Dream Park [2] The Barsoom Project

by Larry Niven;Steven Barnes

  Finally one turned and looked at him, cocked its head sideways, and hissed. It was a cross between a human being and an insect of some kind. The head was disproportionately large. Its face was a Punch-and-Judy caricature, medieval in its exaggeration. Even on a face that tiny, the projection of evil glee was unmistakable.

  It grinned at him and skittered away; but another faced him, a bug with the body of a walrus turned inside out. And below that one was a lascivious woman-creature. It whistled at him—tiny, very high-pitched—and wriggled its two-inch-wide derriere suggestively.

  Just what did you have in mind, honey?

  Kevin choked back a face full of laughter. “What is all of this?”

  “It’s the sins of mankind. I think I’ve seen vanity, and wasteful killing, and loose sexual practice.”

  “Jesus,” Hebert hissed. By wriggling around in the net, Max could just make out his dark face. “I think you’re right. I’ve got murder, I think, and maybe theft.”

  “All right, then. We know where we are, but what do we do?”

  There wasn’t long to wait. The sins were busy around them busy, busy, busy . . . and from the roots of Sedna’s hair rose a city. They watched it form one shell at a time, built by carapaced creatures that flowed from every follicle. It was an array too vast and differentiated to even begin to categorize.

  There was every sin that he could recognize: sloth and gluttony and greed and murder, and actions mimed but beyond his understanding. The creatures reached Sedna’s bald spot, and there they shed their shells and wriggled forth like glistening varicolored slugs. The shells built up and up in a heap. It grew like a coral reef. Hundreds upon thousands of individual beings contributed one bit at a time. A bizarre castlescape rose up and up while the sluglike occupants mingled in obscene pools or piles in front of the structure.

  The castle ringed them, twice as tall as a human being, with walls several feet thick.

  How many sins? How many ten-inch sins did it take to make a structure of that size? He searched his mind, the confusion drowning out the equations before he could come up with an answer . . . but the net was relaxing. He could move.

  Max shucked the net smoothly, the way he would wiggle out of a full nelson. Sedna’s scalp was resilient, bouncy. Max crawled on hands and knees, found Eviane and helped her out of her net. This time she didn’t fight him, and her fingers stayed, warm on his wrist, for a lingering second.

  Cityscape stretched around and above them, a megalopolis for rats. Sins were still swarming forth like denuded rats, writhing and fluxing in vile pools, in a moat of living tissue. The corners of Sin City were four parabolic arches, and the flat wall beneath each arch was bulging, sculpting itself . . .

  Until four human figures faced them, standing in the corners of the miniature city like dark brothers of the four cardinal directions. The shells that shaped them were still occupied. Crawling sins even shaped a suggestion of faces; but the features moved restlessly, semi-independently.

  European, African, Asian, Eskimo. The nightmare figures examined the Adventurers, reaching out of the architecture to poke and then drawing back as if the prospect of touching a human being was distasteful. They retreated back into their directional corners, and sighed heavily.

  The European figure spoke, and Max could see a hundred mouths moving. Its voice was a buzzing composite. “We have . . . ” It wanted “s” sounds where there were none. The sibilance was disturbingly reptilian. It adjusted slightly. “Yesss. We have waited for you, long, long time. And now you are here. Yesss.” It turned to its brothers, lifted its arms jubilantly, and screamed: “Let the trial begin!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  TEMPTATIONS

  Dwight Welles watched, waiting, his fingers splayed over the keyboard like a concert pianist’s, bare feet gently touching the pedals.

  He watched the four screens. Occasionally his eyes flicked to the bob stage where the entire Judgment scene was displayed in miniature.

  Truth be told, he preferred the two-dee screen—it flattened and simplified the images, and thereby sped his responses. This was vital. Even though he had time-delays built into the program, he needed every split second to focus the massive power of Dream Park’s computer banks on the job at hand.

  In play, and at his best, Dream Park’s chief computer wizard was a blur of motion, fingers and feet moving so swiftly that they dazzled the eye. But unlike a concert virtuoso, Welles was engaged in a piano duel in which the theme alone had been preselected. Melody, tempo, harmonies, and phrasing were all variable. It was the ultimate challenge, and only a Game as complex as Fimbulwinter could have lured Welles from his dry theorizing for three days of extemporaneous madness.

  He felt drunk with power. Even the Lopezes would have flinched from running the next scene.

  He flexed his fingers, wiped moisture on the pale T-shirt which read Nice computers don’t go down.

  Hell. Sex couldn’t even come close.

  Four composite creatures stood at the four corners of the clearing. Max Sands found it easy to guess which figures represented what.

  One, positioned to what he assumed was the north, had stereotypical Eskimo features. The figure was short and pudgy and nut-brown.

  The shape to his right was Oriental, colored comic-book yellow, like a jaundice victim.

  Further around the clockface, to the south, stood an ebony figure made of crawling black shells. And to the west, as white as a sheet, was the figure representing European man.

  The Sins of Mankind.

  “You came to destroy us,” the Eskimo-shape said, grinning like a happy-face button. “But we knew of your coming, and have captured you. Now we decide your fates.”

  Kevin Titus spoke up. “You mean your buddies the Cabal?”

  “They are not our friends. They seek to use us.”

  Eviane surged against her bonds, then relaxed, watching the creatures with eyes that were cold and hard. “The Cabal will free Sedna when they choose, and then inherit the world.”

  “Their power will destroy them. They will be corrupted by their own sins.” The Eskimo inspected each of them as it spoke. Its eyes were hard to meet. Its grin was wide and white; its teeth were miniature bald heads.

  The Eskimo spoke in a chorus of tiny voices, thousands upon thousands of them, each chanting in the same rhythm. “Let me tell you,” it said. Its voice buzzed maddeningly. “Since the time of the Great Raven, the world has been in balance. The Raven creates, Sedna sustains. The shamans and witches, those who functioned in the realms between worlds, helped to keep the balance.

  “But the Sins of Mankind always weighed heavily on Sedna. When the Eskimos break taboos and forget the laws of their fathers, then we break free—”

  “Sort of like zits,” Max whispered.

  The Eskimo smiled vastly. “In the year 1920 a man named Robert J. Flaherty came to us, came to the people of the ice, and he made a movie, Nanook of the North. And when it was released in 1922, the entire structure of the world was thrown out of balance.”

  Hebert squinted, confused. “Why?”

  “Because the white world, the outside world, became a part of the community under Sedna’s protection. Every culture has its Gods and deities, and some are powerful, and some are powerless. Sedna is powerful, as she must be to protect her children, who live in the most rugged region of the world.”

  In his peripheral vision Max watched the other three composites. They were almost immobile. From time to time they nodded, or the shells that made their expressions shifted slightly.

  There seemed little chance of starting an argument among them. They were too close. They were four lobes of a single brain, Max guessed, and the sins were its cells . . .

  Orson spoke. “Why wouldn’t Sedna’s discovery by the outside world give her greater strength?”

  “Because there is nothing in your culture which adds to the spiritual strength of the Inuit people. In truth, we owe you much,” the Eskimo said. “It is through
you that we, the sins of man, came into our true power. Ever have we been a secondary force, mere symbols of your misdeeds. Verbs a-crawl on Sedna’s scalp! Now we thrive as never before. Now we may cripple your world.”

  Kevin was the first to speak. “If we’ve done you so much good, why don’t you turn us loose to do more?”

  “Because we can use you,” the black/south/Africa shape said. “We, your sins, can use you against the Cabal. If Man and Cabal can both be neutralized, then we may rule. Ever we have been both effect and cause. We are the corruptors and the product of corruption. The beginning and the end, alpha and omega. We wish to take our true position as masters of the universe.”

  “Then what’s stopping you?” Orson said testily. “Why can’t you just take what you want?”

  “You must welcome us into your lives,” white/west/Europe said solicitously. “Actions performed by coercion are not sins. We know that among you are hearts eager to touch and be touched by our ultimate pleasures. You will come to us voluntarily.”

  Orson wasn’t buying it. “If you can’t make us do it, if you have to have our cooperation, then you aren’t the ultimate forces that you imagine. There’s gotta be law and order, even in a Game . . . even here. Who are you afraid of?”

  Max glowed. Come on, little brother!

  “None—”

  “Bullshit!” Eviane said suddenly. Everyone turned to hear her. “if we created you, then we have power. You’re joined in a big dance with us. What is in our hearts determines our fates. Isn’t that right?”

  The Oriental snarled at her. Its neck stretched out toward her, shells taking new alignments, until it resembled a cobra standing in a basket. The yellow/east/Asia composite glared down into her

  Welles jerked his mind back on track. It was too damned easy to get lost playing what-if games, and there was work to do.

  “This,” the image of Africa said, “this and more can we give you. And it is only the beginning.”

  “Wait,” Robin Bowles said, shaking his head. “You’re talking about the death of mankind. If mankind dies, our sins die with us.,’

  “Yesss . . .” the Eskimo nodded. “We are hoping to recruit you. Powerful, virile. Breeders. You will stay here with us, eating, reveling in pleasure, a nonstop orgy, mounting each other, breeding sins for all eternity! Our two worlds will truly coexist, as they were meant to from the beginning of time.”

  All four voices joined together, and spoke thunderously. “Let the trial begin!”

  The walls flowed. The cityscape closed in. Abruptly the walls had become solid, and waist-high barriers had risen before each of the composite figures. White-shelled sins spilled across their heads to form periwigs.

  Sin City had become a courtroom. Their four judges surrounded them at the four cardinal directions.

  “Hear ye, hear ye,” the Eskimo image began. Between the shells that formed the walls, individual sins popped up, made rude faces, and disappeared. Little eight-inch abominations stood on each other’s backs and shoulders, cheered and hissed and laughed, and wriggled their glistening bare behinds at the Gamers. “This Court is now in session.”

  Robin Bowles said, but not as if he believed it, “I insist on the right to legal counsel.”

  The white judge leaned over, grinning. “Ah, yes. And if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Let me see—”

  Out of the reeking pool of sin, a ghastly caricature of the figure of blind Justice rose up grinning at them, clattering her teetering scales.

  “To hell with that,” Max shouted. “I vote that Robin Bowles represent us!”

  Bowles turned, a little shocked. “Are you sure?”

  Welles was just as startled. Granted that Bowles was prepped to handle the defense. So were Ollie and Gwen, with prompting from Welles, of course. Welles had expected to have to push a

  little, argue a little. But the Adventurers seemed to have made their decision, and in Bowles’s favor.

  Welles hit the Stall button, and a prerecorded loop played, buying him five seconds to think.

  “Whoa!” Hippogryph yelped. Max glanced over, and saw a troop of six sins dragging a roast beef across the courtroom floor, tumbling and fumbling like circus clowns with their load. They were almost to the far side of the room when three sin-sheriffs, complete with badges and riding sea horses, scampered in pursuit.

  The entire tableau took about five seconds. Then Kevin remembered himself. “You do want the job, don’t you, Mr. Bowles? I saw you in The Judge Crater Story.”

  “You and six other people,” Bowles said ruefully.

  “But you can handle it!”

  Snow Goose cried, “All in favor!”

  A thunderous chorus of ayes filled the air.

  “Opposed?”

  Not a single nay.

  “The ayes have it.”

  The black judge looked at them impatiently. “We are here today to try mankind, represented by these sorry assholes, for its sins. In the court we use the Code Napoleon. Your guilt is presumed until you can prove yourselves . . . ah . . . what’s that word?”

  A skeletal bailiff goose-stepped over to them, its joints and bones constructed of tittering sins standing on one another’s grotesque shoulders. It stage-whispered, “Innocent!”

  “Why, yes. That is the word I was looking for.” He harumphed, cleared his throat, and spat out a sin. It landed at Charlene’s feet. It wore a black robber’s mask across its face and a three-digit number across its chest. Chittering, it ran up to her and dug under her trouser cuff. She squeaked and pulled away. The sin hugged a big gold coin to its chest, smiled evilly, and sprinted fol.

  Robin Bowles sighed, and then spoke in a voice like rolling thunder. “We are willing to go on trial, but only if we know that we will be tried fairly. If this is a mockery of a trial where you can bend law and logic to fit your own dictates, then we might as well be silent, and keep our dignity while you do with us as you will.”

  Orson hissed at Bowles, who bent over, listening and whispering.

  The Oriental hadn’t waited. “We will play fair with you. There is no need. Lying is a sin, but sins do not lie.”

  Robin Bowles straightened his back, and smiled unpleasantly. “You had better not. My colleague has reminded me of something.”

  Max’s little brother stood, cracking his knuckles with glee. “All right. The Raven and Sedna are out of operation. But Sedna has a mate. And Eviane is a tornrait—”

  Kevin hastily consulted his pocket computer. “Torngarsoak! Lord of the land animals!”

  “Thaaat’s the one. Eviane gives us a direct connection to the spirit world. Torngarsoak is out there, listening and watching. If we are guilty, then he will punish mankind for harming his sweetheart. if we’re innocent—” He smiled charmingly. “Then Torngarsoak will be upset with you.”

  He turned, bowed sweepingly from the waist to the wild applause of the Gamers. Charlene Dula seemed beside herself with enthusiasm.

  “Thank you, colleague Orson.”

  “It was nothing, colleague Robin.”

  Bowles spoke in his most professorial tones. “All right,” he said. “That having been said, I move for a dismissal of all charges.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “On the grounds that we, representing the Western world, were ignorant of Eskimo law, and therefore must be held blameless.”

  The four judges conferred for a moment, then shook their heads. “No. Your motion is disallowed for two reasons. First, even if we discounted sins which are exclusive to the Eskimo world, there are enough overlapping sins—murder, for instance—to condemn you.”

  “And the second?”

  “Ignorance of the law is no excuse. This is well known in your Western law.”

  Robin nodded his head, and paced back and forth. Suddenly he stopped. “What are the sins of which we stand accused?”

  “Murder. Abortion of children in times of plenty. Men who have no hunting skills. Women who disgrace their comm
unities by dressing poorly. Destruction of the family units.”

  “I submit to you,” Bowles said, “that these sins have been with mankind since time immemorial, and that the universe was created in balance despite them. There has been no increase in sin—it merely looks that way because of the increase in communications.”

  The four man-shapes laughed in a thousand voices. “We have heard that argument before. ‘if you hadn’t caught me, it wouldn’t be a crime.’ And it is disallowed.”

  “But you must admit,” Bowles continued, “that more than the human race is on trial here. What must also be weighed is whether you have overstepped the bounds of your power. if you are wrong, and there has been no vast upsurge of sin, then you yourselves have acted to throw the universe out of balance. Torngarsoak’s vengeance would be terrible. The question is . . . have you sinned?”

  Robin asked it in powerfully insinuating tones. The judges recoiled for a moment, then answered: “We cannot sin. We are sin!”

  Breathing harshly, Bowles mopped his forehead. Sweating underwater?

  “I propose,” Bowles continued, “that we simplify the issues. Choose the one sin of which we are most demonstrably guilty, and let us defend ourselves against that. Choose the one—we can only be hung once as a species, as a culture. If modern man is so wicked, has fallen so far from the path, then choose one.”

  Max was thunderstruck. Bowles projected more power, more sheer emotional force than the screen had ever conveyed. To be this close to a master actor at the height of his craft was awe-inspiring.

  “Murder,” the white/Europe judge suggested.

  “I think not,” Bowles replied. “We punish our murderers. They often repent. The Gods have always granted the right of repentance, and loved a people who police their own. The Gods made man, flaws and all. They have also made it possible for men to repent.”

  “Abortion.”