Solarversia: The Year Long Game (26 page)

Your twins were the people reflected in the x-axis, the y-axis and the origin, so that you had a horizontal twin, a vertical twin and a diagonal twin. Together, the four of you were referred to as ‘grid quads’, and any two of you as ‘grid twins’. Nova knew hers, but hadn’t formed friendships with any of them.

Once Holly had shown Charlie the replay of van der Star smashing Nova into the side hoardings, she stretched her arms in a bored manner and batted her eyelids at him. “We’d better get going if we want to get into Hedonism for free.”

“Oh, don’t bother with Hedonism,” Burner said. “Marco’s their biggest name and he’s about to play here. Stay — it’ll be awesome.”

“It’s up to you guys, of course,” Nova said, quickly taking over from Burner before he could ruin his good work. She paused, as if she was thinking all of this through for the first time. “You could see him play here for free, or later on at the club. Though if you did go, you’d have to pay for taxis, and nightclub prices for drinks.”

As DJ Marco approached the decks to start his set, Jono leapt up and landed in a squatting position in front of them. He pulled a flask of whisky out of one pocket and a joint out of the other.

“Do you whisky? Do you smoky?” he said, while wiggling each in their faces. “If you come from Maidstone, smoking weed is compulsory. It’s an anagram of ‘I am stoned’ for a start.”

It was brilliant timing. Charlie, as it turned out, both whiskied and smokied. Hopefully they’d all get stoned and want to stay put by the fire. Better still, Holly wasn’t a big fan of the green stuff. Nova had a smoke, handed the joint to Charlie and then went to retrieve some marshmallows from the production line that Max and Maurice had set in motion.

“This setup reminds me of the old Burnside barbeques we used to have,” she said, while Burner examined various sticks to find her some that were ready. It was awesome being at Nottingham with him and having Jono and his crowd to help show them the ropes. She pointed at a couple of ’mallows with crisped golden edges and readied her napkin in anticipation. Perhaps she might even feed them to Charlie herself, and have him lick her fingers clean. It would tickle and she’d giggle and provocatively suck them herself. She even had a face lined up to give Holly while the action went down, and practised it quickly while Burner struggled with a ’mallow that looked like it had been roasted beyond repair. But once she returned to their area away from the fire, thoughts of playing licky-tickle soon disappeared. Instead, she found Holly groaning and Charlie massaging the lower section of her back.

“What’s going on? Why are you—”

“Holly decided that she
did
want a couple of drags of the spliff after all. Bad idea.”

“I don’t feel too good. Everything’s spinning. I think I might be ill.” Her subsequent groan was so dramatic that it bordered on the farcical. “Can you take me back to the house and look after me, Charlie?”

“Looks like you’re pulling a whitey. Of course I can.”

Nova looked on, stunned at the turn of events. How had this happened? The deceitful little bitch. She could tell Holly was play-acting from a mile off. Surely Charlie hadn’t fallen for it? They got up together, Charlie steadying her as she wobbled about. He turned and shrugged at Nova.

“Thanks for the invitation. I guess I’ll see you around.” He wrapped his arm around Holly’s waist and pulled her close to him. “Let’s get you home, eh?” he said, and they turned and walked away.

“Oh, well,” Burner said. “More ’mallows for us, eh?”

Nova didn’t answer him. She had gone rather white herself.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Casey was hyperalert as he paddled his kayak through the swamp on the way back to the compound. The rush of adrenaline from the afternoon’s events was still working its way through his body. He divided his attention between Theodore and Brandon in the kayaks ahead, the alligators lining the riverbank, and the man slumped in the seat in front of him.

He kept expecting two contradictory things to happen and was equally nervous of both. He was half-worried the guy was going to regain consciousness and attempt an escape of some sort, and half-worried that he was going to die. Brandon had cracked his skull hard with the car jack, harder than was called for to Casey’s mind.

He leaned forward and gently pushed and pulled at the body, trying to right him in his seat again. His name was Elmer Sullivan, and he’d been the target of the day’s mission. Elmer was one of the homeless people that had been accosted by the Order a couple of years back when they’d roamed the ghettos of downtown Los Angeles and rounded up a bunch of vagrants.

The organisation had presented itself as a medical charity doing research — one that paid a handsome sum to its participants without asking any difficult questions. Drifters like Elmer had queued up to take part once the word had spread. Fifty bucks in exchange for a doctor taking a quick, painless blood sample, and her colleague waving a phone over your body to scan it into their database. For most of the people there that day, it had been Christmas come early.

By the time the Order had come to use them, to create online accounts at companies like Spiralwerks, most of the individuals they were pretending to be had either died of alcohol poisoning or descended further into that special blend of psychosis that long-term homelessness was so adept at brewing.

Frances and Wallace hadn’t been totally bullshitting when they said they were taking samples of blood to use in research. No, samples hadn’t been used to find a cure for Alzheimer's. But they had allowed Frances to find genetic matches between the vagrants and the organisation’s own members. Although he didn’t know it yet, Elmer was destined for great things. At least, part of him was.

Wallace. Just the thought of him sent shooting pains up Casey’s body. He struggled to keep up with the kayak ahead, twisting his body wildly from left to right as he paddled with his only arm, a torrent of thoughts rushing through his mind. A moment of clarity allowed him to appreciate the story about the Magi for what it was — it had given him something to hold onto, a vine thrown to help him climb out of the suicidal depths. A friendly AI that would save mankind. An eternity of suffering if he didn’t heed the call. Comrades at the compound who believed the same thing. He’d been so sure that they were on to something. Not just
any
thing, but
the
thing, something good, virtuous and pure.

It was the same old God he’d loved as a child and lost as a teenager. The same old story in a new technicolour dreamcoat. And it had come with something he desperately needed — a ready-made, pre-packaged family, the one he’d never had. Theodore and Frances were the loving-yet-strict parents. Wallace had been his older brother, the guy who looked out for him and showed him the ropes. His bottom lip quivered as he remembered Wallace begging for mercy before the Medibots caved his skull in.

With Elmer slumped in the seat in front of him, Casey’s thoughts drifted to his impending mission and what he’d have to endure to achieve it. Certainly his brothers and sisters from the Order regarded him differently these days. Whenever he walked past someone in the compound they would nod in a knowing, reverential manner. It was a telling gesture, an indication that they respected his sacrifice for the greater good. His operation wouldn’t be the only one in the Compound, but it
would
be the most severe. In some ways he was no longer simply one of the men, but rather a leader among them.

He knew something for sure: he was shit scared about the operation. He’d endured plenty of sleepless nights, tossing and turning on the stupidly narrow mattress in his bunk, trying to swat skeeters with a hand that wasn’t there. In some ways, the plan Theodore had in mind for him was more frightening than the thought of suicide. It wasn’t as final as death of course, but it
was
definitive in other ways. It would represent a total loss of identity; an elimination of self. Casey Brown would be no more.

***

She knew that the event would be special given that she was one of only six finalists from the United Kingdom, but it wasn’t until she approached The Commodore, the largest gaming cafe in Nottingham, that Nova realised quite what a momentous occasion the Krazy Karting final was going be.

As she turned into Shakespeare Street, she saw the huge ‘Good Luck Super Nova 2020!’ banner draped across the front of the cafe. Burner took a photo of her reaction — a hand raised to her cheek as if she had given herself a slow-motion slap. Solar Soc had appointed him and Zhang as the official photographers and videographers and had tasked them with gathering enough quality footage for a short documentary to mark the occasion.

As she entered The Commodore, a small mob gathered round her, eager for photos and statements before the race began. Burner helped clear a path to her rig, which, she was pleased to note, was located within a cordoned-off area. It was all very different from her visit the previous week when she’d got some quiet practice in like a normal member of the public.

The place reminded her of Fragging Hell: it had the same overhead monitors displaying gaming results and upcoming matches, the same strip lighting running down the centre of the loud, retro carpets, and the same mild odour of stale sweat, deep-fryers and teen spirit that lingered in every gaming cafe she’d visited.

The only real difference, she was sad to realise, was the absence of Jockey. She’d meant to call him to apologise on a number of occasions, but had never quite found the mental resolve. It was weird. Saying that she was sorry and admitting that she was wrong were two things she found almost impossible to do.

As she reached the cordoned-off area, a short guy in a shiny polyester suit approached her, arms held wide, a large smile on his face.

“Eh, up me duck, I’m Malcolm Cook, owner of The Commodore. You must be Nova and Burner. Thanks for booking your gaming rig with us, we’re honoured to have you here today.”

He grabbed hold of her hand and shook it with vigour.

“Burner, me pal, could you do us a favour and take some photos of the two of us?”

Nova posed for a series of photos with Malcolm and some of the more important guests: a dean from the university and the owner of Beeston Buggies, the business sponsoring the event at the cafe.

“Better take your place in the rig, Scotia. You ready?”

“Guess so,” she gulped.

Burner turned to the assembled crowd in an officious manner. “No more photos, sorry.”

A stocky guy with ginger hair pushed his way to the front, camera in hand.

“Hi, Nova, I’m really sorry, I can see you’re in demand, it’s just that I’m a huge fan. I’ve come all the way from London. Could I get a quick photo with you?”

“Alright, last one.”

This kind of ‘niche fame’ was a strange property that had emerged from Solarversia. Other social networks, even the open kind that allowed non-members to view user profiles, didn’t come close to the people-watching opportunities offered by The Game. A clever combination of algorithms and filters enabled people to experience it like an infinitely customisable film.

‘Funny celebrity deaths’ was a common highlights reel, but Nova enjoyed the quirky, the obscure and the artistic reels just as much. ‘Follow the pixel’ was one of her favourites. She’d choose a pixel at the front of her shoe, hopscotch a pattern on the tessellated tiles and watch it leave her foot and travel along the ground in the form of colour, seeing how it would deflect off pixels coming the other way, and eventually end up as part of someone else’s shoe, or a tyre on their car, as they trod on, or drove over the pattern. When she watched highlights reels, she’d turn catchphrases
on
and enjoy the serendipitous combinations that occasionally ensued.

Watching these virtual journeys and knowing that atoms worked in a similar way in the real world really tickled her. She also loved logging in to discover that her own avatar had appeared in other players’ highlights reels. She empathised with the guy who had come all this way to watch her race and posed for the shot with a smile, wanting to enjoy every last second of her fifteen minutes of fame.

“Thanks so much. That’s made my day. I’m Raymond, by the way. Good luck in the race!”

They shook hands and she got into the rig, slightly disappointed that The Commodore wasn’t equipped with the new haptic suits that BoonerMax were rumoured to be developing. Such suits provided tactile feedback to the body and were said to heighten the immersive experience of virtual worlds.

Once she was seated in the gaming rig, Burner laid his hands on her shoulders.

“Relax, you’re so tense.” He needled his thumb into a tight knot above her shoulder blade. “I got Jono to reserve this entire area, so we’ll be here to support you the whole time. Just shut everything else out. Remember our practice sessions. You’re one of the best players in the world, and you’re going to take this mofo down.”

The area reserved for the Solar Soc crew was slap-bang in front of her rig. It was reassuring to see them there, resting their elbows on a makeshift rail, sipping their pints. Zhang was in reportage mode, filming the people around him, while Max and Maurice spoke into their mics, live-blogging the event for a local website. It felt good to have the gang here to cheer her on, a positive kind of pressure.

Plenty of others would be supporting her from wherever they were in the world: her mum and dad, her old school friends, the Fragging Hell crew. And maybe even Sushi, she thought, watching from wherever she was.

Nova tried to relax, but it was difficult to ignore the beating of her heart. She took a deep breath and looked over to Burner for one last spurt of encouragement. Now her heart jolted. Charlie had just arrived and was taking a front row seat. He gave her a wink and a smile. She hadn’t seen him since the rave at the cave a few weeks ago and wouldn’t have known what to say to him even if she had. At least there was no sign of Holly.

Nova stole one last glance at Charlie before she pulled her visor down. It was sweet to see Zhang clinging onto him like he was the tree of life. Charlie noticed her looking and mouthed, “Good luck.” She grinned like an idiot and he blew her a kiss. Which was ridiculous and wonderful, except that it made her heart beat even faster.