Alvin Baylor Lives! Page 8

  It jarred him back to reality. Years of rust and advances in sensitivity had made him clumsy. He was embarrassed.

  “I’m ready for another run-through. That was a warm-up.”

  “Sure thing, Al, but we have a five-minute cooldown between sessions. Don’t wanna bake your noggin.”

  “I’m good. It’s been a while, but I’m warmed up now.”

  He lay in a virtual medical bed as his body was repaired: the five-minute cooldown.

  “Okay,” said Katy. “You know what you can handle. You’ve got another play credit.” Alvin saw the timer drop to zero, and his free credit appeared. This time when the doctor with the clipboard approached, he checked “yes” for the tutorial.

  He was sent to a firing range in the next room where he engaged in a series of targeting and calisthenics tests. The pod’s controls were more sensitive than the last pro models he’d played in. He’d been thinking too hard, giving his virtual self the shakes. He just needed to play with a little more looseness. When he eased up, he found the interface was smoother than ever. His shots landed easily now. He finished up the tutorial and went back to the Nightmare staircase.

  He heard spectators giggling expectantly. He did not trip down the stairs this time, and the bum at the bottom did not survive the encounter. He worked his way through the grungy warehouse, clearing room after room of pipe-swinging activists and gun-toting sidewalk warriors seeking revenge on a captain of industry. Alvin gave little thought to the real events that had inspired the scenario. He just wanted to impress the girl. Five minutes later, after he killed the last kidnapper in record time, he heard only cheers and clapping.

  “You just qualified for the tournament,” said Katy.

  Tournament?

  Alvin rushed to the corner of the virtual room to save the CEO’s daughter before she was fed arms first into an industrial shredder. He rolled her off the conveyor belt onto the floor and untied her bound hands and feet.

  “Ah shit, Al, you just hit the top spot. First place on the scoreboard. The last guy lost her pinkie.”

  Katy’s voice was buffeted by more applause in the background.

  The game ended and he sat there sweating in the darkness. It felt amazing to be in the action again. She entered the pod to unfasten him.

  “That was the best run I’ve seen all week. You’ve got the stuff . . .” She paused. “You’re here for the tourney, aren’t cha?”

  “No. Don’t care about it.”

  “Don’t be silly, you could be a contender.”

  No way.

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “You should. Big win, big money.”

  He followed her fantastic behind out of the pod. Three kids and a couple of old ladies were clapping for him. He nodded and returned some enthusiasm.

  “Some friends and I will be at the Kowloon Cowboy later if you wanna come have a drink,” she said.

  “Yeah. I can have a drink.”

  “See ya later, Al.” She winked and strutted away.

  Who needs a tournament? I just won the grand prize!

  Thirteen

  Alvin slammed the empty pint glass down on the bar top. He hollered in victory as he threw his arms up.

  “Such a gracious champion,” chided Katy as she gulped down the last of her pint. “You win the beer challenge.”

  They sat in the back corner of Kowloon Cowboy, a Western-themed dive bar crowded with off-duty crew members emptying ice-cooled booze towers and sucking on vapor pipes. Everyone was loud and drunk. No one paid them any mind as they rubbed up against each other in the corner booth. Her “friends” had failed to materialize, and Alvin took it as another sign of his rising fortune. He was having a terrifically good time with her despite the possibility that she was another hooker. He didn’t have the nerve to face-scan her yet.

  “So when you said you used to play, you were being modest,” said Katy.

  “So you read my history?”

  “Just a peek. I’d rather hear it from you.”

  He smiled. “It’s been a long time. It was fun to play again. I guess it was good to have a win again, too.”

  She leaned in close. “Oh, you stopped on a losing streak? Shame, shame, Al.”

  Alvin stared back into her gaze. He felt oddly comfortable. “No, I didn’t lose. That was the problem.”

  “If you’re that confident, why’d you stop?”

  Her blue eyes focused on him. He couldn’t remember feeling so much the center of a person’s attention.

  She really hasn’t read my whole social . . . or she’s being polite.

  “I was banned for cheating.”

  Alvin waited for a change in demeanor.

  Instead she asked, “Did you?”

  No one ever had asked if he did it. They’d just read the archived news and assumed the worst. Katy seemed genuinely interested in his side.

  “Technically, no.”

  “Technically?”

  “The game pods were modified, but not by me. One of my teammates hacked the pod server for overclocking. I was the only one who could handle the synaptic feed. I won the match by myself. The other team groused and an investigation . . . pinned it on me.”

  “You won by yourself?”

  She looked impressed.

  “For the most part. My teammates picked off one guy before passing out from overload. I beat the other seven.”

  “Amazing, but I don’t get it. What’s the scandal? Everybody overclocks . . . the pros, anyway.”

  “Not back then. The speeds weren’t regulated and gamers weren’t trained for it. This was the first time it had been done—forcing the brain to play faster than real time. Besides, this was University. They were freaked out about neural injuries. A few of the guys on my team had temporary brain damage, and one of them died.”

  “It killed someone?”

  Alvin watched her full lips as they formed the question. She was so damn sexy.

  “Not instantly. It was the guy who did the hack. It fried him. He went batty and killed himself a few weeks afterward.”

  “Wait . . . so why’d you get the blame?”

  “Chad Henry, the one who died . . . his dad was our team manager. The school hired a private investigator.”

  Katy laughed out loud and then caught herself. “I’m sorry, are you serious?”

  “Yes. I pointed them in the direction of Chad. I knew he was into home-brew synaptic mods and . . . I felt so guilty, I let him know what I had said. A day later, his father fired me for interfering with the investigation. To everyone on the outside, I was the guy who did it.”

  “So this guy, the manager . . .” started Katy.

  “Carroll Henry was his name,” Alvin interjected.

  “This guy framed you to save his son?”

  “Yep. They couldn’t prove anything one way or the other and they wanted someone to hang for it.”

  “And his kid killed himself?”

  “Yep. After the investigation the government went into my head and locked down the bandwidth on my synaptic implants and expelled me. I’ll never overclock again.”

  “That’s so fucked . . . so you coulda been . . .”

  “Fucking rich. How about another round? It’s on Alteris,” he said with a wink.

  She nodded and Alvin motioned to the bartender.

  “So what’s the deal with Alteris?” Katy asked. “What kind of business are you up to on a cruise ship?”

  “There’s some sort of snafu. They’re being tight-lipped about it, and this was the only ride.”

  “Ride to where?”

  “Some rock in space. My gig’s boring, really. I’m in synaptics.”

  “Ah, no wonder with your implants. What do you operate?”

  “Oh, I don’t—I’m maintenance and support. You know, friend to the machines. I help test the tech and keep it running. It’s the kind of integral job that no one appreciates because they only talk to you when they have a problem.”

&n
bsp; “Well, it must pay better than game host,” she said.

  “I suppose it could be worse, but then I don’t get to spend my time in a flying resort.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Al, but you do now.”

  He grinned. She grinned back.

  The bartender returned, plopped down the drinks, and gave Alvin an encouraging wink behind Katy’s back.

  “Thanks,” said Alvin with a nod. “So enough about me. How’d you get the game host gig?”

  Katy turned to grab her drink and caught the bartender’s eye leering at the name tag on her ample chest. She turned back to Alvin, removed the name tag, and stuffed it in her pocket.

  “I knew a guy who knew a gal. Nothing special, really. It’s all about the look.”

  Alvin caught the bartender still staring at them and he looked at him hard. The man turned and walked away.

  “Well, you certainly got that. Seems like you have to beat ’em off with a stick.”

  “Yeah, I’d rather not advertise when I’m off duty. What do ya say we get up to some serious fucking off?”

  “Lady, I think you and I speak the same language,” he said through a wide smile.

  Katy nodded in the direction of a mechanical bull in the corner.

  “That thing?” questioned Alvin.

  “Yep. You ever rode one?”

  “No, can’t say I have. You?”

  “Not the mechanical kind,” she said demurely.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Oh, I only did it a few times. My uncle had a ranch.”

  “Really, wow. I thought they’d been outlawed.”

  “Only in the U.S. Anyway, I got thrown on my ass.”

  “That’s probably what’ll happen to me,” said Alvin.

  “C’mon, it’s fun,” she said as she stood up.

  “I don’t like being the center of attention. I get face-scanned and then I get shit from sports fans.”

  “Get over it.” She dragged him out of his seat.

  “Wait—we’re not gonna be able to hold these,” he said. They chugged back the pints and he finished first again. “See, I don’t lose.”

  She laughed. “You’re gonna lose to me at that.”

  She pointed to the ruckus in the corner as a man went flying off the mechanical bull onto the mat. The crowd went wild at the sight of defeat.

  “C’mon,” she said.

  A few minutes later, it was Alvin’s turn. The room roared with jeers and cheers as he was thrown over backward. He landed with his ass up in the air and his face buried in the soft mat. He’d lasted a good second or two. He was too drunk to be embarrassed and he jumped to his feet with a smile. Katy laughed as he stumbled toward her on the soft footing. She gave him a hug.

  “You’re better in VR,” she teased.

  “All right, tough gal, you’re up,” he said.

  The game operator called her name and she hopped up on the saddle and gave a little wink to Alvin.

  The bull started to gyrate, and the crowd grew. Every drunk in the place was looking at her. She certainly made a more attractive rider than he had.

  As the bull picked up pace, it became clear that she was great at riding it. She held on with ease, and the cheers grew louder. The machine began pitching wildly and still the operator could not knock her off. Alvin’s salacious thoughts turned to astonishment. The crowd roared and Alvin hollered along with them as the man at the controls egged them on.

  After nearly a minute, the operator exclaimed, “All right, beautiful, let’s give someone else a chance. I don’t think you’re comin’ down, unless I ask!”

  The bull came to a slow halt and she kicked her leg high overhead and hopped off. Alvin clapped slowly while shaking his head in disbelief. The crowd whistled and cheered.

  “Amazing!” he said.

  She strode across the mat and grabbed him in an embrace.

  “How did you do that?” he said under the cheering of the crowd.

  She leaned in close to be heard. “Oh, it’s easy . . . if you have strong legs. I have very strong legs.” She brushed her thigh against his and pushed into him then grabbed his hand. “Let’s go somewhere else, it’s getting loud in here.”

  As they moved around and between the patrons and past the long bar, a man stepped out of the crowd and into their way. He was tall and lean with sleeve tattoos and he was dressed too fashionably for the Kowloon Cowboy. He was about Alvin’s age, but he clearly took better care of himself. Alvin recognized Rick Zuck, the retired cyber-athletics star on his retirement voyage.

  “You look like shit, Baylor,” he said.

  “What the fuck do you want?” growled Alvin.

  “I heard you qualified,” Zuck said as he folded his arms.

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “I was number one on the scoreboard until you pulled your number,” said Zuck.

  “So I’ve beaten you twice, then?”

  “Yeah, how’s that worked out for you?” said Zuck.

  Alvin scowled. Katy looked at him with concern.

  “I know your deal, Baylor, and now I know you have someone on the inside to help you cheat again.” He looked at Katy.

  She looked pissed. “Fuck off, Dick.”

  “Okay—enough, Richard, I’m not playing in any tournament,” said Alvin. “Get out of the way.”

  “You’re gonna get caught again if you do, Baylor. That’s your lot in life.”

  “Fucking jerkwad,” spat Katy as she shoved Zuck. He fell over backward, crashing into a table of people. When he jumped to his feet, he began screaming, “Do you know who I am?” at them.

  Jackass. Alvin laughed.

  “C’mon,” said Katy as she towed him away by the hand.

  “That trophy is mine!” yelled Zuck.

  The bar went quiet.

  “Richard, you’re lucky I’m havin’ a good night or I’d lay your ass out,” Alvin shouted from the exit door.

  The crowd “Oooooohed,” and Alvin and Katy walked out.

  As they walked down the exit ramp, she said, “How do you know Rick Zuck?”

  “He was on the other team—the one I beat in my last game.”

  “Oh, I see. He’s being paid to play in the tournament.”

  Alvin shook his head in irritation. “I’m not entering that thing.”

  “Don’t worry about it now.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Tonight I want your undivided attention.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You lead. And I’ll follow.”

  “Ooh, I like that kinda talk,” she said. “Keep it up.”

  Fourteen

  A week had passed since Alvin arrived on The Hope. In the intervening time, the search for answers about his job had turned up nothing useful. His boss had simply responded to his inquiries with, “We’ll talk later. Enjoy the trip.” He’d continued on with Katy and was enjoying himself, but there was a nagging sense that something unpleasant awaited. Each day he’d send out a long-distance query to the Alteris database, go for a luxury excursion at the spa, visit the dining quarter, and return to parse the query results. Oftentimes he’d get nothing but another prompt to hit Enter. It was as tedious as it was unrewarding.

  His last idea to check for shipping logs showed nothing going outbound. Only minerals returning via The Hope’s vast cargo hold. None of the signatures on the manifests were Alteris employees. All of them were non-union Chinese stationed at Luna Base, and there was no record of how the minerals reached Earth. It was some funny business to be sure, but it had nothing to do with his mission or The Hope’s previous passenger.

  The only thing he hadn’t accessed were the files kept by the Human Capital Department. Those were beyond his clearance. They were also the best place to look. He squirmed in his seat.

  Enough fucking around.

  He logged into the domain system and looked up his human capital representative. He could clone the credentials, but he’d need to cover his tracks. It would require him to sit for hours to complete the process,
but it was his best bet if he wanted to find the mysterious Alteris employee who had preceded him on The Hope. Alvin highlighted the ID code and copied it. He spent three hours feeding strings of text into the terminal and waiting for each confirmation until he had his new permissions.

  During the downtime the constant procession of ads began driving him batty. He scoured the room until he found a small gang box near the front door. Using his multitool, he unscrewed the bottom half of the plate, swiveled it aside on its top screw, and reached inside to tug the cables loose. The AR ads disappeared from the room.

  Thank god.

  He sat back down in the corner in peace and silence. When his permissions were ready, he queried for employees stationed at 243 Ida. It took forty-five more minutes to get fifty-one names back. Half of them were already retired. The rigors of space were not kind to the human body.

  As he scanned the list, he recognized only one name—Carroll Henry.

  “Wha . . .” he muttered as he stared at the screen.

  It can’t be.

  He scratched at the scruff growing on his chin, then selected the entry and sat for an interminable wait as the portrait displayed. His stomach grumbled. He needed a break, but this was too intriguing. He looked down after a while to find a man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair and a buck-toothed grin. It was him. He was older, but it was the same Henry. His university gaming coach.

  “Damn it!” he yelled.

  “Is something wrong, sir?” said the room.

  “No.” He stood up and paced.

  That sonofabitch.

  He exhaled and sat back down. Henry’s file listed him as Lead Drill Op.

  Just a worker bee. Maybe a few men to push around. Good.

  He sucked it up and moved on. Next, he cross-referenced job titles. No one on Ida was in research and development—not a single name.

  He groaned and sent out another request, but this time he popped an asterisk in for the location. It would look for RnD workers stationed anywhere. He paced until forty-three names came up on screen. He stared at the locations—all were on Earth.

  He sighed heavily. His stomach grumbled.

  “I’m drawing a blank here,” he said.

  The cursor popped back and erased his asterisk.