Gamerunner (16 page)

She laughed. He wished she wouldn’t; it was worse than when she was crying. She said, ‘You think it’s some kind of medicine, do you? A cure for cancer? Sure, I may design computer games for a living, but I’m into biochemistry as a hobby . . . And it’s sheer bloody-mindedness that stopped me giving it to Daed of my own free will, is it?’

He tried to shrug. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t give it to him.’
Evil
. . .

‘Immortality,’ she said, and the laugh was like something leaking. ‘Oh, Rick, gods help us. You really have no idea what you’ve done.’

‘Then tell me.’ But he didn’t want to know. He wanted to go on thinking she was overreacting, or just crazy.

She opened her mouth. Her face was gleaming wet, as if she’d been out in the rain: it looked painful.

Rick wished he could look away. He wanted to log out, once and for all.

She said, ‘Where is he?’

It took him a second to understand. ‘Who?’

‘Daed. Where is he?’

‘In his office, probably.’ The answer came automatically, before Rick’s brain caught up with his mouth. Then he thought: But Asterion? She was going to tell me about Asterion . . .

‘OK.’ She turned on her heel and walked towards the door.

‘Wait —’ Rick stumbled after her, through a grey fog of fear. He didn’t know what he was scared of, but he was shaking. ‘Perdita — tell me, at least
tell
me —’

‘Daed can tell you,’ she said, and then took a deep breath and turned round to face him. ‘Rick. I’m not going to let Daed use Asterion. So it doesn’t matter, does it? There’s no need for me to explain, because it’s entirely irrelevant.’ Her eyes slid away.

‘But —’

‘Goodbye, Rick.’ She swallowed, and met his eyes again. ‘Good luck.’

He thought: I’m never going to see her again. ‘Perdita —’

She hesitated for a moment and then walked towards him, until there were only a few centi-ems between them. She put her hands on his shoulders. They were too heavy; it felt like she was trying to force him to his knees. Then she kissed him lightly on both cheeks. He wanted to put his arms round her but he couldn’t.

‘Rick,’ she said, ‘one word of advice.
Stop doing stupid things
.’

They looked at each other.

Then she slapped him, hard, across the face. She was gone before he’d blinked the tears away. There was nothing but the
buzz-hiss
of the door, closing behind her.

Chapter 16

He didn’t know what to do. He stood in the middle of his room like a lemon. His cheek was burning, and his eyes were watering from the pain. Perdita might not have been state-of-the-art designed, but she had a lot of strength in her arm. Rick felt faintly surprised.

He sat down on his bed. The mattress subsided underneath him and the box of macaroons slid down into the dent. He opened it — he’d never seen a box made of cardboard before, and it took him a while to work out what to do — and looked at the macaroons. They were round, with a diameter the length of his thumb, and all different colours, like they belonged in the false sunlight of the Maze, not here. They didn’t look edible. Maybe they weren’t; maybe they were some kind of drug. Maybe you smoked them, or snorted them. Or injected them. He picked one up — it was turquoise — and considered it. He concentrated on it, trying not to think about Perdita.

He thought: Why would you eat something
turquoise
? What are these things, anyway?

He thought: The People’s Republic of Macaroon . . .

And then he shut his eyes, and thought: What is she going to
do
?

He imagined her in Daed’s office, demanding Asterion back. But she didn’t have a hope; Daed would just laugh. Then he saw her in the glass entrance hall next to the Nucleus, putting her hood on, tightening her out-clothes, taking her time, because she knew that as soon as she stepped out into the rain . . .

He opened his eyes. His fingers had tightened on the macaroon, squashing the middle. He put it into his mouth, chewed, and shoved another one in before he had time to swallow. His teeth bit down on sweet crumbly dust. He bolted another one, almost choking, and another: violent pink, pale green, yellow. He wondered why they were expensive. When he tried to force another one down he sprayed wet crumbs of rainbow-coloured spit over his sheets. He wasn’t going to think about Perdita. He focused on the taste of sugar, and the odd hint of other things, mint, bergamot, something flowery. Revolting.

The rain, he thought, in spite of himself. Outside even the rain can kill you. How could Daed —

Another macaroon. He felt sick. He
wanted
to feel sick.

But it’s not my fault that she’s been sacked, he thought. It’s because she refused to give up Asterion — it was her choice, if she’d only agreed —

He was going to vomit. He threw himself towards the bathroom, smacking his elbow on the door frame, and got to the loo just in time. A saccharine, technicolor soup swirled and sank in the toilet bowl. He felt more tears seeping out of the corners of his eyes. Gods, what a mess, what a mess.

If I went and talked to Daed, he thought. If I pleaded . . .

Stop doing stupid things
.

He leant his head against the sweaty mirror, and giggled weakly. But if I stop doing stupid things, what
am
I meant to do?

He wished he could see inside Daed’s office, right now. He made his way shakily back into his bedroom and stared out of the window, even though Daed’s office was in the other direction. The grey knot of Undone was spread out below him, smoking slightly. But the rain had stopped; that was something.

Maybe it
was
possible to live out there. Well — it
was
possible, obviously, there were millions of people who lived outside the complex, he knew that. But maybe it would be possible for Perdita; or for him . . .

He felt a surge of something he didn’t understand. For a moment he thought he was going to be sick again. But it wasn’t nausea; it was envy.

Suppose —

I could —

Suppose, when she left, I went with —

He rocked back from the chemiglass, feeling a new flush of cold sweat on his skin. He was afraid: but not just afraid.

He couldn’t leave Daed. It would be mad. Daed was his father, probably. Daed protected him from everything he needed protecting from. Daed . . .

If I went with Perdita, he thought, I’d never be able to come back. It’s not like before, when I just wanted to have a look, to know I
could
leave if I wanted to. If I go now, that’s it.

For no reason, he thought of Athene. He’d never know what she looked like, in real life.

And he saw his own face, in the mirror-walls of the cell.

His trousers were crumpled on the floor beside the bed, and pulled them on, then his socks, then his shoes. Then he went to the cupboard where his hood was kept, in case of emergencies; he didn’t expect it to be there, but it was. Someone must have put it back. Part of him wished they hadn’t. He picked it up, turned it over in his hands. Was
this
enough to keep the rain off?

But right now it wasn’t raining.

His heart was swollen and racing. But it’s OK, Perdita, he thought. I’m not going to do anything stupid.

Well. Not
that
stupid.

He looked around. He could see the shark’s shadow at the bottom of the swimming pool, moving restlessly back and forth. The sickness had changed to something else: a kind of oozing, uncomfortable heat. The blood was fizzing in his temples.

He thought: If this is the last time I see these rooms . . .

He looked at the bed — four ems wide, enough for three people — the space, the open door to the bathroom, the wall of chemiglass, the flicker of reflected water-light on the ceiling from the pool. Luxury, even for the complex.

But there was nothing here he could take away with him.

So he stared until it was all printed on his retina. He turned to the cameras, one by one, and gave each a deliberate V-sign.

And then he took his hood and went.

. . .

The comms panel at the bottom of the stairs let him through; there were more highlighted options than last time, but
outside access
was still unavailable. Not that it mattered; he chose
creative department
, and felt smug. He walked through the Nucleus, past the fountain, and even though it was huge, and silent, and made him think of Daed, he didn’t feel much more than a tightening in his throat. If Perdita could leave, then so could he. Even if she had to be thrown out.

There was no comms panel outside the Creative Department door, but he half saw, half felt a glint of silver slide over his retina, and then the door swung silently open. He’d never been here without Perdita, but now he was allowed, apparently. As if Asterion was a password, and more powerful than he’d realised. He went down the corridor towards Perdita’s door, and pressed his hand against the comms panel. But his luck had run out. The panel rippled silkily blue-green, but it didn’t let him in.
I’m sorry,
it said,
Perdita isn’t in at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?

Not that he was surprised. After all, he was only Daed’s kid; he wasn’t Daed himself. Full-access privileges would have been too much to ask.

But he couldn’t just wait in the corridor.

Gods, why hadn’t he thought of this, five minutes ago?

Someone went past him — one of the Creatives, Rick was almost certain he’d seen him before — and gave him a funny look. Rick looked down at his manky slept-in T-shirt, the hood flapping in his left hand, and thought: Oops. I’m not exactly prepossessing.

He couldn’t stay here.

He turned and followed the Creative, not too fast. Rick could tell that he knew he was there: his shoulder blades were tense, like he was afraid Rick was going to hit him from behind. When they got to the door at the end of the corridor he paused, his hand on the comms panel, and looked round. Rick remembered his name, suddenly: Jake.

‘Hi,’ Rick said. ‘How’s it going?’ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried to talk to someone he didn’t know, and it showed. In the Maze there was no such thing as small talk; only negotiation.

Jake looked at him, and then away. He said, ‘Oh, yeah, good, you?’ His voice was flat, like he was counting. The door in front of him slid open and he glanced at the room beyond, then back at Rick. ‘Er . . . listen, I’m just taking a break, I’ve been working for thirteen hours, really hard, I mean, I just need a coffee, you know —’

It took Rick a second to get it. Then he said, ‘It’s OK, Daed hasn’t sent me to check up on you.’

‘Oh.’ He added, too late, ‘Look, I didn’t think he had —’

‘Can I wait in there?’

‘Er . . . yeah, sure.’ He frowned and then smiled, too quickly. ‘’Course, no problem. Have a coffee.’

‘Thanks,’ Rick said, and followed him. It was the Ideas Space, and it had changed since he’d last seen it. It had been chaotic, full of gadgets and bright colours, cushions and inflatable chairs. Now it was white and minimalist, with doodle screens on every available surface. Apparently blankness was the new inspiration. Rick took the cup of coffee that Jake handed him and wanted to throw it at the wall. He thought regretfully of his technicolor vomit.

Jake said, ‘So . . . we’re all really excited about the iTank.’

‘Great,’ Rick said. He realised, with a weird sadness, that he didn’t even know what the iTank was going to be like. A year, a month ago, he’d have been mad with anticipation, thirsty for every detail, begging to try out the prototypes. ‘What’s new? Better graphics?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Fewer bugs?’

Jake frowned, then laughed. ‘You’re joking, right?’

Rick shrugged. The coffee tasted burnt.

Jake said, ‘You don’t
kno
w
? This is the biggest step forward since . . . well, since the game tank was invented. This is like the transition from flatgames to realgames. Seriously. Gods, where’ve you
been
?’

Something in his tone flicked Rick on the raw. I’ve been in the Maze, Rick wanted to say. In the Maze, and then in the endgame. But he didn’t. ‘So what’s so great about it?’

Jake held his gaze, then blinked twice. His expression had changed. Now there was a gleam of pride in his eyes. He said, ‘But Daed hasn’t told you . . . ?’

Rick refused to answer. He was only here to wait for Perdita; this wasn’t his world any more. He stared at the whiteness everywhere and wondered if he could give himself a nosebleed through sheer force of will.

Jake said, ‘The iTank is . . . it’s the pinnacle, it’s the zenith, it’s — we’ve been working on it for years, years and years. I can’t
believe
you don’t . . .’ He stared at Rick. He had very pale green eyes, and over-designed eyelashes. He reached out for the nearest doodle screen. He said, ‘The iTank can
read your mind
.’