Dream Park Read online

  The survivors leaned on each other or against trees, panting, looking around them.

  "Auras!" Chester yelled, and they flashed on. There were six red-tinged glows, and three black. Two black auras were solid; Gina's still flickered.

  Chester sounded exhausted. "Gwen. See what you can do for Gina. We've lost the others." The Cleric nodded, touching Dreager sadly on the shoulder as she trudged past him to Gina's side.

  Dreager was incensed. "Just what do you mean, ‘lost the others'? Aren't you even going to try?"

  Chester extended his hand in sympathy, and the angry Engineer knocked it aside. The Lore Master said, "Listen, Dreager. Gwen's only got so much power, and she's already used up a lot of it pro­tecting Eames and Oliver. If she tried to help all three of you, she'd run out of juice. She couldn't help anyone then."

  Dreager snorted, his reddish complexion growing ruddier. "Well, then only one of us can be saved, right?"

  "One," Chester said quietly.

  Dreager walked up close enough to rub belt buckles, and stuck his nose almost into Henderson's mouth. "So how is it that she

  gets to live? What's the matter? You don't play fair to anyone who isn't laying you?"

  Chester's voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard him. "Dreager, you are dead. All the way dead. Didn't you feel the jolt? Your tindalo is standing right behind you, see?" The stout Engineer turned and looked, and shuddered as he saw his misty-white trans­lucent twin crook a spectral finger at him. "If you were as much a Gamer as the other man the Nibek killed, who had the class to quietly bow out, we might have been saved this. Since you ask, though, I give Gina consideration because she is a competent Magic User, while you are a second-rate Engineer without enough sense to leave the fighting to the fighters." Dreager sputtered, try-. ing to get out a reply, but Chester cut him short. "And, Dreager, in answer to your implied question: I suspect that if I had spent last night with you instead of Gina, I'd be even happier to get your dead ass out of this Game."

  Dreager looked about him at a ring of unsympathetic faces. He spit into the dirt. His ghost was moving away, and he followed a few steps, then stopped, his fists clenched. "You'll be sorry for that, Henderson. I swear to God you'll be." Then he ran into the darkness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  REST BREAK

  Gina sat on her bedroll with her knees drawn up to her chest. The campfire popped. Ham and beans simmered next to the flames; the smell was delightful, compulsive.

  "We had a couple of serious accidents and three fatalities today," Chester said. "We'll need a replacement Engineer, and we need another Cleric to take up the slack f or poor Gwen. I know where we can get both of those in one package, so we're set there. I'm worried about our points, but the Nibek was no pansy mon­ster, and the I.F.G.S. has to give me credit for that, so it should balance out." Gina nodded. She seemed half asleep, but Chester didn't notice. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I think we're running a little to the good right now, and in a Game like this, that's the best we can hope for." Gina rested her head against his knee. "I'll bet we see Dreager again, though. As a zombie. Even so, how much damage can he-"

  Griffin watched and listened, unobtrusively, leaning against a tree trunk with his arms folded. Strangely, he was tired. Real f a­tigue, as if he had spent the day fighting real monsters instead of holograms.

  Like the others, he had stripped off his backpack and collapsed to the ground, whooping with delight. And why not? It was all good fun.

  He shook his head. Business. Stick to business. He looked around at the fifteen people in the camp. Twelve were Gamers; the others were the Rescued Maiden and the actors who played Maibang and Kagoiano. Unobserved, he faded back into the trees until the campfire was barely visible.

  The transceiver in his wallet hummed as he punched it on.

  "Griffin here. Marty? You there?"

  "Right on it, Chief. We've already interviewed the three Garners who got killed out. We've even voice-stressed the first one

  what was his-oh, yeah, Garret. The other two have agreed to do it tomorrow. And they're all staying on as guests of Dream Park."

  "Your sunny personality, no doubt."

  "Oh, no doubt. The unlimited Experience pass might have had something to do with it. I mean, not only go to the head of the line every time, but free too? Garret says he's going for the Guinness record on the Gravity Whip."

  The laughter felt good, a release after the day's tension. "I've picked up some interesting things myself. I think we can clear Alan Leigh. He was busy last night trying to seduce Eames, one of the warriors."

  Alex wasn't particularly surprised at the short pause, and then the discomfort in Marty's voice. Bobbick, like Melissa and much of California, was a product of the post-quake religious revival. Sexual conservatism still was less the exception than the rule. Though Garners made their own rules.

  But Marty was a professional, and he asked a professional's question. "Can we scratch Eames too?"

  "No. He hasn't done much Gaming, so he's not high on the list but he turned Leigh down. He could have been alone at least

  part of the night. If Leigh came after him, he could find that Eames had moved his bedroll to avoid a sticky situation. But Leigh wouldn't have started a seduction if he wasn't planning to

  stick around and enjoy it. I suspect that we can rule out Hender­son too."

  "Why?"

  "Think about it. We never took the Garners seriously as a threat because they're so into make-believe. Henderson lives and breathes for the Game. It's his whole ego, and it pays off well in terms of power and fame. He strikes me as the kind of person who wouldn't risk that for money. This is mostly hunch, but as long as I'm out in left field, we might as well exclude Gina too, because they spent last night together. I'm inclined to think of this as a solo job for now. Of course it could have been a team effort, one partner supplying an alibi for the other. Hmm..."

  "What is it, Grill?"

  "More grief. Check the Alternate waiting area. It's as close to the edge of Gaming Area A as R&D is. Could one of the Alter­nates have gotten into ‘A', then doubled back through the service duct? It does seem we've got a blind spot for Garners. Psycho­logically, we just never considered them to be any kind of threat."

  "I'll cover it."

  "Good. Now let's give me something more to look for. Have you got a map of Gaming A?"

  "I've got a dozen. We've been marking them up."

  "You're ahead of me, then. Okay, mark out the killer's easiest routes to Gaming Area A service shaft 18-"

  "He only had one good path. He had to go around a piece of papier-mache mountain. Grill, we should put TV screens on these transceivers. I could show you."

  "One path: good. Now get Lopez or somebody to tell you what the killer had to see on his way to G. A. 18. Something he knows about that the rest of us don't."

  "Lopez may not be happy about giving forewarning to a Gamer."

  "Dammit, we've got a murd. ...eah. Be as persuasive as you can."

  Marty sounded skeptical. "Sure."

  Millie's voice came on line. "Chief, I've got some information for you."

  "Anything earthshattering?"

  "Shattering, no. Interesting, yes. Rice apparently died of suffocation some time after he was tied up. We think he regained consciousness before dying."

  "Why?"

  "The bandages on Rice's thumbs and wrists were heavily abraded. He must have been rubbing them against the concrete floor, trying to get loose. The gag blocked his mouth, and evi­dently his nose was stopped up."

  "Whew." Griffin shook his head in the dark, feeling a tremor run the length of his body. "That's a hell of a note. Killed by a cold. That's really crazy." He ran his hand through his hair, trying to focus. Fighting dragons was exhausting. "What else?"

  "Well, that missing statue was either stolen, or is in the hands of someone outside of Dream Park. No one knows anything about it. Rice made it in his second year at the Unive
rsity of Oklahoma. One more thing. Kokobun, the lady who tried to buy it from him, said that it felt hollow."

  "Hollow. All right."

  "This gets even trickier, Chief. Skip O'Brien did a check on Rice's psych profile, and the computer record has definitely been tampered with."

  "In what way?"

  "O'Brien says that the original report he filed when Rice first came to work here indicated that Rice was too much of a loner for office work. He just didn't fit into a team effort. Now the file shows him as having highly developed communication skills, a higher frustration tolerance, and his military IQ has been upped ten points."

  "Well well. This is definitely getting strange. Somebody was grooming Rice for a desk job. Maybe an important one. Millie, find out if Rice put in for a transfer to another department, will you? Or if anyone requested his transfer. Keep working on any leads you can, and thanks, good work, people. I'll be back in touch. Beep me if anything urgent comes up, but remember, I might not be in a position to answer."

  Bobbick's voice came back on the line. "By the way, Gruff. We've all been following the adventures of the infamous Griffin, and I must say that you looked great out there against them sav­ages."

  He laughed, and Millie joined in. She said, "When you chucked the spear at that monster, you looked so serious, Chief. Have you been leading a double life, maybe? By day a meek, mild-mannered security honcho, by night an avenger of evil-"

  "Let's not go overboard, gang. I'm glad you're enjoying your­selves, but we've got business. I'll ring you tomorrow."

  The transceiver blipped as Griffin closed and pocketed it. Griffin steepled his hands over his nose and breathed deeply. From where he stood with his back against a vine-shrouded tree, he could hear sounds of merriment from the campfire. The voices were tired but happy, and as he listened, Mary-em began to croak out a song.

  "It was good enough for Odin, Though that croakin' was forebodin', Till at last the Giants rode in; Still it's good enough for me!"

  He wanted to smile but couldn't. Business first, Alex. Business. There's a killer and thief to find before you can relax- "Gimme that old time religion,

  Gimme that old time religion,

  Gimme that old time religion,

  It's good enough for me!

  Montezuma liked to start out

  Rites by carrying a part out

  That would really tear your heart out,

  And it's good enough for me."

  No, he couldn't relax then, either. There would be paperwork and conferences. Then court appearances and depositions. Then a complete redesigning of the security procedures at R&D. Then- He shook his head. Keep this up and you'll start thinking that all you do is work your ass off, go home and crash, back to work, sleep for a few hours, work.

  Well?

  "Hi," Acacia said, materializing out of the dark. The beige denim safari outfit she wore was appropriately stained by the day's activities, and she looked tired. But tired or not, she had pinned back her flow of dark hair, and it framed her face beautifully.

  "Hi, yourself." A smile wormed its effortless way onto his mouth, and he moved a half-step closer to her. "What brings you out here?"

  She gave a mischievous giggle. "Well, Tony wanted to sing, and I got bored. And a little lonely."

  He perked an ear in the direction of the fire, and picked up McWhirter's thin but pleasing tenor beneath Mary-em's roar:

  "-Old time religion,

  It's good enough for me!

  It was good enough for Kali;

  Though embracing her is folly,

  She'd be quite an armful, golly!

  So it's good enough for me."

  "What about Eames? Did I notice some knowing smiles passing between you two?"

  "That was for last night." She leaned against the tree, shoulder to shoulder with him, and stretched luxuriously. "It was no big thing, really, mostly talk. He's not as much my type as I thought he was."

  "What is your type?"

  "Aha. That is what they used to call a loaded question."

  "What do they call it now?"

  "An unnecessary one, given that I'm out here in the woods with you." She smiled uncertainly, searching his face. "I don't know about you, Gary."

  "What don't you know?"

  "Well, I can't help getting the feeling that you'd rather watch than participate. You like to stand aside and observe."

  He cleared his throat. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

  "No, not really. It's just that there's something about you that I like, and I get the feeling that you're not getting as much out of the Game as you might be."

  "What am I missing out on? I mean, I'm having a ball."

  She frowned at her boot-toes. "You've got this attitude, and I can't put my finger on it. You go through the moves, enthusi­astically, even, but there's something businesslike about it. As though you're afraid to have too much fun. I bet you take your job very seriously, don't you?"

  "Oh, I guess so. I see what you're driving at. But why would someone who's afraid to have fun work at Dream Park?" He ran his finger softly along the side of her neck. "Or join a Gaming party?"

  The voices floated to them:

  "It was good enough for Dagon, A conservative old pagan

  Who still votes for Ronald Reagan, And it's-"

  "Since I don't know anything about you, I guess it's all right if I make a few wild speculations. It seems to me that Cowles Indus­tries is a perfect place for someone who likes their fun vicariously. How often do you actually use the facilities?"

  "Not very often," he admitted, "but..."

  "And I bet you've got some job with a killing amount of re­sponsibility, don't you?"

  "Oh... hell, maybe so. Running a restaurant is as much work as you want to make it," he quoted Gary Tegner, too woodenly. (Then he remembered answering, "Come to think of it, so is being a Security Chief.")

  There was a flicker of disbelief in Acacia's eyes, quickly hidden. "I would have figured you for a different kind of job. And actu­ally, I wouldn't think that corning on this expedition was your idea, either. You don't really fit in, Gary. Did your doctor tell you to do it for your health, or what?"

  "Tell me," he said, putting his arms around her waist and lock­ing his fingers together. "If I promise to try to fit in and have some fun from now on, what do I get?"

  She answered him.

  "You know," she said, pulling just far enough away for her eyes to focus on him, "there was even a bit of business in that kiss."

  ‘Well, maybe I mean business."

  "I just bet you do." She kissed him again, longer this time, and hotter. When she broke away, her questions were temporarily sub­dued. She ran her hands along his chest, feeling the hard muscle, and the questions flared again. "You know," she said in a near-whisper, "you don't really add up, Gary, but I like you."

  "Why?"

  "Because you ask too many questions, that's why. And damn few answers. Which means that behind the big strong silent man routine there is the kind of little boy I like." She snuggled up closer to him. "How long has it been since you told that little boy that he's worked hard enough, and it's all right to play for a while?"

  He shrugged uncomfortably. About ten minutes. Damn! "I guess that's why I'm here. Maybe it has been a while." He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head slightly to one side so that he grazed her cheek.

  "Gary, you use kisses to get away, not to get closer. You don't have to say anything to me, but ask yourself how long it's been. And if you feel like talking to me, I mean really talking, you know where to find me." She kissed him with a strangely subdued en­ergy, and disengaged his hands from her back, and walked back toward the campfire.

  Griffin watched her go with rnixed emotions: relief at being free of her prying, and a little confusion at the sadness he felt. She had no right to pry into his mind or his life. He wasn't there for her pleasure, or even his own.

  "It was good enough for Isis:

  S
he will help us in a crisis, And she's never raised her prices, So she's good enough for me!"

  Quietly, hands in pockets, he joined the Garners at the campfire. There was a lull in the singing, and the pork and beans were dished out. Eames came balancing two plates. He carried one of them to the small honey-blond girl who had been the cap­tive of the Fore, and sat down beside her. Alex had seen her dos­sier. Her name was Janet Kimball, and like Harvey "Kasan Maibang" Wayland, she was an actress participating for straight points and a small percentage.

  She was perched on a rock, listening intently to Alan Leigh. Her ragged clothes were covered with a black cloak from Bowan's pack, but even in her state of disrepair she seemed totally at ease.

  "-wanted to see how the other half lives," Leigh was saying, "so I signed up as an actor in Muhammad Porter's Slaver Game. Your objective is to free your fifty purchased tribesmen from the frigate Tante Marie before it reaches market in New Orleans, and without causing the crew to drop their cargo overboard-"

  "I watched the tape. Yes, I remember you now. Brrr."

  Leigh nodded complacently. "I made a good slaver. Suave, evil, ready to sell my own mother if she'd been the right color...ome to that, you'd fetch a fine price anywhere, my dear." He allowed his gaze to linger on Janet's exquisitely shaped legs with obvious relish. For that moment Alan Leigh looked evil, and

  Janet looked like she liked it. Then he broke the spell by consum­ing a fat forkful of savory legumes. It blurred his voice somewhat. "So who exactly are you supposed to be, Janet?"

  "Lady Janet, if you don't mind. I'm a British noblewoman, cap­tured by foul natives on my way to Australia."

  "Were you ravished?"

  "No," she said wistfully. "I rather think they hoped I was a virgin."