by M. J. Scott
I ignored the dig. So far, Trista and I didn't exactly get along. She was small, slim, and redheaded in a delicately pretty way that made her look like she should be decorating the top of a Christmas tree or something. For some reason, she hadn't taken the news of what I'd been hired to do well. I tried to limit our interactions as much as possible and keep things professional. Hopefully she'd figure out that I wasn't after her job and back off eventually.
I smiled tightly at her. "I'm sure I'll be fine. But like I said, I have to work. So we’ll see."
Eli shrugged. "Chill for now. But you're riding the angel soon."
:CONTACT:
I focused on the file icon as the now familiar sensation of the chip interface flowed over me. Cool. Clear somehow, like I'd taken a half step away from the emotional side of me. Not a bad thing at the moment.
:INITIATE FILE EXTRACTION:
The icon shimmered and blurred away, and code filled my vision. I set it to scrolling with a gesture, letting the lines flicker past, trying to absorb the meaning without reading, without consciousness.
Trying to feel if anything was wrong.
Line after line. Page after page. All too soon, my head started to throb. I steeled myself against the sensation, determined not to give up so easily, trying to lose myself in the flow of information.
It worked for a while, but the headache grew more determined until I felt like someone was pounding against my brain with a spiked fist with each breath.
Nausea rose.
I was going to have to disengage.
Again.
Frustration dug the fingers of my right hand into the arm of the game chair. That hurt too, as if the headache was making a move to take over my entire nervous system.
It was too much. Heat swept through me, and I started to mouth the words to stop the sequence when something in the code caught my attention.
:PAUSE:
The page froze, black text floating in the air. I tried to make sense of the words and symbols, but I couldn't see anything unusual. Nothing but the feeling that there was something strange about them. I'd learned to trust that feeling, but I needed help. Which gave me the excuse I needed to disconnect before the flares of pain nailing my eyeballs to the wall melted my brain entirely.
:ENGAGE:
:SELECT SECTION:
:TAG:
:CLOSE FILE:
:DISENGAGE:
I took a shuddering breath as the interface vanished. The pain throbbed once, even more viciously, then subsided a little.
I risked opening my eyes.
Bad move.
The light made me want to retch. I clenched my teeth against the sensation. I was not going to barf. I wasn't going to let anyone know I was still having trouble with the interface. Not when I might finally be getting somewhere.
I sucked air through my nose and waited for a minute or so before cracking my eyes just a fraction.
This time the pain was bearable. I leaned forward slowly, fumbling for the bottle of painkillers stashed in my purse.
The lid went flying in my haste, and I didn't bother with water, just choked down two tabs and put my head down on the desk, praying no one would wander past until the drugs kicked in.
As they spread through my system, the headache retreated to a manageable level, and I managed to sit up and chug half a bottle of water.
The liquid helped. I sipped more, fighting a running battle with my conscience as to when I was going to fess up to Damon or Doc Ellen about my little problem.
Part of me voted for never.
The rest of me wasn't so sure.
Damon wasn't going to react well if I kept hiding this from him and he eventually found out. It might just cost me this job.
Then again, so might honesty at this point.
By the time I'd drained the bottle completely, I decided to file the conversation in the “too hard” basket for now.
Because finally, after days of chasing my tail, I had the tiniest hint of a lead.
I pulled up the file fragment I'd saved. Projected on the perfectly normal screen in front of me, it didn't make any more sense than it had in the interface.
I pushed to my feet, ignoring the distinctly wobbly feeling in my knees, and went to visit Eli.
He wasn't at his cubicle, but I tracked him down near his favorite testing chair. Trista was hooked into the system, and images from the game—mostly of a female angel flying over the forest, endless trees below, and a blinding blue sky above—filled the huge screen.
Eli was tapping notes into a datapad with a look of focused determination, but he raised his head as I approached. "Hey, Maggie."
"Eli. I need some help with something."
His gaze sharpened. For once he didn't look like a seventeen-year-old game-freak but more like the twenty-something-year-old programming machine he was. "You found something?"
"I'm not sure. I need to know what some code I found does."
"Sure thing." He pressed a button on the back of the chair. "Trista, hang on. I have to go, but I'll send Benji over."
The angel paused midflight, then started doing lazy loop-the-loops in the sky. Watching the motion didn't make my stomach feel any easier.
"Are you okay? You look pale," Eli asked as we reached my cubicle.
"Just tired," I lied. Time for distraction. "This piece of code." I called up the snippet and increased the screen resolution. "What does it do?"
Eli frowned at the screen for a moment, but then his face cleared. "That's just part of the static."
"Static?" I had no idea what he was talking about.
"Nobody told you?"
I shook my head. "No. What is it?"
"Something Damon figured out back in the first game. It's kind of a distraction for the brain. For the logic centers that might not accept the VR."
Clear as mud. "How does it work?"
"This code produces a thread of junk. Well, not quite junk. Deliberate gibberish sort of. We use long sequences of numbers or letters, kind of like a DNA sequence or Pi. It's projected with the game, below conscious level—"
"Subliminal? Isn't that kind of dicey?" There'd been a whole hoo-ha about subliminals in the last election campaign when it came out that a candidate was using the tech to solicit contributions. The regulations had tightened considerably since then. All publicly broadcast subliminals had to be blockable, and most people screened them routinely. I wondered if gamers did the same. And how you might be able to use the code to influence someone if not.
"We got approval. There's no actual information in there. It's not going to make you crave a Superburger or give all your money to Riley Arts or anything. It just seems to deepen the experience. We haven't figured out why exactly yet. But we refine the filter with every new game."
It sounded harmless enough, but my gut told me I had something. "Okay. Does this static interact with anything else?"
"Everything, in a way. It feeds into the overall simulation, with the graphics and sound and sensory stuff. But it's not new. We've used static from the beginning. It's one of the things that makes our games more immersive."
"Have any of the other elements changed?"
Eli nodded. "Of course. All the generating engines get refined with every new game."
"Even the static generator?"
"Only minor changes. It's pretty simple code."
Simple at Righteous didn't necessarily fit anyone else's definition. "Can you show me how it talks to the other systems? And find me the code from a previous game as well?"
He shrugged. "Sure. Give me twenty minutes or so to finish with Trista, and then I'll get what you need."
Chapter Seven
"The static generator? Are you sure?" Damon asked after I finished explaining my theory.
I shook my head. "No, not at this stage. But it's worth looking at."
He frowned, his eyes darkening to something near the shade of his slate-blue tie. The tie and the sleek suit he wore suggested he'd been d
oing something serious before I interrupted him.
I stood. "If this isn't a good time . . ."
He waved me back down. "The analysts can wait. In fact . . . ." He yelled for Cat and she appeared in the doorway. "Reschedule the briefing to Monday. Tell them . . . hell, I don't care what you tell them. You know the drill."
She nodded and disappeared.
"Blowing off the stock analysts. That's bold."
He grinned, and the familiar glow of warmth swept over me. "They love it when I'm unpredictable. Adds to the mystique."
I snorted. "You have mystique?"
"Sure. I buy it the same place as these suits."
"Oh? Is it overpriced too?" I heard the flirt in my voice and told myself to can it. But I got another glow as his grin widened and something purely male flickered in his eyes. He'd heard it too.
"You don't like the suit?" he asked with a rumble that hadn't been there before.
"It's perfectly fine," I said tightly, maligning the brilliant work of whoever had designed the damn suit. It was way more than fine, showcasing every inch of his body beautifully and drawing my eyes to all the places I didn't want to look.
I looked down at my hands. I really needed to find a way to convince myself he was off-limits. Too complicated. Too risky.
I kept things simple with men. Sex. No strings. Rarely any repeat performances. I had the feeling that if I ever got a taste of Damon, I'd want more.
And more wasn't something I could do.
Which meant I needed to lock down the hormones. Or take them out for a run with someone who fit my criteria. Getting all sweaty and boneless with a willing body would drive Damon from my mind.
If I hadn't been so tired the night I’d gone clubbing with Nat, I could've done just that. But now, looking at him, the thought of another one-night stand with a relative stranger didn't seem appealing at all.
So maybe it had to be plan B—bury myself in work and rely on sheer exhaustion to trump lust.
I looked back up to find him studying me with that unsettling something still lurking in his gaze.
"Enough about your fashion choices. Let's talk about this code," I said, tapping my datapad to send the snippet to his screen.
His gaze lingered on me just a second too long before moving to the code. “This stuff is random. It's not going to be the easiest thing to test. The algorithm just generates junk. How do you analyze junk?"
"I haven't figured that out yet."
"I'll get more programmers on it to help you. What do you need to be able brief them?"
"A few more hours poking around."
He frowned. "Then it'll have to be tomorrow morning."
"But it's only lunchtime. We could do it tonight."
"No can do. Didn't the guys tell you? Friday afternoon is playtime."
"Even when you're facing a time crunch and a crisis?" I'd never met a boss who wasn't willing to crack the whip when the chips were down.
"You don't even know if you're right yet. Everyone will work better after they blow off a little steam. Including you."
"Me?" Did he really expect me to play? I wasn't sure I was ready for that. "I told you, I'm not much of a gamer. I'll just watch."
"You've got to try it with the chip. Trust me, you'll be a convert." He looked like a little boy holding up his prized puppy for approval. An irresistible combination of charm and something I hadn't seen in him before—vulnerability.
Damn. I really should get back to nice, safe code.
"C'mon, Maggie," he coaxed. "Haven't you always wanted to fly?"
Not particularly. But something about the way he said it made me wonder exactly what I might’ve been missing.
It was hard to act relaxed lying in a game chair with fifty or sixty people watching me.
"It's chill, Maggie D," Benji said from where he stood beside Nat, right next to the chair. "You're going to love the wings."
Yeah, sure. Just like the last time.
Deep breaths. I closed my eyes as the chip clicked home. When my heart rate slowed a little, I started the game.
:CONTACT:
This time I was confronted with a menu rather than being dumped straight into the game. I chose an avatar—glad to see there was a range of body types available as options, not just the stupendously endowed Amazons many games still defaulted to for women—and selected an easy level.
"Chicken," I heard Nat say from a distance as music slid through my head.
:WELCOME ARCHANGEL:
I stood in the forest again, in bright sunlight, warmth beating down on my shoulders. The rapid transition made me blink. The game world felt solid. Real. Completely real. A tiny bug zipped past my face, buzzing and darting, and a bead of sweat rolled down my cheek.
Sweat I could smell. Along with the old-leaves-and-green-dampness smell of a forest, and something warmer and dustier.
I turned in a circle, taking it slowly. From the clearing where I stood, four paths threaded compass points through the forest, disappearing into the dappled light between the tall trees. Nothing marked the trails to indicate which way I should go.
Then I realized I had another option.
Up.
Even as I thought it, unfamiliar muscles flexed along my back and air fanned my face with a soft rustle.
Wings.
Chill to the max.
Or it would’ve been if I had any idea at all how to use them. Surely you couldn't just leap into the air and fly?
I beat the wings again slowly. Flexed my knees in preparation for a jump.
Then chickened out and decided to walk. I was so not going to crash and burn with an audience. No wings until there was no one to witness any potential wipeouts.
I considered my options. Maybe I could find the river again, prove to myself there was nothing there but water. The only question was which direction to take. I tried to remember the landscape from the first time I’d been in the game, the position of the river and the trees and the light. The memory was still blurry, but I had a feeling the sun had been setting directly behind me as I'd knelt by the water.
East, then. Assuming the sun in this world followed the same path as in the real one. With no way to know if that were true or not yet, it seemed as good a choice as any.
:SHOW COMPASS:
A display floated in the air in front of my eyes. East was the path to my right, slightly wider than the rest, but it also seemed a little darker, as though the trees crowded closer together in that direction.
Almost as though they didn't want me to go that way. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I stood and studied the path.
Stop being dumb. It's just a game.
I turned off the display and headed east.
The air cooled as I crossed the tree line and stepped onto the path. I walked slowly, scanning my surroundings with each cautious step. Who knew exactly what was lurking in the bushes? There would be enemies to defeat. Cunning and unexpected enemies. It was, after all, a Righteous game.
I hadn't taken the time to read the player's guide. Nat had given me the basic premise: something about winged humans—descendants of angels—trying to explore and colonize a planet inhabited by dark creatures.
Your standard quest narrative.
A holster rode my right thigh over the black suit, the slick black handle of a high-tech gun protruding from it. A leather sheath held a knife on the other hip. So I should be able to deal with any surprises lurking on the path. And surely “dark” creatures were more likely to attack at night?
I picked my way along the trail, winding around rocks and over small streams, each step taking me deeper into the forest. The light grew dimmer, the air cooler, the dense leaves of the unfamiliar trees creating a thick canopy that provided a constant background song of whispering leaves. The knife came in handy where the undergrowth tangled into barriers of vines and thorns, and the wings gave me a boost as I clambered over dead tree trunks almost as tall as me. It was kind of fun.
And
thank God, there was no sign of the wobbles.
After a few minutes, the wind picked up and the sound of the leaves seemed to take on a different pitch. My spine prickled at the eerie rustle. I picked up the pace, telling myself I would be at the river soon.
"Maaaaaaaagieeeeeeeee."
The name was a whisper among the trees. I froze. Spun around.
Nothing. But my pulse pounded and my skin crawled. Every instinct told me I wasn't alone.
Nothing I could see, then. Maybe Damon's dark creatures liked catching some rays after all.
I flicked the top of the holster open and curled my fingers over the gun before starting forward again.
Each crackle of a twig beneath my boot made me flinch, ratcheting up my pulse.
Then the wind called my name again.
My heart leapt into my throat. This was why I didn't game much. I was a big old scaredy-cat when it came to the shoot 'em, hunt 'em, fight 'em types of adventures. Risk-averse in a big way.
Nat and her friends delighted in telling stories of the stupid ways they'd bought it in games. I didn't find it entertaining. Something in my brain was fooled too well by the illusions. I always felt like something was really hunting me. Trying to kill me.
"Not real," I muttered.
Then a nightmare stepped out onto the path in front of me.
"Maggie," it snarled. "I've been looking for you."
My fingers yanked the gun from its holster before I had time to think. My arms trembled as I pointed it at the creature.
It laughed, and the sound sliced at my ears like breaking glass. "Imaginary guns. Do you think that will save you?" It flowed forward a little, dark skin shining greasily in the dappled light.
I took a step back as the breeze carried its odor to me. Despite its appearance, it smelled good. Like baking bread and jasmine perfume and all my favorite scents. Except, as I sucked in a breath through my nose, I caught the faintest hint of something fouler.
I backed up again and fired.
There was an arc of light from the gun, and I expected the creature to burst into flames or fall to the ground smoking.
