“Sometimes there are tricks,” Pedro murmured. “We’d best pay close attention.”
“I see one already,” Fotina murmured back. “He has come to look like you.”
Pedro was startled. “Whatever for?” He focused on the waitress. “She looks like you.”
“And the others look like the other players,” she said. “Except for the extra man and woman.”
“Eight waiters, ten players,” he agreed. “The appearance must count in some probably unpleasant manner.”
“Yet, how could seeing the hired help imitate us be more than a curiosity?” she asked.
“Never underestimate the deviousness of the writers who craft these games. There’ll be something.”
Their own waiter sent a masculine stare at their waitress. She turned away, then glanced archly back. They were flirting! Yet, the actual Pedro and Fotina had not being doing so.
The waiter walked around the table and bowed to the waitress. She curtsied to him. He gestured to the dance floor. She nodded, accepting. He took her hand and led her there.
“I agree with you,” Fotina said. “They are up to something, and I am increasingly nervous about it. What happened to our order for the main course?”
“I don’t know, and fear we will not appreciate it when we discover how their present actions relate.”
The waiters and waitresses danced, all four couples, beautifully. Their expertise was professional; they made turns and lifts that were beyond the capacity of ordinary folk. The women’s skirts flared out into full circles as they twirled on their dainty feet. The men synchronized perfectly, catching them and supporting them exactly right.
“I would love to look that graceful!” Fotina said.
“You do,” he said sincerely, causing her to blush again, becomingly.
“I’m still trying to figure out how this dance could possibly relate to our meal, or our progress in the game.”
“Or what the game proprietors are hoping we’ll say, while we have this semblance of privacy,” Pedro said.
“With only sixty four million viewers watching and listening.”
He shrugged. “Some may be watching the other tables, or even the dancing; it’s a nice show.”
They looked as their doppelgangers did another very nice lift and twirled. Her legs flashed all the way up to her panties. “At least now they have underwear,” Fotina said.
“In case this gets difficult, we need a way to communicate privately,” Pedro said.
“But the game monitors everything!”
“Maybe not everything.”
“But we’re just avatars here. They have to know everything we say and do.”
“They may not pick up on everything.” He found her foot with his foot, under the table. “I love you,” he said, and pressed once against her foot.
She gazed at him, confused. “But—”
“I hate you.” He pressed twice.
She considered. “These are mixed signals.”
“I really don’t know how I feel.” He pressed three times.
“You are making no sense at all,” she said. Her foot pressed his twice.
She had caught on! Once for true, two for false, three for confusion. “I’m sorry.” He sent no signal.
“I think you do have a point.” She pressed once. “Though I also think you are crazy.” She pressed twice.
“That too,” he agreed. They had succeeded in setting up an avenue of communication they could use as needed. It might count for nothing, but could be helpful. Regardless, he was pleased to verify her intelligence, in this incidental manner. She was a smart girl, in or out of the game.
The waiters and waitresses concluded their dance exhibition. They returned to their respective tables. Pedro, Fotina, and the other players watched silently, knowing something was coming. The two of them still looked exactly like Pedro and Fotina.
The waitress removed her clothing and lay on her back on the table. The waiter removed his and joined her, his member rising and swelling formidably. He mounted her, guiding his penis into her cleft and settling on her for a kiss. He thrust, withdrew, and thrust again. He went into an evident climax, and she joined him, clinging to him as they panted together.
“It’s like watching ourselves,” Fotina murmured, pressing his foot once.
“I disagree. They’re only imitations.” He pressed her foot twice, to indicate that he really did agree with her.
Then the waiter got off and dressed. The waitress sat up, got to her feet and dressed also.
But there was an oddity. The waitress’ clothing no longer fit. Her belly was expanding visibly.
“She’s pregnant!” Fotina said, surprised. She didn’t need to press his foot.
“So it seems,” Pedro agreed warily. This little skit was amazing and confusing: what was the point?
The woman’s abdomen became huge. Her “pregnancy” was advancing at an astonishing rate. Maybe a month per minute.
Fotina glanced around. Pedro did too. The three other waitresses were in similar states.
The waitress lay back on the table. She lifted her knees, spread her legs, and heaved. From her open vagina something emerged: the head of a baby. She heaved again, and more of it slid out. Soon she had, relatively cleanly, delivered the full baby. He had short brown hair matching the color of the parent’s hair, and looked somewhat like Pedro. He took a breath and cried.
Pedro touched Fotina’s foot, signaling her to brace herself. Whatever the point of this mini-drama was, was about to come clear.
The waitress picked up her baby and held it to her breast. She got off the table.
The waiter brought a toaster oven and set it on the table. He brought an empty platter and a steak knife. He set them on the table. Then he took the baby from the waitresses’ arms and set the baby on the platter. Then he put the loaded platter in the oven, closed the door, and turned the oven on. The baby cried as the heat intensified.
Chaos erupted. Fotina screamed, as did the women at the other tables where it seemed similar scenes were being enacted.
“It’s only emulation,” Pedro reminded Fotina. But he was severely shaken. How could they show such a thing, even in pretense?
Fotina sat there, staring without focusing. He nudged her foot, but it was unresponsive. She had been stricken to the core.
Pedro found he could not move. Whether this was his own incapacity or a restriction by the game he didn’t know. All he could do was watch.
The waiter opened the oven. He used potholders to remove the hot platter. The baby was cooked and browned. The waiter set aside the oven, then picked up the knife. He sliced a section off the baby’s rump.
Pedro saw that the baby now looked like roast turkey. The little play was over, and their entry was being served. It was just another pretense, like the urine, feces, breast milk, mucous and semen. They would have to eat it, or lose out to those who had fewer scruples.
And there was a couple doing it already. The man looked around at the others. “Whatsa matter, chumps?” he asked. “Can’t play the game?”
“I can’t!” Fotina said, in tears.
Pedro did not try to argue with her. She knew it was emulation rather than reality. It was the implication she couldn’t handle: that there was any circumstance in which she would eat her baby, in reality or symbolically. He understood perfectly. He could probably do it if he had to, but not if it meant washing her out. He had meant it when he said he would not hurt her. “If you go, I go,” he said, and he tapped her foot once.
She extended her hand. He took it. They were about to wash out of the game together.
• • •
Fotina held Pedro’s hand and closed her eyes. Her emotions were tumultuously mixed. She was grief stricken to fail her family by washing out of the game before coming close to the big prize. But she simply could not handle the idea that she could ever harm a baby that way, her own or anyone else’s, even in a completely imaginary setting. Yet she was
pleased that Pedro was joining her, lending his support when he surely could have gone on without her. It indicated that he did love her in return, at least enough to put her before his game ambition. That counted for a lot.
Moments passed, but nothing seemed to change. She cracked an eye open. She was still in the dreadful restaurant, still at the table with Pedro. How could that be? She had balked, and that eliminated her, didn’t it?
“Aren’t we gone?” she asked stupidly.
“Apparently not,” he said.
“May I have your attention, please, players,” a voice called. “Please rise and form a circle around the dance floor. Something has come up.”
Fotina looked at Pedro. He shrugged, not having any better idea than she did.
They got up and went to the dance floor. The other players did the same. Soon ten people were standing in a large irregular circle. Fotina clutched Pedro’s hand tightly; she needed him now, more than ever.
Two figures appeared in the center. One was a tall, handsome man in a well-tailored business suit. The other was a stately older woman in an evening gown. “I am Ero, Proprietor of the Eroma game,” he said. “My companion is Roma, Chief Executive Manager.” He paused to smile briefly. “I assure you, in real life, IRL, neither of us look anything like these avatars.”
If he expected a responsive chuckle from the players, he was disappointed. All of them were too shocked by the recent incident, and too uncertain by this abrupt departure from the regular game format.
Ero spoke again. “Normally, we would have eliminated one more couple, leaving four to continue the next round. But there are two complications. The first is that it appears that only one couple is qualifying, and four being eliminated. This is not feasible for the orderly continuation of the game. The second is that we appear to have a viewer revolt on our hands.”
Pedro spoke. “You crossed the line with that last challenge. We are not baby eaters, not even in pretense or parody. Fotina and I prefer to wash out of the game than to participate further in such a degraded episode.” Heads around the circle nodded; the others agreed with him.
Except for the one couple that had eaten the baby. “It’s a game, rube!” the man said, sneering. “If you can’t handle it, you don’t deserve to remain.”
“Fuck off, shithead,” another man snapped at him. “We have standards you evidently don’t.”
“Well, you lost, loser. You knew the rules.”
“We knew,” Pedro said. “That’s why we’re ready to concede defeat. Conscience demands it.”
“Amen,” another player agreed.
“This appears to be the sentiment of the great majority of our viewers,” Ero said. “They feel that the last challenge was beyond the pale. Now that Roma and I have reviewed it, we agree; we trusted our programmers without considering the deeper sentiments of the players or the larger audience. We apologize for putting you through this horror and ask that you put it behind and continue the game.”
“It’s a bit late for most of us,” Fotina said. “We have already been eliminated.”
“Not so,” Roma said. “We are suspending that aspect.”
“You mean to substitute a different challenge?” Pedro asked.
“No,” Ero said.
They looked at him, perplexed.
“We mean to modify the rule,” Roma explained. “Four couples will qualify; one will be eliminated.”
“Which one?” the sneering man asked.
“Yours,” Ero said.
“Hey, wait an instant, buster! We qualified.”
“You assumed you qualified,” Ero said evenly. “You assumed that the challenge was to do a reprehensible thing, when, in fact, it was to make an honorable sacrifice.”
“You can’t do that! You’re changing the rules after the game has been played!”
“In difficult cases, the proprietors have the authority to interpret the rules,” Roma said. “That rule exists, as can be verified. This is such a case, and we are exercising it. We prefer not to have your kind in our game.”
“Bitch!” the man yelled. “You can’t—”
He and his partner faded out before he finished the sentence.
“There may be a lawsuit,” Ero said. “We will handle it. Are the rest of you satisfied?”
The others considered, and slowly nodded. Justice had been done, game style, and now they could proceed to the next round.
Except for Fotina. She struggled with herself, and realized that she couldn’t accept. “No.”
Roma turned to her. “I don’t understand.”
“You did change the rules. That’s not fair. I can’t take advantage of that.”
The other players exchanged glances. They had accepted the change, but evidently Weren’t entirely easy with it.
“She has a point,” Pedro said.
Fotina flashed him a smile of appreciation for his support. Nevertheless, she argued with him. “You can stay, Pedro. You have a game to win. My decision is for me alone.”
He shook his head. “If you go, I go,” he repeated.
“This is awkward,” Ero said. “We need four couples.”
“You can promote one of the losing couples,” Pedro said.
“We need you,” Roma said.
“We’re not special,” Fotina protested.
Ero addressed the three other couples. “We will take them aside and reason with them. The rest of you have qualified. We will see you in the game next week. We believe we can persuade this couple to remain in the game.”
The others faded out, leaving just the four of them. They were, in effect, alone. What were the proprietors up to?
Roma focused on Fotina, and suddenly Fotina knew that this was not a woman to be trifled with. This might be an avatar, but behind it was a formidable business executive. She intended to have her way, and believed she could manage it. Still, Fotina intended to stand her ground.
“You entered the game in the hope of winning enough money to secure your family’s finances,” Roma said. “If you leave now, you will sacrifice that.”
“I have to win fairly,” Fotina responded. “We do need the money, but it matters how we get it.”
“And I think you are not about to debate that,” Pedro said, supporting her again. She truly valued that!
“We are not,” Roma agreed, her mouth twitching with a semblance of humor. “But we are about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
Fotina waited noncommittally.
“In return for your continued presence in the game,” Roma said, “we will arrange to have your father rehired at his old position. That will abate the family financial crisis, and enable it to meet its several obligations.”
Fotina felt her jaw drop. “You can do that?”
“We can. We have high connections. He’s a good worker and they were sorry to let him go. There are signs the economy is recovering. They wish to recover valuable personnel. Everybody gains. This represents an ethical solution to your family problem.”
Fotina was unable to speak for the moment. She had never anticipated this.
“Your research is impressive,” Pedro said. “But it begs a question: why are you so desperate to have Fotina in the game?”
“You know why, Pedro,” Roma said. “It’s the romance. Our viewers have locked onto it, and the longer the two of you are in the game, the higher our ratings become. We need both of you. If we lose you, the ratings will plummet, and our sponsors will not be pleased.”
Pedro nodded. “Fairly answered. If Fotina stays, I stay. But it is her decision.”
The three of them looked at Fotina, awaiting her choice.
What could she do? She had no certainty of winning the game. This compromise would solve her family’s problem in the best possible way. She was not easy about the change in the rules, but the offer was overwhelming. “I’ll stay,” she whispered.
“Congratulations,” Ero said. “Now we have another matter to discuss.”
“A
nother?” Fotina was blank. “Haven’t you gotten what you want?”
“Not all of it,” Roma said. “We want your wedding.”
Fotina looked imploringly at Pedro, not knowing how to react.
Pedro picked up immediately. “Fotina and I are interested in each other,” he agreed. “But that does not mean we will marry. We both know that things may be substantially different IRL. We may have little in common outside the game. We simply don’t know, having had no opportunity to get to know each other there. Plus, if we do decide to marry, why should we do it in the game?”
“For our ratings,” Roma said. “They would break records.”
“Why should we care about that?”
“Because we are prepared to make another deal to make it worth your while.”
“We don’t even know each other that well,” Pedro repeated. “Marriage is a serious matter. Being rushed into it for some deal is foolish, apart from being singularly unromantic.”
“You have had no chance to get to know each other in real life,” Roma agreed. “We believe you would confirm your love and desire to marry if you could interact outside the game.”
“Or realize that we are not right for each other,” Pedro said. “But That’s academic, isn’t it?”
“No. This is the deal: if you marry, you will do it in the game for our audience; in exchange we will arrange for the two of you to interact in real life for a week.”
Fotina’s heart throbbed. “How?”
“We will send the two of you to Honeymoon Isle at our expense, for the week between this round and the next. This is a private resort reserved for serious or married couples. No one there will find your association to be remarkable. They are all lovers.”
Fotina was wickedly tempted. To be with Pedro physically for a week! Even if it didn’t work out, it was bound to be a phenomenal experience.
Pedro hesitated. “We have jobs we can’t just skip.”
“We have connections there too. Competent substitutes will report, with the approval of the management.” Roma smiled faintly. “They will not seek to displace you; your jobs well be secure.”
“Our folks will wonder,” Fotina said.
“You will explain to them that the game has provided an incidental benefit for achieving the fourth round. Quickly; a limousine will be waiting to take each of you to the airport from your respective residences. There will not be time for questions.”