“The program reads you,” Benny went on. “Your pulse rate, your BP, your body temp. Just like a medi-unit. It tailors the challenges to your specific physicality. It combines the sensations of top-flight VR with the reality-based imagery of high-end holo. Fight the dragon to save the princess? You’ll feel the heat, the weight of the sword. Slay the dragon, and the princess is grateful. You’ll, ah, feel that, too. The full experience.”
“If the dragon wins?”
“You get a jolt. Nothing painful, just a buzz, and like Cill said, the game ends at that point. You can start it up again, from that point or back at the beginning, or change any factors. But the program will also change. It morphs and calculates,” he added, obviously warming to the topic. “The characters in each program are enhanced with the same AI technology used in droids. Friend or foe, they’re programmed to want to win as much as the player.”
“It’s a leap,” Cill said. “A true leap in merged techs. We’re working out some kinks, and we’ve projected we can have it on the market in time for the holiday blast. When it hits, U-Play’s going to go through the roof. Bart wanted it more user-friendly, and to keep the price point down. So we’ve been working on home and arcade and . . . it’s complicated.”
“We’ve got a lot invested, in the technology, the application, the programming, the simulations. If any of it leaks before we’re ready to launch . . .” Var’s mouth tightened.
“It could take us under,” Cill finished. “It’s a make or break.”
“In six months, a year, we’d be up there with SimUlate. We’d be global, and seriously ding in off-planet,” Benny told her. “Not just the up-and-comer, not just the wonder kids of gaming. We’d be gaming. But without Bart . . .”
“I don’t know if we can do it. I don’t know how we can do it,” Cill said.
“We have to.” Var took her hand. “We can’t lose this. Bart started it, and we have to finish it. You have to keep the game under wraps,” Var told Eve. “You have to. If anybody gets their hands on that development disc—”
“It self-destructed when the e-team tried to remove it.”
“Seriously?” Benny blinked. “Frosty. Sorry,” he said instantly. “Sorry. It’s just . . . Bart must have added the security. That’s why he’s Bart.”
“How many copies are there?”
“Ther
e were four. One for each of us to work with. It’s what I was working on last night,” Benny added. “I had it in sim, playing operator, and working with a droid. Mostly we work on it after the rest of the crew leaves.”
“Only the four of you know about it?”
“Not exactly. Everybody knows we’re working on something big. We’ve got a lot of good brains in here,” Cill commented. “We use them. But nobody knows exactly what we’ve got. Just pieces. And yeah, some of those brains are smart enough to put a lot of the pieces together. But we’ve been careful to keep it on the low. Leaks are death in gaming.”
She seemed to realize what she’d said, and shivered. “Do you think somebody found out, and . . .”
“It’s an angle. I’m going to need a copy of the game.”
The three of them stared at her, miserably.
“Look, if it’s what you say it is, and anything leaks on my end, you’re going to sue the department and possibly the city of New York for a big-ass bundle. If I’m culpable, you can probably sue me, too. I’ll lose my rep and very likely my badge—and those are every bit as important to me as the game is to you. My only interest in the game is how it pertains to Bart’s murder.”
“She’s Roarke’s cop,” Cill said.
“What? Shit.”
Cill shoved around, burned Var with a look. “Roarke’s not going to steal from us. He wouldn’t rob Bart’s grave, goddamn it.” Tears flowed again. “He helped us get started. He liked Bart.”
“Roarke knew Bart?” Eve asked, and tried not to let her stomach sink.
“He wanted to recruit us.” Cill swiped at tears with the backs of her hands while her eyes shimmered in green pools. “All of us, but I think especially Bart. But we wanted to start our own. He helped us out, gave us advice, let us play off him for ideas on how to set it all up. We’ve all got an open offer from Roarke Industries, SimUlate, or any of the arms. He wouldn’t steal from us. If we’ve got to give over a copy, I’d want it to be to Roarke’s cop, and Roarke. He’ll make sure nobody gets their hands on it. He’d do that for Bart.”
She rose, still swiping at tears. “We’ll need to talk to the lawyer. We’d need to cover that much, and maybe get some sort of documentation on producing a copy for you. It’ll take a while to make a copy anyway. We’ve got a lot of security levels on it, and it’s dense, so it could take a while. Maybe a day to get it handled. But I’ll take care of it. Bart’s dead,” she said before either of her friends could speak. “Nobody’s going to put anything in the way of finding out who hurt him. Not even us.”
“I’m sorry,” Var said as Cill left the room. “I didn’t mean anything about Roarke, that way.”
“No problem.” Eve’s ’link signaled, told her the e-team had arrived. “My team’s here. You’re going to want to tell your people what’s going on.”
She sent them out, and brought Peabody in. “I’ve got some details on the game the vic had in, and I’ll fill you in on that later. For now, I want to divide everyone on-site between the five of us. Pick five locations for the interviews, get the full list of employees, divvy them up. We’ll follow up with anyone who didn’t report to work today. Get statements, impressions, salients, and alibis. We’re going to run them all, then run their families and known associates. And we’re going to check financials. Maybe we’ve got somebody passing on data to a competitor for a little extra scratch.”
“You think this is about the game?”