Chapter 14
* * *
After clinging away from such a cold and pleasant window, I sit down in a chair.
System removal.
Disks cleaning.
Reinstalling the system...
Registering a new e-mail.
Downloading the BAA client.
New account registration.
Which nickname should I choose?
I hit the keyboard with my spread fingers.
Damh.
Okay.
This nickname already exists, choose a new one.
Gaia.
A new stroke, eyes closed.
Pedgehog.
Thank you for registering
What?
Pedgehog?!!
How come the rest of the letters aren't printed, and why did Kronos get my fingers all stretched out like that?
Anyway, ah-.... Never mind! A Pedgehog is a Pedgehog.
Would you like to take a training course?
Of course. Yes.
After all, I'm going to start all over again with a white sheet.
From today, I am Tabula rasa, a blank sheet of paper on which only I will write!
Chase the starting bots. Oh, Gaia, I'd forgotten how much fun it was.
One, two, three - bring in the new ones.
One, two, three, oh! Already a new map, and once I thought it was difficult.
Three, four, how did the training end?
Well, okay.
The search for opponents is on.
Here comes real entertainment!
Pfft... What's so easy, ah yes, it's not even a lower league. It's a sandbox.
This, however, is easy to eliminate.
One session, two sessions.
Congratulations, you have reached the Wooden League level.
Not people, but cardboard, bots and those are more difficult.
Who shoots like that?! And run like that?! That's where that idiot is going now... Oh, the Three Ones!!! Who sewed all their arms back on?
Boring. I have to get through this quicker.
A new arena, another, another...
Congratulations you have reached the Bronze League level.
It's not much better here, which means there's nothing to linger over, especially since the character level is sufficient to upgrade the Taira.
The battles alternate one after the other, merging into a never-ending sequence.
Congratulations, you have reached the Silver League level.
It's getting dark...
Is it evening already?
A glance at the clock. Night? Well, I can't sleep anyway, which means...
The search for opponents is on ...
The sun is in my eyes. I get up and shut the windows tightly.
Any stoppage in the game - it attracts thought...
I don't want to think, I don't want to... It hurts.
The search for opponents is on.
A new battle.
Boom
You lost! I was pinned down by seven, three I managed to take out, but a heavy one shot me blind through the walls.
It was worth it to go to the Gold League. There even nailed me the first time. And the game stops being lazy!!! People here are good at something, but exactly "something"... If I want to avoid thinking, I need much more serious opponents, and I know what it requires.
Just to win.
The further up the rankings go, the more fun the battles become. I already have to strain my brain to keep up with the team. There comes a moment when I spit on my principles, plug in my headset and yell enthusiastically in the in-game chat...
My stomach howls in the morning. Without looking up from the computer, I eat the food Illea brought me while I download the game sessions.
By the way, when did she come in? Yesterday? Or? How time flies... Well, fuck it! My blood is finally boiling to think about such a little thing as time.
Game-e-e!!! I love you so much!!!
Battles follow one another. Battles come in a continuous avalanche. And I fly over it all, like a divine Messenger who knows no defeat.
Ups...
You lose!
Almost never knows defeat!
Tyra and Jet are truly the Sword of Hermes, punishing the wayward from the heavens who think they know how to play Battle Arena of Avalon. You fools, you don't know how.
I'm the only one who knows how!
Ha-ha-ha!!!
It's sp good!
Opponents are already fighting back, not like before, but for real, and to win, you have to work, tear with your teeth, coordinate, yell, cheer... And I can do it, for I am the Game!
Who's knocking? There is no time for you. I'm in such a serious fight!
The first fight where everything is really on the line! Where the opponents are my equals... Well, almost equals...
Someone rummages in the lock, and a second later my door opens.
I look back.
Rick is standing on the doorstep, twirling a paperclip in his hands.
"I didn't break anything." He raises his hands. "I opened it gently."
I waved him off. I got distracted and almost got killed. I barely managed to get away on the jet from the tracer.
"Ahem. You..." Rick tries to start a conversation.
"Don't get in the way!" I hiss at him.
It's about to be resolved. Gotcha! I throw the grenade, turn on my chair, and take off my headset. I don't need to look. I know I've won.
"Hi. What's up?"
"I was right about this presenter over-praising me," Rick replies absently, looking behind me.
"What?" I don't understand what he's talking about.
"Ha! Look around."
I turn to the monitor.
Congratulations you have reached the Diamond League level.
Your current world ranking is 1677
Victories 328
The percentage of battles won is 82.8
Congratulations, you have set the Battle Arena of Avalon world record for the fastest Diamond League achievement in random combat.
Bzzzzz... A letter for you.
A letter for you. A letter for you. A letter for you. A letter for you...
For a minute, Descart and I stare spellbound at the endless waterfall of emails on my game mail.
"I wonder when you'll read them all." Rick scratched the back of his head.
I open the e-mail.
Select all
Delete.
Are you sure you want to delete the 537 messages?
Yes!
"So what's up?"
"You promised me a team and games with the best. I came to ask you if your promise still stands."
"Yes."
"Well, what the fuck?!" He's yelling. "You said to register for the tournament, the games are in ten days, and we're not even in the middle of it!!!"
"Um..." What was I supposed to say to him? It wasn't true that, with all the events of the past few days, I had trivially forgotten that I had given my consent to register for the tournament.
"No, I understand, going off to play after what happened is far from the worst way to relieve stress." Rick leaned toward me and looked me in the eye. "And I almost believed it. But you can't live without making fun of people, and you can't live without that!" What's he talking about?! He starts laughing like a thoroughbred horse. "You've got to admit, though." Runner goes on after he's laughed. "You've got style. I can't take it away from you. I just can't make fun of people as subtly as you do. It's probably inborn. Oh man, to set a world record in BAA under the nickname Yojik..." He has tears in his eyes. "Oh, I can't... The fucking record holder, Pedgehog!!! Why would you do that to a gaming fan?"
"I don't..." I try to tell him there's no second bottom he's made up, but Rick interrupts me.
"Yeah, now you're going to say you typed random gibberish with your eyes closed... Don't give this shit to me, eh! Okay, it's really funny when I see streamers and announcers saying, "BAA's new record is set by Pedgehog..." Ahhhh... Mom..." He's laughing again. "Nah... You're good at throwing shit on the fan, you are."
I opened my mouth to object and justify myself, but at the last moment, I changed my mind. There was no point in this excuse. He had made up his version, and anything I said would fit into it. And what's the point of that excuse? That's right. It doesn't make the slightest bit of sense. So I just waved goodbye to his speech and got up from my chair. I could hardly stand on my feet as my knees buckled, and I swayed to the side and could only hold on by grabbing the back of the chair. My shoulders felt so heavy and so tired. I glanced at the game client. The time spent in the game. Oh, here I am...
"Rick." I look up at my guest. "I think I overplayed. I'm going to sleep for about an hour or so, and then I'll come right back to you."
"Uh-uh, no! That won't work." Rick takes me under the elbow. "I'm not chasing you anymore. So you're coming with me now, and you'll be staying at our base until the tournament. Slider is staying with me for the time being. There's one cabin free, so you can take it."
"Had Gerhard moved in yet?" I couldn't find anything better to ask this while Descart nudged me towards the exit.
"Yes, just yesterday." The biker nods back. "Come on, you're really about to pass out, and I didn't want to carry you."
I took a toothbrush, a towel, and a change of underwear and let Rick push me into the hallway. I didn't have the strength or the desire to resist. And starting a "new life" by breaking promises I'd made before would not be right, not at all...
It was a measure of my fatigue that I managed to fall asleep on the back of Rick's bike while he was driving me to the Goon's base! How I didn't fall off, I don't know.
After parking his bike, Descart led me through the corridors of the bikers' shelter to the computer room. The spacious room was crowded, all the computers were busy, but no one was playing or surfing the net, and everyone was discussing something in a heated tone. Even Gerhard, so bandaged that his eyes were barely visible and his mouth only slightly open, was arguing with everyone else.
"What's all the noise and no fighting?" He looked around at the boys. He glanced at the monitors, most of them showing the BAA screen saver, but those that weren't were showing the official Avalon Games website." A new record was being discussed." Rick grinned expectantly, glancing at me.
"How do you know about the record? It was just set while you were away." Interrupting his argument with Hotey, Anton asked. "Hello, Uthis." Then he noticed me behind Descart. "Oh, I see. You told him... Oh, judge us, you're about to..." said Anton to me. "Okay, the winning percentage is exorbitant; it's to do with skill, but how do you get to the Diamond for that number of wins? We've done the math - given how many points we get in the points standings for wins, it's not even close to five hundred, and that's the ideal. How did he manage to set that record? Did the game was hacked?"
"No... The more victory points you get, the more you contribute to the team's victory, and the more points you earn in battle." With a wide yawn, I explained.
"OK guys, all questions to our champion tomorrow. He hasn't slept in days, you can see he's barely on his feet." Rick winked at me. "Yeah, what did you think, records don't just get made!" The Goons hadn't figured out what he was getting at yet and were looking at Descart incomprehensibly. "And yes, Utis has deleted his old account to keep out of the limelight and started a new one, now his BAA nickname is Pedgehog..."
If I hadn't been so tired, the scene of silent astonishment that followed would certainly have pleased and amused me, but in my current state, I didn't have the strength to even smile.
He brushed aside the raised commotion, pushing me out into the hallway and taking me to the familiar room I'd occupied during my training with Lance. As I sat down on the bunk, I immediately realized that I had no energy left at all, so I collapsed to sleep in my clothes without making the bed. My last thought before I drifted off to a welcome sleep was, Such a poser Rick is.
In the morning, I was rather unceremoniously woken up by Rick. He said since I was living here temporarily, I had to follow the general routine. I was alarmed by these words from the start, and I was not wrong in my worst predictions for this morning. The "general routine" began with exercise, a jog, and two hours in the gym. Of course, these workouts were nothing compared to the intensity Lance had been pushing me through just a short while ago. It was still a surprisingly difficult morning, probably due to a couple of days without sleep, and my body hadn't had time to recover in one night.
All the Goons were present for the morning's training except Gerhard, even those recently discharged from the hospital. The pair, however, was clearly given a sparing treatment, and unlike the others, Rick did not pick on them for small loads or incorrectly performed exercises.
After a shower at breakfast, Rick sat down with a clipboard that contained the results of the team's training program. I had been away for some time, but not as much progress as I had hoped. I was also very disappointed with Gerhardt's test results. Slider performed even worse than mine at the time of my injury. I think it may have something to do with the recent plastic surgery and bandaging of his face, or at least I hope so. Descart, unlike me, was in a more upbeat mood. He thought the team was progressing on average but more so with teamwork rather than individualism. I questioned this and, when everyone had eaten, staged a team game, me and eight bots against all the Goons, including Rick. No, I didn't hope to win, but it was definitely worth it to see if Runner was right.
The battle on the random map didn't last very long, four minutes and twenty seconds. As I thought I didn't manage to win, but what the team showed me didn't satisfy me completely. Because before I lost, the bots and I took out seven bikers, which is just a monstrously disgusting result! And even then, I could only be killed by a grenade blast at the tip of Gerhardt, who was in stealth.
Rising from my chair, I walked along the computer desks.
"The scores for the match. Rick is disgusting. Where did you rush at me in the beginning? Did you think you were going to end up with a quick reaction? You were in such a hurry, you even used your jets to get to the other guy's base... but you flashed your engine and gave me the initiative, and my hand was already good. We all saw the result. Rick, you were the best player on the team, and you blew it in the first seconds, got yourself killed, and ended up setting everyone up. Hotey is disgusting. Where did you go after Rick? To cover? Cover what? That's right, got caught in the bot's barrage of fire and went down seconds after your captain."
"Anton, Phil, and Fel - just a failure. You were running around the map like blind kittens, just brainless runners, so the whole crowd ran into the mines. That's creepy. Are you sure you were studying while I was gone? Light and Brons - so you shot five bots together. Did that help your team? I understand that frags are fun to score, but you played too much, exposed the flank, and gave me space. I would have given you an F, but compared to the rest, it is not so bad. Meck - well, I did not expect from you such diligence, the whole battle to keep a low profile, and then at the illumination of Slider to cover me with a volley of a grenade launcher. Really good. Moreover, that Heavy Infantry bot blew up on your mines. Gerhard - well done. No not by playing. You can do much better. Well done by a sober analysis of your condition and physical capacities at this stage. The physics will recover, and having brains in your head definitely pleases me... Not that I doubted that you are a smart guy, but it was good to get a confirmation of that."
"One game is not enough." Not the least bit annoyed by his fast flush, Rick says. "Let's have one more. Or two?"
"Ten."
It wasn't hard for me at all, especially since he was right. And the next few games proved Runner right. The Goons played like a team, time after time cutting me off from the bots, depriving me of maneuver, and then either shot me through walls or threw grenades and mines, not risking to contact me in an open firefight. The contrast with the first fight was enormous. Whereas in that game they behaved like a mob of bronzes, in the subsequent games, they behaved like a played group of entry-level Gold League units.
The subsequent analysis showed that the reason for the chaos of the first battle was that the Huns had not yet studied the map on which the game was taking place. So they did not behave adequately, which was exacerbated by the fact that they were playing against one man and eight bots, i.e. there was a trivial underestimation of the difficulty.
I gave the boys the task of playing four-on-four, sat next to Descart, and together we watched the battles. The progress of the Goons after what I had seen the last time was evident, but still somewhat less than I had hoped for. Apparently, it was the fact that the bikers had been on their own for a long time in their training. I was away, and Rick was busy with Gerhardt. He was away from the base for a few days as well.
While the Goons were playing, we were not only watching and keeping statistics but also discussing the individual mannerisms of each player. For example, the way Phil and Hotey played was not the least bit surprising to me - assertive and brazen, typical stormtroopers. Meck, on the other hand, really surprised me by showing himself as a sensible and cautious fighter, which was completely out of character for him. Anton also had a couple of surprises - he clearly gravitated toward the heavy infantry class and was better at covering for others than dashing off. The level of Slider was difficult to assess, as he played medic at the time of these mini-team battles, to compensate for the difference in class because, when playing four-on-four, this character is almost useless. It is revealed in all its glory only in full team play.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
In the midst of an argument over whether Brons should be trained as a Sniper and thereby free up the role of Stormtrooper for me, Jenro walked into the hall. Since I was going to look for a Goon mechanic myself, his visit came in handy. I, like Descart, was interested in modeling the new maps. Alas, but according to Jenro he would be able to make layouts of two more, and the others required too much work.
"No, if you provided me with a couple of pallets of bound cardboard, a bucket or two of glue, and a mile or so of the coil of thin rope, I'd take on the other cards. But... Time... It would take me at least a year to make each one. It's too complicated. And even if you give me all the guys and they help me instead of your training, each layout will take at least a month. There is, of course, the option of getting a hundred architecture students, and then we could do it in a week, but Lance would be adamantly opposed to letting them into the base." Was it just me, or did he sigh with regret at that?
If Rick was upset by the news, I took it as normal. That's pretty much how I imagined the situation. You can be the most brilliant engineer and architect, but you still won't have any control over objective reality. Even a couple of maps simulated at such a level would be a miracle!
However, Descart did not want to give up the idea of modeling so easily. He even suggested hiring the same students and setting up models in one of the empty warehouses in the port area. After a brief argument, however, the idea was shelved. Because hiring so many outsiders would have led to some of the students guessing what was being modeled and why, which would have led to our potential wonder waffe being revealed ahead of time.
Before Jenro left, the whole team had contributed to buying materials for the model, which he was ready to make. He promised to start tomorrow, but because he will have a lot less help this time, it will take an indefinite amount of time to build the model. He had a lot of help last time. But we could not afford to keep anyone else out of training if it would ruin the whole tournament. And the Goons, not busy with teamwork, were up to their ears in the usual "routine" of the city "gang".
Over the day, Rick and I decided on the main and backup roles of each of the team members. We were largely unanimous in our assessments, with only a couple of exceptions. Runner thought that Gerhard would be better off as a Medic because it was the most problematic position in our squad, and Slider was the best person to play that role. I had to insist that changing the main class for such an experienced player as Gerhard may be easier, but losing a gamekeeper who plays at the pro level to get a medic at a slightly above-average level is still not an idea that requires immediate implementation. The second argument came out over Anton. Rick didn't see his potential in Heavy Infantry, unlike me, so I just pressed on, as team captain, closing the argument. I thought the main argument between Descart and me would be over Meck, whom I was going to send as an Engineer, but no, Rick saw the same thing in his game as I did. So there was no argument, and it was unanimously decided that Mack would be the main class - Engineer.
The day went by in fuss and arguments, but if I admit it to myself, it was in pleasant arguments and worries. The team's business took over me so much that even Jiro's tragedy somehow faded into the background. No, of course, I did not forget everything so quickly, but the incident was not so pressing on my soul and did not deprive me of energy and motivation. But then, every once in a while, I would freeze for a second, remembering my friend's dead eyes. I had all sorts of rotten and disgusting dreams at night, and I even woke up in a cold sweat a couple of times.
The next day, after the mandatory two hours of physical exercise and breakfast, we reconvened as a team. Again the tests, training games, and arguments... This time not with Rick, but with each of the bikers individually. Not everyone was happy with the roles that Descart and I had assigned them. However, these arguments didn't turn into shouting and cursing. My accidental world record at BAA had played its part. Even such a skeptical Meck admitted that I'm not just good at this game but really know the game and how to play it better than anyone else here, many times over. In truth, I was preparing for more complex verbal battles and conflicts, but it turned out to be very business-like. I was listened to, and then my arguments were presented, and then I listened to my arguments, and... they agreed with them. It was amazing. I thought that the usual biker disputes would be resolved with a beating, but everything went off without a beating.
Only later do I find out that this smoothness was ensured by Rick, who pressed everyone else with his authority. Even before he brought me to the base, he had an agreement with the others: Before the first tournament is over, we do everything as Utis says, give the guy a chance to show whether he can really do something or not, was how it sounded.
By the end of my second day at the Goon base, I could barely contain myself from walking around with a goofy smile on half my face. In such a short time, we were starting to get somewhere. No, no one had jumped over the top individually; of course, it was a long way from teamwork, which took weeks, if not months, of hard work to achieve. I was pleased that one of my ideas fitted very well with the bikers' playing style. They were used to operating in small groups, both in street fights and behind the Arch.
This tactic, which they were used to, I was able to translate into the playing style of our team. We had three experienced players: me, Rick, and Gerhard. We divided the team into three unequal squads. The centers of the two main ones were the Stormtroopers with a bunch of jets plus Tyra: Runner and me. Each such squad was essentially a support group to the main unit. The job of the members of these groups was to cover me, or Rick, finish off the survivors and ensure our freedom of maneuver. Each group had a medic, a heavy, and a sniper. The third "small" unit consisted of Slider as a Jager and Meck as an Engineer with a heavy grenade launcher as a kind of mounted artillery.
Their task: reconnaissance and scouting behind enemy lines. The advantage of such a scheme was that teamwork, in essence, fell on the shoulders of just three people, which radically reduced the demands on the rest of the bikers' understanding of teamwork. Of course, such a scheme is no more than a crutch, and we may not go far in this substitute because any normal opponent, for whom the teamwork is not an empty shell, with an equal average skill of the players would smash us without a single chance. But at the initial stage of the team's development, with, let's face it, mediocre opponents, the main thing is to make the boys feel that they can win. That they can play successfully in BAA, and that it can bring them real prizes!
My good mood was dampened only by the behavior of one player. No, not Meck or Hotey, as I had predicted. The big problem ahead was none other than Rick... Yes, yes, that's the one. Runner was too overconfident, relaxed, and unconcerned.
The more I watched him, the more frankly I was horrified at his attitude towards the game, the future tournament, and our opponents in those occasional team fights in which we sometimes took part to reinforce our skills.
After weighing up the pros and cons, I decided not to put the problem off the table. That evening, after dinner, I told him what I thought of his attitude to the game. I said it to him straight out in the open, without any tricks or attempts at manipulation. If it had been anyone else, I would probably have behaved differently in that situation. But Runner, if not lying to myself, is the backbone of the team, its foundation. It was his love for the BAA, no less than mine, that made the Goon team possible in the first place. Without him, I would never have been able to convince the boys, much less lead them, even with Lance's full support. That's why I'm clear: Rick is the piece around which our team is formed. Take him away, and everything would fall apart like a house of cards in a hurricane wind. And that's why his cap-and-trade attitude is so dangerous.
After listening to me with a nonchalant face, Rick pulled back his tea mug and looked me intently in the eye.
"You are exaggerating the problem." He finally said calmly. "I could just say there's no problem at all, and that would be the absolute truth. But you wouldn't be satisfied with that answer..." He shook his head in the same gesture as Lance. "Well, I'll get some tea now..." Descart did go to the kitchen unit, filled his mug, then sat down in the chair opposite, and taking a large sip, he spoke. "It's partly my fault, too. I can't help noticing you're only nineteen." Oh, you're one to talk!!! It almost came out of my mouth, but I held it back and listened.
"You act like a much older person and your Face... Anyway, yes, talking to you, it constantly slips my mind how young you are." I guess I couldn't help it, and something flashed across my face. "Yes, I'm only two and a half years older than you, but it's a mistake to compare our ages so head-on. How different are you from the one you were before the Arch, and can you measure that difference in the two months that separate the two versions of you in time?"
There's not much to say. He just beat me with that wording.
"That's right." Nods, suddenly very grown up, Descart. "And I passed the Arch over a year ago and almost immediately fell under Lance's training." I'm not sure if that's another big argument; a month under the Commander's tutelage isn't the same as a year of normal life if you measure it by the life experience and skills gained. "And my countenance..." Runner continued in the meantime. "Aeneas, a warlord, a manager, a great commander, a successful businessman, a king not of the worst sort... No, Utis, do you really think that a man with such a Face, after a year with Lance, is capable of ever underestimating his opponents, of ever not calculating his steps, of ever looking ahead of himself?"
"Um... "Even the boss didn't rub my nose in my mistakes like Rick is doing now.
"You joined our company too quickly. And you didn't come in as a full-fledged representative but as a back door, so to speak. Even Gerhard has been here less than a week and already understands what the Goons are all about much better than you do. You have not been broken by the Face. You have not been led to the Line..."
For a second, I want to bet that I'm not doing so well either and that Odysseus' influence is not going anywhere. But only for a second because I remembered the morning before the first Arch and what Daas had said to the four bikers. Rick was right. My problems with Face were nothing compared to what the Goons had gone through and were going through.
My behavior is the same behavior you've been told many times, "discounting the Face". That is, to behave in a way that is not peculiar to your Face. Think for yourself what a childhood Aeneas had. He was twelve when he tried on a king's tiara. However, Anchises would be hard to rule with his legs paralyzed by Zeus' lightning. Cripples were not respected on the throne at that time... Alas, he had a shitty childhood. He had none, none at all. So it was not one of his skills to have fun for no reason, to enjoy little things, and to behave in a carefree manner.
"So this is all a play?" Filling the pause that had arisen. "And your sincere enthusiasm for the BAA is also nothing more than a mask?"
"Doing something in defiance of Face is only the beginning of the journey." Shakes his head, Rick. "To really lessen Face's influence, you have to genuinely love what's out of character of Face. Same BAA, I don't think Aeneas would find such time-consuming and 'empty in nature' entertainment appropriate." Descart chuckles. "But I loved the game wholeheartedly. What was at first a pretense has become something much more. You don't have to worry about that. Now, my current unpleasant behavior is exactly the same "discarding the Face". Although I'll admit, I did overdo it in places... Yeah... But you seem to be worrying too much. We signed up for a perfectly ordinary tournament, of which there are about a dozen a month. The prize money's ridiculous, and the sponsors are lousy... And I looked at the teams that signed up. Then I looked them up online..."
"I was going to do it in about three days." It's true. A similar screening was in my plans.
"So you can be sure of my conclusions." Rick continues. "The strongest team there is the mid-Silver level."
"Did you find information on all the teams?"
"No, by two-thirds. The rest didn't even have their website."
"Do we have our own website?" I say softly.
"Well, don't do that." Rick brushed me off with such an obvious hint. "Do you really have no idea how unique we are?" He studied my face carefully for about ten seconds. "You really have no idea... About half the people have never been through the Arch, and never intend to... Nine out of the ten who have, have done it once in their life... Even professional athletes, who all pass the Veil, do it no more than once a year. There aren't many fools to risk themselves all the time, and they are quickly transferred with all the risks. We are, in many ways, an exception. Everyone on our team has the strongest fusion except you, of course. What you see in the training is about half of what they can do now because when they have to, and the opponent is "real", their instincts will kick in, and the guys will leap over their heads."
"Aren't there any other cohesive groups, frequent visitors behind the Arch?"
"Mercenaries, randomly formed groups, professionals on the payroll of governments and corporations..." Rick enumerates. "There certainly are... But the fact that such a group, apart from us, would choose the BAA as the focus of their energy is less than a one-in-a-million chance. No, even in a billion."
"We, as a team, are almost a total zero so far. - I'm bristling at it. - Only two of us are at an acceptable level: me and Gerhardt. Even you have to work and work to get to the pro level." I understand what my interlocutor is saying, but I still don't like his exaggerated self-esteem.
"I understand that." After finishing his tea and placing the empty mug on the table, Runner says calmly. "If you look at us from the perspective of international qualifiers, you're right on all points. But look at things soberly, without self-depreciation, and without underestimating those around you! Even now, we would have done well at the cantonal qualifiers. We wouldn't have been selected, of course, but we wouldn't have been knocked out with shame either."
After a quick comparison of the Goons to my school team, I say back:
"I agree."
"Guys nowadays are much more interested in self-confidence than anything else. That's what I give them with my behavior."
"You're overdoing it." I grinned.
"And you could not only nitpick but also praise. I'm just acting as a counterbalance to your influence." Rick doesn't stay in debt.
He's basically right. I am happy inside, like a cat who has found a secret entrance to a dairy, but I don't show it outwardly. And the more successful either of us is, the more I pick on him so that he does not become conceited and stop growing.
"Is it that bad?" I clarify.
"Not that bad. But you chose to lead in the manner of Lance without taking into account the nuance that to do what a commander does, you have to be a commander. He has experience and talent. He is a born teacher, and he sees and feels the limits of pressure. Alas, I will grieve you, but you are deprived of this ability. As a tactical commander, you're doing very well. The whole idea of dividing into mobile groups really works!" He sweetened the pill with that phrase.
"Why didn't you say so straight away?"
"I thought I'd wait another day or two, and if nothing had changed in your behavior, I'd start talking. And then there was this moment..." He laughed outright.
Yeah... I thought I'd give him a speech. Yeah... I did... I ended up getting told off like a boy.
"Why don't you be team captain?" I propose. "You have more experience. You know the guys better..."
"Hey!" Rick's waving his hands. "No, no, no, no! You picked up that stone. You carry it yourself. And, by the way, in this case, you really are better suited to the role. A captain is, in many ways, a banner to follow, and you're a better banner than I am. Because you play better, you set a world record, and that, believe me, means a lot, and your tactics work well. As a team captain you are in your place, but as a coach..." He sighs as if he is carrying a heavy burden. "As a coach, you are not so good. That's a fact... Gaia... How about you show me what to do for training or practicing something, and then I will pass it to the guys?"
Pfft... Maybe it really is better that way.
"And you'll get more involved in tactics and a proper analysis of the opposing teams." Descart continues.
"Thank you for your straightforwardness." Surprisingly, I really do appreciate it. "I agree. Just one thing." I still can't resist. "You call our case unique, but where does all your logic go if we do meet a stronger opponent?"
"Eh..." Rick was just about to get up from the table and finish the conversation, but he sinks back into his chair. "Utis... Re-insurance, full analysis, and planning at the maximum level, i.e. when you consider all probabilities in your plans, is certainly a good thing... But only where it is necessary. Because such paranoia certainly largely insures against the lion's share of possible accidents, but it also takes up so many resources that it often exceeds all possible benefits. What good will it do us to stall guys with excessive demands now? If we get a pro-level team, we're screwed anyway, even if we had at least a month or two to prepare rather than a measly two weeks. Am I wrong? I'm right. Then why be nervous about it? If something like that happens, we cannot change the result, and there is no point in planning for it. When we'll be ready for Internationals, we'll study every team under the microscope and plan everything from A to Z. And now it's more important that the boys don't lose interest in this endeavor..."
"I agree." For the umpteenth time today, I have to say it. "But, if we get a rookie team like us, and we lose to them by a small margin, I'll remember those words to you."
"Like us?" Rick's surprise was genuine. "Um... Wait... I think I see what's wrong with you."
"Is there something wrong with me?" My eyebrows rose in doubt.
"It's easy to check."- I don't like Descart' grin, it's a bit too 'kind'. "How many people with Legendary or Ascended Faces do you think live in a city of millions like New Geneva?"
"Well..." The question catches me off guard, and I start going through my options.
"Exclude yourself, me, Illea, Daas, and Lance." Inserts Runner while I think.
"Twenty?" I answer completely out of intuition after about a minute, without having made any normal logical chain.
"There, just as I thought." He slammed his palm down on the table. "Statistically, the Legendary Face is one in a million who have passed the Arch, and the Ascended is one in a billion."
"What?!" My last sip of tea went up my nose at this information.
"That's right..." Rick stood up and patted me on the back. "You, like me, have been 'lucky' to get into the so-called concentrated 'breeding ground' assembled by Daas and Lance. Just because you've met so many unusual people in two months doesn't mean you're going to keep meeting them at every turn."
"Where do these statistics come from?" I ask.
"From Lance. He was recruiting for his special unit under the White Berets, so he had access to the kind of data that not every government has at their disposal."
"It's unexpected, honestly," I confess. "I thought that..." Before I could formulate my thought, Descart interrupted me.
"You surprised me. If there's anyone I wouldn't suspect of having such an ardent belief in humanity, it's you." His chuckle hurt me for some reason.
"Wait. What are you talking about?"
"And you?"
"I'm talking about Faces, Choice, and Arch."
"Mee too."
"Then what does my faith in humanity have to do with it?"
"Hang on." Rick starts rocking back in his chair. "Tell me what you know about the Faces in general. In detail..."
I didn't find it difficult, and in about three minutes, I finished. For some reason, I had the feeling that the Runner wouldn't just ask without an important reason.
"That's it..." When I stopped, Descart stared at the ceiling. "That's essentially correct, but there's a gap in your knowledge. To have a Face of the Legendary Hero and above it is not enough to resemble him in character, destiny, or outlook. These are all certainly necessary things but far from sufficient. Just think: there are six billion people on Earth, and there has never been such a time in history when all the Ascended Faces were incarnated simultaneously. It has never happened ... Even if we consider that Dioscurs have never been incarnated at the same time, all the same. How do I know? From grandfather Daas, he was a guest here six months ago, and I would be wary of believing the Abbot of the Delphic monastery... Or is he his great-grandfather? I can't honestly say. It's all very confusing."
Now that's a nuance. I didn't know that Daas' caretaker, and by extension Pat, was such a high-flying bird.
"So... Why? Among all the billions, are there not those who are similar in character or inner state to each of the demi-Gods? By the law of large numbers, every Face must have at least one living one. It should, but for some reason, it does not happen. Not even the Ascended One, but the Legendary Odysseus, and he was without an earthly vessel until you appeared. Strange, isn't it? If you operate with that knowledge, you have, you should see the gaping hole in the logic of the world known to you. Well, it cannot be that of all six billion there was no cunning, clever, dodgy, unscrupulous person who would be much more suitable to Odysseus than you."
"Had to be found." This thought has long haunted me as to why it was "I" who became Ulysses' chosen one, with such a great divergence of character from this Hero.
"But no one was found. Even with the fact that not everyone walks the Arch, the sample is still too large to not find anyone according to these criteria. And that's because, starting with the legends, it's not enough to be internally similar to the Face. You also have to pass a certain threshold..."
The silence game is won by Rick because after a minute of silence, I am the first to fail:
"A certain threshold."
"Yes. You have to be a genius to get the Ascended Face. To be worthy of the Legendary, at the very least, you have to be talented."
"Did the Delphic Abbot tell you that again?"
"No, that's my personal theory... But I haven't noticed a single glitch in it."
At first, I thought he was joking, but no, he was not joking, he believes what he was saying.
"What you said doesn't seem contradictory on the surface, and in many respects, it is consistent with what I know. Daas is indeed a programming genius, Illea is a talented cook, Lance is a teacher on the verge of genius, and you... Well... I can tell you're a natural at seducing women, and I'm not kidding. Everything seems to add up, except for one detail." Having said that, I flip the empty mug onto the countertop.
"So what doesn't add up?"
"Me... I don't add up... I don't fit the pattern. I know myself, and I can say for sure, as much as I'd like to, I can't call myself talented in any way. Even in BAA, after spending many years, I reached barely the bottom rung of a professional player, and only Face pulled me higher. Other than that... Pfeh..." I just waved my hand, really having nothing more to say.
"You've probably heard a lot about how underestimating your opponents is bad and leads to defeat," Rick speaks in a slightly mentor-like tone. "But what a lot of people don't realize is that underestimating yourself is just as much of a mistake. You didn't say much about your life before you moved to New Geneva..."
"There wasn't much of interest there." I shrugged in response to his words.
"And yet..." Rick ignored my answer and continued to develop his own idea. "Even what you've deigned to share already shows how wrong you are about your own underestimation." I don't think I need to say anything back. "I'm young, but despite that fact, I know a lot of people, mainly students, of course..." Yeah, he hangs out with student groups almost every night, and where does he get the strength to have fun after a day of training at the base? "Well, for all the diversity of my acquaintances, I don't know a single person who could pull off what you did in high school..." He's waiting for a reaction from me, but I don't give it to him, continuing to be silent and scrutinizing the tabletop.
"Do you think I'm exaggerating?" And here I'm nodding. That's exactly what I think. He's making up a theory, and now he's adjusting the facts to it. "No, he's not, you know, you can see a lot from the outside. Let me go on... I don't know anyone who's been able to get a computer games club started at school. Not programming, not computer design, not graphics or robotics, but games. Honestly, I can not imagine what you need to do to make the school board and the director in general, approve of the establishment of such a section. Besides, you weren't sitting in an empty classroom, right? You were assigned computers."
"They did." When I think back, I shudder. It came down to covert and anonymous blackmail of the head teacher.
"You know, from the outside, it seems impossible at all, especially since the organizer of everything is a simple schoolboy with no connections whose father is a simple sailor."
"Not a sailor, but the Senior Motor Officer of the big seafaring plant Silent Weather." I correct him automatically.
"All right, let the Senior Motorist. It's not a big deal." Rick brushed my correction aside. "But getting the club to start is only half the battle! You still need to get people into it. Of course, there was probably no shortage of kids who wanted to sign up, but here's the thing: I know that desire isn't enough. Most parents keep a close eye not only on their children's grades but also on what sections, circles, and other after-school activities their children attend. I can still imagine pushing the idea of a playgroup through the school board: rhetoric, persuasion, petty blackmail. - There, he guessed it. "But how do you convince dads and mums to let their kids go to a computer games section? And you weren't the only one who had to be persuaded. How many people were in the club?"
"Seventeen members." Ten players - team, plus rotation and sickness replacements.
"You're the one who's got half the boys of your year in school." Rick grinned. "Strong! Anyway, you can think what you want about yourself, but it's pretty clear from the outside that to pull off what you did, you'd have to be at least a very talented... manipulator!"
"Pfeh..." I snorted back. Now, looking back on that time, I'm inclined to think that I was just lucky. There were a lot of factors and accidents that I took advantage of. You don't have to be talented to do it. You just have to be observant and willing to do a lot for your goal. "Even if you are right, your theory still does not explain why exactly I was chosen as Odysseus. I have too many divergences in my worldview with the received Face. I can accept that true geniuses are always a handful, but there are many, many more talented people than legendary Leeks, so you don't convince me."
"I wasn't going to convince you." Rick shrugged. "My point was that the chance of running into a "similar" team at a local tournament like the one we signed up for is immeasurably small. And you don't want to get on the guys' nerves. We don't even have to win. Reaching the semi-finals with sixteen teams signed up is great and will give everyone confidence." He got up from the table, but before he left, he leaned toward me. "About Odysseus choosing you over someone else... Why is everyone so sure taking it as a postulate that the Arc was left by the Three-Faced for humans? It's not written in any sacred text. No priest would say such a thing. But for some reason, everyone defaults to the dictum: "The Arch is for the people".
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing." Rick shrugged. "But the next time you go to the Temple, ask any priest if the Arch has been left for humans by the Three Faces. I've only been able to get the answer so far: The Arch is in the Temples for the good of humankind."
"I don't understand you." he's got me totally confused today.
"And you think, if the phrase 'The Arch is for people' isn't true, and if it were true, the priests wouldn't dodge straight answers, then... Maybe this reflection will lead you to the answer as to why you became Odysseus' chosen one." Tossing the mug into the dishwasher, Rick waved. "Good night, then."
"Good night," I answer him on the fly.
There was a storm of conflicting thoughts in my head. This was a strange conversation. Very... What was Rick pushing me to with his last words? And how would it help me understand myself? If it weren't for the Face of Descart, I would just go to sleep and try to put out of my mind the information rubbish that my interlocutor threw at me. But the fact that Runner is Aeneas' chosen one makes me take his words seriously. Well, I don't want to sleep, so why not think, "If the phrase 'The arch is for humans' isn't true, then..."
After fifteen minutes of rocking on a chair in an empty lunchroom, I still hadn't come up with any deeper thought than to turn things upside down. If not the Arc for the people, perhaps the reverse is true "People for the Arc"? Nah, nonsense. What's the Threefaced for that sort of thing? And what can we humans give? Besides, bypassing the Arch we can be Heard, isn't that the main function of the Arch - to bring the prayers of the worthy to the Threeface? Though such artifact surely has not only one function. There are probably more than ten of them, but we cannot see them.
I was thinking about it until about one o'clock in the morning, and I couldn't figure it out, so I gave up and went to sleep. I'll pay Rick back for these puzzles; he'll jump around again, but some other time, after the tournament...
* * *