Gameprey

16

“As you all have doubtless heard,” Don DeGovia went on, “an unbelievable crime was committed at the convention today when Peter Griffen, whose Griffen Games imprint, Online and On Target, was getting ready to unleash the new Net experience, Realm of the Bright Waters, was kidnapped and taken from us.”

Maj listened intently and glanced around the room, wondering how the other game publishers were reacting. But everyone in the room seemed interested in what was going on.

“Mr. DeGovia,” Veronica Rivers spoke up. Evidently her camera and sound equipment were located in her clothing because Maj noticed that the woman wasn’t panicking while looking for a cameraman.

“Yes, Ms. Rivers.”

“Can you tell us what is being done to locate Peter Griffen?”

DeGovia didn’t hesitate. “Everything,” he said. “Everything that can be done is now being done. By the police and by the private security guards we maintain. So far, I’m told, there are no leads. We hope to change that.” The CEO cleared his throat. “As of tonight, Eisenhower Productions is offering a reward of one million dollars to anyone who can help us find Peter Griffen.”

Conversations started up immediately as the crowd reacted to the news.

“And that,” Derek said quietly at Maj’s side, “is worth more than a million dollars in advertising. By tonight this story is going to be run on every major news service across the planet.”

“Do you still think Peter and Eisenhower could be responsible for the kidnapping?” Maj asked.

“Oh, yeah. Legal fees to get out of something like this would be expensive, but not impossible. And the profit we’re talking about will more than make up for it.” Derek shook his head. “Plus, they still have to get caught at it. If they fake the payoff, they can even give themselves a million-dollar write-off on their taxes.”

“You make it sound like it’s all about the money.”

Derek nodded. “At this level it almost always is.”

“My God, DeGovia, do you realize what you’ve done?” A stout man with short-clipped red hair stepped forward from the crowd. “Making an announcement like this, you’ve made targets of each and every member of the game design community.”

“I’m just trying to help Peter,” DeGovia replied. “It’s all I know how to do.”

“That’s Kip Wilson,” Derek whispered to Maj. “Creator of Bug Battles.”

“It’s only been a few hours since Griffen disappeared,” Wilson declared. “Give the police a chance to do their job.”

“Time is of the essence,” DeGovia went on. “I’m doing what I think I need to do.”

“Mr. DeGovia,” Veronica interrupted, “has there been a ransom demand?”

“No,” DeGovia replied. “At present we’re all waiting. But we’re willing to pay it.”

The banquet suddenly turned into a madhouse as everyone started talking at once. Maj looked around her in disbelief. Is this what I was supposed to see tonight? And if it is, what am I supposed to learn? She scanned the crowd, wondering if the guy who’d given Mark the message was still waiting to make his move.

“You know,” Derek said at her side, “Eisenhower is going to be back in the black profit-wise after tonight. They’re going to sell a bazillion games. You can’t compete with this kind of attention.”

Andy and Mark shot through the telecommunications grid high above Russia, then zipped down to a cyber café in Leningrad.

They’d been steadily backtracking Peter Griffen’s trail in the gaming world for the last three hours. Information they’d gotten from the gaming community in Seattle, Washington, led them to Tokyo. Peter had spent a lot of time in different gaming areas learning his craft even after he’d achieved some success.

Andy understood and respected that. Gaming was a way of life, and to really live, you had to spend time at it every day. He could always tell the difference between an occasional gamer and someone who really got into it within just a few seconds of play. He’d never had that kind of attention span to give up weeks and months to a particular kind of game. And most gamers had years of experience on him.

Together, he and Mark walked into the cyber café. It was a small brick building three stories tall, lurched up against an ancient apartment complex three times its size. Implant chairs of all makes and models sat strewn across the black-and-white tiled floor under weak lighting. Techno-rock crashed like thunder in the background. Nearly all of the chairs were filled.

The room blurred as they crossed the threshold and the holoprojectors kicked in with a surge Andy felt along his implants. “Oh, man,” he complained, “they need a system upgrade.”

“Since we’re here asking for a favor,” Mark suggested, “maybe it would be wise not to mention that.”

Andy gazed around the room. Now that the holoprojector had cut in, the room was cleaner and brighter. The implant chairs were gone and only a few people sat around the tables waiting for someone to game with. They were all in various proxies, some made up, others from various games.

He crossed the room to the cute redhead behind the bar. Bottled water, soft drinks, and bags of chips and candy, all virtual, filled the chillers and the shelves behind her.

“Hi,” Andy said.

“Hi,” the redhead greeted. “There’s a small entrance fee if you’re going to stay and play.”

Andy shook his head. “Just looking for someone.”

The girl shrugged. “If I know them.”

“Zenzo Fujikama.”

“I know him.”

“I was told he was here,” Andy said.

“I’ll see.” The girl touched a com-pad on the bar top. “I’ve got a couple of newbies looking for Zenzo Fujikama.”

Andy looked at the com-screen, but it stayed blank.

“Privacy,” the redhead said, meeting his gaze with a little hostility. “A lot of people who game here like that. Maybe it’s a new concept where you’re from.”

On the shelf behind her a winking lens caught Andy’s eye. He stared at the button vidcam. “I guess that privacy thing doesn’t work both ways, huh?”

“No.”

“Send them away,” a mechanical voice ordered.

The redhead tapped the com-pad, blanking the function. “I guess they’re not interested in meeting new friends.”

Mark stretched a finger out. Immediately metallic webbing shot forward, connecting to the com-pad, the vidcam on the shelf, and stabbing through the ceiling. Sparks showered down from the power line overhead. The act caught the attention of everyone in the cyber café. Usually these places were by and large hackproof and left alone by cyber outlaws.

Andy watched in awe as the metallic webbing strand that stretched from Mark’s finger to the vidcam suddenly sprouted another strand that wove itself into an eight-inch monitor. The screen cleared after a moment, revealing a view into a small room with four people sitting around a table.

Two of the guys looked European, and the third was an African woman, Andy judged by her dress. Zenzo Fujikama had to be the young Asian guy dressed in the blue and silver Spacehunter leathers.

Spacehunter was a popular anime role-playing game that had come out of Japan. It was violent and filled with exotic creatures and locales. Andy had enjoyed playing the game, but it had been filled with too many diehard fans to make playing it anything other than a short-lived experience.

“Who are you?” one of the European men demanded.

“Andy Moore,” Andy said.

The guy had peroxide hair and a long black duster. His canines gleamed when they caught the light. “Doesn’t mean anything to me. And if you don’t clear out of our café, I’m calling the police.”

If you were clean, Andy thought, that’s the first thing you would have done. This cyber café had a reputation as being a hangout for hackers and had been busted a few times in the past. Mark knew that because he sometimes spent time in places like this one.

“I’m Mark Gridley,” Mark said.

“Doesn’t mean anything to me, either,” the blond guy snarled.

“Wait,” Zenzo Fujikama said softly. “The name means something to me.” He looked at the screen. “You took on Deathstalker 3000 and wiped it out a couple months ago.”

“What’s he talking about?” Andy asked.

“A game,” Mark replied.

Zenzo shook his head. “Not just a game. At the time it was the blackboard game.”

Andy understood then. Blackboard games were operated illegally on the Net. They were filled with risky builds that sometimes had uncontrollable implant shock spikes. Some of the damage, although not lethal, had resulted in gamers losing partial link-up ability with the Net. The draw was the risk, but Andy couldn’t believe Mark would play those games.

“You played that game?” Andy asked.

Zenzo laughed. “He didn’t just play the game. He destroyed it. The guys who built it put nearly a year of development into it. Your buddy destroyed it in seventeen straight hours of some of the best play I’ve ever seen. When the dust settled, they were out of business. Gridley took out their game, then posted game cheats on every blackboard bulletin server on the Net. After that, Deathstalker 3000 was just a joke.”

“Too many people were getting hurt,” Mark replied.

“Maybe so, but that’s what they were paying to do.”

“We’re here about Peter Griffen,” Mark said. “The word I get is that you guys used to be pretty tight.”

Zenzo glanced at the other three people at the table. “Check you later.” He stepped forward, and in the next instant he was in the lower floor of the cyber café with Mark and Andy. “Let’s take a walk.”

Andy stepped in behind Zenzo, flanked by Mark, who dropped the hack he had on the cyber café’s vid systems.

“Let me take the lead,” Zenzo suggested. “I’ve got a place I want to take you.”

A trickle of nervous fear threaded down Andy’s spine. Giving control of his movements on the Net was something he didn’t like to do even if he knew the person doing the leading.

“Okay,” Mark said without hesitation. Not feeling good about the move at all, Andy did the same.

Zenzo leaped up into the Net, pulling them along after him as he crashed through the telecommunications grid.

Matt floated in his veeyar and chased paper trails. All the files Maj had archived on Peter Griffen had been reduced to a series of icons hanging in the air, grouped by personal history, publishing history, broken down into different game development corporations Peter had worked for.

It seemed like a lot of information, but it really wasn’t. Peter Griffen’s life was strictly low profile.

A com-link beeped for attention, strobing a pulsing blue wave against the black sky to his left. “Connect,” Matt said.

Instantly a vidscreen formed in the center of the blue pulse and framed Catie’s face. “Having any luck?”

“Not much,” Matt admitted. “I can give you a copy of every tax form Peter’s ever filed, every place of residence he’s had, the cars he’s owned, and so forth, but I can’t give you any personal details.”

“What about family?”

Matt shook his head. “Peter’s had a lot of bad luck. When he was seven, his parents were killed in a car wreck. He survived, but there was no family to take care of him. Or, if there was, they didn’t admit to it. He never got adopted and was raised by the state.”

“Which state?”

“California. A little town called Patterson that’s not far from Sacramento.”

“Maybe you could use a break,” Catie suggested. “I know I could.”

Matt nodded. He closed his eyes and logged off, opening them again in Catie’s hotel room.

Catie sat at the hotel desk in front of the communications array Mark had cobbled together to link all the Net Force Explorer teams.

Matt crossed the room and took an apple from the fruit bowl. He glanced over to the corner and saw Andy still logged onto the Net in the extra implant chair they’d asked the hotel to bring up. “Are Mark and Andy having any luck?”

“Mark let me know they found someone named Zenzo.”

“Who’s he?”

“According to what they found out, Zenzo helped Peter develop some of the computer graphics software used to build Realm of the Bright Waters.”

“Maybe Zenzo got to know Peter a little more than most of the people who’ve written articles about him.”

“Have you been able to talk to any of the other gaming companies Peter has worked for?” Catie asked.

Matt nodded. “Most of them have skeleton crews on-site because the majority of the staff is here at the convention. But it doesn’t do much good talking to them because they haven’t given me anything more than the HoloNet files. Peter was a good guy to work with, very inventive, reliable.”

“No hidden neuroses or agendas?”

“If there were,” Matt said, “they’re still hidden.”

“What about the orphanage?”

“The records are sealed, and I couldn’t get through to talk to anyone.”

“Probably every news service around is calling them.”

Matt nodded unhappily. He wasn’t used to coming up empty. “The only thing I did turn up was an article about Peter’s first few games. He worked with a friend of his from the orphanage. A guy named Oscar Raitt. I’ve reached his answering service, but so far he hasn’t returned my call.”

“Where is he?”

“Seattle,” Matt answered. “He’s working with Steph Games.”

Catie leaned her head back into the implant chair. “Let me check the files Mark gave me.” She was back in an instant. She smiled. “Steph Games is at the convention. And you’ll never guess who one of the representatives is.”

“Oscar Raitt,” Matt said.

“Bingo. He’s staying at the Mohammed Arms. It’s just across the street. The Bessel made an arrangement with them to handle some of the overflow. Oscar must have gotten here late.”

“Have you got a room number?”

“No. But you should be able to get him through the front desk if he’s in his room.”

Matt took out his foilpack and punched in the hotel’s lobby number. When the call was answered, he asked for Oscar Raitt’s room.

“Hi,” a deep and pleasant voice said. “You’ve reached the voice mail of Oscar Raitt. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”

“Oscar,” Matt said, “you don’t know me, but I’m looking for Peter Griffen. My name is Matt Hunter.” He keyed the foilpack to send a copy of his Net Force Explorers ID as well. “I’m staying at the Bessel Midtown Hotel, and I’d like—”

The transmission was interrupted by a booming voice. “Hold on, hold on! I want to talk to you!”

Matt held the foilpack and watched the vidscreen come to life. Oscar Raitt was a big guy. He had curly blond hair, a bullet of a head, and a goatee. Acne-marked pale skin covered his oval face.

“What do you know about Peter’s kidnapping?” Oscar asked.

“I was hoping you could help me,” Matt said.

Oscar considered that. “Is Net Force involved in this?”

“I’m helping with the initial investigation.”

Nodding, Oscar said, “Good. Because Peter disappearing like this isn’t right. I’ve heard a lot of dexters around the convention suggesting that Peter helped himself to his own kidnapping. That’s pure DFB, data flowing bad.”

“I’ve got a friend who feels the same way.”

“How about you?” The intensity of Oscar’s gaze was nuclear.

Matt remembered the men with the pistols the night before, how he’d been fired on before the men knew he was only a holo. “I’m a believer.”

“Okay.” Oscar nodded. “I’ve been trying to get people to listen to me that Peter would never do something like this. And there’s more going on than what you think.”

“What?” Matt’s pulse quickened.

“I don’t want to talk over a vidphone connection. How soon can you get here?”

“Give me the room number and five minutes,” Matt said.

Gaspar Latke sat in the cluttered office of his veeyar, his attention locked on the sixteen different screens he’d opened in front of him. Ten of them were different views of the Bessel Midtown Hotel’s banquet room, linked from the buttoncams Heavener’s team had put into the room since Peter Griffen’s kidnapping. Four more monitored the hotel’s main entrances, and two constantly cycled through the various HoloNet news feeds covering Don DeGovia’s interview after offering a million dollars for information about Peter Griffen’s abduction.

Gaspar’s eyes swept the cameras again, watching the people in the banquet room talking. He could remember when a million dollars would have been a big deal to him, too. But since Heavener had taken over his life, he couldn’t remember how many millions and billions of dollars he’d helped the corporation steal from others.

Sweat trickled across his face back in the physical world, and his heart rate was slightly elevated with all the stress.

A small, rectangular window suddenly exploded into view above the sixteen monitors. It showed his heart rate, dangerously near the automatic log-off point. But he knew that would never happen. Before she’d left, Heavener had ordered a doctor to insert a hypodermic shunt into the back of Gaspar’s right hand. Attached to that was an IV bag containing tranquilizers that would suppress his body’s reactions as needed.

They also made it harder for Gaspar to think. He concentrated on his physical self for a moment, blurring the veeyar around the edges, and slowed his breathing, taking deep lungfuls of air.

C’mon. Drop. Just as he was about to give up, knowing his own tension over the medication waiting to be released into his system and maybe take away his last chance at freedom, the indicator level dropped, finally coming to a rest barely within the intermediate safety zone.

He returned his full attention to the veeyar, then swept his gaze over the banquet room again. He spotted Madeline Green talking to a young man in the middle of the crowd.

“Identify,” Gaspar ordered, locking a capture window over the young man.

“Derek Sommers,” the computer answered. “IPG games. Continue?”

“No.” Gaspar couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized Derek. It only showed how rattled he was. He stood up suddenly and launched himself through the ceiling, passing through it easily and following one of the buttoncams’ telecommunications signal to the hotel through the Net zones. All the security programs and the firewalls had been punched clear by his viruses earlier.

In seconds he was in the banquet room in holoform. Other game design publishers were there in holo as well, not truly trusting circumstances after the kidnapping. And some of them never appeared in public anyway for their own reasons.

The holoprojectors gave Gaspar virtual substance, but even as he started to appear, he triggered a program he had prepared. Instead of looking like himself or his usual proxy, he grafted on the appearance of Matt Hunter. He knew the real Matt was working online, in one of the other girls’ rooms. Heavener hadn’t bugged the Explorers’ rooms, but she had ordered buttoncams placed in the hallways beside their rooms.

Shaking on the inside, hoping the proxy would hold under the scrutiny of the men Heavener had at the banquet, Gaspar approached Madeline Green. “Hey, Madeline.” He tried to sound casual, even forced a smile. “Got a minute?”

She turned to Derek and excused herself, then walked toward a small empty area beside one of the walls surrounding the table areas.

Gaspar hadn’t realized how pretty she looked in the cocktail dress until that moment. Watching through the monitors back in his veeyar just hadn’t been the same.

She turned on him, arms folding across her breasts and her brown eyes stern. “Maybe we need to start with you telling me who you are, because you’re sure not anyone I know.”