by Bill Fawcett
A blaze of lights filled the scope as the ship exploded.
What happened? I looked down at my hand to see if I had inadvertently pushed the firing mechanism. Nope.
Then I heard Burt’s unmistakable laughter. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I just couldn’t resist.”
I looked across the gaming table at him. “How could you? That would have been my highest frag count ever.”
“Alright, I’m sorry. It’s just—you looked so serious. I had to do something. Besides, you scored high enough to get into the finals. A little late though, I had that score an hour ago.”
“Oh, shut up, will ya.” I examined the room. I wondered which of the twenty participants had also made it to the finals. Well, it didn’t matter. The important thing was that I made it and so did Burt. For the past four months, I ate, slept, and dreamt Voo Dong Privateers. And now it paid off. The excitement was overwhelming. The gaming company had gone all out this year. They’d run a four-month long contest promoting this new game. Twenty of the top players from around the nation would then compete in a semi-final round at DragonCon. The finalists would battle it out for the grand prize ... a first class ticket to Germany and a position at Stocker- Heim Studios as a Quality Assurance Tester.
I couldn’t believe I made it this far. It was like finding Wonka’s Golden Ticket with a lifetime supply of chocolate. I imagined what it would be like living in Germany. I could just see myself sitting in one of those Gasthauses along the Rhine, sipping Riesling, conversing with all those gorgeous young men from the university—and best of all, I’d be getting paid to play video games.
“Kylie! Weren’t you listening? We have to meet back here in five hours.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Burt. I don’t know where my mind was.”
“I do, across the Atlantic. You’ve been dreaming of this for a long time and now it looks like you’re finally going to get what you want.”
I took a strand of my chestnut-colored hair and twirled it around my index finger. I couldn’t believe the officials were going to make us wait five hours. I was anxious. Never thought my entire future would hinge on my performance in a computer game.
“I still have to play the finals. And, I wasn’t even the top player. You far outfragged me. Looks like if anyone is going, it will be you.”
“You give up too easy, kiddo. Anyway, you think I’m going to give up a six-figure a year job just to play computer games? I told you—I’m just here for the beer.”
Burt was an executive at Lockheed Martin and had spent the last two years in the United Arab Emirates living the life of an international playboy. He always wanted to be James Bond, so he took a certain delight in hob-knobbing with the upper echelons of society. His recent brag was that he was rubbing elbows with the crown prince. It was a lifestyle he wouldn’t give up so easily.
“Did someone say beer?” A guy dressed up something like a pseudo-Rambo had turned in our direction. The other players were slowly leaving the room, many of them pressed down by the weight of defeat. Only a few stayed behind. “Man, I could use a drink.”
Another man left his seat and walked over toward us. He was dressed like Morpheus in The Matrix but, other than sharing the same ethnic background, he looked nothing like him. “Are you guys in the finals?” He seemed to be addressing all of us.
Burt turned to look in his direction. “I am and she—”
“Don’t tell him. He may have a sword hidden in that trench coat. He’s probably just waiting to eliminate the competition by lopping off all our heads.” I shot a sly grin in Morpheus’ direction.
He countered with an equally cheeky Cheshire cat expression. “No, that’s not my style. Besides, I’m Morpheus, not Connor Macleod. And besides, Highlander is so passé.”
“Oooh, well la tee dar I take it you are in the finals?” I figured he was okay, even if he did say that Highlander was passé.
“I sure am. My name is Reginald Hudson. My friends call me Regi.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kylie Rayne and this is my old friend, Roburt Blakeney.”
“I don’t know if I like being described as old.”
“Not that kind of old. Besides, you’re only as old as you feel.”
“Great, feel me and see how old I am.” Burt’s laugh was maniacal.
“Not as old as that joke,” I countered.
“Yeah, that was pretty bad.” We all turned in the direction of the comment. A girl came up on our left and remained standing. She was very tall and slender, and her face had a childlike quality. I don’t know where she was from, but if I had to guess it would be the Steppes in Mongolia. Her hair was not black, but dark brown, with slight hints of red. Long eyelashes framed eyes which were almost green. She wore a black Kung-Fu outfit with a turquoise dragon embroidered on the front. Part of the dragon’s body was on the left side of the garment, while the face and tail were on the right. The costume was perfect for her. “Hi, I’m Aliya Cahn.”
“No way, Man.” Rambo obviously had a lot of tact.
I had to stifle back a laugh myself, but at least I wasn’t that conspicuous.
Aliya seemed to sense my uneasiness, “It’s okay; I get that all the time. But mine is spelled with a C, not a K.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s different.” His sarcasm was unbelievable.
“Okay, Rambo, what’s your name?” I was hoping it was something that I could rhyme with a number of inappropriate words.
“Cole Turner, but you can call me anything just as long as you call me.” This guy was a walking cliche. He looked at me like I was the last Coca Cola in the desert. Gross. It didn’t take me long to realize that he wasn’t dressed up either. No, this was his normal attire. The Semper Fidelis tattoo on his upper left arm told me he was a Marine, although I wouldn’t have needed that to figure it out.
“Well ... Cole ... that’s real ... uh ... redneck.” Nope, no inappropriate rhymes. Damn.
He didn’t seem bothered by my comment. “Look, is anyone else here thirsty? Cause I could murder a beer right now.”
“Sure, I could use a drink.” Burt’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he took a certain pride in having tasted ales from every corner of the globe. His recent discovery was Jackson’s Autumn Ale. It was a local favorite made right here in Atlanta, and they just happened to have it on tap at the Parasol. “Shall we head over to the Hyatt?” You could almost see Burt salivating at the prospect of native hops. His eyes examined the others. They all nodded in agreement, and he knew I wouldn’t say no. We made our way over to the Hyatt from the basement of the Sheridan. The streets were laden with sci-fi and fantasy’s greatest heroes. It was like an interplanetary Mardi Gras. I was mesmerized by all the costumes. Was it just me or were they getting better? I remember when painted cardboard and a roll of duct tape would win you the star prize, now you needed an engineering degree just to participate. I felt underdressed in my jeans and black T-shirt.
I pulled Burt aside as we neared the front entrance of the Hyatt. “Did you really mean what you said back there?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean about letting me win the tournament, cause if you did, you can’t. I can’t let you do that for me.”
“Look, I don’t want this. You do. Besides, when the officials see the hot little number who’s competing, they’ll probably fix the scores in your favor.”
“Very funny.” It occurred to me that he may not be joking. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me. You’re the only enlisted person I knew in the Air Force who could have the officers eating out of her hand.”
“That was because I was the best aircraft mechanic in the business. Pilots like to know they’re in good hands.”
“Oh, they wanted to be in good hands all right.”
I gave Burt a playful slug in the arm. “You’re just je
alous because I’m a better mechanic than you.”
“You think so, huh?” He bumped his shoulder into mine and shot a playful look at the revolving door. We raced to the entrance and fought our way into the same cubicle, pushing each other as it turned. We stepped into the lobby and put on our best “we’re normal” look. Our caravan of finalists followed.
After the long process of vulturing over tables and waiting for people to leave, we finally landed a spot at the edge of the giant parasol. Burt and Regi took the drink requests and went up to the bar. I watched Burt walking away and couldn’t help thinking that he fit in here much better than I did. This was his first DragonCon, but he looked like an old vet. He had always shaved his head, but the goatee and silver hooped earrings were recent additions. His leather pants gripped his legs tightly, leaving very little to the imagination. Burt had often been described as “John Luc Picard in his biker phase.” He was one of the few men of fifty who could wear leather without looking like an advertisement for Guitar Rock.
I, on the other hand, looked nothing like a cool space pirate. I had always been described as wholesome. My long, layered locks hadn’t changed in ten years. And I felt self conscious in tight clothing. Although I wanted to be one of those girls who was brave enough to sport a spiky, multi-colored hair style, or wear a skintight spandex spacesuit, unzipped down to the navel, it just wasn’t me.
“Hey, where the hell are they with our drinks?”
“Oh, that’s rich, Rambo, considering you aren’t buying. Why don’t you go and see if they need help?” I was starting to get annoyed by his very presence, but at least he left.
Aliya looked puzzled. “That was a little too easy.”
I didn’t quite understand it either. “Yes, he’s oddly accommodating.”
Burt and Regi returned with our drinks. Rambo trailed behind.
“I would like to propose a toast.” Burt played sophisticated very well. “I wish you all the best of luck as we enter this final round. I am glad we had this opportunity to meet. You all seem very nice—which will make it all the more difficult when I kick your asses later tonight.”
A round of boos and hisses rose up from the table and napkins were hurled in Burt’s direction. A commotion from the table next to us pulled our attention away from Burt.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, Tentacle Boy! That thing just hit my girl in the face.” The disgruntled patron pushed and Tentacle Boy went flying. The latter was dressed similar to Jabba the Hut’s toadie in Return of the Jedi although his costume was far superior to anything George Lucas could create without the use of some serious CGI. The Star Wars theme suddenly became very appropriate as this place started looking like the space port at Moss Eisley.
Tentacle Boy was still trying to catch his balance and nearly tumbled into me. “I’m terribly sorry.” The voice came from all around, like surround sound, but his mouth didn’t move. His translucent, cellulose skin did nothing to hide the veins underneath. It reminded me of the legs of those oversized bathing beauties on the beaches in Nova Scotia. Obviously, a lot of work went into getting the skin to look just right. But the crowning glory was the tentacles. There were three of them on the top of his head and they moved on their own. We couldn’t take our eyes off of him.
He turned to face us. “I have been looking all over for you.”
We all looked baffled. I tried to think of anyone I knew with the ability to put together a costume like this. “You have?”
“Yes, you are all the Voo Dong Privateers finalists, are you not?” Again with the surround sound. How was he doing that?
“Yes, we are not ... I mean ... yes, we are.” Cole was so easily confused.
“Good, I have come to tell you that the final competition has been moved to a different location and the time pushed forward ... ”
We looked at one another, turned our attention back to the alien and began shooting questions at him.
“What?”
“Where?”
“When?”
“Upstairs in this hotel, room 555, in ten minutes.”
A number of expletives erupted from the group as we all scrambled to our feet. Cole knocked over his stool while reaching for his drink. “Oh, shit, I haven’t even touched my drink.”
“What are you complaining for?” Burt said. “You didn’t pay for it.”
Cole knocked it back despite the time constraint. That’s right Rambo, drink up. Loosen those reflexes. Minus one in the competition. “You can have mine, too.” I batted my lashes innocently. I wasn’t planning on drinking it anyway. I would do nothing to compromise my reaction time.
We raced toward the elevators. There was a crowd of people all waiting to get to their prospective destinations. This was going to take forever. Without missing a cue, Burt and I ran toward the stairs. After all it was only five floors. The others realized our intentions and quickly followed suit.
I came to a screeching halt in front of the room. Burt practically slammed into me. Tentacle Boy was already there waiting.
“Wha?” Before I could form the rest of the word, he waved his gangly, three-fingered hand over the door handle and opened it. I hadn’t actually seen him use the card key, but guessed the card was hidden under the bulk of his costume. We piled into the room. The lights were off, and the curtains must have been closed. The blackness was so thick I couldn’t see an inch in front of my face. Although I didn’t think it could get any darker, it somehow deepened. My heart started racing.
“Hey, what kind of crap is this, man?” Cole yelled. “Turn the damn lights back on.”
Burt brushed against me. “Yeah, what is this?”
“What the ... Oh, shhhhhhhhh!”
The floor gave way. I thrust my arms out and felt nothing. My stomach rocketed to my throat. Threads of electricity pulsated through me. A deafening, high-pitched, whine rang in my ears. Nausea racked my gut. I was getting dizzier by the second. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the sensation stopped. A red glow penetrated the darkness, and the surroundings slowly took shape.
This was no hotel room.
It was obvious we were in a simulator of some sort, but it looked like the set of a sci-fi movie. I was astounded at all the detail. All this just to test a computer game? As the shock wore off, I began to take in the particulars of the simulator. Through the constant pulse of red light, a CGI picture of the earth filled a giant display. It gave the appearance that we were orbiting. A large control center housed three smaller displays with various high-tech switches and dials recessed under a glass table top. Jets of air hissed up from the grated metal floor. As the crisp air shot up my pants leg, I was grateful that I’d left my Marilyn Monroe dress at home.
Three pseudo art-deco chairs lined the control center, each one of them in front of a prospective display. The chairs were black leather; although it was hard to be sure in the low, red lighting. Three of the walls had an iridescent luster and were designed to look like bulkheads but, rather than being made out of metal, they seemed to be made out of some type of fiberglass. The other was completely taken up with the picture of Planet Earth. There were two more control panels recessed into the bulkheads. No expense was spared.
“This is some cool shit!” I had almost forgotten about the others until Rambo piped up.
“You have such a way with words,” I said sarcastically.
“Yeah.” The nodding head and prideful gleam in his eye told me that this guy actually thought I meant it.
“We must begin, now. We have no time to waste.” Tentacle Boy stepped to the front of the room and faced us. “As I am sure you have all realized by now, the final round of the competition will be different from the games you have played until now. You are in a simulator which has been designed to test your abilities as a crew in space combat.”
“You’re changing the rules?” Regi suddenly looked very worried.
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“Well, I don’t care what we do as long as I get to blow shit up.” The instructions continued. “You will all be given different assignments and ranks on the ship. Mr. Blakeney, because of your high score, you will now be the Captain.”
“Hey, how’d you know my name?”
Our speaker ignored the comment. “Ms. Cahn, you will be the navigator. Mr. Turner, you will be the ship’s security officer.”
“What does that mean?”
“You will be in charge of ... blowing up the shit.”
“Right on!”
“Ms. Rayne, will be the ship’s engineer and Mr. Hudson, the ship’s doctor.”
“Why do you need a doctor on a simulator? What sort of game is this?”
“That ... is a very good question, Mr. Hudson. You see, the simulator was designed to be as accurate as possible. No ship could function in combat conditions without a doctor.”
“Yes, but what will he do if it’s just a game?” Frankly, I was a bit nervous about the prospect of simulating injuries.
“If you will look around, you will notice five display monitors. Each monitor correlates to a different job on the ship. For example, the computer will come up with problems the ship may encounter and relay it to the prospective monitor. If there are incoming enemy ships, it will be displayed on the security officer’s monitor. All information about the ship’s navigation will be displayed on Ms. Cahn’s monitor. Mr. Hudson’s display will mainly have statistics on life support and atmospheric conditions. All information will then be duplicated onto the captain’s monitor. The captain will be able to make decisions based on all collected data.”
“Captain Blakeney, will you take your position in the left chair at console? Mr. Turner, you will be on the right side, and Ms. Cahn will be in the middle.”