The revelation had come like a punch to Rick’s gut. He’d told Ditto everything, and they’d worked around the issues created by his lying to Kristina and the contradiction it created in his energy system.
The whole scene seemed less surreal now, four days after the first chakra training. Every day since, they’d moved farther from the boundary between the game and his own mind. They hadn’t yet made it back to the temple garden, but they’d made it a good way up the path. Each time, he’d been able to conjure the chakra orbs. Each night when he got home, he tried to clear up some minor thing he’d kept from Kristina, but it hadn’t had much effect.
“It’s the eggs.” Rick shook his head. Today, they had to make the chakra training work. He’d already seen that was the key to avoiding the ass-kicking needed to produce overload and circumvent his reCon conditioning.
“I can’t tell you how to proceed,” Ditto said. “Removing the contradiction will help. There’s not much we can do with your higher energy centers until you resolve this issue.”
“She’ll never forgive me.”
“Something you should have perhaps contemplated before opting for the procedure in the first place,” the bot said.
Rick frowned. “I’d ask if you’ve ever been married, but…” He shrugged.
“You may place well in the qualifier, but this will remain a serious problem.” Ditto frowned. “Fixing it is required.” The bot raised his eyebrows. “Sooner is better than later.”
“Let’s do the best we can while the daylight’s burning. I don’t think I’m going to win any tournaments if I’m worried my wife will turn me in to the authorities or divorce me.”
The bot gave him a shallow nod Rick interpreted as a concession, then got into position.
They’d no longer needed a third character, as Rick never fled, nor even needed as much time before he overcame his training. The problem was that it all relied on whether Rick could conjure the chakras. The sight of Ditto’s fighting stance initiated a nervous titter of anxiety within, though he’d gotten used to it. There was no “getting used to” the full effect of his reCon, which had been the entire point of the brilliant sociopaths who’d developed the reconditioning protocol. What they’d do if they ever found out he’d discovered a way to overcome it was a worry for another day. Hadn’t your plan to tell Kristina about the procedure “eventually” also been a problem for another day? He pushed the intrusive thought aside. It resisted. Tomorrow comes, like it or not.
Rick pushed that aside too, as he focused on pulling the chakras into his awareness. Ditto had already confirmed outside players would never know. Cheat checking algorithms had no paradigms for a player using their imagination to bolster their abilities, either.
It was a struggle at first; he expected it, like a fish on a line. He’d become a master angler. Slowly, but steadily, he let the distractions in his mind fall away. The chakras came up—all of them now, not like on that first day. He ignored all but the blue, green, and yellow. I hate horses. That had become his opening gambit, the first thing that let his blue orb fill out more completely, though the orb of light remained pitifully small. What a liar you are, Rick Prophet, his mind taunted.
From the blue, he pulled energy into his green heart chakra, and from there, the yellow orb grew and became more circular. The fire was primed; now he needed a match. “And… go.”
Ditto jabbed and Rick blocked. The fear rose, the dizziness began, bringing with it the nausea that always came also, though he hadn’t vomited in three days.
The rogue bot launched a one-two combo comprising a straight and a vicious left hook. He blocked the first and weaved away from the other, but when Ditto launched a knee into his solar plexus—the very source of Rick’s willpower, the chakra flickered and he almost retched as he jumped back.
He landed with his center of gravity off-balance due to the dizziness, but that was exactly the prompting he needed to bring out the full power of his yellow third chakra. Light that only he and Ditto could see sprang like a sunrise against the mountainous horizon that was the fear. Empty mind took him.
The dizziness gone—or at the very least, suppressed—he fired back with a left hook, a duck, and a right uppercut. The hook whiffed, but the uppercut caught the bot in the chin. Rick kneed Ditto’s exposed solar plexus, and the AI’s avatar folded as it fell back and away from him. Ditto landed butt-first on the grass and rolled. Rick tracked him, trying to forestall the return of the reCon. It always returned; the question was whether he could end the fight before it did. He’d succeeded in getting the emptiness back once before, but not since, meaning it wasn’t something he could rely on.
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Ditto rose, brushing off his gi as he did. He grimaced, then launched another attack.
Rick back-stepped, pivoting before throwing a hard kick at Ditto’s exposed thigh. It bent the into an awkward sideways position. He took advantage of the moment and grabbed the bot, dragging him to the grassy ground.
He had Ditto in a sleeper hold when the empty mind dropped, putting him in a blender of terror and nausea.
Ditto got a palm strike into Rick’s nose. That and the terror made him lose his grip, and the balance problem made it hard for him to rise to his feet. He crawled away, focusing on the yellow light again, but it was too late. Ditto had him.
The bot choked him until right before he would have dropped out, then let go and stood. They’d decided days ago it was too inefficient to force Rick through the gauntlet of steps required to get back to the temple after every defeat.
Ditto sighed. “At least the chakra came right away this time. You’re getting better at that every time.”
“Thanks.”
“It won’t be good enough, though.” The bot frowned.
Rick closed his eyes as he stood because it made the dizziness easier to combat if he wasn’t trying to match his internal balance with what he saw. He focused, letting his heart rate slow. In his mind’s eye, he struggled to conjure the chakras, which had disappeared when the terror of his reCon had taken over. As soon as they appeared, he said, “Something’s changed.”
“Oh?” Ditto asked.
“The terror is still there, probably always will be.”
Ditto nodded. “I told you it was likely.”
“But I’m not afraid of being afraid anymore.” Rick opened his eyes and swallowed hard. “I can do this.”
Ditto said nothing as he raised his arms and prepared for another round.
**********************************
“I hate horses.” Strangely, Rick hadn’t admitted that to her yet.
“What?” Kristina asked.
“I can’t stand horses, honey. I know they mean something to you, that you grew up riding, but…”
“Oh,” she said, opening her eyes wide. “What the hell brought that up?” She leaned back on the couch and twisted so she was facing him, pulling her long legs under her body so she now sat cross-legged.
“I just feel bad about it.” It had been his oldest lie to her, uttered without thought on their first date when he worried telling the truth about even minor things might be enough to have him crossed off the list of the beautiful young woman sitting across from him.
“You should.” Kristina narrowed her eyes, then let a giggle slip.
Rick let out his breath and laughed nervously.
“I mean, I’ve always loved riding, but I haven’t ridden in years. You know why?”
“I dunno. We can’t afford it?”
“I’m on bad terms with my parents, but they’d still let me ride.” Kristina rolled her eyes. “You know my mother. She’d welcome any chance to lecture me on what a terrible husband I chose.” A smirk graced her beautiful face.
Rick raised his eyebrows. “That’s probably true.”
She grabbed his hand and leaned in, a solemn look on her face. “Honey? I can’t speak for women or little girls around the globe. Your obstinate heresy on this issue is indeed grave.” She smiled. “But for myself? I love you more than I love horses.” She leaned in further and gave him a soft kiss on his nose. “Is there anything else?”
Rick froze, but he recovered quickly, “That’s it… for now.” He dramatically raised his eyebrows. This feels bad. I should tell her.
But he didn’t. Instead he stood and headed for the kitchen. “Wanna beer?”
“Sure,” she said, then added, “Big day tomorrow. Don’t have too many, baby.”
He grunted. Anxiety gnawed in his gut, and every sort of disaster he’d experienced in-game flooded into his mind, taunting him with his failures. Those images were from before the new implant, before the new training protocol with Ditto.
He’d done better in his second training of the day, the one with Alex. She’d noticed his empty mind transformation, but had chalked it up to Rick finally “becoming a professional.”
He’d still gotten creamed before getting anywhere near the center, and that was against bots. Alex had mentioned she was working on some sort of explanation to stave off Hector, but it was clear a failure to place in the qualifier would piss Hector off—no matter what he’d said to the contrary to Rick.
Though he wasn’t running courier jobs again yet, he’d been to the office to see his boss. Manuel was out of the hospital, though he hadn’t been back to work yet. Jerry hadn’t died, but his condition was still serious. Hector, who was unpredictable at the best of times, had seemed jumpy and paranoid, unable to stretch the thin veneer of friendliness over everything the way he normally did.
Rick returned to the couch and handed his wife her opened bottle of beer. The clinked glasses.
“Skål,” she said.
“Skål,” He tipped the bottle back and drank half in one go. His wife scowled, and he acknowledged it. “I won’t have more than three.”
“Good boy,” she said. “I’ll be counting the bottles when I wake up tomorrow morning.”
“Maybe you should keep me occupied so I don’t go too crazy.”
She smiled. “Before we get carried away, Alex wanted me to remind you to—in her own words—choose your damned boosts.”
He sighed. Fear of choosing badly had paralyzed him. He hadn’t tried Iron Fist since the new implant, and he knew Stamina Camel was something he’d need no matter what. The rest was a crapshoot.
He sniffed his beer. It was hoppier than usual, something his wife picked. When the delivery driver had left it on their front porch, he almost messaged to tell them they’d screwed up. “This isn’t bad. Tastes too much like soap, though.”
His wife got a mischievous look in her eye. She leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Why don’t you take me back and teach me not to fuck with your beer order?”
He licked his lips.
She stood. “I’ll bet you I don’t taste like soap.”