Read Online The Imperium Game by K.D. Wentworth - Free Book Online
Authors: K.D. Wentworth
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“You’ve got to get back here right away! I think I’ve found the problem.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.” Kerickson scowled. “I’m guilty of murder, and fired to boot.”
“Murder?” Wilson shook his head. “Don’t be dense, Arvid. Nobody believes you killed Micio, but if you don’t get back here right away, all hell’s going to break loose—and that will be your fault.”
“And exactly how do you figure that?”
“Because I found the glitch.” Mopping at a trickle of sweat, Wilson stared beseechingly into the screen. “And it’s not just Minerva, it’s all of them. They’re all involved, and right here before the Saturnalia, too. You’ve got to come back and give me a hand!”
“You’re forgetting, of course, that I couldn’t access so much as a rubbish collector in that place.” Kerickson shook his head. “Jeppers blanked my Game status.”
Wilson waved an impatient hand at him. “Oh, I’ve already taken care of that. You’re logged in now as Gaius Clodius Lucinius, a freedman student down at the Gladiatorial School.”
“A freedman—”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, and all that rot.” Wilson started, then stood up. “Look, we can’t talk about this on an open channel. It’s close to ten now. Just get back here and meet me down in front of the school by midnight. I can’t handle this by myself.”
“It’s not my problem anymore,” Kerickson protested. “Tell Jeppers and the rest of HabiTek to sit up there and hold Minerva’s hand. I hope he—”
“Listen, you idiot, HabiTek is up to its knobby corporate knees in this whole mess!”
Intrigued, Kerickson stared at him. He’d never seen his former partner so upset. What could be going on back there in the Imperium? Could there possibly be a way to exonerate himself? Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to just go back and hear what Wilson had found. After all, he could always say no.
Something crashed just out of sight, and Wilson paled. “Look, just get here—midnight—you understand?” Then the screen went blank.
“This had better be good,” Kerickson said to the empty blue screen, then sighed. If he was going to make it by midnight, he had better hurry.
THE knee-length tunic handed to him by the yawning Costuming attendant was none too clean, not to mention that both it and the accompanying long gray cloak were full of moth holes. He shook the ratty garments out, then sighed. Unlike the Interface Gate, players’ gates allowed no one on the field without proper attire. He might as well get on with it.
Stepping into the changing booth, he stripped, then put on the musty-smelling outfit, thinking that while authenticity was one thing, filth was quite another. As he strapped on the worn belt with its plain wooden dagger, he resolved that if he ever did get back on staff, he would have Costuming’s collective head for this.
Leaving his outside clothes in an empty locker, he keyed it to his thumbprint, then presented his newly acquired Game bracelet to the monitor.
“Identity confirmed,” the computer said after scanning. “Gaius Clodius Lucinius. Game status: freedman, gladiator trainee.”
Kerickson tugged the musty cloak around his shoulders as the door slid aside. He stepped into the chilly night air and breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind him, locking out the police and the outside world and all his troubles—for the moment, anyway.
This particular gate was in the Southeast Quadrant, located in the side of one of the seven hills of Rome and masked by several boulders. He gazed down on the playing field, taking in the odor of horses, damp earth, and stone, trying to be thankful that at least Wilson hadn’t been stupid enough to enroll him as a slave.
Beside the hill, the two buildings of the Gladiatorial School were dark and quiet at this hour. Since they were all in training, gladiators were supposed to retire early. He huddled into the worn cloak and threaded his way down
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.” Kerickson scowled. “I’m guilty of murder, and fired to boot.”
“Murder?” Wilson shook his head. “Don’t be dense, Arvid. Nobody believes you killed Micio, but if you don’t get back here right away, all hell’s going to break loose—and that will be your fault.”
“And exactly how do you figure that?”
“Because I found the glitch.” Mopping at a trickle of sweat, Wilson stared beseechingly into the screen. “And it’s not just Minerva, it’s all of them. They’re all involved, and right here before the Saturnalia, too. You’ve got to come back and give me a hand!”
“You’re forgetting, of course, that I couldn’t access so much as a rubbish collector in that place.” Kerickson shook his head. “Jeppers blanked my Game status.”
Wilson waved an impatient hand at him. “Oh, I’ve already taken care of that. You’re logged in now as Gaius Clodius Lucinius, a freedman student down at the Gladiatorial School.”
“A freedman—”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, and all that rot.” Wilson started, then stood up. “Look, we can’t talk about this on an open channel. It’s close to ten now. Just get back here and meet me down in front of the school by midnight. I can’t handle this by myself.”
“It’s not my problem anymore,” Kerickson protested. “Tell Jeppers and the rest of HabiTek to sit up there and hold Minerva’s hand. I hope he—”
“Listen, you idiot, HabiTek is up to its knobby corporate knees in this whole mess!”
Intrigued, Kerickson stared at him. He’d never seen his former partner so upset. What could be going on back there in the Imperium? Could there possibly be a way to exonerate himself? Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to just go back and hear what Wilson had found. After all, he could always say no.
Something crashed just out of sight, and Wilson paled. “Look, just get here—midnight—you understand?” Then the screen went blank.
“This had better be good,” Kerickson said to the empty blue screen, then sighed. If he was going to make it by midnight, he had better hurry.
THE knee-length tunic handed to him by the yawning Costuming attendant was none too clean, not to mention that both it and the accompanying long gray cloak were full of moth holes. He shook the ratty garments out, then sighed. Unlike the Interface Gate, players’ gates allowed no one on the field without proper attire. He might as well get on with it.
Stepping into the changing booth, he stripped, then put on the musty-smelling outfit, thinking that while authenticity was one thing, filth was quite another. As he strapped on the worn belt with its plain wooden dagger, he resolved that if he ever did get back on staff, he would have Costuming’s collective head for this.
Leaving his outside clothes in an empty locker, he keyed it to his thumbprint, then presented his newly acquired Game bracelet to the monitor.
“Identity confirmed,” the computer said after scanning. “Gaius Clodius Lucinius. Game status: freedman, gladiator trainee.”
Kerickson tugged the musty cloak around his shoulders as the door slid aside. He stepped into the chilly night air and breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind him, locking out the police and the outside world and all his troubles—for the moment, anyway.
This particular gate was in the Southeast Quadrant, located in the side of one of the seven hills of Rome and masked by several boulders. He gazed down on the playing field, taking in the odor of horses, damp earth, and stone, trying to be thankful that at least Wilson hadn’t been stupid enough to enroll him as a slave.
Beside the hill, the two buildings of the Gladiatorial School were dark and quiet at this hour. Since they were all in training, gladiators were supposed to retire early. He huddled into the worn cloak and threaded his way down
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