Total System Failure

by James Hightower

  “Looks like we’re on the same team,” Marcia said with a laugh, her hair spilling onto one side, exposing her slender neck.

  Alec pretended to survey the class. “Looks like it’s up to you to win the game for us.”

  She punched his arm and laughed. “Maybe one on one.” She stuck out her tongue and winked again.

  At the center of the court, McCray stood, hands at his waist. Whatever the star quarterback saw clearly pleased him.

  Marcia followed his gaze. “We play second. Let’s enjoy the show.”

  As soon as the game started, McCray flew in for a steal and a windmill dunk that shook the rim. By the third minute, the star athlete’s team was up by ten points.

  “Is that guy even human?” Alec snorted. “Why is he even allowed to play with normal people?”

  “He’s too stubborn,” Marcia said.

  “You know McCray?”

  “I came here not too long after you.” The girl rolled her eyes. “Which apparently makes me invisible.”

  Alec didn’t like the hint of bitterness in her voice. He decided to change the subjet. “Where did you live before?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” Marcia frowned and lowered her eyes.

  “No problem. I—"

  The buzzer blared. The final score, thirty-eight to five. Complete thrashing. Well, it was their shot now.

  Marcia skipped ahead. “Sorry,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be cheering for you guys! Good luck!”

  Betrayal complete, she sauntered to the nearest bench. Another girl sat there, adding layers of mascara to her well-painted face. Marcia next to her and busied herself with something on a private screen. She laughed, seemingly oblivious to the boys stalking onto the court. Team D consisted of five boys, each one meaner than the last. His defender, a Hispanic guy with mismatched eyes, stared down at him as though preparing for a UFC match. Then the boy lowered into a crouch and put a hand on his hip.

  “How many coins we got on the game?”

  A constellation of impassive faces welcomed him. As soon as the game started, World War Four began. The ball bounced off a couple hands and in front of him. As soon as he touched it, the Hispanic kid ripped it from his grasp.

  “That was a foul!”

  Apparently, Mr. Buyer held the whistle in one hand. He looked down at it as though surprised to find it hovering beneath his lips. “Play on!”

  Alec huffed and sprinted back on defense. A notification flashed across his vision. Activate Super Strength? He swiped it aside.

  Gareth, clearly their best player, dribbled with abandon and pivoted for tough threes while the other team made a team effort. With three minutes left, the Hispanic kid knocked down a three pointer right in his face. One of the boy’s teammates chest-bumped him and shouted, “Next!’

  Alec flicked sweat from his brow and glanced over at the bench. Marcia offered him a pout, then stood, clapping.

  “You can do it,” she cried, eyes on him.

  He sprinted back on offense. Activate Super Strength? He swiped at it again. Super Strength: Active.

  He pushed the notification away. Later, he’d investigate. Right now, a competitive fever blazed through him. They thought the game was over yet.

  Alec didn’t have to wait long to get his chance. On the very next play, the basketball was peeled from Gareth’s grasp. It bounced in his direction. He pounced on it and bounded towards the rim before his defender could react. As though shot from a railgun, he floated in front of the rim with the ball in the net.

  The tide turned; everything went their way after that. His defender slipped off him whenever he touched the ball, and it freed up Gareth to do his thing. By the time the buzzer sounded, they were up by eight points.

  Gareth slammed the ball against the hardwood. “Next!”

  Marcia leapt to her feet. “You did it,” she said, face glowing with the brightness of the Sun. She squeezed him in an embrace, wrapping her hands around his neck despite him dripping with sweat. Intoxicated by her touch, Alec grinned so hard that his face hurt. Perhaps she did like him. Even Gareth high-fived him. His chest soared. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good.

  A monolithic figure glided towards the center of the court. Every eye turned to McCray. One couldn’t help it. The boy attracted attention like overripe fruit did flies. Stevie McCray palmed a basketball, eyes fixed on him in a decidedly predatory manner.

  Alec swallowed, the elation in his chest a distant memory. He’d just given the boy the perfect platform to exact his revenge.

  “Game in two minutes,” Mr. Buyer thundered over the buzz of conversation.

  Marcia continued to gush about his performance, hands tracing wide arcs as she gave a visual demonstration, but he only half-listened. A sinking feeling was already petrifying in his stomach.

  Before he knew it, the whistle shrieked, and the final game began. Gareth and McCray locked horns almost immediately. Alec kept his distance, content to let the two alphas battle it out. However, two minutes into the game, he discovered the ball in his hands and McCray in front of him.

  “iPrivate,” McCray said over squeaking shoes. “Show me what you got.”

  The white-hot attention of the entire class snapped on them like a fog light. Even Mr. Buyer watched, mouth slightly agape. Marcia’s face was pinched with concern. Everyone tensed, preparing to witness some Jordan-eques feat from the star athlete.

  And Alec couldn’t back down. He turned to one shoulder, fending the boy off with one arm and pivoted towards the rim. The other boy slipped off as though their arms were coated with oil. He laid the ball in the rim. Shock trickled through his adrenaline as he backpedaled on defense. Did he just score on Stevie McCray, the same Stevie McCray that could go pro in three different sports?

  The class buzzed with the notion as well.

  Regardless of the one play, they were outclassed. Every time Gareth made a play, McCray answered with an even better one. The buzzing reached a fevered pitch. Their teacher’s voice boomed over the conversations and thud of the basketball.

  “One-minute left!”

  Somehow, they were only losing by four points. McCray collected the ball from a tangle of bodies and surged up the court with feline grace. Alec rushed to stop him. The other boy charged towards the rim. Alec tracked his steps. The boy leapt. Alec jumped with him. Somehow his fingers brushed leather. He ripped the ball from the backboard and threw it down the court to Gareth.

  Did he just touch the top of the backboard? He drew in a deep breath.

  Gareth converted on the other end and now, McCray strut up the court with a defender draped on his hip. Alec, unsure where the confidence came from, moved to halt the star athlete’s advance.

  “Show me what you got,” Alec said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Every eyeball tracked their movements. Alec lowered into a defensive stance. McCray circled, nostrils flaring. The boy was milking the clock. Then the boy transformed into a cloud of motion, the ball everywhere and nowhere all at once. McCray shouldered past him, or at least tried to. Alec absorbed the contact.

  McCray reflected the shock rippling through him, but the boy recovered quickly and stepped back for a jump shot. Alec lunged forward, hand batting the ball aside. Retrieving the ball from bugged-eyed McCray, he sprinted for faraway basket.

  Only seconds left. Heavy footsteps dogged his own. He picked up the ball near the three-point line. Way too far. He would never make it. He took the two longest steps of his life and jumped as hard as he could. His chest soared, he sailed across the gym. Suspended midair, the rim floated closer and closer. Then something hard collided into his back. His fingers found the rim, snapping back like a fired pistol. He hung from the rim in a daze.

  The class stormed the court.

  His shoes landed inches from the star athlete’s face. McCray glared up at him from the hardwood. The buzzer sounded off. Bad guys, thirty. Good guys, thirty-one. He released a shallow breath. />
  Super Strength: Deactivated.

  Chapter 4

  The final bell was punctuated by the collective scrape of chairs along the tiled floor. Alec waited for everyone else to leave before pushing out of his chair. His teacher waited at the door. Behind her spectacles, worry crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  He flinched. All of his teachers had asked the same question since gym. Every single one. “Do you believe in magic?”

  Since the incident with McCray, he’d sifted through his system files. He hadn’t found anything associated with Super Strength. He suspected it had something to do with the golden pyramid video. It only made sense.

  “I teach Theoretical Physics,” his teacher replied. “What I think to be possible is more flexible than others.”

  Could androids even think for themselves? He was a fool to ask. “True. Thanks a lot. See you next week.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “Don’t forget about detention. You only have ten minutes.”

  He could feel Mrs. Dockers eyes tracking him all the way down the hallway. What did she mean she ‘hoped’ she saw him next week? He hurried to detention.

  A phalanx of seats awaited him in the hall. A freshman sat in one of the front seats. She did not look up as he strode past. Her eyes were glazed over a private screen. The translucent square might as well be a wall between them.

  Hoverboard in tow, he sat in the back row. The classic screen of the Net materialized in front of him: clouds billowing across a deep blue sky. It reminded him of the inter-dimensional city and its violet, star encrusted sky.

  A message flashed across the kingdom of heaven. It was from Domo.

  Sorry everyone, but my dad locked up the alcohol and I can’t get to it. That means BYOA.

  D

  He frowned. Domo-hosted parties were legendary, but without alcohol…. He wanted to help his friend just this one time. Before he knew it, he sent a message back.

  D, I can get alcohol for you.

  A couple weeks ago, he’d stolen a bottle from Lucky’s Liquor store, but how would he get enough for Domo’s entire party? And there was no guarantee it would work twice. Domo’s response came seconds later, sealing his fate.

  Great! Thanks man! Come by my place ASAP with the goods.

  D

  More students marched into the cafeteria, solemn as soldiers marching towards certain death. Alec sucked in a breath and counted to ten. How many foolish things would he do in a single day? Detention started in five minutes, and he couldn’t afford to skip detention. He would be suspended for at least a week. He would fail his Machine Learning course, dashing the dim hope of graduating this semester. But if he stayed at school for another two hours, everyone would be off work. Lucky’s would be too busy by then.

  Screw it. His throat swelled as he stood. None of this mattered. Let his old life burn. A couple of heads turned his way. The teacher cocked his head. He focused on the door, back as straight as the board in his hands.

  Some days it was easy to hate himself. The momentum of his decision pulsed through his arms and chest, head and ears, propelling him forward despite any objection he placed as an obstacle. The urge to destroy every shred of his old life bubbled through him. Scorched earth, start over.

  Cold air gut punched him before his clothes thickened to suit the climate. He threw his board down, the slab humming to life and floating just so above the sidewalk. He breezed through the university campus and, hair combed back by the wind, shot from the opened front gates. Gloves. That’s what he needed.

  After this, he needed to figure out the author of the golden pyramid video and find out why he’d been sent the video.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lucky’s Liquor neon sign flickered above him. Alec configured his homemade proxy and in seconds became Mr. Forest, a twenty-five-year old medical student. The proxy didn’t alter his appearance, it was far too rudimentary for that, but it should fool the cashier. He couldn’t stuff ten bottles under his shirt.

  His hoverboard hummed on the sidewalk. Lucky’s door parted, and warmth enveloped him. He sighed with pleasure and flexed his fingers, enjoying the prickling, tingling sensation.

  Only two customers shopped in the diminutive shop. A man in a red and tan jacket stood with his back to him, checking out. The cashier scanned the man’s two twenty-four packs. Alec skirted the man. Another customer, a middle-aged woman bent over the wine section, athletic in a way that made him think she worked as a yoga instructor. Red or white, it’s not that difficult.

  He couldn’t afford to loiter or else he might as well hang a big sign on his chest, “I’m a thief”. He zipped through the aisles and snatched at anything familiar. Why didn’t he bring a bag? Now he would only be able to get what he could carry. Five or six bottles max. Definitely not any beer. A deep burn settled in the center of his palm. The middle part of his back ached. Domo would be mortified to see him right now. He pushed the unpleasant thought away.

  “Promise me you’ll always do the right thing,” his mother had pleaded with him. The words struck him with such force that he fumbled with the bottles and nearly dropped them. Bug the right thing. He didn’t owe anybody a thing.

  In an unfortunate coincidence, the yoga instructor made her decision. The cashier scanned her in a red flash. The transaction was over in heartbeats, and the woman headed towards the door. Bug it, no need to test the proxy now. And if it failed, he would be stuck in the shop. He veered towards the door just as it slid open. Winter air stung his cheeks.

  The doors blinked a warning. Then, he crashed into the yoga instructor’s back. They stumbled out of the shop together. She yelped as her recent purchase showered glass all over the sidewalk. Somehow, Alec, cramped fingers and all, still clutched every single one of his stolen bottles.

  The woman gaped at him, first in shock, then in rage. Her eyes widened. “You—"

  He darted past her outstretched hand. The tops of the bottles stabbed his chest as he stepped on his board and surged forward.

  The winter air stung his cheeks. He expected the wail of police sirens as he ascended Big Hill, but nothing happened. His heart raced. The cameras would surely pick out his identity. What did he always make the wrong decisions?

  Luckily, Tara’s drone was not in the driveway yet. He discarded the proxy. Much good that would do.

  This time the door admitted him. He dumped his load in the living room and ran upstairs. He snatched clothes from the floor, stuffed them in a bag and left without a second glance. By the time he put the bottles in the bag, it sagged against his shoulder.

  He climbed the rest of Big Hill with the shoulder straps digging into his shoulder. Against his chest, his mother’s diamond necklace felt colder than normal. Her voice resonated like a dirge in his skull. An accusation. Promise me.

  Chapter 5

  Domo’s house resembled a flower with half its petals shaved off, the three-story home craning skyward like a goose neck. Three squares jutted out near the peak, solar panels glittering from the tops. Colorful knots of flowers defied the call of winter as he trudged across the lush yard. Apparently, winter did not exist for the rich.

  The door sprung open, and Domo emerged, a beer already clutched in his fist.

  “There’s a mighty storm a-coming,” his friend said in a pirate voice. He must’ve been using an audio file to overwrite his voice. “Aye! Is this the booty? Good lad!”

  He burst out laughing in spite of his heavy heart. “You going to help or what?”

  Domo rolled his eyes but stepped forward. “ You southerns are so rude.” He grabbed the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder with an oomph. “I hope you didn’t go through too much trouble to get this.”

  “Not too much.” How long before the police were looking for him? “Where did you get the beer?”

  “My dad left a few in the fridge.” Domo leaned closer to study him. “You look drained, man. Need some rest? My bed’s state of the art. It’ll have your system at one-hundred withi
n the hour.”

  His bed normally took four hours. No matter how many times he’d been in his friend’s house, some new luxury peeked out its gilded head.

  “Go get some rest, man.”

  Alec mumbled a thanks and marched up the narrow spiral staircase. Screens blanketed the walls. Domo and his parents smiled from various famous landmarks. They must’ve spent a fortunate to get that close the Eiffel Tower. Domo’s smooth dark countenance contrasted sharply with his parent’s pale, freckled features. Suddenly embarrassed, he straightened and glanced around the empty hallway. He frowned. Sometimes it was easy to forget that other people were public citizens. Alec could easily find all of this on the Net.