Gamerunner (20 page)

The way he said it reminded Rick of Paz:
the thing about people, Daed, is that they’re . . . dispensable.

But Rick didn’t say anything. And he let the silence go on, until finally it swung shut, like an old-fashioned door, and the subject was closed.

Daed said, ‘Anyway. The iTank’s fantastic. I think you’ll like it. Hardware isn’t my area, of course, but when you see the demo . . . I’m proud of it.’

‘Good,’ Rick said, without feeling anything.

‘Try it. The atmosphere downstairs is . . . I’ve never felt anything like it. Even Marketing are happy.’ Daed laughed. There was pleasure in his voice, but something else, too. Rick would have thought it was bitterness, if that had made sense; but it didn’t. ‘The launch party is going to be big. You’re invited, of course. I think you might enjoy it.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

‘Let me rephrase that,’ Daed said. ‘I think you
will
enjoy it.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

‘Tough,’ Daed said, shrugging. ‘You’re going. And you won’t insult anyone or GBH any Security guards, either.’

Rick opened his mouth to make the ‘I’ sound. But it disobeyed him. ‘All right.’

‘Good.’ Daed coughed, and covered his mouth with his hand. The fit went on for thirty seconds, easily, and when he stopped he wiped his hand on his trousers. It left a dark stain in the shape of two fingers, giving Rick a dispassionate V-sign.

Daed was sick. He was
still
sick.

But —

Rick thought: Wait, I thought —

‘Daed — you’re OK,’ he said, in a rush. ‘You’re OK, aren’t you? You’re going to be OK?’

Daed looked at him, and his eyes were like a curtain, ready to be drawn aside. For a moment Rick was afraid, because he was going to see what was behind Daed’s face, what Daed really looked like.

Then Daed raised one eyebrow. ‘Yes, Rick. I’m OK, you’re OK, we’re both OK, everything’s going to be OK. OK?’

‘OK,’ Rick said, before he could stop himself.

‘Try the iTank demo. You’ll like it. I’m a genius.’ He stood up. ‘Must be fun, being related to a genius.’ He winked.

Rick smiled back. He stored the word away, to be re-examined later.
Related
. It was something.

Daed raised a hand — like he was a god, calling down blessings on the household — and turned to leave. It would have been a smooth exit, except that he started to cough, and had to steady himself in the doorway. Rick watched him, and then looked away, uncomfortable. It was like watching something private, like he shouldn’t be there. He let his gaze rest on the shark under the swimming pool.

Daed gasped for breath, the air rattling in his throat. Something blackish and clotted hit the carpet at his feet and soaked in.

Immortality, Rick thought. Not all it’s cracked up to be, apparently.

Something inside him gave way. He couldn’t help it. Something broke, something split cleanly down the middle. He’d had enough. He couldn’t go on.

‘Why did you do it?’ he said, hearing his voice rise suddenly, out of control. ‘I know this is all my fault — if I hadn’t won against the Roots . . . but
you
designed it, you put the end there, if you hadn’t—’

‘What? Made it possible?’ Daed was smiling; how could he be smiling? ‘I had to, Rick. Nothing is impossible, remember? If word got out that I was designing dead-end quests . . .’ His cough mastered him again.

There was a silence, and Rick hated him: for being right, for always being right. For letting things get to this. For Letting
Rick
—

He said, in spite of himself, ‘Daed, I want to go. Please can we go?’

Daed straightened up, struggled, and finally drew a whole, ragged breath. ‘Go where?’

‘Anywhere. I can’t stay here. I can’t do it any more. Please.’

‘Leave the complex?’

‘Yes. Please, Daed, please.’ He was like a kid, pleading for sweets. He remembered Perdita’s macaroons and felt queasy.

‘No.’

‘Please —’

‘
No
.’ The cough came back, only this time it was a laugh. Rick felt his throat tightening. What was so funny? Blood speckled the corners of Daed’s mouth, and when he wiped it away he left a long mark on his chin, like a pennant. He said, ‘Oh, Rick. Gods. You’re priceless.’

Rick opened his mouth to say something — to argue, to insult, to plead, he didn’t know what — but Daed got there first. And something in his voice told Rick to shut up, because maybe, just this once, Daed might be telling him the truth.

‘Rick,’ he said, ‘I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep us here. Everything I’ve done . . . And I’ve done it too well. We couldn’t leave if we wanted to. And now, with Asterion . . .’ He stopped short, as if he’d caught himself on the edge of saying something he shouldn’t.

‘But —’

‘Shut up and listen.’ Daed leant against the door frame, crossing one ankle over the other, so he looked like a screenshot from the Maze, a vagabond loitering outside a tavern. You wouldn’t have seen the tension in his shoulders and ribs, unless you’d been looking for it. ‘Rick . . . we needed Crater. We needed shelter, and food, and money. So I came here, with you, and offered to work for them. You were too small to remember. And I worked so well that they promoted me, and kept on promoting me, until now I’m indispensable. I
am
the Maze . . .’ For a second he paused, looking past Rick at the rain spattering the window. ‘Now they won’t let me go. I’m too important. If I went to Crater’s competitors . . . well, Crater wouldn’t like it. And you — they’d be scared of letting you go, for the same reasons. We know too much. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

Rick thought he did. But he shrugged. ‘Just say it, Daed. With nice short words.’

‘I can’t leave. Neither can you. Ever.’

Rick nodded. Not because he agreed, but because there was nothing else to do. He said, ‘The complex . . . it’s a prison, isn’t it?’

‘For you and me, yes.’

‘And you . . . not even you can think of a way to get out?’

Daed laughed, briefly. ‘I can think of hundreds of ways to get out,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we wouldn’t survive the next twenty-four hours.’

‘Because of — Undone, and the gangs, and the rain —?’

‘We could survive those, probably. No, because of Crater. And Customer Services. They’d track us.’

They looked at each other.

‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Rick said. ‘Really, nothing?’

‘Nothing,’ Daed said, but his voice was hollow, with something hidden inside it, like a box. ‘Just stay here. Make the most of it. Enjoy the party.’

Enjoy the party
. It had an odd ring, like an insult. Rick couldn’t help himself. He said, ‘We’ll be here for ever.’

‘Until we die,’ Daed said, and he closed his eyes, as if he was too tired to go on. ‘There’s always that, to look forward to.’

It sounded like a joke. It had to be a joke. But . . . no, it
didn’t
sound like a joke. Not quite. A kind of empty grey horror rose through Rick, and he clenched his hands on the duvet to keep himself still. It was like one of those dreams, where you couldn’t run or move out of the way. If he’d looked up, he’d have seen the ceiling collapsing, falling towards him in deadly slow-motion.

‘Rick . . .’

He looked up, surprised.

Daed had opened his eyes. They shone, weird and beautiful in his old man’s face. He looked . . . worried. He said, ‘You’re not really
unhappy
, are you?’

Rick blinked. Then
he
wanted to laugh, or to cry. But he was frozen, speechless. Someone’s hacked Daed’s account, he thought, blankly. Same face, same avatar, but the person behind it is someone I don’t know . . .

The silence went on. And finally, like a trickle of moisture pushing its way gently through a dam, Rick thought: Maybe he
is
my father. Maybe he really
is
.

He thought of Athene, who was dead now, and Perdita, and Jake — no, Jason — and the Security man, who might be dead or alive, Rick didn’t even
know
. The panic rose and swirled like a flood. He took a deep breath.

‘No, Daed,’ he said. ‘Relax. I’m just a bit under the weather. You’re right. I’ll enjoy the party.’

‘Good.’ Daed’s gaze slid away. ‘You should be glad to be here. Food, shelter, unlimited access to the Maze . . . luxury . . .’ He gestured vaguely at the swimming pool. The shark flipped its tail and changed direction.

‘That’s right,’ Rick said.

A pause. Daed nodded. ‘See you later, then. At the launch, if not before.’ He sounded hundreds of years old. Perhaps he was.

‘Yes,’ Rick said. He’d never felt so lonely in his life.

He watched Daed go. The rain splashed and clattered against the window, relentless. He thought about throwing a chair through the glass. But it would have been painful, to die like that. And he didn’t want to die.

In the end he got up and went to look at the iTank. He stood outside it, running his hand down the smooth white contours, admiring the design. It wasn’t quite cylindrical; the curves were subtle, like something organic. He wanted to go inside. He wanted to like it.

If I try it, he thought, that’s it. I’ve lost. I’m giving up. I’ve stopped fighting, and I’ll live here for ever. I’m letting Crater and Paz and Customer Services win. That’s the choice.

There’s nothing else I can do.

The tank responded to the touch of his hand, rippling faintly silver. The door slid open, inviting him in.

He stood there for a long time.

And then — inevitably, without even feeling much, except tired — he went in, and the door shut behind him.

Chapter 19

The ruins of somewhere beautiful are spread out around him. Above the last ribs of the roof there’s a clear sky, just beginning to glow red with the sunset. In the emptiness between the pillars there are leaves drifting down, slowly, glinting gold and scarlet and crimson where they turn in the sunlight. Underfoot the paving-stones are overgrown with thin yellow grass and moss.

And space. There’s so much space. The scale of it . . .

He feels the hair rising on the back of his neck.

He pivots on his heels, looking around. He swallows, and swallows again, caught off-guard by so much loveliness. The other side of the sky is a pale blue, throwing the outlines of the ruins into silhouette. He sees broken towers and a staircase that leads nowhere, a little tree pushing out horizontally from a wall.

Oh, Daed . . .

He can smell . . . but he doesn’t have words for it. Something fresh, something clean. No, not clean. Things growing. A garden smell. But not a synth smell, not how it would smell in the Maze. Oh, the
difference
. . . He blinks. Water runs down his cheeks. He laughs. He doesn’t want to exhale; he wants to keep inhaling, for ever, always breathing this air, always smelling this smell. It’s the smell of everything he never realised he wanted. It’s the smell of quietness and seeds and peace and sunlight and and and —

His lungs are going to burst. He breathes out, in a rush.

Finally he takes a step forward. The stones are hard under his feet, except for the overgrown bits. He crouches and runs his hand over the moss and it feels like velvet. He pulls at it and it peels slowly away from the ground, the roots ripping softly like very polite Velcro. It comes away in his hand like a green rag. When he drops it, it stays where it is. So does the bare patch. He watches them for ages, waiting for them to melt back to how they were; but they don’t. He stretches an arm out, picks up a fallen leaf and crunches it between his fingers. When he looks at his palm there are little fragments of brown leaf-dust clinging to the skin. He makes a noise that’s half sob, half hiccup.

A sudden coolness slides over his face, and the quality of the light changes. For a moment he thinks something’s gone wrong. Then, when he looks up, he realises that the sun has dipped a little further, that’s all. Now it’s hidden behind the ragged wall opposite; but if he tilts his chin he can still see it, blinding, impossible and unfamiliar. The sun in the Maze is only a ball of light. Here it’s . . . he can’t describe it. He thinks: I’ve never needed these words before. None of the words I know are good enough.

The part of his brain that isn’t reeling, dazzled, adds: Wow. An environment that exists in real time. I wonder if it changes with the season . . .

He shakes his head again. Daed, he thinks. You’re right, this is amazing, this is . . . I don’t believe it. It’s not techno, it’s
magic
.

And this is only the demo.

He gets to his feet. Now the sun is lower, the air is cool, brushing his face with its fingers, making him shiver. He says, ‘Er . . . help. Please.’

How can I help you?

It ought to break the spell, but it doesn’t. He says, ‘I’m cold.’

Would you like to: a) change iTank settings?