him. She was still six people from reaching the table where Peter Griffen was. The holos remained fixed on the fantasy landscape, looking down on the forest from high above.
“Peter!” she called. “I need to talk to you!”
But there was no way Peter could hear her over the excited roar of the crowd. The guy she’d elbowed turned around angrily. “Come back here and try that again.”
Maj kept moving, feeling equally torn between guilt over her aggressive behavior and the need to talk to Peter. The need exceeded the guilt and she kept moving, using her speed and her agility to navigate the crowd.
She was only two people deep from the tables when Peter raised his sword again and shouted, “Sahfrell!”
Blue lightning flicked down from the ceiling and exploded against the sword. Thunder filled the convention center, and several people in the crowd cowered back, including the men in business suits.
“Oh, man, this is totally cool!”
“I gotta get that game!”
Taking advantage of the surge back from the table, Maj broke through the crowd, sprinting to her goal. She was dimly aware of Nate at her heels.
Another thunderflash crashed through the convention center. This time the lights dimmed, dimmed again, then went out. Security alarms crashed through the darkness as backup lights flared to life.
The immense plum-colored dragon appeared against the ceiling of the convention center. The warm butter color of its stomach picked up the gleam of the security lights, and bright spots shone on the hoarfrost on its face.
More electronic-based detonations erupted from the other booths. The holos rippled, then comets crossed the areas contained within them.
Maj paused, stunned. She didn’t know what had happened, but she felt certain it wasn’t good.
Matt rode the flying goblin as it winged through space. The triangular ships pursued him, seemingly inexhaustible. He guided the goblin hard right, then brought the two cannon online. Triggering a dual attack, he watched the lead ship disintegrate, the pieces somehow flaming in airless space.
He still hadn’t caught sight of Leif or Andy, but they’d maintained radio contact. His radar screen registered another approaching object. He jockeyed the goblin around.
“Rhidher!” the goblin cried.
Matt looked back toward the right, looking for the attacking vehicle. Instead of another triangular ship blazing in at him, he saw an event horizon dawn. A tidal wave of azure energy slammed into Matt.
When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in an old Roman chariot. The horse pulled the chariot at a fast canter, and the rough ride jarred Matt from his heels to his toes. He glanced down at the Roman armor and leather kilt he wore. A short sword hung in a sheath at his side.
Then an arrow slammed against the heavy bronze breastplate he wore. He glanced up and stared out at the battlefield before him.
Two chariot lines sped at each other from opposite ends of a desert. The two wheels of the chariot spun through the loose sand. A hot breeze whipped across the plain, lifting small spinning dust devils from the sand behind the chariots.
He looked around, listening to the whir of the wheels along the greased axles as the horse closed the distance to the attacking line. He drew his short sword and got ready to try to survive the first onslaught.
Less than fifty feet away another chariot driver drove at him, a short throwing spear held in one hand. Matt picked up the heavy rectangular shield from the chariot moorings and slipped it over his arm. He held the reins loosely in his hand because the horse knew what it was supposed to do. He braced himself for the coming impact.
Without warning, a bloodcurdling scream rent the sky overhead.
Matt looked up, spotting the familiar plum-colored dragon almost filling the sky directly above the battle. The huge creature flapped its bat wings, moving swiftly. The massive jaws gaped and a fireball sizzled from the dragon’s throat. There was just enough time for Matt to realize the creature was riderless, then the fireball smashed into the sandy plains between the two attacking groups.
The fireball hammered out a crater in the sand, fusing parts of the immediate area to glass. Heat washed over Matt and made him believe he was about to get parboiled in his bronze armor.
The horse pulling his chariot reared in fear, struggling to get away from the clumps of liquid fire that splattered all the nearby horses, chariots, and warriors. Matt tried to retain his footing, but the chariot overturned, spilling him directly into the path of the oncoming warrior and vehicle. The other chariot driver steered straight for him, intending to run him down with the horse and cut him in two with the bronze-plated chariot wheels.
Dozens of dragon images filled the holes above the other game booths. Maj stared at the booths without comprehending as she walked to the table where Peter Griffen stood.
“No.”
Maj looked up, uncertain if Peter had actually spoken aloud or if it had been someone else. Strong arms seized her from behind unexpectedly.
“Hotel security,” a stern male voice warned her. “Back away from the table. You can look, but you can’t touch.”
The crowd reacted to the dragon’s presence by screaming out in fear and yelling out encouragement. Some of them still dived for cover.
Above, the dragon yawned suddenly and spat a fireball at the Eisenhower Productions booth. Heat — created by the holoprojectors — slammed into the nearest convention attendees, setting off a fresh wave of reactions that still appeared to be equally divided between shrill fear and enthusiastic support.
The person holding Maj took a step back, loosening the grip he had on her.
Maj bumped back against him, throwing him even further off-balance. The come-along grip the man had managed was effective, but only if he maintained it. She slid her wrists free of his hand and stepped forward.
“No.”
This time she was certain Peter said that because she watched him. “Peter.”
Horror stained the handsome face behind the helmet’s visor.
The holographic flames burned along the Eisenhower Productions booth and created three-foot tall letters that read: GRIFFEN GAMES! ONLINE AND ON TARGET.
“Peter!” Maj called, spotting the security guard moving in behind her again.
Peter glanced down at her. For the first time she realized how tired he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and held a haunted look. All the confidence he’d exuded before in facing down hostile reporters seemed eroded.
“Do you remember me?” Maj asked desperately, knowing the security guard was going to pull her back in just a moment. Another man she figured was a security team member approached from the left. “I was in the jet last night.”
Peter held up the sword for attention. “No,” he told the security men. “Leave her alone. I want to talk to her.”
Above them the dragon circled through the air restlessly. The throb of the powerfully muscled bat wings rolled throughout the darkened convention center. The enthusiastic shouts intermingled with flagrant name-calling as well. Evidently there were more than a few people who didn’t appreciate Peter’s suspected grandstanding.
The two security men backed away reluctantly, suddenly busy with the other screaming fans who chose that opportunity to rush the Eisenhower Productions booth. Automatically Peter reached a gauntleted hand down for Maj.
Maj reached for the hand, but her fingertips plunged right through it with a cold sensation.
“I’m sorry,” Peter apologized. “I forgot.”
