face covered the entire wall. “Our reporter met with him at the airport.”

  “How are you, Stepan? How does victory feel?”

  “We didn’t expect such a welcome, but we are really pleased. I’d like to thank all our fans for supporting us in this tournament. We could feel your support. It gave us the strength to win.”

  “How was the team? The last battle was very challenging. Were your opponents stronger than you expected them to be? Whom can you give special credit to?”

  “I’m very happy with the whole team.” He thought it over for a moment. “Sure there were minor issues that we’ll be fixing in the future. But, overall, each team member gave their 100%. This victory was truly deserved.”

  “But who was the best?” the reporter insisted.

  “Our fifth. HiG,” the captain said reluctantly. “His hit percentage was something special. The tournament committee made him MVP for a reason.”

  “Do you think you would have won if your past sniper, Viktor L0St Maximov, was in his place?”

  “No comments,” he snapped angrily when another man intervened. Seeing him, I couldn’t help but gnash my teeth.

  “I’m sure we wouldn’t.” The manager’s face was asking for a slap. “70% hit success is too low for a champion.”

  “But the game’s average is about 60%.” Why is this reporter so interested in me? “Indulge me, please; our audience is really curious about this sudden transfer. You took a great risk by accepting a new player in an already-flying-together team right before the world tournament. Did you fear that he might not fit in and that your performance would suffer?”

  “Sure there was a risk.” Brushing Stepan away, the manager spoke alone. “But Nikita’s performance in group practice convinced us that he could do it. I don’t want to criticize Viktor, but he was falling short of the new performance standard the team had set in preparation for the world tournament.”

  These words brought me to
the end of my rope. I switched the channel.

  Ungrateful pig. Weren’t you kissing my feet until recently, begging me to sell my ship? Had I not agreed, you wouldn’t have gotten this victory.

  Anger and depression came and went in waves. One moment, I was itching to see the manager and punch him in the face, and in the other, I wanted to collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling.

  ***

  I was having breakfast when Masha came out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but her underwear. “Are you leaving?”

  “Yeah. The interview’s in half an hour. I told you about it yesterday.” I finished my sandwich and washed it down with some tea. “Don’t know how long it’ll take. If you want to go out, go alone. Don’t wait for me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She plumped down into my lap. “I’ll be relaxing at home. Come back as soon as you can. I have plans for you.”

  Stroking her leg, I moved her aside hastily. If she kept teasing me like that, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. I had things to do.

  Chapter 3

  The test site was actually close. Leaving my block, I just had to walk past two small brick houses in the historical part of the city and then find a sentineled entrance to a five-storied building. I had to show the invitation letter to be allowed in. The entrance hall was cool and spacious, with a high ceiling, two scores of people waiting seated in the low sofas, and another door, also sentineled and equipped with a metal detector.

  I took a seat and looked closer at the other people who had apparently come for the interview just like me. Their appearance varied strikingly: a military pilot, a hippy, a proverbial nerd, and a bunch of girls whose lifestyles I failed to figure out.

  While I looked around, the clock on the wall softly struck nine. From deeper in the building, several military men came to divide us into five groups and take each group in a different direction. I was grouped with the pilot, the nerd, and two girls.