Gamerunner (23 page)

Rick felt his back teeth grinding together; but applause erupted around him, loud enough to drown out the sound. He was glad he’d got his drink, because it stopped him having to clap. He didn’t know why he was so annoyed; after all, the man was right. He looked round, wondering whether the smiles and wide-eyed nods were real or put on. Unexpectedly, he saw Daed, alone, leaning against a fake tree, a few ems away from the PR man’s platform. He seemed to sense Rick’s gaze; he looked up, met Rick’s eyes, and made a tiny humorous gesture as if he wanted to be sick. Rick grinned, feeling a tiny release of tension in his jaw.

And then Paz stepped on to the lowest stair of the giant staircase, and there was silence like a flash of lightning. Rick held his breath, waiting.

She didn’t need the screens; they’d gone blank. She stood still, and the sheen of water on the step below her reflected every detail of her body. She was holding a glass of champagne, and she held it to one side without looking and let go. Someone scuffled and crouched to get to it before it hit the ground, but too late, and it smashed. Paz smiled.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘As my esteemed colleague says, welcome.’ She paused, and the silence wrapped round the words, glittering, so it hardly mattered what she said. She looked about her; Rick could have sworn she was looking directly at him. ‘Everything he said was true — but let’s not beat about the bush. We’re not here because we want to make history. We’re not here to amaze our consumers. We’re not here because we want to create works of art. We’re here to make money. And the iTank will make us more money than you can imagine. Combined with the new Maze expansion, it will make us money beyond our wildest dreams.’

More silence. And slowly, one by one, people started to smile again. A new light was coming into their eyes.

‘Most of you aren’t my friends,’ Paz said, with an ironic glint in her eye that — Rick thought — made everyone think they were one of the exceptions. ‘But you are all my guests. You all share my values. So . . . Guests. Mazerunners, Mazepros, colleagues. The toast I propose isn’t to our Creatives; it’s not to Daedalus.’ For a moment her eyes rested on Daed, and Rick was impressed despite himself, by the way she was almost thanking him, but not quite. ‘It’s not even to Marketing or PR. I’m not going to be polite. Why should I?’ She paused, and no one moved or made a noise or breathed. She held out her hand to the side, and this time someone was ready, and when she lifted it again it had a new, full glass of champagne in it. She said, ‘This is my toast. Let’s raise our glasses to the money we’re going to make. And the world we’re going to rule.’

There was a pause, and then a murmur, as people echoed the toast.

And then there was a ray of light falling on her, blazing copper and gold, striking sparks of rose and orange off her dress and the curtain of water behind her. She looked up, into the beam, and smiled.

Rick followed her eyes, expecting to see a lighting rig. But it wasn’t an effect; it was coming from the sky. There was a break in the clouds, and the gash of light was gaping like a wound, scarlet-edged, glaring platinum, more beautiful than anything Rick had ever seen. It hurt to look, but he couldn’t help it.

‘The heavens are smiling on us,’ Paz said. And Rick knew everyone else was staring, too, that there was no one in the Nucleus looking anywhere but at the sun.

The
sun
.

Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually seen the sun.

He felt water rising in his eyes and he blinked it away, not wanting to miss a second of this light —
sun
light — this wonderful unbearable hole in the sky, dazzling, unlike anything he’d ever seen. I want to go outside, he thought. I want to see it properly.

The world seemed to stop where it was, for a second, for ten seconds. Then the clouds closed up, their edges knitting together like broken bones. The light went grey and faded; the strange electric stillness went out of the air.

‘Thank you for your attention,’ Paz said, and it was like she’d been in charge, all the time, like even the sky belonged to her. ‘And now the last speech of the evening. I promise.’ And she gestured to Daed.

Daed looked up, almost as if he was surprised. Then he smiled, and went to the little low platform where the PR man had been, a few minutes ago. The crowd shifted restlessly; Rick could feel their impatience. Another speech . . .

Daed cleared his throat. ‘The iTank was mostly the invention of one Creative,’ he said, ‘and I don’t mean me. Perdita Sands was one of the most talented technicians I’ve ever known. She was killed in a tragic accident a few weeks ago. I know she would be very proud of the iTank.’ He paused, and his shoulders spasmed as if he was trying not to cough.

‘On the other hand,’ he said, his voice tight, ‘the Maze
is
almost entirely my own work. My life’s work. And the new expansion even more so. The Maze is the creation — the work of art — without which the iTank technology would mean nothing. And I think you’ll be impressed.’ A silence. Rick thought: He isn’t even
trying
.

‘Enjoy the Maze,’ Daed said. ‘But be careful. It has some surprises in store.’

Silence. No one clapped. No one seemed to realise he’d finished. They watched as he stepped painfully off the platform and retrieved his drink from someone’s hand.

Then people stopped listening and turned away. A couple of Creatives started to applaud and then stopped, looking foolish. The murmur rose, like a sea washing footprints off sand.

And it was as if Rick was the only one who’d actually heard what Daed had said. Rick was the only one who stayed still, the back of his neck tingling, wondering what was going on. Everyone else took a swig of their drinks, smiled, or snorted with mirth at a wisecrack. They were going to enjoy the party.

Only Daed caught Rick’s eye. He held his stare for a second; and then glanced quickly — too quickly — aside.

. . .

The party went on. Rick couldn’t work out whether time was going too fast or too slowly. He leant against one of the champagne-trees, watching the nearest glass swing gently in and out of focus. He felt sick; he’d drunk too much, and there wasn’t any food. The noise of five hundred people talking at once battered at his ears, drowning him. How long had he been here? How soon was he allowed to leave? It wasn’t like anyone cared that he was there . . .

There was a hand on his shoulder. For an odd, dislocated moment, he thought it was going to be Perdy: Don’t worry, Rick, I was never really dead, it was all a big practical joke . . . But when he turned, it was Daed.

‘Having fun?’

What do you think? But it came out as, ‘Whasshink?’

‘Evidently,’ Daed said, without smiling. ‘Sorry about the speeches. Should’ve warned you. Oh, and don’t drink too many cocktails — they’re champagne and absinthe. Lethal.’

Rick didn’t know what absinthe was, but he’d already worked out the
lethal
bit. He said, ‘Great, thangforelling me.’

Daed looked at him, his head tilted to one side. He looked grey. There was a tightness around his eyes and lips. Through the alcoholic haze Rick thought: Sick, he’s sick, sick and scared . . . Then he dug his nails into his palms, trying to concentrate, because Daed was fine, really, when he was sober he knew that. Didn’t he?

‘Gooparty,’ Rick said. He smiled, hoping the muscles in his face would obey him. ‘Nishe.’

‘Glad you’re enjoying it,’ Daed said. ‘Another three-quarters of an hour and you can leave. Or you can stay all night if you want. It’s up to you. But don’t leave for another forty-five minutes, or Paz might notice and be angry. OK?’

‘OK,’ Rick said. He wasn’t exactly enjoying himself, but he could bear another forty-five minutes, just about.

‘Good,’ Daed said. ‘See you later.’ He paused, and then turned to leave.

‘Daed,’ Rick said. ‘Congradguladguns. Forlife’s wor. I meanid.’

Daed turned back and looked at him; and then, like something breaking, he started to laugh. He laughed until blood flecked the corners of his mouth, and then he hunched his shoulders and coughed into his hand. Finally the attack died away.

Then he pulled Rick into an awkward embrace. It seemed to last for a long time. He said, ‘Thank you, Rick. I love you.’

Rick stayed as still as he could, swaying slightly.

In the end Daed detached himself. He pushed Rick away gently and disappeared into the crowd. Rick saw him emerge on the other side, near the PR platform. Paz turned to look at him and reached out, brushing his shoulder with her fingers. It made Rick’s stomach twist; they looked like friends. Or lovers. Gods . . .

Daed leant forward and kissed Paz on the mouth.

Rick tasted acid and champagne in the back of his mouth and gulped it back, trying not to vomit. He couldn’t take his eyes off the kiss. It looked . . . painful.

And then — without waiting for Paz to react — Daed pulled away. He glanced around, and somehow Rick knew Daed was looking for him, to see if he’d seen. He ducked his head, forcing his gaze to the floor. When he lifted his eyes again Daed was making his way to the ticket gates. He was leaving.

Not fair, he thought.
I
have to stay for another forty-five minutes. Daed said I had to stay . . .

He looked back at Paz. She was watching Daed, too; and the expression on her face was so strange that it took Rick a moment to work out what it was.

Surprise, he thought. She’s
surprised
.

It was stupid; it wasn’t a big deal. There was no reason why Paz shouldn’t be surprised, occasionally. There was no reason why it should have sent a current of cold running down Rick’s back, or made him fumble and almost drop his glass. But it did. As if the dread that had been building inside him for weeks was suddenly alive, hatched, fully formed, digging its claws into his nervous system. Paz,
surprised
. . .

He thought: If
Paz
doesn’t know what’s going on . . .

He held on to the tree, pulling himself upright, narrowing his eyes. Daed was through the gates, now, making his way down the corridor towards the stairs. He was walking with his shoulders hunched, as if he was trying to be invisible — and quickly, as if he had something to do . . .

Don’t leave for another forty-five minutes
.

And like something catching fire, the grey ache of dread leapt into fear. Rick heard his heart thunder in his ears, tapping the roof of his mouth like a finger. Oh, gods. What was going on? He felt cold sweat in his armpits and the small of his back. It smelt bitter.

And he couldn’t help himself. Not even though he heard Perdy’s voice, clear as black and white:
Stop doing stupid things
. He let go of the tree and staggered towards the gates, weaving through the people, apologising, pushing when he had to. He had to get out; he had to follow Daed. It seemed like an eternity before he got to the gates, but they let him past without a problem. And then he was in the corridor, walking as quietly as he could, trying not to stumble or wander from side to side, tracking Daed like a monster in the Maze.

Chapter 22

By the time Rick got to the last door, Daed was already gone; but Rick could hear his footsteps in the stairwell, climbing round and round above him. Rick clung to the banister, out of breath, wishing things didn’t split into two whenever he took his eyes off them. Already the fear had lost its edge; he was just being stupid, it was only a drunken panic. There was nothing to be scared of. But all the same, he started to climb the stairs.

Up and up and up, until Rick stopped being careful to tread lightly. He stopped listening for Daed’s footsteps. All he could think about was the dizziness as the stairs unwound in front of him, and the nausea as he lurched forward. Where was Daed
going
? Maybe Rick would finally find out where his rooms were. Up and up, and
gods
he was sick of —

The door he’d just passed had been open.

He staggered backwards, and then leant on the wall, staring. It was closed now, of course; there was no way of knowing whether it really had been open or whether he’d imagined it, that centi-em-wide gap . . . He looked at the comms panel, wondering if the trace of moisture on it was condensation from the air or the mark of a hand. If he’d been sober, he’d have trusted his instincts. Now, though . . .

But there was nothing else to do, was there? Except keep going up the stairs, and right now he’d almost rather be wrong.

He pressed his hand on the panel and nearly fell through the door when it opened. Why hadn’t someone
told
him there was absinthe in the champagne — whatever absinthe was?

And in front of him there was nothing but an empty corridor. It looked familiar, but then all the corridors looked the same.

He wondered how many of the forty-five minutes had elapsed; he said, ‘Time, please,’ but the numbers on the wall didn’t mean anything. He ought to have looked at the time when Daed said it. Slowly he made his way down the corridor, trying not to make too much noise, in case Daed was only just ahead, beyond the next fire-door. He eased it open with his shoulder, and peered through the gap. Nothing, no one. But there was a faint smell — was there? — of cigarette smoke and unhealthy sweat.