“COME ON, SPIT IT OUT.” The owl cocked its head at him. “IT DOESN’T DO A BIT OF GOOD FOR ME TO SAY IT.”
“F—Four—A.” The bones in his broken arm ground together as he struggled to stay on his feet. He threw back his head and put all the force of’ his misery and pain behind his voice. “Bluebird four-A!”
The two robots locked into place. For a moment he hung in their grip while an angry red haze thickened behind his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his undamaged left arm out of their unmoving hands, then eased his throbbing right arm free. All around him a forest of immobile robot guards and Legionaries stared with unseeing eyes.
“DAMNED LILY-LIVERED MARSHMALLOWS!” Mars braced his fists on his silver-studded belt. “NEVER TRUST A MORTAL TO DO A GOD’S JOB!”
“HOW TRUE.” The air darkened beside Mars, swirling like water running down a drain until it became a tall, strong-featured woman with a gloating smile. “WELL . . .” She stroked her white throat. “WE MEET AGAIN, ARVID.”
Kerickson pulled the wide sleeve of his tunic down as a makeshift sling. “Hello, Alline.”
Thunder rumbled. The goddess laughed, then transformed her plain black gown into a shimmering, form-fitting sheet of pearls and diamonds. “YOU’RE IN ENOUGH TROUBLE ALREADY, ARVID. IF I WERE YOU, I WOULDN’T ADD INSULTING THE QUEEN OF HADES TO THE LIST.”
“Gaius!” Amaelia struggled against Gracchus’s grip near the top of the steps. “Gaius, be careful!”
“HOW SWEET.” Demea crossed her arms and thunder pealed again, louder this time. “PERHAPS WE CAN HAVE YOU BOTH BURNED IN THE SAME FUNERAL PYRE.”
“DON’T YOU THINK YOU’RE GETTING AHEAD OF YOURSELF HERE, GIRLIE?” Mars shouldered in front of her. “THIS IS MY TEMPLE, YOU KNOW, AND MY SACRIFICE, SO SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF THE WAY.”
“Yeah, Alline.” Kerickson dodged behind the deactivated robots and straightened his helmet. “Mind your own business. This is strictly between us guys.”
“IS THAT SO?” Demea pushed back in front of Mars, growing to half again his stature.
“WHY DON’T YOU GO POWDER YOUR NOSE?” Mars’s eyes gleamed an intense, bloody red. “THIS IS A PRIVATE SACRIFICE.” He raised both arms high into the air and summoned a crackling yellow lightning bolt in each hand.
In answer, Demea conjured a blue ball of electricity between her two palms.
“AND YOU’RE—NOT—” Mars winked a baleful, red eye. “—WANTED!”
They both flung their weapons at the same instant. There was a blinding flash in midair, and then a huge thunderclap knocked Kerickson to his knees. His ears rang and the air tasted of burnt steel. Gagging and coughing, he wiped at his tearing eyes with his good hand.
In the middle of the steps, a cloud of gray smoke dissipated in the breeze, leaving one indistinct form behind. Kerickson blinked hard. It resolved into the huge, paunchy God of War.
“WELL!” Mars pushed back his tunic sleeves. “NOW THAT I’VE HAD A CHANCE TO WORK UP AN APPETITE, LET’S GET ON WITH IT.”
Kerickson took a deep shuddering breath and looked up into the blue sky. “Minerva!”
Mars cracked his knuckles. “YOU KNOW, YOU REALLY ARE PITIFUL, EVEN FOR A MORTAL.”
A brown feather drifted down to the pavement; then the owl fluttered to the steps in front of Kerickson. “YOU CALLED?”
Kerickson staggered back onto his feet. On the steps, Mars pantomimed drawing back a bowstring. “TALK ABOUT SHOOTING DUCKS IN A BARREL.” He snickered as a crackling yellow light began to writhe about his right hand.
“Minerva, I could really use some help here!” Kerickson readied himself to jump, although it would probably not do the slightest bit of good.
“MIGHT ONE INQUIRE JUST WHAT YOU HAVE IN MIND?” The owl eyed the God of War.
“Ummm . . .” That, of course, was a good question. He flinched as Mars’s throwing arm cocked back over his armored shoulder, another thunderbolt sizzling in his pudgy hand. It was hopeless, he thought, it would take at least a river to put that out, or maybe a whole . . .
“Neptune!” He turned back to the owl. “Call Neptune!”
The owl disappeared with a flick of its brown wings.
Mars’s teeth gleamed white through his curly red beard. “NOW HOLD STILL, YOU LITTLE BUGGER! THIS WON’T HURT A BIT!”
Kerickson edged backward into the unmoving Praetorians. The air in front of the temple steps rippled like flowing water until it solidified into a tall, green-skinned man with dripping seaweed hair. “DESIST, UPSTART, OR I SHALL MAKE YOU WISH YOU HAD.”
“IS THAT SO, FISHFACE’?” Mars hefted his firebolt thoughtfully. “WHY DON’T YOU COME UP HERE AND SAY THAT?”
A shimmering blueness formed to the right of Neptune, then became Venus, the voluptuous Goddess of Love. “NOW, REALLY, BOYS.” She put one hand on the smooth curve of her hip and winked. “CAN’T YOU FIND SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING TO DO THAN FIGHT?”
On Neptune’s left, a long slim column of dust and leaves appeared, spinning faster and faster until suddenly the lithe Goddess of the Hunt, Diana, stood before them. She notched a shining golden arrow into her bow and aimed it at Mars’s throat. “ABANDON THE FIELD, YOU OLD LECHER.”
“NOW THIS IS RICH!” Mars laughed, holding his sides. “THREE NOBODIES MAKING NOISES AS IF THEY COULD REALLY HOLD THEIR OWN AGAINST THE GOD OF WAR!” His firebolt swelled until Kerickson felt the heat on his face.
“AND ME, THOU BRAGGART.” The owl appeared again, landing at the feet of the other three. “DON’T FORGET MINERVA, WHOSE CITY YOU HAVE SEEN FIT TO RAVISH.”
Mars giggled. “WELL, AS LONG AS YOU HAVEN’T SEEN FIT TO STICK AROUND AND PROTECT IT, WHAT’S A GOD TO DO?”
Up on the steps, Kerickson saw a man slip down from the temple to pull Amaelia from Gracchus’s grasp and drag her back up the steps to the portico. Kerickson’s hands clenched. “Amaelia!”
The man hesitated, then disappeared into the shadows with her. Kerickson tossed the Legionary’s helmet aside and ran toward the steps.
“THAT’S IT, BOY. SHOW THESE LOSERS HOW IT’S DONE.” Mars winked a red eye at him, then flung the firebolt, “I DO SO LOVE AN OPTIMIST.”
Kerickson covered his head with his good arm and threw himself to the side, hitting the stone with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs and wring a searing burst of pain from his broken arm. Thunder cracked overhead, then rain drenched his body. He heard the sizzle and pop of the firebolt, then only the spatter of fat drops of rain on the pavement.
“FIRE AND WATER.” Neptune crossed his mottled-green arms. “WE SEEM TO HAVE REACHED AN IMPASSE.”
From the top of the temple Kerickson heard a long drawn-out scream that was abruptly cut off. He wavered back to his feet, cradling his throbbing arm.
“HURRY, MORTAL,” Neptune intoned morosely. “WE CAN HOLD THIS RED-EYED DOG OFF FOR ONLY A FEW MORE ROUNDS. YOU CAN WORSHIP US LATER.”
Kerickson stumbled to the steps, then started up, one weary foot at a time. Who was that up there with Amaelia—a robot, a priest of Mars, or perhaps the murderer? Halfway up he edged past Mars’s glowering figure. The god hefted another sizable firebolt, but giant raindrops pelted down again.
The god’s red eyes shot off angry sparks. “YOU AND I WILL SETTLE THIS LATER!”
“Right.” Kerickson shifted the dead weight of his throbbing arm. If he ever got back into the Interface, he would pull every byte that constituted Mars’s personality and flush it down the vac-chute
Three-quarters of the way up, he drew even with Quintus Gracchus and stared into the unseeing Roman face. No wonder Gracchus had played the Game so well. He reached out and touched the unflinching skin. Just like the rest of the Praetorians. Gracchus was a robot surrogate, no doubt programmed to out-Roman them all. The emergency override had stopped him, too. But then who was the man at the top?
The steps whirl
ed under his bare feet and the pain from his arm came in waves, making it difficult to think. He sagged down to the cool marble and looked back at the Forum. Below, the four gods still faced off with Mars while the unmoving Praetorian Guards were just so many statues, hardly even remarkable in a place as crammed with monuments as this one was.
He drew a deep shuddering breath and stood up. Just a little farther and he could rest again. He focused on the steps beneath his feet, concentrating on one at a time until suddenly he found himself at the top.
Stumbling toward the great row of columns, he tried to see back in the shadowy recesses of the temple itself. “Amaelia?”
There was no answer, but he heard the slide of something being dragged. Then a sudden flurry of beating wings drew his attention to the right as several frightened doves took flight.
“Let her go!” he called into the long black shadows. “Catulus has gone for the police. You can’t get away.”
“That’s what you think.” A dimly seen figure darted from behind one of the massive white columns and fired at him. Inches from Kerickson’s bare foot, the gold-inlaid marble bubbled, then fused into melted slag.
His heart pounding, he leaped behind another column. A laser pistol, he thought in amazement. If that had hit, his foot would have been only a charred memory. He leaned his head against the pillar, trying to think around the sick feeling in his stomach.
Another shimmering red laser bolt split the shadows, glancing off the column’s surface only a hand’s breadth from his cheek. Hastily, he slid farther back around the column, the burnt-stone smell strong in his nostrils. “Look, let her go!” he called. “Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that.” The voice was cool, collected . . . and familiar.
Kerickson replayed it in his head, trying to remember. He was positive he had heard it from time to time, though not often . . . Someone enrolled in the Game? No, someone from below, from work. The image of gray suit-alls came back to him, and a disapproving face cast in granite . . . “Jeppers!”
“Don’t tell me you just figured that out.” J. P. Jeppers, his old boss, eased out of the shadows with Amaelia’s body braced across his chest as a shield.
Kerickson saw her hands move; she was still alive. A minor surge of relief rushed through him, but then his stomach tightened as he noted the livid purple bruise across her cheek and the gag stuffed in her mouth.
“Of course, you always were rather dense. Why else would I have hired you right out of school? I needed programmers who were too inept to catch on.” Jeppers’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “But none of that matters now. As far as the police are concerned, I’m just another victim of the drug-runners, like the players. No one will ever know my part in this.”
“Except me.” Kerickson slid back around the massive column as Jeppers approached, keeping it between them.
“But you don’t count.” Jeppers caressed Amaelia’s cheek with the pistol. Her glazed eyes widened until they seemed all whites. “You’re nothing but a disgruntled employee, a screw-up, fired for good cause and suspected of murder, who then sneaked back onto the playing field and created havoc. No one would believe you, even if you were alive—which, of course, you won’t be.”
“You killed Micio, then.” Sweat trickled down Kerickson’s face. “And Wilson.”
“Micio was a greedy bastard.” Jeppers changed direction abruptly. “And Wilson was too damn nosy.” Jeppers’s arm tightened, wringing a muffled protest from Amaelia. “You, of course, are neither—just stupid.”
“Not as stupid as letting Gracchus shut the entire Game down.” Kerickson edged along the chill marble, trying to think of something, anything, to use as a weapon, but he didn’t have so much as a sandal to throw to distract Jeppers. “Even if Catulus hadn’t called the police, they would have suspected something after a few days. Too many people live here, not to mention the day-trippers; they’ll be missed if they don’t interact with the outside.”
“That was a minor miscalculation on my part.” Jeppers darted to the left, forcing Kerickson farther back around the column. “But who could have foreseen the cancellation of Gracchus’s points? I programmed him to become Emperor at any cost, which unfortunately he did. But I have my share of the profits safely salted away in an outside bank. Once I take care of the two of you, I’ll live in luxury for the rest of my life and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”
Kerickson heard the scuffle of heels dragged across the marble.
“Too bad Mars has to miss his own sacrifice!” Jeppers called from the shadows. “But I suppose it’s the thought that counts!” He heaved Amaelia’s struggling body onto the altar, then picked up a gleaming knife.
If he ran to her aid, Jeppers would fry him with the laser. And if he didn’t, Jeppers would kill Amaelia, who had heard everything, and then still come after him. He needed a diversion.
Minerva! His lips moved soundlessly, but then he stopped himself. All four gods were needed to hold off Mars. If he called anyone of them up here to help, then Mars would be free again.
Amaelia screamed; Jeppers must have removed her gag so that he could hear her terror. “Minerva!” Kerickson called softly, knowing the computer pickups would hear him. “I need your help!”
The owl appeared before him. “THIS HAD BETTER BE WORTH IT.”
Below, he heard Mars laugh, then the sizzle of a firebolt. “Manifest in Jeppers’s face.” The owl faded and he ran around the column toward the altar.
Jeppers looked up and smiled, raising the laser pistol. “So glad that you could—” His voice broke off as the owl appeared in his face, squawking and beating its wings. Even though the holographic image had no substance, he reacted to it reflexively and tried to beat it away from his eyes.
Kerickson threw himself at Jeppers and knocked him to the marble floor, then fought the pain of his broken arm, groping for the laser pistol even though he didn’t know how accurately he could fire it with his left hand.
When his fingers encountered the cold hard steel, he whirled, and aimed it at Jeppers—and stopped. The executive lay still and pale, a thin red rivulet seeping from his scalp across the white stone.
“LET’S GET ON WITH THE SACRIFICE!” Mars appeared at the altar, lighting the temple’s recesses with a brilliant red glow. He held a firebolt in one hand as he leaned over Amaelia’s bound body.
“Minerva!” Kerickson called.
“IT’S TOO LATE.” The owl landed on Jeppers’s nose. “THE STALEMATE IS BROKEN.”
“SUCH A PRETTY DISH.” Mars transformed the firebolt into a fiery sword. “PERHAPS WE SHOULD HAVE A BIT OF FUN BEFORE THE END.”
“Go to the Interface!” Kerickson pushed himself onto his feet. The temple floor seemed to ripple beneath him. “Find Catulus and tell him to shut Mars down!”
“I CANNOT MANIFEST WITHIN THE INTERFACE.”
Kerickson stumbled toward the altar. “He should have left some men in front of the bakery. Tell them to shut Mars down—now!”
The owl disappeared as he reached for Amaelia with his good arm, placing his body between her and the God of War. “Come on, Catulus!” he muttered between clenched teeth.
“WHY IN SUCH A HURRY, YOU FLEA-BITTEN MORSEL OF MORTALITY?” Mars’s face gleamed with a lurid red glow. “AFTER ALL, YOU ONLY GET TO DIE ONCE.” He raised his flaming sword and winked. “GOOD-BYE, SUCKER—”
Without warning, the electric braziers lighting the altar flickered out. So did the sun and the baleful red glow of Mars’s oversized body, leaving them in a smooth, black silence.
Kerickson sagged back against Amaelia’s prone body on the altar. Cold sweat drenched his body. Then he turned around, searched until he found her bound wrists, and began to work on the ropes with his good hand.
“What—What happened?” she asked.
“I told Ca
tulus to turn Mars off, but—” He swore under his breath as he struggled one-handedly with the unseen knot. “—but he must not have known what to do. I guess he turned everything off just to be safe.” The ropes on her hands loosened and he moved down to her feet.
“It’s so—dark.” He felt her shiver. “And it’s getting cold again. What will we do?”
After a moment her feet were free. He hauled himself up onto the altar and put his left arm around her shoulder. She felt warm and soft against his aching body, and wonderfully human. “The police should be here before too long, but I guess until they come, we’ll just have to think of something.” He inhaled the lemony scent of her hair. “Got any ideas?”
THE INTERIOR of the Interface was familiar and relaxing. Sitting in his old seat before the console, Kerickson closed his eyes and let the on-call HabiTek doctor work on his broken arm as the pain medication set him adrift in a golden haze.
The bone-knitting field snapped off.
“How’s the arm?” Detective Sergeant Arjack asked.
Dr. Simpkins examined the instrument’s readout. “It’ll hold—for the time being.” He put a hand on Kerickson’s good shoulder. “You’ll need additional treatment, though. Don’t put it off.”
Kerickson nodded, then looked around the circular room. “What about Jeppers?”
“I had word back from the hospital a few minutes ago.” The Arjack folded its massive arms. “Just a lacerated scalp and a minor concussion, nothing serious. He’ll be released in a day or two.”
Relief flooded through Kerickson. “He’ll be able to talk, then.”
“I think ‘sing like a canary’ is the proper expression.” The police robot blinked at him. “Are you ready to finish your statement now?”
Kerickson flexed his right arm. Somewhere in the distance he could feel a faint ache, like a nagging thought that wouldn’t go away, but he could think now and make sense—which was more than he had been able to do by the time the dome’s power had come back on and Amaelia had helped him down to the Interface.
The Imperium Game Page 27
