Two Can Play (Entangled Ignite) (3 page)

So Lifers did get evicted. To be forced out while wanting to stay? A chill rolled through her at the idea. She felt sudden compassion for the wretched girl. “Maybe she didn’t intend to say anything. I talked to the reporter, too. I didn’t know who he was. I might have—”

“No. Not you. Our faith in you does not come by caprice or blindness, Genevieve.”

“Thank you.” She fiddled with her fingers, awkward about his kindness. “But, still, the reporter could have misquoted her.”

“To climb in the Life, to earn honor, requires burden. You are ready, yes?”

“I am ready,” she said, wanting to progress more than anything.

“Do you accept the Quest? When I say the name, there is no going back.” Nigel watched her closely.

Rena wrapped herself in Astra’s glow, a cape of calm light. “I accept the Quest.”

“Then so it shall be.” He nodded. “The traitor you must evict is Cassandra Fletcher.”

“Cassie?” Her heart stopped mid-beat. “But that’s impossible. Cassie would never betray us. The Life is everything to her.”

“Thrust sympathy from your heart, Genevieve. Sentiment must not muddy your vision.”

“But it can’t be her.” When Cassie drank she got chatty. Had that ass-wipe reporter taken advantage of her?

“When we know cause and effect, there is no surprise. All is predictable if we know the source code, the precise combination of zeroes and ones, the reason, the rhyme, the why and the wherefore.”

What the hell was he talking about? She couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat. Everything inside her said
no, this can’t be
, but the man who was responsible for her every happiness said it was true. Nigel knew more than she did.
Trust Nigel
, Maya had said.

“Watchers will accompany you. Soon after, you and I will talk again.” He took both her hands, bent his head, and kissed the back of each. She noticed pink scalp through the thin hair on the top of his head, reminding Rena of a bald baby bird. She closed her eyes against the unwelcome sign of Nigel’s fragility.

He released her hands and smiled. “From the first day, we’ve had hopes for you.”

Her confusion muffled the warm thrill of Nigel’s words. “I want to be worthy, but I can’t believe Cassie would do such a thing.”

“Your reaction is natural. May I tell you a story? A very personal one? It may help you tread the rocky path ahead.”

“Absolutely. Please do.”

“I went through a difficult time years ago. I was engaged in research on expanding human potential for the military. Caring only for my theories, I thought nothing of the ugly uses to which my research might be put.”

How did this relate to Cassie? Rena forced herself to keep still. Nigel was a wise man. She should soak up each precious second she spent with him.

“This question obsessed me—how to expand a human being’s physical capacity, the ability to withstand pain or heat or exhaustion. I believed this was for the greater good.”

He paused and smiled sadly. “But this blind focus was flawed—a spoiled, grasping, ego-serving conceit. The experiments went…badly. I saw terrible injuries and broken, broken men.” He hung his head and seemed to shrink.

“It was the dark night of my soul.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “I tested the protocols on myself, to suffer as these men had done, then I tried to stop the work, to end it, but…”

He stared off, as if he’d forgotten her, then blinked and returned. “It was my good fortune to be rescued by Naomi. She restored me and, incidentally, showed me the power of video games to conquer pain, helplessness, and depression. When I played, I triumphed. I vanquished enemies, rescued the innocent, saved the day. I felt strong and complete.” He smiled at her. “You share this response?”

“I do. Yes.” She saw herself all those years ago in her uncle’s basement playing
Tomb Raider
for hours, becoming Lara Croft, effortlessly besting all foes. Lara was her champion, her alter ego, and, as it turned out, her savior.

“Of course you do. In the Dome, Genevieve, you fight as if your life depends on it.” So he had seen her fight. “We understand each other.” Nigel put a hand on hers, tears in his eyes.
Tears
. “We are more alike than you know.”

She nodded. It was as if he knew about that terrible afternoon with her uncle’s hand where it didn’t belong, his weight crushing her, pushing her face down, her mouth there. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Finish your tea.” He waited for her to sip the last of the liquid, which kept its hot sting despite having cooled. Her cup empty, she looked toward the door, where the Asian woman was waiting.
Time to leave
. Rena stood.

Nigel stood, too. “The Watchers will find you. Be ready.” He bowed.

She bowed back. “I will be. Thank you.”

As she left, she experienced it all again—the dizzying sandalwood, the chimes, the trickling Buddha, the white light, the game screens—except out of sync, smeary, and not quite real, like a dream.

The door clicked behind her before she remembered she hadn’t asked about the Girl Power Project. The awful Quest had thrown her off altogether. Next time then. Nigel had said they’d meet soon after the eviction.

Eviction
. The thought churned sour acid in her stomach.

At the elevator, Maya motioned her in, her mood stone now a pale blue. “Did you accept the Quest?”

Rena nodded and Maya hugged her tight, as if relieved. “Very good.”

“But it’s an eviction, Maya. I thought leaving was a choice. If you don’t fit, you leave because it feels wrong to stay.”

“People don’t always know what’s best for them. You like everything clear-cut and black and white, my love, but reality is shades and blurs.”

“But it’s Cassie, Maya. Cassie.”

“She committed a crime against the NiGo Family. That’s the sad fact.”

“But I know her. She can cop an attitude, but she’d never do anything so wrong.”

“You identify too strongly with Cassie. You’re projecting onto her, but you are not her. Cassie is a ghost here now, haunted by what she’s done. That’s why her alcoholism has intensified.”

“We should help her with her drinking, not kick her out.”

“Addicts must hit bottom, remember. For her, the Life is a crutch. When she no longer has it to hold her up, she’ll get the help she needs. By sending her away, you’ll be helping her to move on.”

“And where will she go? Not home. She hates her mother.” Cassie ran away when her mom turned a blind eye to Cassie’s stepfather hitting on her. When Rena recruited her, Cassie had been giving gamers BJs to play in the Lounge on their dime, crashing on friends’ couches at night.

“We’re abandoning her, Maya. That’s cold.”

“I will be talking to her, Rena. I help Lost Lives transition into the outside world. I’ll get her into rehab if that’s at all possible.”

“You will? That’s good.” A surge of relief passed through her, though her heart still ached for her friend.

Maya watched her in that diggy-jabby way she did in Group. “This is for the best, Rena. For Cassie, too. Trust us.”

“I do. Of course I do.” Maya knew a lot about addiction and Nigel said Cassie had betrayed the NiGo Family, unbelievable as it seemed.

“Cassie has her pride, so she’ll likely deny it,” Maya said. “Prepare yourself. She’ll be convincing. Alcoholics lie to themselves most of all, so you’ll have to be strong.”

“I will.” Rena squared her shoulders. “I’ll be strong.” The Life mattered more than Cassie or Rena or Maya or any one Lifer. The Life mattered more than anything.

If that wasn’t true, then Rena was lost for good.

Chapter Three

Gage watched a vacant-eyed gamer in a Radiohead T-shirt log in at an
EverLife
station. Four bucks flashed on the meter, so Gage waved over a Card Girl dressed as BloodRayne, complete with torpedo tits. When she ran the guy’s Visa through the reader, very low on her hips, the guy stared, slack-jawed, just as NiGo Interactive intended.

Nigel and Naomi Blackstone knew how to work their customers for sure. The air buzzed with hypnotic music and, as in Vegas, there were no clocks to remind players how long they’d been in suspended animation, thumbs twitching, burning up their credit, sucking down Electrique, the electrocution in a can they sold only in the Lounge. The one he’d sipped had him as buzzed as if he’d had four espressos in one pull.

The operation was slick, but wrong somehow, his reporter instincts told him, though he wasn’t here on a story.

He was here to find his sister. He’d come back from Mexico after three months on an investigative piece to find Beth’s cell phone dead, her apartment empty, and no forwarding address. She’d dropped out of ASU months before and, worse, cashed out the thirty grand he’d set aside for the graphic arts business he’d hoped she’d open after she graduated.

The police put out an “Attempt to Locate,” which meant zip, according to the PI he’d hired to run a skip trace on her. He’d come up empty, too. A Phoenix detective owed him a favor from an investigative piece he’d done, but Gage didn’t want to waste that favor. Not until he got desperate. It didn’t help that Beth changed her name as often as her hair color, going from Lizzie to Betsy, to Eliza, even Elizabeth during her Jane Austen phase. Her last name was different from his, but she’d hated her dad, so she’d no doubt changed that, too.

But Gage had gotten a break a couple weeks back. Killing time waiting for a bagel at Einstein’s, he’d picked up the weekly rag with the cult story on its cover. The Day-Glo tattoos had tipped him off.

The last time he’d taken Beth out for a beer, black light on the dance floor had lit up her shoulder like neon. She’d shrugged off his questions, acting fidgety. He should have pushed for more, but his big-brother lectures made her go stone silent, which should have been a clue that all was not well.

When he read that Life Lounge employees turned over all their personal assets to NiGo for the “greater good of the Family,” it hit him like a gut punch that Beth had probably forked over the thirty grand.

Worse, in ten days, when she turned twenty-one, she’d get the 100K from her dead father’s life insurance. Beth had hated the guy, who’d left when she was five, but she would take his money.
He owes me
, she used to say. Gage had to talk her out of throwing away her trust fund, too.

He’d been furious at first—at the cult, at Beth for hiding from him, at the PI who’d cost too much and learned too little, and at himself for not being a better brother in the first place.

Then he calmed the hell down. He would take the cold, careful steps he’d learned as a reporter on staff for two major dailies and a freelancer for the last year. He’d get more being on the inside than from official inquiries, so he would track her down as a Lifer himself.
Lifer
. That’s what the brainwashed employees called themselves. Like a prison sentence.

With twelve new Lounges in the works, Gage figured NiGo would be hiring and he’d been right. Skippy, as Rena called him, had been happy to sign him up—didn’t even care that Gage could do tech work. Gage had latched onto computers in middle school, found a guy to show him more, paid for college as an online tech. Skippy had been hot after the spiff he got for bringing in a new hire. Rena had Skippy’s number, all right. Gage hoped to hell she didn’t have his.

He’d contacted the reporter who did the piece, but he was one of those egotists who called themselves journalists, not reporters, who hoarded sources and skipped facts that didn’t fit their angle. The guy had been cagey, claimed he’d put all he knew in the story.
Yeah, right
. Gage half agreed with Rena that “Angel” was a fabrication—an unethical stunt that had gotten more than one über-ambitious reporter ousted from the profession.

Now he spotted Rena coming through the employee entrance, back from her meeting. She was one striking female. Tall, well put together, and strong as hell. She’d been relentless in that Dome battle. The woman wouldn’t look away at the sight of blood or danger. She was a true believer, but she had juice behind her eyes. She’d called herself his
guide to the Life
. He hoped she’d be the guide to his sister. He headed over to her.

“So how’d your meeting go?” he asked when he got there.

“Great. Good.” But she looked upset and her eyes had a funny gleam.

“Was it important?”

“Important enough. How’s your shift going?”

“’Sall good. Keeping the thumb-bangers draining their accounts.”

“Thumb-bangers?”

“Just joking.” He wouldn’t get in Rena’s good graces by dissing her homies. She’d already looked at him funny a couple times. He smiled the smile that had disarmed more than one nervous interview subject.

“Any questions so far?” she asked him.

One big one: Have you seen my sister?
But he’d take it slow. Better to unravel the threads of a story than yank it apart, forge relationships that would net answers to questions he didn’t know to ask.

As a Lifer, he would learn as much as he could as quickly as possible without raising suspicion. His story was that Beth was a friend, maybe an ex. He owed her money or she owed him, or they’d parted on bad terms—however he had to finesse it to get what he needed.

“Yeah, I got a question for you. What’s it like in the residence tower? I want to score Quarters fast.” He hoped that sounded gung-ho enough to make up for his earlier remark.

She shot him a look, not quite buying it, then checked her watch. “I guess a break won’t hurt. We can record your points in my Quarters. It’ll keep us from tying up a computer in the common room. They get heavy use.”

“Sounds good.” He pushed the elevator button. Maybe he could get at an online directory. He’d been friendly with the personnel girl who’d signed him in, hoping he could later get her to check employee records for him. First, he needed to know what name Beth went by in the Lounge.

Rena passed her key card over a security box in the elevator and a green light flashed. She pushed the button for the first floor.

“Secure elevators, huh?” That would restrict his movements.

“For safety. These used to be apartments. The higher up you live, the higher your key lets you go. When you jump levels, you get the next higher card.”

Sounded like lockdown to him. “So unless I live here I can’t get in the building.”

“Someone has to bring you up. And after midnight it’s residents only.”

Great. No way up on his own and a curfew to boot.

The elevator opened on the first floor. “Your future Quarters,” she said, waving him onto the landing, which smelled of chicken soup.

Rena sniffed and smiled. “Ah…Top Ramen. First Levels live on it. It’s cheap and they can cook it on the hot plate you can buy in the Level One catalog.”

“There’s a catalog?”

“You buy clothes, furniture, housewares, and electronics from the catalog on your level. The higher you go, the more extensive and expensive the items.”

“That’s cool.” Like a company store, he guessed. Did it make money?

She pushed through glass doors that opened onto a beehive of three-deep cubicles, each with blinds for doors, reminding him of a Japanese capsule hotel. She motioned at an open unit. It was white and clean and high-tech, with a trim bed and built-in drawers and shelves.

“Pretty cramped,” he said.

“Cozy,” she corrected. “We’re the NiGo Training Center, so we had to conserve space to make room for the trainees from all the Lounges.”

“I don’t see a TV or game console.”

“Not until the Level Four catalog.”

“That’s a big sacrifice for people who live to game.”

“The early levels are designed so we connect with each other, get a team feeling. In the Dead World, we were isolated at our separate keyboards. In the Life, we’re Family. We share and care together.”

“Still, sounds rough for the loners.” He was one by nature, though he’d grown up a chameleon to survive, blending in as best he could, everybody’s friend—which just happened to be a key reporter skill.

Never knowing when all hell would break loose, Gage had been a sponge for skills all his life. His mother’s one decent boyfriend was a gearhead with a passion for motorcycles, who taught Gage the magic and power of engines and how to make them hum like good sex.

“If you love the Life, you get past that,” she said.

He suspected Rena preferred solitude, too, despite how happy she claimed to be in the Life.

Two guys with towels passed them, heading down the hall.

“Group bathrooms and kitchens until Level Five,” Rena said. “Like a dorm, I guess.”

So she hadn’t gone to college. Shame. She turned for the elevator. “How long will it take me to make Quarters?”

“Two million points is about a month if you work hard, take overtime, and do a lot of social interactions and Quests.”

“Quests? Like in
EverLife
? Killing warthogs, finding magic potions, learning to shoot a crossbow?”

“That’s where the name’s from, yes. Quests include staffing an
EverLife
fan site, volunteering at the NiGo Charter School, doing recon at gamer conventions, a bunch more. I’ll show you the list on my system. Quests are a good way to get to know other Lifers.”

The door opened at the fifth floor, where the landing had carpet instead of linoleum and smelled of incense, not soup. “How long did it take you to get this high?” he asked her.

“About nine months.”

“Is that typical?”

“Faster than most, I guess.” She hesitated, biting her lip, as if that troubled her. “The requirements get more challenging the higher you go. It’s all up to you, how high and how fast you move. The point is you always know where you stand, where you want to go next, and exactly what it will take to get there.” She slid her key card into the slot, banged down the handle and waved him inside her apartment.

He was startled by someone standing just inside the door. He flinched, then saw it was a plaster statue of Lara Croft. “You’re a
Tomb Raider
fan.”

“A fan?” She shrugged, but she gave the figure a complex look. There was a story here. He wondered if he’d ever hear it.

The living area was small and held a low, black leather sofa, a huge entertainment center with a fifty-inch plasma, a table, and a tensor lamp on a curved wire. To one side were a desk and bed. He did a double take on the bed. It was huge, round, and covered in black velvet.

“Nice.” He nodded at it.

“It’s one of a kind, modeled after
Sims House Party
. I like it.”

“What’s not to like?” He caught her gaze and got a full-on punch of heat. The two of them naked on all that bed sounded pretty damn good to him. The spark in her lake-blue eyes said she agreed. When she held out her hand, he almost yanked her close for a taste of those soft lips of hers.

“Your jacket?” she said, tilting her head.

He shrugged it off and she tossed it onto the low sofa, watching him the entire time, her blue eyes flaring hot, like the pilot light to her sex drive. Should he go for it or take a pass? He took a quick scan of her body—firm breasts high on her chest, hips made for grabbing, strong thighs he’d like to get between. He wanted her—he was human—but he had to do what was smart. On the other hand, if it didn’t hurt his cause, he wouldn’t mind a tumble.

He dragged his gaze away, cleared his throat and fought to think straight. “More Lara Croft,” he said, nodding at a watercolor above the couch. Elsewhere were depictions of other girl game stars—Ivy from
SoulCalibur
, Chun-Li from
Street Fighter
, Olga from
Metal Gear Solid
, and others he didn’t recognize, probably from newer games.

The entertainment center held the latest game consoles. He nodded at the giant TV. “What did that set you back?”

“A hundred K in points. I need quality so I can check shaping on game tests.”
Shaping.
Some cult members helped develop games for NiGo, he’d read. She must be one of them. She had a few skill sets herself.

“You’ve got some pricey stuff in here.” God help him, he found himself staring at the bed again.

“I go after what I want,” she said, low and sexy, her body at a suggestive angle—hips out, breasts up, head tilted, the blue pilot light of her eyes glowing hotter than ever.

She smelled sweet…edible. Was it coconut? And was it her hair—shiny black and pulled into a Lara Croft braid—or her soap? Maybe just her skin. If he could just get a taste… “And what is it you want?” he asked, telling her he wanted it, too, with a tone that registered in her eyes like the flick of a gauge needle.

But then she hesitated, stepped back, as if on guard for a fight. “It’s more important what you want, Gage,” she said bluntly. “Why Lounge Life?”

His answer counted big, he knew. “I’m a gamer. I needed a job.” What would a true believer say? “I like what’s here. A setup you can understand. It’s like a family.”

“You don’t have one already?” Her eyes glittered with suspicion.

“Not really.” Beth was it and she was missing. His mother had been dead for two years, overdosing on the pain meds that ruled her life. He’d never known his father. “You?”

“Lifers are my family.” Emotions rippled beneath her words, like muscles under an animal’s pelt. If she called this place home, her real family had to be a piece of work.

“Then you know what I mean,” he said. Their gazes locked and the connection went abruptly personal. He saw a lonely little girl behind her eyes and she, no doubt, caught a flicker of the grim kid he’d been.

The past reeked, but it was gone.

The moment held for a bit, then the link went sexual, an electric thread that sizzled between them. He pictured her naked, muscles taut, sweat slicking her flesh. What the hell, where was the harm? “What I want right now is right here.” He looked her up and down, wanting in, letting her see that. “How about you? Anything you want right here? Right now?”