The Spirit of the Game

By Rik Hunik & Jo McKee

My mother, Violet, was seated at a card table actually playing a card game with a real person instead of her usual computer opponents. When I recognized the man, I did a double take and nearly fainted. It was Daddy, just as he had looked before his fatal heart attack, nearly thirty years ago.

"Hi Sis," Mom said to me, barely looking up from her card game, even though she hadn't seen me in over a year. An obese septuagenarian, she was a dedicated couch potato, despite all my efforts over the years to get her off her ass before it got too fat to move. But she never listened to me about anything, especially when I was right.

The Daddy image flickered into 3-D static for a split second, then looked at me and said, "Hi Sis," in Daddy's voice .

Numb, I waved dumbly to both of them. When my younger brother, Davey, had invited me to this Thanksgiving dinner a couple of days ago, he had been excited about something. I should have known the only thing that could get him that excited was a new video game. He'd started playing them before he could walk.

Tall, fat, hairy and unkempt as usual, Davey put his big hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm working to eliminate that glitch when he changes the focus of his attention. I usually let the guys at work do all the programming, but I'm getting quite involved now." After twenty years of sloth, living off our widowed mother, Davey had surprised everybody by actually landing a job. He'd learned video game repair skills by mail study and landed a part-time job at a game store. From there, he somehow got lucky enough to be hired as a consultant for a company that tested new software and designed game hardware. He was the archetypal video game player. He would tell them what he wanted in a game or piece of equipment, and they would design it and give it to him. If he liked it, the public liked it. He got to play video games all the time and made a healthy living from his modest commission.

"Its attention," I corrected him. "It is a program, not a person. "

"But I can make it close enough that you can't tell the difference." He headed into the kitchen.

"You're nuts," I said, following him.

In school I had learned just how twisted my own family was, and I'm amazed that I came out as good as I did. My stepfather never did actually abuse me, like he did my older sister, and he quit trying after the time I nearly brained him with a ten-inch crescent wrench. A few years ago I got out of a relationship with a man who kept getting better at finding excuses to beat me. After some counseling, I decided to start fresh, and now, in my mid-forties, I'm in my second year at UCLA, studying psychology.

Davey's face fell when it sunk in that I didn't share his enthusiasm. I didn't care. I didn't see a man excited about the possibilities of his product. I saw behind his eyes, to the frightened eleven-year-old boy deep inside, desperate to get his father back. That night Mom came back from the hospital and told us Daddy was dead from a heart attack, Davey had clung to her leg and cried, whining over and over, "I want my Daddy. " He'd cried for two days. I was only two years older, but I'd felt I couldn't add to my mother's burden. I had had to be strong.

"What's for dinner?" I asked.

"Baked ham with pineapple, candied carrots, yams."

"I hate yams."

"I know, but Mom thinks you like them."

"And why can't she leave the carrots alone?"

"She wants to make the dinner special. But don't worry; there's mashed potatoes, olives, biscuits, pickles."

My mouth watered. A ham sandwich from the deli just didn't compare. "It sounds delicious. Who cooked it all?"

Davey stood proudly. "I did." Then he slumped again, leaned toward me and said in a quiet voice, with just a tinge of worry. "Mom has been playing cribbage with Daddy ever since I got the program running just before lunch." Then he turned away and resumed his normal demeanor. "Everything is ready except the ham, and all I have to do is pull it out of the oven and slice it up. Have a seat." He pulled on a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven.

The phone rang. Mom said, "Twenty-one, for a run of three." The phone rang again, but Mom was too busy interacting with the program, giggling like a little girl as she scored more points. The phone was right at my elbow. I picked it up on the third ring.

"Hello."

"Hello." The voice was tentative. I waited. "Is Dave there?"

"Yes. He's busy right now. Do you want me to get him on the line?"

"No, no." A long pause. "Who are you?"

The voice was vaguely familiar, and now I was curious so I told him. "Davey's sister Julia. I'm here for dinner. "

"Oh yes. Hi Julia, this is Hank Wanmiler, David's boss." Air hissed as he inhaled sharply. "I think I can trust you."

I turned away from the kitchen. "Of course you can," I assured him. We'd met a few times and got along very well. Too well, in his wife's opinion.

"Do you know if Dave has any strange electronic equipment there, something you've never seen before?"

He was probing, but his question set off alarm bells in my head. I hadn't actually seen the equipment he was talking about, but I was sure it was in the living room. I kept my voice low as I headed down the hall and let him know he'd hit pay dirt. "Like, for instance, a prototype for interactive holograms for
computer games?"

The silence stretched. "Yeah. Exactly." Another long pause. "You should be aware that he has that equipment illegally."

"You mean he stole it?"

"He took it without permission, but I'm sure he intends to return it so I'm not involving the police." A sigh. "I took him off the project, because he was becoming too obsessed with it and I was getting worried. I gave him some time off and reassigned some other people to look at it to see what they could do with it. A couple of members of the new team were eager to get started. When they showed up for work this morning, the prototype was gone. They finally got in touch with me this afternoon. I went to investigate and figured out that Dave had taken it. We' re coming to get it. Don't let Dave know."

"Okay."

"I can't get away from my family dinner, and neither can my assistant. I don't want to disturb your dinner, so we'll drop by in an hour or two, depending on traffic."

"Right. Bye." I returned the phone to the corner of the kitchen counter.

"Who was that?" Davey asked.

"That was your boss," I said, just to watch him jump. "He called to remind you to make sure you bring all the equipment back first thing tomorrow morning." He visibly relaxed on receiving that bogus news. He always was easy to fool.

"Let's eat, " he said, a bit too loudly to be as casual as he probably wanted to sound.

I called Mom into the dining room.

"I'll be right there, Sis." She turned her attention back to the holoprojection. "Excuse me, Jake, but I have to eat now. I'm sorry you can't join us, but I'll be right back after dinner." She lumbered into the dining room, the floor squeaking in protest, and sat down at the end of the table where she could still see it. It produced a pipe and started smoking. I swear I could smell the old, familiar odor, thick and sweet, even though I knew the smoke wasn't real.

Mom patted me on the arm. "Isn't it great? It's just like having Daddy back, isn't it?"

I suppressed a shudder, not because I didn't want my Daddy back, but because she was way too eager to embrace that program. I plastered an imitation of a smile on my face, grunted noncommittally and took my seat.