Perdita said, ‘Yes, well, I want Paz’s bank account details and a ticket to Deception Island. But I’m not going to get them.’
‘Perdita —’
She laughed, but she didn’t sound like herself. ‘No.’
‘Just let me expl—’
‘Asterion wouldn’t even work, Daed. It was just an idea I had when we were drunk. I didn’t think it through. It was years ago, when we still thought everything was possible . . . I can’t believe you’re serious.’ Her voice changed key, going up a tone. ‘I don’t even have the plans in soft copy. They’re in a file somewhere in ink, on paper, and I haven’t seen them for years. You must be desperate.’
‘Yes,’ Daed said. ‘I am desperate.’
A pause. Perdita breathed, and breathed again. Then she said, ‘Well. I’m sorry. But Asterion won’t help you.’
‘It would help me,’ Daed said, and a cough surfaced and bubbled and barked before he swallowed it again. ‘Come on! It was a perfect idea. You may have been drunk when you had the idea, but you worked on it for days. Remember? It was —’
‘No.’
‘I’ll pay you for it, naturally.’
‘No.’
‘If it wouldn’t work, you can give me the plans, can’t you?’
‘I haven’t got them any more. I probably threw away all that stuff when I got promoted, all the silly mad ideas you and I had together. I don’t have time for any of it now.’
Daed coughed again, softly. He didn’t believe her. Neither did Rick, come to that, and he didn’t know what they were talking about. But it was her voice: she was panicking.
Daed said, ‘Then tell me what you can remember. I think I can work out most of it — but there’s a lot of code that I can’t reconstruct —’
‘You’ve already been trying to reconstruct it?’
‘Just playing around,’ Daed said. ‘Just doodling. But if I could invent a workable version —’
‘Get out of my workshop,’ Perdita said. Rick had never heard her voice sound like that. It was a voice you could have sharpened a knife on.
‘Perdita, please — I won’t steal it, I’ll credit you, I just need —’
‘Credit me? Dear gods, you think I’m worried about that? Do you have any idea what you’re asking? Asterion is . . . Daed, it’s evil. It’s an idea I came up with because I was interested in how it could work, that’s all. It was just a game. I never, never thought about giving it to Crater, or —’
‘Evil? I think you’re overstating the case.’
‘Out,’ she said. ‘I’m not negotiating. Get out.’
‘Please, Perdy — I was there, when you thought of it, the idea’s partly mine —’
‘You will use Asterion over my dead body. Over — my — dead — body,’ she said again. Rick saw her in his mind’s eye: her dead body, ready to be stepped over.
‘So it could be used?’
‘I’m calling Security.’
‘I’ve got full entry privileges to be in here.’
There was a creak, as if she was sitting down, and a little metallic tapping that Rick couldn’t place. It went on, until he wondered if something awful had happened so quietly he hadn’t noticed.
Finally she said, ‘Please, Daed. I’m too tired to argue about this. My answer’s no, that’s all. It will be no, whatever you say. And if, somehow, you get hold of the roughs — and I don’t know, I honestly don’t know where they are — I will do everything in my power to sabotage the iTank and your expansion. I won’t be responsible for Asterion, and if I can help it neither will you.’
It was probably the longest speech Rick had ever heard Perdita make. By the end of it she sounded as if she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Daed said, ‘I’m dying.’
The tapping stopped.
‘Ironic, isn’t it? For an ordinary, human little disease to take me out? Too many cigarettes. How histro.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know how long I have left, Perdita. Time to finish the expansion, probably; but after that I don’t know. What do you think Paz will do with Rick, when I’m dead?’
It was a rhetorical question. The answer was silence.
‘I can’t leave Rick with nothing,’ Daed said. ‘He needs me. He needs protecting.’
‘Asterion won’t —’
‘For as long as I’m here — for as long as I’m designing the Maze — my contract runs and Rick is safe. If I die, leaving nothing but a flimsy expansion that won’t last a year, he’s only got as long as it takes for someone to reach the end. If I hadn’t been here when he ran the Roots, he’d have been out on the streets that night. Without a hood, knowing Paz. He’s only a kid, Perdita. How long do you think he’d last out there? I can’t die, do you understand? I need to be immortal.’
‘Asterion won’t —’
‘As good as.’
‘No, Daed, it won’t! For gods’ sake — what is it you really care about leaving? Rick — or the Maze?’
‘Rick and the Maze need each other. I want them both to survive. Do you understand that? And for that I need Asterion.’
‘Well, you can’t have it.’
Daed coughed, and this time the cough went on for longer. Rick heard something wet hit the floor.
Perdita said, ‘Do you want me to call a med?’
But when Daed stopped coughing, all he said was, ‘I can get your workshop searched.’
‘If you had a better way to get the plans, Daed, you wouldn’t have asked me for them,’ Perdita said. ‘You might have been able to ask Crater for the sun on a wire, before Rick ran the Roots. But now? No, I don’t think so. You try anything out of order, and your contract will be terminated, and some clever young thing will be in your office quicker than broadband.’ She wasn’t threatening him, just stating the facts. She was almost being kind. It made Rick hate her more than he’d ever hated anyone.
Daed said, ‘Look at me, Perdita! I’m an old man. I’m desperate. Please. We were friends —’
‘Were, yes,’ Perdita said. ‘Until the moment you asked me to give you Asterion. Who the hell do you think you are? Gods, I thought Paz was bad —’
‘I give you my word that I’ll use it on myself, first —’
‘First. Exactly.’
‘For Rick’s sake, then! Do you want to see him thrown out on the streets? Do you want him to die too?’
Silence. Rick stared at the blackness in front of his face.
‘That’s unfair,’ Perdita said at last. ‘You’re being cruel.’
‘Am I?’
Another pause. Then she said, ‘You really want me to spell it out for you, do you? OK, then. Yes. I would rather both of you died. I’m sorry, Daed. I love you both. But Asterion is not what you’re looking for.’
Rick waited for Daed to reply.
But he didn’t.
He’d given up.
And Rick understood, then, that Daed was dying.
There were footsteps, the click of someone logging out of the comms panel, and the scrape-buzz of the door. Rick wished he was deaf. He wanted to put his hands over his ears but they didn’t obey him. He was still clutching the thin book-thing with his right hand, and the cardboard was warm and prickling like pins and needles. He wanted everything to go away. He was glad it was dark.
There were more footsteps. From the scuff of rubber on the floor Rick could imagine Perdita’s shoes, in detail, grimy laces and rubber soles. He could smell the old-canvas, old-feet odour.
A stool creaked. There was a crash — a big, multiple crash, and the faint patter of something else falling a second later. Then something heavy hit the workbench, and he heard Perdita swearing, her voice muffled. Then she started to cry.
He didn’t feel sorry for her. He wished she was dying, too.
Then the sobbing stopped, suddenly, and her breathing was louder, as if she’d turned to look at the cupboard.
Yes, that’s right, Rick thought. I’m here. Remember? I heard it all.
Not that she moved immediately. Rick c
ounted under his breath: forty-one, forty-two, forty-three. He got to forty-nine before she opened the door.
She was hoping he hadn’t heard. She said, ‘Rick?’
The space and light hit him between the eyes, like a punch. He wanted to get up, but he couldn’t. He looked down at his legs. He knew that they ought to move. The joints ought to do clever things to make him stand up. But there was something missing. He thought: I need to reinstall software. If I could only reconstruct the code . . .
Perdita said, ‘You heard.’
Every word, Rick said, but it stayed inside his head.
She understood anyway. He could tell from the look on her face.
He concentrated on getting up. He tried to lever himself up with his arms. The only thing that happened was that the book-thing fell off the shelf. He’d never seen anything like it. It lay face down with its covers spread, like a dead bird. He looked for a better place to put his hand.
Perdita said, ‘Please, Rick, I’m so sorry you had to hear that . . .’ She was searching his face as if he was a puzzle she had to solve. Her eyes had an extra layer of water. She blinked and a drop slid over her cheek.
Rick felt cold horizontal metal under his fingers, and pulled himself up. His legs felt like they were different lengths. There was too much air, too suddenly.
‘Are you OK?’ she said. ‘Are you ill? Talk to me. Do you need a med?’
That was what she’d said to Daed. Rick shook his head.
‘Say something,’ she said. ‘You’re scaring me. Anything. Shout at me. Tell me you hate me.’
I do hate you. I do. But if I could say it, Rick thought, I wouldn’t mean it. Don’t you understand anything?
‘I can’t explain, Rick, but please, believe me, I wasn’t — if I could help Daed I would, I promise, it’s just that —’ Her eyes overflowed again. It was disgusting, like she was incontinent.
He was still on his feet. His head was spinning. He was breathing too fast, too deep. But the door was only a few ems away. He thought about where he was and where he was trying to go. In the Maze there’d be a trap, somewhere. He’d probably die before he got to the comms panel.
He stepped forward. He thought: Oh. It is easy. I can just —
The floor blurred, rippled, and came up to meet him.
Chapter 12
He didn’t know where he was. He was lying on his stomach, like he’d been washed up from a shipwreck. His temple was pressed against something flat and hard. He remembered that something bad had happened before he remembered what it was.
Perdita’s voice said, ‘Rick? Rick. Oh, no. Rick. I’m calling a med. Are you OK? I’m going to call a —’
He wasn’t supposed to be here. He didn’t have clearance to be here. He said, ‘Don’t, don’t call a med,’ and then struggled to a sitting position. ‘I’m OK, just, too much air, after the cupboard. I’ll call a med when I get back to my room.’ He didn’t want to talk to her, but he had to make sure she didn’t let anyone know he was here.
‘Thank gods,’ she said. ‘I thought you were dy—’
Silence.
Dying. Oh really? Rick wanted to say. And did you care?
‘Do you want anything?’ she said. ‘Tea? Water?’
Asterion, Rick thought. Whatever it is.
‘Let me get you a glass of water,’ she said. She got to her feet and looked around for a glass. The workbench was clear and everything was on the floor. Most of it was broken. Rick saw the glinting shards of a glass, and the two halves of his tea-bowl. Perdita stared helplessly at the mess, and then round at her shelves. But there was nothing to drink out of. She said, ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’ She went over to the comms panel and logged out. The door opened and closed behind her.
Rick wrapped his arms round his chest and wished he could cry again. It had been like being sick: it got something out of his system. But he didn’t know how to do it.
He didn’t want Perdita’s glass of water. He wanted to leave now, so that she came back to an empty workshop and nothing but mess on the floor.
He needed to stand up. He got on to all fours and hung his head, trying to summon enough strength. His foot caught on something and he looked round. He was still half in, half out of Perdita’s cupboard. His foot was wedged between the cardboard spines of the book-things. He tugged it out, and they flopped forward. White rectangles spread out on the floor like wings. He thought: How histro. Paper. Ink. Handwriting.
He shuffled backwards, so that he’d be able to grab the shelves to get up.
The nearest bit of paper caught his eye. The writing was distorted and hard to read, like a page-long captcha. He focused, like a camera, and after a while words arrived in his head: Thoughts for Daed re: Centre of the Maze. Ultimate solo — not instance? (Better name, perhaps? Heart of the Maze? Roots?).
He imagined Perdita and Daed, getting drunk together, leaning towards each other. He thought Daed always worked alone.
The page underneath was full of sketches. He stared down at them, spreading his fingers on the paper. He knew they were Perdita’s because of the clarity of the lines; Daed’s drawings never looked like anything but ideas.
He thought: Traps.
Every trap he’d run, in the Roots of the Maze — every trap he’d ever seen — was there. He flipped over the next page, and the next, and after a while he felt like his spine was melting, slowly.
Daed’s ideas, in Perdita’s writing.
But Rick thought Daed had built the Maze alone. He’d thought Daed was —
It was stupid to care. Everyone worked together, didn’t they? That was the point of Crater. There was a whole team of Creatives. Why did it matter so much, that they were Perdita’s ideas?
But it did.
He remembered Herkules404: Daedalus is a myth. Rick wanted to block the voice out, but he couldn’t. You think one person could create this? It takes hundreds of designers, years of work, player feedback, and a hell of a lot of AI code to create this. Daedalus is just a convenient idea. Not a person.
I’m so stupid, Rick thought.
Daed’s probably not even my father.
He flipped page after page, and familiar things looked back at him. He got to the end of that book-thing, and pulled the next one off the shelf. He opened it, but he couldn’t bring himself to read the handwriting. He ripped the pages across, and then into quarters. He dropped the bits, in handfuls. The cover was too stiff to tear, so he shook out the last scraps of paper and chucked it on the floor. None of that made him feel better, but he reached for another book-thing anyway. He covered the floor around him with white, like he was sitting on an island. He went through book-thing after book-thing until there was a pile of them beside his feet and only one left on the shelf.
The last book-thing — the file, Rick thought, that’s it, I think it’s called a file, like on a computer — was thicker than the others. It was a different colour, and dustier, and it had been wedged sideways in the corner of the cupboard. It had been hidden, before he’d taken out the other files. He wouldn’t have known it was there.
He picked it up. It was heavy, and the cover felt softer, like skin.
It’s older, he thought, without knowing how he knew.
He opened it.
He turned the pages. There was nothing here he recognised. There were drawings of things he’d never seen. Diagrams he didn’t understand. There were whole pages of code — program code or maybe just a cipher, he couldn’t tell — but nothing here was familiar. It wasn’t the Maze; but it wasn’t the real world, either.
Just — ideas. Ideas Perdita had never used.
But there were names, and the occasional phrase that made sense. PROCRUSTES. APOCALYPSE — NB: some amendments necessary.
He rolled a corner of a page between his fingers. The paper was thicker, better quality. He wasn’t going to tear it up. Not this file. Not this one. Because . . .
He already knew — didn’t he? — what he was going to find.
&nbs
p; He turned the pages slowly, his heart beating double-time.
He was sure, he was almost sure —
What had Perdita said?
If, somehow, you get hold of the roughs — and I don’t know, I honestly don’t know where they are . . . He’d believed her, when she’d said it. She hadn’t known where they were.
But . . .
He turned the pages, and he was thinking: It has to be. The gods are on my side. They’ve given me this, for Daed. It has to be —
ASTERION.
It was coded, and there were pages and pages of it. After the word ASTERION there wasn’t anything Rick could read: only numbers, letters and symbols that could have been Chinese or just invented. It took up nearly a third of the file, in dense unparagraphed text. There weren’t any diagrams. Nothing broke up the pages, except lines of black where Perdita had made a correction.
But he didn’t care, because Daed would be able to crack it.
He shut the file, and held it to his chest.
He looked down at the mess of white papers around him. It looked like an iceberg; and if it was an iceberg, it was melting. He had to get out. If Perdita came back —
But now he could move. He was the gamerunner he had been, before he ran the Roots: slick, fluid, fast. He was himself again.
He flipped to his feet.
He logged out and got through the door. He knew he was untouchable. He knew he was going to get back to his room without anything going wrong. The door buzzed and closed behind him, obedient.
He crossed the atrium — the Nucleus — silently, holding the file over his chest, running lightly. Everything was going to be OK. The relief was like a drug: he couldn’t remember how he’d felt an hour ago, couldn’t even imagine it.
The comms panels let him through, like clockwork. He went up the stairs, up and up and up, and he wasn’t even tired when he got to the top. He was laughing under his breath.
So this is the endgame, he thought. I love it.
He skimmed down his corridor, his feet hardly touching the floor. If he hadn’t been carrying the file, he’d have front-flipped and tumbled, just for the hell of it.
He smacked his hand on to the comms panel outside his room and jumped from foot to foot while the door slid open. He bounced through the gap, through the antechamber and into his bedroom. He danced towards the window and spun, his arms spread out wide. His room whirled around him, high-spirited.
Gamerunner Page 9
