Maj mock-glared at them both. “When my sense of humor returns, you’ll be the first to know.” She scooted over to the edge of the bed and sat within reach of the service tray.
Megan handed her a plate with French toast on it. Catie sat on the bed beside her and started helping herself.
“Wow,” Catie said, “this must have been expensive.”
“It was,” Megan admitted.
“We could have eaten at the buffet downstairs.”
“I thought maybe we’d take a little time to ourselves this morning.” Megan buttered a piece of toast and added peach jelly. “Besides, there was no telling who might be watching.”
The statement was delivered with a light tone, but it seemed to chill the room temperature to Maj.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that,” Megan said.
“I’ll deal,” Maj said.
Catie used the remote control and switched the holo display from the cartoon channel to HoloNet news. “Local channel,” she explained. “They’re supposed to be doing special coverage on the gaming convention. I figured we’d take a look.”
Conversation dropped to a minimum of cursory courtesy as dishes and condiments were negotiated over and passed around. Maj found herself becoming totally immersed in the stories being unveiled on HoloNet. Evidently the media service hadn’t spared any effort to totally cover the event. Stories slid by in three-dee, concentrating on games in development and about to be released, on creators, on designers, and on publishing houses old and new.
Gaming was big business, and the corporate sector was heavily invested in it.
“There was one hiccup in Bessel Mid-Town Hotel’s accommodations for the gaming convention,” a young blond reporter said.
She stood beside a display currently outside the main entrance to the convention hall. Holo images of games moved behind her. Garishly colored creatures culled from mythologies and imagination warred behind her. Other games featured high-tech hardware modeled on current military gunships and naval batteries. The series favorites were also represented, showing action sequences from best-selling shooters, adventure games, and role-playing games.
“Last night the fourth and fifth floors of the hotel were evacuated after someone activated the fire alarms,” the reporter continued. “The police believe it’s the work of a prankster, or one of the hotel guests burning off a little nervous energy before opening day.”
“That’s good,” Catie said.
“Yeah,” Megan said, “but it also covers the people who were responsible for the break-in.”
“No one was hurt,” the reporter went on, “but a number of people were inconvenienced. Detective John Holmes of the Los Angeles Police Department went on to say that while the convention may draw more than its share of fun-lovers, there will be no tolerance for anyone who breaks the law.”
A quick newsbyte flashed on Detective Holmes from the previous night. He smiled easily for the camera. “I like games as much as the next guy, but there’s a certain amount of courtesy that needs to be observed at events like this.”
The scene cut back to the reporter, who wore a smile. “I talked to Detective Holmes myself, and he made a believer out of me. If anyone steps outside the lines at the convention, they’ll probably find themselves—”
An image of a pig-snouted biker from a popular shooter series superimposed itself over the reporter along with the text: YOU’RE BUSTED, SNOWFLAKE!
“So plan on having a good time if you attend the convention,” the reporter said, “but stop there or the LAPD will stop you…dead in your tracks.”
The holo cut to commercial, introducing a new game by Prism Productions called Power Corps 4. It showed a man in a cape and mask battling alien invaders with power rays streaming from his eyes, promising larger worlds than ever before and more playing time for single-player games.
Maj recognized it as one of the games Andy Moore liked to play. More commercials in the form of news rolled, brief bytes of information designed to intrigue and entrance.
“In some circles,” the blond reporter said when she returned, “Peter Griffen needs no introduction. But until lately, those circles have been small and included predominantly producers, designers, and publishers of computer games and graphics. But after this convention, a lot of folks are betting Griffen is going to be a landmark name.”
The holo changed, showing a file image of Griffen. It was a profile shot of him staring at a virtual tank where computer graphics were written for games without exposing them to the open Net. He was young and earnest, athletically trim. His dark hair was just long enough to hold the promise of wavy curls. He wore slacks and a shirt with the top buttons unfastened, his tie hanging around his neck.
“We tried to get an interview with Peter Griffen,” the reporter continued. “However, we’ve met with no success. Griffen remains a mystery man.” She flashed a million-dollar grin and lowered her voice. “And that’s something reporters just hate, so be prepared to hear a lot about Peter Griffen if his product meets all the build-up Eisenhower Productions, his publisher, promises.”
Her interest piqued, Maj abandoned her efforts on the waffle. She studied the still picture.
The holo moved on, picking up more bytes from one of the new designers hoping to break into the market with a strat-sim based on the Civil War. The game featured a few twists, though, including the invention of the atomic bomb in 1830. Nuclear-ravaged zombies in Union blue and Confederate gray lurched across radioactive wastelands.
Across the service tray and the dwindling breakfast, Megan watched her keenly. “Did you see something we missed?”
“I’m not sure,” Maj said, “but I know I want to get a better look at Peter Griffen.”
“You think he’s the dragonrider?” Catie asked.
Maj tapped the remote control, bringing up the copied still picture on the holo. Peter Griffen’s image filled the holo field. “He could be.”
“At any rate,” Catie went on, “he’s cute. Definitely worth meeting.”
Maj made a face at her friend. She knew Catie was only teasing. But she couldn’t shake the dread that filled her.
Matt Hunter stood among the passengers boarding the one o’clock flight out of Dulles International Airport, trying desperately to hold back a yawn. He wore jeans and a red and black pullover under a light jacket. He held a carry-on in one hand and a backpack over his shoulder.
Passengers continued feeding into the jet.
“Hey.”
Turning, Matt spotted Andy Moore trotting up. Andy’s blond hair looked more rumpled than usual, but his blue eyes were alert. He wore jeans and a T-shirt featuring Captain Alpha, a hero from the popular superhero online game, Power Corps.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” Matt said.
“The autocab I got was on the blink.” Andy shifted the backpack and the two suitcases he carried. “Something was wrong with the GPS system, and I ended up in an argument with the dispatcher over the amount.”
“You?” Matt asked with wry humor. “In an argument? Say it isn’t so.” Andy had a reputation as class clown and as a bulldog for fighting for what he thought was right.
“Hey, it was a legitimate complaint. And I won.”
The passengers continued filing through the gantry. Matt held his ticket out and stepped inside.
“Full flight,” Andy commented.
“The airline overbooked the flight. A few minutes ago they were offering free tickets to anyone willing to reschedule.”
