Massively Multiplayer (44 page)

“You mean designing simulations to infiltrate the U.S?”

“Or whatever their targets are. Yes, Agent Blanks. A terror network has a lot fewer resources than a national government, so when they make an attack, they have to know beforehand that they can pull it off, and they have to be able to guess at the likely results. Except that a terror network, by its very nature, can’t go around hiring a programming team to design their simulations for them. So what do they do?”

“They find an already existing simulation,” answered Wolfgang, wonderingly. “A publicly accessible simulation of global politics...”

“With the most accurate physics engine in the industry, the best simulations of civilian responses, a built in economical and socio-political modeling system...”

“Crucible,” said MaryBeth.

“Yes. Crucible. Once I had the initial premise, all I had to do was work backwards. I had access to the profiles and histories of every major terror suspect in the government’s databases. I just cross-correlated them to the activities of small factions and individual agitators in the Crucible archive and...”

A new window opened on MaryBeth’s laptop, filled with tiny colored arrows of red and gold superimposed on a map of green. Wolfgang and Marybeth knew without asking that the same image was being projected to Blanks and Sumter in their temporary offices.

“This is a long-term schematic of the troop movements of the Ebon Mageguild in their campaign for the Essenian army two years ago. The Ebon Mages are in red, and the gold arrows are the Fillean heavy cavalry. Notice the way the Ebons split into four units instead of the traditional three, with two left-flank groups, a false one in front of the stronger reinforcements. The heavy artillery – the upper circle mages – are concentrated on the right. The enemy gets suckered into punching at the left, then when they advance and open themselves up...”

The little blips of light advanced and retreated suddenly, as the right wing of the red arrows swept in behind and consumed the yellow ones.

“...no more Fillean cavalry. A group of thirty-eight mid-level mages wipe out an army of over three-hundred armored horsemen in a little under thirteen minutes. Now here is news coverage and post-battle reconstructive analysis from the International Counter-terrorism and Intelligence Task Force—“

“That’s classified!” screeched Sumter’s voice over Marybeth’s speakers.

“Relax, Ms. Sumter. You’ve seen it all ready.”

A new window opened, depicting a quite different map in sand yellow.

“This is last October’s attack by the Pan-Islamic Jihadiim on the third Israeli armor division, supported by their air-cav. Note the troop movements.”

Once again, small blocks of arrows in black pulled and teased at a larger block of arrows in white, which broke from their linear formation and dissolved into smaller and smaller units, chasing the swifter black arrows until they were consumed by sudden concentrations of enemies to their rear.

“Any Questions?”

There was a long silence. Eventually Blanks spoke. “Who?”

“The player calling herself ‘Lady Dinah’ is really Mahira-yi Turbati, the third-in command of the Pan-Islamic Jihadiim, one of the largest and most organized of several Syrian-based anti-Israeli paramilitary factions. She’s also their first officer of materials, requisitioning and payroll. She’s been on the wanted lists for Interpol, the U.S., U/N. Security Council and Israeli governments for about ten years.”

“Warden Ghostmaker is not, as I thought, one of the ringleaders of the New Scions of Erin, the leading Irish-independence militant group, ever since Sinn Fein convinced the IRA to turn in their guns. They organized the Dublin Hospitals bombings two years ago, at exactly the same time that Warden Ghostmaker was gaining control of the island of Gale, using almost exactly the same tactics...”

“But you said he wasn’t one of the ringleaders...”

“No, he’s not, but Sean Baddersford wishes he was. The NSE’s leadership think he’s too gung-ho, too likely to get them all killed, so he works out simulations on his home computer system to convince them of the feasibility of bigger and bigger actions.”

“You have access to his computer?” Blanks asked sharply.

“That’s the whole point. I am not – as a lot of people have been mentioning very loudly recently – a security systems expert. But I have access to a lot of tools. Unfortunately, they’re all rather bulky, in virtual terms – they take a lot of memory to operate, they take a lot of bandwidth, and they need to be installed on the client-end. All I needed was a long-term open connection to the clients’ computers. Normally, the firewalls and port-security even in most home systems will detect and block large-scale tampering or uploads like that. But a computer which is already actively engaged in high-bandwidth activity...”

“Like gaming,” Wolfgang provided.

“...like gaming, yes, will allow all types of access. Then I just needed a story or quest compelling enough to keep the clients connected at the higher bandwidth rate so they wouldn’t scale back access until I’d gotten the taps installed on their systems and downloaded everything I could get.”

“And did you,” Blanks asked eagerly.

“Not quite,” Tenser admitted. “I need more time on Turbati’s system. Her security is really, really good. There have already been too many times she should have noticed the intrusions, if she weren’t so distracted by her greed.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Sumter interjected. “Blanks, I can’t believe you’re actually listening to this!

Blanks laughed. “I assume you have some evidence?”

“Almost. I’ve been pacing the data extraction with the high-points of their quests, times when their firewalls will be turned down, and they’ll be expecting high transfer rates anyway. That’s why I’ve decided to tell you about this now – you can’t shut the system down, Sumter. I need the time in order to finish mining the data from their systems. If I rush it, they’ll know.”

Sumter snorted derisively. She was really quite expert at it. “Do you mean to tell me that...like that little Japanese girl, whats-her-name-...is some kind of terrorist which
you’ve
discovered when
no-one
has come up with this before?”

“No,” Tenser admitted “in RL, she’s only nineteen years old. Her character’s profile fit the parameters of the search I set up, and her inclusion was accidental.”

“I thought not!” said Sumter triumphantly.

“Her father, on the other hand, is a regional boss in the Machikiya Yakuza clan, in charge of corporate extortion for the city of Tokyo. I guess little Saikoubi got her ambitious temperament from her father. Happily, she shares a home intranet connection with his system, and I’ll have most of it downloaded by the end of the night.”

Warden Ghostmaker had not achieved his position or his reputation by being slow on the uptake. When the skeletal arm wrapped around his throat, he whipped a short-hafted axe from his belt and started hammering on the nearest joint.

His blows had no apparent effect on the creature that was rising from the stone sarcophagus, and which now swiveled its mummified head towards the rest of the party. A thick gold crown set with blue gems, a silver collar, and other assorted funerary ornaments, had settled into the ruined wisps of flesh that remained. Druin glimpsed one pale blue eye nestled in the surrounding corruption, and this was fixed balefully on Ghostmaker.

The Illuminator, he realized. Mender’s second pupil.

“Who disssturbsss meee?” it hissed. “What have you done with my childrennnn?”

“Children?” Druin gasped.

“Don’t talk to it,” Ghostmaker croaked, now trying to wrestle the thing’s fingers from his windpipe. “Kill it!”

Druin dutifully hefted his knives, but was nearly bowled over by Malcolm, who charged forward, brandishing his sword above his head.

“Avaunt, foul creature of darkness!” He brought the sword down on the thing’s arm but succeeded only in producing a resounding ‘clack’ of metal on bone. The thing raised another arm to ward the young man off. Unfazed, he began hacking over and over.

“Die!” Clack! “Monster!” Clack! “Die!”

“Let’s get an answer to the million-dollar question, Mr. Tenser,” Blanks said complacently. “Why?”

There was a long pause. “Do you mean why me, or why this way?”

“Both.”

“Why me is the easy part. Under the laws brokered by the international media conglomerates U.N. representatives, you guys can’t co-opt a corporate product for purposes of espionage. I’m a private citizen, so I can.”

“You’re not a private citizen,” Sumter growled. “You’re still an NSA employee.”

“Shut up,” Blanks said politely.

“Oh am I? Well then, I’ll just have to erase all this data I’ve got and terminate this project, since it’s clearly an illegal data tap...”

“I’m certain that Ms. Sumter mis-spoke,” said Blanks. “Just as I’m certain your termination papers will be found, dated prior to your, er, irregular activities on behalf of the Archimago corporation. Now what about your motives in all this?”

Tenser became reticent once more. “If I start accepting benefits from the agency at this point, that might constitute employment and invalidate the whole thing. For the moment, let’s consider this a patriotic act of generosity. Let’s stick to the subject. Do we have a deal?”

There was another long pause, and Wolfgang realized that MaryBeth was gripping his hand very tightly. The sun had sunk into the Sound, and the chill wind was whipping up off the water. He strained his ears, but all he could hear from Marybeth’s computer speakers was a the faint hiss of a whispered conversation. It sounded like someone – Sumter, he guessed – was pretty angry.

Eventually, the hissing died away, and Agent Blanks’ voice came back smoothly.

“Naturally, I’ll have to consult with my superiors before the agency – much less, the other agencies involved – can agree to anything. Tentatively, however, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Butterfly had her hands on the stone sarcophagus and appeared to be whispering to it intently. As Druin watched, the heavy lid ground across the opening of the coffin, closing tightly on the skeletal thing’s arms, pinning them to its chest.

Druin took advantage of the moment to seize two of the bony fingers wrapped around Ghostmaker’s throat. He braced his feet against the sarcophagus and heaved.

Malcolm was still chopping madly at the revenant’s arms, frantic with exertion. “Why!” Clack! “Can’t!” Clack! “You” Clack! “Just!” Clack! “Die!?!” Clack! “Stupid!” Clack! “Cancer!” Clack! “Let go!” Clack! “Let go!”

Druin stumbled backwards, and opened his mouth to warn off Malcolm, who was practically sobbing with effort now. Butterfly was still whispering urgently to the sarcophagus’ lid, and Ghostmaker was still yanking at his throat.

So it was only Druin who saw – or, as he later admitted to himself, thought he saw, what Dinah did next. She vaulted up the steps, surprisingly nimble for her age, and thrust forward with her staff. Not at the monster in the sarcophagus, but at Malcolm’s unprotected back.

The raving young knight stumbled forward in mid-swing, and his blade came down with a meaty “chock” sound, into Ghostmaker’s right shoulder.

The grim warrior howled in rage and shifted his grip, reaching around with his left hand to yank at the blade, which had jammed itself in the wound. Blood spurted upwards, black in the dim light.

A moment too late, Princess Butterfly hissed a final imprecation at the sarcophagus. The mummified creature had just enough time to recover its hand from Ghostmaker before the lid slammed shut.

Druin was too shocked to move. Dinah was back on the main floor of the cavern, and for a moment he doubted he’d seen what he thought. Then he saw the twist of the smirk she couldn’t quite conceal.

Malcolm and Butterfly were both yanking at the sword in Ghostmaker’s shoulder now. It finally pulled free with a hiss, followed by more blood, which they tried desperately to staunch.

“Back off! Back off you two! You done enough already!” yelled Ghostmaker, snatching at his ruined arm. Druin could see that it hung, useless, connected to his body mostly by the thick bands of his armor.

They backed away. Malcolm wore a look of baffled shame.

“Dinah! Fix this!”

Her smirk now an open smile – a warm, grandmotherly smile, Druin couldn’t help but notice – Dinah glided forward. Her hands brushed over the warrior’s shoulder and her eyes closed briefly. She made a great show of searching through the bag at her side, considering and rejecting whatever healing ointments or charms she carried.

“I’m so sorry, Ghost’,” she sighed at last. “I can stop the bleeding, but I’m afraid that I haven’t the skills to mend your arm. You need a true healer.” She placed a thoughtful finger beside her lips. “I think the nearest one was back in Rooks’ Court. Of course, that’s some days journey by foot, but I’m sure we’d all happily provide your carriage fare.”

“Stuff it!”

“Why it’s the least we can do, considering how much you’ve done for...”

“I mean stuff it! I ain’t going back now! I’m sticking it out.”

Dinah affected a look of mild shock. “Why Ghostmaker! How very noble. But that’s impossible. You’re seriously wounded. You’d slow us down, and endanger everyone. Is that what you want?”

“I ain’t no burden,” Ghostmaker growled. Standing, he began re-buckling and shifting his weapons clumsily with his left arm. “I can still swing a sword,” he said fiercely, then glared a challenge at Malcolm, Druin, and Butterfly in turn, daring any one of them to disagree. Druin dropped his eyes, and noticed something glinting on the floor.

“No, I don’t think so,” Dinah looked seriously annoyed now. “You’d risk everyone else because of your pride. The mission is more important than the individual.”

“Damn straight,” Ghostmaker agreed, experimentally drawing a shortsword from a leg sheath. “That’s why I ain’t lettin’ an individual – that’s you – take it over.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dinah sniffed. “I’m a quiet woman, with no...”

“Yeah, yeah, save it for your disciples.” Ghostmaker replaced the sword and fixed her with an icy glare. “I know better. Now let’s get on.”