Mako (The Mako Saga: Book 1) (22 page)

Reiser smiled at Lee’s modesty and sipped his wine. “As we discussed in Florida, beating
Mako Assault
is no small accomplishment—but aside from that, it’s merely standard Phoenix policy to offer the very best care to those with whom we deal professionally. In my humble opinion, that’s just good business.”

“Well, whatever the reason, we appreciate the hospitality.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Reiser assured him.

Shortly thereafter, their waitress entered from the back and made her way to their table. Also formally dressed in a white shirt with black slacks and a matching tie, she proceeded with a flawless recital of the menu before taking their drink orders and vanishing as quickly as she’d appeared.

“So Mr. Tucker,” Reiser began, snapping the dessert menu shut and placing it on the table in front of him. “How long have you been in law enforcement?”

“Six years,” Danny frowned. “Up until about five months ago, anyway.”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear about that,” Reiser said—his expression turning rueful.

“Eh, don’t sweat it Doc,” Danny chuckled. “I mean, when it comes time to trim the proverbial fat from the state budget, it only makes sense that the first ones to get the boot are cops, teachers, and firefighters… you know, the folks who make the community a better place? But hey, no bitterness here or anything.”

Not quite certain how to respond, Reiser shrugged and stared at his wine glass. “Well, as I said, I was sorry to hear about your situation. If there’s anything we can do to assist you—particularly with financial aid—rest assured, we’re happy to do so.”

“I really appreciate that, Doctor Reiser,” he nodded, “but I’ll be okay. Jokes and sarcasm aside, I just miss doing my job, is all.”

“I guess after six years, it’s safe to assume you enjoyed the work?”

“Very much so,” Danny perked up. “Don’t get me wrong, there are aspects of the field that aren’t a lot of fun to deal with at times, but I think you could probably say that about pretty much any profession, right?”

“Perhaps,” Reynolds interjected. “Though I would imagine that a job such as yours must inherently come with a great deal of stress, given the type of people you’re forced to deal with in your field.”

Surprised that she’d taken an interest in the conversation, considering her frigid behavior earlier in the day, Danny found himself staring at her with a look of slight bewilderment as she awaited a response. Plus, as distractions went, the way her blue eyes popped like diamonds with that dress wasn’t exactly helpful, nor for that matter was the light red shade of her lipstick, which worked in perfect cosmetic harmony with her porcelain skin and fiery red hair.

“Um, yeah,” he stammered. “There are some pretty unsavory aspects to what we do, yes. But thankfully they don’t always turn out for the worst.”

“How do you mean?” she asked, tapping a freshly painted fingernail against the stem of her wine glass.

“Well, about a year and a half ago, while I was a road deputy, I got called out on a domestic violence call where this scumbag had beaten the living hell out of his wife and their five-year-old son, so—”

Reynolds’ gaze fell sharply away—her expression noticeably darkened—and never one to linger on an awkward moment, Danny rushed to move on with his story.

“Anyway, it was a pretty ugly situation, but after I got the guy cuffed and into the car, me and the victim advocate got her and the kid set up at a local halfway house until she could get back on her feet. As I understand it, she’s doing really well these days. She’s moved back in with her family, gotten a steady job, and is even putting herself through night school,” he paused, “to be a paralegal, I think.”

“And the boy?” Reynolds asked, intrigued by the story but still avoiding eye contact.

“Doing fantastic,” Danny brightened. “Once they were settled, I actually got them hooked up with a retired cop buddy of mine who coaches little league, and from what I hear… the kid’s a star in the making at shortstop.”

Taking another sip of her wine, Reynolds watched through the corner of her eye as Danny smiled reflectively at his tale’s happy ending.

“
Who ya gonna call?
” Link blabbed across the table.

****

Over the next hour, the group passed the time with a lot of the usual “getting to know you” conversation topics such as Lee’s research, Mac’s thoughts on the service industry, Link’s personal views on western politics, and even Hamish’s preference for Harleys over high-performance speed bikes (or “crotch rockets,” as he called them). Even the normally reserved Reiser loosened up by the end of the evening, illuminating on his various tastes in music, culture, and art. Still, it was his oddly naive views on music that Lee found a bit strange, and judging from Mac’s expression, she did, too. While their host was obviously well versed in a wide variety of genres (something all of them could certainly appreciate), he spoke of his fondness for them as if all of it was somehow new to him. Granted, “Stairway to Heaven” was indeed a timeless tune—nobody could deny that—but to hear Reiser speak of it almost made it sound as if he’d just heard it yesterday for the first time in his life.

“Well, as much as I hate to put a damper on an otherwise delightful evening by talking shop,” Reiser noted, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin and draping it back over his knee, “I do want to talk to the five of you about my game.”

“Don’t sweat it, Doc,” Link said through a mouthful of tiramisu. “After a meal like this, I’d want to make it a tax write-off, too.”

“I guess the most obvious question is simply, what did you like most about the game and what didn’t you?”

Pondering this for a moment before giving responses, Hamish was the first to speak up. “Honestly, I’d have to say the thing that makes
Mako Assault
so unique is the richness of the game play. I mean, do ya have any idea just how many games in the history of the industry have tried to do that and failed miserably? Trust me, the Atari on ma bookshelf back home should be enough to tell ya that I’ve been doing this for a while now, and never once did I think something like this was possible.”

“I gotta go with Hamish on this one,” Danny added, cradling a forkful of key lime pie between his fingers. “I’m not nearly the gamer that these guys are, and even I was blown away by the level of detail you poured into this thing. I mean, a person could conceivably spend years learning how to master every specific element of your game, and even then I don’t know if it’s possible. Whether it’s piloting the fighters, using the tech, or simply learning all of the worlds that a player visits throughout the course of a campaign, it’s just endless. For crying out loud,” he huffed. “Mac had to master a whole new language of code just to play! Bottom line, it’s pretty much a necessity that you play as a team, where everyone can learn something different, and then you put it all together into one, collective unit.”

“That was the idea,” said Reiser.

“Crockett is spot on,” Link continued. “Case in point, I’m the resident marksman of this little tribe of ours, and I’m here to tell you, I’ve never seen a game that takes so many variables into account just for that one singular task. Seriously, I felt like I got put through sniper school just to play your friggin’ game.”

“So the overall gameplay is, in your opinion, the biggest reason for
Mako’s
success, then?” Reiser probed.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Mac chimed in, stirring a squeeze of fresh lemon into her ice water. “Don’t get me wrong… the playability of this game is unbelievable, just like everybody said, but for me that’s not it at all.”

“Indeed?” Reiser said curiously, leaning forward to hear more.

“Not at all” she continued. “For me it’s the story and the characters in it. Listen, I’m an avid reader. I love sci-fi, drama, action, thriller, romance… you name it and I’ll read it, providing of course that the characters involved in the story are interesting. All of that said, for me, your video game… not a novel, not a movie…
a video game
, really succeeded in that regard. Beyond all the action, the tech, or the strategy, you’re telling a seriously epic story here with very real characters who you put an insane amount of detail into. Programmer to programmer, you’ve totally gotta show me how you did that, by the way,” she added, visibly intrigued. “I mean, the AI you guys used has got to be friggin’ incredible… like, forever changing the way games are written, incredible.”

Reiser’s lips thinned as he and Reynolds exchanged looks. “Our programming methods do deviate from the traditional industry standards a bit, yes,” he said. “But, all major projects usually do in some form or fashion. Ours is no different.”

“Fair enough,” Mac conceded. “Anyway, by making our relationships with those characters such a crucial component in determining the outcomes along the way—like the Katahl thing with Link or the kid in the flight briefing whose sister we saved on the prisoner transport—it all came together in the end to create this massively in-depth, emotional story that we, as the players, were really invested in.”

“Mac’s got a great point,” Lee agreed. “From the players’ perspective, the story that you folks wrote, and the way it played out as the game went on, really put an entirely different spin on the overall experience. Will President Wylon stand behind Admiral Katahl, or will he give in to the political pressure to replace him as fleet admiral? Will Aura find a way to turn the tide of the war against Alystier who’d just as soon see them burn? If not, what will happen to their civilization? Hell, does that poor kid from the E-42 mission briefing ever get to see his little sister again?” Lee sat back in his chair and reached for his coffee cup. “I guess what I’m sayin’ is this, Dr. Reiser. I’ve seen a lotta movies that could put me on the edge of my seat—read a lotta books that could do it too—but never in all of my years of playin’ these things have I ever seen a video game that could suck me into the story the way yours did. Like they said, the game play is unrivaled by anything we’ve ever seen—that’s just a given. But when all is said and done, this story is so epic, and these characters are so real, that we as fans just wanna know how it ends.”

“That actually begs another question” Mac posed.

“Which is?” Reiser asked.

“Where did you come up with all of this? I mean, was this game based off of some book that I’ve never heard of or what, because it doesn’t take a doctorate in history to know that some of this story is pretty intricately designed. Did you have a writing team? Did you come up with this concept and these characters yourself? What?”

****

Jonathan Reiser sat back in his chair and clasped his hands in front of his chest—his mind completely awash in a tidal wave of conflict. Looking over at Reynolds, whose face was equally fraught with stress, he could all but read the words “They’re not ready” written into her dim expression. Was she right?

In his mind’s eye, he’d always envisioned this moment as a glorious revelation of unfettered triumph—as if the final, unequivocal solution to the gravest of circumstances had, at long last, finally revealed itself. But now that that moment had apparently arrived, there was only doubt, apprehension, and fear.

Still, the whole idea of a “leap of faith” was nothing new to Jon Reiser. It had all but defined his entire career up to now, though at no time had that ever been more the case than with this project, an undertaking which most had long since deemed little more than a fool’s errand, if not altogether insane. And yet, here they were, seated directly across from him—the fruits of those endeavors.

Ready or not, the fact still remained that these five individuals were, without question, the single most qualified candidates on the board. Their scores were unparalleled among their peers, matched only by those of one other team—a team that should’ve never set foot in his simulation to begin with, and even they had failed in the end.

Were they ready? Was he ready? Ultimately, these were questions that would only be answered in time. Time—the one thing he didn’t have… none of them did.

His previous expression of lighthearted cordiality now gone, Reiser slumped back in his chair, stared across the table at his now very confused guests, took a deep, hopeful breath, and exhaled.

“I didn’t write the story told in
Mako Assault
. No one here did,” he began. “But in order to explain its origins, I think there’s something you should see.”

Chapter 13: Revelations

As the San Diego skyline faded away through the limo’s tinted rear window, it was plainly obvious to everyone, Lee included, that something had drastically changed. Lee’s instincts had told him from the beginning that there was more to this trip than they’d been told, but given that he was no stranger to cynicism these days, he’d tried to push that feeling of unease to the back of his mind for the sake of enjoying the moment. Now, however, watching Reiser’s pensive stare at the passing highway outside—his fingers continually fidgeting with the center console under his left arm—Lee had a pretty good feeling that, whatever the rest of the story was, they were about to hear it. Meanwhile, an equally edgy Madisyn Reynolds sat, legs crossed, in the back—her fingers texting furiously away on her smartphone.

“Listen, I don’t mean to pry,” Lee whispered to Reynolds, gesturing to Reiser in the front of the car, “but is he alright?”

“He’s fine, just a lot on his mind,” she said nervously, her eyes never leaving the small screen in her palms. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Looking around the passenger cab at the others, Lee could see that they too were beyond curious as to what was happening. He’d known them for far too long to not recognize the meanings of their body language, and right now, apprehension was most definitely in the air.

Twenty minutes later, the limo came to a halt outside of the PGC office complex, and slamming the passenger-side door behind him, Reiser exited the car into a brisk march for the building’s entrance. Hesitating in the cab for a final series of furtive looks, the others followed behind, picking up the pace to keep up with their host.