Gameprey (2000) Read online

  “I want this handled quickly.” The cool, crisp voice didn’t change audibly, but Gaspar recognized the threat in the words.

  When he’d first met her, Gaspar had been with two friends in a small bar in Hamburg, Germany. Heavener had walked up out of the night, said, “Gaspar Latke,” and he’d turned to her, grinning slightly because she was a pretty woman, and his two hacker buddies were immediately envious of the attention. Then she’d taken out a small pistol and shot them both. Her voice hadn’t even changed when she stepped over the bodies and yanked him up from the floor by the collar. “Come with me,” she’d said in perfect German. That had been eight months ago, when he’d been seventeen, yet it already seemed like a lifetime.

  Inside the veeyar, Gaspar closed his eyes, concentrating till he could see the icons of his own veeyar appear before him. Disconnection from the Net felt different to different people. Gaspar felt the familiar chill breeze flow through his body, then he opened his eyes in the lineup chair.

  He pushed his skinny frame from the implant chair and stood in the dark room. He experienced a moment of disorientation as gravity kicked in. He spent so much time online that his own body felt alien to him despite the isometric stimulation built into the implant chair. The feeling wasn’t new, so he quickly adjusted and plodded toward the other implant chair in the room. The first implant chair was specially dedicated to Peter Griffen’s systems, hidden so well that Peter had never known he was there.

  “Hurry,” Heavener commanded.

  “I am.”

  Heavener stood in a corner, comfortably wreathed in shadows. She was slender and barely over five feet tall. Her platinum blond hair was cut short and spiky, colored with two distinct red and blue stripes that ran from her left temple to the bottom of her hairline. Silver earring strands glittered, catching the green light from the computer consoles. Her skin was pale, almost to the point of albinism. Contacts covered her eyes, giving them a crescent shape and an amber color that belonged on a hungry cat. She wore tight black leather pants and a black sleeveless top. Her black leather biker’s jacket lay over the back of a nearby chair.

  Gaspar made himself breathe. When he got really tense around Heavener, he forgot. He settled down in the implant chair, and the interior shrank around his slight form. He was maybe an inch or two taller than Heavener, still a couple inches shy of five and a half feet. His already sallow complexion had turned waxy over the last few months. He normally kept his dark hair razored short, but he hadn’t taken care of it in weeks. Wispy beard stubble tracked his cheeks, only shadowing the acne pits.

  He triggered the chair’s implants. Then the programming seized his senses and pulled him into veeyar again.

  He opened his eyes inside his personal veeyar. He’d modeled it on Ray Bradbury’s office, borrowing several props the science fiction writer had kept around him for inspiration. He’d found the clutter relaxing, making him feel as if he was always in the middle of something rather than off by himself.

  Gaspar sat at the antique desk and studied the Underwood typewriter before him. Instead of the alphabet, though, the typewriter keys had icons for the various software programs he had loaded.

  He touched the triangular blue icon, and another gust of cold wind filled him, tightening his skin and prickling his scalp. He blinked and was on the Net proper.

  Multicolored datastreams passed below him, flashing lights that carried information and encrypted data all over the world. Various symbols and shapes represented the online businesses, each linked to the other by the datastreams that flowed in both directions constantly.

  Floating above the Netscape, Gaspar triggered the trace-back utility he’d built for Peter’s Griffen’s veeyar. Since it operated outside the veeyar and merely ferreted out connections, Griffen had never realized someone was spying on him. It helped that Gaspar had also been able to program blind spots into Peter’s operating system when he’d had access to it.

  Gaspar targeted the hotel where Peter was staying. On the Net the hotel looked very much like it did in real life.

  The Bessel Mid-Town stood thirty stories tall, topped by a helipad for corporate executives on the go. The fourteenth floor was open on three sides, providing a pavilion that included an Olympic-sized pool, a banquet area, and an open stage carefully sectioned off from each other by a plethora of plants and exhibit cases.

  Gaspar dropped through the Net and automatically chose a nondescript proxy. By the time he landed on the carpet and stepped onto the canopy-covered area, he looked like a businessman.

  A uniformed concierge braced him at the broad double doors. The proxy looked young, polite, and earnest. “May I help you, sir?”

  “Just going up to my room,” Gaspar replied. He flashed the faked hotel PIN card he’d mocked up.

  The concierge glanced at the card, electronic pulses flashing in his eyes, then back up at Gaspar. “Of course. Thank you, sir.” He reached back and opened the door, disarming some of the security measures that prevented uninvited visitors from gaining entrance to the hotel’s online facilities.

  Not all of the security measures were dismissed, Gaspar knew. The rooms each maintained unique safeguards. Getting the master override programming right had taken him some time because the Bessel Mid-Town had beefed up security for the software convention.

  He accessed a pull-down menu in the hotel’s veeyar with the master override. A window opened beside him, staying within sight as he crossed to the main desk. He touched the icon that brought up the list of employees currently working.

  Ted Sheppard was the manager currently on duty.

  Closing the window, Gaspar accessed the security programming protecting the building, got through with the crack he’d developed, and accessed employee files. When that menu appeared, he selected SHEPPARD, TED, then downloaded the information. The file included a picture and Sheppard’s passcodes.

  Not even breaking stride, Gaspar grafted the information into his proxy. The proxy shimmered, and he knew in the next second that the hotel computer’s security systems wouldn’t be able to tell him from SHEPPARD, TED. He continued toward the main desk.

  An atrium filled the center of the huge, cavernous lobby, stretching all the way up to the fifteenth floor. The elevator drew the eye to the parade of plants and birds inside the atrium. Statues of ten-foot-tall Chinese dogs flanked either side of the main entrance.

  Gaspar stood behind the desk, feeling better than he had in hours. Stealing into places where he didn’t belong, that was what he did best, what he lived for.

  He logged into the internal security systems through the icon-laden touchscreen built right into the hotel desk behind the countertop.

  The icons cleared and the prompt printed, ID, PLEASE.

  Gaspar laid his palm on the touchscreen, feeling a little giddy with excitement. He trusted the proxy and the programs he was using, but the uncertainty was always a thrill.

  The touchscreen pulsed violet light in a bar that ran from top to bottom. WELCOME, SHEPPARD, TED. HOW MAY I HELP YOU? A new list of icons formed on the touchscreen.

  Gaspar tapped the yellow telecommunications icon, bringing up another menu. He passed over the HoloNet and vidphone connections, choosing the icon representing Net access feeds. He entered Peter Griffen’s room number.

  GRIFFEN, PETER. STATUS: CURRENTLY LOGGED ON. COMMUNICATE?

  Gaspar entered NO.

  LEAVE MESSAGE?

  NO.

  TRACE OUTBOUND?

  NO.

  TRACE INBOUND?

  YES.

  The touchscreen blinked, then a name and computer access number floated to the top. HUNTER, MARISSA & GORDON.

  Gaspar downloaded the information and closed out the security access on the touchscreen. Then he logged off.

  “I’ve got a name.” He gave it to her when he forced himself up from the implant chair.

  “Get back into Griffen’s veeyar,” Heavener ordered, taking a foilpack from her hip pocket. She opened the ultra-
thin silver-metal device and punched the power button and the vidphone configuration. The foilpack instantly reconfigured itself into a cell phone. “Find out if Griffen has communicated with those people. If he hasn’t, prevent it.”

  2

  The guy on the dragon’s back wore silvery-gray ring mail armor that covered his torso as well as his arms and legs. The armored helm masked half his face but left his strong jawline visible. Long black hair trailed from the back of the helm. Gems studding the helmet and armor gleamed in the sun’s light. A bright blue tabard covered the dragonrider’s chest and bore the symbol of a red dragon in flight.

  The dragon gaped its jaws, and Maj could see the roiling flames twisting up from inside the long throat. But the rider lifted a gloved hand and stilled the beast. In the next instant the dragon heeled over one hundred and eighty degrees.

  “Did you see that?” Matt asked excitedly. “That was an aerial U-turn. Don’t lose it.”

  “That’s the general idea.” Maj brought the Striper around in a tight turn.

  The dragonrider hunched lower over his saddle and glanced back over his shoulder. With the magnification of the forward-looking vid cam, Maj could clearly see the confusion and irritation on the guy’s face. His mouth was locked in a small smile, and behind the steel bandit’s mask of the helm his eyes flashed.

  Maj brought up the PA system and placed an outside hail. She spoke clearly into her voice mike. “Who are you?”

  Reaching up, the dragonrider took off his helm. His black hair whipped back in the wind. He tried a smile.

  “He can hear you,” Matt said. “He just doesn’t seem to understand you.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Online in the Net community was a universal translator program for—more or less—every known human language. Some dialects were still fuzzy, but basic concepts could be communicated easily. Encrypted code sometimes couldn’t be broken, but that was by design. “My name is Maj Green. Who are you?”

  The smile on the handsome face lost some of its electricity. He spoke again, but with the same incomprehensible result.

  “Uh-oh,” Matt said quietly. “That doesn’t look good.”

  Maj swiveled her head forward, spotting the winged shapes fast approaching. They flew in formation like geese, but her intuition told her they were nowhere near as pleasant as geese following some migratory path.

  In the next instant she recognized the flying figures as winged demonoids. Before she could draw another breath, they attacked.

  “Matt Hunter is a Net Force Explorer.”

  Andrea Heavener’s announcement brought a sudden rush of fear that flooded Gaspar Latke’s system with adrenaline. His fear of Net Force was automatic and sprang from years of being an outlaw hacker on the Net.

  “No one wants Net Force involved in this,” Heavener declared.

  “No,” Gaspar repeated as he plunged through the veeyar to his target. For a moment, though, his mind flirted with the idea of intentionally letting Net Force get information on what they were doing. If Net Force caught him, he’d be arrested and maybe jailed for a time, but he’d be free of the terrors of the last few months.

  “Why would Hunter contact Peter?” In the next moment Gaspar opened his eyes, back in the tera’lanth. He felt his wings beat, the huge muscles on his back rippling with effort as he sped through the sky. He searched the horizon ahead and spotted the dragon and the jet.

  “He didn’t,” Heavener said flatly. “The connection you found in the hotel was a result of a bleed-over.”

  “Impossible,” Gaspar said. “The game version Peter’s testing shouldn’t be capable of that. The effects of the bleed-over are very specific, very localized.”

  “People are tracing the outbound computer access line. Peter didn’t make contact with Hunter’s veeyar on purpose.”

  As the tera’lanth, Gaspar adjusted his flight and swooped down toward the dragon and the jet. Around him were a hundred other tera’lanth, all in full attack mode. The creatures in this veeyar were highly destructive. And they were all presently under his control because he’d accessed the programming he’d layered into the game’s AI. He divided his forces. Part of them would be a sacrifice, a diversion for Peter Griffen. But the others would destroy the Net Force Explorers.

  Maj tried to disengage from the demonoid attack by pulling the stick up and to the right. The jet’s engines screamed as the thrusters kicked into renewed life, pressing them back into the seats.

  The demonoids were faster than they looked, streaking through the sky and attacking from the left. Three of the nearest ones dived in at her with folded wings, halting twenty or thirty feet ahead and to the left of the jet in a perfect intercept course. Their wings unfolded, revealing long bone-white quills. Before Maj could adjust her course, the demonoids fired a salvo of quills from their wings.

  The quills slammed into the Striper in a long row that stitched the side of the aircraft. Two of them speared through the Plexiglas canopy, imbedding six inches or so with another six inches behind them.

  “They’re playing hardball,” Matt croaked.

  “Hang on,” Maj warned grimly as she worked the stick. The Striper grabbed air, shoved through the sky by the big engines. She looped and rolled expertly till the Striper’s nose faced the cluster of demonoids again. She lifted the protective cover from the weapons activation switch, then toggled it up. The green READY light came on.

  Maj depressed the launch button. Two air-to-air missiles sprang from the wings. The missiles achieved target locks on the creatures’ mass at once, ripping across the distance to impact at the center of the demonoids.

  The orange-and-black fireball knocked the creatures from the air, exploding a half-dozen of them.

  Even as she completed her rollout, she got another target lock with the air-to-air missiles. She brushed the button and sent another pair streaking forward.

  The explosion this time was much closer. With no way to avoid it, Maj flew through the flaming debris left behind. Burning chunks of demonoid bounced from the canopy with distant thuds, barely heard through the helmet. In the next moment she was free of the cloud of attackers.

  She craned her head over to the side, glancing back at the attack scene. A group of demonoids had already taken up pursuit, letting her know at a glance that she couldn’t outdistance them. But a second group surrounded the dragon and the dragonrider.

  Maj brought the jet around, feeling it stutter in protest as it jammed across conflicting air currents. The target-lock peep sounded again, and she released another pair of missiles, finishing off her heavy payload and leaving her only two thousand rounds of machine gun bullets.

  “That was the last of the missiles?” Matt asked with real concern.

  “Not for long.” Maj punched a quick selection of icons under the heading CHEAT MENU. “Now we’re more heavily armored and have infinite ammo as well as infinite fuel.” She worked the stick, diving toward the center of the demonoids. Her thumb moved restlessly across the missile launch button, releasing a salvo of missiles that hammered the winged creatures from the sky. Working the stick, she cut power and pulled into a barrel roll that brought her into a sharp approach path to the dragon.

  “Look at that guy,” Matt said, pointing.

  Maj looked, following the line of her friend’s arm. Incredibly, the dragonrider sat on one folded leg on the saddle, a bow pulled taut before him as he took deliberate aim. When he released, the arrow streaked forward and embedded in the chest of a nearby demonoid. Then it exploded.

  “One monster,” Matt said, “extra chunky.”

  Maj glanced up through the canopy and saw the phalanx of winged demonoids approaching from the rear. “Is he the target, or are we?” she wondered out loud.

  The dragon gaped its jaws and spat a huge fireball into the midst of the attacking demonoids. The flames fanned among the demonoids, blazing merrily as they ate the wings off the creatures’ burning bodies. Wingless demonoids dropped from the air, turning
into full-blown comets before they struck even the tops of the forest below.

  More demonoids fired quills at the dragon and dragonrider. The quills shattered against the dragon’s scaled hide, but Maj worried about the dragonrider. A sudden blue glow surrounded the dragonrider only an instant before the quills reached him. Unbelievably, the blue glow caught the quills. The dragonrider made another gesture, then the quills shot back at the demonoids.

  “He’s got a force field of some kind,” Matt observed.

  The dragonrider was already drawing back another arrow when Maj arrived.

  She unleashed her arsenal, launching missile after missile as each target lock came up. She kept her field of fire away from the dragon. In seconds the demonoid horde was nearly decimated. The survivors flew away.

  “They’re coming down on top of us from behind,” Matt declared.

  The dragonrider’s voice drew her attention. This time she drew a circle in the air, bringing up a record-audio function she’d designed in the programming to makes notes to herself.

  The dragonrider kept speaking. His face showed concern that was mirrored in his words. He waved a hand, drawing her to him.

  Maj juked the stick and swung toward the dragon. Despite her speed, the demonoids behind her closed the distance.

  The dragon, urged by its rider, flew toward the approaching jet. The dragonrider waved Maj down.

  Pushing the stick forward slightly, Maj dived under the dragon. For an instant the sky was reduced to the alabaster scales of the dragon’s belly.

  “Oh, yeah,” Matt said. “And we were thinking we were the cavalry.”

  Twisting around in the seat once she had her course safely locked in, Maj watched a massive gout of fire splatter over the demonoid pack. There were few survivors, and they quickly turned tail.