Massively Multiplayer (43 page)

Ghostmaker and Dinah had interrupted their bickering long enough to notice he had returned. “Report,” Dinah snapped, before Ghostmaker could.

Druin shrugged. “It looks straightforward. The ledge up there overlooks a larger cavern, maybe forty meters across. Middle of the far wall, the ceiling dips down and makes a kind of arch. There’s a lot of movement there – more dust-men, I think, but I wasn’t getting too close. They’re clustered around something large and square – I think it might be the coffin. There’s a pool of something to the right, and there are hints of light off that way, reflected in it. It could be an exit or it could be their home. If these things have a home. Is that enough, or do you need a closer look, because if you do I’ll need a cloaking spell from somebody.”

“How many of them?” Ghostmaker asked.

“Not more than a dozen – which is a little strange, considering we’ve already found larger concentrations than that...”

“Good enough,” Ghostmaker interrupted. “Sounds like the ol’ smash and grab, then. Maybe put together some more puzzle pieces and on we go, eh?”

“I am not so certain,” Butterfly said quietly. Her magical powers almost drained from their earlier fights, she had been relegated to the rear ranks, and she and Malcolm had taken advantage of the pause occasioned by Druin’s scouting mission to examine the bones they’d gathered thus far in their journey through the second tomb. Now she held up two next to one another.

“These appear to be the same limb.”

“Well he’s got two legs, don’t he?” Ghostmaker scoffed. “Had ‘em, anyway.”

“No, apologies, I am unclear. The
exact
same. From the same side.”

Ghostmaker waved them away. “So we’ve got some bits of the workers mixed in with the main guy. Stands to reason, these buggers’ll eat anything. All the better reason to take ‘em down.” He was already unlimbering his heaviest sword from its back sheath as he marched away down the corridor.

Butterfly and Malcolm exchanged a worried look, but hurried to gather up their supplies. Druin sighed, but followed them. It was either that or let the large warrior take on the enemy single-handedly. Certainly he’d proven that he could do so, but Druin doubted that Ghostmaker would be very forgiving if he found himself abandoned by his comrades, and given their early morning conversation he had a nasty suspicion exactly where the brawny soldier would take out his annoyance.

He spared a look over his shoulder at Dinah, who was observing Ghostmaker’s progress down the corridor with a calculating expression. then she caught Druin eyeing her and flashed a grandmotherly smile. “Well done, Druin. I’m certainly glad you were along to scout that for us. I’m sure everything will go perfectly.”

If that was the case, then why did he have a sinking feeling in his gut?

“Ms. Sumter. So good of you to come.”

“Can it, Blanks. You played me during that meeting.”

Blanks nodded affably. “Like a cheap violin. And I must thank you, I suppose, for doing your part to ensure that the department, indeed the entire intelligence community, continue to look like blundering goons.”

Sumter’s features contorted with rage and she lurched forward as though to strangle him across the desk. “You pompous, ineffective little piece of—“

“Tut tut,” Blanks held up a warning finger. “Shush.” He stretched the hand out over his portable desk, palm flat to bring up the holographic display, then selected a particular box of green light which was blinking urgently. He scissored his fingers apart, and the box expanded obligingly to present a wavering line which oscillated to the sound of muffled voices. Blanks adjusted a control and the voices became recognizable as those of Wolfgang Wallace and Marybeth Langridge. Then a third voice rattled in reply, its timbre fuzzy with metallic overtones.

Sumter gasped. “That’s Tenser!”

Blanks nodded.

“But how did you—“

“Since you insisted on clumsily alerting Mr. Wallace of your suspicions, I decided to make a virtue of necessity,” Blanks said off-handedly. “Your performance at the meeting was spot on, and I knew he’d go to Tenser.”

Sumter looked lost, her rage clearly warring with her utter bafflement. “But we know Wallace has been avoiding bugged areas and—“

“So I didn’t bug the area,” Blanks explained patiently. “I bugged Wallace. Slapped a microtransmitter on his back when he left the meeting, and a broadcast subroutine embedded in the smartPaper he took with him Now shut up.” He leaned back in his chair with an air of satisfaction. “Show’s starting.”

“Come on, Marcus, stop stalling!”

“If it seems like I’m stalling, Wolf, then doesn’t it occur to you I might be stalling for a reason? Come on, what’s the first rule of design? Persistence of effort. The corollary of persistence is patience. Rush the design and the product will be botched.”

“Try selling it somewhere else. I’m not your student any more, I’m not your apprentice, I’m not even your employee.”

“Then what does that make you, I wonder.”

“Your collaborator, and maybe your cellmate if Sumter gets her way. They are really cracking down, Marcus, and I’m not afraid to say that I’m about to crack. I need to know what it is I’m protecting. So either let me all the way in or count me out.”

It was the closest thing the non-confrontational Wolfgang had to an ultimatum and, MaryBeth noted, even then it was by way of presenting himself as the weak link. He was looking to her for reassurance and she nodded.

“Alright, Wolf. I think I’ve got everything set up which was going to be anyway. I guess you’re right. I’ve always had that tendency to over-prepare, haven’t I? Let’s see if this thing works.” Marcus paused. “That goes for you too, Agent Blanks.”

Marybeth and Wolfgang inhaled sharply.

“Relax, you two. It’s time for a few revelations, and since the Feds are listening, they might as well find out just what they’ve been listening to. Only polite.”

“But...we swept...”

“Yes, I know. But you weren’t sweeping on the way here, and I was. I’ve told you before, Wolfgang, you’re simply not sneaky enough for this kind of thing. One moment.”

There was an electronic pop from MaryBeth’s computer as a circuit closed. Then the voice of Agent Blanks issued from the speakers.

“Is this thing on?”

“Ha ha. You should have been a comedian, Blanks.”

“Apparently I got the pratfalls right, anyway. How long have you been aware of our monitoring? Professional interest.”

“Almost the beginning, I think, which is the main reason I didn’t give Wolf and MaryBeth very much detail. You’re plenty sneaky, Blanks, but I’ve made a life’s work out of running peoples’ heads. It’s what good game design is all about.”

“I would have thought it was about entertainment,” Blanks mused.

“Common misconception, even among designers and authors. No-one is ever entertained by someone else. All entertainment is internal. The eyes read the page, the ears hear the music, the hands touch...but it is the mind which decides how to interpret that, what it will find entertaining or instructive or horrifying or stupid. It’s all in the head. If I could convince you to be entertained by a piece of string, then I wouldn’t need to produce art, I could just produce string.”

“You think this is art, then?”

“No, Blanks, I think it’s a game. But any good game is also a story. And the neat thing about games is that they’re not stories about other people, they’re stories about the people who play them.”

“How so?”

“How do you win a game of Poker?”

“You have the highest ranking hand.”

“Wrong. You make everyone around the table
think
you have the highest ranking hand. It’s not necessary to actually have it. But your answer tells me everything about how you play Poker, and quite a bit about the type of person you are.”

“Which is?” Blanks asked, fascinated despite himself.

“Straightforward, conservative, probably very honest. Tell me, do you ever bet high on the first turn of cards?”

Blanks had to think about it. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m guessing you grew up fairly poor. Even if not, you’re conservative with your money. Heck, the fact that you had to think about it tells me it’s been a while since you played Poker. Or any game of chance? You like control too much, I think, to enjoy that type of game. Am I right?”

“Very astute,” Blanks sounded pleased.

A tinny voice, someone on Blanks end, interjected, “what is this, a backrub? Ask him what the hell he’s been up to!”

“Ah, Agent Sumter. So interested in knowing who’s who, what’s what, and so very committed to the rules. You like control as well, but you prefer it when someone hands you a playbook that tells you just what moves are allowed, and I bet that you love sticking it to people who violate that playbook even more than you love catching criminals. Let me guess, you were captain of your high-school chess club?”

Sumter growled and Blanks barked with laughter.

“Show me how someone plays a game of Monopoly and I don’t need a psychological profile,” said Tenser smugly. “Let me see how they build a snowfort and I’ll make a guess at their banking password. Play a full round of golf with them and you can see their souls.”

“This is intriguing,” said Blanks, “but what about Agent Sumter’s question? Clearly you’re playing your own game here, Tenser. Guessing games. And apparently you like to write the rules.”

“Touché. But forget about the game, for a moment. The game is a distraction.”

“Away from what.”

“From the players. What do you know about the players?”

“How do you mean?”

“Wolf?”

Wolfgang thought about it a moment. He might not know what game Tenser and Blanks were playing, but he knew Crucible. “They’re fairly aggressive. They make short term plans, proactive but flexible. They’re organized, like most effective adventuring parties, but they’ve got a dominance struggle that might get them in trouble.”

“Leader types,” Blanks mused.

“Yes. All of them but Druin – the Hunter kid – are fairly well advanced. They hold positions of authority. They’re all very hands-on...not a lot of parties would have gotten through those levels that fast. They’re good at making the most out of limited resources, like those bones in the first tomb you set up.”

“And how do they treat each other?”

“Like tools,” Marybeth interjected. “Like more resources.”

“Expendable resources,” Tenser agreed. “And what is it they’re after, anyway? What is it they’re so very interested in and excited by that they’re distracted from wondering why they have even been given this opportunity?”

“Weapons,” Wolfgang put in. “Weapons strong enough to set them up for life, with any of the Crucible governments.”

“Well, Agent Blanks, Ms. Sumter? Strong individualists who nevertheless have pulled together for a common cause, aggressive but efficiently so, used to limited resources, willing to use people for a cause...is this sounding like a familiar profile.”

“Terrorists,” Agent Blanks said quietly. “You’re describing terrorists.”

The attack went strictly as planned. Then everything went strictly to pieces.

Ghostmaker’s initial charge caught the dustmen completely off guard. He ploughed into their rear ranks, his heavy sword cleaving through them by twos and threes. Malcom had nearly caught up with him, and was raining blows down on the things on the right. Druin found himself taking care of their left side, thrusting and sawing with his wide knives, hoping that Butterfly would cover him if he became surrounded.

But they weren’t surrounded. Unlike their earlier running fight, the dustmen here seemed stunned, nearly inert, whether paralyzed by the ferocity of Ghostmaker’s attack or still in the throws of whatever ritual they’d been involved in he didn’t know. Some turned, some howled, others raised their arms as if to clutch at the charging adventurers, but soon the sluggish throng were cut down and Druin found himself panting next to Malcolm atop a heap of ragged bodies.

Ghostmaker spared no time on rest, merely grunting at the carnage as he whipped the massive sword back into its sheath. Dinah trotted up and Ghostmaker favored her with a sneer.

“Buncha’ worrying over nothing,” he snorted. He turned to Butterfly, jabbing a thick finger at the stone sarcophagus. “This thing trapped?”

Butterfly squinted, and Druin peered closely as well for the telltale signs of tampering.

“No,” Buterfly said, though her face was troubled. “I think not. Still, there is something...”

“Bollocks,” Ghostmaker grumbled, and wedged his hands under the lip of the heavy lid. He heaved, grunting. The lid slammed to the floor, raising a cloud of powder from the dusty corpses there.

Ghostmaker peered inside. “Looks like this one’s home,” he said, jerking a thumb at the remains within. He leaned closer. “Looks like there’s some—“

A skeletal hand shot out of the sarcophagus and gripped him by the throat.

“Who disssssterbsssss my rest?” demanded a raspy voice.

Something inside the sarcophagus began to sit up.

“I cannot believe I am listening to this.”

“Believe it, Ms. Sumter. You might have figured it out for yourself, given adequate information and time. Or not.”

“You are seriously trying to tell me that this whole thing – your defection from your position at National Security, your intrusion into Archimago’s computer systems – that all of this was some cowboy stunt in pursuit of supposed terrorists?”

“Nor ‘supposed’, Ms. Sumter. There is absolutely no doubt that several of the players currently involved in the quest for the tomb of the Mender are, in fact, terrorists or terror suspects.”

“And you got your information from where?”

“Why from you, Ms. Sumter.”

Sumter sat down heavily, huffing incredulously.

“It’s not even that hard to understand, though I understand that your...er...’linear’ sort of mindset might not follow. You even gave me the idea, or at least your agency did. What did you hire me for, anyway? To design simulations to train spies who could infiltrate terrorist networks. Didn’t it ever occur to you that the more organized terror cells might be trying the same thing?”