by Lee Bond
“Next to none, I bet.” Reywin bit off a curse. She tossed Bolo a rucksack full of guns and trotted briskly over to the door. Minicams stuck to the entrances and exits on all floors were blipping back negative on her prote: they still had a few minutes before guards started showing up.
“We need to get out of here like now.” Bolobo muttered. He jerked the door open and started taking the stairs two or three at a time, Reywin hot on his heels.
xxx
The moment an alarm sounded, Garth fist-pumped in vindicated glory. Despite Scoom and Veo’s assurances that the Chairwoman had no intention of subjecting him to any ‘unwarranted’ surveillance, it didn’t mean other people would leave him be.
Just because Terrance wasn’t OverSecretary anymore didn’t mean his political connections and cronies had vanished into thin air. There was a new OverSecretary now, too, as well as other components of Noble Opposition -to contend with, as well as any business partners good old Guillfoyle might’ve had. Any one of those groups had the means and the motive to make his life a living hell and after what he’d done, in some ways he couldn’t blame them.
Following the spaceport incident, that harassment was likely to undergo drastic changes. No one wanted to see something like that happen again in their lifetimes, so the game was likely to shift into a much more subtle, sinister style of play.
Garth flopped on the couch and yawned, mildly annoyed that he should feel tired when he’d done nothing more strenuous over the last two weeks but argue with Sa Dr. Sullivan.
He was still trying puzzle out just how the anti-Garth campaigners would come at him when someone knocked very politely on the door. Hopping off the huge couch, Garth moseyed over to the door.
A discreet monitor set into the wall displayed two burly, well-dressed men sporting sleek proteii. They spoke quietly amongst themselves, and showed no signs of hostility.
Garth opened the door. “Hey guys, what’s going on?”
One of the two men flashed a Hotel Security badge and stepped fully into the room. The second one stayed in the hallway and began typing into his proteus. Garth felt a wisp of nostalgia for his black-ops prote; he felt naked without one, but he’d be damned if he’d wear one made by another person. Too many opportunities to make it explode-y.
“Sa Ute, at your service, Sa Nickels.” Ute flashed his badge once more and began a slow visual circuit.
“What’s the trouble?” Garth asked, all mellow calmness. If they were here to bust him for tampering with the suite’s environmental controls, all Ute had to do was walk into the next room and see the panel on the floor and the spool of wires hanging out of the wall.
Ute consulted his proteus. “Just ensuring your safety, sa. You heard the alarms outside?”
“I did, yeah.” Garth wiggled his eyebrows in the vain hope he looked surprised at the noise. He reckoned from Sa Ute’s flat look he failed. Garth wanted to shake his head in disgust. People were so distrustful.
“The Hotel Palazzo has a security system designed to detect and destroy any illegal recording devices. Further, avatars reconstruct the sequence of signal disturbances to track the origin point of the devices.”
Garth stared blankly at the man, eyes wide and confused.
Ute cleared his throat. “We followed the spEyes back to your room.”
“Ohhhh.” Garth smiled. “Well, gee, thanks.”
“Is there any reason why someone would feel compelled to spy on your person?” Ute asked, thumbing the recording button on his proteus. He noted that the guest was unsurprised at the presence of spEyes. “I’m recording this conversation for our records only. Anything you say and do on these grounds as a hotel guest is strictly private. If anything were to happen to you outside, we’ll have this material ready for your legal defense.”
“Well, I’m in the Game …”
“I thought that was you.” Ute interrupted. “That fight was amazing, you know. How strong are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” He blinked, shook his head and apologized. “As I was saying, do you know of any persons or groups that would find it necessary to risk exposure by seeding your room with spEyes? I assure you, no Gameplayer would ever do something so foolish; their standing in the Game would be revoked automatically.”
“I did survive the port disaster…” Garth trailed off. There was a point he’d never considered. Excluding gangsters and soldiers, the death count was in the low hundreds, so regardless of what the general population seemed to think about him, there had to be at least a small chance that a family of one or all of the victims was out to get him.
“That’s a distinct possibility, sa.” Ute agreed, picking up on Garth’s train of thought. “I’ll inform the proper Ministry, provide them with the snapshot we got of the perpetrators.”
“Oh?” Garth perked up. “You got a shot of them?”
Ute angled his proteus so Garth could see the grainy image. “I apologize for the condition of the shot, sa, but it seems the spEye controllers are in possession of surveillance suppression equipment. This fact puts them into a very small category. If any families are responsible, they’ve shelled out a large sum of money indeed.”
Garth ignored Ute. Families of the deceased weren’t responsible. The image was shit, but it didn’t matter; whatever gizmo was being used to deflect identification had turned the photo into a blocky, chunky black and white mess. Even with the low-quality image, Garth recognized the si immediately.
It was the bim from the Hotel Hospitalis; the one who’d pretended to be a nurse or whatever. The one who’d later turned out to be a spy. Probably once in the employ of Terrance. With Terrance down for the count who was running them now, if at all?
“Sa?” Ute cleared his throat. “Sa, do you know this person?”
Garth shook his head. “Uh, no, sorry. She, uh, kind of looks like my ex-girlfriend, but uh, you know, she’s in Trinity somewhere. Banging robots or praying to heathen gods or something.”
“I … see.” Ute dropped his arm to his side. “Thank you for your understanding and patience, sa. Now that we know someone wants you watched, we can keep an eye out for suspicious behavior.” The bulky security officer turned to leave, stopping when Garth laid a hand on his elbow.
“I got a question for you, if you don’t mind, sa.” Garth smiled disarmingly. “You said earlier that anything I do inside the hotel is between us. What, uh, what does that mean, precisely?”
“Well, sa, short of breaking any major laws, disturbing other guests, or making a nuisance of yourself to the hotel staff, anything you do here is private. Doubly so for someone renting an Ultra Suite. Usually people renting these rooms are visiting politicians, high-ranking military guests and the like. Men and women with a very high need for security, confidentiality and unrestricted freedoms. If you take my meaning, sa.”
“I see. Thanks a million, sa.” Garth nodded briefly to the other guard, then shut the door, grinning like a loon.
The Palazzo was in for a rough time of things. When they’d decided to provide their high paying customers with the kinds of things that Ute had left pointedly unsaid, they couldn’t have foreseen someone like him coming through the front door.
Now that he had confirmation that he was still being watched, and by people with the wherewithal to be really sneaky about it, Garth actually felt better. His paranoia, undiminished during his stay in the hospital, now had a source. With that, he could start making a concerted effort to convince the mystery woman and her buddy that it was a really awful idea to bother him. Once that was done -and it shouldn’t take too long- Garth expected to make all kinds of headway in hooking Huey up to a Latelian netLINK.
First, though, he needed to eat something that didn’t have the consistency of rubber, the smell of kindergarten paste and the taste of regurgitated animal.
Garth Reaches out and Touches People
Naoko Kamagana closed her eyes and tried to shut out the barely contained turmoil all around her; everywhere she looked, her eyes fel
l on men and women struggling to come to grips with the devastation that had ripped the spaceport to the foundations and beyond. Their faces were grim even as they discussed the events of the previous day’s Game, for they could not lightly forget how many had died on that fateful night.
There was governmental support, of course; not even Chairwoman Doans could be so callous as to simply let things lie the way they were. God soldiers, huge and hulking, followed orders with military precision, lugging fantastic weights like children with plastic toys. Here and there amongst the assorted knots of workers were assayers, repetitively crunching the numbers for the total cost. So far, it was in the billions, and that wasn’t even counting the lawsuits coming from all sides. If there was one saving grace, it was that she personally wasn’t required to deal with that: Latelian Legislative Avatars were handling that, weighing each claim against the reality of the situation and meting out compensation as and when necessary. Naoko understood through one of the assayers that sales of Ashok Guillfoyle’s private and public assets were generating much of that money.
The man deserved more than that, far more, and for much longer. It was unconscionable that a man should behave so poorly, to be so dastardly as to intentionally bilk the system for millions and millions of dollars. Not only was it foul, it was stupid; how had he managed to convince himself he wouldn’t get caught? With everything … with everything she knew about the man, she found it hard to imagine he’d be so careless.
As they worked, the people sometimes found themselves involuntarily discussing what had happened, and Naoko was heartened to hear them –not frequently, but often enough- admiring the courage of ‘that Offworlder’ for surviving. At least they no longer blamed Garth Nickels for the horrible devastation.
Naoko became aware that her proteus was chiming quietly. She answered absentmindedly, not even bothering to bring it to her eyes. “Si Naoko Kamagana, how may I help you?”
“Where are you?” A much thought of and familiar voice reached her ears above the noise.
Naoko blushed involuntarily. She was a mess. As Port Administrator, she wasn’t strictly required to be present during the cleanup –the messy details were actually being handled quite well by Systemic Emergency Services-, but Naoko felt very strongly about showing solidarity. As a result, she pitched in wherever she could. She wasn’t the strongest, or the tallest, but every time she stepped in to help, she received a hearty smile and thanks.
“Hello? Anyone there?”
Naoko straightened her shoulders and did her best to ignore how she looked. She angled her prote so they could talk face to face. “Hello sa! How are you feeling?”
On the other end, Garth beamed like an idiot. “Just great, super.” He made a show of trying to look around Naoko. “Are you at the spaceport?”
Naoko ducked her head. “I am.”
Garth grimaced. “Is it bad? I don’t remember much…”
Naoko moved out of the way to let a group of God soldiers thunder by, lugging a twisted and warped support beam out to a waiting dump truck. While she spoke, Naoko headed towards the Lobby, where, for the time being, it was much quieter. “It is very bad, Garth. Worse even than the news is permitted to report. The devastation is total.”
“Ah, god … I’m sorry, Naoko, really.” Garth hung his head low.
Naoko thought Garth’s sorrow was sweet. And proper. A newly born Latelian citizen should feel the loss of his brothers and sisters. But his guilt, while endearing, was misplaced. She knew he wasn’t responsible.
One of the first things she’d done when time permitted was examine the data caches she’d programmed his proteus to upload every few hours. Originally intended as a precautionary measure should both Turuin’s instincts and her own voice-stress analysis avatars have proven incorrect, the data in those files –while definitely indicating less than savory activities - nevertheless still pointed to Garth Nickels being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was obvious from those files that he’d become aware of a murky plot against himself or his property and had started manipulating people and events in an effort to prevent the theft or destruction of his ship, but much too late. Guillfoyle had begun his plans immediately upon discovering Garth’s entrance into the system, giving him a massive lead.
There was a bothersome data gap of about six hours immediately prior to his first showing in The Game that no amount of restoration could fix, but it was probably nothing; the netLINKs were overloaded most of the time and it was only to be expected.
She smiled sweetly. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“Well, I think I could’ve …”
Naoko shook her head. “No. Even if you had somehow managed to discover Ashok’s explosives, it would have been difficult, perhaps even impossible, to defuse them. Or,” she added dubiously, “so I am told. An expert said that the devices were rigged to explode no matter what.”
Garth looked relieved. “And I suppose those gangsters trying to kill one another outside didn’t help much, eh?”
“Definitely not.” Naoko yawned behind a hand. She’d been at the port for an entire day now. “I heard from a different man that the gang war was what triggered the explosion of your ship. They’ve concluded that bullets pierced the reactor chambers and that is why there was an even bigger explosion. I am truly sorry you lost your ship and your machine mind. You are lucky to be alive, though, so it is an even trade, I believe.”
“Sure as he … as … yeah, it is. Hey, uh, I was wondering something…”
“Yes?” Naoko smiled inwardly. The tips of Garth’s ears were going very red indeed.
“The last time, well, the, uh, heh, I guess it was the only time we talked, you said you’d like to help with the Game, and uh, stuff. I was wondering if that offer was still on.”
“The Game! Oh my goodness! I suppose no one told you that you are no longer a participant!” Naoko continued, the words rushing out of her. “Nothing, not even serious injury …”
“I got it covered.” Garth said, interrupting. “Nothing to worry about.”
“I beg your pardon?” Naoko tilted her head to one side. “I believe I heard wrong, sa. It sounded as though you said you are still in the Game when the rules on the matter are very clear.”
Garth winked. “Let’s just say that after someone tried to blow me up, Chairwoman Doans felt compelled to make a request.”
“If that is true, sa,” Naoko answered slowly, “I wouldn’t tell anyone else until I’ve had a chance to get to the bottom of it.”
“So we’re still on?” Garth asked hopefully.
Naoko paused so she could look out the grimy windows of her once beautiful spaceport. It would be a long time in fixing, if indeed Chairwoman Doans thought it even necessary; for the time being, all traffic, be it civilian or commercial, was being rerouted to two abandoned military bases. Although her help was appreciated and never denied, Naoko knew deep down no one would notice if she didn’t come in for a few days. Several people had already dropped hints that she was looking tired.
She nodded, a grin on her lips. “I have been here for twenty-four hours already, so I do not think we will be able to meet today. Or, I fear, tomorrow. Because of the tragedy, I have neglected my father, and more importantly, my schoolwork; most of classes I take remain unaffected by The Game. I will need to attend to both before I can have any … any fun.”
Stifling his disappointment, Garth flashed a big smile. “Awesome. I got stuff to take care of, too, so it’s all good. I’ve gotta get a new prote, for starters, and there’s this whole thing with me being famous, which is not what I want out of life.”
Naoko nodded more knowingly than Garth could appreciate. A man with his talents and drives -albeit a man who would profess only an interest in engaging in the Game- could ill-afford stardom. She didn’t know why Garth was on Hospitalis as yet, but she suspected that The Game was the tip of a very big iceberg. “You are indeed a celebrity. The news reporters have much to say with very littl
e information. There was a very curious story the other day about you being raised by wolf-men?”
Garth burst out laughing, and carried on for a few minutes. Every now and again some of the weird shit he said came back to haunt him. When it happened, it never ceased to amaze him how much of a jackass he could be. “Yeah. I’ll explain. And I’ll take care of the reporters, don’t you worry.”
“I should hope so.” Naoko answered sulkily. “I would not want anything I do with you to reach my Father’s eyes before I reach his ears.”
“Cool.” Garth waved farewell before ending the communication.
Naoko stared at the blank screen for a long moment. Deep instinct told her Garth Nickels was nothing but trouble. Although he wasn’t directly responsible for what happened to her lovely port, he had been the target of the people responsible. No ordinary man could attract such attention, and an even less ordinary man could survive said attentions. There was more to Garth Nickels than met the eye.
Still and all, there was something honest about the rough-hewn Garth Nickels. She couldn’t deny that she felt something for him, something that made little sense, but she’d learned to trust her instincts over the years. Every time she looked at him, she saw he suffered in some way, that he carried with him burdens and guilt that weighed him down in a thousand ways. Naoko felt it was her duty to find out what his sorrow was, and to help him with it if she could.
Stifling another yawn, Naoko bade goodbye to some of the staffers in the Lobby before leaving. Her Father was going to be insufferable when she got home; he would complain about sore limbs, stiff joints, and poorly cooked food, even though he was the healthiest ninety-year-old gourmet cook anyone in her circle of friends had ever heard of.
xxx
In all his years, Herrig would have never thought he’d come to dislike his own signature as much as he did now. Many acquaintances of his -both in Trinityspace and in Latelyspace- remarked that his was an excellent signature. It conveyed the gravity of his position and the trustworthiness of his character with absolute clarity unto anyone who gazed upon it. It also -and this was rare- translated well into digital format. Representatives of Trinity branches of HSFBC had come to equate Herrig DuPont’s fancy signature with professionalism. Latelians did the same, only quieter.
