Game Slaves (14 page)

“And you found that file?” I asked, just waiting for my particular intelligence folder to be wiped clean. If Jimmy had been mucking around in there, accessing my data, you know it had set off bells somewhere.

“Oh, I found it!” he exclaimed. “Man, did I find it!”

He then turned to Charlotte and said very clearly, “Sis, I will never, ever call Dad a big dumb idiotball ever again.”

She kind of twisted her head, not understanding.

“Our dad,” he stressed to her, “is the most brilliant man who ever lived. I was wrong to call him an imbecile that time he couldn't assemble my bike. I was so wrong, C. He's a
genius
who should be worshipped as the master of everything.”

“Everything? He can't even do laundry.”

“It doesn't matter,” replied Jimmy. “What he did, what he's doing right now for BlackStar, well, Charlotte, now I know why we live the way we live. Trust me, if anyone else could do what Dad can do, they'd be bosses too.”

She still looked puzzled, but I wanted a final answer.

“So you found our artificial intelligence folder? Or file? On a server or computer drive? What was in there that you think is so brilliant?”

Jimmy paused for a while before answering. It looked like he was trying to find the right way to tell us.

Eventually he looked up. “Remember when I said how that information is going to be good news or bad news depending on how you look at it?”

I nodded. Dakota was doing the same thing, hanging on every word.

“Well, the bad news is I
didn't
find an artificial intelligence folder.”

“What?”

“And the good news is, there was no folder to find.”

“You mean I'm not smart?” pondered York.

“Oh, you're smart. Despite all the patches and upgrades . . . So . . . The highest level folder, the master directory, did not actually lead to a file or program,” Jimmy continued, making motions with his hands to illustrate. “See, it went into a computer server, where I thought you lived and existed, but there was also a port with a big cable running
out
of it too.”

“Out?” Dakota demanded.

“Right. Out. You remember all those holes in Phoenix's explanation, right?”

She nodded.

He went on. “Anyone with any clue about artificial intelligence should have solved that puzzle, Dakota, but only you caught on. The arguing. The dissension. The affection. From having downtime between missions to looking after each other in a fight. The way he takes special care of Mi over there. The way he grins when he looks in those green eyes of hers. Or how you—”

I interrupted again. I didn't need to be reminded I'd missed so many clues. “So
the cable led out
from the server bank?”

The boy nodded. “Then down the hall. Then to another room. Through the floor, down a long, long service shaft. Then into the . . .”

Jimmy now pointed to a wall. A big projection screen was over there.

He waved a hand. The screen turned on, royal blue, and we thought it might be in one of those blue-screen start-up modes.

But no, it wasn't just a background. It was fluid. Thick, dense liquid. Something began to form. Something was drifting, lifeless, in the murky solution. Closer, closer . . .

A body. A woman. Almost nude. Slender. Hairless. A creature in an aquarium, or a zoo, or buried so deep in the system that no one even knew she existed.

And the heavy cable running into the side of her right eye glowed as gigabytes of information were pumped in and out of her skull.

She didn't move. She didn't twitch. She was not awake.

Jimmy finished, “The cable led to the tank in the basement.”

“The
tank?
” Mi was now yelping.

“Right again. The tank. Where the bodies are floating.”

“Bodies?” I joined in. “Flesh and blood?”

“Flesh and blood, yeah, sure. Pale as ghosts. Way slimy too. You each have these wicked cable jacks drilled in the sides of your skulls.”

“We're connected to . . . ?”

“Yep.” Jimmy smiled in a disturbed sort of way. “You guys aren't programs on a server or computer creations at all. My dad is so brilliant. I know why he did it too. See, the only way any video game enemy could ever truly act randomly was if they were capable of real, organic,
independent
thought . . .”

“Woooooow.” Charlotte was amazed, touching the screen.

Dakota, surprisingly, then turned and slugged me on the arm. Hard.

It hurt.

“I
TOLD
you!” she yelled. “Things just didn't add up! Like that we'd need to be from a city or state or some
place
. . .”

“Yeah,” York agreed, “why didn't I think of that? If I actually have memories of New York, maybe my
body
was born there. I've been kidnapped! Help!”

“Any computer program,” Jimmy explained, “would eventually repeat. It could never be truly random, as at some level it's all determined by a programmer.”

“It totally explains why we'd need time off between missions,” Dakota was going on. “Our brains need time to rest. Like normal sleep. Humans go insane without it.”

“It was obvious all along.” Now Reno was being a jerk-defector-agree-with-Dakota putz, just like his buddy.

Mi too?

Yep.

She said, “Or why I'd even
want
to have a boyfriend. True computer programs don't feel love or affection. But I
always
have.”

“Or why it hurts to die,” York was saying.

“Or why we'd rejoice and celebrate and feel good when we win . . .” Reno added.

“All those emotions.”

“All that
humanity
.” Dakota was staring at me accusingly, like I'd been in on some kind of plot to deny her mortality. “Did you know about this?”

“No!” I answered. And I didn't. And I probably, honestly, still didn't want to know. Thinking I was just some computer program had never bothered me much. I liked the perks.

“It all makes sense.” Dakota then turned to Jimmy. “So what do our bodies do? I mean, are they functional? Does it seem like they've been in the tank for years? Months? How old are we? Am I completely naked in there? Please tell me there's underwear involved. Did your dad at least have the decency to put clothes on me before I got submerged?”

“I dunno,” he answered. “I guess you look like normal humans who've been suspended in a fish tank. Those cables that run right into the soft spots of your eye sockets are serious work. It's not like pulling out a USB.”

“Am I pretty?” Mi asked.

“Am I strong?” York was looking at his huge digital muscles.

“More important,” Dakota pressed,
“can you wake us up?”

Jimmy stared.

I pointed. “Look at the screen, Dakota. You're not exactly fit for active duty.”

“But you can trace our cables, so you know which bodies belong to us, right?”

He conceded a small nod.

“I want to wake up,” Dakota said firmly.

“So do I,” York agreed. “I can get back in shape.”

“Count me in,” said Reno. “New mission, new rules.”

Mi, to my surprise, actually grabbed Dakota's hand. And Reno's.

Now the circle all turned to look at me. As if they still needed my code off my hand to step into the next world. They didn't. But I was one of them, leader or not.

Charlotte was tugging her brother's lab coat, asking, “Can you really wake them up, Jimmy? Let's help them, maybe they're really the good guys. Getting kidnapped and drowned
wasn't
their fault.”

“No, it wasn't.”

“Daddy's gonna freak.” She smiled.

The boy was thinking. “I know he will. But, Sis, I'm not sure I could sleep every night knowing they're still in there, breathing that blue goo. I sure know I couldn't shoot them anymore. I think I'd feel bad.”

She smiled up at him. A little-sister/big-brother smile. There's nothing else like that anywhere in nature.

Dakota grinned too, and she hadn't even heard his answer yet.

“This is
not
a good idea,” I warned.

But it was too late.

Jimmy reported, “Well, there is this emergency revival manual taped to the side of the tank.”

“Open it!” Dakota urged. “Read! Learn!”

“Now!” Mi agreed.

“Guys, girls,” I began, hands out, pleading, “you have no idea if this is safe. It could kill us, for real, immediately . . .”

They were staring at me so coldly.

“The kid said that half or most of our intelligence files are not in our heads, but on those other computer drives . . . Without being plugged into that . . . Jimmy?”

But Jimmy wasn't listening. No, he was gone.

Then Charlotte's character faded from view. The last I saw of her was her little thumb, pointing up, right in front of those cute little teeth.

“Dakota, we have time to think this through. What we gain may in no way measure up to what we lose . . .”

As I turned, I realized I was speaking to empty space. Dakota had departed this world. All that was left was a shadow. It pixilated, flickered a few times, then blinked out.

And for the next minute, one at a time, I watched the rest of them slowly, agonizingly, fade from the playroom.

Reno began to melt. His body converted to liquid metal and seeped lazily into a drain.

York's skin hardened, turning to crystal. Then, while the top half was still coagulating, the bottom started to chip and shatter and clatter away like ice that had been shot with a BB gun.

Mi was next. Her eyes locked on mine and she gave me a sweet smile. Everything else turned to ash, as if she were in a furnace. Flakes drifted on an invisible breeze. I missed those eyes as soon as they went dim.

I didn't know if I'd go next. Or where. After all, I hadn't really given my vote. Would it be back to CO, all alone? Or forward and out, to be painfully born of a primordial ooze on the floor of a cold laboratory in a world I didn't know?

So much nausea. Room swirling away. That feeling like you're twitching and tumbling and . . .

Instant death.

At least, instant digital death.

The only way I can describe it is, suddenly, a small black hole opens over your head, but not big enough for you to fit through. Tough luck, victim. You're going to get squished anyway.

The harsh suction yanks every cell and pore and hair and tooth straight up, squeezing you into empty space like meat being twisted into burger.

You pop through, look down, and receding is everything you know and care about, quickly dropping away.

All you feel is helplessness. There's nothing you can do to get back.

No matter how hard you inhale, no air is left. You begin to suffocate . . . gasping, choking.

Bright lights.

Waking up in your human body is
nothing
like waking up on the Re-Sim table.

Start by holding your breath for the next two minutes. Now, without opening your mouth or nose, go stick your head in an unflushed toilet and try to breathe.

That's what it was like waking up in the BlackStar tank. We were all coughing, gagging, sucking for air. The fluid was putrid. Heavy, gluey, it belched from our lungs, ears, nose, and throat. The bright lights burned our virgin eyes as we tried to focus on two adorable kids staring at us through the Plexiglas.

I felt like a monkey in a zoo.

No. I felt like a fish in a zoo.

My head burst up through the solvent just as Mi's, York's, and Reno's heads did the same. For some reason, Dakota wasn't thrashing like the rest of us. She surfaced as if she were some kind of mermaid who liked breathing preservative soup. I didn't like it. Not a bit.

And all around, floating left and right, there were even more bodies. Maybe a dozen of them, each wired in, that synaptic spike plunged horizontally through their eyeballs. None was alert. All remained locked in the gaming universe with no idea they had real flesh-and-blood arms and legs out here.

Was that Rio? Or Deke? The others I'd seen every day around Central Ops? How could we tell who was who? They still had no clue what they were. I could reach over and touch them. That is, if I could get my arms or legs to work right.

The cables were bizarre. Mine slowly popped from its socket and splashed into the goop. That's when I realized I was standing, floating almost. The heavy syrup kept me upright.

My fingertips brushed the wiring. On the end of the cable was a long, metallic spike. From its length and size, that thing had gone in my right temple, behind the bridge of my nose, and completely through my left eyeball as well.

The data transfer, the digital impulses moving in and out, contained an enormous amount of information. These guys had some twisted ideas about what they had the right to do to other humans. What kind of surgery had it taken to implant the receptacle in my head? What size drill?

Two of my fingers came up to rub the port. It was like a hole through which their server could feed me everything I saw, heard, smelled, and experienced.

Well, not
every
thing. They hadn't been feeding me my feelings through it. My affection, my love . . .

We all looked the same: blue skeletons covered in slime. We were thin as rails and no stronger than newborns.

It was hard climbing over the edge of the pool. Slippery. Painful. The concrete floor was bitter cold, hard; my feet ached almost instantly. So soft. Tender. Like tissue paper for skin.

Jimmy pushed blankets our way. Through clouded eyes, we helped each other rub away years of goo. We all had to sit for a while. Every move was exhausting. Then, shuffling down empty corridors, along an underground tunnel. Huddling close, like disaster survivors. Slowly, we loaded into the back of a van. I remember pain in my joints, the soles of my feet, how my legs would barely walk, how my eyes blinked and fingers trembled and it felt like I was going to throw up.