Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik, Mel Odom
Gameprey
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We’d like to thank the following people, without whom this book would not have been possible: Mel Odom, for help in rounding out the manuscript; Martin H. Greenberg, Larry Segriff, Denise Little, and John Helfers at Tekno Books; Mitchell Rubenstein and Laurie Silvers at Hollywood.com; Tom Colgan of Penguin Putnam Inc.; Robert Youdelman, Esquire; and Tom Mallon, Esquire; and Robert Gottlieb of the William Morris Agency, agent and friend. We much appreciated the help.
1
Strapped into her seat, settled comfortably in the cockpit of the sleek experimental jet, Madeline Green couldn’t help smiling as she felt the jet perform. “What do you think, Matt?”
Matt Hunter occupied the rear seat of the two-man cockpit, serving as radio-equipment operator for the flight. Like her, he was dressed in a camouflage flight suit and full-face helmet. “This is a rush, Maj.”
A grin spread across Maj’s face until it was so tight she thought she was going to sprain something. “It took nearly three months of programming to get it right.”
“This is what you’re in Los Angeles to show?”
“Yep.” At present Maj was in L.A., in an implant chair and connected to a computer in a downtown hotel room above the Exhibition Center she’d be attending tomorrow morning, Thursday. Matt was in Columbia, Maryland, where he lived, also logged on to the Net through his own computer. For the moment they were in her private veeyar in the flight simulator program that was her current pride and joy.
“Mind if I try it?” Matt asked.
Fliers always shared that enthusiasm, Maj knew, even if they had nothing else in common. “Sure. Say when.”
“When.”
“It’s yours.” Maj released the joystick.
“Man, it’s got a lot of juice.”
Matt guided the Striper from side to side, getting the feel of the big bird’s movement and power. The V-shaped wings wobbled up and down over the Painted Desert scenery below. Maj loved flying out over the desert and generally ran that program even though she had dozens of other terrain sims written into the Striper’s database.
“Ready?” Matt asked.
“Yeah.” Maj breathed out and relaxed in the form-fit seat, watching as the Striper’s nose lifted and the desert dropped away below. Almost between heartbeats, the view from the canopy switched to the blue sky, then deepened to the violet of the upper atmosphere. The mounting G-force shoved her deep into the cockpit seat. “Let me know if you pass out,” she jibed.
“Right,” Matt snorted. “That’ll be me with the sudden sleepy sigh.”
“Or if you fill your mask. That will be you with the big, bubbly gush.”
“Not me. I was born to fly.” And Matt proved his point by bursting through the loop-the-loop and immediately heeling into a series of right wingovers that dropped them furiously toward the desert deck below.
Maj glanced at the altimeter, watching as thousands of feet melted away to just hundreds. “Hard deck’s coming up.”
“The bird’s doing fine.”
“It’s not the Striper I’m worried about,” Maj said. “It’s the nut behind the wheel.”
Matt heeled over to the left and slotted the jet into a valley of stone. Sunlight glimmered briefly off the stream less than a hundred feet below. “Nice landscaping job.”
“Thanks. Just make sure we don’t end up as part of it.”
“Going up.” Matt cut power to the Striper’s afterburners and rolled gracefully out of the canyon, returning to the hard deck. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Maj, this is one killer program. Probably the best I’ve ever seen you build.”
Maj squinted against the sun through the polarized canopy and helmet faceplate, trying to figure out a polite way to ask for the joystick again. Still, it felt nice that Matt was having such a good time with the jet. Maybe others would, too.
Building flight-sims was a passionate hobby of hers, one that she’d put a lot of time into. She planned on showing the Striper flight-sim to game packagers, hoping that some of her time investment would pay off in either cash for college or a scholarship or sponsorship from a software corporation. She also liked a number of the computer games available online, which was another reason to take the trip to the gaming convention in L.A.
When she spotted the black dot against the too-bright sun, Maj at first thought she was just seeing spots because the polarization of the canopy and helmet weren’t strong enough. However, what she saw was a spot, not spots, and that spot was continuing to get bigger. Matt held his heading, streaking toward the mass. “There’s a bogie at twelve o’clock,” she said.
Matt paused. “I don’t read it on the instruments. I’ll level off.” The jet tilted, following his movements with the stick. “Do you know what it is?”
“No.” And that was wrong. Maj had designed the aircraft and the environment; she should know everything in it.
The Striper leveled, turning slowly as it overcame the powerful thrust. For a moment it looked as if Matt was going to miss it.
Then the object dived, dropping down with a flap of huge, batlike wings, settling into a new glide path. In that instant Maj got a clear view of what the object was.
Huge and majestic, the dragon filled the air before the Striper’s canopy. Mottled plum-colored scales covered the beast’s back, slightly lighter in color on the huge bat wings that were wider across than the creature was long, even counting the long spiked tail that whipped restlessly back and forth. Underneath, the scales took on the hue of aged ivory, a deep buttery alabaster with occasional brown spots.
The dragon’s rectangular head was at least twenty feet long at the end of a long serpentine neck. Horns spiraled up from its head, and thorny projections that looked like hoarfrost lined its huge eyes and crinkled mouth. Emerald eyes, intelligent and sensitive and nearly three feet in diameter, stood out on either side of the broad head.
Maj glanced at the dragon, somehow knowing if they slammed into it, the creature’s thick hide would leave only broken splinters of the Striper. “Give me the stick.” She closed her hand around the joystick.
“It’s yours.”
Maj banked the jet, kicking in the afterburners.
“No way!” Matt breathed hoarsely over the helmet radio. “Did you put that in the programming? It’s beautiful.”
Maj silently agreed that the dragon was beautiful, one of the most elegant creatures she’d ever seen. But there was a problem. “I’ve never designed anything like that.”
The dragon’s neck rolled in a serpentine motion, bringing the head around, revealing something on its back. The great wings spread and flapped, digging into the air as the right emerald eye fastened on the jet. The long jaws separated, revealing a mouthful of fangs.
Bumping the vid-cam controls with her gloved finger, Maj increased the magnification. She had only a moment to recognize the human shape seated on the dragon’s back.
Then a roiling, smoking fireball spewed from the dragon’s gullet and arced for the jet. The fireball’s impact shivered through the Striper and wrapped it in flames.
Maj’s helmet beat against the seat as the Striper blew through the swirling mass of the fireball. Blue sky filled the horizon again, but flames stubbornly clung to the Striper. She triggered the fire-suppression systems.
Pressurized jets released fire-retardant foam, creating a sudden snowstorm across the wings. A layer of frozen, dirty gray chemicals replaced the flames. Unfortunately, they also knocked out her left engine.
“Flameout,” Maj warned, shutting down the other engine as they were yanked into a flat spin like the right wing had been nailed down. “I’ve got a dead stick.”