Dude, go on. Take it. You know you want it,” said Billy.
Isaac sat on the end of his bed with his chin cupped in his hands, his back and neck a thoughtful “C,” his thought and attention in thrall to the chessboard as surely as a magnetized pawn.
Billy sat across from him, bolt upright on a stool, his hands stroking a beardless chin, his eyes the manic blue of a lightning-lit sea. He was a white guy like Isaac, and he was always telling Isaac that the same Viking had reaved their mothers long ago, leaving them blond.
“I’m gonna let you screw up again,” said Isaac as he accepted King’s Gambit. Billy moved through the trade, accepting the loss for tempo.
“Where’s your Viking blood, dude?” said Billy.
“You’re not Morphy, man.” Isaac counter-attacked with his queen’s pawn. “That opening has been discredited for centuries.”
“That’s what she said.”
Isaac shook his head. “What does that even mean?”
“If your mama didn’t teach you the birds and the bees, the query daemon can.” Billy’s eyes were on the board.
Isaac moved, struggling to protect his ravaged king’s side. If he could just hang on and develop, the material advantage would carry him through.
Chess was dead. But both of them had learned it from their fathers, and they were playing natural: their chess engines were off, and they didn’t even consult the query daemon for moves. In fact, they had their picto implants entirely off. Totally analog. Throughout the week, though, they’d pit the machines they’d written against one another, tweaking code here or there, investigating new lines of attack, exploring the dormant possibilities. But for now it was just one natural Mind against another.
In a couple of moves, Isaac fully entered the midgame, his bishops lancing lightning, his knights snapping their pincers as they crabbed their fibbonacis, his queen’s pawn side the wall against which the sea broke. He let it all wash over him, lost in the emerging pattern. He loved the midgame, and he was gradually absorbing an even greater material advantage.
“Move, dude.” Billy sighed, “I just sprouted a chest-hair while you eye-fuck my queen.” He smiled wryly.
The voice registered in the corner of Isaac’s brain reserved for discarding Billy’s impatient blasphemies. “Mmm,” he said, declining the offered trade for a strategic advantage.
But then, Billy did something on the lunatic fringe of brilliant, and caught up materially. Then they were in the endgame, and Isaac’s sole material advantage was that same pawn that had he’d snapped up in the second move of the game. Billy’s fast calculating won him Isaac’s other bishop
“Bam!” Billy struck the leg of his chair.
“Do you ever think about the war, man?” Isaac asked.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Dude, from class today.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Billy’s voice was flat and disinterested.
“No, but like, seriously. What do you think about the war?” Isaac glanced up at Billy penetratingly.
“Like, nothing. I already said, man.” Billy’s eyes calculated as he moved a piece.
“People are dying right now to get energy to power the Mind.” Isaac looked back down to study the position.
“Yeah, so?”
Isaac looked up again at Billy, “So dude. People. Dying. Bad.”
“Yeah man, that sucks. But nobody I know has ever died.” Billy’s mind was still on the game.
“Yeah, that’s because the soldiers are all vacs. So we run out of energy and vacs and we just decide to take more of it? What if I run out of dreamcreds and just steal yours? How the hell is that right?” Isaac’s words were angry but the chess-spell of rationality kept his tone level.
“Dude, if you’re so against the war why don’t y0u become a Junior General and win it? We’ve got the thickways: the sun has limitless energy. We’re going to be totally fine. The Mind is hyper-intelligent and it will come up with the next super-intelligent tech thing.” Billy traded to win one of Isaac’s advanced pawns.
Isaac sighed, “That doesn’t even make any sense,” he studied the position.
Billy bridled, “Yes it does, dude. You can sit around and complain about the war and the energy or whatever but unless you’re going to do something about it you might as well just chill out and follow the metemotions. Why does it matter to you anyways?”
“Look around. This system is totally fucked. Our country is in a war for more resources. Eighty-five percent of the country is operated, and like half of them have the full-on lucid implant and don’t even know reality from dream. Our school is just indoctrination. And all we do is dream off. All we do is just dream it off.” Isaac shook his head slowly.
Billy rolled his eyes and queened a pawn. He was quiet for a moment, gathering his wisdom, “You need a chick, dude. That’s what you need. And also I think we need to buy the weapons upgrade in Wizard’s Castle. I keep telling you we’re stuck until we get the gemstones.”
“Right.” Isaac moved his knight to attack Billy’s king. “Check,” he said.
Billy moved his King into the corner. Now, thought Isaac, if only he could move that rook, he could get back there.
But Isaac had forgotten that his knight had been holding down a key defensive square. “Sweet. Check!” said Billy.
Isaac moved away. “Check.” Billy’s voice rose.
Then Isaac looked at the position and saw the inevitable mate. Better play it out, he thought. Billy could still stumble. He moved out of check.
“Checkmate, dude! Bam!” Billy struck his palm with his fist.
Isaac shook his head and studied the position.
“Yeah dude, so now who’s dreaming off… and losing!” crowed Billy.
“I should never have moved that knight. Too early. Man.”
“Yeah, man. That was dumb. You’re always thinking too hard about stuff that’s way above your pay grade. You should have just kept choking me slow. Want to go back?” asked Billy, the magnanimous victor.
“Nah, let’s start over. This time I’m white.” And so, they reset the board. But Isaac was left with the lingering cloud of doubt. Was he the one dreaming off, complaining about the way things were? And, even if he was right about how fucked up things were, what good would he ever do toughening it in his mind like an re-microwaved piece of soyloaf?