Gameprey nfe-11

by Tom Clancy

  Coiled up deep in Peter Griffen’s veeyar, Gaspar barely heard Heavener’s cold voice. He gazed around the veeyar, trying to orient himself. Griffen’s private veeyar was huge, the biggest that Gaspar had ever been in. Even this one was larger than most personal systems.

  “I’m working on it,” Gaspar replied, taking long strides down the corridor. The veeyar was built like a huge warehouse, filled with long glass tubes wrapped by red and yellow electricity.

  Gaspar accessed his search utility menu and made his selections. He opened his left hand and stabbed two fingers of his right hand into his palm. He pulled his fingers back out, trailing three crimson wires out of his arm that were yards long. He whipped the wires forward, and they assumed a life of their own.

  Animated, oozing like they were made of oil, the wires slid through the warehouse, seeking out the databases Gaspar had programmed them to look for. He ran after them to keep up.

  The three wires stabbed into different tubes. The connections flared as they were made. He grabbed the three wires and stabbed them into his left eye, linking up with the connections.

  Images exploded into his mind. Bits of coding drifted in and out of his vision as scenes from the convention center overlapped vidclips from the Realm of the Bright Waters. The pain was incredible, and the difficulty in sorting out the coding he needed to allow him to shut the game down was almost impossible.

  He built datastrings in his mind, kicking them into the stream that flowed through his vision. Tiny golden bugs formed on the datastrings, quickly chewing through the additions and striving to protect the primary coding. They were part of the antivirus program Griffen had installed on his system. Gaspar hadn’t quite figured out how to get rid of the antivirus, but gaps appeared in the coding.

  In the convention center he watched as Peter Griffen’s armor encased him. Gaspar concentrated on writing code, trying to increase the size of the gaps and trigger a system failure.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  Maj planted an elbow in the guy’s back ahead of her and used his movement to turn around at her to glide by him. She was still six people from reaching the table where Peter Griffen was. The holos remained fixed on the fantasy landscape, looking down on the forest from high above.

  “Peter!” she called. “I need to talk to you!”

  But there was no way Peter could hear her over the excited roar of the crowd. The guy she’d elbowed turned around angrily. “Come back here and try that again.”

  Maj kept moving, feeling equally torn between guilt over her aggressive behavior and the need to talk to Peter. The need exceeded the guilt and she kept moving, using her speed and her agility to navigate the crowd.

  She was only two people deep from the tables when Peter raised his sword again and shouted, “Sahfrell!”

  Blue lightning flicked down from the ceiling and exploded against the sword. Thunder filled the convention center, and several people in the crowd cowered back, including the men in business suits.

  “Oh, man, this is totally cool!”

  “I gotta get that game!”

  Taking advantage of the surge back from the table, Maj broke through the crowd, sprinting to her goal. She was dimly aware of Nate at her heels.

  Another thunderflash crashed through the convention center. This time the lights dimmed, dimmed again, then went out. Security alarms crashed through the darkness as backup lights flared to life.

  The immense plum-colored dragon appeared against the ceiling of the convention center. The warm butter color of its stomach picked up the gleam of the security lights, and bright spots shone on the hoarfrost on its face.

  More electronic-based detonations erupted from the other booths. The holos rippled, then comets crossed the areas contained within them.

  Maj paused, stunned. She didn’t know what had happened, but she felt certain it wasn’t good.

  Matt rode the flying goblin as it winged through space. The triangular ships pursued him, seemingly inexhaustible. He guided the goblin hard right, then brought the two cannon online. Triggering a dual attack, he watched the lead ship disintegrate, the pieces somehow flaming in airless space.

  Goblin King definitely isn’t going to win any prizes for technical accuracy, Matt told himself, but it’s going to make a lot of shooters happy.

  He still hadn’t caught sight of Leif or Andy, but they’d maintained radio contact. His radar screen registered another approaching object. He jockeyed the goblin around.

  “Rhidher!” the goblin cried.

  Matt looked back toward the right, looking for the attacking vehicle. Instead of another triangular ship blazing in at him, he saw an event horizon dawn. A tidal wave of azure energy slammed into Matt.

  When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in an old Roman chariot. The horse pulled the chariot at a fast canter, and the rough ride jarred Matt from his heels to his toes. He glanced down at the Roman armor and leather kilt he wore. A short sword hung in a sheath at his side.

  Then an arrow slammed against the heavy bronze breastplate he wore. He glanced up and stared out at the battlefield before him.

  Two chariot lines sped at each other from opposite ends of a desert. The two wheels of the chariot spun through the loose sand. A hot breeze whipped across the plain, lifting small spinning dust devils from the sand behind the chariots.

  I got knocked from one demo game to another, Matt thought. It was the only possible answer even though he had no idea how. Even if the demo games were coming from the same programming, the programming was supposed to be distinct enough that crossovers like this didn’t happen. But what had happened to Maj and him last night hadn’t been supposed to happen, either.

  He looked around, listening to the whir of the wheels along the greased axles as the horse closed the distance to the attacking line. He drew his short sword and got ready to try to survive the first onslaught.

  Less than fifty feet away another chariot driver drove at him, a short throwing spear held in one hand. Matt picked up the heavy rectangular shield from the chariot moorings and slipped it over his arm. He held the reins loosely in his hand because the horse knew what it was supposed to do. He braced himself for the coming impact.

  Without warning, a bloodcurdling scream rent the sky overhead.

  Matt looked up, spotting the familiar plum-colored dragon almost filling the sky directly above the battle. The huge creature flapped its bat wings, moving swiftly. The massive jaws gaped and a fireball sizzled from the dragon’s throat. There was just enough time for Matt to realize the creature was riderless, then the fireball smashed into the sandy plains between the two attacking groups.

  The fireball hammered out a crater in the sand, fusing parts of the immediate area to glass. Heat washed over Matt and made him believe he was about to get parboiled in his bronze armor.

  The horse pulling his chariot reared in fear, struggling to get away from the clumps of liquid fire that splattered all the nearby horses, chariots, and warriors. Matt tried to retain his footing, but the chariot overturned, spilling him directly into the path of the oncoming warrior and vehicle. The other chariot driver steered straight for him, intending to run him down with the horse and cut him in two with the bronze-plated chariot wheels.

  Dozens of dragon images filled the holes above the other game booths. Maj stared at the booths without comprehending as she walked to the table where Peter Griffen stood.

  “No.”

  Maj looked up, uncertain if Peter had actually spoken aloud or if it had been someone else. Strong arms seized her from behind unexpectedly.

  “Hotel security,” a stern male voice warned her. “Back away from the table. You can look, but you can’t touch.”

  The crowd reacted to the dragon’s presence by screaming out in fear and yelling out encouragement. Some of them still dived for cover.

  Above, the dragon yawned suddenly and spat a fireball at the Eisenhower Productions booth. Heat — created by the holoprojectors — slammed into the
nearest convention attendees, setting off a fresh wave of reactions that still appeared to be equally divided between shrill fear and enthusiastic support.

  The person holding Maj took a step back, loosening the grip he had on her.

  Maj bumped back against him, throwing him even further off-balance. The come-along grip the man had managed was effective, but only if he maintained it. She slid her wrists free of his hand and stepped forward.

  “No.”

  This time she was certain Peter said that because she watched him. “Peter.”

  Horror stained the handsome face behind the helmet’s visor.

  The holographic flames burned along the Eisenhower Productions booth and created three-foot tall letters that read: GRIFFEN GAMES! ONLINE AND ON TARGET.

  “Peter!” Maj called, spotting the security guard moving in behind her again.

  Peter glanced down at her. For the first time she realized how tired he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and held a haunted look. All the confidence he’d exuded before in facing down hostile reporters seemed eroded.

  “Do you remember me?” Maj asked desperately, knowing the security guard was going to pull her back in just a moment. Another man she figured was a security team member approached from the left. “I was in the jet last night.”

  Peter held up the sword for attention. “No,” he told the security men. “Leave her alone. I want to talk to her.”

  Above them the dragon circled through the air restlessly. The throb of the powerfully muscled bat wings rolled throughout the darkened convention center. The enthusiastic shouts intermingled with flagrant name-calling as well. Evidently there were more than a few people who didn’t appreciate Peter’s suspected grandstanding.

  The two security men backed away reluctantly, suddenly busy with the other screaming fans who chose that opportunity to rush the Eisenhower Productions booth. Automatically Peter reached a gauntleted hand down for Maj.

  Maj reached for the hand, but her fingertips plunged right through it with a cold sensation.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter apologized. “I forgot.”

  “It’s okay. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “I wanted to talk to you, too.” Peter gazed in wonder at all the confusion sweeping through the convention center. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “What?” Maj asked.

  Before he could answer, a cold blue light suddenly dawned in the center of his stomach. It ate through his holo image like a flame charring through paper. In the next instant Peter was gone as if he’d never existed.

  11

  Maj stared at the space where Peter Griffen had been standing, wondering if his disappearance had been planned, or if this was another circumstance that had been completely out of his control.

  She whirled to face the middle-aged man standing behind her. “Are you the security guard who grabbed me?”

  The man held his open hands up. “I was just doing my job.”

  “I know,” Maj said. “But I think you need to find Peter Griffen.”

  “How?” the man asked. “As far as I know, he wasn’t even here.”

  “Then I suggest you start asking people,” Maj replied. “Wherever he is, I think he’s in trouble.”

  The dragon continued flying above them, squalling out its impatience as if it, too, realized its master was missing.

  Maj reached into her jeans pocket and took out her foilpack. She reconfigured it into a vidphone and punched in Catie’s number. An automated message answered, offering to take a message. She’s probably still in a game, Maj realized. She punched in Megan’s number next.

  “Hello,” Megan answered.

  “Tell me you saw what happened.”

  “I saw,” Megan replied. “I just don’t know what to make of it.”

  Maj pushed her way through the crowd, not even bothering with being polite. Something way too weird was going on, and the clock was ticking. “I don’t think he did it on purpose.”

  Flashlights joined the security lights in opening holes in the darkness.

  “If it was just for effect, it seems to have had the desired effect.”

  “Peter wasn’t planning this.” Maj put her free hand in front of her, testing the people in the crowd to find out how many were real and how many were holos. When she found someone who was holo, she pushed on through him or her.

  “What makes you so sure?” Megan asked.

  “I talked to him right before he disappeared. He was as confused by this as everyone else was.”

  “I don’t think everyone was confused,” Megan observed. “Some of these people think this was the greatest stunt ever.”

  A crowd gathered at the nearby gate leading into the Eisenhower Productions booth. They pounded on the gate and demanded entrance.

  “Trust me,” Maj said. “Get hold of the others. Especially Mark. Maybe he can access some of the security vid systems and find Peter.”

  “He was online in holo,” Megan reminded. “He could have been anywhere.”

  “I’ve got a feeling he’s here,” Maj replied.

  “If he is, we’ll find him.”

  Maj folded the foilpack and held it in her hand. She looked down at the guy sitting at the Eisenhower table. “Where’s Peter Griffen?”

  The guy nervously shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought he was here till he disappeared like that.”

  Maj glanced at the crowd pounding on the booth’s gate, feeling the pressure of seconds ticking by. “Can you open those doors?”

  “Not me. But maybe one of those guys can.” He pointed at a group of men in business suits. “They’re part of Eisenhower Productions.”

  Maj walked toward the men, opened the foilpack, and pressed one of the speed-dial numbers she’d programmed in last night.

  “Los Angeles Police Department,” the automated emergency voice answered. The voice was male, crisp, and efficient. The LAPD symbol filled the foilpack’s small vidscreen.

  “I need to speak with Detective John Holmes,” Maj said. “He’s currently on assignment at the Bessel Mid-Town Hotel. This is an emergency. My name is Madeline Green. Detective Holmes will know me.”

  “Thank you,” the automated voice said. “I’ll connect you momentarily.”

  Maj stepped in front of the men in business suits, stopping almost ten feet away because other men who were obviously bodyguards stepped forward.

  “Please stay back, miss,” a granite-jawed man said with thin politeness.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed,” Maj told them, “you’re about to have a full-scale riot on your hands. If you don’t produce Peter or open those gates, you’re going to get covered in some majorly bad press.”

  “The girl’s right,” one of the men said to a guy in roundlensed glasses and a thin mustache. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Maj seized on that bit of information immediately. What wasn’t supposed to happen?

  “Peter knew better than this,” the man with glasses said. “He didn’t stick to the game plan.”

  “It’s too late to worry about that now,” the other man replied.

  The man with glasses looked up at the big security guard next to him. “I want men inside the booth. I don’t want anything dismantled.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man spoke into a wristcom, too low for Maj to overhear. She studied their faces, hoping she would be able to identify the men later if she had to.

  An excited shout rang out behind her. She turned and watched as the gates to the Eisenhower Productions booth opened and the crowd swarmed in. She hurried to join the crowd flowing into the huge booth. She glanced up at the dragon twisting restlessly above the convention center, wishing it could somehow lead her to its master. But the dragon looked as lost as she felt.

  The wires in Gaspar Latke’s eye started to burn horribly. He dropped to his knees in Griffen’s veeyar, forcing himself not to pull the wires free. He screamed with pain, knowing Heavener was monitoring every sound he made. But
he couldn’t help himself.

  The antivirus program stepped up the pace, filling the datastreams with bugs that worked furiously to repair the damage he was doing. Overlapping images from the convention center filled his vision, letting him know the whole area had gone ballistic.

  “The program is bleeding over,” Heavener complained in the distance.

  “I can’t stop it,” Gaspar gritted out.

  “Then stop what you can,” Heavener advised. “I’ve got a team who will pick Griffen up.”

  Unable to control himself, Gaspar curled a fist around the three crimson wires shoved deep into his eye socket. But he didn’t yank them out. Failing Heavener wasn’t an option.

  He cried out in pain again, but he held on to the wires and curled up into a fetal ball, trying to keep his mind clear.

  Catie Murray started at the blue-white marble cistern in the center of the reception area. It was elegant, beautifully made. The water arced from a pot carried by a large brown bear reaching for a beehive hanging from a tree branch high overhead. In the physical world, and at the time of King Arthur and Camelot, tapping the artesian well in such a fashion would have been the work of a master. But in the Legend of the Lake game demo, it was gracefully rendered.

  She stuck her fingers into the water, finding it cool to the touch. Impulsively she brought her fingers to her lips. The water was ambrosia, almost honey-sweet.

  “They say,” a pleasantly cultured voice said from behind her, “you’re never supposed to drink the water from faery lands because you’ll be forever trapped there.”

  Embarrassed, Catie turned to face the speaker.

  Like the artesian well, he was beautiful, a blond-haired angel dressed in polished silver armor. A broadsword with a prominent crosspiece hung from his hip. He carried his helm in on arm, his gauntlets in one hand. His china blue eyes regarded her with interest.

  “Lady,” he said softly, “my humble apologies for startling you.”

  “That’s quite all right.” Catie found herself tumbling easily into the flowery speech patterns of the game. “I didn’t mean to offend. There were no signs.”

  The man smiled. “As if that many people in these times could read.”