The Rescue

I nod my head in agreement and silently we slip past the gate. The insistent darkness ensures our cover but makes our progress slow.  Rustling to our left, we keep going. There is no turning back now. Weeks of planning brought us this close.  Urgency and fear pump through my system.

Finding the stairs was no easy task, the slight change in the dark landscape our only clue. Once on the stairs, we are able to let our guard down for a moment. We are the only ones that know the stairs exist. Our safe spot, should things start to go to hell.

Safe now to flip on the torch, wanting one last review of the blueprints. Up the steps, a quick left, into the hall and fifty feet to room 313. Garbed in work clothes, like outside contractors, we are invisible to the passing doctors,nurses and the ever-present secret guards. We reach the door without incident.

Inside, a sparse bulb over the sink washes everything in blue.  Her familiar shape beneath the drab sheet moves only in the rhythm of slow and steady breath. I was selected to be the one to carry her as I had strength on my side. Our work clothes now lay in a discarded heap. Smoothing the new nurse uniform into place, I slip to the side of the bed.The plain but soft sheet becomes a compact cocoon around her. So thorough is her sleep, she does not even stir cradled now in my strong enough arms.

Our steps echo in the sterile hall joined by a third set of steps as a distracted doctor passes by.

A door opening just behind us, “Damn, Sevan! Either he is early or we are off our schedule.

Velan daring a look back, “It’s a guard,” he whispers.

Thirty- feet from the safety of the stairs, the guard shouts, “Ho!”

The secret guards, not so secret in their white head to toe uniforms, watch everything, popping up everywhere. They are chosen for training as children. If they pass the exams, a life of spying is their reward. Each one equipped with lasers, snappers that record live pictures of events, and implanted chips. The chips set off shrieking alarms anytime a guard is assaulted or vaporized.

Velan shouts to me, “Go! Go! Go!” as he spins back around, lasers in both hands. The acrid smell of ozone assaults me. A second later the steady shrill alarm confirms that the guard vaporized. We haven’t much time now. In an instant, two more guards block our way. Running toward them, dropping to the floor, feet first I slide right by them. My burden still sleeping. Hugging the wall now to stay clear, I hear the click of Velan’s lasers. Twenty feet now, Velan on my heels. Bricks begin sliding out of the walls on each side. They create a maze designed to slow our escape. Banging into a previously not there wall stops my progress, blood fills my throat, my nose is broken. Velan runs by leading the way, by some empyrean luck we reach the portal. Velan strikes the wall and the portal opens.

“Pray do let the portal close before we have any followers.” Velan pants.

All three of us through, we turn and watch the portal close, one final look to make sure no one pursued into the stairwell. The tips of white boots, our last glimpse before we are alone in the safety of the stairs.

The provisions we brought with us would have to last several days, time enough for the grounds search to be complete. Our time spent in the safety zone would also allow the drugs to get out of her system. Then we could make our treacherous journey back home.  Several hours into our wait, she begins to stir. Paper thin eyelids tremble as her eyes begin to move; flickering open now and then before lazily staying open. I lean in, her eyes blank. Valen rubs her arm silently.  Focus returns with each flex of her pupils both eyes trained on my face. Measured seconds pass, haltingly she moves her eyes to Valen.

She croaks a whisper, “Valen? Sevan?”  

Velan nods, “Yes it’s us, Mattar, did you think your sons would let them keep you?”

I smile at our dear Mattar, “rest now.”

photo credit – stairs to nowhere forest of dean

What If…

A shout from one of the cooks, “Put away your devices, get your drinks, dinner is ready!”
Grandad chuckles, “In my day, mother called us to wash up, dinner is ready!”
Seven adults and five children scramble around the hand-made farm table. Fast-paced, high-spirited but congenial debate evolves into our common discussion of tactical experience versus technological experience.

“I like it when my cuzeen teacheded me how to find a Gym.” the three-year-old offers, referencing the current Pokemon Go craze. A mix of opinions spanning ages and genders ends the evening in a pleasant feeling of exercised minds.

I represent the oldest generation in this cast of family. I have long been a fan of Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. I positively believe that the world will be saved by an unknown genius who spent many hours gaming in varieties of worlds, levels, times and spaces limited only by the imagination of the creators and players.

Our future generations will need to be proficient in virtual planning and strategies. Already there is a need for defense of information and people. The primary weapon will be technology as in Ender’s Game. This fantasy novel written in 1985 is eerily relevant in 2016. Set in the future, Ender Wiggen is the hero of the story. He begins like all the other children in the story playing complicated video games. The world has been defeated twice by an alien invasion. Ender’s combination of human empathy and skilled warfare learned through gaming leads to the eventual defeat of the aliens in the third and hopefully final battle. While we have not reached the outer space alien enemy world we certainly do have alien enemies whose beliefs defy comprehension. Planning and following strategies are just some of the benefits.
Cheryl Olson, Sc.D., a researcher in the first large project on video game effects on pre-teens through a 1.5 million dollar federal grant for Harvard, focused on over one thousand students in South Carolina and Pennsylvania. The conclusions note an improvement in self-esteem for boys and girls especially for those with ADHD or other developmental disabilities. In addition, kids are able to try varying roles and behaviors in a safe environment.  Dr. Olson and her husband, Lawrence A. Kutner, Ph.D. have written a book called Grand Theft Childhood. They allow their teenage son to play video games.
Many games have violent themes yet the FBI reports no significant correlation between violence committed by youths and mature rated video games. Child obesity, another concern, has a higher link to hours spent watching television than gaming. Another study conducted by Michigan State University of 482 children found no statistical link between video game playing and weight gain. The study also found that boys who spent hours on realistic video sports spent more time on actual physical sports activities.
My eight-year-old grandson is hearing impaired and has some developmental issues along with the ever popular ADHD. He also reads, computes and comprehends in the 95th percentile. His favorite video game is Minecraft, a world building game focusing on gathering and surviving. He explains to me with a great focus the ins and outs of teleporting, portals, texture packs and the myriad of other creative aspects. Enamored with my friend’s fairy garden, a kind of real world Minecraft, he wants to build a fairy structure with me. We did it today. He gave the vision and direction while I handled the tools. Without his vision, I might have failed. Without my hands on skill, he might have failed. This could lead one to believe that video games v. hands on is a stand-off. I stand on the side of not so. My reason lies in the fact that it is July, it is 101 today in our neck of the woods, and Halloween is the last thing on my mind. Yet, my grandson spotted some Halloween themed tape in my collection of crafty things and his imagination kicked into high gear. Not only did he provide a theme he also decided a tree house would be the perfect structure for conveying the spooky. He is able to think outside the box, not limited to convention. He was not adept at handling a glue gun but he sure knew where the glue needed to go. I can’t say I was much better and have the blister to show for it.
High-fiving me after my squealed curse, “Way to take one for the team G-ma!”

Between us, we built a fantasy any real fairy would be happy to abide in.
The adults in my family play a fantasy game of our own creation, the stolen title is Zombie Apocalypse. The title covers a variety of disasters that may befall our world including plague, war, economic collapse and meteorological disaster. All of our scenarios involve the collapse of modern technology. The primary weapon will be the ability to adapt and create. I have undeveloped property in the Blue Ridge Mountain foothills of southern Virginia. Most of our fantasy quests involve getting to this property from our scattered locations while gathering and collecting things we may need. We are in no serious way doomsday preppers, we are more like arm-chair what iffers. Our schemes involve building a small society of family and friends who survive and thrive in a post apocalypse world. I know our little fantasy gamers even without modern technology will guide and focus working hands to build the best new world on the property should all hell break loose. At least our little corner of the world will be saved. Other little gamers will do the same in their corners and life will go on ready for the next world or level or time or space.