by T L Costa
“Yeah,” I say. I do remember. That girl’s all about quality control.
“She’s calling. She checked those things every day till that game was like flawless.” Alpha smiles, his whole face seeming to grow.
“In your dreams.” Peanut takes a swig of his Dew. “Face it, guys, it doesn’t matter. A girl like SlayerGrrl is never calling one of us. Ever. For any reason. Tyler, man, you know that I love you like a brother. But don’t get your hopes up.”
I open up another granola bar. He’s wrong. She’s gonna get back to me. I can feel it.
The first few missions are cool. Well, no, they’re dull as hell. But they make me feel like I’m doing something important, like one day some pilot is going to actually be doing something just like this, for real. And I helped make that happen. And that’s kind of a good feeling. Like I’m not just a waste of space. Like I’m doing something for my country.
Beta testing some new flight simulator twenty-five hours a week isn’t exactly what I planned on doing with my life, but it’s a start to some kind of a future, I guess.
The sim mimics real drone missions. The back-story says that a bunch of insurgents plant the explosives along the road, and then innocent civilians or coalition forces drive over the road and detonate the explosives. You have to like fly for a billion hours over some road and check for people who are trying to plant IEDs in the culverts underneath it. All I do is just patrol miles and miles of empty road. It’s good, though, cause I’m starting to get the hang of the program. Lots of math. Lots of calculations and recalculations of speed and adjusting for wind resistance and things. In the earlier version you don’t have to worry about takeoffs and landings, because ground crew take care of that for you, you just pick up the mission at the start of the flight, or plug in somewhere midway. But in this one the takeoffs and landings are on you, which means that there’s that much more to do in the game, so that’s something, at least.
The sim gives me four drones to control at a time. Each has two missiles. I haven’t gotten to hit anything yet, I just designate waypoints and mark the locations of any suspicious activity. In real life, those points would be texted to troops on the ground who could intercept the people in question.
So far my feedback has been that it’s boring. Like drive-you-insane kind of boring. If Rick’s company wants to get kids interested in being pilots, or pilots interested in sitting and staring at a screen instead of actually taking a plane up in the air themselves, then he has to liven this shit up.
I can’t stop thinking about SlayerGrrl. Maybe I should tell her. She’ll get it. It’s been almost a week. Wish she were here. Wish she would come back. The way her cheeks moved when she chewed. The way she wiped the salt off of her hands onto the back of her jeans. Totally hot. I like a woman who can drink soda and eat chips and not bitch about calories. She’s sort of quiet. Shy? I don’t know. I liked it when she talked, even when she didn’t. It was cool. Sitting next to me, talking about flying… gaming. I like her. I mean, well, yeah.
I look back to the top screen. All drones online. All focused on one mission. Nothing going on. Nothing on the sim. Nothing with my social life. I sent her three emails and she hasn’t returned even one.
“Tyler.” Rick’s voice sounds like a dog chasing off a puppy trying to steal its food. Shit, I totally forgot that he’s here. “Focus. Get through this and we’ll go out, OK? I bought tickets to see the late showing of Rise of the Juggernauts in IMAX 3D, but first we have to do this.”
“What?” I take a swig of Mountain Dew, smiling, rubbing at the stupid blood pressure cuff. Last time Rick and I went to the movies it was epic, spent hours together afterward in the arcade. He’s cool, Rick, even though he can be a tightass. My eyes follow the road. Shit. Wait. Something is happening. “Two unfriendlies spotted at culvert 347 at latitude north 32.7 longitude east 70.1. Two trucks moving north-northwest.” Finally get to tail something.
He looks down at the lower monitor. “See the numbers flashing in red at the bottom right hand of the screen?”
504 and 503. “Yup,” I say, keeping my eyes mostly trained on the trucks. Heart picking up speed.
“The flashing numbers in red mean that central command wants you to take drones 504 and 503 off of primary mission and engage.”
“Finally.” I check the time. Real time. Ten hours ahead of Eastern Standard. Dark there. Drones should be invisible to the fake people in the trucks. Kind of like that WWII game where you got to fly bomb strikes over Germany. Only more current. Less exciting. But still.
“Here, put on your headset, record your moves once the commands are called.”
I slip it on. Finally we are getting to do something in this game. Finally I get to see the little red guys on screen that indicate the “unfriendlies.” “Taking drones 504 and 503 off primary mission.” I punch in the codes and direct the two drones to follow the trucks.
A computer-generated voice in my ear calls the directions, flat and emotionless. I look at Rick. His face is stretched tight like a drum. He pulls a flask out of his pocket, takes a sip.
“So I just do what he says and confirm in the mic?”
“You got it.” He smiles. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“They record it towards my score?”
“Just do what it says.”
I listen to the call. “Drones 675 and 231 on auto. 504 and 503 in pursuit of target one.”
Rick leans over my shoulder. Smells like Bengay. Bengay and the stuff in the flask. What’s up with the drinking? He never drinks. “Confirm MTS autotrack on target one, Ty.”
“You OK, man?” My left hand pulls off the camera controls and I bring it to the keyboard to type in the code.
“Dammit, Tyler, you need to focus.”
What the fuck? I say, “MTS autotrack on target one confirmed.” MTS autotrack is cool. Apparently the government can track anyone they want as long as they have a cell phone. “If something’s wrong, Rick, you can just tell me.”
“Check weapon readiness.” Rick takes another sip and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, Ty, I just want you to do well here. I care about you, about your future, and right here, right now you can put yourself on the right track, get ahead. You understand?”
“Yeah, I get it, just relax, man, I’ll be OK. I got this.” I push my lips together to try and give him a weak smile. I know he worries about me, but he shouldn’t, not with this, anyway. I focus on the screens. Tail 231 is a Predator drone and it has two missiles. I lock up target one with tail 231.
I type in a code that turns on the laser. I read the screen. Arming the weapons. Waiting… The green light blinks. “We have power.”
I read the screen and punch in the code that enlarges my view from the tiny tail 231 box. Each drone has a window that shows its camera view on monitor one and I make it so that I have a three-screen view of the camera from tail 231.
“Good.” He squeezes my shoulder tight. “Now set the laser.” His eyes are riveted on everything at once, just like mine.
I pull up the laser screen, check the code then say into the headset, “Laser ready.” Green light one. “Laser armed.” Blinking… that’s the go. “Lasing,” I say and hit target one with the laser that will guide the missile.
Then I flip up the safety on the joystick that controls the weapon. Rick holds his breath. This is kinda exciting. Finally getting to blow something up in this damned game. The go light blinks for the weapon. “Three… two… one… rifle.”
I wait, I see the truck moving across the screen, a tiny white ant racing across miles of brown nothingness, and then count down: “Three… two… one… impact.”
The truck explodes. The explosion doesn’t have sound effects or anything, like what watching an explosion on Google Earth would be like. Just doesn’t have the same zing. Too bad. The graphics are tight but you’d think if you’re signing up for the Air Force they’d give the sim better audio.
“Good job, son.”
�
��Told you not to worry.” I look up at him and he smiles, for real this time, one that shows all those wrinkles on his face, only in like a good way. “We still on for that movie?”
He looks past me at the sim, his smile fading into this weird, intense sort of expression. He takes another drink.
CHAPTER 6
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25
ANI
Cartesian dualism? I throw down my pencil, disgusted. Why on earth do I have to know this? Philosophy may just kill me. Christy is up front, actually talking with the professor, and I wonder what would happen to me if I went to the dean to drop the class. What would they threaten me with, losing credit? Having to take a big W for withdraw on my record? I could always replace it with something less Philosophy-like – Art, for instance, or even Creative Writing. I had to write a storyline for World of Fire, it can’t be that different. Still, a W might not be so bad, as long as the dean doesn’t have to call my mom.
Mom would lose her mind. I wonder what she’d threaten me with, though, now that I’m in college. Once I got a B in gym and she forbid me from talking on the phone with Dad when he was able to call from Afghanistan. I cried for a week. The only good thing about skipping grades was getting away from Mom that much sooner. Not even perfect Julie can calm her down when she goes into her snits. Especially after what happened the last time Dad came home.
Every time I think of her I hear Mom’s words in my head: Truth is, Your Honor, that he frightens me now, I just don’t know if me and my girls are safe with him in the house.
I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as she spoke. The last fatal cracks in the shell of the man who so desperately wanted to hold himself together.
She was silent when they sentenced him.
My jaw clenches at the thought of my mother. I don’t know why she hates Dad so much. Lots of soldiers have PTSD when they come home; he didn’t mean the things he said, the things he did. If I can understand that, that he’s sick and he can get better, then so should she. She hated my gaming, too, dismissed it as a pastime for the “junkies and the jobless.” When I won the state science fair, she didn’t even come to the awards ceremony. She had a headache. I had to get a ride from Julie’s boyfriend. My phone rings. Oh no.
The phone buzzes in my pocket and I stand up and gather my books and push them towards my bag so I can leave, but then my binder falls. The phones buzzes again. I have to get it, looking at the papers scattered all over the floor around my desk, I wince as the professor looks over at me. I leave the books on the floor and rush out into the hall, bolting towards the stairs so no one will be able to hear me talking.
Kicking the block in front of the stairwell doors out of the way, I wait for the click of latch before I say, “Hello?”
“Ani.” The voice is low, Mr Anderson.
“Hey,” I start.
“How are things going at school?”
“Fine.” Should I do it? Should I ask? My heart races as I think of Tyler, moving over in the chair, looking up at me with those eyes, those eyelashes that seem to go on forever. The memory of the way he looked at me, reverent and fearful and awestruck, has been on instant replay in my head for days. I can’t delete it. I know I should eventually, but I just don’t want to let it go. “But, um, about the project. I may have to go back over to Tyler’s, I’d like to update the…”
“No, Ani. That won’t be necessary. I have complete trust in the integrity of the system. I know you’re anxious about potential errors since this is your first project on such a large scale, but don’t worry. Nerves are completely natural, and there are going to be errors and things that need updating in every system. Don’t let this keep you up at night.” He pauses. “Besides, you know the rules, you’re not going to have contact with any of the beta testers after you set up the system.”
No. I want to see him again. “But if there is an error and we don’t catch it–”
“There, you see? You’re worrying. If there’s a problem, we’ll deal with it. If you were older I’d tell you to have a beer and try and relax. Since you’re not, I think maybe a good walk around campus might do the trick.” He sighs. “Besides, Mr MacCandless is our most qualified beta tester, he has at least two years of actual piloting experience. I’ve taught him most of what he knows myself. If anyone can work around initial bugs in the system, it’s him. That kid was born to fly, he’ll figure it out.” The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and a sliver of jealousy slides in beneath my ribs.
“But–”
“You don’t find the rules guiding this project unfair, do you?” His voice is cold: a mortuary door slamming shut. Fear wedges in my throat. Oh God, what Mr Anderson could do to me if I mess this up. He knows what I did back in California, and I don’t want to go to jail.
“No, not at all.” Hating the way the words feel in my mouth as I speak, I think of the way Tyler looked at me, like I was strong, like I was there. My stomach clenches.
“The next system is set for delivery Thursday at 1600 hours, right?” His voice lifts again, but the threat underlying his previous statement stains my consciousness. I can’t ever relax around Mr Anderson, I can’t ever forget what he can do.
“Yeah, I just need a few hours to work out the bugs and it will be ready. I can probably get into the office tomorrow, I don’t have class on Wednesday afternoons.”
“Perfect. See you then.” The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, studying it for a minute, and then shove it back into my pocket. Why is he insisting on acting as a go-between?
Wednesday, September 26
Ani
Who has time to join a club? Tables brimming with fliers and free water bottles litter the quad as the students at large try to sell their clubs to the freshmen.
“Hi there!” The girl looking at me is tall and classically beautiful, you know, long hair and lots of makeup and perfectly plucked brows. She shoves a leaflet into my hand and my feet crunch through a pile of leaves as I take a step back. She says, “I’m Stacy and you should meet up with me and the girls on Thursday nights. We go into an inner-city school here in New Haven to help tutor kids in need three afternoons a week. It’s a really great cause and we cover any subject you like, and–”
“Sorry.” I look at my feet. That does sound like a great thing to do but: “I have to work.”
Her nose twitches up just a little as her eyes scroll down to check out my clothes. My cheeks burn. Yeah, that’s right, I have to work. Unlike you, apparently. I look at her face, perfectly bronzed and set off by little pearl studs.
She smiles, that plastic little half-turn of the lip that I think we invented out in California, and just like that, I disappear from her line of vision. Forever.
I was an idiot for thinking that the East Coast would be different.
Swallowing, I raise my bag up a little higher on my shoulder and walk over towards the dorm, passing the table for the anime club with something that feels a little like regret.
CHAPTER 7
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 27
TYLER
Nothing gets a direct response from SlayerGrrl. For each question I have, Rick answers. He might ask her, but it’s him that texts me. If she sent me a text, even if she blocked the number, I could trace it. She doesn’t return my emails. Maybe I should use more emoticons. Girls like emoticons, right? Smiley faces and shit.
Sucks. I knew they gave me a fake name when she came to my house, which is fine. No contact or whatever, I get it. So I checked her gamer record. When she hit one of the high scores at some LA Comic-Con, they made her sign for her prize with her real name and not just her gamertag. Used the gamertag and tracked it back and got her name… Ani Bagdorian.
Pronounced “ahh-knee.” It’s an Armenian name, or at least that’s what Google says. She’s from LA. I know nothing about LA. Except that’s where they make movies. And it’s supposed to be hot. I shake my foot. Need to think. I yank open the door to class. Need to think. Should be playing
the sim. Not here. Not in school. Need to think.
Do girls walk around in bikinis in LA? They do in the movies. Blondes with big tits and roller skates hanging out under palm trees. Ani would look great in a bikini. Wish she’d at least accept my Facebook friend request.
Test. There’s a test today? Shit. Right. No, it’s cool. It’s History. I can do this. Only failing because I’m never here for the tests. Never make them up when I miss them. Nodding at Alpha in the back of the class, I shove my books under the desk. Alpha’s got this black hair that covers most of his face, and a beard that takes care of the rest. He raises his hand in greeting. Looks back at his desk.
Get the paper. Why is the classroom always so quiet? Don’t they have a radio they can turn on or something? Even crappy music would be better than nothing. I look down at the test. OK. Well, maybe I can’t do this.
Look at the clock. An hour and a half. Look at the test. Names and dates and laws and wow this is going to be a really long ninety minutes.
I read question number one. I don’t know who signed the Treaty of Versailles. I should have read the chapters at least. Reading is hard, though. Takes time and energy and concentration and it’s just so much easier to not do it. Lines and letters everywhere, fighting to make sense but mostly just don’t. Takes forever just to get through a page.
Essay questions. Good. Do those first. Get to choose. Gross domestic product driving decisions about rebuilding after the war. Shit. OK. Back to question one. Is it hot? I move. Focus. Read the question. Has to be some guys that I know. Perfume? Is Jack in front of me wearing cologne or something? Smells awful. OK, twist around again. Look out the window. Is the sun going down yet? How long is ninety minutes? Can’t do this. No, focus. Read question two, you can go back to number one. Shit. Takes forever to read, the question is really long and has a lot of different people in it and I don’t know who any of them are. Can’t do this. I grind my back into the hard plastic of the chair, slamming my feet into the ground. Good, got question two. OK, focus. Question three. Need to leave. But the letters aren’t coming together and that cologne is going to make me sneeze and I can almost hear that clock, that clock that’s meaningless because the ninety minutes is just for everyone else, and for me, with extra time, it’s a life-sentence. I have to stay here until I’m done. Forever and ever and ever and now the clock is ringing in my ears and the lines are jumping all over the page and the smell, oh God the smell of that cologne is riding up my nose and rotting my brain from the inside out.