Gameprey

15

Gaspar Latke panicked, feeling the incredible pull of the fist wrapped around the fiberoptic cable spinning out of his chest. “No!”

“Yes.” Mark Gridley stepped from the e-mail link. Gaspar pulled back, hoping to snap the fiberoptic cable in his chest. The pain when he hit the end of the cable was incredible, almost enough to automatically log him off. He’d extended his pain threshold for Heavener’s operations past all usual settings.

“Go ahead and fight,” Mark told him. “You’re hooked like a fish on a line. Maybe I can’t keep you prisoner here, but if you try to log off, the virus I’ve overlaid into your proxy programming is going to leave a signature I can follow anywhere.” He grinned and took one long step across the Net that brought him up to Gaspar hanging above Madeline Green’s house.

Gaspar ran a quick systems diagnostic on his proxy and found the embedded virus coding. None of the normal firewalls and detectors he kept as part of the proxy’s shielding had even phased it. The kid was good.

“You’ve got to let me go,” Gaspar pleaded. Instinctively he pulled at the fiberoptic cable. “Without following me.”

“No, I don’t,” Mark replied.

“They’ll kill me if you trace me.”

An uneasy look settled across the young boy’s face.

“You didn’t think about that, did you?” Gaspar demanded, knowing he had a slight edge. “About them killing me, I mean.”

“Who are they?”

Gaspar shook his head. “If I tell you that, they’ll kill me.”

“What if I don’t believe you?” Mark challenged.

“Then you might as well put the pistol to my head and pull the trigger yourself.” Despite the overwhelming fight-or-flight reflex filling him, Gaspar made himself relax somewhat. “Have you ever seen anyone die while they were online?”

Even in 2025, with all the safeguards put on the Net, it still happened. A heart patient or terminally ill patient logged on at the time of a massive cardiac arrest was a prime candidate. And no one had found a certain way to predict when a brain aneurysm was going to occur or explode, taking someone’s life with it. Gaspar had seen it happen, had seen proxies unravel on the Net. And some nights the dreams still haunted him.

“I don’t have much time,” Gaspar said quietly. “If they come back and find me online, I won’t be given a chance to explain.”

Hesitation furrowed Mark’s brow. “Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you anything that will lead directly to me. Or to them.”

“What were you doing here?” Mark demanded.

“Leaving your friend a message.” Gaspar closed his hand, then opened it, revealing an icon that was a crude parchment with a ribbon tied around it. “This message.”

“About what?”

“You’re welcome to read it, but I’ve got to go.” Gaspar felt frantic. How long have I been gone already? He hadn’t even checked the time when he’d logged on, and that was usually one of the first things he did.

“Give me something,” Mark said.

“I’m giving you that note,” Gaspar replied. “And I shouldn’t even be doing that.” He pulled at the fiberoptic cable, drawing back. The pain started again, sending crashing pain throbbing between his temples. “Track me back and they’ll know and I’ll be dead. I slipped through a bolt hole I left in the programming, but there’s no way I can get back through it with a trace on me.”

“Go.” Mark turned the fiberoptic cable loose.

Automatically Gaspar ran a systems check on the proxy and found it clean. He logged off and opened his eyes back in the dark room. Heavener was still gone, but he couldn’t quite summon up a true feeling of relief. The clock was already ticking on what was left of his life.

“—and then he was gone.”

Maj sat in her hotel room with her friends. Mark Gridley’s holo stood at center stage, holding all their attention with his story.

Andy shook his head. He sat on the floor against the wall. “You should have left the trace on.”

“If they’d found it, they would have killed him.”

Andy spread his hands. “Excuse me for being the cynic here, but you only had his word about that.”

Mark looked at them a little uncertainly. “I believed him.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Matt advised. “You did the right thing. The guys who invaded Maj’s room last night sure didn’t have any problems pulling the trigger.”

“Sure, the guy thought he was nailed,” Andy persisted. “He was going to tell you any story you’d buy into.”

“Sometimes people tell the truth,” Megan pointed out.

“A body shows up,” Andy said, “you can trace a body.”

“That’s awfully cold,” Catie said.

“I’m just saying.”

“And bodies don’t always turn up,” Leif said. “You’d be surprised how many hostile takeovers among corporations actually turn out hostile.”

Maj hardened her voice. Andy was a friend, but his cynical streak was definitely a pain sometimes. “How about it, Andy? Think you’d have called it any other way?” She met Andy’s gaze fully.

Andy blew his breath out. “No. No, you did the right thing, Squirt. I’m just itching to be doing something instead of sitting around here.”

“Something like pulling surveillance in the game room?” Leif suggested. He munched on a banana from the huge fruit bowl he’d had sent up. There was also a selection of cheeses and crackers and bottled water.

Andy’s face brightened. “Now there’s an idea. If they hadn’t shut the game room down, I’d be in heaven.” The game room had been sealed by the LAPD while a forensics team scoured the area and processed witnesses. Some off-site gaming centers had been set up that were accessible through the Net, but the experience just wasn’t the same.

Maj studied the printout from the letter the mystery guy had left. Visit the Game Producers’ Banquet in the hotel tonight. Look and listen. The package had also included three unique guest passes that couldn’t be duplicated.

“Are you sure it was the same guy you met last night?” Maj asked.

“He had the same proxy,” Mark answered. “The same kind of feel to him. I’d say so.”

“You know,” Matt said, “this could be a setup.”

“That crossed my mind,” Maj admitted.

“Or it could be contact so they can make the ransom demand,” Megan said.

“That I hadn’t thought of.” And that’s a new twist I really didn’t want to think about right now, Maj thought. “But why me?”

“For a messenger,” Leif said. “Maybe it’s because of your Net Force connections. They’ve studied your background by now. They’ll know who you are.”

“They could contact Peter’s publishers,” Maj said. “That would make more sense.”

“Unless you figure maybe they were the geeks who kidnapped Peter in the first place,” Andy said. “Or that Peter wanted them to contact you because he helped kidnap himself.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Andy snorted. “And you got that from the thumbnail history they’ve got on HoloNet, right?”

“Back off,” Maj said angrily.

“No,” Andy said. “Stop and think for a minute, Maj. Somehow Peter Griffen invaded your veeyar here at the hotel while you were showing your sim off to Matt. Guys later invaded your room. Maybe you were supposed to scream ‘Police!’ last night and get some extra attention. Instead, Detective Holmes and Captain Winters squashed the story.”

“You didn’t see his face,” Maj said. “He was just as surprised to see us there as we were to see him.”

“That’s right,” Matt put in. “And the team who was here last night came prepared to kill anyone who got in their way. That wasn’t an act.”

“Who knows? Maybe a game will sell better if there’s a body count attached.”

“Andy,” Catie cautioned.

“Actually,” Megan said, “Andy does have a point. A somewhat bloodthirsty one, but a point all the same.”

“Okay, I’ll take that for an answer now,” Maj said. “But the question remains about whether we should go to the banquet.”

Andy raised an eyebrow and smiled. “It’s your call, Cinderella. That’s your name on the tickets to the ball.”

“And two friends,” Maj said. “Want to escort me?”

“To a stuffed shirt convention?” Andy shook his head. “I’d rather have surgery to remove—”

Leif interrupted hastily, “I’d love to go with you, Maj.”

“Fine.”

“Count me in.” Megan looked around the room. “Unless someone else would rather go.”

“The three of you should be fine,” Matt said. “The convention’s going to be heavily guarded, physically as well as virtually, so I don’t think you’ll have any problems. In the meantime, Catie can hold down the fort here and work as a communications go-between while Mark, Andy, and I knock on a few doors to see what we can turn up.”

“What doors?” Maj asked.

“I’ll dig into the bio material you’ve archived on Peter,” Matt said. “I thought maybe Mark and Andy could check into some of the online gamesites, places where Peter has been known to hang out.”

“Now that,” Andy sang out, “is my kind of assignment.”

“I’ll work up a short list of places to start,” Mark said. “I’ve looked over some of Peter’s records. Andy and I will get right on it.”

Leif plucked a strawberry from the fruit bowl. “Then I’d say we’re adjourned here.” He checked the time. “We’ve got a little over an hour till the banquet.” He glanced at the two girls. “I don’t suppose you packed anything banquety?”

Megan launched a disgusted sigh. “Nope. I was expecting fun and frolic, and tons of games.”

Maj shook her head, thinking frantically.

“Then, if you’ll allow me,” Leif said, “might I suggest the little shop downstairs.”

Maj remembered the cocktail dresses she’d seen in the window of that shop. The price tags were obviously set by NASA. “That’s a little out of the budget. Cinderella may have to go as pre-fairy godmother Cinderella.”

“I took the liberty while we were talking,” Leif said, “of setting up an account for you at the shop. My dad’s picking up the tab for this little adventure in return for information I can give him concerning the gaming market. Especially the Peter Griffen situation. He’s got people ready to start investing in Eisenhower Productions, provided things don’t turn sour.”

“Gee,” Megan teased, “you don’t exactly look like the fairy godmother type. Never even saw the wand.”

Leif passed one of his hands over the other, making a rectangular piece of plastic appear. “Universal Credit Card. Don’t leave home without it.”

“Is this your first time at the game publishers’ banquet?”

Startled, Maj turned to face the man who’d suddenly appeared at her side. Is this the guy Mark saw? She studied him, looking for a clue.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” The man was in his early twenties, average height but narrow-shouldered and as compact as a rapier. His black skin glistened in the low light of the banquet room. His head was shaved as smooth as an egg. He wore a black tuxedo.

“It’s okay,” Maj said, and smiled. “I guess maybe I got a little caught up in playing who’s who.”

“Derek Sommers.” He held out his hand. The blue and white name badge on his jacket read DEREK.

“IPG Games,” Maj said, getting a little excited. “You created Banshee’s Curse.”

Derek smiled and bowed slightly. “That’s me.”

“I’ve played your game.”

“I kind of figured that. I hope you liked it.”

“Are you kidding? The game was a monster hit.”

Derek laughed. “Let’s hope we can say the same about the sequel.”

“You can’t miss,” Maj said, enjoying the moment. Banshee’s Curse was a favorite game. “I mean, the way you just leave the characters at the top of Carrig’s Tower, with the first piece of a treasure map they hadn’t expected to find, you can’t walk away from that.”

“Maybe I could get you to write a glowing review for the cover copy,” Derek said. “If I knew your name.”

“Oh, sorry.” Maj introduced herself. “And, yes, this is my first game publisher’s banquet.”

“Have you got something new coming out that I should be looking for?”

“Actually, I’m here trying to find a publisher for a flight-sim.” And trying to figure out what happened to Peter Griffen.

“Usually they only let game publishers in.”

Maj felt a little embarrassed, but the tickets had checked out good under the scanner the security people were using. If they were fakes, they were definitely top-of-the-line.

“Personally,” Derek said, “I’m glad to see somebody who likes my game instead of hearing someone talk about theirs.”

Maj grinned, but inside she was still feeling intense. “Well, this year they seem to have added something new. Kidnapping.”

Swirling his glass of champagne, Derek shrugged. “If you believe what you see.”

“You don’t sound like you do.” Maj glanced around the room again, taking in the ornate splendor of the huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the painted vases, and the way the low walls crammed with plants broke the floor into almost private sections. Trees at the corners of the walls helped carry out the illusion. Still, there were large gathering places near the room’s three open bars. A heavily laden banquet table filled the center of the room.

“I guess maybe I’ve been around too many marketing people,” Derek admitted. “They’ll use anything they can to hype a product and get it out into the hands of consumers.”

“Surely they’d stop at kidnapping.”

“Marketing people,” Derek said seriously, “don’t stop at anything. Trust me.”

“I thought that was one of their standard lines.”

Derek’s grin was even broader. “A girl with a sense of humor. I like that, Maj Green.”

Maj enjoyed Derek’s attention. The shimmering dark red cocktail dress she wore made her feel as elegant as anyone in the room. And Derek’s attention didn’t come across as flirty, just as fun. “So you think Eisenhower Productions and Peter Griffen are in on the kidnapping together?”

“I can see it happening. In fact, I was even thinking of it as a game hook.”

The suggestion caught Maj’s attention immediately. “How?”

“You’ve got Peter Griffen out here introducing what looks a killer game,” Derek said. “Only in the middle of everything, he disappears. At least, that’s what we’re told. I could see marketing coming up with a contest: Enter Realm of the Bright Waters, fight evil wizards, ride flying dragons, and find Peter Griffen to win a million bucks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Think that would get the gaming community’s attention?”

“Yes.” It’s definitely got mine. Maj ran the scenario through her mind, trusting her instincts. She remembered how sincere Peter had looked as he discussed his game. No way could she imagine him faking his own kidnapping to build up game sales. Then again, Leif did mention that Eisenhower Productions had been looking for a solid hit for a few years. Maybe they weren’t the only ones.

“Everyone knows,” Derek said, “if you get an interested gaming community, you’ve got an inflated profit. I believe Peter’s disappearance has got dollar signs tied to it. Something like this is worth millions in advertising alone. And that’s being conservative.”

“Do you know anyone at Eisenhower Productions?” Maj asked.

“Acquaintances.” Derek glanced around the room. “Nobody I do business with.”

Maj had already noticed the table reserved for the Eisenhower Productions crew. Peter Griffen’s place card stood at one end.

“Surprise, surprise,” Derek said in a low voice, glancing in the direction of a dozen people who’d just been ushered into the banquet room by the maitre d’. “We’re being invaded by the media tonight.”

Veronica Rivers, the reporter who’d been covering the gaming convention at the hotel, was prominent among the reporters. The maître d’ showed them to a table, but the reporters immediately wandered off, staking out interviewing claims.

“That’s a vicious little game Eisenhower Productions is playing,” Derek said. “If they engineered Peter’s disappearance.”

“Why?”

“If those entertainment reporters figure out they’re getting used, they’re going to turn on Eisenhower like a system-wide crash fragmenting a hard drive. With the financial situation they’re in, that wouldn’t be pretty.”

“What financial situation?” Maj asked.

Derek shook his head. “I forgot you weren’t in the biz there for a minute. Rumor has it that Eisenhower Productions was about to climb in the old financial coffin before Peter Griffen and Realm of the Bright Waters came along. That’s part of the reason he was able to muscle them into agreeing with everything he wanted. However, they ran short on liquid cash. So did Peter, from what I heard.”

“I’d heard he was financially stable.”

“He wasn’t in any danger of starving,” Derek admitted, “but it takes a lot of cash to develop a game. Most publishers underwrite development, but in Eisenhower Productions’ case, they weren’t able to do it. Peter may have gotten more rushed than he wanted. Maybe he and Eisenhower Productions were both desperate.”

Maj tried to make that fit with what she had seen of Peter, but it didn’t work. Peter had come across too confident, too sure of himself. But that could have been an act.

Abruptly a public address system cut on, filling the banquet area with staticky noise. “May I have your attention, please.”

The crowd turned to face the speaker’s area as the lights dimmed and spotlights ignited one end of the room. A short, heavyset man with a curly beard and glasses stood in the middle of the light. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Don DeGovia, CEO of Eisenhower Productions.”

A slight murmur ran though the crowd.

Maj listened with keen interest, wondering if Peter Griffen had already been found. And if he had been, in what kind of shape he was in.