Free Game Slaves by Gard Skinner

“Who really knows
what
they are or where they came from? Not a single being, ever, has figured that out.”
    â€œAnd which is better?” I asked. “For us, in here, we have each other. Our needs are met. We do our duty and we do it better than anyone ever has. It kind of
has
to be enough.”
    â€œBut this is all so real.” She knocked the table. It made a perfect
CLANG
.
    She knocked it again.
    The same perfect, recorded
CLANG
.
    â€œI just can’t get used to the idea that someone might trip over a power cord and my life would be over.”
    â€œWell, I’m sure there are backup generators,” York said.
    â€œAnd backup files,” Reno added. “Battery packs too. They can’t take chances.”
    â€œIf you think about it, we’re probably so valuable they pay more attention to us than they do to a lot of people on machines in the hospitals.”
    â€œIt still makes no sense. There are holes everywhere.” Now Dakota was just arguing.
    â€œReally?” Mi asked.
    â€œReally,” the girl assured her, trying to convince herself that she was indeed flesh and blood somehow. That she did actually breathe air and digest food and feel emotion rather than exhibit predetermined reactions to everything.
    Her mind was searching so randomly now. “Or maybe I’m dead? I remember falling from a really high place, a wall of rock zooming down. It’s so vivid. Am I hallucinating
all
this
before I hit?”
    No one answered. We’d all been tossed off cliffs before. Hundreds of times.
    â€œWhen I was maybe four or five I liked to play cowgirl,” she continued. “When I was around twelve I could reprogram satellites. No, that’s
not
fake information. I remember things. Summer camp. Maybe a soccer game? Swim lessons. Yes, swim lessons for sure. From that, uh, guy? Girl. What was her name? In a pool. No, a lake. The water was too cold or something.”
    â€œNPCs can’t swim,” Mi reminded her.
    â€œI had friends. I had a
life
.”
    â€œCan you name them?” York asked.
    â€œThere’s more. Your explanation doesn’t add up.”
    York leaned over. “Or, admit this, it could be that you’re programmed to think it doesn’t add up?”
    Dakota glared at him. Real hatred. “It does
not
answer everything,” she stressed. “I feel more for some of you than others. Some I don’t like at all, York. The point is, I
feel
. I get hungry. Maybe I’m being tricked. Maybe you’re all in on it.”
    Was she just blowing off steam now? Or grasping?
    â€œI have sadness. I get afraid. I experience joy. I’m lonely, even when we’re all together. I’m different from the rest of you . . .”
    She pinched her arm. Ran her fingers through her hair. Held her breath till she turned blue. Stomped her own toes with the heel of her boot.
    â€œOW!”
    But she was just kidding herself. One way or another, it was all programmed response.

Level 10
    It must have been some kind of holiday break for the next three days. New games were hitting the boards, and we were busy beyond belief. I gotta admit I didn’t think, at that point, Dakota was going to make it. I was 90 percent sure BlackStar was going to pull her plug . . . and that one day she just wouldn’t come out of Re-Sim.
    Maybe we’d run in to her again someday. Maybe with Jevo, both of them dressed up as fuzzy dinosaurs or a squad of heart-throwing teddy bears.
    That’s the way it happened when one of us became obsolete, outdated, whatever you want to call it. And the team, to be sure, usually knew it was coming. For a while leading up to it, the guy or girl would just fight too slow. Miss too many shots. Not be able to keep up with the pace and complexity of the gaming environment.
    It’s hectic in there. You know it is. This isn’t PONG anymore. Tons of stuff comes at you constantly. It’s