Don't Read the Comments Read online

“Yeah, hey, I’m here,” I mumble, looking around for my Bluetooth earpiece, trying to force myself into a better mood. This is why you don’t read the comments, Divya.

  The earpiece is bright orange and yellow with white outlines, inscribed with the logo from the game Remember Me, a kick-ass sci-fi adventure with a lady protagonist that I adore. I don’t care if the series got canceled; I wear my earpiece to show my solidarity.

  I will remember you, Nilin, you underrated heroine. You deserved better.

  “You were really zoned out for a second,” Rebekah says. “Let’s go. It’s time.”

  I hear her tapping a few buttons, and suddenly her little screen goes quiet, the video stream of her now bearing a circled microphone with a line through it in bright red. I can still see her, but she’s muted. She won’t appear in video on the stream, preferring to stay behind the scenes for personal reasons that belong to her.

  I chuckle as she reaches off-screen and her hand comes back gripping a giant clear Starbucks cup with a huge froth of whipped cream on top, the beverage most definitely filled with pure chocolate and sugar. “Game fuel,” she likes to call it.

  I swivel in my chair to make sure my room’s door is closed and take a quick peek at my window. Curtain drawn—check.

  We’re good to go.

  For a minute, I debate breaking out my Oculus. It’s way more fun to explore the universe in Reclaim the Sun when you’re using the VR feature, but then I’d have a giant virtual reality headset covering up my face, hiding my expressions while I’m playing. And all of that, blended with the gameplay, is the point of this. Plus, I want to see Rebekah in her side window. Maybe I’ll plug it in later, when I’m gaming solo.

  I look up at my webcam and shift around, trying to find the perfect angle for where I’m sitting, the old camera wrestling to adjust the light balance within the room. I keep my outfits on the stream simple—today I’ve got on a dark green T-shirt with a bright white Halo logo in the center, which makes my green eyes look even greener on the camera. Perfect.

  I hit Record.

  “Hey, lovers and dreamers and streamers!” I exclaim, plastering a bright smile on my face. “It’s D1V, coming to you live from the vast universe of Reclaim the Sun. Today we’re going to be exploring the galaxy and seeing what we can find out here in the cosmos. Hopefully, as I’m out adventuring, I run into some of you! Feel free to hit me up on the Reclaim the Sun messaging network at letter ‘D,’ number ‘1,’ letter ‘V’ and join the Armada as we claim planets for our own.

  “As always, the fantastic and talented and beautiful Commander (Re)bekah is on the stream with us.”

  I point at the camera. There’s an audible click, and the video stream switches to Rebekah, who gives a faux salute to the camera for just a second, and then switches back to me. Even in that quick clip, you can’t see her face. She saluted while looking down. She’s not a huge fan of the attention and prefers to stay behind the camera, even though she’s got tens of thousands of followers on her various social networks from working on this little show of ours. She mostly posts pictures of her coffee, her cat, Garrus, or books. She’s big into bookstagram, making beautifully artsy arrangements to photograph and showcase her current reads.

  And no matter what game we’re playing, if there’s a customizable vehicle, she’ll name it after a book she’s really into. I’ve seen her share screenshots with authors on social media, and they always seem over-the-moon thrilled.

  “She’ll be on deck running around with us in her brand-new vessel, the Heart of Iron, and recording our exploration from another angle to catch all the action. You can flag her ship, as well as mine, the Golden Titan, and track us as we travel the universe—and, of course, please feel free to join our fleet! Though be warned, if you fire on us, we will be forced to unleash upon you the fury of a thousand suns, as well as the fury of the thousand fans who are traveling with us. Your ship won’t survive against my darling Angst Armada.”

  I glance over at Rebekah on the screen and catch her giving me a smile. She’s the one who named our quickly growing fleet, which largely consists of teenagers like us, eager to do a little exploring outside the real world we’re trapped in. And a lot of venting sure does happen on our hashtag and in the game, almost none of which has anything to do with video gaming. School. Breakups. Parents. The usual.

  #AngstArmada it is.

  Rebekah’s been working on getting patches and pins done up for when we make our appearance at GamesCon later in the summer. She says we can potentially make a ton of money, even if we’re only selling them for a few dollars at our table. I wince at the thought of it—not the patches or pins, which frankly sound awesome and like what I’m all about, because how cool would it be to see someone randomly in the mall rocking our fleet badges? And extra revenue to put away for college and help Mom? Yes, please.

  But manning the table. Being in public. Sitting in one place where people can come up and talk to me, shake my hand, take pictures. The trolls and their emails and messages... They get so brutal. And the idea of being someplace in real life as D1V and not just as me, Divya, is terrifying.

  But if Rebekah can be brave enough to do it, so can I. She’s been through far worse than I have.

  “Turn up the enthusiasm,” Rebekah murmurs from her little window, on mute for everyone playing with us and for the stream, but still audible to me. “You sound like you don’t want to be here today.”

  She’s awfully perceptive.

  “And...we’re in!” I shout, lifting my hands up in the air, fingers wide and open. I beam directly into the webcam.

  “Alright, alright, dial it back there on the performance,” Rebekah snipes, and I grin, putting my hands back on the keyboard and mouse. The universe of Reclaim the Sun is welcoming and beautiful on my massive screen, an expanse of sprawling black dotted with faraway stars, each a destination that’s possible to fly off to. The fact that there’s no beating this game, no end goal—that it’s just nonstop exploration—makes it all the more fun. There’s no real competition here, unless you’re looking for a fight. We’re all in this together.

  I look down at the controls on my ship and take quick stock of what’s on the readouts. I’m still feeling a little bitter that I can’t have my Oculus headset on, as I have to navigate everything with my mouse instead of just physically looking at this stuff. I click on the little video window that contains Rebekah’s floating head and drag it over, placing it atop one of the more useless control screens, there mostly for decoration. Seeing her there makes me feel like she’s my real navigator and in this ship with me. And really, she is—without her, there wouldn’t be a proper show with sponsors and actual revenue or any of that. It’d just be me floundering around in front of an audience, one that wouldn’t be nearly as big as the one we have now.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t be doing this at all. I’m not sure what I’d be doing right now without Rebekah’s help, what with Mom and our finances the way they are.

  I give my friend’s video window an affectionate little click with my mouse and turn back to the open universe.

  “It’s that time, Angst Armada! Our coordinates are as follows... Quadrant Seti Six, 51.7, 92.2, 62.7, in the Omega Expanse. We’ll wait here for approximately five minutes, and then take off and try to find an undiscovered planet. With any luck—Whoa!”

  The radar screen goes haywire, and Rebekah’s video screen next to it shows her looking far more excited than I’ve seen her in recent memory. A smile explodes on her face, and her voice erupts in my headset, though her video is getting choppy as she talks.

  “O-Oh my God, —ere has got to be like, a thousand ships in he—” She screams in my ear, making me wince. “How’s your la—? I swear my sys—go—to cra—”

  I check the latency bar, which monitors our connection, and it looks like everything is holding up okay on my end, even as vessel after vessel warps int
o view in front of my ship. Rebekah’s video stream cuts in and out, her voice getting garbled and then clear and then static again. Spaceships of all kinds and shapes and sizes thunder in and out of warp from wherever they were before in the cosmos. Bright neon colors contrast with numerous ships in cold metallic shades, some colored so black, so dark, they practically blend in to the open space. Ships of gold and silver shimmer from the reflecting light of a nearby star, and my radar screen is full to bursting with small glowing dots, each representing a nearby player.

  The Angst Armada has arrived.

  2

  AARON

  There are many planets in the universe, but this one is mine.

  As my small ship bursts through the atmosphere, hurtling toward the planet’s surface, the wind roars outside of my vessel, the chassis rattling with an intensity that makes me feel as though the cockpit is set to fall to pieces.

  Two sights demand my attention. One, the control panel before me, consisting of a small screen tracking my speed and angle of descent, accompanied by a large surface map of what’s below. But as the ship shifts to manual controls and I grip the flight stick, my hands firm against the rubber handles, my gaze is inexorably drawn to the second sight, looming out the cockpit window, filling my eyes with color.

  The actual planet. Undiscovered. New. Mine.

  The sky glows with bursts of ruby, purple, and blue, like paint that’s been carelessly spilled over an impossibly giant canvas. To the right, forests bloom in what look like autumnal colors, although there’s no way to know what the seasons are on this planet, and a large mountain range interrupts the foliage with light browns and beiges. On my left, a long bright blue river cuts through the wilderness, swaths of white streaking through the water.

  Reluctantly, I drag my focus back to the controls. Rate of descent, good. Speed, good. Fuel—more than enough to get off the planet if there’s any hostile wildlife. Readings dictate no humanoid life, which is important, as I’m not here to disrupt anyone’s place in the universe or steal their home.

  I take a deep breath and steady myself for the landing as a suitable clearing appears on the map display in front of me, followed by a glimpse of the landscape through the large cockpit window: a massive field of green, marred by a handful of large boulders scattered across it, like large gray marbles tossed by a child. I try to focus on them as my ship gets closer, lower to the ground. I’d like to avoid damaging my ship and getting trapped here if I can help it.

  With a hum, the landing pads extend, emitting a soft rumbling under my feet. They click loudly into place with a hard snap, and my ship slows and slows until it comes almost to an standstill above the clearing, hovering in place. The roar of the wind is gone now, replaced by the hum of plasma engines behind and below me as they pulse softly, controlling the sway of the ship as I lower it to the ground.

  I land gently, the ship jangling around just a little and letting out a soft hiss of air, decompressing. I peer out at the meadow for a moment, then scan the screens under the flight stick for any sign that the terrain before me might be dangerous. Breathable air? Check, just slightly thinner than back home or here in the ship. I’ll need to be careful when climbing or running too much. Need to keep up my stamina. There’s a water source not far away, though, so I shouldn’t have to carry that much in the way of supplies.

  But that wilderness out there. Those mountains.

  I hit a panel under one of the screens, and it slides open, revealing a small blaster that I picked up on my latest supply run. I toss it in my pack, along with a canteen and some purification tablets for the water by that river. Then I push a button on the digital tracker on my wrist, and a menu pops up, displaying a dizzying array of options. I shake my head and quickly push the map button, eager to figure out where I am so I can start exploring. Details be damned. With a soft chime, the menu closes, and a small white light pulses on the edge of the screen.

  Good. It’ll map the terrain while I walk.

  I stare out the cockpit window one more time, at the field and the boulders stacked around. A splash of color flickers in the corner of my vision, and I turn to see a flock of birdlike creatures taking to the skies, their wings a bright emerald shade of green, their bellies the yellow of fresh corn and full of glimmering scales.

  I press a few buttons on the screen near the flight stick and the cockpit opens, my heart pounding with anticipation as the glass slowly slides away, the view of the landscape sharpening. I hop out, the gravity normal, my feet cushioned by the grasslike plants beneath me. The sky shimmers with an odd mix of vivid colors, and the soft light from two suns dances in lens-flare patterns through the glass on the ship’s open door.

  I gaze hungrily toward the mountains in the distance, then glance around for the rushing river that’s apparently just a few leagues away. I can just barely make out the roar of the water as I check my canteen—half-empty. It looks like a visit to the river is in order, so I can stock up on supplies and see what kind of food this new landscape offers before I trek out into the total unknown.

  With a soft blip, I load up the menu on my wristlet, the display beaming up a holo of light orange text on a darkened background.

  CLASS FOUR PLANET [ESTIMATED]

  Status: Uncharted, Undiscovered

  Life Support Capability: Positive

  Detectable Resources: Timber, Water

  Would you like to claim and name this planet?

  [YES] [NO]

  My heart races, and I feel warm all over. I’ve been waiting for that last option since I started exploring this galaxy. And a Class Four? Awesome. Not going to run and gun it—I’m going to take my time here, do things right.

  With a wave of my hand, a keypad appears in the air above my wrist. But before I can decide on a name for my new planet, static rings in my ear. A flicker of worry runs through me as I adjust the small earpiece tucked inside. Did someone else land on the planet? Communication from my guild at our headquarters?

  A more hopeful thought occurs to me. Maybe a supply vessel is in the area, which would be perfect. I could use some building material, maybe some food supplies until I figure out what I can and can’t use—

  Then the static breaks, and the sound comes in clear.

  “The planet,” a familiar voice says. “Name it Butts.”

  * * *

  I put my controller down and turn around to see my six-year-old sister, Mira, standing behind me, her hands over her mouth, eyes sparkling, a surefire fit of giggles set to explode. She hops back and forth on her feet, her curly black hair bouncing with her frantic, silly movements. I take my headset off, the music from my exploration-meets-real-time-strategy game, Reclaim the Sun, quickly replaced by the sound of Mira’s irrepressible laughter.

  “Mira, come on,” I groan. “Get out of here.”

  “Planet...Butts!” Mira shouts, her hands leaving her face and quickly coming back up, as though she’s trying to hide that she’s the one who just screamed “butts” at the top of her lungs.

  Resigned, I smile and motion for her to come sit with me. She scurries over and squeals gleefully as I pick her up, then settle her on my lap in front of my computer. It’s a massive gaming rig that I’ve slowly built piece by piece over the years, collecting parts off eBay and from discarded machines around my neighborhood—the latter much to my parents’ disapproval. No parent likes seeing their kid drag home old, beat-up computers they’ve found in the trash, no matter how often they tell you to experiment and explore and all that.

  But this—it’s the perfect beast to explore galaxies in Reclaim the Sun. It’s a massive game, with worlds that are randomly generated for exploration and a universe so big no one will ever be able to see all of it. And when you’re playing a first-person exploration game that micromanages even the tiniest things—like upgrading vehicles, customizing armor, establishing trade routes, and slowly creating your ow
n character to look way too much like yourself—you need a lot of power. And even though I have the graphics turned down a bit to keep things running smoothly, it still looks great. Plus, my rig is great for working on the games I’m trying to write with my best friend, Ryan, at our part-time job with ManaPunk, a local game developer.

  And I managed to build it without bothering anyone for upgrade money.

  Not that my parents would give it to me, anyway. We might have money, but none of it is being used to support something they refer to as a “hobby,” a frequent point of contention whenever I come home with parts gleaned from dumpster diving at Penn or Temple, the nearby universities, or discarded computers our wealthy neighbors toss outside, even though you’re not supposed to toss computers in with the general trash. RAM, hard drives, better speakers... My rig is the Frankenstein’s monster of PCs, only I nurture my creation.

  When most people hear that I write video games, I think they imagine coding. Programming and all that. But no, I write. Story-type stuff, dialogue, instructions. Ryan does the art, Laura handles the coding, and Jason, the publisher, does a mix of all of it.

  We’re a scrappy little team, and I love it.

  My monster-machine of a computer helps process the beta code of the games-in-progress better than my regular old laptop, which I drag around to coffee shops when working on the story. But this beast also helps me play games like Reclaim the Sun—because not all of us can afford a fancy game-developing PC on our own, like Jason and ManaPunk can.

  Though maybe I would be able to buy some new parts if he’d just pay me for our last project already.

  “Beeeeeeee...” Mira gibbers, staring down at the keyboard. She leans over the smooth white desk as she glances at all the keys, a single finger on her tiny fist sticking out, ready to jab the letter of her choosing.

  “Here,” I say, unplugging my headphones from the PC. The music of the game blasts from the speakers behind the monitor, an epic classical score that sounds like it’s ripped straight from a Star Wars film, mixed with the sounds of my unnamed planet. The rustling plants, the din of the roaring river, the odd calls from those flittering lizard-birds that have begun to circle overhead, and the hum of my ship’s cooling engine.