Utopia

  Sarah felt herself go cold. In Utopia’s emergency-traffic code, a 904 meant guest casualties.

  “Sarah? Sarah, you there?”

  “I’m here. You sure about this? It’s not a false alarm?”

  “I’ve had two independent reports. It looks serious. Crowd control might become an issue.”

  “Then get over there and stabilize the situation.”

  “I can’t do that. You’re—”

  “I’m fine. Your responsibility is to the guests. Alert Medical, get a victim-recovery operation under way if necessary. Deploy Security and Infrastructure to the site. Get Guest Relations started on any peripheral containment.”

  “Very well. I’ll hand the radio over to Florez, tell her to monitor this frequency.” There was a pause. “Remember what I said, Sarah.”

  With a soft squawk, her radio went dead. Sarah turned up the gain once again, then stuffed it into a jacket pocket.

  With Allocco gone, there’d be only the skeleton crew manning the Hall, all ignorant of her mission. Although Carmen Florez would have the radio, she, like the rest, had been kept in the dark.

  Now, Sarah really was alone.

  Despite what she’d told Allocco, she wasnot fine. She hesitated in the left-hand fork of the passage. Another accident, following so soon on the heels of what had happened at Escape from Waterdark. There was no way this was a coincidence.

  Then what was happening? Was this all part of John Doe’s plan? And if so, why? They’d agreed to his demands. They’d burned a second disc, she was here to deliver it. Was it possible he thought she hadn’t shown up—that Station Omega was some kind of retaliation? But that was impossible—if Allocco was just learning of it now, this must have been set in motionbefore four o’clock.

  For all she knew, it could have been set in motion hours before.

  Either way, John Doe had clearly meant for it to happenall along .

  She stood motionless in the glittering hallway. Anger, frustration, apprehension competed within her. What had gone wrong? How many casualties? Was Callisto now the scene of mass panic?

  As anger got the better of her, she started down the left-hand fork, heedless of the rap of her heels against the floor. At least she had the goggles; that gave her an advantage. She’d find that bastard, find him and—

  As quickly as she’d started moving, Sarah stopped again. Up ahead, at another bend in the maze, stood John Doe.

  At least, she thought it was John Doe—in the glasses, the image was so faint it was hard to tell. She let the glasses fall away. Immediately, the hologram blossomed into life.

  She drew in her breath. It was the first time she’d seen him—actually seen him—since he’d dropped by her office, perched on her desk, drunk her tea, caressed her cheek. She felt the muscles of her jaw harden. He looked even more relaxed now than he had then: slender hands at his sides, expensive suit draped impeccably over his frame, the small self-amused smile displaying perfect teeth.

  “Sarah,” came the voice. “How good of you to come.” The voice was still distant—the real John Doe was someplace deeper in the maze.

  She waited, motionless, staring at the image.

  “I love the way you’ve decorated this place. It appeals to the narcissist in me.”

  Still she waited.

  “Have you brought the disc, Sarah?”

  Slowly, gingerly, she walked up to the image. He was standing, his strange bicolored eyes glancing first left, then right. Perhaps one of the cameras had caught him pausing at a junction, wondering which way to go.

  “I said, do you have the disc?” The lips on the Doe-image did not move.

  “Yes,” she replied. Suddenly, she did not want to see that face anymore. She placed the goggles over her eyes, and the holograms around her grew faint and spectral once again.

  “Good. Then we can proceed.”

  “What did you do, Mr. Doe?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The Callisto attraction, Station Omega. What did you do?” She could hear her voice shaking with emotion.

  “Why?” came the voice, laced with the faintest hint of mockery. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’ve done everything you asked!” she shouted. “I trusted you. Don’tfuck with me!”

  “My, my. And to think I believed you well bred.”

  Sarah gasped, felt her fists balling involuntarily.

  “We’re almost done here, Sarah. Let’s finish our business, then you can attend to that unpleasantness yourself, and—just a minute, just a minute, I’m seeing a new image of you now. What’s that fashion accessory you’re wearing? Ah, I understand. Those glasses don’t do anything for you, Sarah. They’re much too heavy for your delicate features. We’ll have to do something about that.”

  There was a brief silence. Then—from somewhere deep in the shrouded darkness—there came a clicking noise.

  For a moment, nothing changed. Then Sarah noticed a green glow along the edges of her goggles. In the corridor ahead, the holograms that a moment before had been almost too dim to see now began to glow: green wraiths that grew brighter and brighter. Sarah blinked, turning away from the painful glare. As she moved her head, bright heat trails streaked green across her vision.

  With an exasperated cry she tugged the goggles from her eyes and lifted the radio. “Carmen?” she spoke into it.

  There were a few seconds of silence. “Yes, Ms. Boatwright,” the radio crackled.

  “Carmen, is something happening down there?”

  “A few seconds ago, the gain on the holographic generators suddenly quadrupled. They’re overheating, all of them.”

  “Can you stop it?”

  “Yes, but it’ll take time. Everything’s under computer control. We’ve got to figure out where the command’s coming from. Until we’ve pinpointed it, I don’t even dare pull the plug on the generators.”

  “Keep on it.” Sarah lowered the radio.He was prepared for the goggles, too. He’s prepared for everything. Everything we can think of, he’s thought of already .

  “See what I mean, Sarah?” came the smooth, distant voice of John Doe. There was another distant clicking noise. “How can you speak of trust when you display none yourself? Just deliver the disc to me, and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

  Sarah did not answer. There was nothing more to say. All at once, she felt defeated.

  “What post are you at now, Sarah?”

  She did not respond.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yes?”

  “What post are you at?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Look at the frame of the mirror nearest to you. The left edge of the upper crosspiece. You’ll see a number branded on the underside.”

  Woodenly, Sarah looked over. It took her a minute to spot, but then she saw a small series of numbers, burned into the wood.

  “Seven nine two three,” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Seven nine two three, I said.”

  “Very good. Now listen, Sarah. I’m going to guide you to where I’m waiting. We’ll keep in voice contact at all times. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You should be . . . you should be in a left-hand corridor, following a Y-intersection. Follow the corridor to the end. Let me know when you’re there.”

  Sarah moved forward unwillingly, watching her reflections move alongside. Suddenly, the image of John Doe reared up to her right. She froze: another hologram, different this time. He was holding what looked like a set of plans, glancing up, then down, up, down, in a continuous-loop ballet.

  “I’m at the end of the corridor,” she said.

  “Look up at the mirror on your left. Is the number you see 7847?”

  A pause. “Yes.”

  “Now take another left and proceed down the corridor. A hall will lead off from the right, concealed by a hologram. Watch for it.”

  Sarah turned down the hallway, her step slow and resigned. Jo
hn Doe was not lost, not uncertain of his way. If anything, he knew the Hall even better than its designers. He knew about the troubleshooting goggles. He had the plans for everything, right down to the numbers of the individual mirrors lining the hallways.

  All her better instincts shouted at her not to go on. But there was no other choice: she had to give John Doe the disc. No matter what.

  Suddenly, she stopped again. Her own image—sometimes a reflection, sometimes a hologram captured earlier—was all around her. But up ahead and to the left, there was a different image: the image of a man. And it was not John Doe.

  She stepped closer, staring hard, as the framed image came into focus.

  It was Andrew Warne.

  She whirled around.Andrew? Here?

  There was no time to think, only to react. She was supposed to be unaccompanied. If Warne was here, there had to be a reason—apressing reason. He must be somewhere between herself and the entrance. Since John Doe was deeper in the maze, it would take a little more time for the image servers below to relay Warne’s image to him.

  Quickly, she retraced her steps to the last intersection, then veered right, heading back in the direction she’d come. From somewhere ahead came the patter of approaching footsteps.

  “Sarah?” She heard Warne’s voice: a fierce, impatient whisper. “Sarah?”

  The voice grew fainter for a moment, then came again, closer this time: “Sarah? Where are you?”

  “Here!”she whispered back.

  A figure loomed into view at the fork of the Y-intersection. And this time it was not a hologram, not a reflection in a mirror. It was Andrew Warne, bandage hanging loose on his forehead, anxiety clear in his gaze. And then he caught sight of her. He frowned a moment, as if trying to tell reality from artifice. She stepped toward him. Immediately, his features cleared.

  “Sarah,” he said, rushing toward her, clasping her hands. “Thank God.”

  For a moment, the touch of another, sympathetic human being overwhelmed everything else. She closed her eyes.

  Then, with a start, she pushed herself away.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered fiercely. “How’d you get in?”

  “I had to stop you,” he whispered back. “You’re not safe here.”

  “You can’t be here. I have to give John Doe the disc, alone. I—”

  Warne grabbed her arms. “It’s a trap.”

  Hearing him echo her own worst fears, Sarah went numb. “How do you know?”

  She felt his grip tighten. “This isn’t going to be easy for you. Sarah, we’ve discovered the mole. John Doe’s inside man.”

  She waited, not daring to breathe.

  “It’s Barksdale.”

  Sarah’s first impulse was to slap Warne’s face. She yanked herself away.

  “Liar!”

  Warne stepped forward again. “Sarah, please. You must listen, listen quickly. There never was any outside security check. KIS never visited Utopia. Barksdale made it all up. Those technicians who came to check Utopia’s firewalls last month were John Doe’s men. That’s how they infiltrated your system, set their traps.”

  She shook her head violently. It couldn’t be true. It wasimpossible . There had to be some other explanation.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m just asking you to leave this place now, right now, learn the truth for yourself. That disc you found, crushed beneath the guard’s foot? It wasblank . That means John Doe took the real disc, substituted a blank of his own. It was all a setup. Why do you think John Doe wants a second one? Why do you think he asked for youspecifically? You have to—”

  “Sarah?” came John Doe’s voice.

  Immediately, Warne fell silent. He glanced sharply at Sarah; she put a finger to her lips.

  “Sarah, I told you to remain in voice contact. Why have you stopped?” The voice was more distant than before. Among the reflections along the hallway, a new one flickered into view: John Doe, plans now at his side, ear cocked, as if listening. Mutely, she watched the holo image repeat its brief visual loop, over and over.

  “Sarah, you know what I think? I think we’re no longer alone.”

  Sarah waited.

  “In fact, now Iknow we’re no longer alone. I see a third hologram, Sarah: it isn’t you, and it isn’t me. Who is that man?”

  The Hall was silent.

  “I think I can guess. It’s the troublesome Dr. Warne. Themeddlesome Dr. Warne. Am I right?”

  Sarah glanced at Warne. He was staring back at her.

  “This was not part of our arrangement, Sarah. First the goggles, now this. I’m seriously displeased.”

  The hologram of John Doe wavered, then changed, as the renderer updated the display with a newer image: John Doe once again, a snub-nosed pistol hanging loosely in one hand.

  From deep inside the maze came the sound of running feet.

  “He’s coming for us!” Warne whispered urgently.

  Beckoning for him to follow, Sarah raced headlong down the corridor, past the reflections and the holograms, away from the sound of John Doe’s voice. Dimly, she could see images of herself darting by as she passed. The sound of their heels against the floor, the intake of breath, filled the narrow hallway. She turned one corner, then another.

  And then she halted again.

  “Stop,” she heard herself order Warne.

  Something within her was changing. Maybe it was the shock of Warne’s unbelievable tale; maybe it was the sight of John Doe’s gun. But the storm of emotions was clearing, leaving only a strong, steely anger behind.

  She pulled the radio from her pocket. “Carmen?” she spoke into it, breathing hard. “Carmen, are you there?”

  “Yes, Ms. Boatwright,” came the answer. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Later. Can you do something for me? I need you to cut the lights inside the Hall.”

  “Cut the lights?”

  “All of them.Right now . Can you do that?”

  “Yes . . . Yes, I can.”

  “Then do it.”

  She slid the radio back into her pocket. Then, leaning toward the nearest mirror, she took note of the number burned into its frame. Taking the fresh disc from her pocket, she placed it against the mirror’s base. Then, motioning Warne to follow, she led the way back, more slowly now, to the six-sided room. From here, she knew she could find her way out. Even in the dark.

  She took a deep breath. Then she turned and spoke in the loudest, most commanding tone she could muster.

  “Mr. Doe! Stop! If you want that disc, stop right where you are.”

  She stopped to listen, but the only answer was silence.

  “You once told me that I betrayed your trust. Well, this time you’ve betrayed mine.”

  “Indeed,” came the voice. It was closer now. “I’m intrigued.”

  “You’ve sabotaged another ride, hurt more people. For no reason. I’ve followed your orders, I’ve brought the disc. So why the gun?”

  Silence.

  “I can answer that!” Warne said sharply. “You were planning to take the disc and Sarah as well. As a hostage. Or maybe you’d just kill her, escape in the pandemonium. Right? So much for your element of surprise.”

  “Surprise, Dr. Warne?” came the silky voice. “I’m not out of surprises quite yet.”

  “Then surprise me by doing the unexpected. Just let her go. Show us you can adapt.”

  Abruptly, the lights snapped out, plunging the corridor into darkness. Sarah grasped Warne’s elbow.

  “Mr. Doe!” she called as she began backing away. “Listen to me! The disc is here. It’s at post 6942. Hear me? Post 6942. You’ll find it at the base of the frame. But I’m leaving now. You’ve broken the rules, and I’m not going to play anymore. It may take a little while in the dark, but I’m sure you’ll find it. And I’ll keep the Hall clear for another twenty minutes. So do as you promised. Take the disc and get the he
ll out of my Park. Or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”

  At this, a laugh came out of the black: slow, cynical, amused. “Now, that’s my kind of game, Sarah. Count me in.”

  If there was more, Sarah didn’t hear it. Because they had turned down the hallway leading out to the anteroom of Professor Cripplewood’s Chamber of Fantastic Illusion, and all she could hear was their feet, rapping against the darkness, running for the stairwell that would take them away from this haunted place.

  4:03P.M.

  TERRI STOOD INthe shadow of the door frame, paralyzed by fear and indecision, as the man in the jumpsuit approached. Already, he was passing the first of the closed recovery bays. Another moment, and he’d reach Georgia’s bay, realize the empty bed was still warm, and . . .

  “Excuse me! Mister!”

  It was one of the security guards. Terri cracked the door open a little wider, craning for a view. She felt her heart hammering against her ribs. The guards had stopped talking and were looking toward the man in the jumpsuit. He stopped, hand on the curtain of the third bay, and turned slowly back to face them.

  “I’m sorry, sir, your name was—?” one of the guards asked as the two began to move down the corridor toward him.

  Terri watched, relief surging within her. Perhaps the guards had been specifically told to watch for anybody coming to see Georgia. They’d snag this bastard. Everything would be all right now.

  Behind her, she heard Georgia stir again. Terri looked around, and her heart gave a huge lurch. The girl was awake and sitting up, blinking at her inquiringly.

  Quickly, Terri forced herself away from the door and ran to the wheelchair.

  “Listen, Georgia,” she whispered, kneeling beside her. “I’m here to take you to your dad. Okay? We have to wait here a minute—just a minute. Then we can go.”

  Georgia stared back, confused eyes luminous in the dim light.

  Terri gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then she returned to the door.

  The guards had surrounded the stranger now. “Very well, Mr. Warne,” one of them was saying as he eyed the man’s coveralls curiously. “But before you can take your daughter, we’ll need to see some ID.”