Backward Compatible: A Geek Love Story

by Sarah Daltry

  “You are a mess,” she says, but I catch a small smile.

  “You have me figured out. Let us go and acquire my game. But first, I must get,” I consult the check, “about thirty bucks from Lanyon. That bastard better not have signed up for a phone plan.”

  “Is he, like, your little brother? You talk about him like he needs a leash.”

  “No, he’s fine. He’s just a bit Daxter. Now would you kindly help me find my friend?” I ask.

  “I would prefer not to,” she says, but she winks.

  “Ryan trumps Melville. Let us go. Uh, Katie.” It feels weird to use her name. But she must have reminded me of it for a reason.

  We head out of the restaurant and back from whence we came. The phone kiosk is there, but there’s no Lanyon. I go up to the guy working. “Did you see where my friend went?” I ask.

  “Interested in a new long distance plan?” He smiles. Dear God, his teeth. They are brighter than Sephiroth’s forehead.

  “No, thank you. I was looking for my friend.”

  “We don’t have roaming charges and your first month is free.”

  “Super, but I really was just wondering-”

  “If you get two plans, you save even more money,” he says.

  “What? The math just isn’t right. That doesn’t make any damn sense.”

  Katie grabs my arm and drags me away. “Thanks, Ken, but we’re leaving.”

  She pulls me toward the middle of the mall walkway. Her hand lingers on my elbow for a second before dropping away. Flirtation maybe?

  “Do you live at home during the break or what?” she asks.

  “I live at home. I’m poor. Hey, look, there’s Lanyon.” He’s facing a store window and staring blankly at it.

  “What the hell is he doing?” she asks.

  “Probably an aquarium in the window. That dude loves fish.”

  When we get to him, he is, indeed, watching fish swim in a small aquarium in the window of a toy store. I poke him. He turns. “What?”

  “Gimme thirty bucks.”

  “How can I get the game if I’m giving you thirty bucks?” He glances over at Katie. “Hey.”

  “Hey. I’m Katie. George isn’t good at introductions, is he?” she asks.

  “No. In fact, he pretty much sucks at everything. I’m Lanyon.”

  “Lanyon?”

  He sighs. “Yes.”

  “Cool. So let’s get your game,” she says.

  Lanyon, pleased that his name is not to be mocked, hands me the money and we go off toward the Golden Game Emporium. Stupid golden shit. The store is pretty empty. Everyone already bought it last night or this morning. But there are still copies left.

  “Why do we bother with the midnight crap when we can get the game now without the hassle?” I ask.

  “I’m level twenty three,” Katie reminds me.

  “Oh, yeah. Right.”

  I plop the game on the counter and the cashier dude starts asking me a series of questions, all of which I predict will be answered with a no. And so it begins.

  “Do you have our frequent gamers card?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to sign up for our frequent gamers card?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Do you want to put ten bucks down on the pre-release of Need for Speed 53?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to put money down on any other upcoming titles?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to sign up for our email service to notify you of gamer news?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to sign up for a subscription to Techtaphonic, our store’s magazine?”

  “Good lord, no. Can I just buy the game?”

  He rings it up. “84.19.”

  “Balls,” I shout. “Can I borrow five bucks?” I ask Katie.

  “You really know how to impress a girl,” she replies.

  Maybe I should go live in the forest like a real druid.

  Katie

  I hand him a five. This guy has absolutely nothing working for him. Of course, I’m still here. Because I also have nothing working for me. And he’s really cute. In an “I never leave my house and am paler than the snow in the mountains of Paramina Rift” way. Or, I suppose, in an “I’m a guy and I don’t look like I ingest steroids for breakfast and I can speak in more than monosyllabic grunts about things that aren’t related to the NFL” way. Also, he has nice eyes, even if they are brown.

  Ah, who am I kidding? He’s too cute for me. I’m being cranky and finding fault, because it’s what I do. Still, he’s giving me a ride home. That’s like a date, right? Dinner and a ride? I ignore the fact that I almost had dinner and a ride with Anna.

  “Score,” he says and he takes his receipt, shoving it into his pocket.

  “There’s a code on there for 1000 gil. Don’t lose it,” I tell him.

  “Blasphemy. I earn my gil. I don’t take handouts,” he says.

  “Okay. Except, I mean, it’s 1000 gil. And it’s free. And, well, who complains about free gil?”

  He looks at me curiously, shakes his head, and then gestures to me and Lanyon that we’re off. We make our way through the mall and, as we pass the arcade, I almost suggest a game of Skee-ball. But that feels sort of date-y and, despite my confident declaration that this is, in fact, a date, I’m not actually sure it is. Plus, his friend is with us. And that kind of undates it. I think.

  George leads us through the parking lot to a red Geo Metro. I didn’t know they still made those. Lanyon calls shotgun as we approach, but George lifts his head, looks over the top of the car at Lanyon, and shakes his head sadly. Lanyon sighs and squeezes into the back.

  He’s already tall and gangly, but, sitting in the back of a car that looks big only next to a Smart Car, Lanyon looks giant. Well, like a giant beanstalk. He lifts his knees and tries to adjust, but he just ends up kicking the back of my seat a few times. I peer into the passenger side mirror and all I can see are knees, shoes, and Lanyon’s giant head.

  “You can pick the music,” George says.

  “This thing has an iPod jack?” I’m surprised. I think these cars were discontinued before CDs were invented.

  Lanyon and George laugh. “Ah, no. We get three stations. Classical, country, and shitty pop. Oh, and sports radio. If you want to listen to sports radio.” This time, I join them in laughing.

  I flip through and we end up with shitty pop. It’s really shitty, too. Lanyon sings along from the backseat, though. I turn my head and look at him.

  “What?” he asks. “I like Miley.”

  “Do you want a soda?” George asks. He pulls the car out of the parking spot and directly into the Taco Bell drive-thru. “My treat.”

  “With what money?”

  “Gift cards,” he announces and pulls out a stack of Taco Bell gift cards. “Santa was kind this year.”

  “Christmas hasn’t even happened yet,” I point out.

  “My grandma’s drunk. Also, she sends me shit earlier every year, in case she dies.”

  I laugh. “Sure. Mountain Dew.”

  He shrugs. “Obviously.”

  We sit in the drive-thru line for fifteen minutes while three guys in the SUV ahead of us apparently reconstruct the taco as a food form. They finally move forward and George shifts out of park to get to the speaker. The car stalls.

  “Hold on,” he says.

  “Crimson Lightning is on her last legs, my friend,” Lanyon says. “She has fizzled out. Lost her spark. It’s time to bolt. We’re forked.”

  “Fork you,” George says, and he smacks the dash, hard. A CD slides out of the player.

  “I thought you only had the radio,” I say.

  “That’s been in there since I bought it. It’s Journey.”

  “I like Journey.”

  “Do you? Do you like Journey? Do you like Journey enough to hear the same three songs on an endless loop ad nauseum?” he asks.

  “Three songs?”


  “It’s a CD single,” Lanyon explains.

  “How old is your car?”

  “Shhh. Crimson Lightning is a sensitive soul. You’ve hurt her feelings. We must whisper sweet nothings to coax her back to life,” George tells me.

  He bashes the dash a few more times, but nothing happens. Lanyon reaches over and helps smack, but so far, they just look like drunk bongo players with no plan. I take the Journey CD single and put it in my messenger bag. Hey, don’t judge. Free Journey is never a bad thing. Despite George’s insistence otherwise.

  George

  Crimson Lightning, you back stabbing whore. You will start.

  I look over at Lanyon and nod. We yell in unison, “Kaze no Yō ni Hayaku.” Then, we smash the dash together. The lights fire up and the engine begins to purr like a retarded cat. We lurch forward to the speaker.

  “Wersmopturacsbelwhatsswant,” gargles the speaker.

  “Three large Mountain Dews, please.”

  “Zeragponelehge?”

  “Yes.”

  I edge us forward. The transition is smooth and, soon, we are surging toward Katie’s home with Dew at our elbows. “Can Valhalla be better than this? Elysium? I say nay.”

  “What are you talking about?” Katie asks.

  “Oops. Sometimes I say my thoughts out loud. But fear not, you shall arrive home posthaste.”

  I check the mirror, but all I can see is Lanyon’s melon. Screw it, I probably won’t get hit. I turn and we survive. I’m rolling natural twenties now. Katie directs me by means of several grunts and points. In a matter of tense moments where I urge Crimson Lightning to live by sure willpower alone, we arrive. I slide to a stop in front of her house.

  “So,” she starts, “Do you want to meet me on Live? We can play FDX.”

  “Sure. But I’ll get raped. You’re level twenty-three. I don’t even have a character made yet.”

  “That’s okay. I told you I’ll start another one. I sort of want to try druid anyway.”

  Gasp. She really is willing to scrap all that time just so we can play together. Maybe my non-existent charms are working. If only I knew how, then I could improve the situation, instead of the inevitable botch that I will soon unleash upon myself.

  “Sounds sweet. Druid, huh? I usually play a druid. They’re tough,” I remind her.

  “I know. You inspired me. And now you can choose a different class. More challenge. But not soldier.”

  “Challenge accepted,” I say. This could be sexy.

  “Can I play, too?” Lanyon asks. Then again, maybe not.

  “How can you play? You don’t even have the game,” Katie points out.

  “Yeah, but my brother has it.”

  I turn around. “What the fuck? Your brother has had the game the whole time?”

  “Yeah, he picked it up last night at a different store.”

  “Lanyon, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hate you.”

  “Hate leads to anger, anger leads-”

  I fwapp him in the nose. He looks stunned, like a wounded dog. It’s sort of funny.

  “I can still play, though?” he asks.

  “Sure,” Katie says. “What’s your tag?”

  “Doctor Tesseract.”

  She takes it in stride. I maneuver around in the Metro to lean over to grab my beverage and my forehead slams into Katie’s just as she’s about to do the same. “Damn it.” I look up and our faces mash together accidentally. Her lip brushes my cheek and eye. I may have bitten her hair by mistake.

  “Jesus. Is your head made of adamantium? I think you broke my brain,” she says.

  “Sorry. Crimson Lightning lacks elbow room.”

  “And face room.”

  “You guys just made out.” Lanyon laughs like a drunken donkey.

  “If you think that was making out, then you, sir, are a fool,” I tell him.

  Katie blazes red. “Well, I’m off.” She pops open the door. “I’m going on Live. I’ll start building my druid, then wait for you.”

  I watch as she trots up her walkway. Her legs are pretty. At least I’m guessing they are, since she’s wearing pants. However, she runs a bit like a wounded duck.

  I drop off my large-headed yet small-brained pal and head home, charging up to my room. After a few moments of battling with the goddamn shrink wrap, I’m loaded, logged on, and ready to choose a character. I start a Live party with Katie and Lanyon and dive into the character selection.

  “So, you should pick someone that compliments the druid. Since I’ll have all different kinds of magic, maybe you should choose someone more offensive? Like a paladin or something,” she suggests.

  “Paladin? Ha. I scoff in the paladin’s general direction. Too easy. No, Heimdall and his mighty rod want a challenge. Let me see…” I scroll through the options. “They really expanded the choices from nine. There are a ton of classes.” I want something tough, something different. After a moment, I find it. “Mo ho. Perfect.”

  “Great. What did you decide on?” she asks.

  “I shall be a bard.”

  “A bard? They can’t do anything.”

  “Wrong. They can do almost nothing. Hence the challenge. Aristophanes of the Verdant Voice is born,” I announce.

  Over the mic, I hear Lanyon chuckling around a mouthful of Snickers.

  Katie

  The opening cinematic plays, but I check my email. I’ve seen it already. Clearly George and Lanyon have not, as they continue a running commentary that generally consists of mocking the bosses who get their cameos.

  My email is boring. Seynar sent a reminder that he’ll be reviewing The Hobbit, which reminds me that we’re going to see it together. He’s a tool, but since right now my romantic options consist of one of the guys eating in my ear and Seynar, I can’t afford to be picky. I scroll through yet more spam and find a shipment change notification for my hoodie. UPS apparently thinks I need to sign for it. So I’m warned to stay home and wait. Fortunately, I have nothing else to do with myself.

  “These graphics suck,” George says and I look back at the screen. We’re standing in the middle of the Estate, colorful orbs quivering ahead of us. We each have to choose our starting advantage. Waterfalls shimmer in the distance and the sunlight streams over multicolored stones in the courtyard.

  “Amateurs,” Lanyon concurs. “I mean, they couldn’t have five waterfalls?”

  “Your ironic wit is mind blowing, but choose your damn orbs,” I tell them. I consider. Magic, defense, offense, stealth, and charisma. I always go for magic as a black mage, but I wonder if a druid needs something else. Screw it. I need charisma in real life, too.

  “Charisma?” Lanyon asks. “No one ever picks charisma.”

  “We’re a party of a thief, druid, and a bard. We’re screwed regardless.”

  “You two underestimate the mighty power of my lute,” George argues.

  “Did you start with charisma?” Lanyon asks.

  “Hell, no. I have charisma in spades. I started with stealth.”

  “Great. A stealthy bard,” I sigh.

  “She’s right,” Lanyon concedes. “We’re screwed.”

  However, it actually isn’t bad at all at first. We power through the Estate and make it to the Yobanaria Dale with no respawns and all at level ten. I’m impressed. George hasn’t actually fought anything, but he has some pretty awe-inspiring charm mastery already. I think I might have a serious crush. He seals the deal when he buffs my Hail Storm spell without even being asked.

  “Can you guys watch El Thiefelo? My mom wants me to eat supper,” Lanyon says.

  “Yeah, we’ve got it,” I tell him. “The first boss is in the elven ruins anyway, so we should grind a bit. I think he’s a twelve.”

  George and I explore the Dale, taking out bats and Joba spores. It’s fairly quiet, except for when we combo with his charms and my spells and he yells out, “Eat lute, bitch,” but it’s nice. We work well, almost inherently understanding each other. I’ve never been able to pl
ay this effectively with anyone. I try not to think about his eyes. Stupid boys, being cute and stuff.

  By the time Lanyon comes back, we’re all at level 12, although Lanyon leveled up just by standing by a door while we played. Still, we are ready to take on Balsa the Proud. As a black mage, it took me about nine seconds. Trees don’t like fire. However, druids don’t have the same level of black magic and all elemental magic is weakened by the need to draw from the elements nearby. Sadly, trees seem to avoid storing fire runes in their villages. I expect this to be a little more challenging. It might even take fifteen seconds.

  “First boss. Also known as the freebie bitch to sucker the young folks into a false sense of security,” Lanyon announces as he runs into the center of Balsa’s lair. The cinematic plays and then, in a moment of pure absurdity, El Thiefelo is squished as Balsa steps on him.

  “Can someone revive me?” Lanyon whines.

  I try, but while I’m cycling the spell, Balsa petrifies me. “George, you need to reverse the spell. I have twenty-seven seconds.”

  “Twenty-five,” Lanyon helpfully corrects although he has about as long before he’s sent to respawn.

  I don’t know what choices George has as a bard, but Aristophanes turns in Balsa’s direction and begins playing his lute. “Is that supposed to do something?” I ask.

  “It’s supposed to lull him, to charm him to our side.”

  “I don’t think that works on bosses.”

  “Hmmm. Well, I also have a boost spell? I can boost your petrification.”

  “Are you serious? We’re going to die at the first friggin’ boss?” I complain.

  “Um,” he replies, but then my screen pings and I see Seynar appear next to me. He unleashes a laser blast and disintegrates Balsa in a stream of blue pixels.

  “Eat Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation, you barky bitch,” he yells.

  Balsa dies, I’m depetrified, Lanyon is revived, and George strums his lute.

  “Hey, Katie,” Seynar says as his soldier gathers all the spoils of war.