We were ushered into a large open room with a row of tables down the left side. The arrivals formed into a queue. It was embarrassingly sloppy, with lots of people chatting and moving up or down a couple of places as they recognized others.

The tables were manned by four uniformed service members, all wearing the JTF Ganymede patch. Amelie and I wheeled ourselves to the end and crept forward as the queue shuffled along.

I was starting to come down off of my excitement at being here in Vegas and feeling the exhaustion of the last day catching up with me. I tried to calculate how long I had been up and moving. I checked my phone. 1600 local time. I tried to remember how many time zones I had just crossed and came up with eight. So, back home it would be midnight. I hadn't slept at all the night before. Not after my stream ended and I got the message from Captain Williams. And I'd gotten up that morning fairly early for me, around ten o'clock. I’d hoped to nap on the plane, but you try sleeping in a wheelchair strapped down in the cargo hold of a C-17. So, I'd been on the move for… math failed me again. I decided to call it a day and a half. I was just completely knackered. All I wanted was to go find my room and sleep for a week.

The arrivals ahead of me were now spreading out through the room. Doors lined the walls. This was one of those conference rooms that could be reconfigured to various sizes. The eight doors along the long wall to my right might let into eight different rooms or one giant one. Straight ahead of me were a pair of really big doors propped open. I could hear occasional voices from that room, even over the hubbub of our crowd, cheering excitedly. A little sign over those doors read “Galaxy Ballroom”. The eight smaller doors read “Andromeda 1 through 8”.

I reached the table. The American private looked down at his lists. "Name?" he said, sounding bored.

"Colin Trevelyan."

He ran a finger down a list, flipping its pages until he got to the Ts. "Here you are." He reached under his table and pulled out a packet, handing it to me. "Your ID's in there. You'll want to wear it at all times. You've got a schedule as well as all the information you need.” He indicated the next spot in line.

I rolled along to face a female airman. Airwoman? I wasn’t sure. She held out her hand. "Cell phone, please."

I had my cell phone in my shirt pocket, but I hesitated. "Why do you want it?" I really didn't want to be stranded in a foreign country with no means of communicating with anyone.

"We'll get you on the local network so you're not getting roaming charges."

"Oh." I pulled it out and handed it over.

She had a device with her, something like an old-fashioned credit card reader. She set my cell phone on top of it and tapped the buttons. "Right. Your old phone number will forward to this seamlessly. Nobody will even notice the difference. You've got an American phone number now, too. You can call that up in your settings to see. Honestly, the cell network can be a little dodgy here around the casinos. Everybody's hitting it hard. We've got a private wireless system set up here in the conference room. You've got information in your packet about how to access that. In the hotel room, your best bet will probably be the hotel wireless."

"It's all right," I said. "Don't expect to be making a whole lot of calls here. Thanks.”

I rolled down to the next station and received a red envelope. I noticed most of the others were getting white envelopes, but Amelie, just behind me, was also handed a red. I hung back and asked the Marine, "What's with this?" I held it up.

"These are room assignments, key cards, that sort of thing. You two have accessible accommodations. Some of our others have special requests as well, so we've got those envelopes separate so they're easier to find."

"Ah, thanks." I felt a little uncomfortable being singled out, but that was a whole hell of a lot better than being asked to use a room that wasn't set up for my chair or walker.

The final station was another Army private, female this time. She held out a wristband. It was metal, not plastic, and as it snapped around my wrist, I asked, "What's that?"

"This will record all of your results for easy reference later. We've got everything stored in the cloud as well. It pulls your game data straight down from whatever station you're at. You can play it back later for review."

I touched the cool metal with two fingers. "Is this, like, alien tech?"

"It's something they licensed us and was built at the Reality Engine."

My eyes went wide. I'd seen a few advertisements for knickknacks created at the Reality Engine. They didn't do much. Some of them interfaced with your streaming music like a smartwatch. But they went for a fantastic price because of where they'd come from. This little item likely cost as much as my whole flight across the pond.

"Do I get to keep it?"

She shook her head. "Those get turned in at the end of your time here. Win or lose." Then she reached under the table and brought up a nice black gear bag with a zipper on it. The JTF Ganymede patch featured prominently. “This is sized for your keyboard, mouse and headset. We’re assuming everyone brought their own but if you’re lacking, let us know and we’ll supply it.”

“Uh, wow.” I grabbed the bag and set it on my lap. “Thanks.” My own gear was in my luggage, which was hopefully in a room somewhere waiting for me.

I rolled away from the row of tables. Another group of players were just coming in behind me. They had the same sort of shell-shocked look I was sure was present on my face. I guessed they were likely newly arrived in Vegas like me.

A uniformed serviceman approached me. "Mr. Trevelyan," he said politely, "I'm here to see if you need any additional help."

Again, I was too tired to be offended. "Honestly, yes," I said, "mostly in figuring out what I have to do next."

"Let's pull out your schedule and check," he said. He directed me to the top item on my envelope of handouts. Then grinned. "Good news. You’re free until orientation tomorrow. What do you want now? Lights of Vegas or some downtime?"

"I want to sleep," I said fervently. "I haven't slept in two days."

"Want me to help you up to your room?"

I checked the man's name and rank. "Thanks, Sergeant Jones. I'd love that."

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I glanced over at Amelie. Another servicemember, a woman in Canadian uniform, was bending over her, so I decided I was good to go.

"What's your room number?" Private Jones asked me.

I pulled out my card envelope and opened it up. Inside were two room keys and a folded paper. I opened it up. "North Tower 1137." It also contained information about how to access the Wi-Fi network and other amenities. I folded it up, retained one key card, and stuffed the envelope into my larger stack. The private grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and started to move.

“Hope you’re enjoying Vegas, Mr. Trevelyan."

I felt a little uncomfortable being called "Mr. Trevelyan" by somebody three or four years older than me. "Um, just Colin is fine."

I could hear the man's smile. "My name's Sam.”

“Thanks for the help, Sam."

"Not a problem. Been getting people set up all day." He wheeled me quickly back through the conference room to the casino floor and then through the maze of slots to an elevator.

"Just a warning, Colin. They're not watching that closely to make sure nobody underage gambles, but they will make sure you don't get to keep your winnings."

"Thanks for the advice," I said as our elevator opened.

I pulled out the ID I'd been given downstairs. It had my picture on it. It looked fairly recent, moreso than any of my school IDs would have been. I wondered where they'd gotten it from. I had a shorter haircut in the picture. My real hair was hanging down across in my eyes. Maybe I'd have to see if there was something I could do about that later. Right now I was desperate for bed.

My ID listed my name, with "Colin" in smaller letters than "Trevelyan." There was a Union Jack under it and a gold star with a red border. "What's this for?" I asked, holding up the ID and tapping on the star.

Jones sounded a bit puzzled as he answered. "I've seen that red border on other people's stars. It means maybe in need of additional assistance. I hope you're not offended."

I waved it off. "Nah, nah. This chair's a pain in the ass." Sometimes literally.

He laughed at that. "But the gold star, I don't know. It's usually blue, meaning you're a contender for a slot on the reality engine." He pulled out an ID and held it up for me to see. It had his own name and picture, as well as his rank, and a black star on it, as well as the American flag. "This means I'm an assistant, here to help smooth the process along."

The back of my ID bore the "Joint Task Force Ganymede" crest on it yet again. There was a lanyard in my bag, bright yellow. The lanyard had a sleeve on it that my ID fit into, with a space behind it for other cards. I slipped it in and hung it around my neck.

The elevator was smooth as glass. We rode up the 11 stories without a hitch. When we rolled off, I noted the big red "Fire Exit" signs to my left. I hoped I wouldn't need them. Trying to get down 11 flights of stairs would be a bitch. Sam wheeled me to my room. He held the keycard up to the magnetic lock, and it opened. He pushed me inside.

There was an enormous king-size bed, a telly, and a desk by the window with a pair of chairs. But more importantly, the bathroom had a wide door and a shower stall that I could have wheeled my chair right into. The loo had a hand bar beside it, and the sink was in two sections. One a normal sink height, the other lower, where somebody seated could use it.

I'd never seen anything like this before. The couple of times Mum had tried to take me on holiday since my accident had been a nightmare of trying to navigate tiny, crowded bathrooms at bed and breakfasts.

"Does this look like it'll do?" Sam asked.

“Ah, yeah," I said. He left me and went over to the window, pulled it open, flooding the room with light. I blinked and wheeled myself over. I was 11 floors up, staring down at the famous Vegas Strip. From here, I could see casinos stretching away on both sides of me. I couldn't spot the big glass pyramid from here, but the shining facades and elaborate signs were enough to floor me.

"This is brilliant.”

"Yeah, it's pretty lit," Sam agreed. "It's been worth being part of the project just to see all this, even if I never get off Earth.”

“You hoping to go up, too? Even knowing you can’t come back?” I asked as I wheeled myself over to check on my pile of belongings.

“Absolutely. I want to see what’s out there.”

My valise full of t-shirts and jeans, sat on top of my travel bag. I opened the up and checked everything was there. Keyboard, mouse, headset. Looked to be in one piece.

“Glad you let us bring our own equipment,” I said as I moved the stuff to my new gearbag. I dug out my USB stick. "How about these? They're keyboard macros. If I'm using a different computer, I'll need to load them on."

"Oh yeah, everybody's doing that. We've got all the standard keyboard controller software installed." He glanced at my gear and nodded. "Yeah, we got your keyboard and mouse manufacturer software both."

“Great.” I felt a grin spread across my face. This was going to be fun.

"Anything else I can do for you, Colin?" Sam asked.

I hesitated. "Look, I'm really tired, and I need to sleep, but what I'd like is a quick bite before bed.”

"Not a problem," he said. "We've got room service covered. Here." He handed me a menu. My mouth started watering. We'd had Army rations on the plane, but MREs suck. "What do you want?" He looked conspiratorially at me. "If it's a beer, I'll order it for you. Anything hard no, but one beer’s ok.”

"Oh, right. I forgot you Yanks have stupid laws about underage drinking." I shook my head. "No, just this burger and chips."

His brow wrinkled as I pointed at the menu item. "It's that British thing, isn't it? We call them fries over here."

"Sure, whatever," I said.

"You want ketchup with that?"

I nearly gagged. "No, thanks.” What was with Americans and their insistence on putting ketchup on chips? "But I'll take some malt vinegar if they've got it in the kitchen."

Sam looked more perplexed than ever as he shrugged, picked up the phone, and gave the order. "It should be up here in ten minutes. They'll leave it outside your door, if you don’t answer.”

"Perfect," I said. I wanted a shower, and I thought I could just about manage it.

“Want me to arrange for one of the guys on duty tomorrow to come by and give you a hand downstairs?"

I thought about saying no, but my wheelchair was kind of a pain in the ass to wheel through all these crowded corridors. Sam must have seen the indecision on my face.

“Right, so we need to get you better wheels. I’ll have a proper powered wheelchair up here before breakfast.”

My eyes widened. I hadn't even thought of asking for such an accommodation. "That won’t be a problem down in the tournament area?"

"If it is, we'll move things. You guys get everything you need. Need, I mean. Not everything you want. I had one guy ask me to arrange for a hooker to come up to his room. Told him to figure that out on his own.”

"What makes it a need?”

“Something that's going to interfere with you competing at your best and showing us what you're made of, absolutely. We'll get it taken care of. I'll arrange for them to have the chair up here at, say, 7? Is that good for you? Be sure to order a nice big breakfast. But be sure you're on time. If you have any kind of problems and need help, there's a number in that packet to text and ask.”

"Got it," I said. "Thanks, Sam. I'll see you around."

"Hey, what's your gamer handle?"

"I'm @theColinTrev on Twitch."

He pulled out his own phone, tapped a few buttons. "There. I'm your newest fan. You've got a good following, don't you? Up to 16k."

My mouth fell open. "16k?" I'd had half that the last time I checked. Word must have gotten out about me competing in the tournament. "So, is this all hush-hush, or can I talk about it in Discord?"

"Discord?" He blinked. "Hell, Colin, you get down there early enough in the morning, you can log into Twitch and stream what's going on. This is advertisement. We want more people just like you signing up as potential recruits. It's been pretty heavily military so far, but what I'm hearing from the top down is we're trying to expand into the civilian population."

"Oh." I mumbled.

"So yeah. Upload a vid tonight to let 'em know that you'll be on in the morning."

Sam gave me a friendly wave and left me. By the time I'd recovered from my surprise, my food arrived with a knock at the door. I wheeled over, took it from the resplendently uniformed bellhop, and wheeled back over to the desk where I ate wearily, staring at the bright lights of Vegas. This being October, the sun was already starting to go down, suffusing the sky with oranges and reds.

I finished, and then wheeled myself over to the bathroom. It took everything left in me to have a quick shower and then get myself into the bed.

I didn't bother dressing, just hoped we didn't have a fire alarm in the night. Bad enough to have to get carried down 11 flights of stairs, but if the emergency services people had to carry my naked arse, I think I'd just stay here and burn.