“We’re down to three, the magic number. Interestingly, the two girls are both current students at Nottingham University. It must be the way they teach their Science. There’s one space left. It’s yours if you can buzz in and correctly answer this. What was the name of the princess in Ludi Bioski’s story?”
Nova heard the words ‘Ludi Bioski’, got excited, and very nearly pressed the buzzer. She knew all about him: his tree house, the random events he spun on his Orbitini, the way he had stitched himself together after being killed by the King and Queen. But what was the name of their daughter? She could picture the princess clearly, first as a midget on tiptoe, reaching for door handles in the castle, and then as a titan whose feet stuck out of the end of her bed.
Why hadn’t she spent more time mastering the Science instead of researching Theodore Markowsky? Sushi was right. It was a stupid obsession. The Holy Order had been wiped out. Markowsky was probably lying at the bottom of the Mississippi, fish food or worse. When a buzzer sounded to her left, Nova’s body convulsed, as if she had awoken from a bad dream. Her stomach felt like it had turned to stone. It was the guy from Newcastle who had made the foosball table in the Show and Tell round. She stared at his answer on her tablet: Emina. Was that correct? Right there and then, she couldn’t have said either way.
“I asked for the name of the princess in Ludi Bioski’s story. Joe, you said ‘Emina’. It’s not the answer I was looking for. The question goes back out … and Holly’s buzzed in!”
“I think Joe was close, Arty, but I remember it starting with a ‘Z’. Was it ‘Zemina’?”
The few seconds’ pause between Holly giving her answer and Arty responding were among the longest of Nova’s life. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if Holly went through instead of her. Murder, manslaughter and assault were all possibilities.
“I’m sorry, Holly, that wasn’t the answer I was looking for either. Over to you, Nova. Any ideas?”
Nova breathed a long, deliberate sign of relief and managed to refrain from looking at Holly, whose death stare she could feel burning a hole in her face. Zemina. She said the word over and over. Artica tapped the question card against his open palm and looked at her expectantly. She could sense the whispered conversations in the audience. Shuffling uneasily from foot to foot, she willed the answer to come to her with every ounce of her being.
“I’m going to have to hurry you, I’m afraid, Nova. The Game is only one year long after all …”
Laughter from the crowd. It bought her another few seconds.
“Was it …” She gulped and only then became aware of how dry her mouth was. “Was it ‘Zibelda’?” She glanced at her chest, actually worried for a second that the palpitations in her heart might be visible to the people watching.
The answer came as a surprise; she hadn’t known what she was going to say until the word came out of her mouth. It just seemed to happen, like one of her inspired manoeuvres in Krazy Karting. When she heard herself say it, she still wasn’t sure where it had come from — or even if she’d made it up on the spot.
“Super Nova 2020, player number 515,740, originally from Maidstone in Kent, ‘Zibelda’ is the right answer. Congratulations. You’ve made it through to the sixth and penultimate round, guaranteeing yourself a minimum prize of one hundred thousand pounds.”
***
Casey watched Theodore telepathically command the target to retreat back down the narrow passageway that constituted the shooting range. As a series of pulleys whirred above their heads, Casey studied his prosthetic limb and repeated, “shoot the target, shoot the target,” in his head, like a holy man chanting a mantra.
He’d found chanting to be the most effective way of concentrating on the task at hand and keeping his subversive thoughts at bay. He wondered what had happened to his brain after the incident at the Epicenter. Perhaps the electric shock had ruptured his personality, splitting it in two. Was he now suffering from some sort of multiple personality disorder? He wasn’t sure.
All he knew was that his existence had become torture. The knowledge that his every last thought was being monitored and recorded was too much to bear. It had reduced him to a stammering, gibbering wreck. A thought of escape would pop into his mind. Knowing the thought might get him killed, he’d immediately counter it, telling himself to shut the fuck up and begging Father to ignore that part of him. It was a form of mental tennis and it was slowly destroying him.
“You ready, Elmer?”
“Y-y-yes, Fa-father, I’m r-ready.”
“We only have fifty of these ceramic darts, and they were extremely expensive to manufacture, so don’t go wasting them. If you keep missing, stop. We may have to recalibrate the targeting system.”
Theodore held the dart out in front of him, narrowed his eyes and studied its tip. It was no longer than a fingernail. He carefully placed it in Casey’s hand, stepped to one side and crossed his arms.
Casey gulped. He took the dart between thumb and forefinger and tried to stop shaking long enough that he could press it into the lifeline that curved round the palm of his prosthetic hand. Managing to do so after a Herculean effort, he watched as it disappeared through the tiny flap. A few seconds later his middle finger jutted straight out, signalling that the dart was correctly aligned in the chamber. He positioned a foot alongside the line and tried to remember the training he’d undergone in the virtual environment.
Shoot the old bastard in the head, quick as you like. I didn’t mean it, Father, please don’t hurt me. Yes, you did. Shoot him, cut his arm off and use it to escape. Shut up. I don’t mean it. I don’t know where those thoughts are coming from. The target. Shoot the target, not dear, beloved Father.
Casey smiled weakly at Theodore. Forming the hand into a fist, he clenched it five times in quick succession. His middle knuckle popped open and a red dot appeared on the concrete ground. He pointed the appendage at the target and used his other hand to steady it, keeping the dot hovering around the bullseye as best he could.
It was no good. His nerves were shot to pieces and his arm was all over the place. Even with the steadying influence of his other hand, the dot rarely stayed in one place for longer than a split second. Using every last ounce of concentration and willpower, he fired the dart, knowing immediately that it was way off centre. A distant thwack could be heard as the dart struck the chipboard. When he looked at the monitor zoomed in on the target, he was amazed to find that he’d nearly hit the bullseye.
“Self-directing darts. I wouldn’t risk something as important as this on a nervous wreck like you. Inner ring. It’s a start. But I don’t want you to stop until you’re hitting the bullseye every time. Remember: we’re only going to get one shot at this. You’ve got seventy-two hours until your flight. I’ll leave you to it.”
Behind them a small convoy of ’bots glided along the corridor, carrying a range of computer parts between them. Theodore walked a few paces away from the shooting range and then stopped without turning around.
“Oh, Casey, there was one other thing.”
“Y-y-yes, Father?”
A bolt of electricity shot through Casey’s skull. Lasting only a fraction of a second, it was far less severe than the shock he received at the Epicenter. Still, it was enough to send him to his knees, where he remained, hands clutched to his chest, a look of desperate self-pity on his face.
“I’m sorry, Elmer, but I thought we agreed that Casey was dead. Let’s not fail because of some silly little oversight. If I can remember your new name, you can too.”
My name’s Elmer Sullivan and I’m the property of the Holy Order. Casey repeated it over and over. It would be his new mantra for the day.
***
Nova was aware of the celebrations going on around her, but was too numb to join them. Instead she stood still, arms by her sides, as she tried to allow the news to sink in. From the hundred million people who had started the year, she’d made the final ten. It didn’t seem possible — amazing things like th
is didn’t happen to ordinary people like her.
It was the evening of Saturday 20th February 2021, and the Grand Room at the Trumpton Hotel had just burst into life. It was a frothing sea of moving people and flash photography as the crowd jostled to get a look at the prize specimens on stage. The penultimate round was called Sixty Second Solicitation and had required the final hundred, including three Solos from the UK, to make a minute-long video to persuade people to vote for them.
Pundits had declared that success would arise from a careful blend of psychology and popularity as players worked out how to endear themselves to the voting masses, those 99,999,900 players who had already gone out. Where the Show and Tell round had required them to present an object, this round had required them to present themselves.
After securing her place in the final hundred the previous weekend, she and the ninety-nine other semi-finalists had been transported from around the world to the plush Trumpton Hotel in Mayfair, London, where they were shown to their rooms and kept away from the press. The bombshell had been dropped after breakfast the next morning: they had two days in which to record their videos in one of the special booths located around the perimeter of the Grand Room.
They hadn’t been allowed any props or special effects this time, only the power of their arguments. The videos had been subjected to a global vote. Each dead player had one vote to cast and it had to go to a player from a country other than their own. Nova, unbelievably, had received enough votes to place in the top ten, and 750 million people had just watched the results.
As the nine other finalists approached her in turn, Nova did her best to congratulate them. Pedey Gonzalez, the woman who had fired the Shadow Sucker in Bouncy Baltimore, planted a firm kiss on Nova’s cheek and skipped off to join her family. Labelled The American Dream by the press back in the States, her confidence often bordered on arrogance, although Nova was never sure how much her attitude was purely for show. Next in the queue to greet her was Jools van der Star.
His avatar name, The Beanstalker, accurately described his physique. He was six foot four, but couldn’t have weighed much more than Nova herself. She craned her neck to look up at him and, in an attempt to put their rivalry behind her, offered him a weak smile and her outstretched hand.
He looked down at her, bearing an expression that suggested he’d discovered a piece of crusty dog shit embedded in the sole of his shoe, scoffed, and then brushed past, without uttering a single word. She turned to see him walk off in the direction of what had become her least favourite sound in the entire universe: Holly’s godawful laugh.
Nova patted herself down, quickly shook a few more hands and was glad to see Burner leap onto the stage. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spoke like he had only just processed the news himself.
“You’re a millionaire! A bloody millionaire! Unless you screw things up, a multimillionaire. And I’m best mates with you. This is the best thing that’s ever happened. You know what this means, don’t you? There’s no time to party. We need to get straight back to work. A week until the final round sounds like a long time, but it will fly by. I’ll start researching the other nine finalists. Strengths, weaknesses, that kind of thing.”
He flicked his visor down and went to work. Nova smiled, thankful she could count on him. Charlie was on the other side of the room being interviewed by someone from the BBC. She watched him for a while, glad that he too was part of Team Nova. He was no master of Science, quite the opposite. But as she’d come to appreciate during the Race to the Origin round, it was useful to have newbies around. His constant stream of questions had made her think more deeply about some of the mechanics of The Game, things she thought she knew well. Perversely, he’d made her a better Solo.
Just behind Charlie, her parents waved frantically as they caught her eye. They’d come to London for the day and looked to be the proudest people in the room. Since she’d started to place in the money positions, her dad had been far more sympathetic to Nova’s Solarversia obsession. She’d not seen him this happy in a long time. Her mum said he’d been applying for jobs almost non-stop for the last three months. No bites — not even an interview. He was glum at home, always muttering about being too old and out on his arse. It was great to see him with a smile on his face.
Ignoring the almighty kerfuffle in the room, her mind drifted to the other two people who had dominated her thoughts of late. Nothing more had been heard of Markowsky. Some believed that he’d drowned during his escape attempt. Others reckoned he’d gone into hiding, afraid to appear in public, and was in the depths of the South American rain forest.
Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, she was obsessed with him and his stupid manifesto, that much was clear. She’d been spending an unhealthy amount of time in Super Nova, the virtual cube, downloading information, reading forums and watching videos, and constantly fantasising about what she’d say and do to him if she ever got the chance.
She caught Charlie’s eye and nodded to him. He winked, knowing full well what she wanted to do now the result was in. Finally, she felt ready to visit Sushi. She’d apologise for the stupid fight and for her recent absence. But now she had something exciting to tell her, some news that would blow her away — she’d made the final ten and had done so by dedicating the sixty-second video to her.
She escaped the turmoil of the room and found a quiet alcove in which to make her visit. Brushing her hair behind her ears and thinking through what she wanted to say one last time, she launched the Soul Surfer app. It took her a few seconds to realise that something was different about the app. The ‘lobby’ — the app’s home area — had changed slightly. The default modules were all there, the training area, the forums and so on, but not the link to Sushi herself, the one that took Nova to her bench overlooking the Seattle skyline.
Confused, she navigated to her messages. Waiting in her inbox, marked as being of high importance, was a message from Charlotte Applewhite, Soul Surfer’s CEO. “Dear Soul Surfer, it is with profound regret that I write to you today. Thirty hours ago our website and the Soul Surfer application were taken offline by a sophisticated hacking attack carried out by a group of cyber terrorists known as the Holy Order. The outcome of the attack pains me beyond words: they deleted forty thousand Souls from our database before we were able to regain control of our systems. I’m heartbroken to inform you that Sushi Harrison was one of the Souls affected.”
She reread the last few words a dozen times. “One of the Souls affected.” What was that supposed to mean? Affected how? She navigated to the forum and did her best to take everything in. People were using words like ‘genocide’ and ‘holocaust’, and were generally baying for blood. The more lenient users were calling for Mrs Applewhite to resign; others wanted her charged with culpable homicide.
Finally she stumbled upon a long article by Soul Surfer’s CTO, explaining in laborious detail the implications of the attack. It came down to a matter of backup. All that existed on the company’s servers were the ‘kernels’ — the original, unmodified algorithms that represented the dead people who had signed up. Nothing else was saved. It meant that all and any changes to the algorithms had been wiped.
She fumbled the headset to one side, gasping for breath. This couldn’t be happening. Burner. He’d know what to do. As she rushed back to the Grand Room, desperate to see him, she bumped into her dad, coming the other way, a look of joy still plastered across his face. He wrapped an arm around her back and hugged her proudly.
“There you are, love. I’m just popping to the washroom, and then it’s drinks all round. Your mother spotted one of those magnums of champagne behind the bar. Let’s push the boat out, shall we? It’s not everyday your daughter becomes a millionaire.” Against her will, Nova’s shoulders had begun to shake. “What’s the matter, love?” He pulled away from her to study her face. “You look awful.”
“It’s Soul Surfer. Sushi’s gone.”
He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard her words — a
s if perhaps she’d spoken in French.
Smelling the alcohol on his breath, Nova pulled back from his embrace. “Dad — Sushi’s had her memory wiped. She’s been deleted.”
“Come on, love, buck up. The website must have crashed or something. You can visit her later and buy her a bottle of computer bubbles. You’ve just won a million squid, Nove.” He raised her hand in his and shook them in jubilation. “A million bloody squid!”
“You’ve been drinking and you’re not listening. It’s not all about money. you know.”
“Ha,” he said and laughed. “Wait ’til you’re my age, you’ve got a family to look after, and you’ve been out of work for a year. Then tell me it’s not all about money.”
“Dad, listen to me. Sushi’s gone. I’ve lost her again.”
He gave her a serious look. “It’s not like she’s not a real person though, is it? Computers don’t have souls, that’s just a clever name for the app.”
“How would you know? You’ve never visited her. Don’t tell me she’s not real.”
“Now you’re being silly. It’s just a computer game, however clever it is.”
She felt winded. A computer game? “How could you be so fucking insensitive, Dad? Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to lose a friend because you haven’t got any to start with.”
He reeled a little, taking a step back in the corridor and momentarily seeming to lose his balance.
“For a girl who’s nearly nineteen, you can be very rude and very childish sometimes. You need to spend some more time in the real world, that’s your problem.”
He stormed away down the corridor. Tears welled in her eyes and started rolling down her cheeks. If Computer Sushi wasn’t real, why did she feel distraught? The last ten months of their relationship had been deleted forever. She’d been taken from her all over again.
And this time, they’d parted on bad terms.
Solarversia: The Year Long Game Page 41