by Larry Niven
“I wish I could,” Maud said, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. “I’m just so scared.”
“Then use this!” Wayne said. “You’re gamers. Just … just think of it as part of the game. Play your role. Focus on that.”
“Maybe. Perhaps I can,” she said. Mickey kissed her cheek.
“You people are crazy,” Scotty said. “Sharmela?”
“Then I’m crazy, too. Listen. I won this trip, or I couldn’t have afforded any of it. My wife and I had to think long and hard about how to use this opportunity to get out of a real financial hole we’d dug ourselves into.” She gestured helplessly.
“And?”
“Fit/Fat. It was a miracle. We got in touch with the right person, and got corporate backing for my training, and the promise of a contract if I performed well. This means everything to us. It’s worth the risk.” She forced herself to smile. “So for a few more hours, I’ll pretend that it’s a game. Right? Everyone? We make that deal?”
Sharmela extended her hand. Ali slapped his down atop hers, followed by the others, except for Scotty.
“Scotty, please,” Angelique said. “So we’re a little nutty. That doesn’t mean we don’t understand the stakes.”
“Scott,” Ali said. “Either extend your hand, or you are terminated.”
Scotty squinted at him. “You are the biggest ass I have ever worked for,” Scotty said. “I think I’m starting to like you.” And extended his hand.
While the others talked and built up each other’s bravado, Scotty pulled Wayne aside. “A question.”
“Yes?”
“You wouldn’t, by any chance, have bet on yourself to win?”
Wayne’s eyes opened wide. “Why would you think that?”
“Dunno. Just a wild question. Is there a law against gamers betting on games?”
“Frowned on, but not exactly illegal unless they bet to lose,” he said. “That could be bad for the team.”
“I’ll just bet. I notice you didn’t answer my question.”
“Didn’t I?”
“Uh-huh. Well. Face or gut?”
“What?” Wayne’s expression of wounded innocence suddenly transformed into genuine confusion.
“If I find out you were betting, and that had anything to do with your little speech … well, I just wanted to be certain that I’d given you a choice.”
Wayne searched Scotty’s face, and found nothing in the cold smile to ease his mind.
“I … I’m not sure,” he said finally.
“I’ll flip a coin,” Scotty said.
* * *
Back in Heinlein base, Kendra fought to keep her heart in the calm center of an emotional cyclone. “So we found the connection with the Republic of Kikaya. We have two men here in Heinlein who have relations there, is that right?”
“That’s true,” her assistant said. “That’s true. It’s in their personnel files—Thomas and Douglas Frost were orphaned in childhood. Their father was Kikayan, and the mother fled the continent and came to America.”
“The heir to the Kikayan throne held captive. Revolt in Kikaya. Two Kikayan expats. That’s not a pattern, it’s motive, means and opportunity. Where are they now?”
The assistant chorded his keyboard. “They’ve both been on duty since the game began. Thomas in the farms, and Doug on a construction gig to the south.”
“And now?” Kendra asked.
“I believe that … Doug is off duty, and Thomas is on. But again, they’ve both been on duty since…” Her assistant examined the screen more carefully.
“What is it?”
“This is odd. We have a data anomaly. I think that some of the coding has been … suppressed.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well…,” Foxworthy said, “that was a level-three security facility, and the security has only been set at level two.”
“How is that possible?”
“This is some kind of a short-term patch, but … hmm. I’ll undo it, and run the data again.”
“What do you think it’s about?” She paused. “Let me get someone on Earth familiar with the science behind our security system.”
In five minutes, they were linked to a fiftyish Brit woman with a sleepy expression and a tightly pursed mouth. Dr. Phelps, the name bar announced.
Phelps twisted her pert little mouth. “Well … based upon what you’ve told me, the retinal patterns might not have been analyzed properly.”
“And what does that accomplish?”
Three seconds of delay, then:
“Perhaps,” Phelps said, “one twin pretending to be both?”
“Excuse me?” Kendra said.
Another delay, while the doctor cleared her throat and assumed a professorial tone. “Identical—or monozygotic—twins form when a single fertilized egg splits in two after conception. Because they form from a single zygote, the two individuals will have the same genetic makeup. Their DNA is virtually indistinguishable. However, things like fingerprints and retinal patterns are not an entirely genetic characteristic. Scientists,” she said, “love to use this topic as an example of the old ‘nature versus nurture’ debate. Retinal patterns, along with other physical characteristics, are an example of a phenotype—meaning that it is determined by the interaction of Thomas’—”
“Or Douglas’.”
“—genes and the developmental environment.” It had taken a few seconds for Kendra’s interjection to travel a quarter-million miles to Earth, and for Phelps to realize she had been interrupted. “Yes, Ms. Griffin?”
“You’re saying it’s possible, depending on the sensitivity of our sensors, that one brother could pretend to be another.”
“Why yes. But why?”
A pause. “Well, I can think of one reason,” Kendra said. “So that one brother could be inside the game with no one on the outside realizing it. Dr. Phelps, thank you very much. I’ll be in touch if there is anything else.” She clicked the line off.
“Why?” Foxworthy asked. “Why would they go to all this trouble? We can’t touch anyone in there. If the kidnappers have an escape figured, they can take the twins with them.”
“Yes. So it’s not just about escape. It’s that there is something useful that the other brother can do outside that he can’t do while inside the gaming dome.”
Her assistant began to chord. “I’m putting a tracer on them. Actions and movements of both brothers for the last forty-eight hours.”
* * *
“Wristlamps,” Darla said, distributing bracelets with bulbed nodes at the center. “Found an emergency stash of ’em.” Scotty slipped his on, flexed his wrist, and watched the bright beam splash against the wall. Nice. Darla knelt tracing a map in dust on the floor with her fingertip. “All right. We have to go through this dome to reach a hatch where we could get down a piece.”
“And then?”
“Four levels down and we might be able to get straight to the underground pool. That’s where all of this was supposed to end, you know.”
Angelique managed a tired, wan smile. “Not sure you were supposed to tell us that.”
“Xavier can sue me. Come on.”
She tugged at the door. It opened, and they entered a triangular corridor, unadorned with gaming gear. They moved forward into it.
Sharmela seemed to test every footfall. “Doesn’t look like this was a part of the game, does it?”
“No,” Darla said. “But the next bubble is, so there may be some backup power on.”
Angelique touched Scotty’s shoulder, as if trying to siphon off a bit of his pain. “Where did you leave Asako?”
“In her pod. In an airlock. We’ll have to get it later.”
“If there is a later,” Wayne said.
“There’s always a ‘later’—for someone,” Scotty said. “Let’s make sure it’s us.”
The next door opened. The gamers stepped in.
29
Fungus Fun
1350 hours
Clusters
of mushroom shapes shadowed bubble 60-E. As they watched, lights glowed to life. The air crackled, and suddenly the walls and ceiling seemed to fly back, expand by a factor of three. The bubble expanded into a gigantic cavern, complete with staggered rows of stalagmites, and a hundred varieties of fungus.
Angelique was the first to speak. “Wow,” was all she could manage.
* * *
In Heinlein, something new had happened in gaming central as a light popped up on the gaming map.
Wu Lin turned. “Xavier? We have a blip in the fungus farm. Someone has entered.”
He spun heel-toe. “Have we got visual?”
“No. But I’m still trying.”
“Auditory?”
Wu Lin shook her head. “Not yet.”
“But you will continue to try, yes?”
“Yes,” she said.
* * *
Scotty walked through the fungus farm slowly, his sense of disoriented wonderment growing with every new step. As he walked, it seemed to spring to life: Little caterpillar critters swarmed at his feet. Miniature mooncalves crawled hither and thither, munching at the fungus and ignoring the humans.
“What the hell?” he said, genuinely confused.
Darla sighed. “More battery backup. The IFGS insisted. Must be on a proximity trigger. It wasn’t alive until we appeared.”
“The world doesn’t exist if we’re not here,” Maud sighed.
“Your solipsism is showing,” Mickey said.
“There you go, spouting your methodological nonsense.”
A mooncalf ran right up to them, squeaked, and ran away again.
“Metaphysical solipsism, not epistemological or method—”
“Oh!” Maud stamped her little foot. “You drive me crazy.”
To Scotty’s surprise, Angelique didn’t just tell Maud to shut the hell up. “What’s the difference?”
“Please,” Maud said. “Don’t get him started.”
“Too late,” Mickey said. “Metaphysical solipsism is a type of idealism. It says that the perceiver is the only real thing … and everyone else is just a part of that self, with no external reality.”
“And in English?” Scotty asked.
“Like she said: Before I turned on the lights, the room wasn’t there.”
“Ah-hah.”
Darla shushed them. “You go on like two chickens fightin’ over half a worm. Squabble later. Help me find the exit hatch.”
“Did they tell you where it is?” Scotty asked.
“I haven’t the slightest clue … but I expect it will make itself known.”
Without warning the air filled with a whirring sound, and an enormous section of ground began to shake. The gamers sprang back, as a mooncow the size of a city bus rose up from the ground, gazing at them with hugely faceted eyes.
There was a mechanism of some kind around its neck, like a gigantic golden pendant. The device clicked and popped at them. Then it made a whining sound, and then a sound that resembled whale song.
“Hello?” Angelique said. “We’re human.”
Scotty frowned. “You’re talking to a machine. Or a hologram, or something.”
She radiated scorn. “It doesn’t know that. Hello?”
“Hello,” the mooncow said in English. “Who are you?”
It paused, and Scotty watched it cock its head as if waiting for outside guidance.
Angelique nudged him. “This is the fail-safe loop. In case of major power or communication outage, there is a small amount of on-site programming to keep things moving forward.”
“Voice recognition?” Sharmela asked.
“Welcome, Earthlings. You are friends of Dr. Cavor?”
Wayne yelped with pleasure. “Yes! We’re friends.”
“That is good. It is good to have friends, and he is a nice human.”
The mooncow emitted a lowing sound, and little calves the size of legless Great Danes wriggled in and out of the mushrooms. The cow’s side fluttered, exposing a row of a thousand teats. Dozens of calves streaked in to suckle.
The mooncow seemed to smile. “Would you care for a snack?”
“Not now, thank you.”
The creature’s mouth seemed to pull down at the edges. Sadness?
“I think you hurt her feelings,” Scotty said.
“Would you like to play a game?” The mooncow asked.
“What kind of game?” Wayne asked.
“Do you like riddles?”
Darla leaned toward Wayne, touching his arm intimately. “Say ‘yes.’ Whatever the next move is, the animatronics will have the information.”
“Yes,” Angelique said before Wayne could even begin to answer. “I love riddles.”
“Oh, good,” the mooncow said. “Professor Cavor taught me riddles. He was a nice man. Are you nice men?”
“Every one of us,” Angelique said.
“That is so good. Because if you are nice, and I am nice, then we can be friends, and perhaps I can help you.”
“We’d like that, too,” Wayne said.
Again, a slight smile. “I’m sure you would. All right.” The voice became slightly sing-song. “What’s round, but not always around? It’s light sometimes is dark sometimes. Everyone wants to walk all over me. What am I?”
Without hesitation, Sharmela snapped out an answer. “The Moon.”
“That’s right,” the cow said. Then cocked her head quizzically. “But … are we really round? How odd. Well, another: The Moon is my father, the sea is my mother; I have a million brothers; I die when I reach land. What am I?” It blinked, then added, “I have to admit that I’ve never seen one of these, but they certainly sound interesting.”
Wayne raised his hand. “Is there a penalty for an incorrect answer?”
“Oh no! In fact there is a reward! You get to stay here with me.”
“I am just so delighted by that prospect. Waves?”
The mooncow reared up and clapped several of its tiny legs together. “Yes, waves! Congratulations.”
“Can you tell us where the door is?” Sharmela asked.
“Soon. Now, listen very closely. It took me a long time to learn this one:
“Down below the shining moon
Around the trees, a sacred gloom
Running with the midnight sky
Knowing the thing that makes you cry
Night is full with my essence
Eternal light betrays my presence
Soaring through my endless task
Shadows are my faithful mask.”
The mooncow paused. “What am I?”
The gamers frowned and hemmed and hawed a bit. Then Angelique said to Mickey, “You’ve got a good ear.”
“Not sure,” he said. “Maud’s been bending it of late.”
“Hush.”
Angelique frowned. “Did you notice anything odd about the inflection?”
Mickey closed his eyes for a moment. “Very careful. As if it was important for us to understand something beyond the words.”
Angelique turned back to their inquisitor. “Would you please repeat what you said … ah, what’s your name?”
“Dr. Cavor called me Maggie.”
“Maggie the Mooncow,” Wayne said. “Of course. Maggie, would you please repeat what you initially said?”
“Of course,” she said, and did so.
“Down below the shining moon
Around the trees, a sacred gloom
Running with the midnight sky
Knowing the thing that makes you cry
Night is full with my essence
Eternal light betrays my presence
Soaring through my endless task
Shadows are my faithful mask.”
Angelique was trembling a little now, like a hunting hound straining at the leash. “Did you hear it?”
“I did,” Scotty said. “The stress on the first syllables.” As he counted off on his fingers, Maud’s eyes widened.
“Darkness!” she said.
“The answer is darkness. It’s the first letter of every line.”
A pale holographic ghost of Maggie the Mooncow rose up, and began to dance.
“Dance with me!” Maggie said.
Angelique frowned. “Ah … do we have to?”
“Look at this,” Wayne said. “There’s some kind of an imitation loop running. Reasonable to assume that we have to imitate or respond to these motions, and that it is set up to trigger if we get it right.”
“Like a dance instruction program?” Scotty asked.
Wayne nodded approval. “Just like that.”
The mooncalves began to dance around the mother. The gamers, frustrated, began to dance.
Ali danced, but seemed none too happy about it. “Are we crazy? We are being hunted by assassins.”
“Got a better idea?” Wayne asked.
A little mooncalf in front of Wayne rose up on its hind legs and turned in a circle. When Wayne responded, the larva glowed red.
“I’ve got it!” Wayne howled. “I’ve got it! Imitate the caterpillar until it glows!”
Sharmela first, then the rest of the gamers jumped, twirled, spiraled and capered in response to the little mooncalves. One at a time, the calves glowed red in their innards, until they all looked as if they’d swallowed emergency beacons.
The mommy rose up, her vast faceted eyes facing them.
“You honor my children. Here.” The mooncow rolled over onto her left side, exposing a glistening length of pale flesh stippled with brown nipples.
Scotty stared, and then shrugged. “Ah … are we supposed to do something?”
“Please,” Maggie said.
“I think,” Wayne said, “that we’re being welcomed to supper.”
Angelique groaned. “Oh, jeez. That would make sense.”
They crept up to the side of the mooncow. Its teats glistened. Wayne was the first to put his mouth on one of the nipples, and began to draw.
“Whoa,” Wayne said. “Whoa. Tastes like … beer.”
This announcement triggered a roar of pleasure, and the gamers rushed in. “I have milk here!” Maud said.
“I have … some kind of citrus juice.”
“Beef broth.”
The mooncow’s eyes sparkled, and lights seemed to reflect from them, onto a nearby stand of mushrooms. Maud and Sharmela examined these more carefully.
Sharmela sniffed, and then smiled. “I think we have located lunch!”
