Dream Park Page 5

  Henderson lidded his eyes and silently mouthed further specifics concerning Mr. Lopez, then inhaled deeply through his nose, holding the air down for a long count before exhaling. Temper, temper, he reminded himself. In a war of nerves, your own arsenal can destroy you.

  There was a swelling murmur in the back of the room. Chester looked up, trying unsuccessfully to mask his eagerness. Two peo­ple were approaching, a short dark man wearing crisp white denims, and a slight Japanese girl several inches taller. Chester knew the woman. Chi-chi Lopez.

  The murmur grew to spontaneous applause, and Lopez turned and bowed grandly. After a moment's hesitation his wife Mitsuko curtsied. Chester had to smile. He had expected that forcing Lopez out of the woodwork would shake the great Game Master. The little man might have been born in front of an audience.

  He strode directly to Henderson and extended his hand, a cool and businesslike smile on his face. "I hope my lateness hasn't in­convenienced you."

  Chester took the hand and the gambit with the same firm grip. "Certainly not. I'm glad you felt free to take all the time you need to get your Game together."

  Lopez nodded curtly, and led his wife to their seats at the other end of the table. There was a barely audible hum, and a "soft" translucent hologram blossomed in the air over the table, greatly magnifying the faces of the five principles.

  Ms. Metesky folded her fingers primly and cleared her throat before speaking. "As the representative of Dream Park's Special Projects division, I would like to welcome Mr. Richard Lopez and Mr. Chester Henderson to our facilities. This is a momentous oc­casion, as these two greats of the fantasy gaming world have never before met face to face. Mrs. Lopez is known to us all, of course-" Mitsuko leaned over in her seat and gave a little wave to Chester, who returned it with warmth. "But many of you may not know Mr. Arlan Myers, representative of the International Fan­tasy Gaming Society." The light reflected from the top of Myers' head as he nodded.

  "I believe we are ready to proceed. Mr. Myers?"

  Myers stood and wiped the corner of his eye with his knuckle. "Good evening. I call this meeting of the International Fantasy Gaming Society to order at eleven twenty-five A.M., Friday March sixth, twenty fifty-one A.D. Tomorrow morning at eight A.M., Dream Park's Gaming Area A will open for the largest and most elaborate Game in the history of the Park. Basic rules will be as follows:

  "One. Duration of the Game will be four and a half days, from the morning of the seventh to one P.M. on the eleventh.

  "Two. Number of participants, fifteen, with substitutions for killed personnel allowed until the beginning of the fourth day.

  "Three. An adjusted Wessler-Grahm point system will be used, with compensations for duration of assault, difficulty of logical problems, and abilities needed. Bonus points will be awarded for bravery, and for dying well.

  "Four. There will be a penalty of 50% of accumulated points in case of death, reduced to 25% if the ‘dead' player re-enters the Game as a zombie.

  "Five. Players may withdraw from the Game for any reason at a loss of 25%, until evening of March ninth. Players may not withdraw after this point without total loss of points, except for medical emergencies.

  "Six. The Game will be conducted for twelve hours out of every twenty-four, which will allow for sleep time, meals, and two half ­hour rest breaks per day.

  "Seven. Additional bonus points will be awarded based on a secret ballot vote cast by all surviving and nonsurviving members of the expedition, each member rating all members of the party.

  "Eight. The Lore Master has final word on all prospective en­trants to the Game, except for the single Game space reserved for discretionary use by Dream Park.

  "Nine. The Game Master and the Lore Master will share any profits accruing from the Game on the basis of an eighty-twenty split of net.

  "Ten. The usual good luck symbol-" Myers tapped at his key­board. Glowing curves formed in the hologram overhead, shaping a crescent moon. Myers, smiling as if it hurt, waited for a ripple of laughter to die. "-will indicate the presence of restroom facilities. Look for it in patterns of trees, rock formations, whatever.

  "Eleven. As usual, a minimum of one novice must be included in the expedition." Myers coughed politely and rubbed his eyes again. "Ms. Metesky?"

  Metesky stood, shaking her head so that her gray mane bil­lowed around her. "The following additions and qualifications have been approved by Dream Park. If they are suitable to Mr. Henderson, there are no further barriers to the opening of Gaming Area A tomorrow morning. Mr. Lopez?"

  Richard Lopez stood, thanking Ms. Metesky as she handed him the leather briefcase. He opened it. "In this case," he said, his Puerto Rican accent almost unnoticeable, "I have the complete outline for the Game that begins tomorrow. There are only a few points that remain to be discussed." He raised a sheet of paper close to his face and read.

  "One. The Lore Master is to receive 25% of all nonbonus or penalty points awarded during the Game.

  "Two. The Game involves firearms. These will become availa­ble during the course of the Game." The murmurs of surprise from the audience included a few groans. Firearms were unusual. Warriors tended to prefer hand-to-hand weapons.

  "Three. All Garners will wear neck tabs." Lopez held up a short, flesh-colored plastic band bearing a silver-dollar-sized disk. "The disk is standard make; it bears a microphone and receiver and a 100 volt/.3 amperage microwave receptor. As usual, a shock will indicate wounding or death.

  "Four. All categories of players will be admitted, except where such conflict with the rules as already stated." Lopez sat down.

  Henderson looked at him suspiciously. "Is that all?"

  Lopez nodded quietly. Chester said, "I'm not sure I under­stand."

  "Mr. Henderson, after the last Game we were involved in, you claimed that the rules had been stacked against you, and that that was the determining factor in your defeat. I want you claiming no such handicap this time."

  Lopez's smile was as innocent as a piranha's. Chester nodded; he understood. A loss in a Game with rules as soft as this would devastate his reputation. He asked, "Why are you making the Sur­vivors' Bonus a lump sum instead of the standard allocation?"

  "Merely to make things more interesting. Of course, if you think that it would make it impossible for you to engender a spirit of cooperation in your expedition..."

  "Don't let it worry you, Lopez. My team will pull together just fine, thank you."

  "Excellent. Do you have any further questions?"

  "Just one. Am I correct in assuming that tropical gear will be needed?"

  Richard lowered his gaze to his fingernails and considered. "I don't believe that it would be giving too much away to say that. Any needed modifications of costuming will be provided by Dream Park." He pursed his mouth meditatively. "Is there any­thing else you will need?"

  "I do hope not." Chester stood. "Let's call it a Game and let me get down to the business of choosing my team."

  Chester looked at the dossier in front of him, then up into the eager face of a strawhaired youngster of seventeen. "Says here that you play as an Engineer. We can use one, and I think you can fit the bill." He glanced again at the papers and seemed pleased. "What do you think, S.J.?"

  S.J. Waters exploded in laughter. "What do I think? Wow, I think that's terrific! You won't regret this, I promise!" He bounced off happily, and Chester watched in amusement.

  Gina stopped trying to massage his neck. She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "First team? You're going to start him? Are you sure you want to do that, honey?"

  "Quite sure," he said, trying to be irritated with her. He didn't say that a little cannon fodder never hurt. Stick a few of them in the opening lineup, and use them to spring traps. By the time you get into the "no substitutions" period, you have the territory pretty well figured out, with a minimum of valuable characters lost. "Next!"

  The selection process had been going on for two hours now. Nine of the slots were pre-registered,
including Gina, Ollie, Gwen, Acacia and her guest Tony. Three more slots were filled now, so he needed three more primaries and some alternates. So far he was pleased with the quality of applicant. A rough calculation gave him almost a century of fantasy gaming experience among the players he'd already selected.

  "Next," he called again, and there was laughter in the line of applicants. A small strong fist banged on the table in front of him, and he jumped. The top of a head was showing above the edge. It rose until a pair of watery brown eyes was staring at him.

  Chester cackled in delight. "Mary-Martha!" He jumped out of the chair and ran around the table and hugged the dwarfish woman. She was an inch above four feet high, and almost as wide as she was tall. Little of her bulk seemed to be fat, and when she hugged him back the creak of ribs was audible.

  "Chester! Lord knows I couldn't let you run off and get your­self into a mess without old Mary-em to pull your worthless car­cass out of it."

  "No explanations needed. How's your hip?" He had read of her injury in the I.F.G.S. Monthly Bulletin.

  She slapped her hip with the flat of a callused hand. "Fine, jus' fine. An' I'm going back to Yosemite this year too. It's gonna take more than little Mount Excelsior to keep me down."

  "I'm betting on you, Mary-Martha. Are you up for this jaunt?" Her eyes narrowed to slits, and for a bare moment she wasn't a chunky, harmless woman at all, but a raging force of nature caught in the wrong era and the wrong body. "You can believe it, Chester."

  "Good to have you aboard. I'd like you as a Primary." She nodded vigorous agreement, and waddled off. Absurdly, Chester sensed that that walk could only be balanced by a battleaxe carelessly toted on the right shoulder.

  The next two wanted to compete as a team, which was unfortu­nate. Nobody had been able to prove anything, but the rumor mill had it that Felicia Maddox was a cheat. Very shrewd about it (she would have to be) but somehow she came out of Games with more than her fair share of points. However she did it, she would be found out eventually. Chester just didn't want to deal with that in one of his Games.

  Problem. Her companion was the highest-ranking sorcerer who had yet applied. Could he perhaps manage to kill the woman off in the first couple of days... ?

  Bowan the Black glared at him from behind massive brows. He had dense, curly blond hair and crystal blue eyes and the mus­cles of a distance runner. Chester tried to remember his real name, and couldn't. Garners were required to give their real names to Dream Park Security, but were under no obligation to give it to him.

  "Thief and Sorcerer. Both high level. And you work together well as a team."

  Bowan's words were heavy with exotic mystery. "We are no mere team. We are one. Together we represent a force greater than any challenge imaginable." He folded his arms and lowered his eyelids like a drowsy hawk.

  Felicia slid a step forward and leaned over the table with only the barest flicker of acknowledgement for Gina's presence. "I've got what you need for this Game, Chester. I've got an eighty-two percent agility rating on level six."

  "Wessler-Grahm?" Chester glanced down at her folder. It was there. Damn, but she could come in useful. He studied her face: short brown hair and fleshy lips, blunt nose, ears that stuck out from her head like flowers on a barrel cactus. Could he keep an eye on her?

  Chester closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation of Gina's fingers in his neck. An, well, as long as he could kill Felicia off if the occasion demanded. "Okay. You're both in the Game, start­ing. See you tomorrow morning.

  "Three more Alternate positions are available," he called. A groan went up from the twenty-five people left in the room. These were low-ranked players, locals who hoped to squeeze into the Game more by luck than experience. A Lore Master was obliged to take one totally new player, but aside from that he picked only the strongest. Half the remaining supplicants left the room, and many of those still in line were grumbling, but one tall black woman was smiling. She had read up on Chester Henderson. He had a habit of losing dippy players in the first day or two of a Game.

  She could wait. Alternate was fine. This was the Game where the I.F.G.S. would sit up and take notice of Holly Frost.

  The ballroom of the Dream Park Sheraton was empty but for a forlorn maintenance ‘bot sucking up dust and trash, and a pair of tired human beings at the big conference table.

  Chester Henderson looked at the stack of seventeen dossiers sit­ting in front of him. It had taken hours of culling the pre-selected finalists to find these people. They would be an odd crew, but any expedition that included Mary-Martha and Ollie Norliss would be both exciting and profitable.

  Gina sat at the table next to him, her lovely face drawn with fa­tigue. He reached up and took her hand, squeezed it appreci­atively. "You know, hon? After everyone else is gone, you're still around." He was surprised to hear the sincerity in his voice. It was so easy to discount Gina. Just a beautiful Fantasy-Game groupie with a stunning body and a love for playing dumb.

  She rubbed his head with a hand that smelled faintly of musk oil and clean sweat. "Oh, Chester. I just like to feel needed, that's all."

  He started to tell her that he didn't need anybody, that three other girls had proposed sharing his bedroll for a position in the Game, that one was in Gina's league as regards beauty. But there was something.

  "Well," he said, feeling sleep-demons tug at his eyelids. Tomor­row is a big day, they whispered. Surrender. "You're needed, Gina. You pull your weight. You always do."

  "Nice to know the team needs me," she said softly, and behind the heavy makeup her face was warm and open. "What about you, Chester?"

  "What about me?" He tried to smile up at her, but the muscles in his face were fast asleep.

  "Don't you need me too?"

  Again Chester was tempted to say something other than what was in his mind, but he was too tired for anything but the truth. He closed his eyes and said, "Gina, you are very much appreci­ated. Let's go to bed."

  Gina kissed him wetly. "You say the sweetest things."

  "It's why you love me as you do." He tucked the stack of dos­siers under his left arm and slipped his right about Gina's waist.

  The echoes of their footsteps followed them as they walked past

  the empty bleachers. The lights in the ballroom dimmed to deep shadow. The only sound was the lonely bumming of the mainte­nance ‘bot.

  Gwen stepped out of the shower and into a drying screen, feel­ing her skin tingle as the water evaporated from it. She wrapped herself in a towel and looked at the effect in the mirror. She pulled the towel tight around her waist and let one leg protrude from the slit. Not bad, she thought. The leg was white and firm and smooth; only the ankle and upper thigh betrayed her chunki­ness. If she pulled the towel a little tighter.

  She tossed her head to the side, watching the bounce of her short blond hair. Good enough. Have at you, Oliver the Frank! A dab of perfume behind each ear and another in the rounded cleft of her bust, and she was ready for her entrance.

  Stepping from the bathroom to the bedroom was like stepping into another world. Phantasms floated through the air, and shad­ows shifted menacingly on the walls. Something tapped at the win­dow, and when she looked, a large black bird was squatting on the sill, pecking at the glass. It cocked its head at her and uttered the inevitable three-syllable word.

  Wrong-o, she thought at it.

  Ollie lay on the bed, naked, watching the raven. When Gwen emerged from the bathroom he flipped a switch at the bedside and the bird faded away, along with the other illusions. His eyes gleamed. "You know, I really like the way you look fresh out of a shower."

  She curtsied low, then lay down on the bed and, still in her towel, snuggled next to him.

  "What do you think, Gwen?"

  "I wanna."

  Ollie rolled to face her, and tried again. "What do you think about tomorrow's Game?"

  "I think it's going to be hard. Harder than anything I've been in, that we've been in. That's why I don'
t want to think about it right now."

  "South Seas Treasure. What would that mean?"

  "It means I'm going to roll over and go to sleep if you don't pay some attention to me, that's what it means!"

  Ollie snapped out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, hon. I'm just worried about my standing, that's all."

  "Oh. Well, I think I can handle that," she said, and reached down.

  Ollie wiggled delightedly. "Okay, all right, you win, monorail mind," and they kissed in a chorus of giggles. Some time later Ollie said, "You know something? I love the way you smell."

  "I was hoping you'd notice."

  Tony McWhirter poured himself a big glass of orange juice and added a splash of vodka. "Do you want anything, Cas?" he called over his shoulder.

  Acacia's eyes flamed at him, and she coyly raised the bedsheet up to her chin. "Lo que yo quiero no veine de la botella, hombre," she said.

  He sipped from his drink as he crossed the room to the side of the bed. "That drink's too complicated for our limited bar facili­ties. What's it mean?"

  "Why don't you put that drink down and find out?"

  "No sooner said..." He lifted the glass and chug-a-lugged. His robe hit the floor with a rustle, his glass hit the dresser with a clink, and he landed on Acacia with a grin. "And what is your pleasure tonight, madam?"

  "Well, I was thinking. .

  "A pleasant change of pace, to be sure."

  "Hush." She kissed him. "You know, you and I aren't going to be quite this secluded again for four days. Oh, we can snuggle in the sleeping bag, but..."

  "You think maybe we should put a little something in the bank?"

  She nodded. "For a rainy day."

  "For a rainy day," he agreed. Rain and hurricane winds were attacking the windows, and phantom skeletons were passing through the room. The human occupants ignored them.

  Chapter Five

  THE NAMING OF NAMES

  Midnight. Alex Griffin had stolen three hours of blissful uncon­sciousness before showering and tubing back to Dream Park. It wasn't quite enough. One of the quirks of an otherwise astound­ingly healthy metabolism: he couldn't stay alert on less than eight hours sleep a night.