Gamer Army Page 20

  The man laughed. “Yes! Yes, he’d probably kill somebody!” He spoke so loudly that Rogan stiffened, wondering if the laser-toting Arabs had heard and what they might do. The man shook Rogan’s hand, holding on a little too long. “I’m Dr. Herbokowitz,” he said with a small note of triumph in his voice, as if Valerie Dorfman should know him.

  His onboard computer quickly floated the man’s bio-bubble on his viper’s HUD.

  “Dr. Carl Herbokowitz! Of course!” Rogan said, noticing the appearance of six more Arab men with hidden laser weapons in the room. Two of them were casually edging their way through the crowd, heading in Rogan’s direction.

  Had they seen through the Polyadaptive Nanotech Cloak? How could they? If this were a game, they’d be programmed to fall for the disguise. If it were real … there were a lot of lasers. But Dr. Herbokowitz clearly thought he was talking to beautiful Dr. Valerie Dorfman and not an advanced fighting robot.

  “You might wonder why an oil man like me would be talking to the so-called clean energy enemy,” Herbokowitz said.

  Apparently this guy loved nothing more than to talk about himself. Rogan didn’t know what to do but found a preprogrammed flirtatious laugh. Ranger’s head tilted back as Valerie giggled. Rogan scanned the crowd and spotted a total of twelve laser-armed men spread throughout the room. Their heart rates were slightly elevated and their hands were damp with perspiration. When he focused on their eyes, he saw most of the men searching the room, carefully looking over each guest.

  Essa Al Tayer emerged from the elevator corridor. “Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests all.” He paused until the room quieted. Then he smiled, spread his arms, and held them out to the group as though offering a gift or a blessing. “It is my great honor to present to you the secretary-general of the Supreme Petroleum Council, deputy supreme commander of the armed forces, chairman of the executive council of the Emirate of Abu Dhabi, and the crown prince of Abu Dhabi, His Highness Sheikh Ahmad bin Mohammed Al Abdullah.”

  “He’s the second in command of the whole country,” X said.

  Rogan set his juice on a small table and joined the other guests in applauding the important arrival. He saw that the armed men didn’t seem to be after anyone in particular but had taken up positions around the room to protect the sheikh. He let out his woman’s laugh and sighed with relief.

  “OK, Rogan. It’s time for your mission,” X said. “That’s the man you have to kill.”

  The crown prince? Are you serious?” Rogan asked out loud while everybody was still clapping. It was the first kill order to go out in the whole tournament. If the appearance in the elevator had really been his real gamer friends and all this was really real, then he’d really be killing a real person. “No way.”

  Dr. Herbokowitz leaned close to who he thought to be Valerie and whispered in the viper’s digital illusion ear. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? His estimated net worth is something like twenty-six billion dollars. They say he just bought a Porsche 920 Super Spyder X, and then had the whole body plated in pure gold. The whole thing had to cost over ten million.” Either this Herbokowitz guy was a programmed distraction or he was blathering on about the real world. Either way, Rogan really wished he’d shut up.

  The ruler smiled and held up his hand. “Please. The honor is mine. Welcome, all of you. Please get to know the people who are with us for this important event. Relax and enjoy yourselves, for tomorrow we begin the serious task of planning for a better future.”

  Everyone clapped again. Rogan switched to internal comms. “No way. I will not shoot that man.” The string quartet in the corner resumed playing, and gradually the conversation returned to its former volume.

  The voice that answered freaked Rogan out. It was Mr. Culum, not X, and he did not sound happy. “The crown prince is working with Scorpion, Rogan. He’s a major source for Scorpion terrorist funding.” His voice was sharp, just short of shouting. “You will shoot that man or you will fail the mission and lose the championship!”

  Rogan stayed on internal comms. “First, it’s impossible. There are a dozen guards all over this place. Second, I—” He was about to say he didn’t want to kill a human being, but he’d “killed” thousands of video game people in the years he’d been gaming. The other gamers had warned him not to make Mr. Culum and Atomic Frontiers aware that Rogan knew this wasn’t a game. “I’m just not doing it!”

  “Are you feeling all right?” Dr. Herbokowitz asked.

  How could Rogan get rid of this guy? “Dr. Herbokowitz,” Rogan said in Valerie’s voice. His only hope was to get the guy talking to buy himself some time. “May I call you Carl? Carl, tell me about why you’re here. What’s your project all about?”

  Herbokowitz seemed pleased that Valerie was interested. He launched into an explanation of some technical oil stuff.

  Rogan was relieved when X came back on. “Rogan, you have made it this far in the Laser Viper Final Challenge. You beat out Beckett and Takashi.” He spoke their names slowly, as if trying to drop a hint. Or was Rogan imagining that? “You beat out Jacqueline. Remember when you two used to talk?” This was maddening. He felt sick. “If those three were still in the game, they would trust me. I need you to trust me.”

  That’s what the other gamers had told him to do. Trust X. “Fine,” Rogan said out loud but quietly.

  X continued, “Now tell Dr. Herbokowitz you think the process he was just describing might be useful for Sun Station One’s earthbound power receiver.”

  Rogan passed the message to Dr. Herbokowitz.

  “Do you really think so?” Herbokowitz asked. “Because I had this idea about …”

  “Just get close to the crown prince, drop the PNC, power your lasers, and fire. The sequence will take seconds.”

  “Um … excuse me, please, Dr. Herbokowitz,” Rogan said, beginning a weave through the crowd, hoping X would get him out of this. A mission to kill. If this were real, and he lasered the man, not only would he be committing murder, but his viper would instantly be shot down by the others. If it was destroyed, while Rogan’s mind was still inside it—This wasn’t fun anymore.

  Sheikh Ahmad stood near the end of a tan sofa before a shiny black column a few paces in front of the windows with their brilliant view. He laughed and made a small bow to a woman while another man waited for his attention.

  “You can do this, Rogan,” X said. “One quick laser blast. A head shot. Then get to the elevator. The Ranger easily has the strength to force open the doors. If the elevator is on your floor, jump up through the emergency hatch in the ceiling of the car, and then get down into the shaft. Drop down to level one twenty-four, the more popular of the two public observation deck tours. Change your appearance there to the French man we have on file. Translation software will turn anything you say into French, but try not to talk much, because the software doesn’t work perfectly. The goal is that you rush out with the rest of the terrified tourists when the alarms go off. ”

  Sheikh Ahmad had moved on to discuss energy policy with the man who had been waiting to speak with him. “Of course, when Sun Station One goes online, the UAE will become totally independent of oil for its own energy needs, using our oil production solely for profit from exports. Then, with Sun Station Two and so on, we will guide the world through the transition to solar power.” He shrugged. “Again, because of forward-thinking scientists like you, the UAE is in a position both to help other countries meet their growing energy needs and to help the UAE profit and grow.”

  One of the security guards who had been standing by a low table began edging closer to Sheikh Ahmad as well.

  Rogan went to internals. “If these guys shoot me, am I going to feel pain?”

  “A very minimal sensation,” X said reassuringly. “Just enough to let you know you’re under fire so you can take action to get to safety.”

  “Are you sure I’ll be safe if my Ranger is destroyed while I’m still connected to it?” No response. “X? Hello, Control. Can you hear
me? If Ranger dies and my mind is still inside it—”

  “I’m here, Rogan,” X finally said. “Um … Mr. Culum and Atomic Frontiers promise you’ll be fine.”

  Was that code talk? If Mr. Culum and Atomic Frontiers were the bad guys, if he was supposed to trust X but not Culum, then was that really a warning? More than anything, he wanted out of this. He wanted to hit the switch and stop it all. Or was this part of the test? What if this, the warning from the other gamers, the whole question of whether this was a game or real life, was all an illusion? Maybe Shaylyn was playing the exact same game right now, but separately, and the loser was whoever first asked for the game to be shut off.

  If this were all a game—worst case, he lost. If this were all real—worst case, he died.

  “I want to stop this,” Rogan said out loud. “I don’t care if I lose the tournament. Shut it off. I’m done.”

  No answer. Confused looks from party guests around him.

  “X?” Rogan asked. He waited. “X? Control? Did you hear what I said? I quit the tournament.”

  Mr. Culum came on the channel. He was even angrier than before. “The only way for this game to end is if you take out your target. Now! Shoot him!”

  Rogan was shaking. If this was just a gamer tournament, they would let him stop. This was no video game. It had never been a game. It was life or death.

  Sheikh Ahmad had noticed Rogan, or rather, Dr. Valerie Dorfman. He motioned for her to join them. “Ah, Dr. Dorfman. I was just discussing energy production with Dr. Anton Lopez.”

  Rogan stepped closer but eyed the exits. He would just run. That would be the safest way. But if Atomic Frontiers was dangerous enough to have set up all of this, if they were that ruthless, what would they do with Rogan’s body? He could make this robot escape this tower, maybe, but how could he ever escape the robot to get back to his own body, or get his body out of Atomic Frontiers headquarters?

  Burn. Stabbing pain. Rogan felt his chest and shoulder catch fire as he was knocked back by a laser blast. Another beam shot past his head. Another pegged his hip. Rogan screamed.

  The guests screamed and ran from him.

  “What is it?!” a woman screamed.

  “Same kind of robot from that terrorist attack in Germany!” said a completely panicked man.

  “Did you get the target?!” Culum shouted inside his head. “What is the target’s status?!”

  Rogan sprinted away from the crown prince. “I’m hit! It hurt! I hadn’t even dropped my disguise! The guards just knew!” He spoke in Ranger’s cold robot voice, his female disguise gone.

  “We’ve been compromised,” Mr. Culum said. “Someone’s betrayed us!”

  An alarm’s screech added to the chorus of shouts and screams. Two guards had pulled the sheikh to safety, using their own bodies as shields. Rogan started toward the elevators, but twenty men with laser rifles, wearing camouflaged uniforms, flooded the hall in front of them.

  “I’m aborting mission!” Next to him, Herbokowitz gasped.

  Rogan stunned two guards with nonlethal pulses. “Get me out of here!” Rogan ran behind a black stone pillar. He spread his arms wide around the column and fired NLEPs from both wrists to keep the soldiers from rushing to the side and gunning him down. “Control!” he shouted. “It’s already mission failure. Disconnect me from the system. Get me back in my own body.” One laser shot blasted a corner of the pillar away just over his shoulder.

  Static pop and hiss. “Rogan, this is Jackie. Run for your life! You’ve got to get to the elevator.”

  Another laser beam exploded into the stone column. He could feel the sharp heat of the blast as clearly as if it were his own skin.

  But if he was inside his Ranger viper, his skin was made of armored alloys stronger than steel. It all reminded him that he was Ranger, with Ranger’s abilities. And that gave him an idea.

  “OK. Forget this,” Rogan said. “I’m out of here.”

  Lifting both arms, Rogan unleashed a powerful laser barrage at the glass before him, shattering the thick pane, inviting a wind storm with sand and glass flying around as the air pressure equalized. With hungry streaks of laser fire lashing out behind him, Rogan sprinted four steps.

  And jumped.

  And for a second or two his momentum carried him, and he felt he could fly.

  In the hot, quiet air, limbs spread like a skydiver, he looked down on the blue-green water of the man-made lake near the base of the tower.

  Then gravity seized him.

  And he fell.

  Faster and faster, the wind whipping past him, floor after floor of the colossal tower sped by. Buildings and roads far below expanded from tiny, distant structures to larger, very real, very hard surfaces into which he would crash.

  “Get me out of this body!” he shouted. “Disconnect me! Now!Now!Now!”

  “Think, Ro. Think! The grappling cables!” But the buildings around the lake were all too far away. “Except—Oh, man, this is stupid.”

  Rogan reached back behind himself and fired his cable blindly. It connected with a window-washing machine track on level seventy-nine, and in the next second he was swinging back toward the tower with more than enough tension on the cable to rip a human arm out of its socket.

  Rogan curled in his legs and free arm, swinging into the side of the Burj Khalifa like a wrecking ball. Thick glass exploded into the sitting room of a luxury suite on level seventy-four. Rogan tumbled into the room, crushing a sofa and rolling to a hard impact against the opposite wall.

  A painting that had hung above the new dent in the wall crashed to the floor just as a man in business shirt and tie ran into the room from the hallway. He took one look at Ranger and shouted. “Get out! Get to the emergency evacuation points! It’s terrorists!”

  “I’m not a terrorist!” Rogan called out in his cyber voice. He couldn’t explain it. Who would believe him if he tried? And anyway, he had no time.

  “Go! I’ll hold it off!” the man shouted, picking up an expensive vase. At least it looked expensive to Rogan. But then again, he only had about thirty-two dollars of saved-up birthday money, and he sure wouldn’t waste any of it on a tan-and-red swirl vase. A vase that shattered against his face a moment later.

  Rogan engaged a blur-fast roundhouse kick, checking his force to avoid killing the man. The guy went flying and Rogan stepped over him, sprinting through the luxury suite.

  “Just disconnect me!” he shouted to whomever was listening back at control. “Get me out of this!”

  Seconds later, he left the suite and entered the hallway. A door at the other end of the hall flew open and three soldiers came out. The first shouted something in Arabic, but before they could shoot him, Rogan had punched down the door across the hallway and charged into another suite for rich people. A woman screamed and ducked behind a chair, shouting something in a different language. A man held out a thick stack of cash, pleading with him.

  “What do I do?! Where do I go?!” Rogan shouted. The terrified man must have thought Rogan was yelling at him, because he pulled out more money and a flashy ring off his finger. Rogan ran past him.

  “Rogan, I’m almost to the tower.” Shaylyn finally spoke up on their channel.

  Rogan sighed in relief. “Shay! What’s going on?!”

  “It was forever before they even let me start the game. Then almost as soon as I was in the game, a hologram of Jackie appeared. She said this is all real, but—”

  “Do not get shot!” Rogan said. “It really hurts! I promise you that.”

  “She said we can’t let our vipers be destroyed or—”

  “Yeah, about that!” A laser beam sliced into the suite, inches from Rogan’s head. “I have Dubai security all over me! Jackie give you any tips on what we’re supposed to do?” He fired back a dozen NLEP bolts.

  “It was like she was cut off!” Shay continued.

  “They’re gonna kill me, Shay!”

  “If you can get outside, I can pick you up.”

&nb
sp; Rogan rushed through the suite, knocking over an abstract sculpture in the hallway and dropping a sixty-inch screen from the wall when he clipped it with his shoulder.

  More shouting told him the soldiers were in the suite.

  “Shay?” Rogan called to his friend. “Be ready. I’m coming outside.”

  She called back. “Wait. What? Where?”

  As before, a quick laser shot to the glass and a flying swan dive launched Ranger out into the hot Dubai late-evening air.

  “Darn it, Ro!” Shaylyn yelled. “You could have warned me!”

  “No time!” Rogan shouted. He silenced his computer’s warnings and fell. One of the weirdest things about Ranger was that its body wasn’t human, and it could bend differently. It felt so weird, but Ranger’s head could rotate full circle. Rogan fought the urge to spin his head backward to check on Shay. What was the point? He’d crash into the shallow lake in seconds. She would either reach him in time or—

  A hard impact to his back.

  “Got ya!” Shay said. They were still losing altitude. “I think.”

  Instead of a fast plummet straight to the ground, their dive toward death now had some forward momentum. And they were slowing down.

  “You need to lay off the robo Big Macs!” Shay said.

  “All I had was juice,” Rogan said.

  “Come on. Come on. Pull out of it,” Shay said to her own thrusters. Rogan’s armored metallic feet splashed into the water. Right before Shay pulled him back up into the sky. “Woo-hoo!”

  Both of them laughed as Shaylyn took him up over the flashing lights of the police cars surrounding the base of the tower. They laughed until the bullets started flying and the laser beams cut the air.

  “We’re not out of this yet,” Rogan shouted.