The Lag (The Game Master: Book #1) Read online

  "I... I'm looking for Atti- for Ivan. Your neighbor," she nodded at the door.

  Then she remembered. What was it Attila had said about a neighbor having the spare keys?

  The man looked around the landing. His stare stopped on Yanna.

  "Seryozha? Who is it?" a woman's voice asked from within his apartment.

  "Someone to see our neighbor," the man said.

  "She's away, isn't she?"

  "Not her. Her nephew. The guy in the wheelchair."

  A plump woman in a housecoat appeared in the doorway. Her hair was in rollers. She was holding a Pekinese in her arms. Seeing Yanna, the dog resumed its yapping, trying to struggle free. The woman stroked it. "Quiet, Tintin, it's all right. Hi, Miss. You must be from social services."

  Yanna hid her shaking hands in the pockets. "You're right. We tried to call but no one seems to be picking up. So they sent me to check on him. I wonder if he's okay? No one opens the door."

  "He must be playing on his computer," the woman said. "Why are you standing there, Seryozha, give the girl the keys! Actually, I can do it myself now. You go back inside."

  The man shrugged and left. The woman disappeared for a few seconds, then reemerged with a bunch of keys. She sorted through them for the right one and removed it from the ring. "There. I don't think I've seen you here before."

  "Thanks," Yanna ignored the comment as she reached for the key. Whatever she said, it would have sounded false.

  Under the neighbor's stare she unlocked the door with shaking fingers and pushed it open. "Ivan?" she called. "I'm from social security!"

  No one answered. Leaving the door ajar, she walked inside. The neighbor followed. Yanna checked one room, then headed for the next.

  Attila lay prostrated on the couch in his helmet and clinging suit. The neighbor stayed outside in the corridor, craning her fat neck. The Pekinese in her arms kept woofing softly, squinting its eyes.

  Yanna swung the room's door open to make sure the woman saw Attila. "It's okay. You were right: he is playing on his computer. He actually might have fallen asleep. I'll wake him up now."

  The woman nodded and headed for the exit. "Don't forget to bring the keys back," she dropped over her shoulder.

  "Of course," Yanna shut the door behind her and rushed back to the couch.

  She leaned over Attila. He didn't move. That wasn't good. But first, she had to see to the virus.

  Yanna hurried over to the desk, opened the laptop and pressed the On button. The green light blinked and went out.

  Empty battery! And she didn't have the charger!

  She began opening the desk's drawers. The desktop's monitor was on, flickering with messages. She didn't look. Leads and cables ran from the computer toward the figure on the couch.

  This guy was supposed to be a professional hacker. He must have had a ton of leads and chargers. Where were they, then? Just some papers, disks, screwdrivers, a Swiss Army knife, a burned-out video card... but what was this? Yes! Cables!

  A large tangle of leads lay in the lower drawer. Yanna pulled them all out and tried to sort through them. There had to be one she could use. Normally, there were tons of cables and leads in every house, especially if they had several computers. What she needed was an adapter... would this one do?

  She tried to connect it to the laptop. No. Wrong type of plug. Dammit! And this one? Yes! It fit!

  The lead entered neatly into the socket. She plugged it into the only available space on the multiplug under the table. The black box of the transformer glowed a little green light.

  Gingerly she pressed the On button. The laptop hummed and began to click while warming up. Now she had to connect it to Attila's computer. Yanna reached for the lead while the laptop's screen flashed the Windows logo, booting up. She connected it to the desktop computer that stood behind the monitor. She glanced at the screen... and froze.

  Something strange was happening there. She saw some transparent coffins — glass or crystal, she couldn't tell — on carved legs. There were people lying in them. A fat beam of blue light reached toward the high ceiling, and... and she saw Beast! He fired some kind of gun, aiming at Yanna. Mechanically she shrank back. The monitor filled with a purple smoke, darkness filling it from the center, leaving a thin strip of light by the edges which then disappeared. What was going on? The picture on the monitor jumped and shifted. Now all she could see was the ceiling, gray and distant, which faded, growing dark.

  Suddenly she knew. Hooked up to the suit, the monitor showed what Attila himself was seeing in the game.

  And now he was dying.

  Yanna shrieked and rushed toward the couch. She should have checked on him first! She reached for the helmet on his head, then realized she couldn't remove it. That would interrupt his contact with Gryad, and then he'd die for sure. Or would he? What if he was already dead?

  Yanna turned her head to the monitor. It was dark gray. Then it blackened, like a TV screen showing a channel with no reception.

  The body on the couch jerked and froze, unmoving.

  * * *

  Attila and Beast jumped to the floor and pressed their backs against the wall, raising their weapons. Attila had his mythogun; Beast had his hands. But nothing happened. No one had reacted to their arrival.

  "I've lost the wretched club again," Beast mumbled.

  "Take this," Attila pushed the gun into his hands. "It's too heavy for me now. I can barely hold it."

  "Got it."

  They stared at the shaft of light that reached from the center of the room to the unattainable ceiling which made the whole room look like a chimney.

  The shaft of light — the broadband channel — stood surrounded by the crystal coffins of the Conclave wizards. The great Magriv, the High Elf Ashileth, his wife Nea, Eschaton the Drow, Gromir the Dwarf, the blue-skinned shaman Varik and the fair-haired Assur Jaar. All seven of them lay staring at the ceiling, their feet pointing to the shaft of sapphire light — or rather, as the gaming convention stated, to the Great Portal opening into the mysterious and inconceivable Magosphere: the source of mobs, monsters, artifacts and aberrations, the birthplace of Gryad's magic. A blue glow filled the coffins; each emitted a thin thread of light that connected the wizards' minds to the Great Portal.

  The firewall — a squat mesh cylinder made of pulsating silver lightning — was mounted at the beam's base. All seven flows of magic connecting the wizards to the Portal had to pass through it.

  Beast clasped Attila's shoulder and gasped. "It's just like the water filter over my kitchen sink."

  He took a few deep breaths and raised the mythogun, taking aim. "I'll shoot, okay?"

  "I don't think it's gonna do anything."

  "So how d'you want us to disable it?"

  "I got Wayfarer's Book," Attila leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe. "Apparently he's changed something in it. He said, Press all the crystals, then throw it at the firewall. No idea what to do next."

  Beast shrugged. "What's the Book got to do with it? It's only a magical communication device."

  He squeezed the trigger. The mythogun spat a charge of lightning which pierced the silver cylinder. It blinked, then went back to normal. Nothing happened. Beast made a face and slung the mythogun over his shoulder.

  "Won't work," he said. "Even the mithrinol magic isn't powerful enough against it. Wait. I've got something better," he produced a small glass jar shimmering with silver. "Flammel gave it to me. He said it wasn't as good as the gold one but still quite a powerful thing. Good enough to blow this wretched place to smithereens."

  Trying to step noiselessly, Attila walked around the coffins. He had a feeling that the sound of his footsteps might awaken the great wizards. They'd been lying motionless for years, guarding their world. People used to think that Earth rested on the backs of turtles or elephants. Well, Gryad was resting on this shimmering column of light and on the seven dead wizards encircling it. And he, Attila, now stood at the heart of this virtual universe, abo
ut to shatter its foundations.

  Shatter — or indeed restore it?

  Beast cried out, concealed by the column of light.

  "You okay?" Attila peered from behind the Portal.

  Beast stood on his knees, pressing his hands to his temples. He then collapsed on his side and growled, twitching his legs.

  "What's up?"

  Beast's eyes bulged, blood-shot. His nostrils flared. He rolled onto his back and sat up, turning his lifeless face with glazed-over eyes to him.

  Attila shrank back. "What's wrong with you?"

  Without getting back to his feet, Beast raised the gun and fired. Attila ducked to one side. The purple lightning whooshed through the air just next to his shoulder, grazing it. It felt like being electrocuted. Attila staggered and grabbed at the coffin of Gromir the Dwarf, groaning with pain. The left side of his body was rapidly going numb.

  Beast scrambled to his feet and walked toward him, training the gun on him.

  Crouching behind the coffin, Attila backed off. He took a peek — and immediately another bolt of lightning just missed his head. Attila recoiled and, losing balance, collapsed onto his back. He tried to crawl away as Beast squeezed the trigger again. With a humming sound, the mythogun's ribbed sphere seethed, pouring purple light through the slits, then went out. Was it broken or simply discharged?

  Beast pressed the trigger again. And again. Then he lowered the gun and began circling the Portal and the coffins, approaching.

  "Beast, what's your name, Misha! Wake up, man! It's me!"

  Alpha had brought him under his control. Now his friend was only a puppet. A deadly puppet. Panting, Attila kept crawling around the coffins. The creature that once used to be Beast followed him. It wasn't in a hurry, but Attila could barely move. His left arm and leg were getting number with every moment.

  The mythogun's ribbed sphere sprang back to life, resuming its purple glow. Beast fired. The lightning hit a coffin leg. It snapped. The coffin listed.

  Attila's hand chanced upon something on the floor. He picked it up. This was the silvery jar that Beast had dropped when overcome by Alpha's magic. Without hesitation, Attila hurled it awkwardly with his weak hand.

  The jar dropped very close to him. Attila rolled over to the wall, covering his ears and pressing his face to the floor. A powerful blast shattered the room. He heard a screeching noise; then everything went quiet.

  The coffin nearest to the explosion was torn off its mountings. It swung round, raising a cloud of smoke that kept changing colors from green to yellow to red. A draft of air reached for the vent.

  Attila rolled over. Beast squirmed on the floor, the whole left side of his body shredded by the jar's sharp fragments. The dislodged coffin had pinned his legs to the floor.

  Beast was struggling with the mechanical persistence of an automaton. Noticing Attila, he began slapping his hand on the floor around him, feeling for the mythogun. Finally he saw it and reached for it as Attila crawled away on all fours, taking cover behind the Portal.

  His right side was in agony. He couldn't feel the left side of his body at all. Rattling noises came from the opposite corner of the room as Beast tried to wrestle himself free. Attila knew he had to use this opportunity but he was so weak he couldn't even get back to his feet. His vision blurred.

  He slapped around blindly on his clothes until he found the pocket. He pulled out Wayfarer's black Book. Should he just throw it at the Portal or what?

  Beast was panting and rattling, pounding his fist on the floor. Attila crawled to a safer distance and sat up, leaning his back against the wall. He clutched the Book as hard as he could. Its black surface was flashing with charges of crimson lightning which would grow brighter, then subside like some hellish aurorae.

  The four crystals in its corners were black too — small and prickly. Just throwing it at the Portal was probably pointless. He had to hit the firewall. Problem was, his body refused to obey him.

  Attila focused and pressed the crystals set in black leather. The crimson flashes on the screen went out, replaced by the TV-like flickering of blue light. A Magneto! Attila gulped and squeezed his eyes shut; when he reopened them, the screen glowed with the fiery tongue of a Witch Fire spitting orange flames. Then it was replaced with a deep green of a glowing Jelly.

  Wayfarer's Book was an aberration generator. The ultimate cheat device that created them non-stop! What an incredibly powerful thing!

  A weak rattling sound made him sit up and pay attention. Barely audible at first — the rattling of a coffee spoon against the cup in a moving railcar — the sound kept growing, drowning out Beast's panting.

  The coffins' crystal lids were rattling all at once. Then they screeched open.

  Heads appeared above the opened coffins. All seven Conclave Wizards sat up and rose. They moved in synch, their eyes glazed over. All together they turned and stepped onto the floor. Slowly they stomped toward Attila.

  He pressed his back to the wall, knowing he was too weak to hurl the Book at the beam of light so that it hit the firewall cylinder.

  But he was still strong enough to reach into his own pocket. His hand closed around his own Book. Whose settings he'd already changed to Control.

  His bag stirred. The God's Eye took off, clicking its steel arms open.

  Something glistened in the wizards' eyes — a glimpse of a controlling mind betraying its presence. They walked faster. The High Elfa and great enchantress Nea swept the floor with her flowing garments as she approached him.

  The steely star hovered in place in front of Attila. By then, his entire body was numb but he could still move his right hand a little. Wayfarer's black Book seemed to weigh a ton. He strained to lift it and lay it onto the Eye.

  But he failed to direct its flight.

  Attila's eyes closed. He didn't see the wizards heading for him. He didn't see the room's walls and its high distant ceiling. He didn't see Beast nor the Eye hovering helplessly in mid-air with the Book on its back.

  He didn't see anything. The world turned black.

  Attila's heart fluttered one last time and stopped.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Yanna touched the artery on Attila's neck and gasped. No pulse. His heart wasn't beating. She struggled to unzip the suit's thick zipper. What to do?

  She had to use the skills she'd received in medical school. But it was one thing practicing on dummies and quite another to resuscitate an actual dead person!

  Her thoughts rushed. She dragged Attila's body onto the floor. Seeing no other option, she opened his visor and pulled the helmet off his head. Now: mouth to mouth resuscitation, how did you do it? You tilted the patient's head back and opened his mouth...

  She took a deep breath, gripped Attila's nose and blew air into his lungs. His chest rose. It worked. Another breath, then she moved on to heart massage. You laid one hand on the patient's lower chest, pressed the other one on top and pushed ten times. Then you breathed air into his lungs again. Two breaths followed by ten pushes.

  Attila, breathe! Come on, you stupid heart, beat already!

  She bit her lip and pressed her ear to his chest. Nothing. She probably had to push harder.

  Yanna worked for another minute without success. She sat on the cold floor next to him and bit her hand till it hurt. What could she do? If only she had a defibrillator! An ambulance — she could forget that. It would never make it in time in this traffic.

  She cast a desperate look around and saw the multiplug. She grabbed the Swiss army knife from the drawer and pulled the desk lamp lead from the plug. She cut the lead off the lamp and stripped it until two bare wires hung loosely at the end. She reached for a water bottle on the desk and poured some over the wires. Then she plugged the lead back in.

  She poked Attila's chest with the live wires.

  His body arced, crackling and shaking, and went limp again as Yanna jerked the wires away. Tears ran down her cheeks. Discouraged, she pressed her hand to his chest.

  His h
eart beat under her palm, fast and loud.

  He was alive! But now he was going to die again or go into a coma as she'd just snatched his mind out of Gryad! Was it possible to resume a broken contact with a game? Then again, why broken? She hadn't disconnected the suit, had she? She'd only removed the helmet. But the suit was still hooked up to the computer, receiving data.

  Yanna lifted Attila's head and slapped the helmet on, connecting it to the suit. She zipped the suit close and ran toward the monitor.

  The deadly black of the computer screen began to flicker with pale colored circles — the kind one sees before losing consciousness. Losing — or maybe also regaining it?

  Attila still lay motionless on the apartment floor but now she knew he was alive. A blurred picture of something that was probably the room's ceiling came into focus. A shining beam of sapphire light reached out for it, distorted by the unusual prospective. Then it listed and floated out of view.

  This meant that back in Gryad's world, a player known as Attila had opened his eyes and sat up.

  Yanna's knees gave under her. With a relieved sigh, she collapsed onto a chair. She reached for the laptop and opened File Explorer to locate the executable file titled Poison.

  * * *

  Attila was speeding through the air, heading toward a bright light at the end of a dark tunnel. The light was calling him, inviting and soothing, letting him know that he'd never be hurt again. Before him lay the eternity of joy and happiness.

  The light was getting closer, large and round. Attila could already feel its gentle warmth-

  Then someone pulled at an invisible thread, snatching him back into the round room with the coffins.

  His right hand lay on his Book's control crystal in his pocket. His head still foggy, he pressed it, turning, sending the steel star that hovered in front of him into flight, taking the little black book on its back toward the beam of light.