Free Gamerunner by B. R. Collins Page B

worthless.’
    ‘Hardly worthless .’ Daed’s voice was indistinct, as if there was something in his mouth.
    ‘Well . . . certainly not adequate. We’ll have to consider very carefully whether to renew your contract.’
    Silence. Rick closed his eyes. He thought: This is only a new bit of the Maze. If I say log out , I can stop it all. Please . . .
    Daed said, ‘There is no way you won’t renew my contract, and you know it.’
    Rick tensed, waiting. Then, unexpectedly, he heard them both laughing: not like friends, but like opponents, taking pleasure in the game.
    ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Paz said. ‘But on the other hand you have nowhere else to go. So this is the deal. I’m putting you on probation.’
    ‘Gods,’ Daed said. ‘What kind of bull—’
    ‘You’re lucky, in a way. I’ve just had news of the release date for the new gametank. The iTank.’ For a moment he can hear her smile. ‘Good title, don’t you think? So classic, so seductively simple, so — sleek . . . We would naturally release a new version of the Maze at the same time, for the new platform. So you have a month to come up with a new expansion.’
    ‘A month.’
    ‘Oh, I’m being kind to you, Daed. A new expansion , I said. So twenty-first century, don’t you think? So flatgame ? But I’ve learnt my lesson, you see. You’re human. I don’t expect anything spectacular. Just enough to keep the best players at bay for a year or so . . .’
    ‘You’re not asking for infinity, you mean?’
    ‘Naturally not. It wouldn’t be fair. I see that now. You’re only human; just a person, like any other Creative . . .’ A tap, like a polished fingernail on a smooth surface. ‘But . . . the thing about people, Daed, is that they’re . . . dispensable. I like people, as long as they’re useful. It’s just a pity that sometimes . . . they stop being useful. And then — well, Crater is a business. Were you — for example — to stop being useful, I couldn’t guarantee your contract.’
    No answer. Rick heard a tiny rustle and a click and didn’t know what it was until he smelt the smoke.
    Paz said, ‘Incidentally, cigarettes kill you, you know.’
    ‘Yes,’ Daed said, and it was because there were only two people in the room that Rick knew it was his voice. ‘Yes. Funny you should mention that. As it happens, I do know.’
    ‘I hope I’ve made myself clear.’
    ‘So . . . I understand.’ Daed coughed, for too long, and Paz made a sudden sound of disgust. Finally he cleared his throat. ‘You’ll pay me for as long as I keep ahead of the gamerunners. But after that —’
    ‘After that I shall stop paying you.’
    ‘OK . . .’ Daed said, and his voice still had rough edges, as if the cough was just biding its time. ‘Suppose I call your bluff? There are new games being commissioned all the time, you know. Crater may be the biggest company now, but . . . You need me as much as I need you.’
    Paz laughed. ‘You want to leave? Feel free. The quickest way is by the window.’
    Daed didn’t answer. Rick imagined them there, looking at each other in silence. Even from here he could hear the rain splashing against the glass; he thought he could hear the hiss as it corroded.
    ‘Splendid,’ Paz said, at last. ‘I’m so glad we’ve got that sorted out. Creative meeting tomorrow, zero-six-hundred hours, followed by Marketing and a working lunch. I’ve told Housekeeping to give you caffeine, amphetamines, whatever you need.’
    ‘Morphine.’
    ‘If you’re good.’
    ‘And Rick —’
    Rick moved, instinctively, and grimaced. But it was OK, he hadn’t made any noise.
    ‘Yes?’ Paz said. ‘He’s looking rather battered, I must say. Be careful, you don’t want Wellbeing to get involved. That could be complicated for both of you.’
    ‘I want decent food privileges for him. And his account reopened.’
    ‘How touching,’ Paz said. There was a pause. ‘All right. For as long as your work is