The Moon Maze Game

by Larry Niven

  In one-sixth gravity, scuba and snorkle and swimming took on a completely different feeling than it did on Earth.

  There were three entrances to the aquifer within the main dome: one in the main rec room, one in the water recycling facility and one in central maintenance. Because the sealed cavern was irregularly shaped, some of its pseudopods extended outside the main dome, and one reached under the dome now designated as “Gaming A.” In fact, the underground lagoon had been co-opted as a part of the game.

  Thomas Frost considered these things as he made his way down through the dome’s service corridors, careful to deactivate or scramble any security cameras along the way. It was quiet and cool here, down where the main bubble’s support struts were sunk in bedrock.

  Quiet, too, now that he had closed the vacuum safety doors behind him, sealing them and moving on. It was much like descending into a tomb. There were other paths, wider and better lit paths, descending into this darkness, but this one seemed not merely adequate, but appropriate.

  Nothing that Thomas had planned or had done in training on Earth had quite prepared him for this. This was not theory or plot or dream. This was deliberate, and real. Their primary believed that anyone whose visa included off-Earth low- or zero-gravity experience or travel would be flagged and given special attention as a security risk.

  Had that happened to Victor Sinjin? The man assigned to trade places with Chris Foxworthy had failed to check in. They couldn’t reach him. They’d had to use a backup plan.

  Or … perhaps trained spacemen would pose a different kind of security risk. Certainly, if Kikaya III was in any danger from Earth, said danger would come in the form of operators experienced in the ways of vacuum.

  Thomas and Doug had gone another route. Every man they’d hired was used to deep-water operations, with all that that implied about pressure and oxygen and the dangers of a single unguarded moment.

  What had happened to Sinjin, in an unguarded moment? Were they blown? Was it too late to call this off? Yes, infinitely too late. They could only go forward.

  It felt as if his heart were pumping ice water. He didn’t want to consider what would happen when Shotz learned of this mistake. This all had to be timed properly. He’d heard that was the secret to any military operation. Surprise, courage, force and timing. When they worked in your favor, you won.

  At this moment, all of them were working in the favor of their plans. If that continued, Shotz would be in a good mood, and if he was in a good mood when he learned about Sinjin …

  Then the men of Neutral Moresnot might just fulfill their contract, after all.

  * * *

  The stairwell descended through a steel framework anchored deep in lunar rock, three stories down before terminating at another pressure door. Their hack had deactivated the surveillance cameras, giving instructions to play back a previous hour’s video and thermal scans, leaving security with nothing to concern themselves. Soon enough Piering would panic, but by then they’d be able to crash the entire grid with no fear. For now? It was little cat feet. Pure stealth, until Shotz gave the word.

  Thomas unsealed the pressure door with the scan card provided by their primary. He admitted to a moment of unease while he waited for the little green and red lights to stop dancing.

  No problems: The lights went green. A hiss and a sigh, and the door opened.

  The chamber within was more unfinished than others he had seen in the dome: mostly a pocket of natural lava bubble, partially spray-foam sealed at the edges. On the far side of the bubble a second door opened into the room. The middle of the floor was an open pool, blue-green, with lights wavering up from the depths.

  He was early, but not by more than sixty seconds. Everything was on a tight leash now, and unless he was very mistaken, or Shotz and his crew were not the product as advertised …

  No. He saw the first of them now, a human form rising up through the murky depths, into the lights. A golem of a man emerged, climbing up along the safety rails built into the side of the pool, up the steps carved in lunar rock. One, two, three … finally six men in recreational lunar wetsuits with standard rebreather gear. That was the ticket: Use as much local equipment as possible. It was not just a matter of saving luggage weight: Everything traveling from Earth to Luna carried a huge risk of inspection.

  The first man out of the pool was the tallest. Wide across the shoulders and thick through the chest, with a round head and short strong legs, Shotz peeled off his face mask and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length blond hair, squeezing out water.

  “Towel,” he growled, and held out a hand to Frost. Thomas opened the small bag he brought with him and extracted a fluffy yellow cloth. Shotz took it with a grunt of thanks, and ruffled his hair.

  He threw the towel back just as the last of his men emerged from the pool. “Cold,” he said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Why are you dressed as a giant bug? And where is Victor?”

  “He didn’t report this morning,” Thomas said. “I had to take his place. I had to dress as an NPC and didn’t have time to change.”

  Something ugly glittered behind Shotz’ eyes, and then was gone. “Status.”

  “The gamers are eating right now. This is a programmed rest break, and they’ll be starting the game again in…” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes.”

  “Have you been monitoring the security channels? Any word about Sinjin?”

  “None.” He had, and there had been no obvious fluttering of panic among their targets, or the local administration. “I don’t know what happened, but that was why I was inserted into the game, as backup. We’re still on the planned timetable.”

  “Good. It is your responsibility to keep it that way for the next hour.”

  “And then?”

  Shotz hadn’t heard him. He had already turned to the others: solid, strong men … and one frightening woman, Celeste. Celeste was all breasts and hips and full lips and a cascade of blond hair. It wasn’t until you looked closely in her green eyes that you realized that the promise of sexual warmth was as toxic as the sweet kernel at the heart of a flesh-eating plant. Pure lure. Instinct said she was as dangerous as Shotz. Celeste was in this business because from time to time she got to hurt people. She smiled at Frost, allowing him a flash of those heavenly breasts, and his stomach recoiled. A powerful sexual response combined with a deep sense of rot, a stench without a scent.

  “Celeste.” He nodded carefully. With this one, it was best to stay neutral. The others were from, he believed, Greece, the United States, somewhere in the Middle East, and perhaps Britain. By agreement if not dictate, members of Neutral Moresnot spent little time discussing their backgrounds. The extreme nature of this commission had called for the team to spend more time than usual in training and preparation. A bit of information leak was normal. All names were assumed, but he believed that clues based on vocal inflections and casual conversation could reveal national origin. At the very least, it was a good game. Yes. He and Doug were playing a much better game than the stupid Earthers.

  With far higher stakes.

  Eight Europeans, two black, three Asians. Twelve men and one woman. The thirteen stripped off their dive gear and checked the equipment inside the sealed plastic bags. Quick verification that the seals had held, and then slipping on dry black pants and long-sleeve shirts, and black composition-soled shoes. They broke into pairs: Celeste and Shotz checking each other’s equipment, then handing them back.

  “Are vi prata?” Shotz asked.

  “Jes.”

  Only English or that damned esperanto on the job, Frost thought. Shotz was crazy, but it was his show.

  Thomas Frost led the way, climbing out of the dome’s depths into the shadowed main level. Lights were low, but only a thin wall separated them from some kind of staging area. Low voices, a few creaks as equipment was moved into place or last-minute adjustment was made. He understood little about this gaming thing, other than a few vids Shotz h
ad acquired for them, and some speculations on how the gaming environment had been laid over the basic dome interior.

  That information had been exhaustive, as well as the power systems, entrances and exits. Once they gained control in (he checked his watch) fifty-six minutes, there would be little anyone on the outside could do to stop them.

  For now, it was a matter of avoiding the Non-Player Characters as they prepared to add a little excitement to their lives. He had to shake his head: Moon-people playing science fiction for a jolt. Well, get ready: There was a pretty big jolt about to land on them like a mountain, and it would be no game at all.

  21

  Arbitration

  1033 hours

  “So … what in the hell is going on?”

  Kendra and Xavier sat in a com room not fifty feet down the corridor from gaming central. Xavier’s eyes glittered like little acetylene flames. He swung his feet from the edge of his chair like a petulant gnome who considered a human’s death to be little more than a personal inconvenience.

  “What’s going on is that my game is in suspension,” Xavier said.

  “Excuse me,” Kendra interjected, fighting to keep her voice level. “A man is dead, apparently during an attempted assault. Chris Foxworthy was sealed incommunicado in his room by some kind of override device. Despite this, he apparently checked into your game.”

  Leonard Cowles III was the on-site arbiter for the International Fantasy Gaming Society. He had been here for over a month now overseeing the final construction, recruiting gamers, coordinating travel, publicity and expenses. Happily, this was his headache. “Please,” he said. “Slow down. Ms. Griffin, you said that this man Victor Sinjin was found dead … but that some time between the time of death and the discovery of the body, someone using Foxworthy’s identification checked into the gaming area?”

  “Yes.”

  Cowles’ mouth flattened into a thin line. “And what do you conclude?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that we have to stop the game so we can search the gaming area.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Xavier said. “So one of my NPCs was assaulted, and killed his assailant. And someone still used his ID to get into the game, somehow. I can understand your concern. But we can’t just shut the whole thing down right now. Four hours and we quit for the night. Then you can tear the whole thing apart: We’re off the clock.”

  “I’m not sure that you understand. This is a murder investigation.”

  “And that dome is private property, by the terms of our lease with Cowles Industries,” Xavier said. “I want this cleared up as much as anyone, but we have a worldwide audience exceeding a billion people. Are you aware of the web of finances necessary to connect a billion people? The obligations I’ve incurred? Do you have any idea of the lawsuits I will be exposed to, if this game is delayed by more than a few seconds?”

  “I’ll take personal responsibility,” Kendra said.

  “It’s not that easy,” Cowles said. “The liability negotiations were especially intense from my family’s side of the table. The only way the board of supervisors would ratify the deal is if the IFGS assumed all responsibility for what happened in the dome from the time the doors locked until the conclusion of the game. The dome has its own battery bank and communications, the gaming system is on a separate link from everything else. This was your choice, please remember.”

  Kendra thought she was going to scream. She saw where this was headed, and didn’t like it at all.

  “You’re telling me you think I have no authority to search the dome?”

  “I’m telling you that the repercussions are huge. My family has made a large chunk of its name in the entertainment industry, which is why I’ve taken personal responsibility in this matter. What you propose to do now could risk its relationship with the IFGS, and gaming worldwide. Do you want to make that decision?”

  “I do. My husband is in that dome,” she said.

  “All the more reason to assume that things are secure,” Cowles said. “All we’re asking for is four hours.”

  “Four hours,” she said. “A lot can happen in four hours.”

  “I’m afraid that I insist on the right to appeal to my board of directors.”

  “As on-site chief, I have the ability to make decisions—”

  “And if the dome actually belonged to Cowles at this moment, that might make a difference,” Leonard Cowles said.

  “Four hours.” Kendra drummed her fingers against the table. “In all good conscience, I cannot allow this.”

  “It is not your decision to make.”

  Kendra felt a burning sensation on the left side of her head, deep behind her ear. Dammit. The air in front of her rippled. “Ms. Griffin?” Stan Linberg said urgently. “There is a news bulletin that you might want to see. Now.”

  Something was very very wrong, even worse than she currently dreamed, but she couldn’t detect the shape of it. It crawled her scalp. Bad times coming.

  The air rippled, and a newsfeed appeared, an Asian newsman reading from a teleprompter as images of explosions in some tropical country played in the background.

  “—death in the Republic of Kikaya, where rebel forces hold both international airports and the major communications facilities after a lightning raid in the early morning hours. King Abdul Kikaya, the last remaining monarch in sub-Saharan Africa, has responded swiftly. Paralysis among his troops suggests that there has been a deep penetration of his military chain of command, and—”

  “Cut,” she said, and the image froze. “All right, Stan, this is bad news for someone. Why me?”

  “Because … at least one of the gamers is playing under an assumed name, and his point of origin is the Republic of Kikaya. We have investment capital from the republic, and … we actually have two workers from the republic here at Heinlein.”

  “Really?” That raised her eyebrows. She knew of several Central African workers among her people, but didn’t remember any from Kikaya.

  “Yes. They’re naturalized American citizens, but I remember some conversation about them. They stand out because they’re twins.”

  “Twins?” That raised a memory. “Thomas, maybe?”

  “Yes, and Doug. They were supposed to cycle back to Earth, but both extended their tours. Anyway, because of those connections, when I was going through the gamer list I saw the red flag and looked closer. There was a secret of some kind there, and I admit I dug into it.”

  She felt like a cold lump of rotten cottage cheese was sitting in the pit of her stomach. Something bad was coming. “And?”

  “And the participant traveling as ‘Ali Shannar’ is actually Prince Ali of Kikaya, heir to the throne.”

  “Shit,” she said. She looked up at Xavier and Cowles. “And what do you make of that?”

  “Ms. Griffin. I am sorry to hear of instability in the Republic of Kikaya, but that is an unstable region, I believe. What possible connection can it have with events a quarter-million miles away?” Spreading his hands in supplication, Cowles seemed the very soul of reason.

  “Xavier?” she asked. “You are Game Master, and if you gave permission, we could elongate the break time, and do a sweep of the dome—”

  “Let’s not,” he said. “Most of the dome is already under observation. Patch in the security cameras to the gaming units, and create a full dome image. I’m sure our missing player will turn up.”

  “And with a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she said. She sighed, and stood. “Well, I’m afraid that you’re right: The IFGS controls that dome for the next three days. But when I can get that board meeting, our lawyers are going to look at that contract.” Kendra placed her hands flat on the table and locked eyes first with Cowles, and then Xavier. “But you’d better pray that there’s nothing wrong in there.”

  22

  Interruption

  1056 hours

  Asako Tabata’s capsule buzzed up to the edge of the abyss. A slender camera probe extended from the t
ip and bent down to peer into the darkness.

  “What do we have?” Sharmela asked.

  “A looong drop,” Asako said. They had finished their meal, and, after reiteration of their mission (to travel into the forbidden lunar depths to rescue Professor Cavor), had been ushered into a gloomy rock tunnel by an insectoid guardian and sent on their way.

  The nine gamers and their guide proceeded with greater caution now. While Xavier would never have killed one of them off in the first hour of the game, now that they had been fed and rested, he might very well consider it all in good fun to slaughter a couple while they were digesting their food.

  Ho ho ho.

  Wayne watched Asako there at the edge of the drop, a four-foot fissure slicing the narrow tunnel in two. Perfectly easy for most of them to make a jump like that, especially on the Moon. But Asako, in her bubble?

  Her withered hands manipulated several controls, and a little rail extrusion grew out of her front bumper, three feet long … and then four. It anchored to the far side, making its own bridge, and her pod began to hitch itself across. When she made it to the far side, they broke into appreciative applause. Then the others just jumped across one at a time. Only Mickey Abernathy had any difficulty at all, and that wasn’t from the length of the gap. He misjudged his angle and hit the wall a meter up, almost bouncing back into the gap. Maud grabbed his tunic and pulled him to safety.

  More applause as Mickey pretended to be even more off balance than he really was, wheeling his arms and making a great show of being terrified.

  The show must go on.

  The bioluminescent fungus glowed just enough to make an effectively creepy passage. Somewhere up ahead of them, water dripped against rock. Angelique held up her hand, and they stopped, listening.

  Somewhere up ahead of them, someone or something screamed. The sound was low, so full of echo it was barely discernible as anything originating in a living throat. But it was enough that swords and guns emerged from sheaths and holsters.