Читать книгу Carolina Crimes - Karen Pullen - Страница 6

THE GAME, by Marjorie Ann Mitchell

Sam Breske stared in confusion across his boss’s large mahogany desk, hoping that today would be the day the old man finally grew a sense of humor, and what he’d just heard was a failed attempt at a joke.

Martin Harrison, owner of Harrison SimTech and creator of VIC—Virtual Image Clone—looked back at him dispassionately, not a twinge of amusement on his face. “In order to do what’s necessary to stay on top, there’s bound to be collateral damage,” he said, leaning back in his black leather executive chair and tenting his fingers. Behind him, a window displayed the view from the top floor of the six-story building—swaying pine and sweet gum trees, a cloudless blue sky. Their office buildings in Research Triangle Park in North Carolina were understated, especially given RTP’s boost in prestige since SimTech claimed it as its headquarters. It was here that Martin ruled—a Caesar guarding his empire.

“That collateral damage you’re talking about is my team. The same people who helped you build this company.” Sam rose from his seat, incredulous.

Martin sighed. “There’s no room for sentiment in business, Sam. It’s not financially feasible to continue your project.”

“Just like that? VIC is the highest grossing gaming system in history. How’s it possible that enhancements wouldn’t make money?”

Martin leaned forward, pointing at Sam accusingly. “You know as well as I, we’re fighting to stay ahead of the competition. Tough decisions have to be made.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sam said, his arm slicing the air in dismissal. “You’re asking me to fire the best assets this company has. How do you expect SimTech to grow without software engineers?”

“That’s the other thing I wanted to speak to you about. You’ve been an integral part of the company, Sam, creating the HMC when the gaming commission threatened to shut us down over some unfortunate incidents.”

Even though everything Martin was saying was true, Sam could tell he was being disingenuous. “By unfortunate incidents, of course, you mean the deaths caused by VIC’s realism. You know damn well I didn’t create the HMC all by myself.”

After two gamers had died, Sam had managed the project team that created a Health Monitoring Component (HMC) that could detect a gamer experiencing an unusually high amount of distress. When the HMC triggered, it shut down the video game and sent a signal to emergency services in the gamer’s area. The HMC had saved the company, their careers, and several lives.

Irritated, Martin continued, “Yes, yes, but the point is, I know how invested you are in this company and in VIC. That’s why I plan to keep you on in a position I created specifically for you. There’s a group of green engineers, fresh out of college, arriving next week. You’ll be the Lead Training Specialist in charge of getting them up to speed. Then, perhaps we can revisit whether your project can go forward.”

Sam ran his hand through his thick black hair. Had he heard right? “You expect me to train my team’s younger, cheaper replacements.”

Martin’s smile was a cold reflexive twitch. “I expect you to do what’s right for the company. I’ll leave it up to you how to inform your team, but make sure they’re gone by the time the new batch arrives. That’ll be all, Sam.”

“Fuck you, Martin.” Sam stormed out of Martin’s office, ricocheting from disbelief to anger to panic. He hadn’t noticed Bryce Harrison standing in the hallway and he barreled into her. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said, embarrassed. The boss’s wife. How much had she heard?

“Hey, Sam, no problem. Your mind must’ve been a thousand miles away. What’s going—?”

Sam didn’t wait for her to finish. He needed to find his team. He kept walking toward the stairwell. He’d worked with Bryce on the HMC project and been impressed by her creativity and cool intelligence. But once married, she’d become a full-time executive’s wife. A waste of talent, Sam thought, but typical of Martin’s ego to want his wife’s full-time support all to himself.

As he trudged down the flight of stairs to his team’s floor, his shoes felt like lead boots. He stepped out of the stairwell and surveyed the cubicle farm where his team huddled over their computers, intent and focused on work he’d told them was valuable. His stomach lurched and he covered his mouth until the feeling subsided. No. Martin was wrong, and Sam wouldn’t be the one to tell them. He turned back to the stairway, heading toward the executive floor. He would resign, make Martin do his own dirty work.

He approached Martin’s slightly open door and reached for the doorknob. At the sound of raised voices, he froze. Glancing around to make sure no one was in the hall, he leaned against the wall to listen.

He heard Bryce first.

“How much blood has to be on your hands for you to wake up?”

“There’s no blood on my hands. The deaths caused by VIC before the HMC was added were unforeseeable. There haven’t been any since.”

“The HMC saves people while they’re in the game, but what about when they’re not? I’ve seen the statistics, Martin. Domestic violence and assaults have risen, specifically among VIC gamers.”

“I can’t be held responsible for the actions of gamers in their private lives. The game doesn’t make people violent.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard the stories at the women’s center. You have the power to change things. Why won’t you listen to reason?”

“I understand your need to have hobbies, but if your charitable work upsets you, you should find something less stressful.”

“It isn’t a hobby. People’s lives are being ruined. If you’d open your eyes to what’s happening outside of SimTech, you’d understand.”

“Between that coward, Sam, and you, I’ve had all I can take for one day. Go home. We’ll discuss this later.”

“You bet we will.”

Sam pulled back from the door and slipped down the hall towards the stairs. He had to give Bryce credit. She had balls, to confront Martin like that.

* * * *

Sam scraped his meal of leftover spaghetti down the garbage disposal and dropped his plate into the sink. It made an awful clanking noise but didn’t break. He slammed the faucet on and ran water into the dish to let it soak, then jerked it off. But his kitchen appliances and dishes were no substitute for the person he was boiling angry at.

Earlier in the day, he’d feigned sickness and left work. He still hadn’t told his team, and he didn’t plan to. Restless, he walked into his living room.

His furnishings were modest. Nothing embarrassing, but simple in style. The hardwood floor was cool against his bare feet. He walked down the hallway leading to the bedrooms and turned into the guest room he’d converted to a game room.

Stepping across its threshold was like entering a different dimension. Whereas the rest of his apartment was humble, he’d spared no expense here. The walls were covered with limited edition memorabilia from old science fiction movies, collected over the years with care so that each one represented a different period within the genre. The futuristic bar was custom-made from his own design and included a glass surface with interactive LED lighting. The sound system and entertainment screen were top of the line. In the center of the room was VIC’s simulation chair.

Sam poured a glass of bourbon. He sipped, letting the whiskey burn down his throat to warm his belly. VIC had changed the way the world played video games. By simply uploading a photograph, the gamer could create a virtual image clone of himself or herself to play with, or a synthetic image clone of someone else to play against. Instead of the cartoonish characters players could choose from in other video games, VIC was so realistic that players felt they were in the movie. Yet it was better than a movie. It was as if they’d traveled through different dimensions of their own making. No fantasy was off limits.

It was time for a fantasy of his own. Setting down his drink, Sam slid his body into the VIC simulation chair. After hours upon hours of play, the chair’s soft leather had contoured to the shape of his body. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling as his body relaxed into it. He clipped the cross-chest harness into place and wiggled his bare feet into the footgear attached to the chair, working his toes into the flexible foot glove that would read his movements and reflexes. Next, he slid both forearms into the gloves attached to the armrests. The gloves contracted comfortably around his arms. His fingers tapped the controls inside the glove, and the helmet and display settled around his head, blocking the sights and sounds of reality.

After the VIC intro, Sam set up his game scenario. He always played in Group Play mode as a default. The anticipation that an unexpected player might enter the game made it more interesting. After clicking several options, he went to his personal files and selected a picture of Martin from the company website. VIC searched its database, loaded the stored character, then prompted, “MR. HARRISON IS CURRENTLY IN PLAY. WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN?”

He selected Yes. He was more than ready to challenge the bastard. Maybe the defeat of Martin in virtual battle would salvage his bruised ego.

The VIC Sam found himself in the living room of a large pretentious mansion, one he could imagine Martin living in. His gorge rose when he found Martin—the VIC Martin—standing in front of an ornate fireplace. How he hated the man. Before Martin could react, Sam strode across the room and punched him in the face. Man, that felt good.

Martin staggered back, nearly falling. “You son of a bitch. Who do you think you are?”

“It’s a game,” Sam glared at him, making his hands into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. “Let’s have some fun.”

Martin grabbed a cast-iron fireplace poker from its rack and swung it at Sam. Sam ducked low and drove an elbow into Martin’s kidney. Martin doubled over in pain, his grip on the poker loosened, and Sam yanked it out of his hands. Clenching his side, Martin looked up at Sam, his eyes wide. Sam stood over him, tightened his grip around the handle of the poker, and brought the heavy tool down across his boss’s shoulders. Martin went down on his hands and knees, crying out in agony.

“This is for everyone you’ve stepped on to get to the top, you greedy bastard,” Sam growled as he brought the poker down on Martin’s body again and again. He swung until he could no longer catch his breath, then hunched forward with his hands on his knees, sucking in air, tears running down his face as he looked at the crumpled body. Embarrassed that his emotions had overtaken him, he wiped his face with his arm. It’s just a game, he thought, though a sense of power surged through him and he allowed himself to feel a brief satisfaction.

In VIC, he was in complete control, but tomorrow he would have to do Martin’s bidding.

* * * *

The next morning, Sam arrived at work later than usual, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. He paused outside the lobby and squared his shoulders, taking one long, slow breath. Primed, he strode through the entryway and called out “Good morning” to the receptionist. She shook her head and gestured toward the lobby’s waiting area.

Two men rose from the couch and walked toward him. Both were fiftyish, both dressed in slacks, white button-down shirts, and sport coats.

The taller man spoke. “Sam Breske? I’m Detective Rob Cresslar of the Raleigh PD and this is Josh Moore of the SBI’s Computer Crimes Unit. May we have a word with you, somewhere private?” They flashed their badges, their faces serious. Too serious. Was his team playing a joke on him, and at the worst possible time?

Sam led them to a small conference room on the lobby floor. “What’s this about?”

“Martin Harrison died last night in his home. Apparent heart attack,” Cresslar said.

Remembering how triumphant he’d felt standing over the VIC Martin’s body, Sam felt shameful, almost guilty. “Oh my God, that’s awful.”

“Mr. Harrison’s death occurred while he was playing VIC,” said Moore. “Seems the simulation was too realistic for him. Something your software was supposed to detect, right? Shut the game down and signal for help? Thing is, emergency services never received a distress call from Harrison’s address.”

Sam shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. We’ve never had reports of issues with the HMC.”

“We had his game unit checked out,” said Moore. “It was the current version with no signs of tampering. We also found he was in Group Play mode with you when he died. Want to tell us about that?”

Alarmed, Sam started to protest but stopped himself. He glanced from one detective to the other, searching their faces. “I don’t think I should answer any more questions without my lawyer.”

Cresslar raised both hands as if to protest. “Relax, you’re not under arrest. Martin had a bad heart and his HMC seemed to have a glitch. How the glitch happened is the question no one seems to be able to answer. We thought it might have been hacked, but you built a firewall around the HMC to prevent that, didn’t you? You’re free to go unless there’s something you want to tell us.”

Sam shook his head no, hoping his calm expression didn’t betray his conflicted feelings: guilt mixed with curiosity. Whatever happened to Martin’s HMC?

* * * *

After his exchange with the police, Sam went back to work on his current project, carefully avoiding conversations with his team about Martin’s death. Sam couldn’t be sure where the project or his team’s future lay, so he thought it was best to carry on until he heard differently.

The next day, Bryce summoned Sam to Martin’s office. As Martin’s heir, she had taken over the privately held company. He found her sitting behind the oversized desk, intently flipping through documents. He knocked politely on the open door.

She looked up from her papers and smiled. “Hi Sam, come on in.”

“Sorry to hear about Martin.”

She nodded. “Thank you. It was a shock.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you in the office so soon.”

“I’d rather be here. SimTech was Martin’s baby. I want to take care of it for him.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, nodding to show he understood. “I don’t know what could’ve gone wrong with his HMC. Maybe if I take a look at it, I can find out.”

Bryce fidgeted with the documents in front of her. “Listen, it was a glitch. It happens, even in the best software. Don’t blame yourself. I tried to warn him about the violence in VIC, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Sam remembered their argument he’d overheard two days ago, the day Martin died. Ironic, that VIC was both Martin’s greatest triumph and the cause of his death. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes. I’m still going to bring the green team on board and I need you to get them up to speed on your current project.”

His heart sunk. She was no different from Martin. “Damn it, Bryce. My team’s the best asset this company has. They’re not replaceable by a bunch of twenty-year-olds.”

“Hold on. I know Martin wanted to let your team go, but I think that’s a mistake. I have a new assignment for your team I think you’ll find much more challenging.”

She wanted to save his team? “That’s fantastic. What is it?”

“I want to replace the violence in VIC with simulated sex play. Your team will develop a full body skin suit to go along with it that’ll increase the intensity of the action within the game.” She grinned. “Can you imagine? Players can have simulated sex with anyone they choose. All they need is a photograph or a willing Group Play partner.”

Sam’s first instinct was to defend VIC, but given the circumstances of Martin’s death, he thought better of it. Later they could discuss the viability of making both games available to the public. “Given the lucrative business of porn, it would sell, that’s for sure.”

The smile on Bryce’s face spread wider. Sam found her cheerfulness the day after Martin’s death odd, but her enthusiasm about the new project was catching, and he couldn’t help but grin in return.

“Exactly what I was thinking. And I know you tested VIC’s earlier releases with Reggie, but if you’d prefer a different partner, given the type of sim play we’re talking here, I’d be glad to volunteer. We’ve worked well together in the past, don’t you think?”

Sam felt heat rise to his cheeks. “We’d still have to worry about over-stimulation of the gamers.”

Bryce burst into laughter. “Oh, right. But we’d still utilize the HMC, just in case.”

At the mention of the HMC, his embarrassment waned. “About that—we need to figure out the bug in Martin’s game. If there are more cases, it won’t matter what we come up with next.”

Her merry expression faded. “I don’t think there will be more cases. It was just a one-time glitch. With preparing the newbies and getting your team started on the sim-sex game, you’ll have no time to look into a singular problem.”

How could she be so sure it would never occur again? Then it hit him. Bryce knew the HMC as well as he did. “Still, Martin’s death should have been prevented by the software we both worked on. I can’t have that hanging over my head without knowing what happened. Can you?”

Bryce’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Martin always said you were too honorable for your own good.”

Sam kept his voice even. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“No, he didn’t.” Her voice was neutral but her expression was cold.

“Then I’ll research the bug myself, on my own time. The others can start prepping the new project. By the time we’re ready to hit the ground running, I’m sure I’ll have it all worked out. Let’s make sure VIC is safe.”

A chilly silence. Then Bryce said, “All right, Sam, if that’s how you feel. When are you going to start?”

“Tonight.”

Bryce leaned back in the black leather chair and made a tent with her fingers. Just like Martin used to do. Maybe it was a CEO thing.

* * * *

That night, Sam slid into his simulation chair and maneuvered into his equipment. With the head-mounted display in place, he set the scenario to return to his previous game, still in Group Play mode. Inside the game, he could enter Developer mode and review the processes that had been called earlier.

On his screen appeared the code for the mansion scene where Martin died. He quickly found where Martin had entered the game in Group Play. Sam reviewed the code line by line until he noticed calls to an unfamiliar procedure. Sensate. Martin’s HMC had been hacked. “What the hell is Sensate?” he whispered, enlarging the phantom screen.

He focused so intently on searching VIC’s code for the rogue procedure that he almost didn’t hear the front door open. A new player had entered his game. Bryce. Sam wasn’t surprised to see her. He had begun to suspect that she had altered the HMC code, and she’d known he was studying it.

“You found it,” she said.

“Yeah, but what does it do?”

Bryce beamed. “Sensate will be fantastic in the new sim-sex game. I used medical theories behind the phenomenon of phantom limbs, where patients who’d lost limbs could still feel them, even years later. I’ve been able to recreate that effect through software. It fools the gamer’s brain into not only visualizing the action, but feeling it.”

Sam recoiled in horror. “You mean Martin felt everything that happened in our game last night?”

“I wanted to give him a taste of the pain that VIC had caused others. Teach him a lesson. I never meant for him to die.”

“VIC doesn’t cause pain, but your new coding does. And worse, it kills.”

“Martin’s death was—”

“Collateral damage?”

“I’d say an accident, maybe for the best. He would never have let us reduce the violence in VIC. Once we use the game to promote love instead of hate, crime rates will go down, and everyone wins in the long run.”

“You’re talking about lust, not love. You’re substituting one base impulse for another.”

“I wish you’d left this alone, Sam. I thought we were going to be great together, just like the old days.” She drew a 9 mm pistol from her jacket and pointed it at Sam. “Before I entered your game, I inserted Sensate into it. I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

Bryce’s hand shook as she squeezed the trigger and the bullet only grazed Sam’s shoulder. As he felt its bite turn into a slow burn, he was amazed. How was it possible that Sensate-enhanced VIC could trick his brain so completely, so convincingly? The pain was real. Agonizing.

But he was in control, in Developer mode. Before Bryce could fire again, Sam shut the game down. His pain vanished. Astonishing.

He had enough to take to the police. But what could they charge her with? Being a fucking genius? And a madwoman, who’d converted virtual death into murder.

As the game faded, his head-mounted display turned dark and a single message appeared. “GAME OVER. WOULD YOU LIKE TO RESTART?”

Maybe tomorrow, after Bryce was arrested. He was eager to tinker with VIC. If Sensate’s brain probes or stimulants—whatever they were—created actual pain in a gamer’s mind, what possibilities existed for pleasure!

Bryce was a genius. A realistic sim-sex game could take over the world. He smiled, realizing the irony. He’d have to test it with a different woman.

Computers weren’t allowed in prison.