The gaming center was in the middle of town next to the water reclamation park. It had been built from the ruins of the old government building that had been bombed when Illinowa declared its independence from the national government in Washington, DC—back when there were fifty states and not six republics. The chief administrator had his office on the top floor, and whatever government existed in Arch conducted its business upstairs.
Will swung the car around the front and parked in the open lot. Our father had given us credit chips, and though Kai certainly didn’t need one, he accepted his graciously. We dashed from the car as soon as Will switched it off and entered the center to the hum of the venti-unit and the buzz of generators, consoles, and players.
Although the front of the center was open to the street, the rest of the building was windowless, which reduced the glare on the consoles. In place of windows, the owners had painted murals: lush forests, mist rising from the trees, exotic animals frolicking in the underbrush. The effect was both exhilarating and melancholy, but after a while the feeling wore off, replaced by something like yearning. This made the gamers play harder and longer, seeking the narcotic of the games. It was, of course, the reason the center was decorated this way. Gamers checked in, but they didn’t check out until they’d spent their last credit chips.
While the center had its share of children and teens, there were also groups of shakers—men, mostly—who looked as if they had been playing all night. Like many older people, their hands shook from years of thirst. They also had the wild-eyed look of drug addicts, with unkempt hair and clothing they appeared to have slept in. They swiped their game passes in front of the machines like bots, one mechanized sweep after another. Even when they won, their eyes remained glazed and skittery. One victory, another free game, was meaningless. All that mattered was the drug itself. The chief administrator himself was said to be an avid fan and could be found here with his cronies long after dark.
Kai tapped me on the arm. “Shootout,” he said.
Will had already run off to play the driving games he liked best. I could see him at the pedals of a race car, both hands working intensely to control the course. He didn’t even notice us as we walked past, but I kept him within sight.
Kai was a terrible shot. His skill with numbers was no substitute for sharp eyesight. We played five times in a row, and I beat him every game. Losing, however, did not dim his fun. He screeched and whooped and hollered. As I moved my men to avoid his rockets, he simply sat in the open and took my fire. If he had a strategy, it was to fire furiously and indiscriminately, hoping to overcome with quantity what he could not with quality.
“That was fun!” he said. “Double or nothing.” His face was flushed, and he had pushed his hair above his forehead.
“You already owe me more credit chips than you have.”
“We’ll bet something else.”
“Like what?”
“What do you want?”
What did I want? He looked at me expectantly as I tried to sort the confusing puzzle that was my mind. But I couldn’t say, so I just said, “Okay, one more game, but then we play something else.”
I beat him for the sixth time, and he teased me, calling it beginner’s luck. It wasn’t luck, I told him, if your aim was true.
We played another game called Geyser where the object was to find water and make it emerge in a powerful jet. The higher it sprayed, the more points you got. I didn’t like wasting all that water—even in a game—and I quit after two tries. Kai played three more times by himself, and I wandered through the arcade. There was a YouToo! booth where you could film yourself, add music or mash in other clips, and post videos on the wireless. Two girls performed a clumsy dance routine which they immediately uploaded and viewed on one of the big screens that broadcast a continuous stream of content to anyone with a wireless. Although most homes lacked the technology to broadcast, nearly everyone had a wi-screen for watching and texting. In a matter of minutes, they received ten thousand views and a rating of 1.2 out of 5. Disappointed, the girls insisted on making another video, and I moved on.
A group of boys was crowded behind Will, cheering him on as he set a new high score on Death Racer. Nearby three girls tried to catch the boys’ attention. Over by Kai two men in identical blue shirts and black trousers played their own game of Geyser. They had a terrible time figuring out how to play, and their eyes wandered from the screen. It was a waste of credit, I thought; at least they could step aside and let someone else have a turn. But their low scores failed to dim their addiction to losing.