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One thing was soon clear. There was no point in trying to find a method behind the mixture of games that were now included in

Ishmael's basic programs. Beyond the obvious aim that the Human Players should lose their lives, there was no general definition that linked the various rules that he had been able to note down. Some spoke of a shipwreck. Others of an underground citadel. One had referred to a battlefield. Another to the scene of a crime. The characters had included a Parallel Demon, a Princess, a Cyberdemon, the Caliph, the Lord of Power, the Second Samurai, the Megalomaniac, the Sheriff of

Nottingham, the ChessMaster and the Alien Commander. If what was happening to them could be described as a game at all, it was a game that only Ishmael could play.

'Click on the map to examine your location and plan your escape route,' suggested Ishmael. 'What portion of your treasury will you devote to the conquest of other kingdoms?'

'Search me,' said Beech, and returned to the information bar that appeared intermittently on the screen. This included the one piece of information that really troubled him. He clicked on the bar and an hourglass appeared in the corner of his screen, the sand trickling slowly down.

It was some time before he was able to attach a numerical value to the time represented by the hourglass, and exactly what might happen to them all when the last grain of sand passed to the bottom of the glass.

-###-

Frank Curtis clapped his hands and then rubbed them with anticipation.

'OK, everyone, show time. I want to hear some big ideas for getting our butts out of this high-rise serial killer. Syndicate 1. What have you got?'

Mitch cleared his throat. 'OK, the real-time images program. The hologram on the atrium floor uses a laser producing short, intense pulses of light.'

He used a 3-D drawing on the laptop computer to help with his explanation.

'At the moment, a shutter placed between the amplifying column located in the front desk here, and the end imager behind the desk here, produces the holographic Kelly Pendry for the tiny fractions of a second it opens. While the shutter is open the stored energy has a peak power capacity that may be as high as several hundred thousand kilowatts. Powerful enough to vaporize a small amount of any substance and drill holes in the hardest materials. My idea is this: that I remove the laser from the front desk assembly, operate the mechanical shutter and burn some holes in the door glass. Enough of them to kick out a larger hole through which I can then leave the building.'

'Maybe you'll burn a hole in yourself, buddy,' said Richardson. 'Have you thought of that? You could blind yourself. The beams spread out with distance, so the danger is greatest close to the laser.'

'I've already thought of that,' said Mitch. 'The desk has a pair of infrared goggles for emergency maintenance.'

'Well, I'm sure we're all impressed with your bravery,' commented Marty Birnbaum. 'But doesn't the laser use electricity? What's to stop Ishmael from just switching off the power?'

'The hologram control program is one of the building management systems controlled by Ishmael, but the laser isn't. According to the wiring diagram on the computer, to turn off the hologram laser Ishmael would have to switch off power for the whole atrium floor, and that would automatically open the front door.' He grinned. 'I might almost prefer that.'

'Aren't you forgetting something?' said Richardson. 'Thanks to the late Mr Dukes, the atrium is locked off.'

'I'll go down to the first level and then over the side,' said Mitch. 'I can slide down on one of the braces. When I reach the ground I'll recover Dukes's walkie-talkie. As soon as I've cut a hole in the door I'll radio up here.'

Joan looked up from rubbing some of Helen's moisturising cream into the chemical burns on her legs, and said, 'And how will you get down as far as the first level? If you're thinking about climbing down the tree, I don't recommend it.'

'I don't have to. According to the plan, there's a local equipment room on the other side of the building. Telecommunications, cable management systems, that kind of thing. But there's also a dry-riser closet. A vertical shaft that extends down to the basement, distributing IT services. In most buildings the closet would be filled with cabling, but because this building is so smart there's considerable spare capacity to take account of future IT requirements. There's even an engineer's ladder that goes all the way down, and a battery-operated lighting system in case the main power cuts out. It might be a snug fit in there. Nobody ever meant it to be used for anything other than going up and down between two levels, but there it is. Safer than the tree at any rate. When I radio up, you all climb down.' Mitch shrugged. 'That's it.'

'Well, I think it's a lousy idea,' drawled Richardson. 'Not least because it makes a mockery of us having risked life and limb to climb up here in the first place. We might just as well have stayed down on the atrium floor. I mean, we climb all the way up here, and now Mitch says that someone has to climb all the way down again?'

'But on the service ladder,' Mitch pointed out.

Curtis nodded thoughtfully. 'OK,' he said. 'Syndicate 2. What's your big idea?'

Richardson smiled unpleasantly. 'We've got a million ideas. But our best one was that we get some beers, watch the World Series on TV and wait for Monday morning when — and correct me if I'm wrong, Helen —

when Warren Aikman will be back here with Mr Yu and his people. Even they should be able to work out that something's wrong.'

'We sit tight and wait for the fuckin' cavalry. Is that it?'

'Why not? We've got plenty of food and water.'

'And how long would you say it was until this clerk of works shows up here? Forty-two, forty-three hours, maybe?'

'Yes. Yes, that's about right. One thing you can say about Warren Aikman is that the man gets in early. He'll be here eight o'clock, Monday morning. No fail.'

'And we've been stuck here for what, less than twenty-four hours?'

'Thirty,' said Helen Hussey. 'Thirty hours and forty-five minutes, to be precise. Since the door wouldn't open, anyway.'

'And nine of us have been killed,' continued Curtis.

'God, I wish my ex was here right now,' Helen added with a wry smile.

'Spoken like a true redhead,' murmured Richardson.

'Maybe ten if Ellery doesn't get to a doctor soon.' Curtis glanced over at the man lying asleep on the floor close to the wall. 'On average that's just over a fatality every two hours. If Ishmael keeps up with that rate of attrition the rest of us will be lucky to survive for another day. And you want to sit tight.' He grinned and waved his arm at the room. 'Well, pick your spot, friend.'

'Like I say, we sit tight. Take no chances. All watch out for each other, OK?'

'Ray's right,' argued Joan. 'We just have to be patient. I can think of worse places to be stuck than this building. The first principle of survival is to wait for rescue.'

'Is that what you both climbed up here to tell us?' asked Curtis. 'What are you, on Prozac or something? You're being stalked, lady. Your card has been marked by a fucking psycho computer who wants to play Super Mario Brothers with your ass. Do you honestly think that Ishmael is going to leave us alone up here? Right now he's probably planning how to nail his next victim. Sit tight, you say. Wait to get killed, more like. Jesus, I thought architects were supposed to be constructive.'

Beech pushed himself away from the computer terminal. 'Hold the front page,' he said. 'Staying put until Monday morning is not an option here. Sunday afternoon will probably be too late. The game stakes just went up.'

-###-