Ones and Zeroes

by Dan Wells

  “Sounds boring,” said Anja.

  “It sounds smart,” said Sahara. “I’ve gone along with your plans all week—this time trust me, and follow mine. We’ll undercut their mobility by not giving them anything crazy to respond to, and if they decide to blitz us with team fights, we’ll be ready for that, too.”

  “I trust you,” said Marisa. She looked at the others. “We know we can win this on skill instead of gimmicks—let’s show everyone else.”

  “Take powersets you know,” said Sahara. “The ones you know backward and forward—the ranges down to the centimeter, the timings down to the second.”

  “You got it,” said Fang. “I know the Decay Melee set so well I could count the timers in my sleep.”

  “That’s insane,” said Anja.

  “That’s how you win,” said Fang.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” said Jaya. She looked at the group. “Let’s do it.” She put out her hand, and Marisa and Sahara put theirs on top of it. Fang looked at them from across the aisle of the train car, and glanced uncomfortably at the rest of the passengers.

  “Come on, Fang,” said Marisa.

  “Cherry Dogs forever,” Sahara prompted.

  “What’s going on?” asked Anja’s voice. “Are you doing a team hand thing? You can’t do a team hand thing without me.”

  “Yeah,” said Fang. She folded her arms.

  Sahara glared, but then took her hand back. “Fine,” she said. “Cherry Dogs eventually.”

  The five Your Mom players were waiting for them backstage at the convention center.

  “I can’t believe you made it this far,” said Diamante. Marisa had looked their team up, and even watched a few replays of their old games. They were just as unpredictable as the Cherry Dogs, which was going to make this an interesting match.

  “I believe it,” said Moreno. He turned to Marisa. “You guys have a good team.”

  “Your Mom has a good team,” said the girl, Nomura.

  Marisa stared at her, then shook her head. “That’s . . . really not as much fun when other people do it.”

  “Your Mom’s not as much fun when other people do—”

  “Whoa,” said Sproatagonist. He stepped in quickly, interrupting the girl and holding out his hand. “Hi, sorry about that. We met the other night but we didn’t really get a chance to introduce ourselves. I’m Ethan Sproat, and this is our Sniper, Maija-Liisa Nomura.”

  “I’m Marisa Carneseca,” said Marisa. The girl was still staring at her, so she said the first nice thing she could think of. “I love your name. Where’s it from?”

  “Where’s Your Mom from?” asked Nomura.

  “Is that . . .” Marisa looked at the other players. “. . . seriously all she says?”

  “Mostly,” said Moreno.

  “Her name is Finnish-Japanese,” said Diamante.

  “I didn’t know that was a thing,” said Marisa.

  “I didn’t know Your Mom was a thing,” said Nomura.

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” snapped Marisa. “That’s more of an insult on your team than it is on me—”

  “Next up!” Su-Yun Kho’s voice boomed through the loudspeaker. “The Cherry Dogs!”

  Marisa hesitated, staring at the girl, then ran out through the curtain with the rest of her team. She could hear the Your Mom players laughing behind her.

  “They’re just trying to get under your skin,” Sahara whispered. “Ignore them. You’re a Zen master. This is going to be the best game of Overworld you’ve ever played.”

  “I’m a Zen master,” whispered Marisa. She wondered if she said it enough, she’d actually believe it.

  They plugged in to their chairs and chose their powersets, keeping it simple and safe. Your Mom’s first-wave picks were, as expected, heavy on mobility, but since the Cherry Dogs weren’t skewed toward one single strategy, that mobility would mostly be wasted. Anja used her second-wave pick to target the opposing Sniper and Spotter, and they started the game.

  It was the most grueling game of Overworld they’d ever played.

  Sahara’s plan was sound, but carrying it out was exhausting. “Play flawlessly” wasn’t exactly a revolutionary strategy, and the two teams settled down into a fast-paced game of wits and reflexes, each trying to play as smoothly as possible, hoping the other team would blink and screw up first. Marisa felt like her brain was working overtime, laser-focused on each use of her powers, each shot from her weapons. Was she timing it right? Was she aiming it right? Was she even in the right part of the map? The game arena was an African jungle, loosely modeled on the Ngorongoro Crater, and she stalked through the trees with Anja, intense and ready to snap.

  “You need to loosen up,” said Anja.

  “We have to be perfect—if we lose, we lose so much more than just a match.”

  “You’ll be more perfect if you’re loose.”

  Five minutes later, after both sides retreated from a skirmish, Sahara broadcast to the team while they set up for another wave of minions. “This is good. You saw the way they fought? The way they backed out when it started to go against them? They’re trying to wear down our defenses, but we’re specced for stamina. That’s already giving us an edge.”

  Two minutes later the first lag spike hit, right in the middle of the first major team fight. Marisa was dodging an attack from Diamante—whose call sign, in a rare move, was Diamante—when suddenly the game froze, his sword hanging above her head, and all she could do was dodge, activate her nanobot armor, and hope that the hit didn’t register. When the game snapped back a few seconds later, she was at full health and Diamante was almost dead, hit from behind by an attack from Fang. Marisa moved smoothly from dodging to attacking, and she and Fang finished him off while the rest of his team retreated.

  “That lag spike came in one of the few skirmishes we’ve had all game,” said Sahara, her breathing heavy from the fight. “It’s got to be Chaewon. She’s trying to get one of us killed and tip the scales.”

  “She tipped them the wrong way,” said Anja. “This match is too close for her to risk any more of those—we’re going to get a lot less lag the rest of the game, just watch.”

  Marisa wanted to try the bot script, to make sure their code was ready for the big day, but they couldn’t afford the risk. If the code was bad, and she was locked out while her bot script did something stupid, they’d lose for sure. They couldn’t afford a single mistake.

  As the game wore on, they realized Anja was right. The game had less lag than they’d ever experienced before in the tournament; this made it more predictable, and each side pressed their advantages when they could. The Cherry Dogs won another team fight, dropping Sproatagonist and Sinister Ditz—Nomura’s avatar—and used that victory to push hard against a turret, though they didn’t quite drop it before Your Mom came back to defend it, killing Jaya in the process. The match stayed painfully even, seesawing back and forth as one team and then the other claimed a brief upper hand, but ever so slowly, bit by bit and shot by shot, the Cherry Dogs pulled ahead. They didn’t do anything flashy, they didn’t do anything crazy. They just played as well as they possibly could, maximizing their efforts, and the statistics added up. At one hour and three minutes, the Your Mom vault exploded. Marisa collapsed in the loam of the jungle floor, as exhausted as if she’d just run a marathon.

  “How can virtual reality be this tiring?” asked Anja.

  “You’re only virtually tired,” said Sahara. “Your actual muscles are fine. Jack out.”

  Marisa blinked, leaving the game and sitting up in the real world. Her body felt fine, but her mind felt like pancake batter. She swung her legs off the chair, only peripherally aware of the cheering crowd, and stared at the floor. She pulled the plug from the back of her neck, but that was about all she could muster.

  “Get up,” said Jaya. “We need to ‘good game’ them.”

  “Coming,” said Marisa. She stood up, ready to follow her friends to Your Mom’s side and c
ongratulate them, but when she looked up she realized that Your Mom was already on their side, smiling and shaking their hands.

  “Good game,” said Diamante. “Juegas bien.”

  “Gracias,” said Marisa, “tú también.”

  “Not as good as you,” he said, “at least not today. I’ve never seen anyone play like that.”

  “Thank you,” said Marisa again. “You’re very kind.”

  “I thought your team was a gimmick,” said a voice behind her. Marisa turned, and her jaw dropped when she saw Su-Yun Kho. The older player smiled, and bowed slightly. “No one can say that after today.”

  Marisa bowed back, struggling to remember the proper Korean etiquette from her classes at school. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve made it to the final,” said Su-Yun. “No matter what happens tomorrow against World2gether, remember today.”

  Marisa frowned, confused. “I thought they hadn’t played yet.”

  Su-Yun’s face hardened. “Do you honestly think there’s any chance they’ll lose?” She didn’t say anything else, but the scorn was obvious on her face.

  Marisa was suddenly conscious of the cameras watching them, and did her best to smile. “They’re a great team, and I look forward to playing against whoever wins the semifinal.”

  Su-Yun put her hand on Marisa’s shoulder, held it there for a moment, then moved on to congratulate Sahara.

  “Never wash that shoulder again,” said Diamante. “Actually: Can I buy that shirt?”

  “Touch it,” said Marisa. He put his hand reverently where Su-Yun’s had been. “Feel the power.”

  “Beat them tomorrow,” said Diamante, pulling his hand away. “Beat them like a broken drum.”

  “We’ll do our best,” said Marisa.

  A message popped up in her djinni display, bright red and bouncing in agitation. She saw that it was from Fang, and looked up to find her; she was on the other side of the crowd, looking back with wide, nervous eyes. Marisa frowned and blinked on the message:

  C-Gull sent me the drop-off coordinates. He’ll meet us with the shipment at ten p.m.

  “We’re going to be so tired tomorrow,” said Bao.

  “Sorry,” said Marisa.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, looking up at the stars. “If you hadn’t brought me out here at three in the morning, I never would have known that LA can get chilly.”

  “Thank you for coming,” said Sahara. “All of you. This is important, and we need all the help we can get.”

  The group of friends were clustered together in an alley downtown: Bao, Marisa, Sahara, Anja, Jaya, Fang, Jin, Jun, and their old friend Jennifer Stashwick—WinterFox. Even Marisa’s older brother Chuy was there.

  “Thanks again for being here,” Marisa whispered, leaning close to Chuy’s side. He was a head taller than she was, and covered with tattoos. Given what they were doing tonight, no one would have made her feel safer. “I hope it didn’t cause any problems.”

  “I figure my hermanita deserves at least a couple of hours,” said Chuy with a smile. “Three a.m. just means it’s easier to get away without bothering the kid.”

  The highway was a distant rumble, and other parts of the city were alive with activity, but they were in the business district, just a few blocks from KT Sigan, and the world was dark and empty.

  “You all know the plan,” said Sahara. Her camera nulis were at home, silently watching two beds and couch that had been carefully made up to look like Sahara, Jaya, and Fang were sleeping in them. Marisa had asked if that was really necessary, and Sahara had replied that it wasn’t just about deception: she averaged three thousand viewers while she was sleeping, and she couldn’t afford to lose the numbers. Marisa shuddered again at the thought, and Sahara continued her speech. “We’ve made it to the finals, we’ve picked up the TEDs from our arms dealer—”

  “I love saying that,” said Anja. “‘Our arms dealer.’”

  “—and tomorrow’s the big day,” Sahara finished. “All we have to do now is get the last little pieces in place. You know your roles. Any questions?”

  “Is the costume finished?” asked Fang.

  Jennifer smiled. “Down to the last pretty bow.”

  “Ooh,” said Jaya, “Mari gets to wear pretty bows? What does the costume look like?”

  “You’ll see,” said Jennifer.

  “I still can’t believe you got it done so fast,” said Marisa.

  “I already had a perfect one in my catalog,” said Jennifer. “All I had to do was go in and pull out the interior image files.”

  Sahara nodded. “And it has enough storage space for the data we’re dealing with?”

  “Trust me,” said Jennifer. “This has enough storage space for the entire Sigan database. I even preloaded it, like you asked—three of the image fields have your Goblins, stored as compressed files. Another one has the decompression program. Once you get into their system, you’ll have access to everything you need.”

  “Here you go, then,” said Sahara, and handed her a black bag. “You and Fang take Jejune—it’s two blocks north.”

  “Got it on GPS,” said Fang.

  The two girls turned and ran off, and Sahara handed out more bags. “Jin and Jun, you do the Carrot Cafe. Anja and Jaya, you take The Crèche. Mari and Chuy, you have Solipsis.” The others ran off, but Chuy hung back, and Marisa stayed to hear his question.

  “And you’re sure this is going to work?” he asked. “I mean, breaking into a megacorp I understand, but a fast food place?”

  “We’re breaking into the fast food places to help us break into the megacorp,” said Marisa.

  “With the four cafes we’re hitting,” said Sahara, “we should have the whole office building pretty well covered. It took Jaya and me a full day of hacking to get access to the ordering histories, but these are definitely the right cafes.”

  “So the employees order lunch from these places,” said Chuy. “I get that. But how does that help you get in—what are you going to do, hide yourself in the delivery nulis?”

  “No,” said Bao, “we’re hiding bombs in the nulis.”

  Chuy smirked in disbelief. “What?”

  “Only two,” said Sahara, hefting a larger black sack bulkier than the others. “And they’re not delivery nulis, they’re gardeners. That’s what Bao and I are off to do.” She looked at Bao. “You have the rest of the stuff?”

  “A clean phone and a gun,” said Bao, holding up the two items.

  “You’re serious?” asked Chuy. “What, are you going to shoot somebody?”

  “Of course not,” said Bao, and tapped the gun on his head. “It’s a plastic prop—Sahara printed it out this afternoon.” He tucked the items away, and glanced at Marisa. “Didn’t you tell him the plan?”

  “I didn’t have time,” said Marisa.

  “Then explain it on the way,” said Sahara.

  “Here’s your end of the phone line,” said Bao, and handed her a small dermal patch. “It’s Eaql brand, believe it or not. They had the best match for your skin tone.”

  “I’ll remember to thank Canavar,” said Marisa, taking it from him and turning it over in her hand. “How’d you match my skin so well?”

  “Just a good memory,” said Bao, and looked at Sahara. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go hack a gardener,” said Sahara. She slung the bag of explosives over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Mari. Call me if something goes wrong.”

  “Cherry Dogs forever,” said Marisa.

  “Cherry Dogs forever,” said Sahara. She and Bao turned and ran off into the darkness.

  “Our job is Solipsis,” said Marisa, dropping the dermal phone in her pocket. “Follow me.”

  Chuy pointed at the pocket. “Aren’t you going to put it on?”

  “That’s for tomorrow. Tonight we’re on our own.” She jogged to the end of the alley, Chuy close behind, but they slowed at the corner and peered out carefully for any sign of police nulis. Some of the protesters we
re sleeping in the plaza in front of the Sigan building, and the whole area was under even more scrutiny than it usually was. She saw nothing, and blinked to switch her vision to infrared. Still no nulis.

  “Wait,” whispered Chuy, holding her back with his hand when she tried to run out. “Over there.” He pointed to the far side of the street, high on the right, and when Marisa stared at it long enough a faint red signal lit up her vision. “Security nuli.”

  “I didn’t even see it,” Marisa whispered. “This infrared sucks.”

  “Because you’re using a free app,” said Chuy, and tapped the side of his head. “La Sesenta bought me the real stuff.”

  “So you can be lookout for all your little gang crimes?”

  “You’re the one breaking into a damn restaurant,” said Chuy.

  “Touché,” said Marisa. The police nuli moved, turning a corner to patrol the next street. “Go.”

  They ran across the street and into another alley, making their way around the base of a massive skyscraper. Marisa carefully threw a miniature TED at each wall-mounted camera they passed, cutting the signal just long enough to get by. At the end of the alley stood a tall bay door, where delivery nulis could come and go in flocks during the lunch-hour rush. Marisa turned around, looking back the way they’d come, while Chuy used a pistol-shaped device to pick the lock.

  “Got it,” he said. He turned around and took his turn as lookout, while Marisa faced the door and blinked at it, opening her mapping program. A green grid overlaid the entire alleyway, outlining the wall in one-inch increments.

  “Seven inches from the left edge,” she murmured, remembering the numbers she’d found in her research. “Five feet up.” She marked the spot with another blink, fixing a red dot to the exact coordinate, and then walked toward it. The dot stayed firm, and she placed a miniature TED directly on top of it. Then she triggered the electromagnetic pulse, and heard a faint pop from the other side of the room. “That’s it, let’s go.”