Gameprey

10

“How are you doing, Montoya?”

Facing the security guard, Gaspar accessed a file on the man. The flatfilm pictures flashed by in the corner of his virtual vision, flipping through images. He found the one he was looking for. Leon Tatum was a day guard. According to the records Heavener’s people had turned up, Montoya — the personality proxy Gaspar currently wore — and Tatum worked together only occasionally.

“Fine, Tatum,” Gaspar replied. “Sleepy, I guess.”

Tatum nodded. “You worked all the excitement last night?”

“Yeah. What’s going on out there?”

Tatum shrugged. “Some whiz kid unveiling the goods. Getting quite a draw.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “You can get a free cuppa caffeine back there. Help you stay awake.”

“I think I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“Whiz-kid stuff,” Tatum said. “Me, I’ll take holo and a good ball game any day.”

Gaspar walked to the outer fringe of the crowd and peered up at Griffen. Jealousy stirred restlessly within him, taking first place over the fear. Peter Griffen had it all — talent, skill, and the breaks to help him make the most of them, and Gaspar had nothing. For just a moment it felt good that he was helping take it away from Griffen.

Leaving his holo active, Gaspar accessed the deeper programs inside the virtual version of the hotel. Although the convention center stayed in place around him, Gaspar seemed to step outside himself, cloning his presence as he slipped into the security code protecting the veeyar that had been set up to run the Eisenhower Productions booth.

A freestanding doorway formed in front of Gaspar. He put his hand on the door and pressed. The metal felt cool to the touch. It also felt impenetrable.

Gaspar rubbed the door slowly, then more vigorously, using crack programs he’d developed, found, and traded for. Gradually the door’s surface peeled away, leaving only the cycling orbit of atoms standing in his way. He kicked in another part of the crack program and turned his second virtual self into two-dee.

Moving carefully, he flowed through the orbiting atoms, sliding inside the veeyar controlling Griffen’s presentation.

“The Realm of Bright Waters is bigger than anything out there,” Peter Griffen said. “It’s almost half again as large as Sarxos.”

Maj watched the images on the holo, as mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the world as the rest of the audience. This has to be the same place.

“It’s gonna replace Sarxos, dude!” someone shouted from the audience.

The viewpoint suddenly climbed, rising above the thickly bunched trees. For the first time the crowd saw how tall the trees were. Near the canopy, the branches and leaves thinned out enough that diffused green sunlight punched occasional holes through. Maj spotted the red sun above, and she didn’t doubt that the blue one would be long in coming.

“Look!” someone shouted.

There, just for a wisp of a second, was a glimpse of a civilization built in the treetops. Materials stripped from the trees created fantastically shaped huts suspended in the branches of the huge trees. Narrow bridges connected them, some of them built with steps that led up or down. Small humanoid figures dressed in leaves and bark, colors added from fruits or vegetables, clambered through the bridges and branches. They drew back bows, and arrows whizzed too close for comfort, reaching out into the audience using the holoprojector set up in the room.

“Elves!” someone cried.

“The world,” Peter went on, “is filled with dozens of races, all of them equipped with their own history, their own economic and environmental needs. There are physical talents, skills, and magic you can learn. You can be a warrior, a bard, a historian, or a mage. And all of those races and abilities are as evenly weighted as I can make them.”

The viewpoint sailed above the trees, cutting through the green sky. The red and the blue suns shined. A diamond-bright river wound through the heart of the forest.

“The water is the key to everything in the realm,” Peter said. “So many people’s lives depend on the rivers, streams, and oceans that are in this world. Water is a thing of mysticism and power.”

The viewpoint scanned down to a fishing village, then to an old man dressed in animal skins sitting cross-legged on the bank of the river. A dozen small children sat around him, their faces obviously enraptured. The old man stuck his hand into the water and drew it back. A shiny tendril of river water followed the hand out, twisting inquisitively. Then the tendril rolled into a ball that floated between the old man’s hands. Images formed in the watery depths.

“You can explore and interact with small villages,” Peter went on, “or you can journey to vast civilized areas.”

The viewpoint hurtled across the sky again, then focused on a towering city carved from the side of a mountain. Roads twisted and ran through the buildings. Horsemen rode down the thoroughfares amid strangely shaped buggies pulled by large, wingless birds and huge lizards.

“You’ll be called on to help kings,” Peter said, “or you can aid those not so fortunate.”

The viewpoint locked on a ragged beggar seated in the mouth of an alley filled with slithering shadows and hungry red eyes.

“You can live a totally alien experience.” Peter smiled. “At least, as alien as I’ve been able to make it.”

Images of creatures seemingly made of mud slithered through dank riverbanks under the water. Long millipedes the color of rainbows suddenly attacked the mud creatures, coring through them or tearing them to bits. Other mud creatures battled the millipedes, using iridescent pieces of shell that shot out white-hot beams.

“You can protect, or you can pillage,” Peter said.

The sea blurred by, then a wooden submarine came into focus. It floated at the top of the waterline, obviously stalking the merchant ship racing the wind ahead. Suddenly a hatch opened, revealing a being with black chitinous hide. Its eyes sat on stalks, and its face was totally inhuman.

Peter paced, smiling proudly, his own eyes drawn to the holos. “You can build—”

Men and women struggled in an arctic wilderness, using hatchets, hammers, and chisels to punch holes into mountains of ice. Others fed campfires and turned spits of meat, all of them struggling to stay warm and alive. Suddenly the ice beneath them split and a huge whalelike creature surged high into the air.

“—or you can search abandoned cities.”

Torch-lit shadows shifted across the interior of a collapsed building. The dulled sheen of beaten gold drew the eye, holding the promise of treasures yet to come.

Abruptly the holo images faded, leaving a ghost in the air for a moment. Then it was gone, too. And Maj knew there wasn’t a person in the room who wasn’t wanting to see more.

“It’s a whole world,” Peter promised. “A place of huge potential for gamers who love the wonderment of exploration, the thrill of battle, and detailed civilization. It’s a game that I created, and one that I still enjoy adventuring in.”

Conversation broke into dozens of pockets as the audience started talking excitedly.

“When is the game going on sale?” one of the reporters asked.

Peter waved to the booth. “Sign-up packages will be available as soon as we open the doors.”

“What about sales over the Net?”

“Those will be available, too.”

Lines started to form at the two doors Maj could see. She couldn’t blame them. The view she’d gotten of the world the night before had only been the tip of the iceberg.

“You play this game?” the reporter asked.

Peter grinned bashfully. “Every day. I don’t know if I’m admitting to gluttony or pride here, but anything that feels this good has got to be some kind of sin.”

Another wave of laughter went through the crowd.

“When do we get a chance to play?” a girl in the front row asked.

“Actually, Eisenhower Productions was a little reluctant about letting anyone online until it was completely finished,” Peter said.

“Why?” Dunn asked sarcastically. “Do they think it may impact the sales potential by showing that the world interaction isn’t quite as good as you make it sound?”

“Actually,” Peter said, “no. Even at this point players can join up on the game and run through a small adventure.”

“Good,” Dunn said. “Then maybe we can find out exactly how limited this game is before anyone starts paying for it.”

Peter shook his head and looked at the reporter. “It’s too late for that. Pre-orders for Realm of the Bright Water have already set new records.”

The crowd cheered, then started chanting, demanding access to the game.

Peter returned to the middle of the stage. “What we’re going to do now is give you a slight peek into this world.”

The small group of businessmen who’d walked in with Peter started forward. Maj tried to read their expressions, but all she saw was concern, and no reason at all for it to be there. What’s going on?

Peter stretched his right hand high into the air. Silver glitter splashed all around him, so thick it became a mist. Steel hardened in his fist, becoming a broadsword that splintered the light. In the next instant, silver armor covered him from head to toe.

It is him! Maj thought. As politely as she could, she started pushing her way through the crowd.

“Shut him down!”

Coiled up deep in Peter Griffen’s veeyar, Gaspar barely heard Heavener’s cold voice. He gazed around the veeyar, trying to orient himself. Griffen’s private veeyar was huge, the biggest that Gaspar had ever been in. Even this one was larger than most personal systems.

“I’m working on it,” Gaspar replied, taking long strides down the corridor. The veeyar was built like a huge warehouse, filled with long glass tubes wrapped by red and yellow electricity.

Gaspar accessed his search utility menu and made his selections. He opened his left hand and stabbed two fingers of his right hand into his palm. He pulled his fingers back out, trailing three crimson wires out of his arm that were yards long. He whipped the wires forward, and they assumed a life of their own.

Animated, oozing like they were made of oil, the wires slid through the warehouse, seeking out the databases Gaspar had programmed them to look for. He ran after them to keep up.

The three wires stabbed into different tubes. The connections flared as they were made. He grabbed the three wires and stabbed them into his left eye, linking up with the connections.

Images exploded into his mind. Bits of coding drifted in and out of his vision as scenes from the convention center overlapped vidclips from the Realm of the Bright Waters. The pain was incredible, and the difficulty in sorting out the coding he needed to allow him to shut the game down was almost impossible.

He built datastrings in his mind, kicking them into the stream that flowed through his vision. Tiny golden bugs formed on the datastrings, quickly chewing through the additions and striving to protect the primary coding. They were part of the antivirus program Griffen had installed on his system. Gaspar hadn’t quite figured out how to get rid of the antivirus, but gaps appeared in the coding.

In the convention center he watched as Peter Griffen’s armor encased him. Gaspar concentrated on writing code, trying to increase the size of the gaps and trigger a system failure.

“Hey, watch it!”

Maj planted an elbow in the guy’s back ahead of her and used his movement to turn around at her to glide by him. She was still six people from reaching the table where Peter Griffen was. The holos remained fixed on the fantasy landscape, looking down on the forest from high above.

“Peter!” she called. “I need to talk to you!”

But there was no way Peter could hear her over the excited roar of the crowd. The guy she’d elbowed turned around angrily. “Come back here and try that again.”

Maj kept moving, feeling equally torn between guilt over her aggressive behavior and the need to talk to Peter. The need exceeded the guilt and she kept moving, using her speed and her agility to navigate the crowd.

She was only two people deep from the tables when Peter raised his sword again and shouted, “Sahfrell!”

Blue lightning flicked down from the ceiling and exploded against the sword. Thunder filled the convention center, and several people in the crowd cowered back, including the men in business suits.

“Oh, man, this is totally cool!”

“I gotta get that game!”

Taking advantage of the surge back from the table, Maj broke through the crowd, sprinting to her goal. She was dimly aware of Nate at her heels.

Another thunderflash crashed through the convention center. This time the lights dimmed, dimmed again, then went out. Security alarms crashed through the darkness as backup lights flared to life.

The immense plum-colored dragon appeared against the ceiling of the convention center. The warm butter color of its stomach picked up the gleam of the security lights, and bright spots shone on the hoarfrost on its face.

More electronic-based detonations erupted from the other booths. The holos rippled, then comets crossed the areas contained within them.

Maj paused, stunned. She didn’t know what had happened, but she felt certain it wasn’t good.

Matt rode the flying goblin as it winged through space. The triangular ships pursued him, seemingly inexhaustible. He guided the goblin hard right, then brought the two cannon online. Triggering a dual attack, he watched the lead ship disintegrate, the pieces somehow flaming in airless space.

Goblin King definitely isn’t going to win any prizes for technical accuracy, Matt told himself, but it’s going to make a lot of shooters happy.

He still hadn’t caught sight of Leif or Andy, but they’d maintained radio contact. His radar screen registered another approaching object. He jockeyed the goblin around.

“Rhidher!” the goblin cried.

Matt looked back toward the right, looking for the attacking vehicle. Instead of another triangular ship blazing in at him, he saw an event horizon dawn. A tidal wave of azure energy slammed into Matt.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in an old Roman chariot. The horse pulled the chariot at a fast canter, and the rough ride jarred Matt from his heels to his toes. He glanced down at the Roman armor and leather kilt he wore. A short sword hung in a sheath at his side.

Then an arrow slammed against the heavy bronze breastplate he wore. He glanced up and stared out at the battlefield before him.

Two chariot lines sped at each other from opposite ends of a desert. The two wheels of the chariot spun through the loose sand. A hot breeze whipped across the plain, lifting small spinning dust devils from the sand behind the chariots.

I got knocked from one demo game to another, Matt thought. It was the only possible answer even though he had no idea how. Even if the demo games were coming from the same programming, the programming was supposed to be distinct enough that crossovers like this didn’t happen. But what had happened to Maj and him last night hadn’t been supposed to happen, either.

He looked around, listening to the whir of the wheels along the greased axles as the horse closed the distance to the attacking line. He drew his short sword and got ready to try to survive the first onslaught.

Less than fifty feet away another chariot driver drove at him, a short throwing spear held in one hand. Matt picked up the heavy rectangular shield from the chariot moorings and slipped it over his arm. He held the reins loosely in his hand because the horse knew what it was supposed to do. He braced himself for the coming impact.

Without warning, a bloodcurdling scream rent the sky overhead.

Matt looked up, spotting the familiar plum-colored dragon almost filling the sky directly above the battle. The huge creature flapped its bat wings, moving swiftly. The massive jaws gaped and a fireball sizzled from the dragon’s throat. There was just enough time for Matt to realize the creature was riderless, then the fireball smashed into the sandy plains between the two attacking groups.

The fireball hammered out a crater in the sand, fusing parts of the immediate area to glass. Heat washed over Matt and made him believe he was about to get parboiled in his bronze armor.

The horse pulling his chariot reared in fear, struggling to get away from the clumps of liquid fire that splattered all the nearby horses, chariots, and warriors. Matt tried to retain his footing, but the chariot overturned, spilling him directly into the path of the oncoming warrior and vehicle. The other chariot driver steered straight for him, intending to run him down with the horse and cut him in two with the bronze-plated chariot wheels.

Dozens of dragon images filled the holes above the other game booths. Maj stared at the booths without comprehending as she walked to the table where Peter Griffen stood.

“No.”

Maj looked up, uncertain if Peter had actually spoken aloud or if it had been someone else. Strong arms seized her from behind unexpectedly.

“Hotel security,” a stern male voice warned her. “Back away from the table. You can look, but you can’t touch.”

The crowd reacted to the dragon’s presence by screaming out in fear and yelling out encouragement. Some of them still dived for cover.

Above, the dragon yawned suddenly and spat a fireball at the Eisenhower Productions booth. Heat — created by the holoprojectors — slammed into the nearest convention attendees, setting off a fresh wave of reactions that still appeared to be equally divided between shrill fear and enthusiastic support.

The person holding Maj took a step back, loosening the grip he had on her.

Maj bumped back against him, throwing him even further off-balance. The come-along grip the man had managed was effective, but only if he maintained it. She slid her wrists free of his hand and stepped forward.

“No.”

This time she was certain Peter said that because she watched him. “Peter.”

Horror stained the handsome face behind the helmet’s visor.

The holographic flames burned along the Eisenhower Productions booth and created three-foot tall letters that read: GRIFFEN GAMES! ONLINE AND ON TARGET.

“Peter!” Maj called, spotting the security guard moving in behind her again.

Peter glanced down at her. For the first time she realized how tired he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and held a haunted look. All the confidence he’d exuded before in facing down hostile reporters seemed eroded.

“Do you remember me?” Maj asked desperately, knowing the security guard was going to pull her back in just a moment. Another man she figured was a security team member approached from the left. “I was in the jet last night.”

Peter held up the sword for attention. “No,” he told the security men. “Leave her alone. I want to talk to her.”

Above them the dragon circled through the air restlessly. The throb of the powerfully muscled bat wings rolled throughout the darkened convention center. The enthusiastic shouts intermingled with flagrant name-calling as well. Evidently there were more than a few people who didn’t appreciate Peter’s suspected grandstanding.

The two security men backed away reluctantly, suddenly busy with the other screaming fans who chose that opportunity to rush the Eisenhower Productions booth. Automatically Peter reached a gauntleted hand down for Maj.

Maj reached for the hand, but her fingertips plunged right through it with a cold sensation.

“I’m sorry,” Peter apologized. “I forgot.”

“It’s okay. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I wanted to talk to you, too.” Peter gazed in wonder at all the confusion sweeping through the convention center. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What?” Maj asked.

Before he could answer, a cold blue light suddenly dawned in the center of his stomach. It ate through his holo image like a flame charring through paper. In the next instant Peter was gone as if he’d never existed.