by Alex P. Berg
“Are you Richweed?” she asked.
“In the flesh,” I said. “Or…not. You know what I mean. This is my Brain, Paige. You’re TriumphCat?”
She nodded. “Call me Cat. You game with your Brain?”
Paige gave me a look. “Told you.”
I shrugged it off. “I do. I’m a noob, and I’ll own it—at least I will now that I’ve realized what difficulty level I was playing on in Marked 4 Death.”
“I got Oni’s message,” said Cat. “What do you want? As you can see, I’m sort of in the middle of something, and my squad could use me.”
Now that she’d closed to within an arm’s length, I could see various bits within the green goop on her body armor. Entrails, antenna fragments, and pieces of exoskeleton—mandibles and carapaces that had been blown to smithereens.
“What exactly were you fighting?” I asked.
“Silurians,” said Cat.
“Come again?”
Cat snorted and frowned. “Silurians. The insect overlords of Strike Force Zeta. Seriously, are you here to waste my time or what?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll get right to it then. The name’s Rich Weed, not Richweed. I’m a private investigator, and I’m afraid I have to share the news that your boyfriend, Leetforce? Well…there’s no easy way to say it. He’s dead.”
Cat’s brow furrowed. “I’m going to kill Oni. Look, pal, I get that you’re new to gaming and all, but these are sims. Like, not real life. I’m not sure what Leet ran up against in Marked 4 Death or Asteroidmageddon or whatever he was playing with you, but I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Yes, I got several of those same withering glances from your friends already,” I said. “I’m serious, though. We found him—the real him, Lars—in his Cetie apartment a few hours ago, frail and lifeless. I haven’t seen the coroner’s report yet, but I’d guess he passed away several weeks ago.”
Cat glanced around, confused. “Is this a prank? You’re showing up as a real person in my HUD, so I know you’re not a gag NPC. Who put you up to this?”
“This isn’t a joke,” I said, standing. “Ask Paige. She’ll back me up.”
Cat didn’t ask, but Paige nodded anyway, standing and joining me at my side.
“Okay, let’s assume you are who you say,” said Cat. “I don’t know who you found dead in his apartment, but it wasn’t Leet. I saw him this morning, right before I signed into Strike Force Zeta. He’s fine.”
“That’s what your boyfriend’s pals Oni and Dread said, too,” I said. “But the apartment where we found the dead man, an apartment registered to Lars Busk in the public listings, contained a man who looked a lot like the directory photo of Lars Busk. The same Lars Busk who supposedly owns the XXEliteForce420XX handle.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Cat. “Leet was peachy this morning, and I’m sure he’s still fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than argue with you. Namely, stomping bugs into piles of twitching goo.”
Cat turned and took two steps toward the portal.
“So I take it Leet normally takes extended breaks like this during the day?” I said.
Cat paused and turned her head. “What?”
“I’m assuming you and Leet keep similar schedules,” I said. “Sleep at the same time, game at the same time. He signed off, what? About four, five hours ago? What do you suppose he’s up to? Taking a nap? Enjoying an extended lunch?”
Cat stared at me, her eyes thoughtful. “Could be.”
“But he doesn’t normally, does he?”
Cat took a moment to respond. “No. Not normally.”
“Does he normally say goodbye to you before he signs off?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And did he this time?”
Cat shook her head.
“Give him a call,” I said.
“What?” said Cat.
“You’re his girlfriend,” I said. “If you give him a Brain call, he’ll answer it, won’t he? Even though he’s not in game, right?”
“Yeah, of course he would. Give me a sec.”
Cat tilted her head to the side, and I waited. After about twenty seconds, she turned back to face me. “He’s not answering.”
I took a step forward. “I’m sorry.”
“What? No,” said Cat. “He’s fine. I’m sure of it. You said this guy you found had been dead for weeks. I told you, I spoke to Leet this morning, and the morning before that, and the one before that. Whoever you found, it wasn’t Leet.”
“Did you notice any change in his behavior?” I asked. “Specifically, around the time the man we found might’ve passed? Three, four weeks ago?”
Cat shook her head. “Nothing. Leet hasn’t changed at all. He’s the same Leet I’ve always known. He hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary.”
“Until today,” I said.
Cat sighed. “Yes.”
“Look, Cat,” I said, donning my sensitivity cap. “I can only imagine what thoughts must be going through your mind right now, but know that I’m of the opinion you might be right. It’s entirely possible the man we found wasn’t Leet, but I need your help to figure out what’s happening.”
Cat chewed on her lip. “Okay. Fine. I’ll help. What do you need?”
“Obviously, if he contacts you via Brain or if he logs back in and meets you in game, let me know,” I said. “But beyond that, I need to sift through his life. See if anything is out of place. I tried to do that in his—Lars’s—real life apartment without much success. Does he have a place of his own here in the Princess hub world?”
“Sort of,” said Cat. “We share an apartment.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I don’t suppose you could show me there?”
Cat gave me a single nod. “Sure. Give me a moment to pop back into Strike Force Zeta and let my squad know I’ll be MIA for a while. Meet me at the lobby of four forty Haldeman Plaza in five minutes or so.”
“Will do,” I said.
Cat stepped back through the portal. It winked shut behind her. I stared through the spot at the grass and waving maple branches behind it.
“You okay, Rich?” asked Paige.
I blinked. “Yeah. I just really hope I’m wrong about Leet. I hate breaking this sort of news to people. It’s why I chose private investigation over police work, you know.”
“Really?” said Paige. “I thought you chose private investigation because the hours were better and because you didn’t feel confident you’d pass the basic competence exam.”
“Remind me again why I keep you?”
Paige smiled. “Because I’m charming and vivacious. And because you couldn’t even figure out how to access the menu of a Brain game without me.”
I snorted. “The truth comes out eventually. Come on. Let’s get a move on.”
13
My portal spit me out in front of a swanky high rise that soared into the sky, challenging the wispy clouds swirling above it with its sharp spire. Blossoming cherry trees lined the street outside, and gold trim edged the half-dozen tinted glass doors that faced the roadway. Despite their modern, automatic construction, a pair of doormen outfitted in sharp red coats and caps stood at attention on either side. I couldn’t imagine a more tedious and unnecessary position, but I doubt the pair cared. My mini map indicated they were NPCs. The programmers had likely equipped them with little more than a few maps of the city and a minimal understanding of polite conversation.
I brought up my HUD and checked the settings. “What’s wrong with this thing? I told it to warp us into the lobby.”
“Oh, heavens, no,” said Paige. “You mean you’ll have to walk a whole fifty meters to get where you’re going? Good thing you’re in tip top shape. All this virtual exercise would kill a lesser man.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “What if I requested to travel to the edge of a canyon and the Princess servenets created for me a portal fifty meters beyond where
I’d asked? Not so small of a problem anymore, am I right?”
“It’s an intentional design,” said Paige. “You forget this is a hub world. Its whole purpose is for people to interact, so the designers made it so you couldn’t warp directly into or out of your virtual apartment. Yes, Intros are much more sociable in online settings, but habits are hard to break. By forcing people to walk into and out of their apartments every time, down the elevators and through the lobby, the developers encourage social interaction which is good for all parties. Besides, it’s an homage to the very origins of gaming. Did you know early gamers were grouped together and placed into parties in places called lobbies? It was just text on a screen at that point, but still.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
I stepped forward, the doors parting for me, and entered the lobby. The ceiling stretched high overhead, with waves of thin, green fiber optic cables hanging down, each of them sparkling and shimmering intermittently like a rainforest shower. Burnished copper covered the walls, and the tile floor had been polished to a mirror shine. People milled about the insides, both real users and NPCs according to my HUD. No aliens, though.
That, I didn’t find particularly surprising. Princess Gaming was a Cetie based operation, and the spaceport not withstanding, the planet wasn’t the most diverse of places. I imagined if any aliens were present in the hub world, they’d probably congregate in buildings more suited to their physiologies, with higher ceilings and larger furniture for the Diraxi and the opposite for the Meertori—although at least in the virtual world, the latter could ditch their pressurized methane-based respirators. I was, however surprised to find so many non-Cetiean body types among those congregated in the lobby. Because of pervasive genetic engineering that blessed us all with chiseled features, I’d figured most users would keep their standard appearance in game, but the most popular body type appeared to be that of the taller, more slender Gaians, not us squat and compact Cetieans. I even spotted a few super tall, skinny types, modeled after spacers or Martians, I supposed.
“Hey! You ready?”
I jumped and turned. TriumphCat had snuck up behind me, which would’ve been quite a feat if she hadn’t ditched her suit of glossy blue power armor along the way. As it was, she’d dropped a couple centimeters and about fifty kilos, revealing a svelte Gaian body type simply dressed in jeans and a sleeveless navy blouse.
“Hey,” I said. “That was quick.”
“I move fast,” she said. “It’s easy when you’re not standing around gawking at everything.”
“It’s involuntary,” I said. “I come from a long line of gawks.”
“Gawks?” said Cat. “What the heck is that? A planet?”
“No, it’s a little self-deprecating grammar joke,” I said. “Never mind. You show the way. We’ll tail you.”
Cat nodded and headed toward the elevators. Paige and I followed. We took the lift up to the forty-fourth floor, where Cat led us down another copper coated hallway and through a set of wide doors that blinked open upon her approach.
I whistled as I walked in. The lobby hadn’t unfairly boosted expectations for the rooms. The apartment put my luxury penthouse suite to shame. It had everything. Plush furniture. Thick carpets. Gleaming tile floors and high ceilings. A brilliant view, room to spare, and of course, not a single speck of dust or grime to be found—because why would those exist in a virtual world? Folks crazy enough to seek filth out could do so in Marked 4 Death, like I had.
“No wonder gamers spend all their waking hours in game,” I said to Paige. “Look at this place.”
“Questioning your commitment to the real world?” she said.
“Not quite,” I said. “But I can see the appeal.”
“So,” said Cat. “We’re here. I can show you around if you like, but I’m still not entirely sure what you’re hoping to find.”
“Neither am I,” I said. “Why don’t we start over here?”
“In the kitchen?” said Cat. “Sure. As you can see, it’s a, uh…place to prepare food?”
I wandered over and starting pulling on drawers and performing a cursory examination of the utensils. “Mind if I ask you some questions about Leet?”
Cat stayed in the living room. “Sure, I guess.”
“How did you guys meet?”
“In a party,” she said. “You know how it is.”
“Not really,” I said. “As I made clear earlier, I don’t really do this sort of thing. I’m more of a casual gamer. Smashblocks. That sort of thing.”
Cat looked at me like I was crazy. “What’s the appeal in that?”
I shrugged as I kept sifting. “I can do it between cases. I don’t know. It’s strangely addictive.”
“Right,” said Cat. “Well, anyway, Leet and I met playing…what was it? Rogue Nation: Black Ops, I think. We were in separate parties. Terrorist gunfire forced us together. A lot of our friends went down, but Leet and I managed to sneak through an air vent and shoot our way out. He was really quick on the draw, but it was more than his marksmanship and overall play I liked. Even with bullets raining down around us, he was goofy and fun. We just clicked. Started playing together more and more. Been together ever since.”
I peeked in the refrigerator. “How long ago was that?”
“Four or five years, give or take,” said Cat.
“Do people get married in game?” I asked.
“Say what?”
I closed the fridge and turned back to Cat, who stood there with a befuddled expression. “Sorry. Did I overstep a line?”
“No, it’s…okay,” said Cat, shaking her head and causing her brown hair to sway. “Some people do. We haven’t. It’s come up though. Recently.”
“Like, three weeks ago recently?”
Cat’s eyes hardened. “No.”
“Just checking. Let’s keep going.”
Cat gave me the grand tour, showing me the dining room, home theater, various living quarters, and master suite, where Leet’s possible death kept me from making a crass remark about the various Princess fantasy worlds not being the only place where magic happened. Upon first glance, I couldn’t understand what struck me as odd about the master bathroom, which featured a huge walk-in shower and claw-footed soaker tub, but then I realized the omission: the toilet. No need for that in the virtual world, apparently.
“And finally, this is our study,” said Cat as she led Paige and me into another room with a fabulous view. A pair of molded Pseudaglas desks sat side to side overlooking the cityscape, holoprojectors mounted above each one. I could almost imagine Leet and Cat sitting at the pair, side by side, each of them going through their messages, Cat checking on the status of her insect murder squad and Leet trashing all of my Brain missives.
“You have a study?” I said.
“It’s another place to hang out,” said Cat. “All the units have them. So…see? I told you. Nothing weird or out of place or suspicious anywhere in our apartment. It’s our little slice of heaven, nothing more and nothing less.”
I pointed to a wall. “What’s in the cabinet?”
Cat glanced at it, a white rectangular boxy thing that reached to hip level. “Oh. Those are Leet’s, um…love letters. To me.”
“Letters?” I said. “Like paper and ink and words sort of letters?”
“Yes.”
“Who does that nowadays?” I said. “It’s hard enough to even find the components needed to make one.”
“It’s easy when you can digitize everything involved,” said Cat. “And I guess Leet was old fashioned like that. I mean, is old fashioned. Damn…”
Cat sighed. I caught a flash of something on her cheek in the sunlight. She brought a thumb up to wipe it away.
I felt Paige’s light touch on my arm. “Rich? Maybe it’s time we go.”
“What?” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Are you kidding? Love letters? Those could be a potential gold mine, at least if he’s kept writing
them on a regular basis. We can track Leet’s behavior. See if he’s changed over time.”
Paige shook her head. “Not now. Maybe later. Give her time.”
Cat wiped her cheek again. As always, Paige was right, even if I didn’t like the results.
“Cat?” I said. “Thanks for letting us in and showing us around. We’re going to head out, but we’ll update you if we discover anything else about Leet or the man we believe to be Lars. Hopefully you’ll be willing to do the same?”
Cat nodded, but didn’t turn. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Can we communicate outside the game if need be?”
Another nod. “My name’s Juanita Villafranca. I’ll send you my contact. Brain calls only, though. I…don’t do well with people.”
I tried to think of something reassuring to tell her, some high point to leave on, but I couldn’t. Given the circumstances, optimism seemed unfounded. Paige put her hand on my shoulder, and we headed for the door.
14
The elevator door opened with a ding as Paige and I approached it. We both stepped inside, I asked for the ground floor, and it lurched into motion. The interior of the elevator door gleamed, its copper coating polished to a sheen like every other surface in the swanky apartment complex. I saw my own face in the reflection, slightly muddled from the metal’s refractive properties, but next to me, rather than Paige, I swear I caught a hint of Cat, her face drooping and a sparkle of tears on her cheek.
I blinked and shook my head. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. I really hope I’m wrong about Leet.”
“It’s one thing to deal with a criminal,” said Paige. “It’s another thing entirely to face the aftermath of a criminal’s actions on someone’s family or loved ones.”
“I don’t know how cops do it.” I turned to face Paige. “Wait…a criminal? Are you saying you think someone killed Lars?”
