The chamber within was more unfinished than others he had seen in the dome: mostly a pocket of natural lava bubble, partially spray-foam sealed at the edges. On the far side of the bubble a second door opened into the room. The middle of the floor was an open pool, blue-green, with lights wavering up from the depths.
He was early, but not by more than sixty seconds. Everything was on a tight leash now, and unless he was very mistaken, or Shotz and his crew were not the product as advertised…
No. He saw the first of them now, a human form rising up through the murky depths, into the lights. A golem of a man emerged, climbing up along the safety rails built into the side of the pool, up the steps carved in lunar rock. One, two, three… finally six men in recreational lunar wetsuits with standard rebreather gear. That was the ticket: Use as much local equipment as possible. It was not just a matter of saving luggage weight: Everything traveling from Earth to Luna carried a huge risk of inspection.
The first man out of the pool was the tallest. Wide across the shoulders and thick through the chest, with a round head and short strong legs, Shotz peeled off his face mask and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length blond hair, squeezing out water.
“Towel,” he growled, and held out a hand to Frost. Thomas opened the small bag he brought with him and extracted a fluffy yellow cloth. Shotz took it with a grunt of thanks, and ruffled his hair.
He threw the towel back just as the last of his men emerged from the pool. “Cold,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
“Why are you dressed as a giant bug? And where is Victor?”
“He didn’t report this morning,” Thomas said. “I had to take his place. I had to dress as an NPC and didn’t have time to change.”
Something ugly glittered behind Shotz’ eyes, and then was gone. “Status.”
“The gamers are eating right now. This is a programmed rest break, and they’ll be starting the game again in…” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes.”
“Have you been monitoring the security channels? Any word about Sinjin?”
“None.” He had, and there had been no obvious fluttering of panic among their targets, or the local administration. “I don’t know what happened, but that was why I was inserted into the game, as backup. We’re still on the planned timetable.”
“Good. It is your responsibility to keep it that way for the next hour.”
“And then?”
Shotz hadn’t heard him. He had already turned to the others: solid, strong men… and one frightening woman, Celeste. Celeste was all breasts and hips and full lips and a cascade of blond hair. It wasn’t until you looked closely in her green eyes that you realized that the promise of sexual warmth was as toxic as the sweet kernel at the heart of a flesh-eating plant. Pure lure. Instinct said she was as dangerous as Shotz. Celeste was in this business because from time to time she got to hurt people. She smiled at Frost, allowing him a flash of those heavenly breasts, and his stomach recoiled. A powerful sexual response combined with a deep sense of rot, a stench without a scent.
“Celeste.” He nodded carefully. With this one, it was best to stay neutral. The others were from, he believed, Greece, the United States, somewhere in the Middle East, and perhaps Britain. By agreement if not dictate, members of Neutral Moresnot spent little time discussing their backgrounds. The extreme nature of this commission had called for the team to spend more time than usual in training and preparation. A bit of information leak was normal. All names were assumed, but he believed that clues based on vocal inflections and casual conversation could reveal national origin. At the very least, it was a good game. Yes. He and Doug were playing a much better game than the stupid Earthers.
With far higher stakes.
Eight Europeans, two black, three Asians. Twelve men and one woman. The thirteen stripped off their dive gear and checked the equipment inside the sealed plastic bags. Quick verification that the seals had held, and then slipping on dry black pants and long-sleeve shirts, and black composition-soled shoes. They broke into pairs: Celeste and Shotz checking each other’s equipment, then handing them back.
“Are vi prata?” Shotz asked.
“Jes.”
Only English or that damned esperanto on the job, Frost thought. Shotz was crazy, but it was his show.
Thomas Frost led the way, climbing out of the dome’s depths into the shadowed main level. Lights were low, but only a thin wall separated them from some kind of staging area. Low voices, a few creaks as equipment was moved into place or last-minute adjustment was made. He understood little about this gaming thing, other than a few vids Shotz had acquired for them, and some speculations on how the gaming environment had been laid over the basic dome interior.
That information had been exhaustive, as well as the power systems, entrances and exits. Once they gained control in (he checked his watch) fifty-six minutes, there would be little anyone on the outside could do to stop them.
For now, it was a matter of avoiding the Non-Player Characters as they prepared to add a little excitement to their lives. He had to shake his head: Moon-people playing science fiction for a jolt. Well, get ready: There was a pretty big jolt about to land on them like a mountain, and it would be no game at all.
21
1033 hours
“So… what in the hell is going on?”
Kendra and Xavier sat in a com room not fifty feet down the corridor from gaming central. Xavier’s eyes glittered like little acetylene flames. He swung his feet from the edge of his chair like a petulant gnome who considered a human’s death to be little more than a personal inconvenience.
“What’s going on is that my game is in suspension,” Xavier said.
“Excuse me,” Kendra interjected, fighting to keep her voice level. “A man is dead, apparently during an attempted assault. Chris Foxworthy was sealed incommunicado in his room by some kind of override device. Despite this, he apparently checked into your game.”
Leonard Cowles III was the on-site arbiter for the International Fantasy Gaming Society. He had been here for over a month now overseeing the final construction, recruiting gamers, coordinating travel, publicity and expenses. Happily, this was his headache. “Please,” he said. “Slow down. Ms. Griffin, you said that this man Victor Sinjin was found dead… but that some time between the time of death and the discovery of the body, someone using Foxworthy’s identification checked into the gaming area?”
“Yes.”
Cowles’ mouth flattened into a thin line. “And what do you conclude?”
“I don’t know. I just know that we have to stop the game so we can search the gaming area.”
“Wait just a minute,” Xavier said. “So one of my NPCs was assaulted, and killed his assailant. And someone still used his ID to get into the game, somehow. I can understand your concern. But we can’t just shut the whole thing down right now. Four hours and we quit for the night. Then you can tear the whole thing apart: We’re off the clock.”
“I’m not sure that you understand. This is a murder investigation.”
“And that dome is private property, by the terms of our lease with Cowles Industries,” Xavier said. “I want this cleared up as much as anyone, but we have a worldwide audience exceeding a billion people. Are you aware of the web of finances necessary to connect a billion people? The obligations I’ve incurred? Do you have any idea of the lawsuits I will be exposed to, if this game is delayed by more than a few seconds?”
“I’ll take personal responsibility,” Kendra said.
“It’s not that easy,” Cowles said. “The liability negotiations were especially intense from my family’s side of the table. The only way the board of supervisors would ratify the deal is if the IFGS assumed all responsibility for what happened in the dome from the time the doors locked until the conclusion of the game. The dome has its own
