But if it wasn’t something big, something important, then why would the company send someone out to meet the top player in person?
“As for myself,” and the oldster smiled broadly, “Centauri’s the name. I invented Starfighter, which is why I’m here to talk to you.”
“Really? You actually invented the game?”
The old man looked pleased. “Sure did. What do you think of it?”
Alex struggled to sound sophisticated. “Not bad. It took me a while to get the hang of it. It’s not as complicated as some games but there are a lot of controls to work at the same time and the upper skill levels make you work pretty fast.”
“That’s what Starfighters are supposed to do,” Centauri informed him, “and you’ve proven you can do it as well or better than anyone else. Better than anyone else around here, certainly.”
“No bullshit?” His ego rose another notch.
“No bullshit, Alex.”
“What about my prize?”
“Ah, yes. Your prize. We must talk about that. It is a matter of the utmost importance.” He gestured toward the rear seat. “Step into my office.”
Alex started around the hood, but hesitated on reaching the other side of the vehicle. The old man looked straight, and he seemed honest. How could some creep know about his achievements on the game? And this wasn’t Los Angeles or New York.
Still, there was the fancy car, and the fact that it was dark and quiet out. Alex read the papers, followed the nightly news on channel three. He didn’t want to end up a surprised corpse in some irrigation ditch.
“Maybe I’d better get my mom out here. If I’ve won something she’ll need to know about it, and if there are forms to sign, I’m not twenty-one yet. I’ll need a cosigner and . . .”
“Do you think I am some threadbare charlatan?” Centauri was suddenly angry. “I am Centauri, and you may . . . you must . . . trust me implicitly! There are no forms to sign, and you may inform your maternal parent of the honor you have been selected to receive in good time.
“For now, though, time and secrecy are of the essence. Do I look like some metropolitan pervert scrounging the back alleys and streets in search of the innocent to debase? Is that what you’re thinking of me, my boy?”
“Well, uh . . . no,” Alex replied, trying to hide the fact that the thought had occurred to him. Then he had an idea which made him feel much better.
“You say you invented Starfighter?”
The old man nodded. “That’s right. Devised the look and format all by myself.”
“Then can you tell me what appears on the screen on the eighth attack level?”
Centauri didn’t hesitate. “Ko-Dan Pack Fighters in squads of six guarding six landing ships equipped for taking control of civilian targets.”
Alex relaxed. No passing weirdo would know that, even if he’d played the game on occasion. Eighth level was rarified territory. Some of his initial excitement returned as he climbed into the car.
The interior was more spacious than he’d expected. There was lots of legroom and a complex array of digital instrumentation visible all around, none of which he recognized. Not that he was any expert on what pinafarina might have put on the road that year. The back of the car was solid. There was no rear window.
Something moved away from him and he sensed another presence close by, though he couldn’t see a face.
“Oh yes,” said Centauri. “Say hello to my assistant, Beta.”
“Betty?”
“No, Beta.”
“Is he Greek?”
“Not hardly.” The old man grinned.
Alex strained but couldn’t make out any features in the dark. The car’s bulk blocked out most of the light from the trailer park and the instrument panels up front were lit by subdued illumination.
He reached out to shake hands. “Hello.”
There was a tiny spark that made him jerk his hand back and look quickly at his fingers.
“Static electricity,” said Centauri smoothly. “You know the problems you can have with these foreign models.”
“Yeah, sure.” While he was engaged in inspecting his still tingling hand, the other passenger had disembarked, still without giving Alex a clear look at his face. He appeared to be a young man, about Alex’s size. More than that Alex hadn’t been able to tell.
He turned back to the driver. “Centauri’s the name of the star nearest Earth, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. Alpha Centauri. And Beta Centauri. I assure you I am not related to my assistant, except through common interests.” He nodded outside. “He has business of his own to attend to and will not be rejoining us.”
“Funny name,” Alex murmured.
“Now what makes you say that?” Centauri sounded hurt. “Plenty of people are named after stars. There’s Carina, and Andromeda, and Lyra, and …”
“Okay, okay. I take it back. So it’s not a funny name. I just never met anyone named Centauri before, that’s all.”
“It’s more distinctive than Joe, isn’t it? Better a distinctive name for a distinctive personality.”
“What about my prize? Or honor, or whatever you want to call it?”
“Ah yes. I really must congratulate you on your virtuoso handling of the game, my boy. Centauri’s impressed, and that ought to impress you.”
“Impress me with a prize,” said Alex, tired of being put off. But the old man seemed determined to ramble on.
“I seen ’em come and go, but you’re the best, m’boy, the very best. Dazzling execution, phenomenal hand to eye coordination, a positive instinct for making the right decision at the critical moment. Light years ahead of the competition.”
“Thanks.” Alex was trying hard not to fall under the spell of this wave of tribute.
“Which is why Centauri’s here. He’s got a little proposition for you. Interested?”
“What kind of proposition?” Alex was suddenly wary.
“It involves the game. Being a Starfighter player. Interested yet? The rewards are great.”
“Sounds good, I guess.” Maybe the company wanted him to give demonstrations or something. Surely they had to pay him for that.
“Bravo! I knew you’d say that.” He turned to his controls. “Now you must meet your fellows.”
“What? What fellows?” Were there other prize winners besides himself?
There was a whoosh as the gullwing doors came slamming down. They locked tight without the metallic snap Alex expected. Everything inside the car operated silently and with great precision.
The engine seemed to whine instead of rumble as Centauri peeled out of the parking lot like it was the final lap at Indy. Nor did he slow down upon entering the highway, ignoring the stop sign at the intersection. Instead, he accelerated, indifferent to the first curves as they began to climb into the hills.
Unexpected acceleration shoved the wide-eyed Alex back into his seat. Inside the car all was silent. He’d never imagined such efficient insulation. At the speed they were traveling there should be a roaring all around them, but wind and noise were completely shut out of the car. As for the seat comforting him, it nudged him gently from behind, supporting him with an oddly personal touch. Soon he found that despite their increasing speed he was able to move his arms and legs with ease.
“Hey, what the hell . . . ?” He covered his face instinctively as the car leaned into a sharp curve. Somehow it managed the bend without spinning off the road.
“Handles well, doesn’t she?” Centauri was as calm and composed as if they were negotiating rural traffic in broad daylight at ten miles an hour. “Special compensators. All I have to do is drive. Not all these hybrids are built with an eye for that kind of detail.” He grinned. “This is fun!”
When Alex’s larynx finally unfroze he was barely able to gasp, “What are you doing? You’re going to get us killed!”
“Fiddlesticks! Why would I want to do that? Not only is death inefficient, it’s counterproductive. You don’t have a death wish, do you? I understand it’s quite common among you folks.”
“No, I don’t,” Alex whispered.
“Well then?”
“Don’t,” Alex gulped, unable to take his fear-filled gaze off the road ahead, “you think we may be going just a teensy bit too fast?”
“Too fast?” Centauri frowned for a moment. “Nonsense. How can we be going too fast? We’re hardly moving.”
Alex watched little white posts flick past his window, one right after another. They were highway mile markers. He knew they were traveling too fast now for him to think of doing anything, but if this madman ever slowed down … he reached over to check the door handle.
There was no door handle.
“What are you doing?” he repeated desperately. Dimly he recalled something of their earlier conversation. Everything had seemed so normal. When they’d been standing still. Before his heart threatened to leave his body by way of his throat. “What about my prize?”