Free Lifer by Beck Nicholas Page B

play the game. A game isn’t worth playing unless the stakes are high. It’s simple, don’t lose, and don’t get hit. Play to win.”
    Unexpected anticipation zings through my veins. For all my questions, I want to play. I want to play desperately, now that I know winning could help me get information. The draw of the game comes from deep within me. Have I played it before?
    Megs prods me in the arm. “We’re up.”
    We expose our wristbands and the crowd parts to let us through. I follow Megs’ lead and remove my jacket at the entry. I’m careful to tuck the weapon I stole this morning out of sight in the inside pocket, roll it up and leave it on a bench. I didn’t realize how much I appreciated having it within easy reach until I have nothing.
    We draw lots for the ships. It’s a fresh set as the ones from the first match are in pieces. Now I get why they looked patched together. I’m in Ship Four, Megs is in One. A blond older woman and a guy about my age are the other players.
    I head toward my ship with what I hope is a confident stride. It all comes to a halt when I can’t even work out how to open the hatch. The ship’s mostly a metallic gray and there are no obvious buttons or levers. There’s a welded together crack down the middle. The lumps and bumps give a little beneath my fingertips as I run my hand over the join.
    “Newbie?” a young tech guy asks.
    I must look as out of place as I feel. There’s no point denying it. “Yeah.”
    He flashes a grin. “I’ll be gentle.”
    I glance over toward Megs. She slides into her craft while a girl tech assistant readies the harness. An excited energy gives her a kind of glow. She catches me looking and winks.
    “Ready, bro?” The tech guy’s waiting with the hatch open. I was too busy looking at Megs to see how he did it. I slip off my shoes. The plastic crate I stand on to get in cracks beneath my weight but holds steady long enough that I perch over the opening.
    It’s pretty dark inside. I hesitate and the assistant notices.
    “Slide into the central cavity and then slip an arm into each of the side pockets. It’s like a huge great suit of armor.” The tech guy chuckles at his own description. “Except it flies. And you’d be screwed if you tried to ride a horse wearing it.”
    The guy might as well be speaking a different language. I understand enough to position my bare feet over the middle of the opening and drop, or more accurately, fall in. The squishy insides of the machine mold to my body on contact. When I slide my arms into the slots the guy points out, it feels like a big glove.
    “I’m in. I think.”
    “Cool. Can you feel the different levers in the hand compartments?”
    I stretch my hands, getting a feel for all the buttons and levers inside. “Yes.”
    “Make a fist with either hand and punch three times to trigger the emergency.”
    The anticipation in my stomach ramps up to nerves. I nod.
    “When I lower the hatch you’ll see the other emergency trigger button. Just smash your head against that one.” He laughs. “The whole thing is pretty well insulated. We haven’t lost a player permanently yet.”
    The safety talk takes a while. All my competitors have their hatches lowered already. Hopefully it’s just because I’m new, not that I look like I’m going to need it.
    He lowers the hatch. It’s black inside. My heart thuds and I resist the urge to stretch. There’s a beep from somewhere above my right ear and a display appears in front of my eyes.
    Megs was right. One of the prizes is ‘archive access’, whatever that means. I choose it with a flick of my wrist.
    The controls are self-explanatory. There are levers for up and down, forward, and back, as well as several fire buttons. Movement of the hands, head, and feet control them. A countdown timer tells me I have ten seconds to lift off. When the engine kicks on, it vibrates through my whole body. The other ships around me rise into the game space and I