Gunner Skale (2 page)

Eventually, he broke free, apologizing, saying he was late for work, and they followed a bit before finally giving up, wandering off to their own lives. Then came phase two. The dirty looks from adults. The gamers who’d been doing it long enough to stop admiring and start hating. Gunner just walked, eyes straight ahead, promising himself for the thousandth time that he’d use that ridiculous amount of sponsorship money he’d received from game companies to create a more private life.

After making it to the train without too much incident, he found a dark corner in the back and sat down, resting his head against the window. He cursed those stupid interviews he’d agreed to do for
Gamer Central
. In the end, that was what had robbed him of his glorious anonymity. They’d plastered his face all over the Net, and for a good amount of time no one could escape it. He was everywhere—NetScreens, WallScreens, NetWatches, you name it. Gunner Skale, ugliest wallpaper of the century.

He groaned inwardly. He loved gaming. He loved winning. He loved dominating.

But, man oh man, he hated being famous. Even as he had the thought, he saw a woman sitting a few rows down eyeing him with nothing short of hatred. She had the look of a prolific gamer—short orange hair, piercings, clothing that showed she didn’t give a crap what people thought of her. Maybe he’d stepped over her on his way to the top of
Plague
. Who knew.

He closed his eyes to shut her out and daydreamed, remembering the time when gaming was the most fun, when he’d shattered all the
Lifeblood
records and no one really
knew him yet. The
real
him.

Those were the days.

Gunner liked saying he had to go to work. He liked to call his job the daily grind. But in actuality, it was nothing like that. First, there was nothing daily about it. Rachel teased him all the time about “calling in sick,” even though Gunner had no boss, no office, and no set schedule. But when you’re the most skilled gamer in the Sleep, people want your advice. On a lot of things, most of which would surprise the average Joe. And these people were willing to pay Gunner an absurd amount of money.

Which he was more than happy to accept.

Today, he’d been invited to a small building on the outskirts of the city, a place no one would notice unless they accidentally bumped into it: brown dusty concrete exterior, dirty windows, weed-choked parking lot. There were only three cars parked there, all of them old models, and one of them had a flat tire. Gunner didn’t think he had the correct address, but he tried the door anyway and wasn’t surprised when he found it locked, rattling on its rusty hinges.

What the hell?
he thought. Had he really wasted a chance to spend the day in the VirtNet with Rachel for a fake address? He was just turning to walk away when the door opened with a jangle. It had one of those little bells to announce anyone coming or going—something Gunner had only seen in historical games within
Lifeblood
.

A woman poked her head out, all frizzy red hair and bright lipstick. “May I help you, sir?” She smacked her gum like an all-out assault. “We don’t usually open until noon or so.”

Gunner could only stare. Someone had played a joke on him. Surely.

“Sir?” the bubbly lady inquired.

“Um … I was supposed to meet with George Hartley. Of Virtual Solutions?”

She stared at him blankly, jaws busy, chewing her gum.

“Obviously I have the wrong place. Sorry to bother you.” He paused. “Ma’am.” Every muscle in his face strained as he struggled not to laugh.

The lady surprised him by swinging the door wide open. “You’ve got the right
place, sir. Gunner Skale, I presume? My name is Cherry. Mr. Hartley will see you now.”

Gunner wrinkled his brow as he eyed the establishment. His question was obvious.

“We value our security,” Cherry responded. “We value it very, very much, and we find it’s better to hide in plain sight, where no one would think to look.” She picked the gum out of her mouth and threw it over Gunner’s shoulder into the parking lot. “Please come in.”

He followed her through the door, heard the jingle-jangle as she closed it, locked it. The waiting room was as drab as the exterior. Three worn chairs, all sagging in the middle. A dusty desk with a phone that must have been a century old—and completely useless for almost that long.

“You guys don’t even try to make this place look like a real business,” he said, surprised by what he was seeing.
What do these people
do
for a living?
he wondered.

“We keep meaning to upgrade,” she replied with a wink, a simple thing that for some reason made Gunner not like her. “Follow me. Mr. Hartley is expecting you in the Exhibit Room.”

“The Exhibit Room?” Gunner repeated.

“You’ll see.”

As they made their way down a series of stairwells and long hallways, Gunner started to wonder if he was the biggest idiot in the world for following this woman. He was, after all, famous—a fact about which he’d been feeling sorry for himself all morning. For all he knew, these people were about to blackmail him, kidnap him, ask for ransom, kill him. He felt a sudden and almost exhilarating rush of fear, irrational but thrilling. He kept walking, following his spritely guide.

They finally reached a section that looked modern. The change was abrupt—plush carpet, freshly painted walls, plasma lighting. Soon after, they came upon a set of double doors that looked to be made of heavy steel, like something that’d be on an industrial refrigeration unit. Cherry swiped her finger in funny little patterns on a section of the door, and the heavy steel panels popped open with a hiss.

“After you, Mr. Skale,” she said with a slight smile that seemed to say there was a lot to her he might never know.

Gunner stepped into the room, which was cool and dimly lit. The walls and ceiling were black with tiny pinpoints of white light that looked like stars. It was a moment before he noticed the people. There were three: one woman and two men, their faces in shadow. Their attire was somewhere between business and casual, and oddly, despite the darkness, they were all wearing sunglasses. Cherry, who’d so cheerfully guided Gunner through the strange building, stepped around him to join them. And somehow she belonged. She fit in with the strange group of three, and he was sure he’d guessed correctly—that she was far more than your average secretary.

“Is one of you George Hartley?” Gunner asked, not knowing what else to say. He’d never had a consulting gig quite like this.

“I am,” one of the men answered, stepping forward to shake Gunner’s hand. He had a firm but disconcertingly moist grip. “We’re glad you could come. We have some exciting things to show you, and I think with your help we’ll be ready to take them to market.”

Gunner looked down at his hand, uneasy. The man hadn’t let go. Finally, after what felt like several beats too long, he did.

“So what is it?” Gunner asked. “Sunglasses? That work really well in the dark?”

The man laughed—more like a guffaw—as if their consultant had just uttered the greatest joke he’d ever heard. His partners did the same. The meeting was getting slightly creepy.

“No, no,” George said, taking off the glasses—they were thick and shiny and had metallic parts in strange places. “These are something that were used a little before your time, Mr. Skale. Have you heard of VRSpecs? They were quite the rage fifty years ago.”

“I’ve heard of them, sure. Of course.” Gunner’s eyes had grown used to the darkness, and now he could see that George Hartley was an old man, hair like gray mist on his head, wrinkles cutting up his face. “But I’ve never seen them, except for maybe in a museum one time. So help me out, here. Are you trying to bring these back? Most people can afford a Coffin or rent one—and those who can’t figure out a way to do it illegally. I don’t think—”

“Please.” George held up a hand. “No, that is not our goal, I assure you. Let’s just say that these glasses hold a bit of nostalgia for us. And we didn’t want to take up your time dressing down for a Sink in the Coffins. Just as important, we wanted to meet you face to face. We think we have something that can change the world, both virtual and real.”

Cherry spoke up, rescuing George. “Not to mention that we’re spending every penny we’ve got just staying afloat. But with your endorsement, Mr. Skale, we think we’ll have capital rolling in by the truckload.”

“Is that what this is about?” Gunner asked. “You want me to plug some product so you guys can start making money?”

“Just …,” George said, his hands held out in impatience, “just let us show you what we’re talking about. The old-fashioned way. You’ve met Cherry”—he gestured behind him—“and these are my other colleagues, Marta and Kent.” They both nodded. “Let’s begin.”

Marta—a tall blonde who Gunner guessed to be in her fifties—stepped forward and handed a pair of the dark glasses to Gunner. More than curious now, he was happy to
give them a try. When he slipped them on, though, all he saw was darkness.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said. “Wow me with whatever it is.”

“Kent,” he heard George say, “initiate the VR and Dissolve us into the Exhibit Room.”

There was a click and a buzz and something like an electric shock that ran through Gunner’s temples. Then everything around him transformed, taking him to another world.

It dazed him at first, making his mind spin and his eyes almost pop out of his head. He hadn’t known what to expect with the archaic virtual technology, but what he saw spread before him was almost indiscernible from what he might see in an average VirtNet program. Gunner, George, and the others stood on a massive cloud that was billowy and white and brilliantly lit, glowing and pulsing as if filled with lightning. Mist swirled around Gunner’s ankles.

Above them, planets and stars hung in the sky like Christmas ornaments, far too large and close to be realistic, but stunning in scale and beauty. There was a purple moon and a bright red planet and a streaking comet and several suns that were almost too blinding to look at directly. Between the cloud on which they stood and the constellations above, the sky was filled with mythical beasts—a dragon, a Pegasus, a griffin, things Gunner had never seen or heard of before—and the air was filled with a resonating hum that vibrated his bones.

He couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe that the fantastic sights surrounding him had been generated by nothing more than a fancy pair of glasses and a specially equipped room. Too tempted not to do it, he edged the glasses down his nose and took a peek—those hundreds of pinpricks he’d seen in the walls were blazing with life, moving and projecting and flashing. He slipped the VRSpecs back into place, and the wondrous view enveloped him once again.

“Not bad,” he said, hoping they caught the sarcasm in his understatement. “Man, visually, they nailed the programming a long time ago. Obviously.” He let out an impressed whistle. “I guess we just needed fifty years or so to catch up with all our other senses.”

“Exactly,” George said. In the virtual world, he was dressed like a medieval knight and looked ridiculous. Which made him likable. “This is where we gather to dive into our coding—it’s cheaper than using NerveBoxes, easier on our old bones to come in
and out, yet still beautiful. A nice escape from the world without spending money that we don’t have.”

“Yet,” said Kent. He looked like an android, standing stiffly as if his joints didn’t quite work, with silver wires running along his skin in various places. Cherry was a medieval princess; Marta an old-fashioned soldier. “Once we show you what we’ve done—”

“Yeah, I know,” Gunner interrupted. “Then you’ll be raking in the dough. Got it. But I’m still waiting to see it.” With a start, he realized he hadn’t noticed what he was wearing yet and looked down. Thankfully, just a plain gray jumpsuit, like something a mechanic might don to fix cars.

“Now,” George said, his virtual face showing he was ready to get down to business. “Let’s remove ourselves to the sitting area and let the show begin.”

They moved through some wispy clouds and made their way down a slope. Gunner walked tentatively at first, sure he was going to slip through a hole and plummet to the ground. He didn’t know how that worked when wearing a pair of VRSpecs, but he didn’t want to find out.

After passing a pillow-like wall of cloud, they came upon a circle of wooden stumps, about ten in all, looking as if their trunks had just been chopped and felled. In the middle of the circle was a ring of stones with blackened ashes at its center. It all reminded Gunner of a scouting camp he’d gone to as a kid, before people were allowed to use Coffins. He hated to admit it, but fake camping, to him, beat real camping any day of the week.

“Please, have a seat,” George said.

He motioned to the stump closest to Gunner, who sat down, wondering where in the world all this was going. He had a sudden longing for Rachel, wishing she were there with him. The second this crazy meeting was over, he’d book it home and take her somewhere special inside the Sleep. Somewhere familiar.

The others took their own stumps and spread out around the circle. Everyone looked to George to begin.

“Now,” the old man said, adjusting his unnecessary armor. “Look into the fire, Mr. Skale. Look deeply, and you will see the world of our code. You’ll see just why
we’re so excited about what we’ve discovered.”

Gunner did as he was told. He sat and stared at the charred wood and sooty ash. Then it began to change, dark swirls dancing upward from the ring of stones, devouring the air around it. It grew and grew, reaching for the celestial body–filled sky, encompassing everything around them. Gunner found himself leaning backward, trying to take it all in, wondering what it was. Soon he saw nothing but blackness, some parts darker than others, spinning like a black hole. It made him queasy, and once again he wondered if he’d fallen for some scheme.

But then a sea of coding splashed from the darkness, an onslaught of letters and numbers and symbols. He’d never seen so much data and information, so much programming—of such complexity—in one place before. From somewhere in that churning cyclone of code, he heard George’s voice, quiet and proud.