The Game (3 page)

A helmet rests on top of the console—he grabs
it and slides it over his head.

“
The helmet is more for show than
protection. A wireless receiver transmits your location in the game
and other information onto a heads up display built into the
helmet. It's a little disorienting at first but I promise you, it's
everything you would ever dream of in a flight
simulator.”

Above the buttons on the console is a computer
screen. A message flashes, declaring:
upload
complete
.

“
Now what?” He’s ready to try
it.

“
First, let me get out and lock the
sphere’s entry hatch. Then you push the start button. You're a
smart kid, so I think you can figure out the controls in no time.
Have fun, I'm going to go back upstairs to call Mr. Ervin—I’ll be
back in a few minutes. If the game ends, just press the start
button again and you can start over, or press the trigger when the
game is over and the menu screen will display on the console and
you can upload another scenario. Got it?”

“
Sure.” He’s ready for Singleton to
leave. All he wants to do now is to push that bright red
button.

Singleton steps away from the cockpit, exits
the sphere, and closes the door behind him. When he’s a safe
distance from the sphere, he shouts, “Let ‘er rip,
Paul.”

Paul presses the start button.

When he first entered the warehouse, he was
under the impression that standard light fixtures illuminate the
room, but he quickly learns he’s wrong. As soon as he depresses the
button, darkness descends. When his eyes adjust, what’s before him
is beyond his wildest dreams—the blackness of space stretches out
forever—a dark curtain sprinkled with twinkling stars, purple
galaxies, and supernovas painted in bright splashes of reds,
oranges, and yellows. A large blue planet hovers to his right. To
his left, a bright red sun.

The cockpit is no longer
just
a
cockpit—he’s now sitting atop a sleek star-fighter. The projected
image is flawless, seamlessly merging digital imagery with the
physical elements around him. He can even feel a gentle hum and
vibration through his seat as the simulated engines idly wait to
release their full energy.

Paul gently nudges the flight control stick to
the right and the craft turns toward the blue planet. He pushes the
stick forward—the ship dives and the planet rises above him. He
pulls up, pointing the nose at the center of the planet. As the
fighter approaches, the planet looms larger—almost filling his
entire view. He rocks his feet gently on the foot pedals and the
craft banks first left, then right. He pushes the flight control to
the left and depresses the left pedal, sending the craft into a
tight spin. The planet spins before him, making him
dizzy.

He pulls out of the spin and angles the craft
parallel to the planet’s surface. Between the hydraulic motion of
the cockpit and the dazzling visual effects, Paul has to remind
himself this isn’t real. Having only worked the controls for a
couple of minutes now, he’s amazed how quickly his mind has adapted
to the illusions around him.

“
Warning, warning. Evasive
maneuvers!”

The synthetic voice is so loud and so close
that he jerks his head around, expecting to find some computer
generated woman standing near. Suddenly, the heads-up display built
into the helmet’s visor springs to life. In the clear plastic, a
transparent radar image appears. In the center is a triangle—he
assumes it’s a simple replication of the ship he’s flying—and
directly ahead of the triangle are four blinking, angry red dots.
They get closer with each passing second.

“
Enemy fighters approaching,”
announces the ship’s onboard computer.

Paul’s eyes snap forward. The sun’s light
reflects off four distant points ahead of him. Within seconds, the
points grow into large, dark grey ships. The four crafts buzz past
him with a deafening roar. He turns to look behind just as the
ships break away from each other, turn in unison, reverse course,
and then reestablish formation—directly behind Paul.

Again, the system computer announces, “Evasive
maneuvers!”

“
Okay, okay,” Paul shouts, as if the
computer understands him. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as if
injected directly into his bloodstream. He pushes the craft closer
to the planet’s atmosphere and as it gets closer, the cockpit
begins to shake violently, as the planet’s gravitational forces
begin to play against the ship’s flight and
maneuverability.

A flaming ball of light streaks by—barely
missing him on the left as one of the enemy ships flashes by to his
right. He banks hard to follow it and toggles forward with the
throttle controls. A boost of energy propels his craft forward and
again, he’s amazed at how real the experience is. It felt as if the
engine’s forward thrust were actually pushing him back into his
seat. The burst of speed brings him to the rear of the other craft.
He quickly adjusts the throttle to keep from passing it
by.

His head’s up display now has two, illuminated
red lines—one vertical, the other horizontal. As the other craft
lines up in the crosshairs, the lines brighten. Paul adjusts his
trajectory and the other ship lines up perfectly. The lines flash
and a circle appears around the enemy craft. He presses the trigger
and bolts of blue light shoot forward, striking the enemy craft
midway between the rear engines. The other ship explodes. Metal
debris passes around him and bounces violently off the ship. The
cockpit shudders with each impact.

“
Okay, maybe I was a little close,”
says Paul, pulling the fighter up and away from the planet. Behind
him, one of the other fighters mirrors his movements. Flaming
projectiles streak by. He banks left, then immediately right in an
attempt to shake his pursuer.

More enemy fire streaks by. This time from
above. “What?” He cranes his head up. In a world made up almost
completely of lefts and rights, Paul didn’t expect an attack from
there. Space isn’t limited to the horizontal—there’s also the
vertical plane, and an infinite number of directions in between. In
the vacuum of space, there is no up or down and the laws of gravity
are thrown out the window.

More enemy fire streaks by from below. They
attack from three different directions and he doesn’t know which
way to escape. His hesitation ends the game. Red lights strobe,
stabbing his eyes, causing him to squint. He jerks the craft to the
right but the action comes too late. The sphere fills with orange
and yellow flames and as he watches, the virtual craft disintegrate
around him.

The illusion of space evaporates like a wisp of
smoke and the words
game over
scrolls across the sphere’s
shimmering surface.

This is what it’s like to die. When he was
young, adults explained death as a passing from this world to the
next, from the physical realm to the spiritual one. More often than
not, they said it was a peaceful transition, as if the mind is
gently floating through a tunnel toward a bright, warm light. Rob
sees none of these things. What he sees is complete, utter
darkness. What he hears is absolute silence—well, that’s not
entirely true. He can hear a soft, low roar—as if he is sick with
pneumonia and fluid congests his head. The feeling is
relentless.

Then something happens. There’s no light at the
end of the tunnel—more a feeling that he is rising and about to
surface from a dark, oceanic abyss. It’s a feeling of speed even
though there is no movement; there is no wind against his skin; no
pressure against his flesh. He feels as if he is waking from a
dream—even though he hasn’t been dreaming.

Where am I?
he asks, but the words do
not come from his mouth, they are just there, appearing from
nothing, echoing through the darkness as if the darkness has the
substance to propel sound.

Suddenly, there is light. Not a tunnel, but a
thin line of brilliant energy, a horizon reflecting a bright sun.
Maybe he’s not dead after all.

Paul unclasps the harness belt and climbs to
the floor. His legs shake and he places a hand on the side of the
cockpit to steady himself. “Wow,” he says. He’s never felt so
unsteady before.

He crosses to the door and exits the sphere.
“Hello? Mr. Singleton?” His eyes wander to the doorway leading to
the other part of the warehouse—to the other, larger game. He
slinks across the floor and pauses at the threshold, listening. All
is quiet, still no sign of Mr. Singleton.

He steps into the other room and quietly
crosses the open floor.

Why does he want to see the other one so badly?
The flight simulator was perfect, everything he could ever want in
a game—but this one—this one is twice as large—and that makes it
twice as good, right? He touches the smooth surface of the sphere
and the game begins to hum and vibrate. He takes a tentative step
back. The sphere begins to glow and he sneaks a glance over his
shoulder toward the other room.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Paul
tiptoes to the rear of the platform. It’s set up almost like the
other system. He turns on the main power to the computer and
nervously shifts from one foot to the other while he waits.
Finally, the menu appears and unlike the other game, this one has
only one item listed. He selects it and
loading
appears on
the screen. Above him, the sphere brightens and the humming
increases, vibrating the floor.

Below the computer monitor is a shelf with a
heavy plastic replica of an automatic assault rifle. He lifts it to
test its weight but there is something else attached to it. A thin
network of wires connect the gun’s grip to a folded piece of
fabric. He unfolds it. It’s a long-sleeved shirt made of black,
stretchy material. The wires connect to the right sleeve and
disappear into the fabric. He rubs his fingers along the fabric,
tracing the outline of wires cleverly hidden within. At the neck is
another patch of fabric with more wires embedded within. He
stretches it out—it’s a hood. He checks the bottom of the gun—a
quick release connector attaches it to the cables and the shirt. He
separates the cable and slides the shirt over his head. He picks up
the gun, reattaches the cable, and then begins circling the sphere,
searching for the door. He makes a complete circuit.
What?
He makes another circuit.
There’s no door?
He steps up and
presses his palm against the surface again—and the sphere moves.
Startled, he jerks his hand away. “What in the world?” He places
his hand back against the glowing surface and pushes upward. The
sphere moves. He pushes to the left and the sphere turns
left.

Something catches his eye. Toward the ceiling,
near the top of the globe, is a faint outline—a rectangle cut in
the otherwise completely smooth surface.
The door!
He slides
his palm downward and the door descends until finally, he has it
lined up with the steps leading to the platform. He unlatches the
door and steps inside, closing it behind him. The moment he steps
inside, a myriad of concealed lights illuminate within the plastic
assault rifle. On the side of the rifle is a flat panel that flips
outward, revealing a tiny computer screen. A scrollbar pulses
onscreen, announcing that ninety-one percent of the program is
loaded.

Paul pulls the hood over his head, surprised
that he can’t feel any of the hidden wires. While the program
loads, he takes a tentative step forward—the weight of his body
presses down against the sphere, causing it to turn beneath his
feet with each step he takes. It reminds him of walking through one
of those moving tunnels at a carnival funhouse, but instead of it
moving in only a single direction, this one moves in every
direction. Stopping is a little awkward because the sphere still
moves under his feet—maybe that’s one of the bugs Mr. Singleton is
trying to correct. At any rate, it’s only slightly
noticeable.

Realizing what he must look like from the
outside, he laughs quietly
. I’m in a hamster
ball!

Ready
flashed across the sphere in front
of him and he glances at the display attached to the
gun—
download complete
.

“
Here we go,” he says, and pushes
the start button on top of the gun.

“
Yes?”

“
Singleton here. Sir, it’s
time.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line.
Then, “You’re not giving us much time to prepare.”

“
With all due respect, sir. We knew
it would be this way.”

“
Yes, yes. You’re right. How much
time
do
we have?”

“
The boy’s in the space simulator
now. Possibly thirty minutes before he ventures to the other one. I
can maybe stall another ten minutes by reducing the upload
bandwidth.”

“
Give us as much time as you
can.”

“
Yes, sir.”

General Davis Potter hangs up the phone and
steels his gaze across the faces of the other four people in the
room. His eyes settle on her, the only female. He asks, “You ready,
Georgia?”

Her shoulders straighten involuntarily. “Yes,
sir.”

“
Well, wake it up and get it to the
practice range.”