Fantasy in Death (17 page)

“Didn’t Bart have anything to say?”

“Oh yeah, he hangs back sometimes because he’s working on it in his head.” She rose, got one of the power drinks.

Moved well, Eve thought, thinking of the yoga classes. Strong and fluid.

“You sure you don’t want?”

“Yeah, thanks anyway.”

Cracking the tube, Cill sat, then after one sip set the drink aside. “I guess I don’t really want it either. I forgot where I was. Oh yeah, so we kept tossing stuff around, back and forth like, and Bart says not just juicier imagery. Full sensory load, smart tech. Military uses smart tech for training. We apply that to the game, add the full sensory, go full-out on imagery.”

She picked up the drink, just held it. “It’s a big investment, of time, energy, and money, but he really sold it to us. He was like, ‘We don’t just offer a menu of choices for mix and match. We open it up.’ Not just user-controlled, but the user can literally program his fantasy, every element, or mix his elements in with default elements. We just kept kicking it until we had the basic outline. Then we had to do the roll-up-the-sleeves and figure out how the hell to do it all.”

She nearly managed a smile. “And we did. It’s going to be the ult of ults.”

“You’ve been testing it, playing it.”

“Oh hell yeah. The four of us, or whoever’s around and up, worked on it mostly after hours. At least at first. Lowdown on this one because it’s going to be big. That’s why we wanted to get Felicity to draw up some paperwork before we duped it for you guys.”

“Understood. What did Bart like to play best?”

“Oh, he mixes it up. But whatever he plays, he likes being the hero.

Who doesn’t? He likes scenarios where he’s fighting for a cause, or the girl, or his own soul. Best was that combo.”

“The program puts you into the scene, makes you work for it, right?”

“Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”

“So was he good at the fight?”

“Better than the rest of us most of the time. Bart likes to watch vids on gun battles, sword fights, knife fights. He studies instructional discs, talks to soldiers and cops and all that. It’s important when you’re programming to know the moves, the strategies, so you can offer them to the player.”

She took another absent sip of the drink, stared out the glass again. “I guess most programmers aren’t all that physical, but Bart works at it. He likes to win—and he likes to play. He’s a hell of a gamer. Was,” she said, in a voice that started to shake. “He was. He was my best friend in the world. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I don’t know what any of us are going to do.”

Eve took out a card, wrote down a couple of names and contacts. “Try one of these names. It can help to talk, and to have somebody listen.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I think I will. Is it a problem if I go home now?”

“No. Cill, do you know the Sing family?”

“Oh sure, sure. The kids are seriously sweet.”

“Var mentioned you were having a service for Bart here tomorrow. They’d like to come. If you’d let them know.”

“Yeah, I will. They’re on my list already, but I’ll take care of it right off. I’ll do it from home. I just think I want to be home.”

“Okay. Where can I find Benny?”

“He was in his office when I went by a little while ago. Mostly the three of us are just sitting around trying to get from one minute to the next. He’s probably still there.”

10

S
he didn’t find Benny in his office, which offered her the perfect opportunity to study his space. Open door, she thought, glass walls, implicit permission. Like the others, he had an office Friggie and AutoChef, a range of comps, a collection of toys and games.

More files, more clutter than Var, less than Cill, she noted, with active memo cubes stacked on his workstation, a mound of discs beside them. More discs filed by number on a shelf—and, as in Mira’s office, several photos.

She studied Benny with Cill and Bart as kids, all fresh faces and goofy smiles. Benny, tall and skinny even then, had an explosion of improbable red hair. He towered over his companions as Cill’s sharp green eyes sent out a wickedly happy glint, and the doomed Bart stood in the middle. In another they were teenagers at what looked to be the Jersey shore, sunshades, geek tees, windblown hair, mugging for the camera.

Still another had them dressed in costumes, with Cill in a fancy wig that had big rounds of hair at both ears, and a white flowy dress—with some sort of blaster in her hand. Benny wore a kind of space soldier suit, a smirky smile, and held another blaster, while Bart wore a white tunic and carried a glowing tubular sword.

No, light saber, she corrected. Sure, sure, the Jedi deal, the
Star Wars
thing—like his droid.

She took a closer look at the light saber, shook her head. It just wasn’t the murder weapon.

Other pictures included Var—older now, college time—shaggy hair, sloppy clothes, sleepy eyes. Then the four of them stood in front of the warehouse, with patchy snow on the ground. Each wore a U-Play T-shirt and mile-wide grins as they toasted the camera with glasses of what was likely champagne.

She filed it all away before wandering out. She scanned the area—the glass boxes, the open stairs, the clear cubes, and workstations. Not so much bustle today, but still plenty of movement.

She frowned as she watched the way the sun beamed down and flashed over all the glass—and threw certain areas into soft shadows.

That was interesting, she mused. Glass walls or not, at certain times of the day sections were glared to invisible by the slant of sunlight.

She stopped a guy with a half a million tiny braids before he could whiz by on airskates. “I’m looking for Benny.”

“Um. His office?”

“No.”

“Um. Maybe he went home. It’s a crap day. Yo, Jessie? Benny?”

“Um. I think he was going to Lab Three. Maybe.”

“Lab Three,” Airskate said helpfully. “Maybe.”

“And where is that?”

“Um. Third level.” He pointed east. “That way.”

“Thanks.” She wondered how many “ums” were dropped in the air on any given day.

She took the long way around. No one stopped her, asked who she was, what she was doing. People went about their business, or gathered in little groups with the slash of those black armbands like wounds on their bright colors.

Now and then she noticed someone actually using a swipe card, but for the most part doors remained open.

She spotted Benny through the glass of a lab, its outer wall lined with comps and screens. He seemed to be executing some sort of martial arts kata, mouth grim, eyes shielded by VR goggles.

Good moves, she decided. Smooth, controlled, quick despite his human stickman build.

This one did more than sit in a cube and pretend.

She hooked her thumbs in her back pockets, watching until he made the ritual ending bow.

He jumped when she rapped her knuckles on the glass.

When he pulled off the goggles, his eyes looked dazed and glazed and made her wonder how long he’d been caught in the VR.

He fumbled a little with the lock code, then slid the door open.

“Lieutenant Dallas. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.”

“No problem. Good form. What level are you?”

“Oh, none.” There was an awkwardness to his shrug that hadn’t been there in the movements of the routine. “Not really. Virtually and in holo? I rock, but I don’t actually compete or practice or anything.”

“You should.”

He said, “Well...” And shrugged jerkily again. “Is there something new about Bart? Did you find out who killed him?”

“We’re working on it. Were you testing a new game?”

“Oh no. Not really. We’re always adding new functions and levels to our VR instructional programs. But mostly I was just... going away for a while. We should’ve closed today.” He looked over her shoulder, away. “I think we probably should have closed. But Var thought we’d all be better off here, doing something, being together. He’s right, I guess. I don’t know what I’d do at home.” He shrugged again. “The same thing I’m doing here, probably. Sorry. Do you want to come in? Or go to the break room? Something.”

“In’s good.” She stepped past him. “You do some of your testing here, some development?”

“Sure. Mostly VR and interactive screen in this lab. We’ve got others for straight comp, pocket games, and instructionals, holo. I use it for research, too, comparing on-the-market stuff with things we’re working on.”

“Must be fun.”

“Yeah, mostly it is. Bart... He implemented this policy early on. Everybody plays. It’s like part of the job description. Everybody who works here has to log in a certain number of hours on actual play. You can’t create games if you don’t play games—that’s his philosophy.”

“So, does everybody who works here get a shot at something that’s still in the development stage?”

“No. That would depend on their level and specific involvement. But we have all our on-the-market games available for employees, and a lot of our competition’s. Do you want to try something out? I can set you up.”

“How about the holo-lab? I’ll try out Fantastical.”

He winced. “I really can’t. I’m sorry. We don’t test that with the staff here. Not yet. We do weekends and after-hours. In a few more weeks, we’ll be ready. Bart’s already talking about the launch, and how... I mean—God. Goddamn it.”

Benny leaned back against a work counter as if his long legs wouldn’t support him any longer. “I can’t get it. I just can’t pull it in and keep it there. He’s gone. He’s really gone.”

“Bart had big plans for the new game.”

“Mega. He had a way of seeing the whole picture, taking it down the line. Having Plan B and C in place just in case.”

“You went back a long way. I stopped in your office, looking for you. I saw the pictures.”

“Yeah. I can hardly remember a time when Cill and Bart weren’t right there. Then Var.” He etched a square in the air with his fingers. “We clicked the corners and boxed it in. Four square. Oh Jesus.”

“It’s a hard loss. A friend, a partner. You shared a lot. The picture in the costumes.
Star Wars,
right?”

“Yeah,
A New Hope.
Episode four.” After heaving out a breath, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, then dropped them. “Leia, Luke, and Han. The summer before college, at Worldcon.”

“Bart must’ve been a big fan. The costume, his house droid.”

“Arguably,
Star Wars
opened things up, and the CGI developed by Lucas...” He managed a ghost of a smile. “You don’t want to get me started.”

“He probably played it a lot, in fantasy games. Maybe favored versions of it in the new game.”

“Not so much. I mean in the new game. We’ve got buckets of
Star Wars
and Jedi games. Really intense.”

“But he knew how to use a light saber.”

“Wicked frosted. He could holo or VR pilot any ship or transport, too. When Bart goes gaming, he’s into it. He works at it.”

“What did he favor in the new game?”

“Gosh, we mix it up a lot. You’ve got to when you’re developing.” But the question, the thinking it over, seemed to settle him. “He likes the battles. Save the girl or the village or the planet deal. Quests and wizardry, facing the Black Knight, slaying the dragon. The thing about the new game is you can do all that and more. You can build the world, the mythology.”

As he spoke, excitement sparked in his voice, onto his face. “Bart’s the undisputed champ at world building. He wrote the outlines and consulted on the scripts for the vid versions of Charrah and Third Star. Bart’s a really good writer, and you combine that with the programming chops, you got something way up.”

Benny wound down, sighed, seemed to deflate again. “I can’t get it straight in my head that he’s gone. Really gone. It’s like it won’t stick in my brain from one minute to the next. I don’t know what we’re going to do. When you find out who did it, when you put them away, will it get better? Will it?”

“I don’t know. You’ll know who and why, and you’ll know Bart got justice.”

“It matters.” He nodded. “Justice mattered to Bart. It’s why he liked to play the hero, I guess. But the thing is, Lieutenant Dallas, justice won’t bring him back.”

“No, it won’t.”

She left him, headed to the steps, started down. When she looked back she saw him, VR goggles in place again, hands fisted as he gave the opening salute.

Going away for a while again, she thought.

After the sticky, sweltering heat that seemed to bounce off the streets of East Washington into the faces of anyone with business out of doors, the chill of a hotel lobby felt like bliss. Even better, Peabody felt completely uptown in her plum purple multi-zips—the cut and placement of zippers helped, she believed, made her ass look smaller. She’d married it with knee-high shine boots and a float tank—low scoop—that gave her tits a nice lift.

She’d added a temp tattoo on one of those nicely lifted tits of a winged dragon inside a heart, pumped up the facial enhancements, gone wild and curly with the hair, and draped on plenty of sparkles.

No possible way she looked like a cop.

She knew the outfit worked because McNab had taken one look at her, made that flattering
mmmmm
sound of his, and grabbed her ass.

Undercover meant blending, and she concluded they’d passed that test, she in her plum purple and candy pink, McNab in his spring-grass green and Son of Zark tee. Hand-in-hand they glided across the lobby in her heeled shines and his ankle skids toward con registration.

In his many pockets and inside her many zips, they carried weapons—which had required a stop and private ID scan at Security—as well as badges, restraints, ’links, and communicators.

Neither expected trouble, but both sort of hoped for it.

They collected their con passes, registration packs, and freebies—which included go-cups featuring characters from a new game, some free downloads, discount chits, and map discs.

“This is the frost on the ice,” McNab decided as they moved into the first display area. “This is total. Did you see they have VR demos all day—and look, man, that’s the new 3-Z system. It’s got portable holo capabilities. Costs the earth and a couple satellites, and it’s first generation, but you can play holo without a full holo-room.”