Noah leans forward and lowers his voice. “Don’t laugh, but I just like the strategy games. I figure, why run around getting shot and diving into foxholes when you could be the general giving the orders?”
“OK. I hate to admit it, but I tried some of those games and I got kind of bored real quick. I was always more into the action.” He gives Noah an encouraging smile. “I always liked the puzzles, though, so maybe I should try something new. Maybe you could show me sometime.”
“Seriously? You’d be up for that?”
“Yeah, why not?” Hank laughs. “I’d better not tell my dad, though. If he thinks I’m playing at being an army general, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Noah shoots Hank a sideways look. “I don’t think he could object to the kind of games I play.”
“You don’t know my dad,” Hank says. “He has this thing about officers—always complaining about all the assholes he knew back in the day.”
“Well, unless your dad is very old indeed, I think you’ll be fine.”
Hank doesn’t say anything for a second. He watches Noah, and he can see the excitement in his eyes. He’s going to tell me anyway, he thinks. But his curiosity gets the better of him. “Go on, I’ll bite.”
“Simple. The armies I command are from Ancient Rome. Legionaries, cavalry, archers, siege engines. All that stuff. And I like to fight the battles that actually happened—the Gallic tribes, Carthage. The real deal.”
Hank scratches his chin. “Wow. I never heard of that. I think they might do that stuff at the Trust, though. I saw all those VR Roman soldiers they have, but no one said anything about a game.”
Noah’s eyes widen. “You’ve seen the Eleventh Legion? They showed that to you?”
“Yeah, that’s right. The Eleventh Legion. They said some professor set it up and the students get to help out with it.”
“Oh man, I can’t wait to get my hands on those bad boys.” He stares into the middle distance. “The Eleventh,” he murmurs. “Man, the hastati. They must be something else.”
“The hast—what?” Seb asks.
Noah looks back at Seb, and his dark eyes are alight with excitement. “The hastati. They’re like a heavy infantry unit. But with spears and shields and swords. Young guys in the first line of attack. Man, I’d like to see them in action. Those guys are like a goddamned meat grinder.”
“Yeah, they did look kind of fierce,” Hank admits. “They gave me a pretty good cardio workout when they started stomping toward me.”
“So what were they like? Were they realistic? What weapons did they have? Did they have the right insignia and all that kind of stuff?”
“Search me,” Hank says. “I only saw them for a second. And it was weird.” He thinks back, picturing the way the soldiers appeared in front of him, remembering the way the ground shuddered beneath his feet. And he sees again the look of concern that flicked over Alain’s face when Hank asked about the vibrations he felt from the marching of virtual feet.
“What’s up?” Seb asks. “You just went white as a sheet.”
Hank shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” He looks away, turning his head as if searching the cabin. “I wonder if they’ll bring us something to eat. I skipped breakfast.”
“Sure,” Noah says. “But it’s a private jet, so I guess you can get up and walk around if you want to. Hell, they’ve got a couple sofas back there and a huge TV.”
Hank looks from Seb to Noah. “You guys want to go watch some TV? Maybe we can scout out a pizza or something—kill the time while we wait for this thing to take off.”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Seb says.
Noah’s grin dimples his cheeks. “You know what? That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
CHAPTER 25
IN KWAN’S LAB, Stewart stands and looks at Sanjay for a second. Her smile is genuine enough, but when she first looked up, did he detect a flicker of embarrassment in her expression? And was that tiny widening of her eyes just recognition, or did it betray a hint of alarm? There’s one way to find out. “Hello, Asmita. I didn’t have you down as one of Kwan’s acolytes.”
Asmita gives him a sideways look. “Because I’m a girl?”
“No, of course not.” Stewart scans the group. There are at least half a dozen young women among their number, and all of them are staring at him coldly. “I’m sorry if I gave that impression,” Stewart goes on. “I just meant that I always thought your interests were more…” He hunts for the right word. Now everyone in the group is glaring at him.
“Typical!” someone mutters under their breath.
Asmita frowns. “You were going to say academic, weren’t you? But we’re not just a bunch of grease monkeys, Stewart. This is serious work.”
“I know,” Stewart says. “But I was under the impression you spent all your spare time playing games, Asmita.”
A ripple of restrained laughter runs around the group and Asmita blushes. “Oh, shut up. I’m not that bad.”
The young man next to Asmita pats her on the arm. He’s shorter than Asmita, and he gazes up at her with a gentle smile on his face. “Sorry, but it is kind of funny. You’re not exactly a player! You’ve got to know, Asmita, you’re hopeless with a headset. You fall over trying to walk in a straight line.”
Asmita pulls her arm sharply away. “Shut up, Thomas. What the hell would a third-year grunt like you know about it anyway? You don’t even get a rank for another two years.”
Thomas flinches at Sanjay’s words, and some of the older students look at him and shake their heads in pity.
“Asmita,” Kwan says, and there’s a note of warning underlying his gentle tone.
Asmita holds up her hands in mock surrender. “All right. I get it. Sorry, Thomas. But you started it. You shouldn’t cast aspersions on someone if you can’t take the heat.”
“Whatever.” Thomas bows his head and looks back at the game. “Are we playing this thing or what?”
But the other students are all watching Stewart carefully, their inquisitive eyes darting from him to Asmita and back again.
Stewart narrows his eyes, ignoring everyone except Asmita. “You don’t play? You don’t run through any scenarios or simulations online?”
Asmita shrugs. “Only when I have to—for a seminar or something.” She looks Stewart in the eye. “I don’t understand. What’s all this about?”
“It’s probably nothing,” Stewart says quickly. “But let me clear something up. Have you ever logged onto the VR system late at night? Or in the early hours of the morning?”
“Of course not.” Asmita’s eyes flash with a spark of anger. “You know what? I get tired of this attitude. There’s more to life than wandering around in VR. We do real work in here. Real work with real world applications. Hardware and cybernetics just don’t get the funding they deserve. They may not be the most glamorous subjects, but they’re just as demanding as the other disciplines and at least they have practical applications. They’re just about the only things around here that actually make people’s lives better.”
“Too right!” someone says, then a sullen silence fills the room.
“OK, everyone,” Kwan says calmly. “I’m sure Stewart meant no offense. It’s good that you’re passionate about your work, but we listen to each other in this room. And we treat everyone with equal respect.” He turns to Stewart. “You mentioned a puzzle when you came in—what can we do to help? I’m sure we’ll try our best.”
Stewart gives Kwan a grateful smile. “It’s actually a hardware problem.” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out the headset, and instantly, the atmosphere in the room changes.
Thomas looks up, his eyes alive with excitement. “Woah! Seriously old school!” And his voice is joined by a chorus of good-natured jeers and cackles:
“I had one of those when I was a kid, and it was ancient history even then.”
“Dude, that is beyond retro.”
“What the hell is that thing? A joke or
what?”
“It’s for real. I tried one of those things once and it got so hot it burned my skin. I’ve still got the scars!”
Stewart shares a look with Kwan. “What do you think, Kwan? Can we get this thing fired up between us?”
Most of the students laugh and shake their heads. But Thomas stands up straight. “We can do it, Kwan. You’ve got that old interface kit in the back room.”
“I’m not sure,” Kwan says. “I think you know more about what’s in that room than I do, Thomas. Do you think you could find it?”
“Sure. I know exactly where it is.” He takes a step away from the table. “I’ll bring it out here.”
Kwan looks like he’s about to agree with Thomas, so Stewart cuts in. “Actually, could you bring it to Kwan’s office instead?”
Thomas hesitates and gives Kwan an inquiring look.
“Thank you, Thomas,” Kwan says. “If you bring it to my office, I’ll look at it in there. We don’t want to distract everyone.”
“OK.” Thomas smiles and heads for the back of the room.
“Seems like a bright lad,” Stewart says.
Kwan nods. “Aren’t they all?” He throws Stewart a shrewd smile. “Come on, let’s retreat to my office. I need to clear some space so we can work on this antique.”
Stewart follows Kwan to the small office in corner of the lab, and when he sees the state of Kwan’s desk, he lets out a low whistle. Circuit boards and dismembered machinery cover most of the desk; the rest is cluttered with books and papers.
“You should see it at the end of the year,” Kwan says, picking up a bundle of papers and shuffling them into a rough pile. “It gets so bad I live in fear of the whole lot sliding off and burying me up to my knees. I could be trapped in here for days and no one would know.” He laughs.
“It was good enough for Edison,” Stewart says. “What was it he said? Have a place for everything and keep it somewhere else.”
“This is not advice, merely custom,” Kwan adds. “Yes, I should have that on my wall.”
The door opens, and Thomas backs in, weighed down by a plastic crate of equipment. “I couldn’t knock. I had my hands full.” He looks at the cluttered desk. “Where shall I put this—on the floor?”
Kwan hurriedly scoops up a couple of circuit boards. “These are fragile, but we needn’t worry about the rest. You can put the box down on the table, Thomas. I’ll sort it out.”
“All right.” Thomas slides the box onto the desk, sending a flurry of papers tumbling to the floor. “Do you want me to hook it up for you? It’ll only take me a minute.”
“No thank you,” Stewart says. “You’ve been a great help, but I’m sure you have other things that require your attention.”
Thomas’s smile vanishes. “Oh. All right. I’ll…I’ll go and…” He points back toward the lab.
“I’ll see you later, Thomas,” Kwan says. “You were going to show me how you’re getting on with that new control module. It sounds very impressive.”
“OK,” Thomas says. “Later.”
And when Thomas leaves the office, Kwan gives Stewart a cold look. “What’s this about, Stewart? I didn’t like the way you spoke to Thomas. He’s struggling with his studies at the moment, and I don’t want him upset.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for niceties,” Stewart says. “I needed him out of the way. I’m dealing with a very serious matter here, and we can’t say anything in front of the students. All I can tell you is that I need your help to get this headset working.”
Kwan says nothing for a moment, then he crosses to the door and closes it firmly. “All right, Stewart. Let’s see what we can do.”
Stewart stands back to make room, and Kwan gets to work, pulling an assortment of leads and matte-black, metal boxes from the crate. “This system is modular. I have to find the right combination of units before I make something that will talk to your headset.”
“It’s that complicated?” Stewart asks. “How old can it be?”
“The age isn’t the problem.” Kwan holds out his hand. “Give me the headset. I need to check something.”
Stewart hands over the headset, and stands in silence while Kwan takes a hand lens from his drawer and studies the headset’s arms. Stewart leans forward to see, but although he can make out some lettering, it’s far too small to read. Kwan grunts under his breath. “I don’t know. It’s tricky. When they made this thing, VR was like the wild west. There were no proper standards, no common interfaces. The frequencies, the voltages—everything’s changed since then.”
“All right. But can you do it?”
Kwan sniffs. “Give me time. Take a seat. It might take a while.”
Stewart clears a stack of books from a chair and sits down. He drums his fingers on the chair’s armrests until Kwan shoots him a look, then he folds his arms and sits still, a barrage of questions running through his head: What use could Eileen have for a piece of obsolete gear? Had she found a way to make it work? And why did she leave it behind? Was she in such a hurry that she forgot to check the top shelf? It’s unlikely; she was so careful in her escape. But if she left the headset deliberately, what could that mean? So few people would spare the damned thing a second look. Even Gordon left it behind after his search, and he was usually so scrupulous in everything he did.
“Ah!” Kwan drops something on the table and a spark leaps, sizzling from one of his metal modules to the other. “Damn it!”
“Are you all right?” Stewart starts to get from his seat, but Kwan waves him back down.
“Yes, yes. I just got the polarity wrong. Give me time. I know what to do now.”
Stewart hesitates, then he stands up. “Sorry, Kwan. I’ve got things to do. I didn’t realize this would take so long. I’ll come back later.”
“Wait. I think I’ve…” Kwan slips the headset on. “Yes, I’m getting a signal. It’s good to go.” He takes the headset off and offers it to Stewart.
“You’re sure? It’s not going to start spouting sparks again is it?”
“That was the interface,” Kwan says. “The headset’s fine. In fact, apart from the cosmetic damage, it’s in remarkable condition. Someone’s looked after it, maybe even had some parts replaced.”
Gingerly, Stewart picks up the headset and puts it on. Immediately, the UI springs into life and a multitude of rapidly changing status indicators flicker across Stewart’s field of vision. “God, this thing’s primitive. I can’t tell what the hell’s going on.”
“Can I see?” Kwan asks, hopefully. “And when you’re done with it, maybe I could have it for my collection. The students get a kick out of the retro gear.”
“I’m not sure. It depends.” Stewart scans the scrolling rows of messages, but most of them are spurious as if the headset has been programmed to throw out distracting information while its system boots. “Would this thing have some kind of history? An activity log?”
“Probably,” Kwan says. “It was built for gaming and people always like to record their progress. There’s got to be a main menu—try that.”
“All right.” The system settles down and Stewart locates the main menu, nestling in the top right-hand corner of the UI. Open menu, he thinks, but nothing happens. “Damn it! There’s no neural sync on this thing. I should’ve realized.”
Kwan chortles quietly. “It’s way too old for that kind of tech to be wearable. But you could try voice control—that might work.”
“Good idea.” Stewart takes a breath. “Open main menu.” The UI responds and the menu slides out. “Er…select user profile.” A small image pops up—a female avatar that Stewart doesn’t recognize—and beneath it, the profile’s title is just one word: Scarlett. Stewart looks down the list of options, and when he sees the heading Personal Log, he holds his breath. This is just what he’s looking for. “Open personal log.” A list of entries appears, all dated. “Got it!” Stewart whispers. And he bares his teeth in a triumphant grin. The most recent entry is from on
ly a week ago: proof that Eileen figured out a way to use the headset, and since it can’t have been easy, she must’ve had her own reasons for choosing such an obscure piece of tech.
“You’ve found something?” Kwan asks. “What is it?”
“It looks like a video file of some kind.” He hesitates. “Sorry, Kwan, but could you give me a little privacy for a minute? I need to play this and it could be confidential.”
“Of course,” Kwan says. But even through the scuffed lenses of the headset, Stewart can see the suppressed disappointment in his eyes. “I’ve left the students for too long anyway. If I don’t keep an eye on them, they start taking things to pieces. And they can’t always get them back together again.”
“Thanks for this, Kwan. But there’s one more thing—if the students ask, please tell them that the headset didn’t work. Tell them it was broken. Beyond repair.”
“If that’s what you want.” Kwan stares at Stewart for a second, his lips sealed tight as if he’s biting back his words. “But I’m not comfortable lying to the students, Stewart. It doesn’t come easy. And I hope it never will.” He inclines his head politely, then he walks to the door and lets himself out. He doesn’t look back.
Stewart stands still for a moment, thinking. Kwan’s parting shot runs through his mind, and not for the first time, he thinks, I don’t belong here. I’m a specter at the feast. Northridge is a place of learning and high ideals, a place where young people come to build on the freshly laid foundations of their dreams. But here he is, embroiled in lies and deceit, up to his neck in the murky undercurrents no one else wants to wade through. I thought I’d left all that behind—all the cynicism, the suspicion, the distrust. But it’s as if he’s a marked man, his old life clinging to him like the stench of death and corruption on a slaughterman’s skin. But what can he do about it? People are relying on him, they’ve placed their trust in him. And without someone to take out the trash, the whole place could quickly become tainted, damaged, broken apart. You’ve got a job to do, he tells himself. So you can bloody well stop moping and get on with it.
The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2) Page 19