The G Game

by bluemicrocosm

-- Chapter 8 --

Oct 2, 2:50 pm

Class passes like wind through a fishnet. In other words, Kiros has no recollection of anything taught. The only reason he doesn’t get called out for his serious attention deficiency is the arrangement of the seats. Because of the nature of the class, each student occupies a workstation partitioned from their neighbors by a low wall.

The nature of the class happens to be computer science, which means everyone stares at a monitor and not at the teacher. Which also means this is a class that Kiros never gets questioned in by any teacher who still wants to preserve a thing called pride.

The entire period is dedicated to working on their project, with a brief Q and A for any technical problems in the beginning. Kiros stops listening after the first question. He finished his project a week ago and spends the rest of the time writing random programs or pretending to look busy.

Today, it is the latter.

Typing gibberish onto the screen, Kiros mulls over his current dilemma. Well, dilemmas – there are a lot of them, but he isn’t thinking of the trustworthiness of D, the incredible notion of the SUIA, or severing ties with his family (a relatively minor problem, compared to all else).

Unfortunately, the one plaguing him now stems from the realm named “Lediv,” which should be sufficient warning that a massive headache is on its way. One might think that, given his and Lediv’s similar brainwaves, any conflict between them should be nonexistent or at least easily resolved. As Kiros has learned, Lediv is a constant source of mystery and fascination. The second is good, because it means Kiros will never get bored. The first…not so much. From Kiros’ experience, it generally entails misinterpreting Lediv and acting on that unknown divergence until they spiral into a blistering dispute. At the end of the day, Kiros understands Lediv a little better and never treads the same path again.

They aren’t immune to fights, but their fights are far and few in between, and never irrevocably damaging.

This time, Kiros has his doubts.

Broodingly away on the keyboard, he retraces the disquiet that he first felt to his economics class. What prompted Lediv to raise such a strange question? Despite his claims to make the case more exciting, his motivation for asking remains unanswered. In addition, Kiros is certain that the follow up question has less to do with “challenging his critical thinking” – as Lediv insisted – and more with Lediv’s analysis of him. More specifically, his loyalty.

Operating within the theoretical confines of the game, Kiros failed to grasp the implications of the question the first time around. Lediv’s persistence and unnatural sensitivity to his response at lunch confirmed what Kiros’ felt in class but could not rationally explain.

What Kiros doesn’t understand is why Lediv feels a need to test him. Has he done something that triggered Lediv’s paranoia? Even so, Lediv’s veiled assessment seems too ridiculous to provide any useful observation on Kiros.

Of course Kiros won’t kill him. The thought is simply preposterous and jams a metal rod into Kiros’ gut. He only insinuated his otherwise morbid decision if the scenario that Lediv painted is true. Which it isn’t. Because there is no way that he is a police officer –

Well, being in the SUIA is close enough, since they and the police fight against crime.

At any rate, there is no way that Lediv is a criminal on a murderous rampage through the underworld. Although, given Lediv’s pride and streak of elitism, it’s a wonder that he portrayed himself as the criminal – one acting on a twisted kind of Robin Hoodism, to be sure, but a killer nonetheless. He could have made Kiros the criminal and himself the righteous upholder of the law, which would have been the more likely outcome. Does his failure to act according to Kiros’ expectations hint at some truth to his choice of role playing?

Kiros blinks and stares at the word that he unconsciously typed: impossible.

Despite being painfully apathetic about the rest of the world, the chances of Lediv killing someone are about as good as Kiros killing Lediv. Those probabilities are far off to the right of the decimal point that they might as well be negligible, so “impossible” isn’t such an inaccurate description.

Now who’s paranoid? Kiros thinks darkly.

The most efficient method to deal with whatever is troubling Lediv and resolve a dispute whose origin still eludes Kiros is to confront him. However, knowing Lediv, he will evade and ignore until he is ready to speak, reflecting an obstinacy that Kiros isn’t too thrilled to share.

“Are you alright?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Kiros finds the teacher’s concerned face hovering above his workstation. In the reflection of his monitor, he glimpses a distraught scowl on a normally indifferent face and silently berates himself. Way to undermine his own image.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, well, do you have a question?”

“No. Why?” There’s when Kiros notices the number of occupants in the room sums up to a grand total of two. Oops. Looks like struggling in the realm of Lediv shot down his observation skills too. “Sorry, I was distracted. I’ll be going now.”

He grabs his backpack and nearly runs out before the teacher can follow up.

Several students loiter by the iron-wrought gate, waiting to be picked up or squeezing in the last bit of conversation. Kiros searches for the familiar shine of golden hair, groaning when he sees a blaze of red fired in his direction instead.

Eyes wide and distressed, Mimi demands, “Have you seen Lediv?”

Kiros shrugs. “No.”

“Do you know where he is?”

Kiros considers this for a moment. He has a pretty good suspicion of Lediv’s whereabouts, but between suffering Mimi’s temporary presence and preparing for Lediv’s act of vengeance when he discovers that his friend betrayed him…the former suddenly sounds a lot more attractive.

“No,” he says.

“Aren’t you his friend?” Mimi huffs.

“I didn’t know that you’re supposed to have your friends on GPS. Is this a new trend?”

Mimi rolls her eyes. “Can’t you, like, call him or something?”

“I left my cell at home.”

Extracting a pink phone from her purse and dangling it in front of him, Mimi says, “Here. I don’t usually let people use my phone, but I’ll make this a special case.”

Is he supposed to feel privileged? Thrusting his hands in his pockets, Kiros stares hard at the glittery keypad suspended before him. “Hm, I can’t seem to remember Lediv’s number.”

“What?” Mimi screeches.

Wincing inwardly, Kiros explains, “You see, I have his number saved in my phone, so I don’t need to memorize it.”

“Are you supposed to be, like, super smart? Not as smart as my darling Lediv, of course, but you should know stuff like this!”

“Thank you for the compliment, even if it is backhanded,” says Kiros. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he continues, “First, intelligence is not defined by the capability to memorize. Second, there is no conclusive evidence that Lediv is smarter than me. We have never truly competed on an equal playing field to test that.”

Mimi looks at him as if he has grown another head. “Why can’t you talk like a normal person?” Waving her manicured nails dismissively, she says, “Anyway, if you see Lediv, let me know.”

Kiros wisely avoids pointing out that he has no way of contacting her should he ever decide to. After she disappears into a waiting Ferrari, Kiros takes out his cell and presses speed dial.

“Enemy of the country has retreated,” he says into the phone. “Where are you?”

A few minutes later, Lediv walks out of the building, wearing a grimace to Kiros’ smirk.

“How was your sojourn in the men’s bathroom?”

“Very funny,” Lediv mutters. “I knew she would be waiting at the gate.”

“At least you only have to put up with her for another year.”

“Please don’t remind me. The countdown is terribly disheartening.”

In more ways than one, thinks Kiros. He pauses at the edge of campus, turning back to gaze upon the lonely school. Afternoon light unfurls in the clear autumn sky, cradling the white buildings in its warmth and sweeping shadows into low relief. Behind those walls and on the abandoned ground are four years of memories, of lessons spent in idle thought, of pride-driven competition, of stifling normalcy promising of a bleak future.

A strange feeling flutters in his chest, and Kiros’ turns his back on the attachments that D cautioned against. There is nothing he will miss here. Nothing at all, except –

“Lediv, what are your plans after graduation?”

“I always thought it’d be college.” Lediv looks at him quizzically. “Isn’t it the same for you?”

“Sure, unless I find something better.”

“Like what?” Lediv laughs. “A job to save the world?”

“That sounds more exciting than college.”

A sharp, blue gaze assesses Kiros quietly for a moment, before Lediv says lightheartedly, “I don’t know if you’re suited for saving the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“With such a tremendous task, you’ll likely have to get your hands dirty. Directly or indirectly. And I think we’ve established today that you are against the very act of killing.”

This time, Kiros can feel the scowl tightening his face. “Why do you assume that killing is necessary to doing good?”

“‘Saving the world’ is quite a vague job description. I’m merely acknowledging that crime and corruption falls under that category, and to reduce them involves a high probability of violence. After all, how can you fight without a weapon? And how can a weapon not avoid the risk of injuries and death?”

“You can shoot but not kill,” Kiros contends.

“In other words, incapacitate the bad guys first and then put them in cuffs.” Lediv’s lips curl cruelly. “That’s optimism talking. What’s stopping an enemy from pulling the trigger as long as he’s breathing?”

The answer lodges in Kiros’ throat, vicious and bitter in its honesty. He averts his eyes, as if searching for a kinder response in the dark pavement.

At his silence, Lediv says more gently, “Sometimes you have to stain your hands to stay alive. No one says you have to be happy about it, but it’s a price you must be willing to pay.”

Kiros begins to argue that the likelihood of dating fatality depends on how an investigation is managed, until he remembers Ellie and Tres. Behind their playful bickering, they have no doubt paid the price. Or in Tres’ case, voluntarily. Besides, even an investigation directed from inside a building and conducted through grotesque facts and numbers is not completely divorced from death. D clearly explained that an agent’s lack of attachments serve to reduce conflicts of interest arising from threats to the agent’s friends and family.

“Would you pay?” asks Kiros.

“Yes,” says Lediv. Quiet conviction underlines his words, a steely strength befitting the hard edge in his eyes. “Not all lives are equal, Kiros. Between me and a convict, who can benefit society more? If I were to kill a criminal who deliberately harmed an innocent in order to save myself, then isn’t the outcome all the better? Not only will I continue to live, but the world will be cleansed of a menace.”

“I suppose,” says Kiros, ignoring the flash of triumph on Lediv’s face which quickly vanishes as he continues, “But your judgment is limited to past behavior and disregards a person’s future potential. What guarantees that you won’t become a threat to mankind later on? Doesn’t a convict deserve a second chance to repent for his crime?”

Lediv’s lips thin, his voice souring on the edge of irritation and petulance. “Of course we can’t foresee the future. Yet how many times do we have the privilege of making a decision with complete information? We have to judge according to some sort of guideline, and using past behavior is a more reliable, more fair standard than a toss of a coin.”

Kiros does not like where their conversation has veered off to. Somehow, the innocuous topic of life after high school has morphed into a justification for taking another’s life. Kiros cannot find anything disagreeable with Lediv’s logic (and that in itself is upsetting), but his logic is so clinical and merciless, like a knife brandished over a hierarchical social pyramid, carving out those deemed to be “least worthy” first.

In the prolonged silence, the anticipation around Lediv acquires a smugness that starkly points to Kiros’ flailing argument. When a rare but familiar ring tone buzzes from his pocket, Kiros is never so glad to hear the terse voice.

“Hi, Lisa,” he says, feeling Lediv’s arrogance shift to curiosity. The last time Lisa called was three months ago asking him if she had left the garage door open on her way out.

The voice on the other end hesitates, then says quietly, “Kiros, how far away from home are you?”

Catching sight of the stone bridge in the distance, Kiros says, “About ten minutes. Why?”

“Do you think you can come back a little later? Maybe in an hour or two? I’m having a…friend over.”

Kiros doesn’t miss the hiccup in her request, and is tempted to ask if it’s the same friend who leaves traces of cologne on the couch and bottles of wine hidden in the back of the kitchen cabinet drained each time.

Answering good-naturedly through a cynical grimace, he says, “Okay. I’m sure I can occupy myself for two hours.”

“…Thank you.” It is hard to tell if she’s thanking him for acquiescing to her request, for not interrogating her, or for keeping her secret. Nor does Kiros care.

At Lediv’s inquiring gaze, Kiros says, “I was just cordially kicked out of the house.”

“For two hours,” states Lediv. “In that case, do you want to come over? We can play go.”

The hesitation is a subtle shade in Lediv’s smooth offer, imperceptible to those unfamiliar with the fine delineation between the sincerity and deception of his character. Yet the rawness of that uncertain note, so quickly concealed that Kiros almost didn’t hear it, scatters Kiros’ thoughts in multiple directions.

He has been to Lediv’s house many times. So many, in fact, that Lediv’s parents don’t even blink at his presence anymore. In comparison to the genuine invitations then, Lediv seems to be debating between helping a friend and whatever he has planned for those two hours.

Truth be told, Kiros isn’t exactly enthusiastic about spending the next two hours with Lediv. While there is no one Kiros will rather be in the company of more, their interaction today stung with the serrated edges of suspicion and accusation, hidden under hypothetical veils whose purpose Kiros still doesn’t understand.

The uncomfortable debate preempted by Lisa’s timely call looms over Kiros like a dark cloud. He doesn’t want to walk into it again, to be bound by Lediv’s unforgiving arguments that chain together in a shackle of iron logic. Worse is Kiros’ blindness to the crux of the problem – Lediv’s sudden infatuation with killing – an obstacle he can attempt to remove in the next two hours.

More importantly, if Kiros declines the offer now, it will crack the tenuous reconciliation trowelled onto their awkward lunch session, as well as jab at the bruises sustained just moments ago.

So he agrees.

3: 20 p.m.

A grid of nineteen by nineteen lines separates them, and Kiros searches along the dark engraving of the wood for a way to question Lediv’s odd behavior without raising the other boy’s paranoia.

Taking a black stone absentmindedly from the bowl, Kiros looks for a place to set his piece. Both black and white has occupied the edges and corners of the board, and are steadily advancing their way inward. Although black dominates slightly more territory, the groups also have greater spread, increasing their risk of being captured.

Unlike chess, victory depends not on capturing a specific piece, but on the empty points around you and, depending on the set of rules followed, the number of pieces you have on the board or the number of your opponents’ pieces you have captured. The more area and pieces you possess, the higher your score.

Kiros settles on a vacant point. The glass produces a crisp click on the board as the flat side of the black stone hits the intersection of the gridlines.

He watches in confusion as Lediv carelessly sets his piece down, missing the obvious chance to avoid Kiros’ trap.

Even though both of them can play a decent game of go with their mind miles away from the board, such an amateur mistake is almost insulting.

“Distracted?” Kiros asks, capturing a white stone.

Watching his piece being removed without so much a blink, Lediv says, “A little.”

“Care to share?”

When Lediv shrugs, Kiros ventures, “Is it personal?”

Lediv’s eyes flicker from the board to rest on him blankly. “Why do you say that?”

“You –” have been acting strange, catches in Kiros’ throat. It sounds too much like their conversation during lunch, and Kiros isn’t going down that unproductive road again. “ – haven’t denied it.”

“I have a lot on my mind, that’s all. Mimi, homecoming, college applications…you know.”

Kiros knows that these placating “reasons” are Lediv’s way of telling him to stop prying. Lediv hasn’t shown a remote interest in homecoming, Mimi has been a problem since the beginning of high school, and applying to college is synonymous to receiving the acceptance letter.

“I’m just worried about you.” The words feel strange in his mouth, like clunky rocks that haven’t been processed by his brain yet. He doesn’t like to think of himself as the sentimental type, and the honesty of his own voice surprises him.

Apparently, it surprises Lediv, too, because the other boy leans back and gives him his full attention. “Thank you. But I’ll be fine.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yes, I know.”

A heartbeat, pulsing in the hesitation pregnant with words waiting to be said. When Lediv chooses to abort the anticipatory silence with the clack of his stone on wood, Kiros sighs and aims for what he thinks is the heart of the problem.

“Do you doubt me?”

Lediv’s hand falters, just barely, as he reaches for another stone in the bowl. In genuine puzzlement, he says, “No. Why would I?”

“Well…” Kiros squirms. His eyes wander to the pattern on the board, the possibilities arising from Lediv’s last move branching out instinctively in his head. A resounding click from his landed stone precedes the return of his gaze on Lediv. “I can’t help it if the question of whether I would kill you sounds like a test of some sort.”

“You’re referring to the game in class today.” Again, Kiros can hear Lediv think.

“Mostly, yes.”

“Kiros, I put us in that hypothetical situation as an example. Don’t read too deep into it.”

“Was it just an example? You didn’t hesitate to turn my decision to shoot your hypothetical criminal character into a weakness.” Suppressing the bitterness that curdles his voice is surprisingly hard, and some of it leaks out and snaps at the air.

“Is that why you’re upset? Because I said that you’re unfit to be savior of the world?”

Beneath Lediv’s patronizing look, as if Kiros is a petty person who licks his wounds through accusations, the glint of guardedness has softened into something akin to…relief? Kiros isn’t sure, too riled by the stark surface emotions challenging him to really pay attention.

“No, that’s not why I’m upset. Since the game isn’t about any doubts you have for me, then I can only wonder if you were trying to gauge my view on killing, especially given your infatuation with the righteous of it.” Kiros knows that he should stop, but the sudden tension in Lediv’s posture spurs him on and he asks snidely, “You didn’t kill someone, did you, Lediv? Are you trying to justify your action – ”

“I can’t believe you would ask me that.” Silent fury whets the edges of each syllable into razor sharpness meant to cut down opposition and inflict guilt upon the target. “Even if I did, what makes you think that I would need your approval?”

He needs to defuse this bomb that he willingly took into his hands. Snap the wrong wire, and more than just black and white game pieces will fly. Forcing a calmness that he doesn’t feel, Kiros faces Lediv and says tonelessly, “You don’t need my approval. I would be thinking too highly of myself otherwise.”

It isn’t quite an apology, but the tension slackens.

After a moment, Lediv says, “I didn’t mean to imply anything with the case question. Nor did I mean to insult your qualifications for whatever you do in the future, including saving the world. The morality of killing interests me, but I can see how my…fixation today can send the wrong message.”

Nodding, Kiros pretends to focus on the go board. The buildup of black and white stones never stopped during their verbal volleying, the monochromatic pattern constantly reshaping itself as pieces are added or removed from the grid.

He uncaringly plunks down a black stone, whatever desire he has for playing vanishing in the lingering awkwardness of a close explosion.

Lediv coughs softly, gesturing to the board. “A double entendre?”

Blinking, Kiros realizes that his most recent move leaves only two points vacant, shared by his group of black stones and Lediv’s white. The status of groups is determined by the concept of life and death, in which groups that can avoid capture are considered “alive,” whereas groups whose capture are inevitable are pronounced “dead” and subsequently removed. When two adjacent groups of different colors are positioned to share vacant points in a way that the first mover will be captured, neither player wants to move first, so they leave both groups of stones alive on the board. This situation is called “seki,” or mutual life.

The irony is not lost upon Kiros. He chuckles wryly. “I was thinking of the game, but I guess a certain topic is unavoidable today.”

“Yes.” Lediv picks up a white stone and sets it elsewhere on the board. Then he looks at Kiros with a cryptic half-smile. “But you know, I would choose mutual life under any circumstance.”

Author's Note: Go, anyone?

I realize that this chapter may not be the most exciting, but there's a lot of foreshadowing that will go a long way in the plot. (Hm...Have I said too much already? .) I've been curious about one thing: does Lediv and Kiros' speech sound too stilted? I am trying to walk the line between talking like a typical teenager and that really intelligent guy who does sudoku in the coffee shop.