And then… the Moon pool exploded.
Water shot up in the air like a waterspout, a thunderclap that smashed against the ceiling and showered back down with a Moon-shaking ker-whoom! The shock wave forced Celeste to slacken her grip on him, as her eyes widened in surprise. Perhaps she’d thought it was just another special effect!
The heart went out of him. He knew what that explosion meant. It meant that Darla had failed, that she was blown to jelly, and it was over.
Something went black and red behind his eyes. No matter what happens to me, this bitch is dead!
He got two hands full of hair, and even as she sank her teeth in his forearm, rolled Celeste over and into the pool.
Scotty managed to drive his fist into her gut the moment before she hit, so that the air gushed out of her mouth even as he gulped a breath. In the water she panicked, struck out for the surface, but with all the strength remaining to him he rolled her under. Wiggled around her and clamped his legs around her waist as she pried at him, struggled… and then finally, blessedly, went limp.
Gasping, Scotty hauled her back up, in time to look directly into another gas-powered dart gun as the pirate triggered the bolt***
The shock wave lifted Darla out of the pool and into the air, almost gently, like an avalanche of foam. The combination of fatigue, oxygen debt and shock made the entire experience surreal. She watched men, women and molded plastic automatons flying through the air with the greatest of ease, saw it all in a kind of slow-motion tumble, rising, rising…
The water pushed her firmly into a wall, stunned but not really dazed. She held onto a rock projection that had missed her head by inches. Beneath her, a big Japanese man was about to step on Ali’s neck. She dropped down, landing on him, and while he was twice her size, tumbled him back into the Moon pool.
Ali dragged himself to the edge of the pool and jumped in with her, and the three struggled and wheeled through the water, alternately gulping air as their heads broke the surface, and thrashing each other with fists and feet.
Finally, improbably, they both ended up on top, their feet pushing against the big man’s shoulders. She felt his hands on her leg, saw the flash of a blade and realized he had had time to clear his mind and draw a knife, knew that she had made a terrible mistake and then…
He was gone.
Scotty gritted his teeth and prepared for the greatest pain of his life. Then before the pirate could loose a bolt, both of his feet were off the ground, and he was flying backward.
What the…?
A stun bolt had hit the pirate in the middle of the chest. A nonlethal riot round fired by a big broad man rising from the pool. Piering.
More men and women rose, in rebreather gear, carrying riot guns. One dragged a half-drowned Japanese man from the water.
Help had arrived at last.
The siege… the game… was over.
38
2341 hours
Eventually the reporters were asked to leave the gamers alone. The survivors had been debriefed; the pirates were still being questioned. Now, finally, the gamers staggered, exhausted, into the makeshift gaming lounge. For a time they just sat in their chairs, wounded and pale and tired. Medics moved among them. They stared at each other, bandaged and bruised, and then grinned.
“Now that, ” Wayne said, “was a game.”
“It would be just about perfect,” Angelique said. “Except for Asako.”
“Asako,” Wayne said. “Shit. I’d almost managed to forget. Hey. Let’s dedicate the game to her. I mean, for what it’s worth, let’s make her the biggest gaming heroine in history.”
Sharmela managed a tired smile. “I think she would have liked that.”
“I’ll second that,” Scotty said. “Woman was die-hard.”
At his side, Darla wearily agreed. She and Wayne were draped around each other, touching, kissing and whispering as if there was no one in the room. She had almost drowned, almost been blasted apart, almost been knifed… almost drowned again. It was a wounded Wayne who had spotted and rescued her.
And to the rescuer went the spoils.
Scotty thought that there was something strong there, something that might last.
And that was fine with him.
Xavier swept into the lounge, followed by Wu Lin and Magique. “The IFGS has, for the first time in almost a decade, called this game a draw. We have an invitation to mount it again, in six months.”
“Oh, no.” Angelique rolled her eyes. “You have got to be kidding. That’s not happening. I can’t even afford, let alone-”
Xavier grinned. “Can’t afford? Have you checked your bank balance? Do you realize that this game had the highest ratings in history?”
She looked at him dubiously. “Were we broadcasting?”
“Every minute. Everyone in this room is rich. And a couple of us are just absurdly rich. Numbers will be forthcoming, but think six or seven zeros.”
“I’m already drowning in zeros,” Sharmela said, sagged back into her chair, almost delirious with contentment. “Carnation Fit/Fat came through. I didn’t know anyone really got that much money. For anything.”
The gamers dissolved into talk. Scotty noticed that Xavier and Angelique leaned very close together, while Magique and Wu Lin looked on in approval.
Wayne approached. “Hey, Xavier…”
“Yes?” the little man said, looking up.
“You, uh… you came through for us. I owe you.”
Xavier narrowed his eyes. “All right. Let’s see just how grateful you are. How about the truth. Did you turn me in back at UCLA?”
“Did you take money to put Ali’s drawings in the game?”
The two men stared at each other. “No,” Xavier said. “I was stupid. My favorite writer wanted to collaborate with me, right out of the blue. But Ladd had a favorite artist, and he turned out to be a pseudonym for a Kikayan prince. I’m disgraced. I may never completely recover my reputation from that. Is that honest enough for you?”
Wayne paused. Then he nodded.
“Yes it is enough, or yes, you betrayed me?”
“Just… yes,” Wayne said. He chewed at his lower lip. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done. And I’m sorry. And thank you for saving our lives.”
Xavier gazed at him, his own alien thoughts swarming behind the blue eyes. A silver serving-bot slid past them, with brandy snifters filled with champagne. Xavier plucked up two of them. “So, Mr. Gibson… shall we work together, and become even more ridiculously wealthy?” He held one of the snifters out to Wayne.
“You… would trust me again?”
“I trust no one,” Xavier said. “I trust myself to know what a man considers to be in his best interest. I believe I understand you now.”
Wayne accepted the offered glass. There was a tremor; his champagne foamed. Xavier tilted his in a toast, his arm around Angelique’s waist. “Good game,” he said.
Scotty tiptoed out of the room. No one would miss him, and he had things to do.
He found Ali in a com room, chatting excitedly with his father. The three-second delay seemed to have no effect on their enthusiasm. Ali saw Scotty, smiled warmly but turned back to his father and spoke in rapid-fire Congolese. The room had standard translation software, and Scotty slid on a pair of headphones, clicked his throat and said, “English.”
“Father! You gave up your throne for me!” Computer generated speech, but it maintained the Prince’s high register.
“You are my son,” the king replied. “What else was I to do?” He looked as if he had not slept in days. How long had it been since the game started? Sixteen hours? It seemed like months. “And you made me proud.”
“Me?”
“I saw you fly! I saw you stand and declare yourself one with the Ancestors. I saw you at war. And I am not the only one. I believe millions of our people saw you, or will see you in the coming months.” His father gave a sly smile. “ A father and son have much to speak of. Remember that democracy is coming to the republic. And in a decade, perhaps, a son returning home to lead his people, a great hero? Perhaps the republic no longer needs a king. But a president…? ” The King finally seemed to notice Scotty’s presence behind his son. “Mr. Griffin?” he said in English. “Come in.”