Deadlock by Robert Liparulo Page B

and the guys come down on you like they hate you.”
    Michael shrugged. “With friends like that . . .”
    â€œSo . . . what’d you do?”
    Michael got more tissue and started drying his eyes. “Nothing.” He studied Julian’s face. “I’ve heard you . . . at night.”
    Julian nodded. He lowered himself onto the bed. He said, “Probably every night.”
    â€œI didn’t come rushing in to catch you slobbering all over yourself.”
    â€œWhy not?” He smiled.
    Michael dropped the crumpled tissue to the floor. He pushed himself up and leaned his back against the wall. “So you got problems,” Michael said. “It’s none of my business how you handle them.” When Julian didn’t say anything, he continued. “I mean, you’re like a little kid—and you’re here .” He said the word the way he would have said in hell . “You’re Brendan Page’s son—and you’re here . I heard about your brother and what happened.”
    Julian said, “Then you know why I’m here. And I cry at night because I’m here. What’s your story?”
    â€œNo story, just . . . life .” Michael closed his eyes, tried to take in a breath without his chest hitching, but found it impossible. He clamped his teeth together, willing himself to get control. He felt a fresh tear break free and slide over his cheek. He brushed at it as though it burned. Eyes closed, he waited. Maybe the kid would take a hint and leave. When he didn’t, Michael said, “Why don’t you just go?”
    Julian said, “You just got back from a mission. Did something happen?”
    As much as Michael thought it wasn’t possible, his chest grew even tighter. He opened his eyes. Those clouds again, making Julian’s image shift. He reached out and touched Julian’s arm. “What . . .” Michael cleared his throat. “What color’s your hair?”
    Julian’s brow furrowed. “Dark brown.”
    â€œYour eyes?”
    â€œGreen-blue.”
    Michael relaxed. “I guess you’re . . .”
    â€œI’m what?”
    â€œIt’s only that, I don’t know what’s real anymore. I saw things the other day, things that weren’t there.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œA guy . . . a guy reaching for a gun. Wasn’t even a guy, a man.”
    â€œAn avatar, then,” Julian said. “Outis uses actors and avatars. You know that.”
    â€œIt wasn’t an avatar or an actor.”
    â€œWhat then?”
    â€œA child,” Michael snapped. “I think a little boy. I shot him.”
    â€œLike, during a simulation or war game?”
    Michael shook his head. “I thought it was a war game, a tactical training mission. I think I thought it was. I don’t know anymore. Sometimes they say, ‘Okay, here’s the operation, and this time it’s for real, so heads up.’ But they’ve done that so many times, then showed us we were engaging actors in a simulacrum. We never know what’s real, what’s not. I knew the VR environment in the helmets added things to reality. But it does more than that. It changes reality.”
    Julian’s eyes wandered away. “If that’s true . . .”
    â€œIf that’s true, we can’t know what’s real and what isn’t. They can make you see an EC, some guy coming at you with a knife. So you shoot him and it turns out to be your mother.”
    The boy said, “I don’t think they can do that.”
    â€œI saw a man. I fought with him. Turned out to be a teenager, about your age.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œI took off my helmet. I saw with my own eyes.”
    â€œAnd the little boy?”
    Michael stared into Julian’s eyes a long time. “He was real. They made
me kill a kid, a real kid. Why would they do that?”
    Julian lowered his