The Lag

by Alex Bobl

  The thought made her want to take another tug of this swill. What if Alpha had people working for him in real life? She was going to upload a virus to the game, wasn't she? In which case, if he knew about the hidden laptop and the file titled Poison, then he could set Yanna up by planting some kind of intel exposing her as a cyber terrorist about to steal classified information. This way he could get rid of her using the hand of RussoVirt.

  But if Baboon Face worked for RussoVirt security, it could actually be for the better. It would mean he wasn't going to kill her, just apprehend her and take her to the company's HQ. And surely she'd be able to explain the situation to their workers. They were human beings after all, not some crazy evil binary code!

  But what if she was wrong?

  Avtik reached out and took her hand. She wanted to pull it free but reconsidered. The solution came suddenly, simple and logical. She glanced at her watch. They didn't call it a high-speed train for nothing: it had already covered more than half of its way to Moscow. All she needed to do was play for time and stay close to this Georgian for safety.

  Yanna half-closed her eyes and gave Avtik a smile. She'd have never pulled this off without alcohol. Avtik beamed and offered her another drink.

  "Thanks, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling so very well," she purred. "I think I need to eat something," she forced herself to lay her hand on Avtik's shoulder. It was a good shoulder: hard and strong.

  The Georgian turned to the barman. "Do you have chicken tabaka? Or kababi?[ii]"

  "All I can offer is chicken broth, noodle soup and sandwiches. They're not the freshest ones."

  "Noodle soup is fine," Yanna looked up at Avtik and said something she'd never said to any man before, "And I thought this trip would be boring."

  The phrase sounded corny as hell but the Georgian sat up, looking proudly around. Yanna felt sorry for him. He had no idea that she was about to shamelessly use him. Unfortunately, it's not the best ones who win — it's the smartest ones. And she was definitely smarter. She was pretty, too, so it was time her appearance did her a good turn for a change. Sorry, Avtik. You're about to be used and abused by one of those cunning females.

  The barman stood a small plateful of soup on the counter in front of her together with a spoon and a napkin. Reaching for the spoon, Yanna caught Baboon Face's glare. He didn't lower his eyes, filled with the promise of looming danger.

  * * *

  As soon as Wayfarer pressed "Send" on the message about the River Castle RV, his Book's chat window rippled, flickering, and went out. Attila produced his own Book and started fiddling with the knobs. He shook his head. "That's it. Alpha has discovered the old chat system and disabled it. No more incoming messages."

  It was still dark. Wayfarer led the way. He took sharp turns, avoiding aberrations, freezing to listen in, so that the others had to wait for him to move on. He stopped answering questions. Nobody spoke: the clerics and the mobs might have been anywhere nearby.

  The next time Wayfarer zoned out, Attila leaned his back against a tree and closed his eyelids, trying to get some rest. From a distance came the sound of human voices.

  "Do you hear?" he whispered.

  "Yeah," Beast grinned. "Sounds like other players over there!"

  "We'll have a look in a minute," Wayfarer decided. "Just be quiet."

  They continued on their way. The voices came yet closer. Someone laughed. They could hear buzzing sounds and the clanging of metal. Wayfarer stole along silently, the top of his staff shimmering its pale red light. Attila was doing his best to be quiet; Beast wasn't quite as good at it.

  The ruins of a stone wall hove into view, with a couple of squat huts behind them. Three people stood in the small courtyard. Their height and outlines seemed human, but...

  "Too slim for humans," Attila whispered. "More like Elves."

  "They're probably guarding the place," Beast offered.

  "Not necessarily. They might just be having a chat. What kind of place is this, anyway?"

  Tufts of smoke rose from the chimney of a windowless hut with a wide doorless entry.

  Next to it rose a small grassy hillock. A weird-looking machine towered on its summit, its outlines silvery in the Shaard's light. Its bulk was propped up on thick posts; the space between the posts was littered with piled-up rocks.

  "I know," Beast whispered. "They are Drow. Can you see the way they move? I think I know the tall one over there. He has to be Battlemaster, or so he calls himself."

  "Have you known each other long?" Wayfarer asked. "What kind of person is he?"

  "He was a legionnaire like myself. But he soon left. He said it wasn't his thing. He's just a Drow. He's all right. It's only his nickname... sort of posh, if you know what I mean."

  "Do you know the others?" Attila asked.

  "I don't think so. It's too dark to see. I only recognized Battlemaster because his left shoulder is higher than the right. Can you see? That's where a zombie dragon clawed him in a raid, giving him a Poison of a Dead Dragon debuff. And you need some powerful spells to remove it. You can buy them but they're terribly expensive. Or you can swap them with the Black Frontier's necro mages for karma points. Basically, it means he's been walking around crooked like that for the last three months."

  'Let's get closer," Attila suggested. "Just be quiet. You never know what they might be doing over there."

  They crouched behind the collapsed stone wall.

  Beast nodded. "I see. Look: the slow fat one is Meatloaf. He's constantly eating something. The third one I don't know. But both Battlemaster and Meatloaf are all right. Just regular players. Should we go and talk to them? The place seems safe. They might help us, you never know."

  "How?" Wayfarer asked.

  "Dunno. They might go with us. It would be better than hiking all the way to River Castle, the three of us. The Drow are good sword fighters — and damagers, too. They might actually be heading there themselves! They must have received your message and-"

  "Why would they stop here?" Wayfarer interrupted him.

  Beast shrugged. "Why not? They just did."

  "Because there're no portals in this area. And behind that hill lies an impassable aberration field. This place is a dead-end. You either have to walk all the way around it, or..."

  "Why did you take us here, then?" Attila asked.

  Wayfarer didn't reply. Instead, he said, "We need to get to that elevator over there."

  "What, that thing on top of the hill?" Beast stood up. "What kind of elevator is that?"

  "The place is a Dwarven mine," Wayfarer stepped into a gap in the collapsed wall. "I don't think the elevator still works but we don't need it to get underground. Below the hill lies a system of tunnels. We can use them to get to Deadville.

  Attila and Beast followed him. Just as they were scrambling across the ruins, another Drow appeared from the hut with the chimney. He said something to Battlemaster who threw his hands in the air and began arguing with him. Finally, Battlemaster gestured the Drow to go back into the hut. All that time, Meatloaf had stood indifferently nearby. Battlemaster turned to the third Drow. "...can't do it on his own..." Attila overheard. "Go help..."

  The third Drow disappeared inside the doorless hut, leaving Battlemaster alone with Meatloaf.

  Both turned their heads to the sounds of footsteps.

  "Battlemaster, it's okay!" Beast shouted. "It's only me!"

  Battlemaster whipped out his sword. Meatloaf was looking at their late-night visitors without saying a word.

  Battlemaster grinned as he recognized Beast. Lowering the sword, he nodded at Wayfarer and Attila. "Hi there! Who's that with you?"

  Wayfarer stepped forward. "Have you been here long? How many of you are here?"

  Battlemaster shook his head. "You're too quick, dude. I don't even know your name."

  Attila could hear rustling and thumping noises coming from the hut with the chimney. He looked into the doorway. A bonfire cast its light on six bare-torsoed Drow who stood up to
their waists in the ground, digging away. Sweat glistened on their gaunt dark faces. Their weapons lay next to a wall: narrow swords, a couple of bows and quiverfuls of arrows, crossbows and knives. Their clothes were piled up nearby: shirts, leather jackets and chainmails.

  "So who are those two with you?" Battlemaster repeated his question.

  "People call me Wayfarer."

  "Wayfarer? No! You can't be! Beast, is it true?"

  "Sure," Beast nodded importantly.

  "Then it's you we've been waiting for!" Battlemaster exclaimed.

  At that moment, Meatloaf came back to life. His stare focused on Attila and the other two, pinning them down. The voices inside the hut stopped. The place grew silent.

  Battlemaster shifted his feet. "Don't you stop!" he shouted at the hut's door. "You hear me?"

  "Whatcha diggin' for?" Beast asked. "Buried treasure?"

  "No. We're making a tunnel. The mine's exit on the hill has been blocked with rocks. We want to get to the tunnels that lead to Deadville. You tell them," Battlemaster pointed at Meatloaf, "you brought us here when we received the message in the old chat. Did you see it? All of a sudden, it was working again. We received a message and then another one with more details in it and the directions to this mine. It marked this hut as the place to start digging. I didn't see the map very well, though. All of a sudden I had such a terrible headache."

  Two messages? Attila frowned. Why? What map was the guy talking about? What directions? Wayfarer hadn't given them any directions and he definitely hadn't attached any maps. What did this mean? Had Alpha sent his own message following theirs just to bring the Drow here? Were they the only ones to have received the second message? If Alpha knew that the Drow were the closest ones to the old mine, he might have directed them here on purpose... why?

  He didn't get the chance to say anything. Meatloaf raised his crossbow. The Dark Elves liked these powerful little weapons. Wayfarer ducked aside behind Battlemaster's back, reaching into his pocket for his Book. Attila took cover by the hut. Beast alone stood where he was, not realizing what was going on.

  Battlemaster stared at Meatloaf. "Whatcha doin'?"

  The crossbow clicked. The bolt hit Battlemaster in the shoulder. He collapsed, yelling with pain. Ducking, Beast lunged at the aggressor and rammed him in the face with his helmet. Bones crunched. Meatloaf's throat made a gurgling noise. He collapsed onto his back.

  The six Drow ran out of the hut, silent and efficient, their eyes glittering, their spades ready to take a swing. Identical build, choreographed movements. Noiselessly they went for Wayfarer.

  Attila was hiding next to the doorway. He tripped the last Drow; the one before him swung round like a robot and went for Attila. Attila promptly whipped out his sword, parrying his spade. Without thinking, he kicked the Drow, then swung his sword through the air, chopping his head off.

  Only then did he realize: this wasn't an NPC, this was a player. He'd just killed a human being!

  Or had he? Was it really a human being or one of Alpha's puppet henchmen like those two Forest Vagabonds next to the portal?

  A fireball flared up, throwing reflections of light on the ground. Shadows flickered around.

  "What's going on?" Battlemaster yelled. "Whatcha think you're doing?"

  Wayfarer whipped out a small pouch from his bag. Ripping the string off its neck, he hurled it at the approaching Drow. Something flashed inside it. The air shuddered. A loud popping sound echoed amid the two huts. Their attackers were thrown back; their bodies dropped to the ground like bowling pins. Grazed by the blast, Beast collapsed to his knees, swearing.

  "Follow me!" Wayfarer commanded, running up the hill.

  Attila helped Beast back to his feet. Together they ran up the slope. Meatloaf staggered back to his feet like a robot and raised his crossbow, aiming at Wayfarer's back. With an indignant yell, Battlemaster buried his sword between Meatloaf's shoulder blades sending him back to the ground, face down this time.

  "Come with us!" Beast shouted to him.

  Casting wary glances at his ex-companions, Battlemaster followed them up the hill. "The entry's blocked with rocks!" he shouted. "We saw it, it's completely-"

  "Watch out!" Wayfarer interrupted him. The top of the hill resonated with the already familiar popping sound.

  Rocks rumbled. A few bigger ones volleyed out like cannonballs while smaller ones whizzed past them like shrapnel. Attila thought about his round shield that he'd left on the shelf by the tavern's entrance. It felt like ages ago. He ducked, covering his head.

  When he finally made it to the hilltop, the strange machine listed to one side. One of its legs had been pulled out of the ground. A hole gaped below it. Attila could see a row of steel rungs going down.

  Wayfarer climbed down first. Beast jumped after him. Attila followed.

  A crossbow clanged behind, then another one. Battlemaster cried out as he ran. He stumbled, reaching out to Attila, and rammed him as he fell, throwing him down the mine.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Yanna took her time over her noodle soup, chewing her way through each spoonful forty times as diet gurus suggest even though there was nothing in there worth chewing. As if to spite her, time refused to cooperate, slowing down ever further. She had about forty minutes left to kill. No amount of soup could last her that long.

  When she finally finished her plate, Avtik generously ordered some pork chops for both of them, giving her another excuse to linger as they waited for their food. Finally, the barman brought the plates in. Avtik didn't eat much. He kept looking into Yanna's face with a seductive smile.

  "Is it good, my lovely?"

  "Yeah," she mumbled, struggling with the tough meat. She glanced at Baboon Face, then at the clock. Fifteen minutes till their arrival. Time to act.

  She nodded to Avtik, lay her knife and fork onto the plate and pushed it away. She reached for the napkin and blotted her lips with it delicately like a proper lady should. Even though a proper lady wouldn't have lounged around railcar bars in the company of strange men and tough pork chops.

  Avtik craned his neck and moved closer. She too drew near. "Can you see that man by the bar?" she whispered into the sharp cloud of his aftershave. "Don't look at him, just nod."

  Avtik frowned and nodded carnivorously.

  "He's been hitting on me," Yanna went on, ad-libbing as she spoke. "When you left for a smoke. He said you were one of those Caucasian migrants and that it's high time to cleanse Russia of all foreigners. He said he'd teach you how to pick up Russian girls. He's probably one of those Moscow skinheads. A damned neo-Nazi. I nearly walked into them back at the station."

  The Caucasian tensed up, his nostrils flaring. Come on, she prayed silently, teach the bastard a lesson! Still, he didn't seem to be in a hurry. Had he turned chicken?

  Avtik didn't disappoint. He set his heavy clenched fists onto the bar and slowly turned to Baboon Face. "Excuse me, buddy, do you mind looking at something else? You're ruining the young lady's appetite."

  Baboon smirked. Yanna stared at his short fat fingers covered in prison tattoos.

  "What's there to grin at?" Avtik rose. "Mind stepping outside for a talk?"

  Baboon's face froze. Yanna watched both. Avtik was quite fit but Baboon could be an experienced streetfighter. An ex-convict, probably. Most likely, the fight would be short and its outcome was unlikely to be in the Georgian's favor. Then again, what did she know about real-life fights?

  Moscow high-rise suburbs flashed behind the window, interspersed with patches of wasteland. Baboon drummed his tattooed fingers on the counter. Without saying a word, he climbed off his stool and headed toward the glass door. Avtik, high on liquid courage, gave Yanna a meaningful nod — as in, don't worry, babe, your man will take care of everything — and followed him like a fighting cock.

  Not waiting to hear the noises from behind the door, Yanna slung her bag over her shoulder and slid off the stool. Ignoring the barman's cry of indignation, she picked up Avti
k's phone and ran through the car to the opposite exit.

  Two car attendants were lounging by the entrance to the next car.

  "Please," Yanna managed, breathless, "call the police! There's a fight in the bar! They're gonna kill each other!"

  One of them gasped. "Why? Who is it? Where?"

  "In the bar! Come quickly! One is Georgian and the other is probably a skinhead, I saw a gun tucked under his jacket! What if he's a terrorist? Please!"

  The other attendant proved quicker on the uptake. He reached for a large plastic cover on the wall, opened it and pressed a button.

  "Police unit to car four," he said into a speaker. "ASAP."

  Before they could come round and ask her more questions, Yanna ran. Behind the window, the patches of wasteland had already disappeared. The train was slowing down.

  By the next car entrance she stopped and, numb with fright, reached for the emergency brake. She broke the seal and pulled the handle. The train shuddered, screeching to a halt. The doors hissed. Yanna waited for the train to stop, forced the doors apart and jumped out, landing on her hands and knees. It was a good job she was wearing a pair of jeans and not a skirt with tights.

  It was drizzling. The tracks smelled of fuel oil. A tall concrete wall followed the railroad. Yanna jumped up and ran along the train, paying no attention to all the curious and worried faces behind the train windows.

  She was in luck. After she ran past a couple of cars, she discovered a hole in the wall. She forced herself through, only to find more tracks behind it. How weird. Beyond them she could make out a low steel fence.

  Yanna cast a look around to ensure there were no trains coming either way, then ran toward the fence. She climbed it and headed for a few blocks of flats rising nearby, casting wary glances behind her as she ran.

  Was Baboon following her? The road seemed to be empty. He and Avtik were probably busy sorting it out in the bar... either that, or the arriving police was busy sorting them out.