Star runners, p.4
Star Runners, page 4
“Cool!”
He pulled back the rest of the paper, revealing a Flight Explorer joystick officially endorsed by the Star Runners game.
“This is too much,” Austin said. “I don’t, uh, I don’t know what to say.”
Josh shrugged. “It’s cool. You always complained about that old joystick. I’ve seen you play a couple times. You’re pretty rough on the thing. This stick’ll hold up even for you.” He turned to his present. “Whatta we have here?”
“Like I said; it’s not much.”
Josh tore past the wrapping paper, revealing a dark green satchel with Josh’s initials stenciled on the top. “Cool! It’s like a military bag, right?”
Austin exhaled. “Yeah, we thought it would come in handy for your books and whatnot.”
Josh held the satchel in the air like a tournament prize. “Thanks, man.”
Austin nodded and placed his presents on the coffee table.
“Well, I guess you better get going unless you want a drink or something to eat?”
“Wish I could, but I have to go.”
Josh stood and grabbed his leather jacket. His car keys jingled and fell to the floor. As he picked up the keys, he turned to Austin. “I know the past few months have been super crazy. With football winding down, we didn’t get to hang out that much.”
Austin shrugged. “I don’t care about that.”
“I know you don’t, but I need to say it anyway.” He swallowed, his brow wrinkled in thought. “You’re my best friend. I’m going to miss you.”
He lumbered across the living room and hugged Austin.
“I’ll be in touch. I’ll give you a call when I get there.”
He turned and left through the front door.
Austin sat on the couch, staring at nothing. He thought of waking Mom, but she was sleeping for once instead of watching mindless television. Since she started her medical assisting job after Thanksgiving, she hadn’t wasted time doing anything but housework, giving Austin rides to his job at the fruit stand, and going to work.
Mom planned on making breakfast for Christmas tomorrow, and they would spend the morning opening presents. There would be no visitors, parties, or events. It would be a quiet day.
Austin watched the wind tussle with the trees outside. He took a deep breath and released it. The couch engulfed him. Propping his feet up, he locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back farther. He thought of all the events during the past year and knew the next year would be different. Everyone he had known in the past four years of high school would scatter like grains of sand in the wind searching for their own paths in life. Kadyn would probably go to the local college. Josh would be on the West Coast. And Austin didn’t know where he would be.
He cleared his throat and sat forward. Deciding on his life path wasn’t a decision he’d make on Christmas Eve. He smiled. Unplugging the tree lights and grabbing his new joystick, he walked back to his room, suppressing a yawn. He wasn’t ready to sleep. With a jiggle to the mouse, his computer fluttered to life, and he plugged in the massive joystick. The new plastic smell filled the air. He rested his hand on the stick and squeezed the trigger.
Sweet.
He rolled his head twice while the computer finished coming alive and then double-clicked the Star Runners icon on his desktop.
The images of the Star Runners’ universe flashed as the game loaded: Legion Tridents dogfighting Zahl Interceptors, Tyral Pirates firing on Legion freighters, and chaotic space battles full of laser fire and missiles.
While he waited, Austin checked out the graphic novel Josh had given him. The red words ““Rodon’s Wrath”“ flared across the top in a massive, bold font. As he flipped through the book, he marveled at the colorful illustrations bringing Star Runners to life. The Legion forces consisted of noble warriors, who fought the evil Tyral Pirates led by the infamous Dax Rodon. The graphic novel played off of the recent Tyral Pirate expansion for the main game. Legion Trident fighters fought off waves of Tyral Pirates attacking a freighter convoy, but Dax Rodon, of course, escaped to terrorize Quadrant Eight another day.
Austin grinned.
The game had nearly finished loading. Perhaps he would fly some missions and could take down Dax Rodon’s motley crew of pirates. To play the expansion, though, he’d have to fly sortie missions, and he would rather work on his elite server score.
When the start-up screen appeared, Josh’s call sign, Razor, was listed as offline.
He logged onto the elite server without his wingman. Since it was Christmas Eve, the servers held little competition. The game siphoned through several screens as Austin waited with his feet propped on the desk.
The “dogfight” server boasted fifteen pilots at the moment. He clicked to enter and closed his bedroom door while the game loaded. Slipping on his headset, he interlocked his fingers and felt his knuckles pop. Time to see what this Flight Explorer joystick can do.
He rapped his fingertips on the desk until the cockpit of the Trident appeared on the screen. This particular server provided a fight for your life situation with no missions or teams. He and Josh teamed in this arena, but they would fight each other when all the other players had been destroyed.
The list of pilots superimposed over his cockpit screen. He didn’t recognize any call signs. Beyond his cockpit, the edge of the hangar bay fluttered with activity and the dark of space beckoned beyond. Austin appreciated all the details of this game, even showing hangar bay activity on the carrier.
The clock ticked down.
3...2...1.
The Trident zipped away from the carrier. Austin rested his right hand on the joystick, and his left hand hovered over the keyboard. The Trident passed through a colorful curve in space and entered into pirate territory. He scanned the sensors, saw the spawn points. All fighters in this session entered the game from random points. No clusters this time. Austin’s Trident appeared at the edge of the game space. He veered left and took the fighter along the boundary as the rest of the Trident fighters flew straight into the center of the area. It would be a bloodbath.
After waiting a moment, Austin set his shields to full power on the front and adjusted his course for the center of the gaming space. Flashes of laser fire colored the darkness. The players chatted over the game’s intercoms, talking trash and spouting various threats and insults. He pulled his microphone away from his mouth. The game updates at the top right corner of his screen notified him of two casualties. He squinted, transferring power to his engines.
The Trident came with four long range missiles. He armed two and altered his course toward a pair of fighters trailing off from the pack. The crosshairs at the front of his fighter drifted to the left and hovered over the rear target. The pair wasn’t attempting much of a dogfight. The lead fighter swayed back and forth as the rear fighter fired with his lasers.
The high-pitched wail of missile lock filled his ears. The moment the missile lock sounded, Austin’s target veered and spiraled downward in a belated attempt to lose the lock. He squeezed the trigger and watched his missile soar. Four seconds later, the enemy Trident exploded as the missile struck its engines.
Without waiting to watch the fiery wreckage, Austin settled in behind the fighter his victim had been chasing. The enemy Trident tilted back and flew up, trying hard to get out of his range. With precision, he yanked back on the new joystick and led his target while he squeezed the trigger. The laser bolts spit out ahead of his prey, and the fighter exploded. The other guy had weakened him just enough to allow for Austin’s victory. Two kills in forty-five seconds.
Not too shabby.
* * *
Before the ten-minute timer expired, Austin had racked up eleven kills among the fifteen pilots on the server to rank number one in the session. No one else even seared his shields.
The next two games ended the same with nine and twelve kills. Nothing hit him. He studied the game reports. He outranked the other pilots. When he finally glanced at the clock and saw that it was one in the morning, he shrugged. After all, tomorrow was Christmas.
But Mom would want to have breakfast together and probably didn’t want him sleeping all day. The next game would be his last.
The screen loaded and revealed the cockpit. He leaned back and watched his opponents load. Twelve pilots to fight for the final session of the night.
He inhaled.
There, at the top of the screen:
Scorpion.
He hovered his mouse over Scorpion’s call sign and clicked for the statistics. The kills stretched off the chart with more than one thousand, and only a solid zero in the defeat column. The guy had never been killed. Enemy pilots had killed Austin more than forty times on the elite server.
He sighed and considered quitting for the night. The opponent list faded from view and the game clock appeared. Game on. He sighed and leaned forward.
The Trident launched and soared into space. A moment later, the craft passed through the curve in space and entered the game area.
Laser fire flashed across the nose of his fighter. One lucky player had spawned behind him. Austin grimaced and jerked the fighter to the left, tossing all his power into the engines. After two seconds, he fired his reverse thrusters and pulled back, bringing the enemy into his crosshairs, squeezing the trigger and spewing laser fire. The enemy’s fighter disappeared in a cloud of fire and gas.
Austin’s eyes grew wide. Had that been Scorpion?
The game data text across the lower third of the screen revealed in a light blue font, “Rock destroys Cowboy, LASER.”
Cowboy. He shrugged.
He brought the ship to the edge of permitted space, keying for a rear view. The battle raged as fighters descended onto one location in a furball of laser bolts and missile shots. The remaining ten fighters would make for easy targets at this range.
Bringing the Trident to bear down on the cluster of battling fighters, Austin activated his missiles. The system searched for a lock.
The game data feed beeped to life and started rattling off messages like Morse Code:
Scorpion destroys Angel Fire, LASER.
Scorpion destroys Deathmaker, LASER.
Scorpion destroys LIL’Lucy90, LASER.
Scorpion destroys WilyWalt, MISSILE.
Austin grimaced. How was this guy so good?
He eased more power into the engines and continued to bear down on the cluster of fighters. His headset screeched: Incoming missile.
Austin yanked back on the joystick and dropped countermeasures. Someone had tried a blind shot without achieving a lock. The missile zipped over the top of his cockpit, and he brought the fighter back on course toward the enemy.
Scorpion destroys KillRGurl19, LASER.
Scorpion destroys DooNutKing, LASER.
Austin locked a fighter and fired a missile at long range. A fighter flashed in a fiery death. Got him.
Rock destroys Patriot900, MISSILE.
Austin’s Trident soared into the middle of the chaos. The two remaining fighters twirled and spun around him. He veered his fighter left, then right, trying to get a clean shot at either one of the enemies. He balanced his shields as a stray bolt sizzled into his rear engines. The lights on the control board flickered but remained solid.
Scorpion destroys BykerBoy2008, LASER.
He swallowed. I’m the only one left. Just me and Scorpion.
He brought the Trident around in a long, sweeping loop, trying to increase the distance from Scorpion. He activated the two missiles he still had left. If he could keep this guy off him for a few seconds, he could fire two blind shots and might get lucky.
But Scorpion stayed close. He fired at Austin until his energy banks must have emptied. Austin’s rear shields dropped to nothing. He clenched his teeth and sent his remaining power to the rear shields. At the same time, he changed course and sent the fighter into a deep dive. Animated sparks shot from his dashboard as Scorpion landed two more shots with the lasers.
Austin again changed course, but this time placed what power remained back into his engines and set for full reverse. The star field stopped spinning. He brought the nose of the craft straight up. Scorpion’s Trident overshot him by the length of half a fighter and Austin squeezed the trigger twice.
Fire and light filled the screen with a blinding light. His shields disintegrated, and the warning bells fired. The “eject” warning sounded and flashed. The control board went dark, and his ship spun. He had no shield power, engines, or weapons. The explosion of his missiles had destroyed most of his ship, but he remained spinning into oblivion. He only had to wait for Scorpion to fly back and strafe him.
He sighed. He had given it his best shot.
Wait, that’s strange.
No other fighter showed up on the sensors.
His jaw dropped.
The stars stopped spinning, and the session results appeared on the screen.
He’d won the match. Scorpion’s name appeared at the number two spot in the dogfight.
He wasn’t sure how, but he had defeated the invincible Scorpion. His overall statistics showed him only at number three on the top ten list, but at least Scorpion now had one defeat next to his call sign.
Austin logged out. A base orbiting a moon loomed in the distance as he stared at the screen.
A loud beep filled his headset. He glanced at the bottom of the Star Runners screen. Someone had sent him a message.
Rock,
Nice job out there. Next time, I won’t be caught sleeping.
Look forward to a rematch.
Scorpion
Austin grinned. A few seconds later, his inbox filled with messages from other pilots. News of his victory over Scorpion spread. Most of the messages consisted of congratulations while others wanted to know how he had done it. One even accused him of cheating with a special code.
He didn’t know how to explain the luck.
After Austin shut down his computer and crawled into bed, he gazed at the ceiling for hours.
5
Tiny pebbles crunched between his teeth while he flipped a sunflower seed with his tongue. The salty taste blended with the dirt of the baseball field. A hot breeze rushed in from the outfield like a furnace. Heat seared down from the cloudless blue sky. Many in the small crowd remarked on the beautiful weather. Austin scoffed at the comments. I wonder how they’d like it if they had to wear this equipment. His blue shirt dripped with sweat, making it a full shade darker than his teammates. He had drained his water bottle three times since the game started.
Austin sighed and surveyed the stands. Two men sat behind home plate, one with a radar gun and the other a notepad. As the opposing pitcher warmed up, the men jotted down notes in silence. Scouts attended games all the time and had probably traveled to see his teammate Mark Davis in the final game of his high school career.
At the beginning of the season, Austin had hoped to shine on the field and attract enough attention to grab a scholarship. Coach Lucas Hearn told him after every game to practice the skills and learn the game. He gave the team everything. He arrived early to practice. He stayed late. He hit the batting cages. He did calisthenics at home. If he could find a ride, then he’d stay in the school gym after classes. He woke early, ran through the neighborhood, and ate high protein breakfasts when all he really wanted was a donut.
The workouts paid off, and he dropped fifteen pounds during the season. He believed Coach Hearn and knew the scholarship was his route to college.
Despite his efforts, the scouts never called. The Blue Devils fought hard to end up with a .500 record and a solid third place in the region standings, but the team failed to make the playoffs. Regardless of the outcome of this game against the Cardinals, the season would end today.
Austin squinted. Kadyn waved back at him from behind the scouts. He tipped his cap to his only “fan” at the game. She laughed. Even though Mom tried to get a more permanent job than the part-time medical assisting gig, she couldn’t find anything with better hours. She missed most of his games, always working the late afternoon shift at a local doc-in-the-box. Kadyn came to all the games, though, cheering and whooping from the stands.
He stared at his black leather batting gloves. The threads at the finger were split and the palms worn through on his right hand, but he wouldn’t get rid of the glove Dad gave him last season.
“Stone! You’re on deck!” Hearn yelled from the end of the dugout.
Austin grabbed his bat and stepped out into the intense heat. He glanced at the scoreboard displaying two outs. Coach Hearn pinch hit with the junior, Jordan Frank, who’d been itching to play this final game. He took a few practice swings.
The ball cracked against Jordan’s bat and looped in between the shortstop and third baseman. The small crowd clapped, but the Blue Devils still trailed by six in the final inning.
“Austin!”
He turned to his coach.
“Be patient and keep this season alive,” Coach Hearn said. “Wait for your pitch!”
Austin nodded. His stomach ascended into his throat. His pulse increased. Kicking dirt around and holding up his hand for the umpire, he settled into the box. He spit out the final remnants of a sunflower seed and stared down the pitcher, who towered on the mound. With massive biceps and broad shoulders, the pitcher looked like he could be a linebacker for his school. He glared with colorless eyes from behind his glove as he waited for a signal from the catcher. Austin swayed in the box and readied his bat.
The pitcher wound up and released the ball. Sizzle-POP.
The ball soared by him. Strike one.
Austin stepped back from the box and took a deep breath.
“Come on, Austin! Bring me home!” Jordan called from first base.
When he stepped back into the box, Austin knew the next pitch would be a curve.
Sizzle-POP.
Austin swung and missed. He cursed under his breath.
“Time!” Coach Hearn yelled.
Austin went to the dugout. Coach Hearn placed his thick hands on Austin’s shoulders.
