Cure for the Common Universe (7 page)

Meeki snorted.

“Gravity,” Fezzik said. “Excellent. Thanks for sharing, Miles.”

He didn't say anything about trying to get me out of there as quickly as possible so that I could get to my date. Instead he tried to nudge some life into the electric warlock. “Greetings, Zxzord! I think that's what you said your name was. Heh-heh. Would you like to share the tale of what brought you to Video Horizons?”

Zxzord rubbed his face like he was just waking up. He wiped his nose, cleared his throat, and spoke for the first time. “Heroin.”

Meeki laughed so hard, it made Soup jump. The sound made Zxzord cradle his head again. Meeki's laughter trailed off. In the ensuing silence Zxzord dropped his hands and
took in our shocked expressions with raw eyes. He spoke in his undead warlock voice. “Every time I went into my room to shoot up, I told my parents I was playing video games.” He sniffed. “So they sent me here.”

Everyone in the circle shifted their limbs, as if one of his frayed wire tattoos could lash out and electrocute us. Holy shit. While we'd all chased digital dragons, Zxzord had actually been
chasing the dragon
.

“Maybe
Mario
mushrooms are a gateway drug,” Meeki said, and snorted.

Zxzord pressed his palms into his eyes. “I don't know why more people don't just kill themselves.”

Fezzik grew red and made a sound like a Wookiee. “Heh-heh. Sounds like someone needs a health potion! Um, uh, let's get you to G-man's office, shall we?”

He helped Zxzord to his feet while the Fury Burds dispersed around the Nest. Meeki worked the punching bag, Aurora continued cross-stitching what looked like a dog with leprosy, and Soup whipped sheets off two of the bunks.

Again, I stood there like an idiot.

“Hey, Miles,” Meeki said. “You want me to grab you some cross-stitching materials so you can start earning points?”

“Oh, um, that would be great,” I said.

“Too bad. I'm not your slave.” She hit the punching bag again.

Fezzik poked his head back into the room. “Fury Burds mayor?”

“Yeah?” Soup said.

“Would you give Miles the tour?”

Before I could protest, a smile burst across Soup's face, and he ran up to me.

“Welcome to V-hab!” he said, throwing wide his arms.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Get it?” he said, poking my stomach fat. “V-hab. Like, rehab for video games?”

“I get it,” I said, brushing his hand away.

Soup cracked up, sucking in laughter like he was having a seizure.

“If you need anything, anything at all, just say, ‘Soup, I need . . .' and then fill in whatever you need.”

I need a million points,
I thought.

Soup patted my arm. “Don't worry. Everyone's a grouchy cow on their first day.” He squeezed my hand. “I'll make sure nothing bad happens to you while you're here.”

A
fter Soup's exhaustive tour of the Nest (“And this is the thread drawer, where we keep different colors of thread, like yellow and purple and black and . . .”), a woodpecker rattled through the Nest's speakers, and we all headed to the Feed, a toasty little cafeteria filled with sizzles and good food smells.

“This is where you can eat,” Soup said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Got it.”

Meeki pushed past us and stepped behind the steaming food troughs, slipping on a hairnet and cellophane gloves. The Feed had just about everything, from reheated pizza and Coke to veggie stir-fry and green tea. Hanging above the troughs were two pictures—one of a smiling salad with “1,000” written beneath, the other of a frowning candy bar with a big “0.”

All I wanted was a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles. Okay, that isn't all I wanted. I wanted a chocolate doughnut
with sprinkles and a Red Bull. I wanted the Wight Knights in my headset screaming inappropriate shit about motorboating my man boobs. I wanted to block out all of Video Horizons and its players and focus on a screen where I could decapitate cowbots, so my brain could just relax a bit.

“I'll take the veggie stir-fry.”

Meeki held out the spoon to me. “You can serve yourself.”

I didn't take the spoon. “Aren't you getting points for doing this?”

She scowled and slopped veggies onto my plate.

I took my food to the cook, a squat, hairy man with a stylish apron that made him look like a bearded Fabergé egg. He wore a name tag that read
COOKING MAMA
. He scratched his beard and stamped my scroll.

+1,000

My first points. At this rate I'd be released from V-hab in just under three years.

While Soup ordered food, I tried to slip away, but someone blocked my path. Scarecrow. The skinny Master Cheef with greasy straw hair.

“In case it wasn't clear,” he said, “I think you're a pile of shit, and I'm going to make you lose at everything you try.”

I searched his eyes. “Why?”

He gave a crooked grin. “If I told you, it would spoil the surprise.”

He patted my cheek and walked away.

I stayed frozen with my tray, until Soup hooked my arm—
“Come on!”—and led me to a table by a window that overlooked the shadowy side of a giant dune.

“This is the Fury Burds table,” he said.

“Clearly.”

We sat, and Soup sort of let his knee fall against mine. I sorta knocked it back. Behind us one of the Sefiroths whispered,
“Who would win in a fight? Snake from
Metal Gear
or a million
Pikmin
?”

Aurora sat across from me and Soup with exactly one half of a piece of white toast and a small cup of horchata, which she nibbled and sipped delicately. She must have caught me staring because she said, “I get points for eating anything at all.”

I glanced at her too-thin arms, then quickly took a bite of Feed food.

I immediately spit it out.

“
Blech
. What the hell is this?”

Aurora looked toward the kitchen. “The Sefs were on dinner duty. They microwave everything. Even eggs.”

“Ugh.” Maybe I
would
lose thirty pounds by Thursday.

“WIZARD NEEDS FOOD!”

Fezzik joined our table with a modest amount of food for a guy his size.

“How's Zxzord?” Aurora asked.

“Healing at the Fairy Fountain.” Fezzik nudged me. “That's what we call the sick bay. They're going to do some tests to see if he's faking or not.”

“Faking a heroin addiction?” I said.

Fezzik shrugged.

“I'll sew him a get-better spell,” Aurora said.

“That would be nice,” Fezzik said.

Zxzord had his journey. I had mine.

“How can I start earning experience points?” I asked.

Fezzik chuckled. “No need to start grinding yet, adventurer. If this were a video game, you'd still be in the first
town
. But that reminds me. You do get five thousand experience points just for showing up to guild therapy. Let me just get out my Buster Sword. . . .” He took my scroll and unholstered a stamp from his belt. “FIVE THOUSAND XP!” His voice thundered through the Feed, and he stamped my smiley face column.

“Great,” I said, tallying the wet numbers on my scroll—6,000 points.

I felt a swipe across my jeans and looked down to find Soup laying a napkin on my lap.

“In case you get messy,” he said.

I did not murder him.

“Tomorrow is Monday,” Fezzik said, “so you can earn
lots
of XP playing sports in the Coliseum.”

And I thought my butt had clenched when Command had wanted to give me a cavity search. Never in the history of words has there been a more terrifying phrase than “sports in the Coliseum.”

“I know how ya feel,” Fezzik said, chuckling at what must have been my horrified expression. “Most exercise I ever got as a gamer was when I accidentally dropped my remote under the couch. Heh-heh.”

Aurora's horchata cup echoed a giggle.

“Sports?” I said. “Do I have to?”

“Depends on how fast you want out of here.” Fezzik held his spork aloft and bellowed, “Any player willing to brave sweat and sulfur must simply pluck up a sword . . .”

He explained that every day, players could test their non-gaming prowess in different types of tournaments. Mondays were dedicated to sports: baseball, basketball, tennis, and other words that made my manhood shrink. Tuesdays were team-based puzzle solving. Wednesday was a kart race. Thursday would be devoted to a big paintball tournament. And Friday was a sand-castle-building competition.

“We're gonna build a castle right up to the freaking sky!” Soup said, throwing his hands toward the ceiling.

I would not be there for sand castle Friday.

I would
not
be there for sand castle Friday.

Fezzik continued, “In each of the competitions, players can earn two hundred and fifty thousand points for first place, two hundred thousand for second, and a hundred and fifty thousand for third.”

So yes. In order to be out of there by Thursday, I would have to sports. And not just sports. Even while earning points from classes and extracurricular activities, I'd still have to medal in all the tournaments.

I dropped my spork onto my unfinished stir-fry and rubbed my face. Soup rubbed my back.

“Don't do that,” I said.

His rubbing turned into small pats.

Aurora stamped up toast crumbs with her pinky finger and ate them one by one.

“Is everyone here pretty bad at sports?” I asked, scanning the scrawny and round faces in the cafeteria. “I mean, they'd have to be, right?”

“Not the Master Cheefs,” Fezzik said, scooping up peas. “Some of those kids got hooked on video games only after they got a sports-related injury or broke up with someone.”

I scowled and choked down my veggies and wondered why I had never taken Casey's advice and exercised at home: push-ups, jumping jacks,
jog
every once in a while? Hell, why not at least do a few curls with the game controller while playing
The Binding of Isaac
? Because I'd never thought I'd find myself in a position where going on a date with a beautiful girl would hinge on performing well in a sporting event. That's why.

I thought about running and throwing and catching and all the things I despised. I thought about burning lungs and burning desires. I thought about Gravity.

“Guess I'm playing sports tomorrow,” I said.

“Quest accepted!” Fezzik said.

My heart started to beat no,
no, NO, NO.

“I'm gonna go before I throw up all over the table,” I said.

Before I could stand, Soup grabbed my food tray. “I got it! No problem. It's no problem. I used to do chores for a town of little animals
all
the time. It's no problem.”

While Soup cleared my tray, I snuck out of the Feed and
took the long way around the rectangular hallway so I wouldn't have to see him again. The eastern half of the building was dark, the only light the green glow of the exit. As the hum of the Feed faded behind me, I heard tinkering.

I followed the echo to a slimy mop trail, which led to the backside of a janitor hunched in the far corner. His mop was propped against an open grate, and he was peering inside a wall vent, which was large enough for him to fit inside. Vapor from an e-cigarette coiled around his ponytail and ass crack as he mumbled. “They get points for doing a crap job cleaning up this place. Do I get a raise for cleaning up after them? No, I do not. Come on, you piece of . . .”

He pulled out what looked like a computer chip, slid it into a zip case, and then replaced it with another. He glanced up, saw me, quickly replaced the grate, and pushed his mop around the corner.

I walked up to the corner and squinted through the vent. Tiny green lights winked in the darkness.

What the hell? This was some serious
Myst
shit. . . .

Whatever. I wasn't there to solve mysteries. I was there to
win
.

Ugh. I was starting to sound like I was on a reality game show.

•  •  •

Back in the Nest, Fezzik placed a finger to his lips and pointed to a lump in one of the bunks. Zxzord was snoring.

“So is he on heroin, or not?” Meeki asked.

“G-man thinks he's exaggerating,” Fezzik said. “But that is none of our business. Tonight let's try to make the Dust Fairy's job a bit easier.”

The rest of us quietly cleaned the Nest for a few thousand points each, until an owl hooted for lights-out. Meeki disappeared behind the half wall, and Aurora slipped out of the Nest. I tossed my pouch onto the top bunk diagonal from Zxzord's so I wouldn't have to listen to his snoring. I climbed the little ladder and slipped under the covers while Fezzik hummed the sleep song from
Final Fantasy
.

“Rest well, adventurers,” he said. “Tomorrow your quest continues.”

He switched off the light, and green star stickers glowed to life on the ceiling.

I looked at the bird clock, lit by the Nest's green exit light—10:02. Owl o'clock. Less than four days until my date. Less than four days to earn a million points. Usually I loved challenges like this. The odds stacked against me. A boss no one had defeated. A record no one had beaten. But that was when I could do everything with my ass in my desk chair, controlling a warrior avatar who wields an axe the size of a bison. Without those, how was I supposed to win at “sports in the Coliseum”?

Something pressed into my back through the mattress below. Two small feet.

“Psst! Miles!”

I closed my eyes.

“Miles? . . . Miles? . . . Miles? . . . Miles?”

“I'm asleep.”

“You want me to cross-stitch for you? I'll give you all the points.”