silence.
He wondered if this was what it was like without the Game. Nothingness. A life without goals or overriding purpose. A life like those of generations past, who fabricated the meaning and value of their own existence in an indifferent universe. The indifference of the rocks, plants, and water around him had been unsettling, but now, with his eyes closed, he felt even more alone. I’ve always been alone. Soul, I don’t want to die alone.
CHAPTER 32
There are no challenges or opportunities-only probabilities.
Day 2; 15:34 hours.
Moocher’s got a visual on her. Djoser’s thought signature was all business.
Djoser’s familiar streamed the video to the rest of the party. A tall, blond figure swept through a long, narrow clearing, quickly disappearing back into the thick underbrush. Moocher pinged the location on the map. She’s heading for the trail, probably going to make a run for the gate, Djoser declared. Okay, everyone, let’s move!
I’m too far to be of help, D_Light returned. How about I just hold my position?
Fine, Lyra answered.
There was a pause and then Lyra said, Djoser, you’re the closest. You get a shot, you shoot to kill, right? No funny business.
There was another pause before Djoser responded, What else would I do?
Lyra left the question unanswered.
Slogging through the tangled, thick, and often unpredictable forest of the inner sanctum was beginning to tire Lily, and unlike her pursuers, she did not have the benefit of drugs to keep up her pace indefinitely. Worse yet, her efforts had the nasty side effect of clearing a pathway for her hunters.
Lily needed her gamble to pay off.
She assumed her pursuers had spotted her crossing the dried-up creek bed. Once across, she put on a burst of speed, drawing on whatever energy reserves she could muster. Fortunately, there were many fallen logs running along the creek bed, which she used as a makeshift trail, dashing along and between them. Her ploy was simple. Upon finding her current position, they would think she was heading for the outer gate. With any luck, they would then attempt to cut her off before she reached it by sprinting along the trail.
But she had no intention of escaping the inner sanctum. She had even more enemies outside than within, and she doubted she could escape anyway. Instead, she would circle back. Besides temporarily knocking them off her trail, she hoped to tire and demoralize them. Perhaps, if she was lucky, it would enrage them to the point where their judgment would be clouded. Lily, who had been raised in the running game, knew the chase was more in the mind than in the body.
Not far ahead she saw a pair of thick, fallen logs that spanned the creek bed, festooned with branches and needles. She prepared to carefully crawl underneath this natural tunnel, protected from the watchful eyes of the familiars, to the other side, back toward the garden.
They are closing in, D_Light thought to himself. He dropped from the blink. He knew the others expected him to stay engaged, but he could not listen, much less watch. Lily did not stand a chance against Amanda alone, but with Djoser and Lyra too? They might be coddled nobles, but they knew how to kill. Everyone from House Tesla did.
It will be over soon. Just make it quick, he tried to tell himself, but he started to sob. Pathetic, I’m being absolutely pathetic.
D_Light should be relieved. Smorgeous had recently notified him that the repellant in his system was just about spent. This quest had to end, or the Game, indeed, his very life, could end.
But he suddenly felt the now familiar wrench in his stomach and a great despair as Lily’s face haunted him. The feeling reminded him of the emotions he’d endured in the shower after fragging Fael just days ago. This was even worse. He felt like a part of him was being strangled.
Now, without the blink, the silence-like an unwanted lover-returned to him, broken only by his own sporadic curses and subdued moans.
Smorgeous interrupted the silence. Master, there is a humanoid heat signature on the move 0.40 kilometers from here.
D_Light immediately thought of the cullers.
I am unable to get a direct visual due to intervening foliage; however, the general shape of the signature does not suggest that body type-it is too small.
Lily? D_Light wondered. It couldn’t be. She was several kilometers from here. Only minutes before, he had watched her on the video feed. Nevertheless, D_Light ordered his familiar down from the tree. The two of them then headed toward the location of the man, woman, or whatever it may be.
Dr. Monsa’s favorite analyst was making his way back to his lair. He was named Hal by Dr. Monsa, but Hal did not care what he was called as long as the doctor and everyone else left him alone to do his job.
Hal was pained to have been away from his den so long, as 5.3 hours had passed already and another 1.2 minutes would pass before he would arrive back at his lair. Intolerable! There was so much to play. Much of the economic prosperity of House Monsa was in the analyst’s pale, long-fingered hands; not literally, of course, for the analyst interfaced with his grinder games primarily in his mind. Even as he sat getting his weekly booster-the one time a week that he simply had to leave his sanctuary-he interacted with the games. But this was not adequate. Only when surrounded by his AI, monitors, and raw-data-crunching organic computers could Hal attain his potential. This being the case, Hal hurried as quickly as his feeble, ghostly legs would carry him.
The door of the analyst’s den was open for almost a second longer than was needed for the analyst to enter. This lag was programmed into the system to allow time for the dragging tubes to cross the threshold before the door sealed shut-sealed securely and tightly to ensure that no pesky sounds filtered in.
Hal later deduced that D_Light exploited this delay in the door’s closing to slip in behind him. Only after Hal had settled down in his chair and had all of his tubes reattached to the life support by the service bot did the analyst detect that something was amiss. Although countless displays ran across his visual cortex, his real eyes-the ones used to scrutinize the dozens of monitors around him-noticed a misplaced lump in his peripheral vision.
The analyst did not want to focus his attention on the lump. He had better things to do. Certainly, it was not important. Still, it was unexpected, and so with a great act of will, the analyst flicked his eyes over to the corner. The lump was the man from the dinner party of five nights ago. D_Light was the human’s name.
“Why are you here? Please leave.” Hal spoke as clearly as he could, which came out as a crackling whine. His unrefined voice was the result of nearly unused vocal cords, and it irritated him that he had to use them now. The closest analogy the analyst had for his ancient, human-inspired vocal system was that of computer floppy drives in the time of early computer networking. It was slow, worked with a limited amount of information, and using it was divergent from the norm. Having nearly exhausted his patience with his earlier sentence, the analyst opened the portal of his lair with a flicker of a thought and then returned his attention to the monitors, rapidly shifting from one to the other. The human was expected to let himself out.
But the lump did not move. Mildly irritating as this was, Hal ignored it. Analysts were highly skilled at tuning out extraneous input.
“I want to know how to stop the MetaGame,” the lump stated.
The analyst knew what the human was referring to. He knew just about everything that was known, particularly everything that occurred in his own house. But the analyst was not interested in talking to this
