Spark(5)

“Do we get shirts?” Bix asked.
“Over there.” The coordinator waved at a long table at one side of the room. “If you need anything else, let me know.”
“Thanks,” Aran said, as he and Bix headed into the controlled chaos of Gofer Central.
A dozen volunteers flurried through the room, all wearing the black and silver SimCon shirt, with volunteer blazoned across the back.
On the opposite side from the T-shirts, another long table held snacks and drinks, primarily of the salty, sugary, fatty, and caffeinated variety. The bulletin board beside it was plastered with signs and flyers and notes pertaining to every aspect of SimCon.
“Shirts first,” Aran said, steering them over to the table.
A blue-haired girl found their sizes and checked them off her list. “You can change in the bathroom next door,” she said, then winked at Aran. “Or right here in front of me. I don’t mind.”
Bix cleared his throat, and Aran jabbed him in the side with his elbow.
“Come on,” Aran said. “Two seconds of showing your manly chest isn’t going to scar you for life.”
“It might scar me, though,” a nearby volunteer called.
“Close your eyes, weenie,” the T-shirt girl said.
While she was distracted, Bix whipped off his shirt and donned the SimCon tee. Aran unbuttoned his “geeklet” shirt, aware he was gathering a few appreciative stares. For half a second he considered going into the other room, but it seemed a foolish waste of time. He was in good shape; not that he was planning to make a strip show of himself. With quick, efficient motions he changed, then bowed at the smattering of applause.
“Show off,” Bix said, with no hint of jealousy. “You have too many muscles. I should steal back that kung-fu game.”
“Like you ever played it.” Aran pulled his schedule out of his packet. “Where are you assigned?”
It would be a problem if he and Bix were working the same area, but otherwise he’d be able to finesse his way through. His most important goal here was to get as close as possible to a FullD system, and he was confident he would. Sometimes hacking life was easier than cracking game code.
Bix glanced at his schedule. “I’m checking badges at the main exhibition hall. You?”
“Doing set up in the theater,” Aran said.
His real assignment was helping calibrate projectors in the presentation rooms. He’d hit the theater first, then come up with some plausible excuse when he showed up late for his actual job.
“Sweet! Maybe you’ll see Spark Jaxley. Wanna trade?”
“I doubt I’ll see her. And you get to check out where all the best swag is in the Expo Hall. See you back here in two hours.”
“Right.” Bix tipped up his chin in farewell and went out the door.
Aran folded his map of the convention center and stuck it in his back pocket. He had the place memorized, down to the stairwells and fire exits. Even the janitorial closets. It was always good to know where to go for extra cover. He headed down the corridors to the theater, practicing his “I’m completely official here” stride.
A beefy security guard stood in front of the main theater doors, arms folded. Aran flashed his badge and papers at the man. “Tech support.”
Without a word, the guard let him in.
The theater smelled of anticipation, and a blend of hairspray and scorched dust from the hot stage lights. The house was dim, the stage illuminated by a spotlight and a screen glowing with the VirtuMax logo in silver and red. Aran paused behind the rows of empty seats and watched as three guys carried a FullD system to the center of the stage.
“Pull the spot a little more left,” a man at the front of the theater called. “Get that rig up front, guys.”
The beam hit the gaming system and it shone, chrome details and polished magenta fittings sparking under the spotlight. The sim chair seat was cushioned in black synth-leather, and even the cables leading out from the system looked high end; thick and substantial, in straight lines instead of the usual noodle of cords.
Time for him to get to work. Hovering too long in the shadows would make him look suspicious. Aran strode down the aisle, heading for the man he guessed was the stage manager.
“Hey,” he said. “They sent me to help with tech set-up.”
The man squinted at his badge. “Aran, is it? Know your way around sim equip?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve rebuilt and upgraded my Viper a dozen times.”
His system was fully overclocked at this point, modded into a machine capable of things the designers had never planned for. He’d put too many hours and too much cash into the system, but it had been worth it.
Now, though, the imminent release of the FullD changed everything. Bix would let him use the system he’d pre-ordered—and there were always the sim-cafes—but Aran couldn’t afford to wait until official launch day to start playing.