Daemon

by Daniel Suarez

  Agent Philips did not contact Sebeck or Ross directly. Nonetheless, Sebeck felt the heavy presence of NSA security all around his house. Two windowless vans sat curbside near his driveway, and federal agents shooed away reporters foolhardy enough to approach his residential block—although, in the tumult of media attention following the fiery destruction of Sobol’s estate, no one focused much on the cop who discovered the Sobol connection. Control of the Task Force had been transferred to Washington, which meant that Sebeck and the entire Sheriff’s Department were out of the loop. That was fine with Sebeck. It gave him time to focus on something he’d never given a damn about: computer games.

  In general, Sebeck viewed computers as a necessary fact of modern life. His chief complaint was that they gave a false sense of precision to poor thinking. But then, technology was like religion—you either had the faith or you didn’t.

  It was almost midnight, and Sebeck scanned his keyboard to find the hotkeys that would twirl his barbarian character around. The majesty of a fully textured 3-D wilderness filled his computer screen. In the foreground, giant rats were overcoming a muscle-bound barbarian.

  Sebeck’s son, Chris, stood next to him. “Dad! They’re kicking your ass.” He laughed and covered his eyes.

  Sebeck glanced at the screen. He started hitting keys at random. His barbarian had the digital equivalent of an epileptic fit, while the rats brought him down. “Damnit.”

  “Oh man, you suck.”

  Sebeck gave Chris the evil eye, and the boy held up his palms in submission. “Just trying to help.”

  “Yeah, you’re a hell of a teacher.”

  “You should just let me do it for you.”

  “This isn’t a game, Chris.”

  “Yes, it is a game.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’ve been after you for a year for a subscription to The Gate. What’s the difference if I play for a while?”

  “Because the psychopath who killed Aaron Larson created this game.” He cast an angry look at his son.

  Chris was taken aback at the harshness of the reaction.

  Sebeck collected himself. “Chris…”

  Chris adopted the intense indifference unique to angry teenagers. “No problem.” He stood up and walked out—only to pop his head back in the doorway to say, “I was just trying to help, Dad.” He stormed down the hall, then thundered upstairs.

  Sebeck stared at the floor. He’d screwed that up—like most aspects of fatherhood. Listening to himself speak sometimes Sebeck wondered who the hell he’d become. In high school he’d been a laid-back guy. But that was before all this. And why was he not repentant? Even now he sat at the desk with a vague feeling that he should feel bad—but he didn’t. Instead, he felt justified by the importance of his work. It was a coping mechanism he’d honed to a razor edge over the years.

  He focused on that work again.

  The computer game, The Gate, seemed infantile. Apparently, loads of people were eager to spend fifteen bucks a month to wander around an endless 3-D wasteland bashing rats, slugs, and zombies over the head. No wonder Sobol was rich. Sebeck didn’t see the appeal in it, and aside from the arcane hotkey commands required to turn around quickly, it wasn’t much of a challenge. Certainly there wasn’t any thought required.

  His home phone rang. Sebeck eyed the cordless handset suspiciously. He glanced at his watch. It was just after midnight. He picked it up and pressed “Talk.” “Sebeck residence.”

  Ross chuckled on the other end. “Giant rats? You let giant rats kill you?”

  Sebeck frowned. “You saw that?”

  “I was watching you from a nearby hill.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “It’s involved. Suffice it to say there are ways.”

  “Jon, tell me again why it’s not stupid to be running this game on my computer. The Gate is supposed to have a back door in it.”

  “We’re trying to draw the Daemon out. You backed up your hard drive like I told you, right?”

  “Chris did—although you can delete the whole damned thing for all I care. All I ever find on here is spam, porn, and pirated music.”

  “Look, there’s something strange happening off the northern coast of Cifrain. I want to check it out, and you’ll need to be tougher to come with me.”

  “I’m still stuck in this Briar Patch.”

  “Forget about that. I went on eBay and bought you a real character—not that newbie Conan cut-out you’re running around with now.”

  “What do you mean bought? CyberStorm sells better characters?”

  “No. People do. Students and the terminally unemployed build up characters the hard way, then sell them on eBay for quick cash. I bought you a knight of Cifrain for three hundred and eighty dollars.”

  “Three hundred eighty dollars? People actually pay that much?”

  “Market forces. Busy professionals play these games to cool off in the evening. They have money but no time. Then there are skilled gamers with no money but lots of time. It’s a natural ecosystem. Whole economies exist in these virtual worlds. A baron with lands can go for a couple thousand. I can loan you some equipment, but I want it back.”

  “I’ll see if the department can reimburse you.”

  “I don’t need real money, Pete, but the Cloak of Aggis I will want back. You ready to go?”

  “I’m still trying to get the hang of the controls. Just what the hell do people see in this game, anyway? It’s just bashing the same monsters on the head. And by the way, this artificial intelligence that everyone’s going on about is nothing spectacular.”

  “You haven’t even scratched the surface. You’re in the training ground.”

  “The training ground?”

  “Did you even read the FAQ?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, look: the Briar Patch is the starting level you need to graduate from before you can play in the main world. It keeps the world from being overrun with spastic newbies—no offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Don’t worry about combat commands right now. We’ve got to get moving.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait until Agent Philips contacts you?”

  “No point. The NSA is eavesdropping on your Internet and phone traffic, so they’ll have a record of whatever we discover. You know how to end your game, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Log off and get back to the title screen. You do it by hitting the Escape key a few times.”

  “All right, all right.” Sebeck did as he was told. He resisted the temptation to save the current game and clicked all the way back to the main screen. “I’m there.”

  “Good. You’ll need your hands for the controls. Can you put me on speakerphone?”

  “My son’s got a headset here.”

  “Perfect. Hook it up.”

  Sebeck hooked up the phone headset and put it on. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes. Click the ‘Logon’ command.”

  “Okay.” Sebeck waited a few moments.

  “When it prompts you for the logon and password, enter the following values…” Ross spoke slowly, “Logon: CLXSOLL3. Password: 39XDK_88.”

  Sebeck used hunt-and-peck typing to enter the values, then he clicked the CONTINUe button. An unfamiliar screen came up, showing a heavily armored, muscular human form rotating in space. It was like Leonardo da Vinci’s sketchbook with heavy weaponry. At the top of the screen were the words “Character Name: Sir Dollus Andreas” in large type. Dozens of stats and hyperlinks appeared alongside the frame containing the spinning human warrior. “What the hell is this?”

  “Your new character.”

  “This guy looks dangerous.” Sebeck started clicking around the character sheet. It looked similar in format to his original barbarian—but all the categories were greatly expanded. He clicked through lists of weapons. “What’s a Vorpal Sword?”

  “Something I want back. We need to start out by getting informat
ion.”

  “Okay, what do I do?”

  “Click the SPAWN button. I’ll meet you outside your villa.”

  “My villa?”

  “You’re a knight. You hold a manse from the local lord.”

  “What’s a manse?”

  “It’s land that produces income to support you as a knight. Just hit the SPAWN button, please.”

  Sebeck sighed and hit the SPAWN button. In a moment the screen faded out. His hard drive was clicking like mad.

  “Did you spawn yet?”

  “It’s working on it.” The screen faded in to reveal a large medieval bedchamber lit by smoky torchlight. Sebeck’s point of view was from the foot of his canopied bed. Three men stood before him. The computer graphics were pretty impressive; so were the movements of the animated characters as they fidgeted and one shoved the other to pay attention.

  The lead man bowed. The others followed suit. “Good morning, my lord.”

  Sebeck noticed two armored men standing guard at the bedchamber door. He spoke into his phone headset. “Okay, Jon, I’m in. I’ve got some guys talking to me.”

  “They’re probably your servants. To find out what you can do with people, point at them and right-click. A menu will come up.”

  Sebeck clicked on the lead servant, then right-clicked. A menu appeared:

  Follow me

  Guard me

  Bring me…

  Leave me

  Stop what you’re doing

  All of you, out of my sight, motherless dogs!

  Sebeck selected the last command, and everyone in sight shrank back and scurried from the room—including the guards at the door. The door slammed behind them. Sebeck chuckled heartily. “This is just like the office.”

  Ross’s voice came over the phone. “You called them motherless dogs, didn’t you?”

  “How could I resist?”

  “Just get to the street, please. I’m waiting.”

  Sebeck hit the Up arrow to get himself moving. He eventually discovered the keyboard stroke to open doors, and soon he was walking through the halls of his villa. Servants scurried this way and that on apparent errands. They all bowed their heads as he passed. It was pretty impressive, but Sebeck wondered what the point of it all was. It’s not like he could really enjoy the comforts of the place. It was just computer graphics.

  He made it to the main hall, and from there Sebeck could see double doors with four men on guard. As he moved toward the front door, two men in rich-looking robes with fur collars and necklaces approached him from the wings.

  “My lord, a word, please. I hope you’ve considered our proposal. The price is fair. What say you, my lord?”

  Sebeck was confused. If this was his house, who the hell were these guys? “Jon, I’ve got a couple of shysters accosting me in my own foyer.”

  “Might be a deal the previous owner of the character had going.”

  “Are you serious? This game remembers what you do?”

  “Do they look important?”

  “Sort of.” Sebeck right-clicked on the man. A selection of responses appeared:

  I’ll sell for 500

  Offer more money

  No, I’ll never sell

  I’ll think about it

  Sebeck’s mouse accidentally hovered over the guard in the background, and the menu listing went away. Sebeck right-clicked on the guard out of curiosity. Another list appeared:

  Attack…

  Guard me

  Guard this place

  Leave me

  Sebeck selected Attack…. When he did so, the mouse cursor started trailing a red line from it, with a fixed point leading from the guard. The game was apparently asking him to select the target. Sebeck clicked smack dab in the expectant face of the bearded merchant.

  An echoing shout went up in the room as not just one but all the guards pulled swords and came screaming toward the merchant.

  The man’s face actually registered fear. “No! To me! To me!”

  Sebeck’s warriors converged on the men and started hacking them with swords. Animated blood spattered the floor as the merchants tried to flee. Sebeck’s warriors hemmed them in. The merchants shrieked pitiably. That’s when Sebeck heard pounding on the front doors. A couple of his guards peeled off just in time to meet a dozen swordsmen in what looked to be chain mail. They burst into the foyer screaming like banshees and rushed to the merchants’ defense.

  A general alarm bell went up in the house. Shouts were heard all around. “We’re under attack!”

  Sebeck muttered into the phone. “Oh shit…”

  “Why are those swordsmen running into the villa?”

  “Okay, I may have fucked up here.”

  “Damnit, Pete, you couldn’t get out your front door without causing a brawl?”

  “It’s under control.” Sebeck was trying to remember the command to get a sword into his hand. This character was incredibly confusing. There was so much to choose from—too much. Suddenly a wild-haired swordsman was on him, screaming and swinging like a maniac. “Uh-oh.”

  More of Sebeck’s men were coming in from the wings, but not enough. Already some of his men lay dead. The merchants had good bodyguards, and they were moving out the door under close protection now.

  The bearded one looked back and pointed to Sebeck. “I will have vengeance upon you!”

  Sebeck muttered into his headset. “Yeah, yeah…”

  Suddenly the merchant jerked and dropped to the ground with a black arrow in his back. His two bodyguards scanned the terrain outside, and one of them suddenly dropped dead as well. The remaining guard ran for the road.

  A horn sounded, and the merchant’s men-at-arms retreated, bringing the surviving younger merchant along with them. As they made their way through the doorway, another black arrow appeared in the younger merchant’s forehead, and he, too, pitched forward, dead. The remaining men-at-arms scattered, running through the gardens and over the low hedgerows. Sebeck’s four or five remaining guards gave chase. One of them turned back in the doorway and shouted to a servant. “Summon the town watch!” Then he was gone. The servant ran off through the villa shouting, “The watch! The watch!”

  In a moment Sebeck stood alone among the dead. On closer inspection, some were groaning and twitching, obviously injured. This was frighteningly detailed. Sebeck scanned the room, hitting the arrow keys to move about.

  He almost jumped out of his digital skin when he turned to see a fearsome-looking hooded assassin appear out of thin air a foot from his face.

  Ross’s voice came over the phone. “Boo.”

  “Stop screwing around.” Sebeck noticed that this avatar was different from the ones he’d seen so far—a glowing call-out box hovered over its head. The box was labeled “Entro-P” and a series of green bars were stacked up to the left of it, like a graph. It was a ninja with a floating name tag. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “You really screwed things up, you know that?”

  “I don’t remember you teaching me how to play this game.”

  “I plead guilty. I just didn’t think your first instinct would be to attack an unarmed old man.”

  “He was annoying me.”

  “Okay, a little tip: everything has consequences in this world—as in the real one. See the dead merchant on the floor? That’s the patriarch of the House of Peduin and a leading merchant. He had many friends, and he provided the local nobility with much of their liquidity—i.e., cash. This is an agrarian society, so cold hard cash is hard to come by. Even my character has used his services.”

  “You’re the one who killed him.”

  “But I wasn’t seen trying to kill him. See how that works? Just like the real world. Once you ordered your men to kill him, it was important to slay all the witnesses. Even then, you might have spies in your household.”

  “Enough. So what? Some digital graphics are upset at me. Who gives a shit?”

  “I bought your character because he was useful. He had
title, lands, and income from his holdings. These things would have come in handy where we’re going—particularly your following of men-at-arms and any alliances you might have had with regional nobility. But now you’ll be branded outlaw and your lands and title will be forfeit.”

  “All right. I owe you a character. Should we buy another one?”

  Ross chuckled. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.” He sighed. “No, let’s see if we can get out of town alive.”

  “Town? We’re in a town?”

  “Yes. This is your autumn villa. The one used during market season. It’s in downtown Gedan.”

  “As in the taverns of Gedan?”

  “That’s right. Although, thanks to you, we won’t be visiting any taverns. C’mon.”

  Ross’s assassin led the way, waiting impatiently as Sebeck tried in vain to navigate his character through the doorway and out to the road.

  “You’re like a retarded Sir Lancelot.”

  “Look, unlike you, I have a life, and I don’t have hundreds of extra hours to spend learning to play this game.”

  They made it out to the road, and Sebeck finally got a good look around. This was a surprisingly complex-looking world. They stood on a narrow cobblestone street in a picturesque medieval town. A bell tower stood above what looked to be a square, and the bell was ringing. Birds even flew past in the morning sky. “Holy Moses. This is really something.”

  “Incoming…”

  A mob of armed men headed down the otherwise deserted street in their direction. They didn’t look friendly.

  “Goddamnit, I didn’t want to use this, but we’ve got places to go.” Ross’s character made some animated, generic hand gestures.

  “What are you up to? You casting a spell or something?”

  “No, I’m using a magical device.”

  Suddenly a shimmering portal opened in midair in the middle of the street. It revealed a tunnel that appeared to enter some extra-dimensional space.

  “Why don’t you just sprinkle them with pixie dust?”

  “I’m going to sprinkle you with pixie dust in a second. This is a fantasy world. Whether you think it’s cool is irrelevant. Several million people do think it’s cool, and the Daemon is using this to propagate in reality—so stop poking fun and get your psycho ass through the portal.”