A man must fight for his planet against impossible odds when gamers from Earth attempt to remotely annihilate it in this epic, fast-paced novel from the All colonist Oliver Lewis ever wanted to do is run the family ranch with his sister, maybe play a gig or two with his band, and keep his family’s aging fleet of intelligent agriculture bots ticking as long as possible. As a fan of Earth television and culture, he figures it will be a good thing when the transfer gate finally opens all the way and restores instant travel and full communication between Earth and his planet, New Sonora. But there’s a complication. Even though the settlers were promised they’d be left in peace, Earth’s government now has other plans. The colossal Apex Corporation is hired to commence an “eviction action.” But maximizing profits will always be Apex’s number one priority. Why spend money printing and deploying their own AI soldiers when they can turn it into a game? Why not charge bored Earthers for the opportunity to design their own war machines and remotely pilot them from the comfort of their own homes? The game is called Operation Bounce House. Oliver and his friends soon find themselves fighting for their lives against machines piloted by gamers who’ve paid a premium for the privilege. With the help of an old book from his grandfather and a bucket of rusty parts, Oliver is determined to defend the only home he’s ever known.

Autorentext

Matt Dinniman

Leseprobe
Oliver, you must remove yourself from bed. Priscilla is missing."

I opened one eye, groaned, and rolled over. My pounding head felt as if it was caught in a press. My lips felt burned and cracked. I'm still drunk. Christ, how did I even get home?

The floating, humming form of Roger moved closer to my head. "Oliver, are you still inebriated? You must get up. Priscilla is missing."

"Who the hell is Priscilla?"

Zap.

"Ow, fuck!" I cried, sitting up in bed, rubbing my arm.

Zap.

"Roger, stop. Jesus."

Roger's correction stinger crackled with electricity. It retracted back into the robot's abdomen with a metallic shing.

"Rule number four," the floating robot said. "No swearing."

"I know the rule, Roger. Why are you in my room? Even if I was still going to school, it's Saturday." I blinked a few times, still disoriented, trying to remember what Roger had said. I had dirt and grass on my arms. I pulled the blanket back to reveal sheets covered with mud, like I'd been dragged home and then unceremoniously dumped into bed. "It is Saturday, right?"

"It is Saturday indeed, Oliver. To answer your improperly formatted query, Priscilla is one of the honeybee scouts. She must be retrieved. That is why I am here. No other honeybee assets are available to do the job, as all are engaged in the harvest or undergoing scheduled maintenance. This means you must do the retrieval. I will accompany you."

One of the honeybee drones? My arm throbbed, and my mind still swirled with fog. It'd been a while since Roger had corrected me. I'd forgotten how much it hurt.

"I can't believe you stung me."

"I was under the impression you didn't swear anymore, Oliver."

"I don't when you're around. I was half asleep. I'm still half asleep." And half drunk.

I yawned, and I regretted it. It felt as if something fluffy had curled up and died in my mouth. I desperately tried to remember what had happened the night before. The party. Rosita's ranch. Rosita and I had gotten into a fight. It was over something stupid. She'd said it was over. The whole village was there. A wave of vodka-flavored nausea swept over me. Everything hurt. I was going to puke.

"Which one is Priscilla?"

"Priscilla is unit number 418. Long-range scout number three. We will proceed to her last location on the map and attempt to recover her."

I pulled myself up, smearing more dirt across the sheets. A small plastic Tyrannosaurus rex toy fell off my headboard. I spent a moment putting the Earth artifact back into its rightful place with the other figures. I took a moment to blow dust off the line of colorful dinosaurs. I then spent a good ten seconds looking for my boots before realizing they were still firmly attached to my feet. They were caked in mud.

My brain was finally starting to catch up. "Wait . . . 'Priscilla'? Are you dating her or something? Since when do the scouts have names?"

"They have always had names, Oliver. Your grandfather had names for all of us, but he turned off the designations when we were repurposed for agriculture. Your sister reactivated the labels yesterday during her lesson at the control center. Are you not going to change your clothes? Rule number nine. Always maintain good hygiene. It appears your clothing is quite dirty."

"We need to go back to the numbers. It's going to be too difficult to remember four hundred thirty different names."

"Lulu made the change in the control center. If you wish to change it back, you will have to implement the change there. I must warn you, your sister was quite taken with the idea of having individual human names for each of the honeybees. She inquired about painting the names on each unit. You have clean clothes in your closet."

"If we're going out there, I'm just going to get dirty again. I'll change and shower after we get back. Speaking of my sister, where is she? Rule number eight. Isn't this her job?"

"That is correct, but Lulu did not come home last evening. It appears she is located seven point one two kilometers northeast of here. When she awakens, as she is undoubtedly in a similar state as yourself, she is scheduled to travel to Burnt Ends for her Saturday supply run. She will not be back until it is dark."

"Wait, really? She's still at Rosita's ranch? How did I get home last night?"

What was the last thing I remembered? Sam and the twins had run back to the Serrano ranch for more booze. My sister and Ariceli had been out in Rosita's greenhouse along with several others blasting music. I'd been with Rosita in the main house, and I'd complained that everyone wouldn't stop talking about Earth politics. She'd snapped at me, and, and . . .

"Melissa and Trixie 2 brought you home," Roger said. "You were retrieved at Lulu's request. You were unconscious."

"Wait, who brought me home? Were they drones?"

"Melissa and Trixie 2 are scouts. This is why you were dragged and not carried."

"Trixie 2," I muttered. I rolled my shoulders. They had dragged me home? Christ, how drunk had I been? My arms were a little sore, weren't they? The thought of being strung between two of the wobbly dog-sized robots was terrifying. They weren't meant to carry something as heavy as me, especially not the smaller-sized scout robots. They wouldn't have been able to fly, not with my weight. I was lucky I hadn't been brained against a rock. "How far out is the unit? What's her name again? Melissa?"

"Melissa is recharging in the barn. Priscilla is the missing one."

I sighed. This naming thing was never going to work. I reached for my com bracelet to send a text message to Lulu, and I grabbed my bare wrist. My bracelet wasn't there. I started to curse out loud, but I caught myself.

"Okay. Where's the unit? And where's my bracelet?"

"Priscilla lost contact with the control center two hours and ten minutes ago. She is seven kilometers southwest of here. Your bracelet is being repaired. You vomited directly on it last evening, which is a direct violation of-"

"Yes, I know. Rule number two. Always keep your bracelet in good working order. Southwest. So, she's in the hills?"

"That is correct." Roger rotated in midair to reveal the small, dingy screen on the bottom of his abdomen. The cracked display barely worked, and I had to squint to see what he was showing me. It was a relief map of the lo…