A Second Chance Page 7

  I could have argued with Maria about how to educate the youth, but she was right, I genuinely didn’t want that. After quickly squaring everything with Helen as planned, I went to reception, where Victoria was leafing lazily through pages on a tablet. I approached and strained my neck to have a peek at how the director’s assistant entertained herself when left to her own devices. No doubt reading valuable advice from silly women’s magazines. Noticing my interest, she turned off the screen, not allowing me to confirm my suspicions.

  “Good morning, Brody. How can I help?” Her right brow was raised high, demonstrating a disparity between her polite tone and her real feelings concerning my early appearance. A display of true professionalism.

  “Good morning, Victoria. Could I talk to the company lawyer concerning a personal matter?”

  “What matter?”

  “A personal one.”

  “Brody, what kind of lawyer are you interested in?” she asked, rolling her eyes pointedly and making me feel stupid.

  “A civil one.”

  “You can talk to me.”

  “You’re a civil lawyer?” I didn’t believe her.

  “Does that make you feel uncomfortable?” Victoria could work her eyebrows superbly.

  “No, not at all.” I shrugged. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she earned some extra cash cleaning the office after work. You never know. “I need some advice concerning a citizen-welfare contract.”

  “Brody, could you dispense with the verbiage and be a bit more specific?” She still looked relaxed, but I discerned a barely noticeable change in her posture.

  “I have a childhood friend. I recently found out he’s on a social contract. How can we get it annulled?”

  “You want to become socialized in favour of your friend?” Her voice became icy. “That’s a bad idea, Brody.”

  “No, I just want to help him. And please don’t lecture me.” I drew forward. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Have you been drinking?” she asked.

  Jeez! How keen is your sense of smell to sniff out a drop of cognac?

  “Just coffee.” I urgently had to regain face and feign unease. “I had a pod installed late last night, and decided to try total immersion. I didn’t get any sleep, and this morning I mistook a bottle of cognac for a bottle of syrup. It happens.”

  Victoria narrowed her eyes sceptically. “You do understand how stupid that sounds?”

  “I understand,” I said, smiling widely. “But it’s the truth. You’ve seen my resume. No problems with alcohol. So what about this consultation?”

  “You’ll get your consultation. But first tell me, why do you want to restore someone who’s already given up and gone to Barliona?” The secretary looked like someone who was confident in her right to demand answers. I tensed.

  “He’s my only friend.”

  “Okay, so you get your friend out. What then?” She narrowed her eyes further, unpleasantly now, and leaned in toward me. “If you don’t succeed, you are aware that your friend will burn up? Will you be able to forgive yourself?”

  I felt uncomfortable with the turn our conversation had taken. Victoria was conducting the interrogation harshly. However, my gut feeling was not to get pissy, but to calmly convince her of the seriousness of my intentions.

  “Burning up” was a real threat for people who were forever returning to the shelter. Not for everyone, of course — for about ten percent — but it was enough for folks to start talking about the problem. Something broke inside people, robbing them of their self-awareness. All that remained was a body, and the ability to eat, sleep, breathe, and defecate. In all other senses they were as good as dead. Interestingly, the luminaries of science could find no evidence of damage to the brain on either a physical or a spiritual level. There was also the question of what was worse: disappearing into Barliona forever, or burning up.

  “I’ll have nothing to forgive myself for. I’ll sign him up for retraining. You can’t do that in the shelter, because the social pods are only connected to Barliona servers. He’ll get certified, and then we’ll find him a job. The Imitators aren’t everywhere.”

  “Repeat that to yourself more often.” The lady averted her gaze, and now answered me as a generic lawyer. “Citizens on a social contract may have their contract annulled only if they can provide evidence of financial security. It might be a work contract, in reality or virtuality, it doesn’t matter, but the main thing is it’s not short-term. Or if the citizen is a dependent, according to family legislation. But that’s irrelevant to you. Or are you related?”

  “No. Do they demand a regular income?”

  “It must be equal to or more than minimum wage. There are no stipulations concerning the kind of work. General director or street sweeper. But it must be official. You can also register your relationship, in which case we’ll consider it as a factor in your socialization.” There wasn’t a trace of a smile in the woman’s eyes. I wondered if she was always like that, or it was just a reaction to my question.

  “No, thank you. We’ll get by old school. For the training period I’ll take him on as a driver or personal assistant. I’ve seen my neighbors do it. It shouldn’t raise any questions.”

  “No, it shouldn’t. Brody, I must repeat that if you can’t find your friend a job, after he returns to the shelter he may burn up completely. And you’ll have no more friends.” There was a hint of something other than human sympathy in Victoria’s voice. “Have a good think before signing a contract and registering him with the municipality. And it would be better if your friend decided for himself if he really needs this or not.”

  It was a harsh point, but fair, though nobody in the world could have convinced me we wouldn’t make it work. After thanking Victoria and taking my leave, I went to see Maria. No lessons were planned for that day, and I wanted to sort Matty out as soon as possible.

  “Brody, Nathan likes the way you’ve got into the swing of things. He thinks that for the period of your training you can run a course for all candidates.”

  “Why all? We could just work with the ones that are taken on.”

  “The company can afford to work with everyone. Even if we reject a candidate, a course like that will still be useful to them. Don’t forget, people have lost their jobs. Live interaction will encourage them and help them determine their future.”

  “I understand. What will I have to do?”

  “Design a five-day course. Candidates will be sent to you every week in groups of five to seven. When you finish on Friday you will write me a short report. As a former director you will immediately see who works well in a team and who is a lone wolf. You evaluate only their professional qualities and whether they can adapt or not. Helen will help you with everything, and study at the same time. Then later she’ll take over.”

  “Okay. I’ll have everything ready by Monday.”

  “I would expect nothing less.” Maria nodded her satisfaction and sighed. “Brody, stop this nonsense. What was wrong with the pod? It’s a quick and effective way to study. You can only reject the blessings of civilization to achieve certain goals, not out of spite.”

  “That’s the way it was, Maria.” I pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Firstly, Helen must be able to solve problem situations. Secondly, since it didn’t occur to her to use the scanner, she would have learned to calmly get into a routine. I understand your loyalty to her, but the youth need conditioning.”

  “The youth indeed. I understand your position. Have a good weekend.”

  Organizing a work contract was no problem. The Imitators in the municipality blocked part of my finances to provide six months’ salary, accepted my pledge that I would provide the employee with permanent accommodation, and gave the go-ahead to annul the social contract. Now I just had to convince my friend.

  “Ahh, that’s good,” said Matty, taking a large swig of beer. I stretched myself out beside him and was quiet, allowing him to offload. “Just to sit and look, and not
worry some bandit’s about to lynch you from behind. Not to have to hide or be on the look out. To appreciate what you’re eating. Can you hear my stomach rumbling? Music to the ears! The last year’s been terrible. Sometimes I climb out of the pod and punch the wall till my fist bleeds. It’s nothing to worry about, I’m fine. In the pod you quickly forget what it is to feel, but punch the wall and you immediately understand that it’s for real out here. Blood, pain, friendship, love. And that you climbed out into reality for a good reason. Get it?”

  “I get it, Matty. Actually, I have a proposal for you.” It seemed like the right time. “Come and live with me.”

  “Yeah right. I’ll just throw off these leg irons and run and get my stuff,” Matty sniggered and shook his bracelet. “This is no place for vagrants.”

  “I’m not joking,” I said, getting out my tablet and showing him the documents. “By decision of the municipality, I can hire a personal assistant, and provide them accommodation and a stipend of a thousand credits a month. Official employment with all the trimmings. They’ve already approved the annulment of your social contract. If you agree, that is.”

  “Bro…,” his voice faltered.

  “Matty, don’t get all emotional. I need a friend, not an assistant. Alive and healthy. And your kids need you too. I’m not doing this for the laugh, so don’t think I am. You’re going to be working like a dog. In six months you’ve got to finish the course and get certified. Staying in the shelter is not an option. You know your pods are only connected to the game. Engineers will always be in demand, and with certification you’ll find work in no time.”

  “I haven’t got anything to pay for training with,” he said, turning gloomy. “Banks don’t give loans if you have a shelter back story.”

  “I’m not a bank, and I’ll give you one. You can pay it back when you find a job.” I tapped on the screen and showed him a list of vacancies for engineers. “Look how much work there is. Get trained up, get certified, and off you go. Barliona isn’t going anywhere. There’ll be plenty of time for playing. Well, what do you reckon?”

  “I’m thinking,” he mumbled.

  I gave him a minute, then said, “Finished?”

  “Finished what?”

  “Thinking.”

  “No.”

  “Thinking about burning up?”

  “What freaking burning up? Leaving Barliona and burning up are the same freaking thing! I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Put your finger on the scanner and let’s do this. You’re not going to be a burden.”

  “What, that’s it?” he asked incredulously. I nodded.

  “You’re kidding,” he muttered and touched the screen. A metallic clicking sound, and the bracelet unlocked and fell into his lap. The liberation was symbolic — the manacles were off but didn’t disappear, a reminder of the time factor and the dwindling finances. We had half a year to get our feet on the ground.

  We went straight to the municipality, where we handed in the tag of slavery and officially confirmed Matty’s status. Then we went to the sales office for a new pod. He refused point blank to accept a professional model, and I didn’t force the issue, as I understood how he felt. I didn’t forget myself either, reducing my pain threshold to ten percent and buying a mailbox and a communication amulet. Together they cost me nearly two hundred and twenty credits. No small sum for standard gaming communication gadgets. We took the installation guys home with us. After the age it had taken to install the professional model, the standard pod only took half an hour.

  “Jesus! What on earth do you need a mansion like this for?” Matty entered the house and was immediately impressed.

  “Andrea wanted to live in sector two, so I rented this as soon as my salary would allow. Then she left, and I couldn’t be bothered to move. I got used to it.”

  “Shit, you’re an oligarch! I bet you’ve got a miniature golf course in the back garden.”

  “Uh-huh, and a wine cellar.” It was amusing to see Matty in such wonder. I was so used to it I’d stopped noticing.

  “Where’s this wine cellar? Are you going to give me the grand tour?” he asked.

  I tried to insist on a full excursion, but he didn’t want to hear it. As a result, we sat on the steps in the cellar, uncorking bottle after bottle. That day Matty didn’t even find out about the pool room and swimming pool. Never mind, all in good time. He had his restoration to celebrate, and nobody has nerves of steel. He wound down to the max, me officially keeping him company, and as soon as he passed out I lugged him up to his room and onto his bed, to have a good sleep and then remember what a hangover was. Without the robodoctor. It would be good for his health to sober up by himself. Who was complaining about not having any feelings?

  After wandering around the house for a while, trying to get used to not living alone anymore, in lieu of dinner I slipped into the pod. Everything else could wait. Now I wanted to sort out those tieflings and demon hunters, since all the information on them in the Internet I’d have to pay for. A few minutes of initiation, and my hooves were shining in the dull rays of the Barliona sun. Welcome back. Kvalen, in his familiar canvas pants and shirt, with no protection, was resurrected in the middle of a small temple made of sand, surrounded by smooth boulders. Up ahead, about two hundred meters, were some wooden buildings like old barracks, whence came a ringing sound, shouts, and a nasty smell. No, not a smell. Something imperceptible, without distinct qualities, yet invoking an unpleasant sensation of chill. Trees grew all around, and try as I might to make anything out through them, I could see nothing. Only tables of properties popping up and obscuring the already limited view — common maple, crumbly oak, heather shrub, magnolia vine. I gave several mental orders, after which everything began to appear only on request. There was now a good view of the mountain range concealing the horizon line. I could even see the snowy peaks without binoculars. The location was picturesque and fairly sizeable.

  “Are you going to be admiring the view for long?” An unpleasant voice distracted me from studying the landscape, and alongside me materialized an NPC marked, “without level”. The human called Tarlin turned out to be a demon hunter like me. His face was disfigured with scars, as though it had suffered a bear clawing, his right ear was completely gone, and he had a prosthetic left hand. But none of that stopped him from training new recruits, for Tarlin was the drill sergeant of the training camp.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. My previous Barliona experience had taught me that picking a fight with an NPC for no reason was more trouble than it was worth.

  “I’ll give you a pointer.” He was courtesy itself. “You see the barrack? You have precisely thirty seconds to reach it. If you don’t make it, you’re toast. A fast-track plunge into the Abyss. What are you waiting for? At the double, march!”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d run anywhere, so I decided straight away to challenge the sergeant. Slowly, maintaining composure and dignity, I left the temple and headed for the designated barrack. Generals didn’t run, they relocated decorously. If you set off at a gallop so much as once, someone was guaranteed to put a saddle on you or harness you to a cart. Like I had nothing better to do than run!

  “So that’s the way it is, huh?” Tarlin said knowingly, before the ground suddenly disappeared from under my hooves. My back and buttocks hurt like hell, and the space in front of me began to spin at an incredible speed. I didn’t immediately realise that the instructor had grabbed me by the tail and begun to whirl me round like a hammer. And in the same way, like a hammer, he launched me toward the barrack. I had the wind knocked out of me first by the flight, and then by the sensation of free fall. It wasn’t classified as dangerous, so it wasn’t blocked by the system. My crotch tickled unpleasantly — I’d always hated fairground rides and everything to do with them; even skiing and skating made me feel sick.

  No matter how I tried to level myself out in flight, maneuvering my arms like an eagle its wings, it was a
ll in vain. I hit the ground horns first, and the impact knocked my combative mood for six, despite my ten percent pain threshold.

  Damage sustained

  Health decreased by 99: 1500 (fall to ground) - 0 (physical protection)

  Remaining Health: 1 out of 100

  I managed just one convulsive breath out before Tarlin was by my side, repeating the throw and reducing the distance between me and the barrack. Then again. And again. I didn’t sustain any more damage — HP had frozen at one and didn’t wish to decrease all the way to zero, which would strip me of the possibility to avoid competing in athletics competitions as a missile. In the nursery — for a training camp could not be anything but — it was impossible to destroy a player.

  “The exit’s over there. Go and wave your attitude around in the wide world!” With one more throwing motion, Tarlin hurled me all the way to a shimmering sphere, a one-and-a-half-meter ball of lightning, and the second I landed, electrical charges flickered over the surface of the portal. Next to it, stiff like an idol, stood a small demon. Its pathetic mug and total absence of wit indicated that its skin was all that was left of it. The Light ones had burned out its essence, leaving him one function — to manage the portal.