by Alex P. Berg
It could’ve been my imagination, but it seemed as if Masters’ face hardened as I spoke. His eyes grew more steely, and his jaw tightened—a surprising response for a man as innocent as he proclaimed to be.
He spoke in a tight voice. “What? You think I’m going to stand here and confess? To what? Some heinous crime? You’re even stupider than you look.”
“Not as stupid as you,” I said. “I’m not the one who programmed his online avatar to act exactly like him, including being as big a liar as he is. To claim you’re a gamer, an Intro, when all evidence points to the contrary. Did you really think that would fly? How dumb do you think gamers are?”
I didn’t think it would be possible, but Masters’ face hardened even more, and a pall fell over it. When he spoke, he did so slowly, menacingly, and from a place of intense loathing.
“Why do you care?” he said. “I can tell you’re not one of them. An Intro. A gamer, like that insufferable prick Caetano. You think their lives are worthwhile? Something to be cherished, to be lauded? No. They sit all day in their chairs, oblivious to the reality around them, wasting food, wasting resources, wasting the very air we breathe while those few of us who remain, the doers, the thinkers, the Extros, we are the one who craft the worlds, the real ones and the fakes. Is that even really living? When your entire existence can be boiled down to a series of repetitive actions, a life spent inside a representation of reality, and when your entire conscious being can be replaced by a carefully programmed piece of code, a non-player character? These people you claim were targeted by some madman? You say their lives were snuffed out, but it sounds as if not much has changed. Are you sure they weren’t merely lines of code on a servenet?”
I narrowed an eye and glanced at Sanz. “Did he just say what I think he said?”
“Not really,” said Sanz. “He’s too smart to have admitted to anything. Now shut up and get in the car.”
Again, Officer Sanz didn’t give him much choice. He put one hand on Masters’ shoulder and another on his head and pushed him into the vehicle. The two officers who’d accompanied us followed him in. Sanz hung back and closed the doors. The sound of the cruiser’s electric motor whirred into action, followed promptly by the whine of the air conditioner restoring the cab’s interior temperature.
“Insufferable prick Caetano,” I said as Sanz turned back to me. “I wonder what he did to earn Masters’ ire?”
“Must’ve slighted him at some point,” said the officer. “Clearly Masters hates gamers but holds a special place in his heart for the ex-CEO. It would explain why he tried to frame the guy as well as take out as many Intro gamers as possible. We’ll keep digging. We’ll figure it out.”
“Speaking of Caetano,” I said. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“Oh, we’ll let him walk,” said Sanz. “And give him an apology for the way he was treated. Knowing his type, I’m sure he’ll take it and run. Won’t want any further confrontation.”
“I wonder if, after the dust settles, Princess Gaming might welcome him back?” said Carl. “Masters was the instigator for his ousting, after all.”
I shrugged. “Might not be a bad idea, if he’s willing. They’ll need to do something to weather the public relations nightmare they’re staring in the face.”
Silence stretched for a moment as we all retreated to our thoughts. The electric cruiser purred.
“Well…I should go.” Sanz eyed me and gave me a nod. “Look, Rich, I know you’re the one who keeps thanking me for being included in these arrests, but I feel I owe you some thanks as well. If not for your actions, both conscious and unconscious, I’m not sure we ever would’ve gotten to the bottom of this.”
“Come on,” I said. “You would’ve figured it out sooner or later.”
“Probably,” said Sanz. “Which is why I’m not about to award you a medal for your actions. But if nothing else, it would’ve taken us longer to do so, costing countless more lives. Believe it or not, you and Carl saved people. That’s something to be proud of. Just promise me one thing, going forward.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Next time, when a police officer asks for your statement, be honest with them from the start. It’ll save us a whole lot of trouble in the long run.”
“I’ll do it,” I said. “If there’s a next time.”
Sanz snorted. “I like your optimism. Take it easy, friend.”
He opened the cruiser doors and shuffled inside. As soon as he’d settled himself, the car doors closed back up, and with a light whirr, the vehicle sped off. I watched it fade into the heat glare radiating up off the pavement.
“So,” said Carl. “What now?”
I turned to my lifelong pal. “What do you mean? We got Masters. I’m no police officer, but the evidence against him seems solid as a rock. I don’t care how many lawyers he hires, I suspect he’s going away for a long time. Life, probably. Depending on how old Masters is, that could be a long time indeed.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Carl. “When Officer Sanz told you to cooperate with police, you said you would—if there’s a next time.”
“You picked up on that, huh?”
“You expected it any other way?”
I stuck my hands in my pockets, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I don’t know, Carl. This case left a bad taste in my mouth. It’s one thing to track down missing cats, or fend off a bunch of fundamentalist nutbags, or even track down a group of space pirates, but this? Dealing with a sick, twisted murderer who thinks people’s lives are no more important than computer code? It’s not something I want to deal with. Ever again.”
Carl lifted an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want to hang up your hat and coat—metaphorically speaking, of course?”
“I don’t know, Carl,” I said. “If I’m not enjoying it, why keep at it? It’s not as if I need the money. I didn’t need it even before I received that windfall from the InterSTELLA case.”
“But then what will you do to pass the time?” asked Carl. “The main reason you became a private eye was to challenge yourself and keep your mind fresh.”
Oh, no, said Paige. Here we go again. I’ll fire up Smashblocks. Maybe with a few months more practice, you can beat your all time high score of twenty-one billion.
I smiled. Given the severity of the case, Paige hadn’t been quite as flippant as she’d normally been. It was good to have her back.
“No guys,” I said. “I don’t intend to sit around and play mindless Brain games all day. Trust me, after my time stuck in that malicious simulation, I don’t have any desire to play those ever again.”
So what then? said Paige. You plan on settling down? Starting a family?
I snorted. “Please.”
“Well it sounds as if you have some sort of plan in mind,” said Carl.
“Actually, I do,” I said. “You know of all the things I took part in during that Brain simulation—the teamwork with that insufferable Kriggler, the delving into Cetif’s seedy underbelly, the illogical droid battles—there was one itch I found that I enjoyed having scratched.”
Chatting with a loquacious Tak arms dealer? offered Paige.
“No,” I said. “Travelling the stars. With my own ship. I think I should buy the Kestrel Chinook Z-class after all.”
Carl blinked and answered slowly. “That…wasn’t what I expected to hear.”
“You don’t approve?”
“Not at all,” he said. “I’m glad you made the sensible choice of going with the Chinook over a used freighter or some other nonsense.”
“So you’re with me, then?” I said. “You’ll be my co-captain or first mate or chief officer or whatever the heck you want to call it?”
Carl clapped me on the shoulder. “I’d go to the ends of the universe with you, Rich. You know that.”
So, said Paige. Instead of Rich Weed, Private Eye, you’d be known as…what? Rich Weed, Interstellar Voy
ager?
“I was thinking interstellar privateer, myself.”
Privateer, said Paige. That word doesn’t mean what you think it means.
“Fine, then,” I said. “Rich Weed, interstellar voyager it is.”
I smiled as the words rolled off my tongue. Interstellar voyager. As I spoke them out loud, I realized—you know what? I liked the sound of it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hi. I’m Alex P. Berg, a mystery, fantasy, and science fiction writer and the author of Brain Games. While Rich’s endeavors as a private investigator may be over, his adventures in outer space may only be just beginning. Be sure to sign up here for my new release mailing list to find out about new Rich Weed stories, as well as other books and novellas, as soon as they’re available.
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Want more exciting adventures, head-scratching mysteries, and snarky dialogue? Check out two of my other series:
*Red Hot Steele (Daggers & Steele #1): Join homicide detectives Jake Daggers and Shay Steele in this hard-boiled mystery chock full of magic, fantastic creatures, and more laughs than you can shake a stick at.
*The Black Mast Murder (Driftwood #1): Mystery and intrigue rule the high seas in this Pirates of the Caribbean-style adventure featuring constable John “Driftwood” Malarkey and his supernaturally-gifted wife, Gwen.
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Want to connect? Visit me at www.alexpberg.com. You can also follow me on Twitter, interact with me on Facebook, or e-mail me at [email protected].
For a complete list of my books, please visit: www.alexpberg.com/books/.