Eagle Strike

with smoke and guarded by a dozen Aztec gods wrapped in feathers, jewellery and golden masks. Again, each and every one of the gods was a small masterpiece of graphic art. But although they lunged at the avatar, they kept on missing, and suddenly more of the people in the audience were laughing and applauding, urging Alex on.
    One more god, this one with claws and an alligator tail, stood between Alex and the pool of fire that would lead him to the next level. All he had to do was get past it. That was when Cray made his move. He was careful. Nobody would see what happened and if they did it would simply look as if he was carried away by the excitement of the game. But he was quite deliberate. His hand suddenly moved to Alex‟s arm and closed tight, pulling it away from the controller. For a few brief seconds, Alex lost control. It was enough. The Aztec god reached out and its claws raked across the avatar‟s stomach. Alex actually heard his shirt being torn; he almost felt the pain as the blood poured out. His avatar fell to its knees, then pitched forward and lay still. The screen froze and the words GAME OVER appeared in red letters.
    Silence fell inside the dome.
    “Too bad, Alex,” Cray said. “I‟m afraid it wasn‟t quite as easy as you thought.”
    There was a scattering of applause from the audience. It was hard to tell if they were applauding the technology of the game or the way Alex had taken it on and almost beaten it. But there was also a sense of unease. Perhaps Feathered Serpent was too realistic. It really was as if a part of Alex had died there, on the screen.
    Alex turned to Cray. He was angry. He alone knew that the man had cheated. But Cray was smiling again.
    “You did great,” he said. “I asked for a demonstration and you certainly gave us one. You make sure you leave your address with one of my assistants. I‟ll be sending you a free Gameslayer system and all the introductory games.”
    The audience heard this and applauded with more enthusiasm. For a second time, Cray held out a hand. Alex hesitated for a moment, then took it. In a way, he couldn‟t blame Cray. The man couldn‟t allow the Gameslayer to be turned into a laughing stock on its first outing. He had an investment to protect. But Alex still didn‟t like what had happened.
    “Good to meet you, Alex. Well done…”
    He climbed down from the stage. There were more demonstrations and more talks by members of Cray‟s staff. Then lunch was served. But Alex didn‟t eat. He had seen enough. He left the Pleasure Dome and crossed over the water, walking back through the park and all the way down to the King‟s Road.
    Jack was waiting for him when he got home.
    “So how did it go?” she asked.
    Alex told her.

    “What a cheater!” Jack scowled. “Mind you, Alex. A lot of rich men are bad losers and Cray is very rich indeed. Do you really think this proves anything?”
    “I don‟t know, Jack.” Alex was confused. He had to remind himself: a great chunk of the Gameslayer profits was going to charity. A huge amount. And he still had no proof. A few words on a phone. Was it enough to tie Cray in with what had happened in Saint-Pierre? “Maybe we should go to Paris,” he said. “That was where this all began. There was a meeting. Edward Pleasure was there. He was working with a photographer. Sabina told me his name. Marc Antonio.”
    “With a name like that, he should be easy enough to track down,” Jack said. “And I love Paris.”
    “It still might be a waste of time.” Alex sighed. “I didn‟t like Damian Cray. But now that I‟ve met him…” His voice trailed off. “He‟s an entertainer. He makes computer games. He didn‟t look like the sort of man who‟d want to hurt anyone.”
    “It‟s your call, Alex.”
    Alex shook his head. “I don‟t know, Jack. I just don‟t know…”
    The launch of the Gameslayer was on the news that night. According to the reports, the entire industry had been knocked out by the graphic quality and the processing power of the new system. The part that Alex had played in the demonstration wasn‟t mentioned. However, something else was.
    An event had taken place that had cast a cloud over what would otherwise have been a perfect day. It seemed that someone had died. A picture flashed up onto the screen, a woman‟s face, and—

    Alex recognized her at once. It was the school-teacherly woman who had put Cray on the spot, asking him awkward questions about violence. A