Melanie McGrath - Hard, Soft and Wet

A strange sort of nostalgia pervades the room, running alongside the futurism. The walls are clad in fake wood panelling with brass wall lights; grim Victorian-style armchairs dominate a space presided over by yawing prints of Howard Hughes, Amelia Earhart, Sir Richard Burton and Charles Lindbergh. Old-time heroes.

Back at the bar, Todd has turned his attentions to Jim. ‘I still say that the T6 is the übermech. People go out in Loki5s because they can’t handle the idea of hand-to-hand combat is all. The Loki5 is a chicken’s machine.’

I take up my stool again, feeling slightly foolish since it’s perfectly obvious that Todd and Jim are just two lonesome Joes looking for a life, like a zillion other teenage boys, and really not the crazed splatter-brats I’d momentarily imagined them to be.

‘What is a T6? And what’s a Loki5?’

Jim looks up from his manual, puzzled and faintly disgusted. Todd just gives me the eye and says:

‘Like, hello …?’ in a tone hinting at disbelief.

‘Well?’

‘ Mechs , robots, you know, the things you fight in.’ He slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘ Man. Rookies! Listen, all you need to know at this stage is to select a Loki5. They’re easiest to handle. Then remember to keep your crosshairs on the black spots and don’t go up the ramps.’

‘Why not?’ I ask, returning the gaze.

‘It’s dangerous , man,’ says Todd, raising his eyes to the heavens. ‘Read the manual.’

The year is 3050. Man has colonized the universe. The one great Star League has degenerated into a corrupt feudal society riven by petty rivalries. Life is cheap. War is constant. Mercenaries equipped with futuristic two-legged tanks called BattleMechs drift from planet to planet fighting for whoever offers the most cash.

Like the jousting tournaments of old, war in the 31st century has also been ritualized into sport. Mechwarriors from far and wide gather on the desert planet of Solaris VII to test their mettle against the best the universe has to offer. Now you can join them.

At the cash till, Andromeda, a qualified Virtual Geographic League Briefing Officer, recites the mission plan.

‘For nine dollars you’ll be entitled to a mission briefing where you’ll learn about your destination of choice, followed by translocation to a virtual world with a group of other adventurers where your mission will commence. After that there will be a full mission debriefing and a pilot’s log. It’s a total twenty-five minute adventure. From ten to a hundred missions, every tenth mission is free. Take part in three hundred missions and you can become part of the Inner Circle.’

‘Which is the bit where I actually play the game?’ I ask, pulling a ten-dollar bill out of my wallet.

Andromeda looks uncertain.

‘You mean the mission?’

‘Yeah, which is the mission bit?’

‘It’s all an adventure,’ says Andromeda, handing me my ticket and a plasticized paper card. ‘Trust me.’ She advises me to choose a call sign for the mission.

The line of explorers requiring mission tickets begins to build up behind, forming a vaguely threatening mass.

‘Let’s see.’ Andromeda struggles to assist. ‘Variations on death are always popular along with pets’ names. Nexus 14, for example? Zombiewoman? Driller killer?’

My recent online adventures come to mind.

‘How’s about Fish ’n’ Chips?’

‘There you go,’ toots Andromeda. ‘We’ll enter you in the log …’ she types a few letters into a PC ‘… as Fish and … Chips.’

‘’n’ Chips.’

‘Sure, ’n’ Chips. It’ll be about forty minutes. Take a seat in the Explorers’ Lounge and you’ll get to meet some great people. We at VGL believe that one of the most satisfying aspects of interdimensional travel is the people you meet en route.’ Resigned, I hold my hand out for change. Andromeda shakes her head and waggles a finger.

‘Nine dollars for the adventure plus a dollar for the one-off pilot’s fee.’

‘Which means?’

‘You’re now an Associate Member of the Virtual Geographical League. Caveat Emptor!’

‘Right.’ I smile, vainly struggling with the creeping canker of disillusionment.

Back at the bar, Dave and Todd are still drinking Martian Coke and bantering over their Mech strategies.

‘The software aces at VGL Research Labs changed the rules so a Mech can be damaged if it bumps into a stationary part of the Solaris VII landscape, and not just if it impacts with another Mech. Did you read that in the stats report? Man, it’s gonna change free-for-alls forever,’ says Todd.

I resume my place at the bar and order a beer, and, remembering the Icon Byte Bar, some Tesla Coil chips and Solarian salsa from ‘The Briefing’ menu.

‘Listen,’ says Todd, turning to me, ‘They’ll put you with some other rookies, so you’ll be OK. I mean, you’ll get reduced to rubble a coupla times, but nothing you can’t survive.’

‘Want some advice from me?’ adds Jim. ‘Read the Battletech op manual, and when you’re in there aim for the black spots on the other guy’s Mech and don’t forget …’ he pauses to dunk another Tesla Coil chip in salsa ‘… experience is a man’s best teacher.’

Battletech team messages are pinned to a noticeboard in the pool room:

[TO] DON’T SHOOT

[FROM] CAPTAIN CRYBABY

[MESSAGE] WE ACCEPT YOUR 3 ON 3 CHALLENGE ON ONE CONDITION: WE PLAY 2 ON 3. US BEING THE 2. CALL 555 5173 AND ASK FOR JOHN. WE’RE KIDS, BUT YOU’LL STILL GO DOWN IN AGONIZING, MERCILESS FLAMES.

[TO] BLOOD ANGEL DEMISE

[FROM] CLAN GHOST TIGER

[MESSAGE] YUPPIE DEATH

WE THE MEMBERS OF CLAN GHOST TIGER WISH TO THANK BLOOD ANGEL DEMISE. SUCKS BE TO YOU SLACKERS FOR AN HONOURABLE AND FUN BATTLETECH MINOR LEAGUE TOURNAMENT.

In the hour or so since I arrived, the Virtual World Explorers’ Lounge has doubled its occupancy. More families, more kids, more packs of teens and more men with shiny heads and brown moustaches lining up obediently for their mission tickets.

Jim lends me his copy of the Battletech Operations Manual. Byzantine! Thirty-three different types of Mech robot to choose, each one with a specific armoury and a top speed and a heat quotient, four battle arenas drawn out on grids, notes on heat sinks and dissipation units, a stack of tables covering controls and weapons and tips on weapons configuration strategy, light and weather manipulation and heat management, and finally, a list of ten tips for rookies. Totalling forty pages of graphs and tables and handy hints amounting to complete hierarchies of knowledge. It could take a person a couple of months simply to absorb all this stuff.

Forty-five minutes later, Andromeda calls out my tag, along with six others, belonging to a party of two adults and four kids with handles Stallion, Princess, Animal, Warrior, Wad and Sakan. Stallion, Animal and Wad admit to having played before, but the rest of us are virgins.

‘Decided on your terrain and your Mechs yet?’ enquires Balthazar, our Virtual World Mission Briefing Officer.