“Last night the fourth and fifth floors of the hotel were evacuated after someone activated the fire alarms,” the reporter continued. “The police believe it’s the work of a prankster, or one of the hotel guests burning off a little nervous energy before opening day.”
“That’s good,” Catie said.
“Yeah,” Megan said, “but it also covers the people who were responsible for the break-in.”
“No one was hurt,” the reporter went on, “but a number of people were inconvenienced. Detective John Holmes of the Los Angeles Police Department went on to say that while the convention may draw more than its share of fun-lovers, there will be no tolerance for anyone who breaks the law.”
A quick newsbyte flashed on Detective Holmes from the previous night. He smiled easily for the camera. “I like games as much as the next guy, but there’s a certain amount of courtesy that needs to be observed at events like this.”
The scene cut back to the reporter, who wore a smile. “I talked to Detective Holmes myself, and he made a believer out of me. If anyone steps outside the lines at the convention, they’ll probably find themselves—”
An image of a pig-snouted biker from a popular shooter series superimposed itself over the reporter along with the text: YOU’RE BUSTED, SNOWFLAKE!
“So plan on having a good time if you attend the convention,” the reporter said, “but stop there or the LAPD will stop you…dead in your tracks.”
The holo cut to commercial, introducing a new game by Prism Productions called Power Corps 4. It showed a man in a cape and mask battling alien invaders with power rays streaming from his eyes, promising larger worlds than ever before and more playing time for single-player games.
Maj recognized it as one of the games Andy Moore liked to play. More commercials in the form of news rolled, brief bytes of information designed to intrigue and entrance.
“In some circles,” the blond reporter said when she returned, “Peter Griffen needs no introduction. But until lately, those circles have been small and included predominantly producers, designers, and publishers of computer games and graphics. But after this convention, a lot of folks are betting Griffen is going to be a landmark name.”
The holo changed, showing a file image of Griffen. It was a profile shot of him staring at a virtual tank where computer graphics were written for games without exposing them to the open Net. He was young and earnest, athletically trim. His dark hair was just long enough to hold the promise of wavy curls. He wore slacks and a shirt with the top buttons unfastened, his tie hanging around his neck.
“We tried to get an interview with Peter Griffen,” the reporter continued. “However, we’ve met with no success. Griffen remains a mystery man.” She flashed a million-dollar grin and lowered her voice. “And that’s something reporters just hate, so be prepared to hear a lot about Peter Griffen if his product meets all the build-up Eisenhower Productions, his publisher, promises.”
Her interest piqued, Maj abandoned her efforts on the waffle. She studied the still picture. Why is Griffen so reluctant to seize the limelight if he has the chance? Exposure translated quickly into profit. Even in profile, though, Griffen looked familiar, as if she’d seen him before. Her hand leaped out for the remote control Catie had laid aside. She punched the Copy mode.
The holo moved on, picking up more bytes from one of the new designers hoping to break into the market with a strat-sim based on the Civil War. The game featured a few twists, though, including the invention of the atomic bomb in 1830. Nuclear-ravaged zombies in Union blue and Confederate gray lurched across radioactive wastelands.
Across the service tray and the dwindling breakfast, Megan watched her keenly. “Did you see something we missed?”
“I’m not sure,” Maj said, “but I know I want to get a better look at Peter Griffen.”
“You think he’s the dragonrider?” Catie asked.
Maj tapped the remote control, bringing up the copied still picture on the holo. Peter Griffen’s image filled the holo field. “He could be.”
“At any rate,” Catie went on, “he’s cute. Definitely worth meeting.”
Maj made a face at her friend. She knew Catie was only teasing. But she couldn’t shake the dread that filled her. If Peter Griffen is the dragonrider, what does he know about last night’s events? Is he guilty? Or is he in danger?
Matt Hunter stood among the passengers boarding the one o’clock flight out of Dulles International Airport, trying desperately to hold back a yawn. He wore jeans and a red and black pullover under a light jacket. He held a carry-on in one hand and a backpack over his shoulder.
Passengers continued feeding into the jet.
“Hey.”
Turning, Matt spotted Andy Moore trotting up. Andy’s blond hair looked more rumpled than usual, but his blue eyes were alert. He wore jeans and a T-shirt featuring Captain Alpha, a hero from the popular superhero online game, Power Corps.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” Matt said.
“The autocab I got was on the blink.” Andy shifted the backpack and the two suitcases he carried. “Something was wrong with the GPS system, and I ended up in an argument with the dispatcher over the amount.”
“You?” Matt asked with wry humor. “In an argument? Say it isn’t so.” Andy had a reputation as class clown and as a bulldog for fighting for what he thought was right.
“Hey, it was a legitimate complaint. And I won.”
The passengers continued filing through the gantry. Matt held his ticket out and stepped inside.
“Full flight,” Andy commented.
“The airline overbooked the flight. A few minutes ago they were offering free tickets to anyone willing to reschedule.”
“If they’d offered part of the ticket money back,” Andy said, “I might have been interested. I had to ask my mom for a loan to cover this trip, and you know how I hate owing her money.” His father had been killed during the South African Conflict in 2014, only a few months after Andy had been born. He’d been raised in a single-parent household, and things hadn’t always been easy. His mom operated her own veterinary clinic in Alexandria, Virginia, and Andy worked there to make extra money.
“I know. This trip put a big dent in my savings. When it comes time for a summer job this year, I’m not going to be able to be choosy about what it is. But with everything going on in L.A., I’d rather be there than here.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Andy glanced around the crowd as they continued moving slowly forward.
Matt led the way onto the plane, nodding a brief hello to the young flight attendant.
“Where are we?” Andy asked.
Matt peered through the crowd ahead of them. Men and women filled the overhead compartments rapidly. “Row twenty-three, seats D and E.”
Gradually the crowd thinned as people took their seats. Unfortunately, row 23, seats D and E were also occupied.
Matt looked at the two men in the seats, taking in the suits and the external Net hookups. Commercial class received links to the Net during the flight, but it was basically a mechanical access that allowed the users to handle phone calls, e-mail, and fact gathering from databases. Information was relayed over the laptop screens like flatfilm.
“Excuse me,” Matt said politely.
The man on the outside edge looked up, then looked around. “Me?”
“Yes.” Matt nodded. “I think there’s been some mistake. I’m supposed to be in seat twenty-three D.”
“The mistake’s yours, kid,” the businessman said. “This is my seat.”
Andy nudged around Matt. “No. You’ve got our seats. The flight was overbooked.”
The man looked away and shook his head. “That’s not my problem.”
Shooting the man a withering glare, Andy made a snort of disgust. “Look, my friend and I booked these seats weeks ago. Unless you can ante up and beat that, I suggest you look for another seat to steal.”
“Stand down,” Ma
tt said quietly, in a tone Captain Winters might have used. “Let’s see if we can get this figured out.” He glanced back and caught the young flight attendant’s eye. “We need some help.”
The flight attendant made her way down the aisle. “How can I help you?”
Matt quickly explained about the ticket mix-up. “We’ve really got to make this flight.”
“Tough break,” the businessman. “But what you’re doing can’t be nearly as important as the merger I’m helping negotiate today.”
Looking down at the man, Andy said, “I’ve got a HoloNet flash for you, buddy. If you don’t get out of that seat, the only merger you’re going to be negotiating today is my foot and your—”
Matt started to take a step toward Andy and separate him from the man. Andy didn’t have much patience on a good day, and almost no fear at all of any physical confrontation. He went from class clown to bouncer in a nanosecond.
“Excuse me,” a smooth voice interrupted. “Maybe I can help.”
8
Glancing over his shoulder, Matt watched Leif Anderson stride down the aisle. Leif was dressed in a cream Armani suit that he somehow managed to bring off as casual wear.
“Who’re you?” the businessman demanded.
“Just think of me as a guy helping you out of an unwanted merger.” Leif smiled easily. “These two young men are trying to get into the wrong seats.”
The man grinned in cold triumph and opened his mouth to speak.
“You see,” Leif said, cutting him off, “they’re actually supposed to be in first class. That’s where the really important business goes on.” He looked up at Matt and Andy, then made a sweeping gesture with one arm. “Mr. Hunter, Mr. Moore, if you would be so kind as to join me.”
Matt wrapped a hand around Andy’s upper arm and pulled him along. “First class?” Matt asked.
Leif nodded. “I upgraded your tickets this morning. Evidently you didn’t get my message before you left your house.”
“No. Why would you do that? We could have flown coach.”
“True.” Leif guided them to the first row of seats in the first class section. “But I also upgraded my ticket. I was in the row behind you. Tactical planning on my part since Andy was involved. However, in light of last night’s events I thought we’d be better served by flying first class.”
At Leif’s urging, Matt took the seat nearest the window. He considered, knowing Leif—despite his father’s wealth—wasn’t one to go around flashing money. “So why first class?”
Leif smiled. “Logistics, buddy. Physically we’re miles and hours from Maj, Catie, and Megan, but we can be there virtually.” He tapped the back of the chair. “In coach you get limited access to the Net, but up here the seats are outfitted with implant scanners. Once the plane lifts, we can go online and be at the convention when it opens at ten.”
“I like the way you plan,” Andy said, toasting Leif with his soda.
Matt nodded. “It makes sense, but I’m going to pay you for the first-class upgrade.” Maybe I can get a couple summer jobs.
“No need.” Leif put his seatbelt on and snugged it tight as the flight attendant took her place at the front of the first-class section with the oxygen mask demo. “My dad’s picking up the tab. He’s also going to reimburse you guys for your tickets.”
“All right,” Andy crowed enthusiastically.
“Why?” Matt asked.
“Because Anderson Investments Multinational has put together several portfolios for clients that include stocks in game design and development corporations. You just can’t ignore the impact that industry has on the entertainment sector. If something’s rotten there, Dad said he’d feel more comfortable knowing we were looking into it.”
“He could hire a security team.”
Leif nodded. “Sure, and he probably will. But where’s he going to find a security team who knows as much as we do about games?”
Matt nodded. It made sense.
Leif went on. “He’s going to comp Maj. Megan, and Catie as well. That way the team can concentrate on the mystery at hand, rather than money.”
They sat quietly while the jet trundled out to the runway. In minutes they were airborne.
“Okay,” Leif said, leaning the seat back and flipping up the covers over the implant contacts, “time to get virtual.” He placed his head in the trough, closed his eyes, and let out a breath, gone in that very instant.
Andy followed suit immediately.
Matt hesitated. He’d never entered the Net while on a jet streaking through the air.
“Sir?”
Matt glanced up at the young flight attendant.
“Do you have any questions about the use of the on-board equipment?” she asked.
Matt gave her a grin. “So if the jet goes out of control—”
“You’ll automatically be logged off the Net,” the flight attendant replied. “Sensors from the jet are routed through the Net interfaces the airline provides. They’re very sensitive. Sometimes turbulence will cause the connections to log-off. Some passengers think that gets frustrating.”
Matt glanced around the first-class section and found that nearly everyone was logged on to the Net. He pushed his breath out and laid his head back. The brief, familiar sensation of logging on to the Net passed through him.
I don’t know why I was thinking this would be easy. Maj stared out over the convention center.
Peter Griffen’s booth was strategically placed at the heart of the cavernous convention room. Two information tables occupied each of the four sides, all of them by doors that led into the interior of the huge booth. At least, they would lead into the booth later. For now they were locked.
Advertising in the form of holoprojectors hovered in miniature over the walls, but none of them offered any information on Peter Griffen or what the new game might be. Fifteen minutes’ worth of advertising about other games Eisenhower was doing spewed through the holovids, as well as some past advertising on games that had been major hits.
Even as large as the Eisenhower booth was, the convention center still dwarfed it. No other booth was as large, but most of them had holoprojectors set up to advertise games between the booths and the high ceiling. Gaming centers pushed into the four sides of the convention made do with two-dee screens that covered the walls from floor to ceiling.
Over forty thousand convention guests roamed the broad aisles, filling them to capacity. Voices created an undercurrent of noise that never stopped and was punctuated by bleeps, buzzes, sirens, and clangs from the different games. Excitement rattled through the air around Maj, turning her anxiety up a notch.
“Hey.”
Startled, Maj took an involuntary step back, then she realized Catie had been talking to her. “Hi.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Catie said, dropping out of the flowing crowd to stand in front of her.
“I was thinking.”
“Too hard,” Catie agreed. “I can tell by the little squinkles around your eyes.”
“Those are from lack of sleep.”
Catie glanced back at the booth. “Has Peter Griffen shown up?”
Maj shook her head. “They have no idea when he’s supposed to be here.”
“You’d think this is the place he’d be.”
“Unless he’s somewhere giving an interview. Where’s Megan?”
“With Mark. They got some time on Catspaw, so they’re busy trying to get past the lethal defenses of a wrecked space station embedded in the side of an asteroid. They’re supposed to collect the ship’s journal and get clues about what really happened aboard the ship. It’s one of those mystery-tech adventure games they enjoy.”
Maj watched a guy in a wombat costume on Rollerblades weave through an applauding crowd that separated before him. The wombat waved a purple and yellow flag gleefully. Normally that would make me laugh.
Catie smiled. “I guess Wover’s got a new game out.”
“Yeah, and he seems to b
e pretty excited about it.”
“I’ve got to go meet with an art guy,” Catie said. “I’ll check back on you later.”
Maj nodded. “Good luck.”
Holo displays crowded each other for space on top of the various booths. The holos moved and shifted in neon colors, replications of new heroes and creatures being marketed as well as updated versions and continuations of heroes that had helped create the computer gaming phenomenon. Two ninjas in futuristic energy armor battled each other with laser swords on top of the Fujihama exhibit. Sparks leaped outward when the blades met, but died within inches of the floor or the nearest person. The razored shriek of energy fields meeting boomed like thunder from the speaker systems.
Maj studied the crowd, searching for Peter Griffen, wondering how she was supposed to see anyone in the crowd.
“You are Soljarr,” a nearby display squawked in a basso voice, “warrior-slave to the Tevvis colony. Your brain was removed from your body, then placed in an invulnerable drone so that you could help your captors fight against your own people. To disobey is to die. But there’s a way out, and a way to save your people, if you’re brave enough and clever enough to find it.”
At least three dozen people stood in line between corridors of tape at the Soljarr booth. All of them talked eagerly, pointing at the holo over the structure. The holo showed a shimmering blue-steel exo-body that moved as fluidly as water. Virulent purple blasts erupted from Soljarr’s fists, blasting through a line of squat, mechanical drones powering across an icy tundra, reducing them to flaming bits of metal and gears.
Maj kept moving, but then an uncomfortable feeling threaded down the back of her neck. She stepped from the crowd and looked behind her, studying the faces. Above them a holo displayed a giant panda with a long yellow scarf piloting a tiny biplane, zipping through the air and snagging metallic green coins resting on clouds.
Adults as well as kids and teens made up the crowd, all of them drifting by with the same sense of wonder on their faces. None of them appeared to be paying any special attention to Maj, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was being watched.
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