by Eric Swanson
“Thanks for the tip.” Micah joked as he motioned to the crowd below.
“Sorry?” Wes replied with a hand cupped over his ear and a smile creeping around the corners of his mouth. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of how well I built this thing…”
For a flash, Micah considered shooting back with a crack about this being Wes’s seventh attempt at a build-out. Respect for his only real friend stayed his tongue. Micah smiled at Wes as the environment finished forming, wisps of cloud in the blue sky, innumerable blades of grass below. Do you have to code each blade of grass? Micah wondered.
“SAMI: Final render. Royal 1.2.” At Wes’s command, a still hard light copy of Davin appeared in front of them, facing the crowd. “Alright.” Wes clapped his hands together and turned toward Micah with a stern face. “You ready?”
“For… what?”
“SAMI: Run Ventra 7.1.1 on my mark.” Wes’s eyebrows jumped up twice and his smile returned. The sun (the central light source in this room) flickered as the action loaded and the light stuttered across Wes’s face and made him look just a little insane as his brows danced. He stepped back against the wall, his eyes still locked on Micah.
“Mark.”
The frozen crowd below sprung to life and a near deafening roar came from them. The Davin construct moved toward the balcony’s edge, arms spread wide. “Hello, my friends! Are you ready for the best Antisar game you’ve ever seen?” The logos of the two oldest and most storied Antisar franchises appeared in the sky, slightly translucent to their side of the balcony, massive. “The Season 19 Quasars taking on the Season 41 Flames! Simulated just for you as a celebration of the 200th anniversary of The Corin Cup!”
“You built a simulation of—” Micah laughed with disbelief as he turned toward Wes. The moment Micah turned away from Davin, screams came from the crowd, piercing, frightened and almost animal. Micah turned toward the noise in time to see a tall figure lunge toward Davin with a blade in hand. Micah violently shoved the Davin construct left, away from the attack and the construct fell to the ground with a crunch and pained cry.
The attacker’s blow missed Davin as he fell and the blade sliced into the shirt Micah wore. Cooler air rushed into the shirt from the cut as Micah shifted further to the left and grabbed the attacker’s wrist. The attacker swung at Micah with his other fist, which Micah dodged.
The blow landed hard on Micah’s shoulder instead of his face.
Micah drove his knee into the attacker’s elbow and hyper-extended the arm he still held by its wrist. The simulacrum screamed in pain then twisted away from Micah and fell to the ground, mere inches from where Davin was just beginning to collect himself and stand.
The blade rang in the air as the attacker stabbed toward Davin.
“SAMI, Freeze.”
Orange sunlight set fire to the tip of the blade that hung inches from the Davin construct’s chest. Frozen in mid-air, feet barely touching the ground, the attacker hung over the young Royal like the specter of death. A crazed expression twisted the aggressor’s face and his eyes bugged, making his sharp green eyes even more noticeable.
“Alright, that one didn’t go the way you’d have liked, did it?” Wes walked closer to Micah and helped him to his feet.
“No,” Micah nearly whispered, still a bit out of breath. He brushed off his shirt and straightened himself for a moment before his fingers caught the slit at Micah’s shirtsleeve. Micah pulled the sleeve out a bit and stared at the hole briefly. Fear, running a few moments behind events, washed over him. “Could that have—” He gestured at his own torso slowly.
“No.” Wes cut in quickly. His head shook back and forth emphatically. “If the constructs come in contact with your body, they basically dissipate.” Wes swung a fist and struck Micah in the chest with a bit of force. “That’s about all it would do.”
“OK…” Micah nodded.
“Ready to go again?” Wes smiled, crouched in a faux attack-ready stance, hands out.
After a few more iterations of attack and defend simulations (Wes had created and named more than four dozen sequences), the pair moved on to a more enjoyable exercise: Wes loaded simulated replays of some of the greatest Antisar moments in the sport’s long history.
Micah and Wes stood on the elevated surface of the Antisar court at the Home Team’s offensive end of the floor. Wes smiled proudly as both took in the still crowd, the would-be flashing lights (some frozen illuminated, others darkened and waiting) and the thousands of constructs Wes inserted as spectators.
The seating around the arena’s “I” (named the Antisar Court’s distinct shape) tiered upward in three oblong bowls. “Wes, this simulation is incredible.” Wonder slowed Micah’s voice as he took in their digitally generated surroundings. Just as in reality, the wealthy elite of Ceran society took seats nearer to the playing surface. Their dress, collectively, suggested their wealth, intellect and reserved manner. Highly fashionable dresses and ornate hats adorned the female Cerans in the crowd, while the males mostly dressed in coloring shirts, tunics and pants matching their attending partners. “How long did this ta—” A Ceran simulacrum in the first ring of seats at the centerline of the court (prime-time tickets, sure to cost more than most could afford) caught Micah’s eye. “Is that Sanballat?”
“Yeah,” Wes laughed. He walked nearer to the center of the court and pointed toward the Sanballat construct. “There are tens of thousands of template constructs all ready to be loaded into scenarios… That’s what most of them are. Almost all of them, actually. Believe it or not, I spent a long time coding that guy,” Wes pointed at Sanballat then turned back toward Micah. “To be as realistic as possible.”
“So he’s an asshole?” Micah asked absently, gaze still locked onto the Ceran.
“No question. The worst.” Wes and Micah laughed. “Might throw something at you during the game.”
“Can we test that theory?” Micah wondered if Wes had simulated Antisar contests read to roll. Unlikely, given the level of detail he clearly put into the stadium itself and the simulated people within.
“Thought you’d never ask, Micah.” Wes closed his eyes for a beat and decided which preprogrammed game to load in short order. His eyes snapped open and Wes flashed a small smile, confident in his choice. “SAMI, play Antisar Match 4 simulation, full detail.”
An impossibly loud cheer rose from the 100,000 strong crowd of digital fans. Micah nearly teetered off balance for a moment, then righted himself.
“From here, or—” Wes’s question was lost in the din, but his gestures to their current location then a pair of empty seats filled in the gaps.
Micah shrugged and pointed to the floor beneath them. No Antisar fan had ever watched a full game from the elevated surface of the Eye, he guessed. Being a copy of another man (and a King at that), Micah had precious few things in his life he could say he did first.
The ball came into play and Wes and Micah sat, feet hanging down over the playing surface. They didn’t discuss much (the noise level only allowed for basic non-verbal communication), but most big plays brought wide smiles and high-fives.
Drowned in the clamor of the stadium and the game below them, Micah felt peace wash over him. No responsibilities, no training, no Earth, no Royals…Oddly, he almost felt warmer as the noise level continued to climb.
+
Back to Eaton’s
1015 Hours
Just outside the door of the training area, Roomen and Reeman stood guard. Their black outfits blended almost perfectly with the wall behind them. After a silent beat Reeman turned to his brother.
“We should get him, Roo.” Reeman gestured over his shoulder. "Gale—”
“She said that he should come as soon as his schedule allows, Reeman.” Roomen stared straight ahead, detached. “Once he and Ventra are done in there, with whatever it is they’re doing, then we bring him.”
“But what if—”
Roomen’s hand shot up and Reeman cut himself off.
>
“He’s not going to die today, Reeman.” Roomen snapped. “The nurse said we wait, so we wait.”
A few quiet, tense moments between the brothers passed, neither looking the other’s way. A commotion behind the closed door suggested Micah’s arrival shortly. The door slid open with a high-pitched rushing sound and chaos of Wes’s simulation leapt into the dark and silent corridor. Cheers, chants and various cries jumped into the hallway and both Koro Koo twins started at the new noise, then quickly settled.
“Whoo!” Wes yelled with a laugh and clapped once. “That was fun!”
Micah walked shoulder to shoulder with him, his face lit with an equal smile.
As they passed the twins, the imposing pair fell in pace behind them.
“Micah,” Roomen didn’t come nearer to Micah and still trailed him by a couple steps. “We need to take you to see Eaton.”
Micah stopped and wheeled around so quickly that the twins both nearly knocked him over. “What?” His eyes bugged and Micah’s gaze flipped back and forth between Roomen and Wes. He sought solace from the latter. “What’s happening? Is he alright?”
The foursome stopped walking and appeared ready to launch into a discussion as to Eaton’s circumstance before Micah put an end to their pause.
“Never mind. Let’s just go, let’s get there.” Near panic sped up Micah’s speech and most of it blended into a hurried mumble.
All four walked the path from the Sim Room to Eaton’s apartment in nervous, speedy silence. Nearly out of breath, Micah rapped on the door several times, more forcefully than he intended.
The door groaned for a beat and the steel-on-steel rubbing whined higher as it fully opened. Gale stood inside a dimmer than typically lit apartment. Her steely green eyes took in the foursome and a bit of fear flashed when she saw the pair of Koro Koo. Her time in the military made Gale almost unflappable, but those all-black getups induced fear in most. Very few Hybrids (or Cerans, for that matter) had a history of extensive interactions with members of the Koro Koo but their imposing size and look made most assume the worst.
“Come on in, Micah.” Gale stepped aside as both Micah and Wes entered. “Do your friends…” Gale’s question trailed off as she gestured at the twins.
“Guys?” Micah shrugged. He waved inside absently.
“We’re alright out here, Micah.” Rooman spoke for both. They took places on opposite sides of the entry as the door squeaked shut.
“Hey Micah. Wes.” Hoarse greetings from the bedroom down the corridor.
More gaunt and somehow paler than Micah’s last visit, Eaton was fading fast. Only one of the bevy of machines around his bed was still displaying anything. A thin green line hopped up and down in time with his heartbeat. Micah locked onto the line, up and down (though not in perfect rhythm) as he sat. Wes stood at the foot of Eaton’s bed.
“Yeah… It’s nice to just have this one thing making noise instead of the half-dozen contraptions I used to have singing their songs in here.” Eaton smiled and cough-laughed at his own joke. Wes and Micah mustered smiles, but not much enthusiasm past curled lips. “Isn’t that where “Pulling the Plug” came from anyway? Just happening incrementally f—”
More laughter with some coughing mixed in. This time, the other Hybrids in the room joined him, sans hacking coughs. Eaton wore dark humor well, which was a blessing given the state of things.
“So, what’s…” Micah’s question trailed off, choked by his inability to confront the obvious.
“Oh, just death Micah.” Eaton’s flippant tone clashed with the vibe in the room. “Happens to everyone, only happens once to anyone, all that.”
“How can you—” An incredulous laugh slipped from Micah.
“He’s been pulling that act all night, Micah.” Gale said as she came to the opposite side of Eaton’s bed. “Mr. Comfortable with All This, right Eaton?” Gale flashed a mocking look Wes’s way, then went to work lifting Eaton and changing the sheets beneath him.
After a beat watching her work, both Wes and Micah stepped nearer to help.
“Oh, this is definitely a validating way to wind things down…” Eaton muttered as the trio removed and replaced sheets, pillows and other bed dressings.
“Validating or not, you’ll be comfortable.” Gale said in her most clinical voice. She didn’t look Eaton’s way until they were done fixing his bed. “There. We’re done. You can go back to your previously scheduled foolishness.”
“Thank you, Gale.” Eaton’s voice lost all levity for a moment. As she turned back toward him mid-way through her exit from the room, Eaton’s eyes fell to his fresh sheets. “I don’t know how else to do this… The foolishness might be all I have left.” When he lifted his face to Gale, a few tears ran from his eyes down to his white stubbled chin.
“Oh.” Gale rushed back and took his hand. “I’m sorry Eaton.” Gale leaned in a bit and brushed a wisp of white hair away from Eaton’s face. “I don’t…”
“Gale, have a seat.” Wes suggested as he slid a chair in behind her. She sat.
Once Gale sat, it seemed that the weight of Eaton’s failing health came off her body a bit. Gale’s shoulders straightened a bit, her head rose a few inches and she sniffled as a smile crept over her lips. She nodded at Wes while she fought back more tears. The years Gale and Eaton spent together brought them close but romance never took root in the relationship. Eaton often joked about the difficulty falling for someone while attending their (nearly) every need.
Still, Gale knew Eaton to be her closest friend.
“Thank you, Mr. Ventra.” She whispered with an attempted smile.
“Micah, a little birdy tells me that those flyabouts were regaling the Pillar with stories of Earth earlier this week.” Eaton changed subjects with the grace of a drunkard.
“Yeah,” Micah replied lazily, the mere mention of Earth once more causing him to spin off his axis for a moment. A slight head-shake later and his thoughts were more coherent. “They didn’t really say much, but Pollai definitely made a good deal of noise.”
“Did you know that windbag claims to be over a century old?” Gale popped in, incredulous. “Those two are never apart! How is anyone supposed to believe that he’s that old?”
“Something about a black hole, I think…” Wes didn’t pretend to be an expert in astrophysics or gravity-influenced time dilation, but he repeated the bit of yarn Pollai was known to spin which Wes recalled.
“Ha!” Eaton’s sharp cough/bark/laugh sent a jolt through the other three (Gale moved toward the prone older Hybrid, ready to help for a beat) before everyone calmed. “I remember the first time Pollai came back from his first swing around the stars… He spent weeks white as a ghost, didn’t really speak to anyone. We all thought the Crown would have him committed to the Pillar’s Care but eventually, he just came out of it…”
The Pillar’s Care was the colloquial expression for one being remanded to a government-run mental health facility. While an improvement over being subject to the Crown’s quite Draconian penal code, those under the Pillar’s Care left only at death.
“So, he came back from deep space a blithering idiot and everyone thinks he’s fine now because the tone of his idiotic blithering changed?” Wes asked, slightly aghast.
“That’s about the way of it, yes.” Eaton replied with a plaintive shrug. A thought flashed across Eaton’s worn, wrinkled face and disappeared as quickly.
Micah, attuned to Eaton in a way few (save perhaps Gale) could match, noticed.
“Eaton?” His younger face tightened a bit with concern, but Wes saw in that moment just how similar the two looked.
“It’s nothing.” The old hybrid shook his head and waved Micah’s concern away for a beat. Swiftly, his resistance lost its strength. “I just…” A fit of coughing wracked Eaton for a moment and the three beside him waited. Gale handed him a tissue. Between swipes of his mouth with the tissue, Eaton pressed on. “I wish I’d been able to go back, just one last time.”
/> “Earth?” Wes asked, leaning in a bit.
“Earth.” Eaton nodded before another quick cough.
“What…” Micah’s voice abandoned him, choked by a familiar dizzying wonder. He covered his mouth and coughed to cover the momentary lapse. “What was it like, Eaton?”
“It’s actually a good deal like Ceran. Billions of people living on a rock spinning through nothing, just trying to make sure their kids are better off… But it is different in very important ways: unlike our divided society, they are entirely united. They all stare at the sky and wait for the threat to return.”
“It’s been centuries.” Wes said, his head shaking just a bit. Wes thought, certainly, that after hundreds of years passed, even the most egregious sin against a people could fade in memory. “How—”
“The gate.” Micah whispered.
“That’s right, Micah.” Eaton pointed at the younger Hybrid with as much conviction as his frail form would allow. “They stare at it, hanging in the sky. As their planet spins, it brings the reminder of over 100,000 of them lost to another part of the world. I don’t think we can fully grasp how horrifying that would be.”
All four let that idea settle into the room for a moment. Gale’s mind flipped calendar pages back to the Third Filan War, to blood and screaming deaths in the silence of space. Gale still woke, decades later, in the middle of the night with her screams matching those in her dreams.
Memories of the intricate network of orbital defense equipment flashed across Eaton’s mind between fresh coughing fits. “You wouldn’t believe how they’ve fortified the planet. I mean, their moon even had an installation on it, all kinds of ordinance pointed at the inky beyond. Last we passed it, the moonbase looked pretty rundown, though…”