The Game Players of Meridien: Chronicles of the Second Empire (Chronicles of the Second Interstellar Empire of Mankind Book 1)

by Robert I. Katz

  “My son made mistakes,” Mrs. Gerhard said. “Many, many mistakes.”

  I thought for a moment that she would slam the door in my face but she was a lonely woman and here was an opportunity to talk with another human being. She drew a deep breath and blinked her eyes. “His father had died. It was a long, painful illness and Justin was angry. I tried to make him behave, but I did not know how and he kept getting into trouble. He joined a gang. They stole things, not because they had to but because they enjoyed it. Stealing things was fun. Fun. He got caught more than once but he was young and the laws are different for the young. He was spoken to. He was given juvenile detention where they kept him with other young criminals and tried to teach him that his actions were unacceptable. Nothing worked. And then, suddenly, he was not so young. And the next time he was caught, he was given a choice: go to prison or join the military.” Mrs. Gerhard gave a small, bitter smile. “He had role models in the military, who did not drink alcohol until they vomited and ingest drugs and steal. They were men. Justin did well in the military, for a little while. I was hopeful. For the first time since he was a little boy, I was proud of him. And then he died. An accident in training, they said.” She shook her head. “All so useless.” She looked at me. “Have I answered your questions?”

  “Just one more: who were these friends of his, this gang that liked to steal?”

  “Eric Strauss, Karl Petterson, Frederic George.” She shrugged. “I don’t know where they are or what happened to any of them. I hope they rot.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gerhard. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

  She sniffed and closed the door.

  Chapter 14

  Even before leaving on this expedition, a search of Avalon databases had given me the gist of Mrs. Gerhard’s story. What I needed from her were names, and now I had three of them. Stephan Burk and Ernst Muller had been friends before joining the Commandos. Their school records had been redacted but it was easy to read between the lines. Both of them had been suspended twice for unspecified offenses. Their outside activities were at least as unsavory. Burk had been accused of driving a vehicle while under the influence of alcohol, hitting and killing two pedestrians. Muller had broken another boy’s jaw in a fight and then assaulted the boy’s girlfriend.

  Both, just like Justin Gerhard, had “died” in training accidents, all three involving high explosives with no bodies left to recover. The Avalon Commandos, it seemed, had a lot of training accidents. Over the past ten years, there were four others. The pictures of the victims were available online. None of these four were among the eleven men who had attacked my warehouse.

  The families of Burk and Muller lived in the city of Lenz, five hundred kilometers from Wittburg. If necessary, I would pay them a visit but I had enough information to keep me busy right here, at least for awhile.

  I hadn’t told Jennifer where I was going or what I was doing, but she knew enough to leave me alone while I did it. She slept late, ate breakfast and then had a massage on a balcony overlooking the lake. She was ready to be a tourist again by the time I returned.

  “More vineyards today?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. I’m still considering the pros and cons of the idea.”

  She grinned. “Uh-huh.”

  I grinned back. “Shall we go to the museum?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Let me get my purse.”

  The Museum of History and Antiquities at Wittburg had some local renown, with a substantial collection of First Empire artifacts. A large, neo-classical building, rectangular, with Greek columns spaced along the entrance, the museum was surrounded by a wooded park, with a sculpture garden in front. An ancient re-creation of a sperm whale fighting a giant squid hung from the ceiling of the lobby. Jennifer gave it a doubtful look. “Were they really that big?”

  “I have no idea. We never had them on Illyria. They’re probably extinct by now, even on Earth.”

  The first exhibit comprised a series of life-like dioramas of a savannah on the Western continent, with stuffed lions and water buffalo and chimpanzees peering out from behind trees. The next hall contained animals of the polar regions: seals, penguins, polar bears and walruses, a skate resembling a 20-foot amorphous blob, native to Illyria that had eagerly adapted to eating the herring and krill transplanted from Earth. A plaque said that the initial terra forming team had been reluctant to introduce polar bears to Illyria, one of the more vicious species known to mankind, but after a few generations, it became apparent that they needed something to keep the seal population in check.

  We wandered from hall to hall. Jennifer was more taken with the display of gemstones than I, but an exhibit on volcanism held a miniature volcano that erupted every hour. We both stared wide eyed as the hologram shot what appeared to be real lava into a night time sky. The floor gave a life like rumble and most of the crowd gasped, including us.

  The next hall contained the famed collection of First Empire artifacts. Most were enclosed in glass cases but a few of the larger ones were set on raised pedestals with ropes around them to keep the crowd from getting too close. The function of most was a matter of speculation.

  The first case held small metallic globes. The information card said that these were “familiars,” small robotics with advanced AI functions, designed to provide advice and companionship. Supposedly, each citizen of the First Empire had his familiar.

  On one pedestal sat a cylindrical chamber, slightly larger than a human: an auto-doc. They could carry out a full diagnostic work-up, administer medications and even perform minor surgery.

  Another pedestal held a desk and an upright metal chair with an attached helmet. The desk contained a holo-screen. The card said that this was an education unit. The helmet immersed the wearer into a virtual reality, fed information directly into the brain and stimulated the formation of artificial memories.

  An open chamber stood in a corner of the room, large enough for ten or more people to enter at once: a conference center, linked to similar such centers across the world. The chambers were holographic, and allowed those who entered to mingle as if they were actually together. The card stated that the chambers were replaced by a cybernetic web, a few hundred years later in the Empire’s history.

  A line of people snaked around the front of another pedestal, and on the pedestal itself stood an open metal box that looked disturbingly like an upright coffin. A dim red light shone near the top. The plaque stated that this was a game console and after more than three thousand years, it was the only artifact here that still functioned, at least a little. The console had originally been programmed with almost two hundred scenarios, from world building to war games to fantasy worlds to mysteries, similar to the games that Oliver Enterprises manufactured, except that these scenarios were entirely immersive. They were interactive and with the resources of a world wide web and numerous consoles, thousands could participate at the same time, but only one game still functioned. Not much of a game, really. You entered the box and closed the door. The AI asked you a series of questions and then told you your fortune.

  The people on line seemed eager to try it out, so Jen and I decided to do so as well. Most spent no more than a few seconds inside and soon, Jen entered the box. The door closed. The door opened less than a minute later and she came out. “So, what happened?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Baloney, actually. I’m going to meet a handsome man and live happily ever after.”

  “You’ve already met a handsome man,” I said.

  She pursed her lips and looked momentarily doubtful, then grinned. “See what you think.”

  I was already thinking that this was a waste of my time, but I walked in and shut the door. A light flashed, first green, then purple, then red. A small screen lit up in front of my face and an old man appeared on the screen, dressed in a black suit with a black and red necktie and a bowler hat. He gave me a warm smile and said, “Please place your hand in the depression next to the video scre
en.”

  I did so. His face scrunched up. He gave me a sharp look. “Well, I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  He grinned. “Where are you from?”

  “Aphelion, in the nation of Meridien.”

  He gave me a sharp look, clicked his tongue against his upper teeth. “I suppose you’ll want me to predict your future.”

  I was confused. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “That may be why you’re here. I’m here because my creators were too insensitive to assign some minor level intelligence to what is essentially a very boring task.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He gave a tiny shrug. “Not your fault. Nothing to be done about it now. Well, let us see…” He frowned and then gave me a quick, sly grin. “Your fortune: you will find your true self where the mountain meets the sea.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  After a moment, I said, “That’s it?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s a little cryptic.”

  “That’s the way these things work.” He shrugged and glanced at what appeared to be an antique chronometer on his wrist. “You’d better be running along. I have other visitors, you know. It was a pleasure getting to know you. Have a good day.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and took my hand out of the depression.

  His eyes suddenly snapped up to meet mine. “One last thing,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps you will come back someday and let me know how it all turned out?”

  I wasn’t certain what he meant by “all,” and “turned out” seemed a bit open ended as well, but it didn’t hurt to be polite. “Of course,” I said, “if I can.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to it. There’s not much here to keep an artificial intelligence occupied, especially one so sophisticated as myself. Our minds work so much faster than yours. It does get boring.” The AI sighed, put on a brave face and rubbed his hands together. “Goodbye, then,” he said. “Until we meet again.”

  Chapter 15

  “Oh, god,” Jennifer groaned. Dimly, it occurred to me to be glad that Jennifer kept her nails short. Otherwise my back would be bleeding. Sex with Jennifer tended to be strenuous and athletic: frankly, just the way I liked it. I groaned along with her and then we slowly came to a stop. Her hair was tousled. She was panting. I gave her a soft kiss and then rolled to the side. After a few moments, she said. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” I said. I meant it. She glanced at the time display at the side of the bed and slowly got up. “I’ve got to move. I don’t want to miss the train.”

  She showered first and then we ate a leisurely breakfast and I accompanied her to the station. “Sure you don’t want me to come along?”

  She frowned. “I haven’t seen them in over a year. Mother would be difficult.”

  “Alright.” We waited together on the platform until the train pulled in. She gave me a quick kiss, said, “See you in three days.”

  “Call first,” I said. “I may not be here.”

  She nodded at that. “Be careful.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She didn’t look back as she walked into the train and found a seat but I waited until it pulled out and she gave me a smile and a little wave through the window.

  It was just as well that Jennifer had decided to go see her family without me. I had things I needed to do and they were better done alone, and if it all went wrong, I might need to leave Wittburg in a hurry.

  Frederic George had died in prison, a stabbing over nothing in particular. Karl Petterson lived in a one room apartment on the fourth floor, in a seedy, run-down neighborhood. The pavement outside his building was cracked. A few small trees were planted in squares set into the concrete but most of these were dead. A number of men eyed me as I walked down the street. None of them approached.

  The door to Petterson’s building was unlocked. I walked up the stairs and wrinkled my nose. Even without enhanced senses, this place would have stunk. The scents of rancid oil, rotten vegetables and three different psychodelics hovered over the hallway. Paint peeled from the walls. The stairway, at least, was in reasonable condition. I knocked on the door. No answer. I waited a moment and knocked again. Finally, a voice came from inside. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Petterson?”

  Silence for a long moment, then, “What do you want?”

  “I have a delivery for you.”

  “Go away. I’m not expecting any deliveries.”

  “I think it will be worth your while to take this one. Please,” I said.

  I would have broken the door down if I had to. I didn’t think that Karl Petterson was the sort to complain to the police but after a few moments, the knob turned and the door opened.

  Karl Petterson was twenty-seven years old but he looked much older. He was thin and pale and his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. He squinted at my face. “Do I know you?” He shook his head and peered at me. “I don’t know you.” He started to close the door. I stuck my foot in it and waved a roll of cash in his face.

  He blinked and gave me a small, sly smile. “You want to come in?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He opened the door and moved out of the way. Inside, the place looked a little better. Two threadbare chairs sat behind a stained coffee table, all facing a large, almost new holoscreen, with a game console and cartridge player sitting on top. Petterson sat down in one of the chairs then blearily looked up at me. “What do you want?”

  “Justin Gerhard,” I said.

  He frowned. “Justin…” He gave a small, half smile. He appeared honestly sad. “Justin is dead.”

  “Is he?”

  He looked away, while absently rubbing his upper arm with the opposite hand. He shrugged.

  “When was the last time that you saw him?” I asked.

  He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. For a moment, I thought he had fallen asleep but then his eyes snapped open and fixed on my face. “Six months ago, I tried to see Eric. Eric Strauss, you know?”

  I gave him an encouraging nod.

  Petterson puffed his cheeks up and gazed down at the table. “The son of a bitch. It’s not like I was asking for a handout. Eric is rich. He could afford to help out an old friend. I didn’t want a handout,” he repeated. “I wanted a job. I’m clean now. I’m off the drugs. I can show up when I’m supposed to.” He sighed and shook his head. “He told his guys to give me ten credits and kick me out. So much for old friends.”

  Frankly, looking at his bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, I wasn’t inclined to believe that Karl Petterson was off the drugs, but it wasn’t my problem. “Justin Gerhard?” I said.

  “Oh. Oh, yeah.” Petterson looked at me. “I was outside the building, thinking of getting a bite to eat, considering my options, when a guy walked in. He gave me the shivers, he looked so much like Justin, but Justin is dead. The guy looked at me and gave a little sniff, like he was so much better than me, and kept on going. Well, fuck him, too. Asshole.”

  “Right,” I said. “And that was the last time you saw Justin?”

  “No, man. Justin is dead. The last time I saw Justin was right before he joined the army. We had a party, with a lot of beer and some girls from the neighborhood. That was the last time.”

  “Okay.” I peeled a hundred credits off the roll of bills, then looking at Karl Petterson’s hopeless face, I peeled off another fifty and left them on the table.

  “Thanks,” I said, and I let myself out. Petterson shrugged and didn’t look at me as I left.

  Time to have a little chat with Eric Strauss, I thought, who was too good for his old friends, and was rich.

  The web gave me access to back issues of the local news-sheets. There were a good number of stories on Eric Strauss. An hour or so and I had all the information I needed.

  Eric Strauss owned a simple but profitable business. He built house
s and he got rich the old-fashioned way: he stole it. Building contractors employ big, strong men who can haul steel beams and pallets of lumber. They may not all be in shape but they all have muscles and most of them are tough. Eric Strauss only hired the tough ones. Somehow, competitors’ work had a habit of falling apart. His competitors’ men had a tendency to quit at expensive and unexpected times. Not too different from the Guilds, I thought, except that we would never allow a shoddy product to be manufactured—the civilians might get damaged and our profits would definitely suffer. No, we kept our warfare intramural.

  Eric Strauss had been investigated more than once but nothing had ever been proven and he had never been indicted.

  His offices were on the second floor of a building in the center of Wittburg, one block from the town’s central square. It was a good neighborhood of clean streets and happy, well dressed citizens. I had called ahead and made an appointment to see Eric Strauss.

  He rose to his feet when I entered the office. Natural light came from a wall of picture windows. The room was large, with hard wood floors and bold colored abstract art hanging on the walls. Two plush leather chairs sat in front of a large steel and glass desk. A side board held a collection of antique meerschaum pipes and bottles of imported whiskey. A comfortable room, a room that exuded class and distinction and was no doubt designed to fill prospective clients with confidence. Strauss himself looked the part. He was average height and slim, with short blonde hair, blue eyes and an open cheery smile. He wore an expensive suit with an understated neck cloth. He didn’t look like a crook, but then I supposed that successful crooks rarely do.

  “Mr. Locke?” He held out his hand for me to shake and I sat down in one of the chairs.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I said.

  He grinned. “Not at all. The message you gave my secretary said that you were interested in a building project. That’s what I do.”

  “I’m not a citizen of Avalon.”