The Leveller (6 page)

“Think about it, Nixy,” Chang continues. “If Salvador has hired
you
for a levelling job, that means no one else—not even his best programmers—could get the job done. Something's not right about that. You need to walk away.”

“But it's his
son
,” I say, figuring I might as well let the whole mewling cat out of the bag. Chang will figure it out sooner or later, just like he always does. “He's run away inside the MEEP and left a mess behind him.”

“Then let Diego Salvador go in and find him. It's their mess, not yours. Let them deal with it. This is none of your business.”

“Chang's right,” says Moose, his voice serious now. “Let those rich people sort out their own problems. You need to come home, Nixy.”

I sigh. “Look, guys, it's nothing I can't handle. And besides, Salvador employs both my parents. Just lay off the hacks until I get back, okay? I'll even split some of my paycheck with you. Gotta run.”

“Nixy—” Chang starts, but I hang up before he can say anything else.

It's showtime.

OKAY, SO WYN SALVADOR LOOKS LIKE A SLEEPING ANGEL, IF ANGELS
are hot guys with long lashes and lips that beg to be kissed. This irritates me, as I'd rather he sported a jerk face when I give him the takedown he deserves.

An older woman sits at his side and smiles at me sadly. “He is a handsome boy, yes?”

I can't help but smile back at her. This must be Mama Beti, and she is, quite frankly, as adorable as her name. She wears a flowered cotton sundress and a matching yellow wrap around her head that shows off the fine angles of her face, the coffee-with-cream color of her skin, the deep brown eyes and long lashes. Both the Salvador men—father and son—obviously inherited their looks from this woman.

Mr. Salvador, Kora, and Dad are all huddled in the corner in front of a portable computer stand. Kora is tapping something into the keyboard while Dad and Salvador murmur behind her. Mama Beti sits in an overstuffed chair next to Wyn's bed, a sturdy metal walker parked nearby. She reaches an arm out to summon me. When I walk over to her she takes my hand in hers.

“You must find him for me,” Mama Beti says in accented English. “He is not hiding, he is lost. Do you understand me,
linda
?”

I'm about to remind her my name is Nixy, not Linda, but then I remember from Spanish class that
linda
means “pretty,” and I blush a little bit under her gaze. It is intense, this Mama Beti gaze.

“I'll find him, I promise,” I tell her.

She squeezes my hand. “My grandson likes beautiful things. Maybe that will help you search for him. Look,” she commands, sweeping a ropy yet elegant hand through the room.

I look around Wyn's room and I see what she means. Though the room is dominated by Wyn's bed and the IV machine attached to the needle in his arm, now I observe the ocean blue walls and white-painted bookshelves that display a large collection of baubles and seashells, polished rocks and exotic handicrafts, in addition to dozens of books on art and architecture. A huge picture window looks out at the sea. I
have to admit, Wyn's room certainly isn't the typical teenage boy dump I usually encounter: clothes on the floor, empty soda cans, burrito wrappers, posters of sports teams or the TARDIS on the walls (depending), and an oversize computer monitor, extra-smudged.

“See? Beautiful things, like you,” Mama Beti says. I run a hand through my hair and wonder if Mama Beti is sincere or just working me. I hold her gaze for a moment and decide she's sincere.

“Thank you,” I say, then turn back to Wyn, who lies next to her. If it weren't for the IV hooked up to him, you'd think the guy was taking the sweetest nap in the world. The corners of his mouth are turned up a bit, as if he's dreaming of baby dolphins or a basket of kittens, rather than operating a virtual torture maze.

A servant comes in then, pushing what looks like a portable operating table. Kora directs him to the far end of the room near the bookshelves, but apparently Mama Beti has other plans.

“
Aquí
, Juanito,” she calls, waving to the area on the other side of her chair. “This way, I look after you both,” she says to me.

That's when I realize the operating table is for
me
. Dad sees my face and puts his hands on my shoulders. “There's still time to say no, Nixy. You don't have to do this.”

I glance over at Mama Beti, who is kneading her hands in
worry. “I know, Dad, but I'm good at this, you know I am. I'll give it a try, but can we skip the ER drama?” I ask, pointing to the portable bed.

Kora chimes in. “It's just a precaution, Nixy, in case you're in the MEEP a little longer than expected. Your body will be more comfortable reclined on the hospital bed and we can monitor your vital signs more easily.”

“My vital signs? Look, I'll be back within the hour. That's my thing. Two hours tops. Just tell me how to activate the return frequency once I find him,” I say, looking back at Wyn.

Now Mr. Salvador speaks. “We've programmed an eleven-digit return frequency that you may use at any time. You can access the code from your inventory. Just read the numbers aloud into the MEEPosphere and it will immediately activate your return.”

“Will the same code bring back Wyn?” I ask.

Mr. Salvador shakes his head. “No, unfortunately. Because he's tampered with his internal settings, we're unable to match frequencies with his ear trans. He'll have to initiate his own return.”

“But what if he refuses to come back?” I ask.

Mr. Salvador raises his eyebrows at me. “I thought you were the expert in retrieval? Surely you can convince—or trick him.”

Touché, big guy
, I think, but then I look at Mama Beti and say, “I'll do my best.”

“We've also given you unlimited credit in the Landing to equip yourself with any supplies and weaponry you feel you may need,” Kora says.

“They've doubled your working inventory capacity as well,” Dad says, “so you'll have a total of ten slots to carry what you need.”

I whistle. Those are some decent perks. I hope I get to keep them once the job is done.

“Now if you'll please just lie down,” says Kora, “we can get started.”

I look at the hospital bed and shrug. Whatever. I feel my phone vibrate as I sit on the bed. Chang and Moose, certainly. They'll have to wait. I pull out the phone and power it down, then put it back in my pocket. I kick my shoes off and stretch out on the bed.

Kora gives me an ear trans.

Mama Beti reaches up and holds my hand.

Dad leans over to kiss me on the forehead. He looks like he's just put me on a train to Siberia to serve a life sentence.

I laugh. “It's just a game, Dad, no worries,” I say, smiling up at him. “‘Nixy Bauer, home in an hour,' remember?” I hear myself saying as the frequency starts beeping.

Christmas in the Landing is in full swing. The choir is belting out some jolly tune and a dance troupe of sugarplum fairies
leaps around the Christmas tree. A forest elf tries to hand me a sales flyer and a sample potion for hot pink eyelash extensions. It's way too distracting and I don't need samples or discounts today. I've got unlimited credit, oh yeah! I walk straight to the Information Desk and look through my options on the main control panel. I press the W
INTER
S
OLSTICE
button, figuring that will be the least annoying backdrop to the mad dash I'm about to make through the mall.

There. Much better. No more tinsel and Christmas carols, just some boring new age music, snow-laden fir trees, and a few silver-clad druids drifting among the Meeple. I'm about to start shopping when another button on the panel lights up; apparently, Wyn has MEEP Mail. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should be reading his private messages, but then I decide he gave up all rights to common courtesy once he left his family behind. I quickly scan the mail, only to find it's for me.

NIXY, ABORT MISSION! TOO DANGEROUS!—CHANG

Unbelievable.

I know Chang's got some mad hacking skills, but this is crazy. Is there no code he can't unravel? I don't have time to ponder my friend's resourcefulness right now. I've got work to do.

I purse my lips and type a quick response:

NO
.

That should do it.

I take a moment to review what's already in my working inventory. I've got the ultra crossbow, which I intend to keep, but I need to stock more arrows. I decide to keep my mage staff as well, but everything else I place in my storage locker to clear up space for new goods.

The MEEP M
AIL
button lights up again. “What part of NO do you not understand, Chang?” I grumble, pressing the button.

This time it's from Moose.

NIX, HERE'S THE DATA CHANG RECORDED FROM OUR MINI-GAMES.

I could hug Jackson Mooser right now. Attached to the message is a list of all the enemies we've fought in our mini-game sessions and the most effective weapons to defeat them. The perfect shopping list. I copy it to my inventory, laughing at Moose's last line:

SENDING YOU MY LUCKY POTATO GUN VIA POST.

I make a beeline to World of WarToys on the second floor, where I'll be making the majority of my purchases. I buy the best of everything, running through the list as fast as I can. Within minutes I've filled my storage locker with a decent variety of weapons and all the ammo I can pack.

Next I visit the I Will Survive! store and pick up a heavy-duty rappelling gun and harness, and the best pair of night-vision goggles I can find. My new contacts may not cut
it for this gig.

I've now filled ninety-eight of the one hundred slots in my storage locker. I think about leaving them empty to save time, but the unlimited credit is burning a hole in my virtual pocket. I may never have this chance again. I hightail it to Medieval Moderne and buy the wench dress on my Wish List, then I figure, what the heck: I pop into the Parcel Post and pick up the potato gun delivery from Moose. I don't want to hurt his feelings, especially after he took the time to help me out.

I'm loaded for bear now. Or shark, as the case may be. I take a few minutes to browse my Closet and change into a casual commando outfit, basically a T-shirt, cargo pants, and boots, plus a leather holster belt. I arm myself with the things I'll need first, then fill the rest of my inventory slots with items from my locker.

It's time to go hunting.

No fear, no fear, no fear
, I tell myself as I walk purposefully through the Landing to the portal.
It's just a game. They can't really eat you.

The automatic portal doors sense my approach and slide open before me in friendly fashion, like they do at the grocery store. I pause for a second and mentally rehearse the next few moments. If I were in my physical body, I would take some deep breaths, try to slow my heart rate. But those things don't matter here. All that matters is how fast and how well my brain can instruct my virtual body to operate.

I step into the room and hear the doors whoosh shut behind
me.

I glance around.

It's just like the MEEP-O Men said it would be: white everywhere, with no signs of entrance or exit. A few seconds later a message appears in black inky cursive across the walls:

Now begins the great adventure. Though I leave behind a body, my soul will live forever in the MEEP.

As the words begin to fade, I ready myself for what's coming next.

It happens faster than I expected.

The floor drops open and I fall.

I shoot my rappelling gun at the ceiling and brace myself for the jolt on the back of my harness. I hate to look down, but there's no time for cowardice.

Fy fæn
.

Three fins circle in the water below me, less than three feet away. Two of the sharks are smaller or, perhaps more accurately, less ginormous than the third, who looks to be an 18-footer.

Suddenly I feel like a worm on the end of a hook. If he wanted to, Mr. 18 could easily breach the surface and pick me off faster than I can reach for my guns.

I start to panic, trying to make sense of the competing voices yelling at each other inside my brain.

GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, NIXY!

NO! YOU CAN DO THIS!

INITIATE THE FREQUENCY CODE!

THEY'RE NOT REAL, DAMN IT!

SAY THE NUMBERS!

PULL OUT YOUR GUNS AND SHOOT!

I start blasting my two laser guns into the tank like I'm Yosemite Sam. The sharks whip into a frenzy, running into each other in the tank, thrashing around in a blur of gray. My initial panic begins to subside, replaced by the familiar head rush of battle. This isn't as hard as I thought it would be. A few more shots should do it.

And they do. The two smaller sharks eventually stop moving, and then they disappear. Now I've just got Mr. 18 to deal with.

Heh.

Only now he has more room in the tank. And he knows where I am.

The voices in my head have no time to argue. In a flash he breaches the surface. Two tons of gray flesh and a gaping maw of teeth come straight at me.

I SQUEEZE MY EYES SHUT AND BLAST BOTH LASER GUNS INTO HIS
open jaws.

I hear a splash and take a quick peek through squinting eyes. I check to see if my legs are still attached to my body.

They are, thank God. I've been killed many times in virtual battle, but I've never been virtually eaten, and hope I never will be. Even though the logical part of my brain knows I won't feel any pain while it's happening and that I will regenerate within seconds, I don't think I can live with the image of my torso torn in half—my body being devoured limb by limb by an oversize guppy.

Below me the huge shark flails a few times, then stills and slowly dissolves in the water like an Alka-Seltzer.

I twirl around on my harness, waiting for what I've been told will happen next. Sure enough, the shark tank disappears and the white room returns.

“Inventory!” I command into the MEEPosphere, and my list of available items appears like a sidebar inside my head. I quickly trade my laser guns and rappelling equipment for a machete and a full supply of grenades.

A door slides open in front of me and I exit the room into the maze. The maze is all white too, corridors upon corridors, mostly leading to dead ends. But Dad and I went over my strategy step-by-step on the plane; I reach my right arm out and drag my fingers along the wall, always making right turns no matter what.

Within a few minutes, I discover a blue button on the wall. I mentally review my plan, then push the button. Another door appears and opens before me. As soon as I step inside, the door closes, and once again I'm trapped in a white box with no visible signs of entry or exit. When I reach the center of the room, the white turns into a hazy green and a second later I'm standing in the middle of a thick, overgrown jungle. I draw my machete and cautiously begin hacking my way through the claustrophobia-inducing foliage.

The jungle seems to throb with damp heat and buzzing insects. Close spaces aren't normally a problem for me, but still, it feels as though it's hard to breathe. Two thoughts take turns
playing through my mind as I cut through ropy vines and giant fern-like plants. One, this is some impressive programming; I actually
feel
hot and sweaty and breathless. And two, I'm definitely not a save-the-rain-forest, Mother Nature kind of girl. I can't wait to get out of here, and fast.

As if on cue, I hear a slithering sound to my right and I whip my head around, machete at the ready. A streak of yellow shows through the green. Then
whooosh
, something flies by to my left, creating a breeze across my cheek. I whip my head left, but see nothing.
Slither, whoosh. Slither, whoosh
. My head is spinning like a top now as I turn from one side to the next, trying to follow the sounds.

These jungle creatures—two man-eating plants and a giant anaconda, according to the report—seem to be playing with me,
stalking
me. I feel my skin crawl, a sensation I've never felt in the MEEP before. For a fleeting second I wonder if they are monitoring my vital signs back in Wyn's room, and if so, whether my brow is beaded with sweat, my heart pounding triple-time.

I wonder, illogically, if any of this could take a physical toll. If it could, actually,
hurt
me somehow.
I need to end this
now, I think,
before I find myself swallowed whole and have a heart attack back in the real world.

“It's just a game,” I remind myself, as I take the machete in my left hand and ready a grenade with my right. I have to take
out the plants first, according to the reports, as they're faster than the snake, and sneakier. The next time I hear a
whoosh
, I turn toward the sound and quickly lob the grenade in its general direction. I hear a muffled explosion and smell a burning odor. Yes! Contact! And even more amazing, I can smell something! In the MEEP!

But my delight is short-lived, as I immediately hear another
whoosh
from behind me. I whip around, fumbling for another grenade, but I'm stopped short by the horrifying sight of the second man-eating plant coming at me.

It almost looks like it could be Jack's beanstalk, if the stalk was a slimy, quivering tangle of pea-green intestines with a bulbous, kidney-colored, drooling
head
at the top.

Its open beak reveals a fleshy, pulsing void that reeks of rotting meat. I'm no longer thrilled by my ability to smell things here, and I sure as heck refuse to get swallowed whole by
that
stinkweed.

I whip out another grenade and lob it underhand, like I'm tossing a Ping-Pong ball into a fishbowl at the carnival. Bingo! Give the girl a prize. The carnivorous weed does a smoky little death dance, then begins to dissolve.

I'd like to wave good riddance, but who's got the time? I hear the slither before I can move the machete back to my right hand, so I end up making an awkward lefty slash behind me. I get nothing but air. A long, leathery tail wraps around
my ankles and begins to encircle my legs, squeezing me from bottom to top like a tube of toothpaste. I figure it's only a matter of seconds before my rib cage gets crushed in the serpent's grip, sending me back to the Landing to start all over again.

That is
so
not going to happen.

I struggle to keep my arms free as long as possible and wait until I finally see the anaconda's big yellow head swaying in front of me, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth, licking its lips before dinner, no doubt.

I take my machete in both hands and bring it down hard, like I'm cutting a watermelon in half.

The snake's head flies off into the jungle.

That's a nice line drive if I ever saw one.

“And the crowd goes wild,” I say to no one, letting out a big sigh as the jungle finally disappears.

I pause a moment in the white room to put away the machete and remaining grenades, then I pull out my crossbow and quiver. I'm actually looking forward to this next room.

I follow the walls again, always turning right, until I reach a green button.

A moment later, I'm standing on a long rickety rope bridge between two high granite cliffs. Several planks are missing from the bridge, threatening to drop me into the sea of boiling orange lava below. I quickly don my harness and clip myself to
the ropes before the first pterodactyl attacks.

The five dive-bombing dinos do their best to knock me into the lava gorge or spear me with their pointy beaks, but they are no match for this girl/weapon combo. My crossbow and I perform like a beautiful machine, a symphony of movement, a perfect, deadly blend of accuracy and precision. It's like the bow and I have morphed into one body—a Transformer, only cuter and less clunky.

We pick them off one by one, until the last one falls . . .

. . . onto the rope bridge.

Oops.

The bridge sags under the weight of the beaky bird, then snaps in two.

I'm already harnessed to one side of it, but I grab for the ropes anyway and we go swinging down like Tarzan, skim the boiling lava, and smash into the granite wall.

Ouch
is all I have time to think before my skull cracks like an egg.

I wake up in the Landing. “Wyn Salvador, you son of a
rasshøl
!” I yell into the mall. I know it isn't very nice, but I don't care. At this point I thoroughly despise Wyn Salvador and his creepy fright fest. And now I have to start over again. I just lost thirty valuable minutes of time, not to mention a piece of my sanity. No wonder some of the MEEP-Os ended up mental.

I fly through the Landing, reloading on ammunition and supplies. It's one thing to create your own game in the MEEP, to
know
who your enemies will be before you go in. Like those Choose Your Own Adventure books for kids. Let's say you decide to battle a dragon. You still feel a thrill of fear once that dragon starts chasing you with his razor-sharp claws and fiery breath, but at least you
chose
him, and if you're any good, you also equipped yourself with some decent weaponry to fight him. It's another thing entirely to battle unknown enemies that another player chose. It's like someone telling you there's a monster under your bed, then forcing you to stick your head down there to look.

There aren't enough chill pills in the world to get over that kind of mind game.

But I'm not giving up yet. Not now that I know how to play.

I race through the stores—more grenades, more arrows, extra batteries for the laser guns, and after much rumination, I trade in the mage staff for a Santa Claus fat suit from the Custom Costume shop.

I have my reasons.

I'm on a mission now to haul Wyn Salvador's sorry butt back home so I can swear at him in person and make him grovel for mercy.

I go back to the portal, arm myself, and start over.

This time around I kill off the sharks, plants, and snake with speed and efficiency. I'm nowhere near as anxious on this run because I know what to expect. It's still pretty terrifying, of course, but I just keep repeating my mantra whenever the fear starts to take over:
It's just a game, it's just a game, it's just a game. . . .

I take down the pterodactyls even faster this time, and when the last one slams onto the bridge, I'm ready for it. I equip the Santa suit with lightning speed and let out a victorious “HO HO HO!” as I careen toward the granite cliff, waiting for my fat suit to cushion the impact.

I bounce a few times off the wall like a big red Super Ball, and I let out a laugh, wishing Chang and Moose were here to see this amazing Christmas miracle.

I stop laughing when I hear a
SNAP
above me. I'm so heavy in the fat suit that I've ripped the bridge off its moorings at the top of the cliff.

Down we go, bridge and all, straight into the boiling lava.

I don't yell this time when I wake up in the Landing. Instead, I allow myself to daydream about all the things I will say to Wyn Salvador when I find him. They are very unpleasant things, things that should never ever be uttered aloud, lest you be struck dead by whichever God is currently on duty. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

Once again I run through the Landing and restock, occasionally muttering at the strolling Meeple in their natural-fiber Winter Solstice wear. They just smile at me and continue strolling, presumably filled with the spirit of the Winter Goddess or Nature or something Peaceful and Seasony. In contrast, I am filled with rage, which I try to channel into cold, hard determination. I open my storage locker to trade the damn Santa suit for my mage staff, but in my haste I access the potato gun instead.
What the hell?
I think, leaving it in my inventory. Maybe it'll bring me luck, like Moose says, and God knows I'm ready for some.

This time, I kill the sharks before they know I'm there. The man-eating plants are toast after the first
whoosh
; the anaconda doesn't even have time to slither. I make sure to shoot the five wheeling pterodactyls at the three-o'clock or nine-o'clock positions, so they fall straight into the lava and stay away from my bridge.

Finally, the lava gorge dissolves to white.

Victory at last. I stand still for a few minutes, allowing plenty of time to prep myself for the next room. I've already blown my “Nixy Bauer, Home in an Hour” 5K bonus, so the extra time doesn't make a difference anymore. Besides, this is the
fourth
room, the room where the MEEP-O Men before me died a thousand deaths before giving up in defeat. I'm determined to win this one the first time through, as a point of pride.
Also, I'll scream if I wake up in the Landing one more time.

I equip myself with an oak shield and a razor-sharp Gladius sword. Just before I push the yellow button to the next room, I swallow down the pricey speed potion I acquired just for this purpose.

The whiteness turns into a golden haze, and it takes me a moment to get my bearings. I'm in a desert, melting hot, and the sun shines brightly into my eyes. I spin around in a circle to mark the location of my foes. “Just like the three bears,” Dad had said on the plane, “and you're Goldilocks,” he added, while we were strategizing my attack. I laughed at the time and said I hoped they served a decent porridge, but it doesn't seem nearly as funny now. Bears would be a welcome sight.

Giant scorpions? Not so much.

I see them now, right where they're supposed to be. Papa is at four o'clock, shiny and black and the biggest of them, his stinger raised to a height about twice my own five feet ten inches. Mama's at eight o'clock, copper-tinted and moving slowly, biding her sweet time. And Baby's positioned directly at twelve o'clock, an iridescent greenish blue like a dragonfly and the smallest of the three, but also the fastest and coming right at me.

“Okay, let's get this done,” I say to myself. I run as fast as I can toward Baby, my sword high in the air. I move like a panther, my legs pumping at least twice their normal speed, and I feel like I'm about to go airborne. I've never used a speed potion
before—performance enhancements have always been
way
out of my price range—and it almost feels like cheating.

Baby sees me and raises his stinger even higher without losing speed. I can't believe I'm playing a game of chicken with a giant scorpion, but here we are, running at each other like freight trains about to collide. “Wait for it . . . wait for it,” I mutter to myself as we get closer and closer, and then
SWISH
, down comes his stinger, straight at my heart.

I whip up the oak shield just in time, and sink to my knees as the stinger plunges into the wood. It makes a loud
THUNK
, then Baby lets out an even louder high-pitched screech when he realizes he's stuck. For a second I wonder if scorpions screech in real life, but then Baby lifts his tail with both me and my shield still attached, and my mind snaps back to the task at hand. I bring down the Gladius sword as hard as I can and slice Baby's tail clean off.