Brian D'Amato - The Sacrifice Game

“Miss, Ms. Park,” Boyle said, “ as we did in the rehearsals, we do need to continue the debriefing.”

“I don’t think I’m conditioned, uh, any condition, in any…” I said.

“Let’s meet again in twenty-four hours,” Marena said. “Doctor? What do you think?”

Lisuarte started to say something but Boyle cut her off. “Marena, we’re all efforting to make this as nonconfrontive as possible, but there-”

“Stop it!” Marena said. “He’s just had, he’s having, a huge fucking shock, I mean, absolute trauma, and he’s handling it-I mean, how would you guys handle it? He’s lost months, and the two transfers, we don’t know what that’s like, I mean, come on, even on top of the Tony Sic thing, he’s had an experience like, you know, and he’s got a lot of meds on board. I absoshittinglutely in sist. I insist.”

“I have to agree with that,” Dr. Lisuarte said. “He’s close to dozing off.”

“I agree with Marena,” Taro’s reassuringly precise voice said.

“Anyway, nobody’s going anywhere,” Marena said. “We can start up again in twenty-four hours. I think that’s fair.”

Laurence gave in. I had an impression of people signing off on the decision and making plans to call each other in twelve hours. Dr. Lisuarte’s nurse, who looked familiar but I guess didn’t have a name, wheeled over a cantilevered table and set down a big Let’s Fuck with Jed Kit, a compartmentalized tray full of pills and elixirs and electuaries and a large-bore Tuohy needle that looked as blunt and clumsy as a left-handed safety pin. Going to vax me into a staring askeletonite with Williams syndrome. Raggedy Jeddy. My earth-sized head floated upward in the nurse’s hands, and as Dr. Lisuarte started to de-’trode it, icy rainstorms of solvent broke out across the coast of its northern continent. I dozed.

We convoyed to Marena’s house. It was in a gated community in an expensive suburb of Orlando that, two months after the Disney World Horror, had been tested and cleared for radiation and cleared as safe. When I walked into Marena’s living room, I noticed, through a window, a guard standing outside, leaning against Marena’s Jaguar. With the other goon guy, who I think was named Hernan, in the vestibule, and Google skulking around somewhere, that made three. I was beginning to wonder whether they were keeping others out or us in. I staggered into the bathroom because I thought I remembered there was a steam room in there, but before I could turn it on I fell asleep in the dry sarcophagal tub.

It seemed like I slept for the next thirty hours, although I remember various combinations of my Toxic Co-workers turning up a few times to get in a little perfectly casual debriefing. Boyle reminded me a few times that everything I’d learned in AD 664 was the property of the Warren Corporation. I’d gotten cranky and Marena’d tried, with only some success, to act as the peacemaker. Lindsay checked in and Marena and I both talked with him on speakerphone. I was a little surprised that she didn’t want to talk with him privately. He smarmed on about how great it was to have me back. Then he asked whether I’d seen any Hebrews there. Marena and I rolled our eyes. It’s a Mormon thing.

I said, “No, you over me, I saw none.”

“Well, they must have been there someplace.”

We sat down with two double espressos after that.

“Can you tell me about Tony Sic now?”

Marena said, “I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Try.”

“He had serious financial problems. Like the suicide bombers, his large family has been amply taken care of.”

“Why do I get, like, almost none of him? I got a lot of Chacal.”

“Because, you know, with Sic the CTP team was working directly with the two brains on the table, at the same time. With Chacal there was physical distance, there was a, a humongous time distance-”

“Okay, I know, I know,” I said. It’s true, I was just whining. The thing was, in spite of the video, Sic’s motivation in sacrificing himself was still something of a mystery to me. Maybe I’m just too much of a jerk to ever understand.

It was the thirty-first, around eight P.M. Halloween Night. Max wasn’t going out trick-or-treating. I guess that was one of those things that, now, seemed like giving the kids realistic toy guns. He was going to a midnight Harry Potter party, though, and he was in his Dementor outfit, minus the face hood.

“So, you don’t like the Domino’s theory?” Marena asked us. I think she meant the pizza. Maybe she’d asked me about it before and I didn’t remember.

“Anything’s fine,” I said.

Max made his two index fingers take a halt-step, the left one after the right one. It was the ASL sign for lame.

“Okay,” Marena said. She floofed down between Max and me on the Chickly Shabby sofa. She was in blue Skele-Toes and a sort of fire-orange triangular shirtwaist. “Well, we could just order from Silk Thai.”

“Is that the place with the fried water?” Max asked.

“No, that’s the one with the Ho Mok, you know, the fish curry?”

“Oh, yeah, right-what’s that thing, like, million-year-old eggs?”

She finger-scrolled down on her tablet. “Uh, that’s, that’s Khai Yiao Ma Phat Kraphao Krop.”

“And what’s that yellow spread stuff?”

“Uh, that’s Nam Prik Kaeng,” she said, a bit suspiciously.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s get that, and, uh, one Mok Yak Prik-”

“Maxie, don’t even start.”

“Or Uncle Jed might enjoy the Dum Ho Poon.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Hey, do they make that, uh, Dark Drab Krap?”

“Oh, sure,” he said. “And the Nip Suk Dik is very nice-”

“Hey, Maximilian,” Marena said. “I’m serious.”

“And they do a fine Pak Man Kum,” he said, “very high-protein-”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s a bit umami for my palate,” I said. “But if they have an Ai Kyu Gap, or, uh, Sik Phat Phuk, then-”

“You guys, I’m not kidding,” Marena said. “If you don’t knock it off I’m going to text Seoul Train and order some Bibimbap and that’ll be it. And there’s nothing else in the house.”

“No, no, okay,” Max said. “Sorry. So, we agree on two bowls of Pak Man Kum, and my Mom’ll have a Kwik Rim Job, and, uh-”

“And one Gook Lik Kok,” I said.

“Hey!” she went.

I said sorry.

“Listen, Max,” she said. “ Serieusement. Do you think you could just order a family-style vegetarian selection and do the order like a responsible adult?”

“Sure. “

“Okay.”

“No Bung Plug Krak.”

“Max!”

“Okay, okay, jeez.”

“You want to call them on the MasterCard phone?”

“Yeah, where is it?”

“It’s on Kitchen Island. In the Drawer of Many Things.”

He Sleeked off.

Damn, I can’t believe how domesticated I am, I thought. Well, believe it. The deal is, after two and a half days, anything seems normal. If I’d woken up with the head of a chicken, the tail of a beaver, the eyes of a gigantic insect, and the body of Megan Fox, it’d seem normal. Or the body of a chicken and the beaver of-I mean, anything. Being in yet another different body was one of those things like scuba diving or flying that for a long, long time people tried to imagine what it would be like to do, and then when they finally do it, it seems natural. It’s not that it’s so different from what at least a few of them had imagined, but since they’d imagined it in so many different ways, and some people had such high and varying hopes for it, there’s always a touch of disappointment. And there was always that feeling of something in back of my mind, something small but still a deal breaker, like a mosquito in the room.