The Jennifer Morgue - Charles Stross [161]
I cross my arms and grin at him lopsidedly. “I’m waiting.”
“You’re—” His gaze slides sideways, coming to rest on Pete. “Hmm.” I can almost see the wheels turning. Andy isn’t aggressive, but he’s a sharp operator. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Bob, this fellow is Peter-Fred Young. Peter-Fred, meet Mr. Howard, better known as Bob. I’m—”
“—Andy Newstrom, senior operational support manager, Department G,” I butt in smoothly. “Due to the modern miracle of matrix management, Andy is my line manager but I work for someone else, Mr. Angleton, who is also Andy’s boss. You probably won’t meet him; if you do, it probably means you’re in big trouble. That right, Andy?”
“Yes, Bob,” he says indulgently, picking right up from my cue. “And this is Ops Division.” He looks at Peter-Fred Young. “Your job, for the next three months, is to shadow Bob. Bob, you’re between field assignments anyway, and Project Aurora looks likely to keep you occupied for the whole time—Peter-Fred should be quite useful to you, given his background.”
“Project Aurora?” Pete looks puzzled. Yeah, and me, too.
“What is his background, exactly?” I ask. Here it comes . . .
“Peter-Fred used to design dungeon modules for a living.” Andy’s cheek twitches. “The earlier games weren’t a big problem, but I think you can guess where this one’s going.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Pete hunches defensively. “I just thought it was a really neat scenario!”
I have a horrible feeling I know what Andy’s going to say next. “The third-party content tools for some of the leading MMORPGs are getting pretty hairy these days. They’re supposed to have some recognizers built in to stop the most dangerous design patterns getting out, but nobody was expecting Peter-Fred to try to implement a Delta Green scenario as a Neverwinter Nights persistent realm. If it had gone online on a public game server—assuming it didn’t eat him during beta testing—we could have been facing a mass outbreak.”
I turn and stare at Pete in disbelief. “That was him?” Jesus, I could have been killed!
He stares back truculently. “Yeah. Your wizard eats rice cakes!”
And an attitude to boot. “Andy, he’s going to need a desk.”
“I’m working on getting you a bigger office.” He grins. “This was Emma’s idea, she can foot the bill.”
Somehow I knew she had to be tied in with this, but maybe I can turn it to my advantage. “If Human Resources is involved, surely they’re paying?” Which means, deep pockets to pick. “We’re going to need two Herman Miller Aeron chairs, an Eames bookcase and occasional table, a desk from some eye-wateringly expensive Italian design studio, a genuine eighty-year-old Bonsai Californian redwood, an OC3 cable into Telehouse, and gaming laptops. Alienware: we need lots and lots of Alienware . . .”
Andy gives me five seconds to slaver over the fantasy before he pricks my balloon. “You’ll take Dell and like it.”
“Even if the bad guys frag us?” I try.
“They won’t.” He looks smug. “Because you’re the best.”
ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES OF BEING A CASH-STARVED department is that nobody ever dares to throw anything away in case it turns out to be useful later. Another advantage is that there’s never any money to get things done, like (for example) refit old offices to comply with current health and safety regulations. It’s cheaper just to move everybody out into a Portakabin in the car park and leave the office refurb for another financial year. At least, that’s what they do in this day and age; thirty, forty years ago I don’t know where they put the surplus bodies. Anyway, while Andy gets on the phone to Emma to plead for a budget, I lead Pete on a fishing expedition.
“This is the old segregation block,” I explain, flicking on a light switch. “Don’t come in here without a light or the grue will get you.”
“You’ve got grues? Here?” He looks so excited at the prospect that I almost hesitate to tell him the truth.
“No, I just meant you’d just step