Drive Time

by Matt Wilkinson

  He heard Beth say “Hey,” her tone musically taunting.

  “Hey. You’re that gamer-woman ninety, aren’t you?”

  A rhetorical question to which he already knew the answer.

  “So you have heard of me? I didn’t think you had when we met at the store.”

  Shit, he thought.

  “It just triggered in my memory. Don’t get cocky, it’s not over yet.” He said with a smile she could hear.

  “We’ll see. I’ll boot up the game.” Then after a moment’s pause. “Welcome, FutureBoyVic, say hello to the audience.”

  It took a moment for her strange last sentence to sink in.

  “Are you streaming this?” he asked, having trouble controlling the volume of his voice.

  “Of course. You didn’t think I’d be making this easy on you did you?”

  “What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Oh, this isn’t mistreatment, do you have a second monitor?”

  “No, I’m using my lounge TV, but I have a tablet at hand.”

  “Search for my handle on YouTube.”

  He was already in the process of doing so. Once he had Gamerw0man90’s profile page on his screen, he tapped the showcased video that was tagged ‘Broadcasting Now’. The video began to play on his tablet, Beth’s beautiful face centre frame, the viewer count underneath the video read 3245. Over three thousand people were about to watch him get his ass handed to him. He thought about sending his past self a message of warning but decided to just go with it.

  “OK, it’s up. Hey there.”

  “Hey, Vic.” she waved. “OK, viewers, which of you would like my number right now?”

  The chat box to the right of the video image suddenly became an avalanche of activity. Plenty of messages with just the word ‘me’, an ‘I’ll take that’, a ‘ME PLEES!’ and various other answers to the affirmative. Then, of course, there was the inevitable ‘I already have it, she was at my place last night. The neighbours are still complaining about the noise’.

  “You see, Vic, it’s hard to find the right guy from all these offers, I have to have some kind of selection process in place,” Beth said.

  Victor could read the good humour in her speech, there was no real narcissism there, which he would have found unattractive. She was definitely aware of the absurdity of the situation.

  “Can they hear me?” Vic asked. The chat panel once again displayed many messages of confirmation. “Of course they can. I’m glad I didn’t hook up the webcam, I didn’t bother to put on clothes.”

  “TMI, Vic, TMI. Shall we do this?”

  “It would be rude not to now, wouldn’t it? Seeing as you promised them a show.”

  “Okay, game on!”

  Victor received an invitation to a private PvP match, which he accepted. The opening interface for the deathmatch game mode appeared on screen, the contest was set with the option for the first player to achieve five kills to be declared the winner. Text at the bottom of the interface requested that both players announce their readiness, Victor pressed the button to confirm and Beth followed. The overlay disappeared, and the screen displayed his avatar's point of view, a pistol being held in the lower portion. The setting was a bombed out town, plenty of partial buildings to hide in, some with their stairs and upper floors still intact.

  They two players rushed to cover, while simultaneously scouting the surrounding area for any sign of the other player. It was only fifteen seconds into the match when Victor received a shot to the back of his character

  “I’m just warming up,” Victor said as his character re-spawned. He recognised the location of his reappearance as close to where the rocket launcher could be found, so he headed toward it.

  “Warm-up’s are usually achieved by exerting yourself to a certain degree, not by a bullet to the head.”

  He acquired the rocket launcher from inside the broken building and began his search for Beth. He could see her through a broken window, in the open and running in the opposite direction. She was at a distance past the maximum range for making an accurate shot, so he began to follow her. Once he had gained enough ground, he let a rocket fly, just as she turned to see the missile heading her way. Rockets were slow enough to dodge in the game, so she sidestepped, but the rocket hit the wall behind her, and the splash damage was sufficient to rack up a kill for Victor.

  “Rocket launcher?” Beth said, “That’s virtually cheating.”

  “Hey, it’s there for me to pick up, so it’s not against the rules.”

  The chat room was cheering Beth on, they apparently didn’t want Victor to be the one that got to have her number.

  The kills continued, evenly matched, tit for tat, until both players were at four kills. The next player to achieve a killshot would be declared the winner.

  “I think I’ve toyed with you enough, Vic. Time to get serious.”

  “Whatever, Beth, you’re going down. Victor by name, victor by nature.” he once again made his way to where the rocket launcher spawned, picked it up and lay in wait for Beth to appear. He gingerly approached the window where he’d seen her previously, careful to not reveal his position. This time he waited for her to head his way rather than follow her. She appeared at ground level just below his position, the steep angle made it difficult for him to place her in the sights of his launcher. He held her in his sights but must have misjudged how close he was to the frame of the window, as the rocket hit the frame rather than Beth’s character and it blew him sky high.

  The Game Over screen appeared, declaring Beth the winner.

  “Oh-h-h!” she screamed. “You did not just frag yourself did you?”

  Victor groaned. The chat room burst into a tirade of mocking messages.

  “Too bad, Vic. Looks like we’re not going to be conversing on the level you hoped.”

  “Aww, come on.”

  She laughed. “Oh, this isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be, that sad display of a loss is making me feel bad for you. What do you think, viewers? Should I take pity on him, he’s obviously a bit special, it would be more charitable of me to not treat the disadvantaged so cruelly.”

  Most of the chatters told her no, a deal was a deal.

  “Oh, that’s just unfair,” Vic said, reading the screen.

  “Yeah, come on guys, I think he’s earned it after the humiliation he put himself through tonight. No? OK. The audience has voted, sorry, Vic. Later, player.” She cut the voice chat.

  Victor sat in his recliner and stared in disbelief at the computer screens. Beth was signing off from her live broadcast, saying goodbye to her loyal viewers, then the video portion of the screen went black. He felt deflated, Beth was the most fun he’d had in a while. Well, at least I still have her on my gaming friends list, Victor thought, I can say hi now and again and partake in the odd game or two. Just as he was resigning to being designated ‘friend zone’, a message appeared on his screen.

  Don’t worry about all that, I have to put on a show for the audience. If they think I give my number out that easily, they’ll keep e-mailing me with challenges. You were a good sport tonight.

  Victor sighed with relief as another text box popped up that just contained her mobile number. He entered it into his phone and started composing a message to her, so she had his number too.

  Thank you for taking pity. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that the decision about a first date will not be quite as traumatising. ;)

  He hoped the winky face emoticon would be enough for her to realise he was playing the part. Another message came in reply.

  No need, it’s a yes. I’ll just be wearing a personal streaming camera. ;)

  Chapter 11

  Spencer arrived home, removed her shoes at the door and placed them with the others along the side of the corridor. She walked drowsily into the living room and flopped down into her favourite recliner chair.

  Vicky was on the sofa, a tray across her knees with what looked like
a bland pasta dish. “Hard day?” she asked.

  “Just tired. Been a busy couple of weeks.”

  “Well, it’s soaps and wine time. Best way to unwind. The bottle’s there, you just need to grab a glass.”

  "Great idea." She ventured into the kitchen to do just that, grabbing a tub of ice cream from the freezer and a spoon from the drawer

  while she was at it.

  After she fell back into the recliner, she filled her glass from the wine bottle on the coffee table, placed the glass to her left, reclined and set about hacking at the rock solid ice cream with the spoon. Vicky's soaps weren't Spencer's favourite way to pass the time with the TV, but tonight she would have watched whatever was showing. Her mind was elsewhere anyway.

  She quickly drained the glass and soon found that the shaved ice cream slivers weren't actually making her feel any better, so the tub became resealed and abandoned on the coffee table. The recliner was extra comfortable, though, so she did manage to drift into a meditative state of sorts. The moment of relaxation was broken by the bong of a notification from the drive app on her phone.

  She reached down the side of her chair and lifted her bag from the floor to her lap. She searched through its contents until she found her phone, then placed the bag back on the floor. The lock screen showed most of the incoming message, but she swiped to the main UI to make sure she hadn't missed anything important.

  Bower St tunnel, 01:20. Bring the item.

  May have to get into work late tomorrow she thought, exhaling a sigh of resignation. Might catch a few more winks first though.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  At ten past one in the morning, Spencer arrived at the location in the message and found a safe hiding spot at the more secluded end of the tunnel, a position with sufficient cover for waiting in the shadows. She had no idea how long she might have to loiter, so she decided to squat down against the wall of the port, behind a tree in the patch of dirt next to the pavement. Thankfully the weather had been dry enough lately to ensure she wouldn't get stuck in the mud. Her phone offered a source of amusement during the wait, the backlight dimmed, so as not to draw attention. As it turned out, it wasn't too long before she heard footsteps heading towards her end of the tunnel, she placed her phone into standby mode and checked her small shoulder bag for the item that the message had suggested she bring. She felt the cold plastic of its casing and took a firm grasp. Her breathing became heavier as her anxiety grew. She'd always been fond of horror movies, especially the slasher sub-genre. There was always a scene where a potential victim would hide from the killer and hold a hand over their mouth to mask the sound of their breathing. Spencer had always found this ridiculous, how hard could it be to breathe softly? Quite hard, it turns out. Though the ambient sounds of the evening, including the wind through the trees, would drown out any small sounds she made entirely. A medium sized male figure appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, not seeing Spencer amongst the trees. She held her breath while the man passed her and continued to walk along Bower Street. She relaxed, exhaled and settled back to another period of waiting, her heart and breathing rates slowing considerably.

  A short while later, she heard more footsteps, this time with the unmistakable sound of high heels picking at the pavement. She waited for the picks to reach her location, but the steady rhythm of the footsteps suddenly stopped somewhere mid-tunnel. Soft, muffled vocal sounds and shuffling could be heard in their place. She tried to look into the tunnel without giving away her hiding place. The tunnel was dimly lit, but she could see a struggle taking place between a woman in a tight blue dress and a burly man whose face was obscured by the hood of his jacket. Spencer leapt from her hiding place and ran towards the struggle while her hand rummaged in her shoulder bag. She reached the assailant and slammed her shoulder into hoodie wearing thug. The woman in the blue dress escaped his grasp and began to run for the end of the tunnel. She slowed and turned to see Spencer holding the black handle of a Taser, which she quickly rammed into the attacker's side. The hooded man bucked and thrashed for a moment then collapsed on the hard floor of the tunnel in a painful looking heap. Spencer approached the woman in the blue dress.

  "I'd get out of here before he shakes it off." She said as she walked past the rescued assault victim.

  The woman in blue snapped out of her distressed stupor. “What, what about calling the police? He attacked me.”

  Spencer walked back into the tunnel, arduously dragged the large man into a sitting position against the wall, removed his hood and directed his face to a CCTV camera that surveilled the area from close to the opening. She then checked his pockets for a wallet, found a bi-fold at the back of his jeans and removed it. Spencer left the man and returned to his victim, tossing the wallet to her as she passed.

  "Take this to the police tomorrow. Go, I don't know how long he'll stay down." Spencer said, "And avoid back alleys and remote tunnels in future."

  Spencer took a street branching off from the direction that the woman in blue was heading and sped up to a jog towards home, hopefully, the hooded man hadn't recovered yet, and she'd get out of sight before he could follow.

  She had kept the Taser hidden from the camera when using it; hopefully, the police wouldn't come looking for her during their inquiries, the CCTV would be the only witness they needed.

  She arrived back at her flat, quietly entered and slipped back into her room. She kicked off her shoes, stripped off her clothes, threw them on the floor where she stood and collapsed onto her bed. She’d barely covered herself in her duvet before she fell into a deep sleep.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  The next day, Spencer arrived at work past noon.

  “Well, look who showed up,” Victor said. “Rough night again?”

  "You have no idea," Spencer replied.

  “Still have trouble sleeping?”

  “You could say that. I was out until early morning.”

  “Thanks for the invite.”

  "Maybe next time I'm out with friends, you can come along. Last night was more of a small get together; someone needed my help. Didn't have a lot of fun, if that's any consolation to you."

  “Sorry to hear that,” Simon said. “On the brighter side, some of the parts you ordered have arrived. We may be able to make a start on building the nanobot factory.”

  “You know, that actually is something that would take my mind off things.”

  She took her seat at the work stations and loaded her internet browser. The drive for time displaced messages was not connected directly to the same hardware that they used to access the internet, this was to ensure that the drive would remain hidden from hackers. Victor had set up an outgoing internet connection for the forwarding of messages to their phones, so it wasn't completely invisible, but there was no way of accessing the drive directly via the internet. The homepage for her browser was set to a local news site, she scrolled through the page's most recent stories, finding nothing relating to an assault last night, she assumed the girl in blue must have arrived home safely after the event. She couldn't see any other notable stories of accidents or attacks from last night or this morning. Thankfully, she didn't have to give herself anything more to do last night (her perception of grammatical tense had become something entirely different lately). She would be keeping her fingers crossed that nothing major would happen tomorrow either, then maybe she could get a good nights sleep for the first time in a week. If there were no mention of a vigilante wielding what was classed as a firearm in a daring rescue, that would be a relief also.

  Spencer was making sure that her out-of-work activities were kept to herself, fearing that she'd give in to Victor's likely pleas of abandoning her efforts before she got hurt, or Simon's probable admonishment for changing the timeline for events he considered beyond their concern. As she saw it, if the timeline was able to be changed, then those changes were a possible part of any future reality anyway, so it wasn't an imperative for them to shy away. Arguments could be made for her actions pos
sibly causing the rise of the next Hitler or the next great depression, but they might also be responsible for the next Oscar Schindler or a period of world peace. The butterfly effect was neutral, it didn't always have to end in disaster.

  She had considered the argument from both sides, maybe the guys were right, and what she was doing was both dangerous and not the most productive use of her time. They were trying to avoid getting carried away with their new-found power, what she was doing could be considered playing God, deciding who gets a second chance at life. But then, life or death choices are made every day. Surgical and medical doctors and superiors in the armed forces make critical decisions on who lives and who dies; then, on a larger scale, with world leaders and dictators. She could think of herself as just another emergency service, one with a greater preventative knowledge. If she weren't so worried about how people could misuse the technology they'd invented, she would think it a good idea to go public and start a real emergency service, ready to save lives before they were even in jeopardy. She remembered how that worked out in the movie adaptation of Philip K Dick's Minority Report and didn't see it as a far-fetched version of what might happen in reality now that the possibility of predicting future crimes was real.

  The road to the proverbial hell is paved with good intentions, she realised. The fewer people who were able to take advantage of this technology, the easier it would be to steer clear of damnation. She shared and trusted in motives of her two friends, she couldn't say the same for anyone else.