eXistenZ (23 page)

“That’s the assumption I’m forced to make.”

“Any idea which one of them it might have been?”

“It sure didn’t come from me!” Nourish considered for a moment. “The tone of the whole game was passionate, fanatical. There was an atmosphere of paranoia, and the constant sense of betrayal was overwhelming. All the way through it felt unstable, dangerous, volatile. Yeah, I know . . . it’s just a game. But worse than that there was a sort of subplot. I never got to terms with any of it. There was a constant theme of industrial espionage, corporate stakeouts were going on, head-hunting, thefts of game systems and company assets, employees jumping ship from one game company to another. That kind of thing.”

“Just like the real world, then?” Merle said with a cynical grin.

“Not the real world I live in,” Nourish said sincerely. “I was in on PilgrImage from the start. You know that, Merle. I’m as firmly committed to our corporate ideals as anyone can be.”

“Sorry.” She nodded toward the group of players. “So if it came from one of them, who could it have been?”

“Maybe we could use the focus group for that,” Nourish said. “It’s clear to me we’ve been infiltrated here, and if we have, we’ve got us a big security problem. Let’s just get them interacting and see what develops. These group sessions usually throw up a few surprises.”

“Okay, I’ll handle that. I’ll do what I can.”

They were interrupted by Ted Pikul and Allegra Geller, who had separated themselves from the main group. Pikul was leading the dog the security guards had been looking after for him while he was playing the game. Both he and Geller were holding their questionnaire forms.

“Hi, Merle,” Pikul said. “We were wondering if we could ask Mr. Nourish a couple of questions, away from all the others?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Nourish turned on his affable smile. “So long as you don’t want me to fill in your questionnaire.”

He chuckled, but Pikul was regarding him with great seriousness.

“We’ve played your game now, Mr. Nourish,” he said. “So we can finally agree with the others that you are the world’s greatest living game artist.”

“Thank you, Ted,” Nourish replied.

“We weren’t sure before this evening.”

“Glad you could be here, then.” Nourish was backing off, in no mood now for small-talk.

Allegra Geller said, “Yevgeny, don’t you think you should be made to suffer for all the harm you’ve done, and still intend to do, to the human race?”

“What? Is this a joke?”

“No joke,” Pikul said. “Don’t you think that the world’s greatest game artist should be punished?”

“What for? You’re not making sense.”

“Punished for the most effective deforming of reality?”

“Okay, I get it.”

Nourish turned away sharply, pushing against Geller as he did so. He staggered then, and Geller moved away and leaned downward. Nourish shouted to the two security men.

“Hey, boys!” he yelled. “Could you get over here—
right now?”

But it was already too late.

As she stooped, Geller was reaching toward the dog standing obediently at Pikul’s feet. She touched something on the dog’s neck, and immediately two large flaps of false fur and skin folded away from the dog’s back. Two semi-automatic pistols were held against the dog’s flank.

Geller grabbed them both, and tossed one to Pikul.

She shot Nourish. Pikul shot Merle.

Their two bodies immediately fell to the floor, with a loud crashing of limbs against the wooden boards and the clatter behind them of overturning chairs.

“Death to the demon Yevgeny Nourish!” Geller screamed.

“Death to PilgrImage!” Pikul screamed with her. “Death to
TranscendenZ!”

Everyone in the hall was immobilized by the sudden eruption of violence in their midst. Everyone, that is, except the security guards, who were weaving quickly through the crowd toward them, their ineffectual electronic wands raised in readiness.

Pikul and Geller took aim at the men, steadying their gun hands with confident holds.

“Stop, or you die now,” Pikul said calmly and clearly. “Believe me, it ain’t worth it.”

The guards stopped in their tracks. They tossed aside their wands and raised their hands, then backed off.

“Okay, there’s going to be no more shooting!” Geller shouted. “Unless anyone does anything real stupid! You hear?”

A few people nodded fractionally, hardly daring to move.

Pikul and Geller began to sidle toward the exit, covering the crowd with their guns, switching aim suddenly and randomly, discouraging any interference. They were both pumped up, ready for anything.

Halfway to the main exit they passed the Chinese man. He’d pressed himself nervously against a pillar, with his hands raised. He was sweating copiously. In one hand he held his half-completed questionnaire, in the other he held a ballpoint pen.

Pikul and Geller paused by this man, while they waited for Pikul’s dog to catch up with them. It trotted through the room, then headed for the door.

“Okay, now stay real cool,” Pikul said. “Anyone makes a sudden move, they die. Got that?”

They continued on toward the door.

Suddenly, the Chinese man unfroze. He lowered his arms and took a step or two away from the pillar. Both guns immediately zoned in on him. Pikul tightened his finger on the trigger.

The man again stopped and raised his hands.

“You don’t have to shoot me,” he said, sweat pouring down across his eyes. “I just want to ask you a question.”

“What?” Geller said.

“Tell me the truth. Tell all of us the truth.” He glanced around the crowd for support, but no one else moved or spoke. “This is still a game, isn’t it?”

Pikul looked at Geller; Geller looked at Pikul.

“I guess that’s something you might never find out,” Pikul said.

He and Geller backed out of the hall, into the night, into the darkness. They melted away, disappearing into the greater world of reality beyond.