Free Lifer by Beck Nicholas Page A

pieces of junk metal and plastic.
    “Are these things taped together?”
    Her chuckle bumps her arm against mine. “Pretty much, but the games are rough.”
    Now, her comments about motion sickness make sense.
    One by one the assistants slam and seal the hatches by smearing some kind of black jelly on the join. There’s a hum and the glass in front of me vibrates. Nothing happens with the ships.
    “Do they manage to get off the ground?”
    Megs nudges me with her shoulder. “Wait a second.”
    The lights around us switch off and the playing arena lights up. Moments later the little ships rise off the ground in jerky movements. They dodge and dart through the crowded space, avoiding rocks and floating debris by a finger’s width. And each other. The ships seem to be steering clear of each other by mutual agreement. The tubes protruding from the body of the ship that I assumed were weapons systems aren’t being used.
    I lean down toward Megs’ ear, trying not to get sidetracked studying the shining purple of her hair. “What’s the point? Are they trying to out-fly each other?”
    She shakes her head and a strand of silky hair brushes against my lips with a hint of apple scent. “Gamers get five minutes warm-up with the vehicles.”
    “What if you fire early?”
    “Life ban.”
    “Happen much?”
    “Never.”
    The lights flash off and signal the start. Ship One fires, hitting Five, and hits another from behind. Flames erupt along the jelly seal. It looks real. Hot, burning, real.
    “It is real,” Megs says.
    I glance down at her but she’s watching the game. Am I so easy to read?
    The ships don’t get much of a chance to fire on each other before a line of green objects appear above them and move down in a regular pattern. The ‘aliens’ of the game. These fire in a regular pattern and are quickly dispatched but cause an engine to fail when they collide with a ship.
    There’s a lull between the first and second wave of descending aliens. I picture LEVEL ONE COMPLETE flashing up on a screen. Ship Three takes the opportunity to strike at Ship Four. An explosion in the smaller craft’s right wing sends it ricocheting off a large rock. It smashes into the ground, causing an appreciative ‘oh’ to ripple through the crowd. This isn’t a game for teamwork. I don’t need Megs to spell out there will be only one winner.
    I point to the still-burning craft. “What if the guy in there is hurt?”
    “There’s an emergency lever inside, but if the player uses it they can’t play again for a month.”
    After the next wave of aliens is dealt with, only ships One and Three remain and they’ve both taken hits. They circle each other, using the debris for cover. Three scores a good hit, and One crashes to the ground.
    As the lights come back on people hurry out to attend to the other ships. The winner’s lifted on her friends’ shoulders and three others are able to hobble out. A small crowd gathers around Ship One. A couple of assistants have a stretcher ready. It takes two others to get the girl out of the ship’s harness. Her chin rests on her chest. Blood runs down the side of her face and seeps into her white t-shirt. She’s placed on the stretcher and carried out another exit. Even with my enhanced focusing ability she doesn’t move. At all.
    I can’t help but wonder whether she landed like that or wanted to play again so desperately that she chose not to signal for help. It looks like fun, sure, but that good? Maybe there’s a decent prize.
    “What does the winner get?”
    “The player chooses before the start of the game.” She shrugs. “Money usually. Information sometimes.” Her eyes narrow. “Sometimes people have stuff they want to know.”
    I moisten dry lips. I guess I haven’t hidden that I’m a stranger and she’s a smart girl. My gaze returns to the place the girl was carried out, my breath fogging the glass. “The loser, what’s in it for them? Injury? Death?”
    “They get to