by Larry Niven
The pouch had a velcro seal, easily thumbed open. Alex lifted out four sheets of photocopy paper, then a fold of foam cushioning, and from that a tiny vial of thin, colorless fluid. It was only half filled.
"Neutral scent?" Tony nodded. "All right, Tony. If you've played straight with me, I'll do what I can. Which may not be much."
"Griffin! Fortunato!"
They pounded up the ladder, into the cockpit, and found that they had reached the Sea of Lost Cargo. The mighty Spruce Goose was a terror to navigate here, but Margie accomplished it with elan, and only once did a grinding crash indicate a collision with a smaller, half-sunken craft. "Shit-oh-dear!" Margie said. "Chester, I can't slow down. We'd sink deeper. We might hit something else."
"Then don't."
Margie scrutinized the docking area carefully. "I can get us a little closer, but we'll still have to use the boat, I think, and-" her words died in her throat.
The Undead were waiting for them. At least a hundred strong, they formed an arc before the fuel dump. A few had marched to the edge of the water and were waving their blades, stiffly.
Chester looked sick. "They'll butcher us when we come ashore. If we ran the Goose aground... no, we'd never get enough momentum to crash that line."
One of the motors coughed. Margie shut down engine #1, outboard on the left wing. The Goose tried to turn, and she pulled it back into line. "Chester, shall I shut down? Or beach the beast?"
"Shut down."
Margie killed the motors. The Goose settled. She said, "We may not have the fuel to start up again."
Chester was grinding his teeth. "So near. And now we're trapped."
"We've got to try, Chester. What else can we do?" Acacia scanned the line of Undead, and shuddered.
"What time is it?"
Alex looked at his sleeve. "Stopped."
"Eleven-forty," Tony said, without turning from the window.
"Uh huh. The Game ends at one. We've got to beat the Un-dead, move enough fuel to fly us out, get it into the tanks . hell, we don't even know where the tanks are. Prime the motors and fly home. Not enough time. It can't be enough, not even if we could whip that many Undead."
"That airplane's egg really cost us," Acacia said.
"Yeah. Even so... there has to be a way out of this mess. I know Lopez."
"Well, I don't see it." The dark haired girl stomped her foot and swore. "Look-if we're going to lose, let's not just sit it out trapped like rats. Let's get out there and kick some behind!"
Margie shook her head. "Chester, there is another way."
"What do you mean?"
"The Spruce Goose never flew from Long Beach to New Guinea. It's just too far. The tanks would have been dry long before they got there, even if they were full to start with, and they probably weren't. Remember, it was just a practice run."
"Magic." Gears were turning in Chester's head. "But we don't know the ceremony-"
Lady Janet raised her hand. "I do."
"What?"
She smiled, pushing forward until she was almost against his chest. "When those people were holding me captive, I saw them perform their ceremony several times. The spells were in good English. I memorized them."
"Lady Janet, I don't trust you."
Margie swiveled around in her chair. "Chester, she has to be a clue. Why else would she have survived so long in the Game?"
Chester held his head, trying to think.
"They're going to come out, Chester," Tony said flatly. Alien-looking Fore priests had appeared among the Undead, oiled bodies gleaming in the sun. They were directing the launching of boats.
Griffin ignored the boats. Easy to drive through them, if they chose to go that route. "Equipment," he said. "If we've got the ceremony, we've got the equipment too. There's a full Cargo Cult workshop in that Quonset hut. It's a good thing we didn't burn it down." He looked out. "The zombies are blocking the fuel, but not the Quonset hut. We can ram right through those boats. The rest... well, by the time we got to the Headquarters building they'd be there too, unless... unless we run the Goose up on the beach. We might never get it loose. Yeah. But it's a chance!"
"No."
"We may have to-"
"No." Chester was smiling, but it was not a nice smile. "I kept looking for the flaw, but I didn't see it till Lady Janet spoke. It's another mousetrap. Lady Janet, have you forgotten the copyright violation rule?"
"By Jimmy, I believe I did," she laughed, and Chester laughed with her.
Alex slapped his forehead, hard enough to hurt. "Some detec
tive. The Enemy's spells are the Enemy's property. We can't use them, can we?"
Tony spun from the window. "Waitaminute!" He shook Chester's shoulder. "It wasn't the Enemy who stole the Goose. They stole it from the Daribi. So we could use Daribi spells if-"
"Yes. Who has Maibang's skull?" Chester searched desperately from face to face as there was no answer. Then Margie raised her hand.
"I got it from Owen, I think." She opened her pack and rummaged swiftly. The guide's charred skull was a pitiful relic, all personality gone; but Chester seized it like a priceless jewel.
"Table ceremony. Tony, Griffin, rig me a table. The rest of you, I want any remaining rations. Chocolate bars? Salt tablets? Anything that might be accepted."
They set it up in the cargo hold. A warped chest served as a table; they raided a crate of bedsheets for a tablecloth. A few pieces of dried fruit and a lone stick of gum lay on the cloth next to the black skull. No flowers, no candle... but Chester was grimly pleased.
"The bilasim tewol," he murmured, then spread wide his arms. "Hear me, Kasan Maibang. Hear me, oh Gods. We destroy the last of our precious supplies that we may speak with him who was our guide. Hear us, Jesus-Manup-" The air above the table shimmered, and Chester gestured. "Fire," he commanded, and bare sparks fell from his fingertips. "Fire," he commanded again, and his aura tinged red. He ignored it. "Fire!" he screamed, and the table crackled in flame.
The burn-scarred face of Kasan Maibang wavered in their vision. "I know why you call," whispered the guide, "but I cannot help you. Only one greater than myself can save you."
"Who?"
"Pigibidi, the greatest chief of my people."
"Summon him."
"It will cost you mana. What have you of power?"
Chester was frantic, tearing at frizzled hair with long fingers. Then he barked laughter and dumped his pack out. Almost at the bottom was what looked like a set of black leather pajamas-the shed skin of a Fore spy. He placed it on the magical fire.
"It is good..." Kasan said, and his face shifted outline and became the pitted and wrinkled visage of old Pigibidi.
"Pigibidi, Great Chief," Chester began. He licked his lips nervously. "We are desperate. We must move this tremendous airplane, and we have no fuel."
The old man's lips moved, and his words echoed in the hold. "The woman offered you the spell of the Fore. Be glad you did not use it. One must have permission to use such magic, and to steal a spell from its owner carries a terrible price."
Chester glared at Lady Janet, who hid a smile. "Pigibidi . what shall we do?"
"I will give you the spell you need. If our peoples ever contend again, beware of trying to use it against us."
"No! I swear-"
"A European's promise is worth little. If you have the magical power to lift so vast a machine, I will work the spell for you, that the Fore might be beaten."
"Power. We're out. Pigibidi, there's nothing left! You've got to-"
"I am sorry. Then it is all for nothing."
Chester stomped and swore. "That Lopez! Fli kill him! I swear to God-" He hoisted himself on a crate to look out one of a pair of tiny portholes. The boats of the Fore had reached the Goose. Soon it would be over.
The fire burned without consuming, and Pigibidi's translucent visage watched them with the dispassionate calm of the dead.
Alex leaned against the wall of the hold, eyes ho
oded speculatively. Pigibidi hadn't vanished. There must be more. A crate of Coca-Cola? The corpse of a Fore priest? Or- "Chester?"
"What?" the Lore Master snarled. His entire body was shaking. "Didn't Margie say that Hughes himself flew this thing?" "That's right," Margie agreed. "He was pilot on that one short flight off Long Beach."
"Well, if that was when they stole it, then it stands to reason that-"
Tony was sprinting up the ladder to the cabin.
"-that Hughes is one of the skeletons," Griffin finished. "My God." Chester's body calmed down, the excitement flaring in his smile as he realised what Alex was saying. "It's Cargo Cult mythology. And we've got access to the tindalo of one of the twentieth century's greatest aeronautical industrialists!"
Acacia retrieved the skull Alex had discarded earlier. "Is this the right one?"
Hughes or the pilot? The bony face grinned sardonically, secure in its anonymity. Griffin said, "Hughes was a millionaire. His clothes would be in better shape-"
Tony half-fell down the ladder, his arms full of bones. "What the hell, we'll use them both! A test pilot makes a perfectly good tindalo." He took the other skull from Acacia and set the two at opposite corners of the table, under Pigibidi's hovering face. The flames sparked up.
A Fore zombie had crawled up to the window. It leered at them, pounding with the flat of an ashy hand.
Pigibidi's translucent face nodded at them. It began to speak. "God-Dodo, Jesus-Manup, hear my-"
And his words were drowned in the sound of leviathan engines turning over. All eight propellers ripped at the air. Margie gasped and ran for the cockpit, with the other Garners in hot pursuit. The Spruce Goose shuddered and jerked and surged forward.
Margie scrambled into a seat. A last zombie lay flat in front of the windshield, yelling, hugging the painted wood.
The seaplane rose on its step and picked up speed, nudging aside smaller craft and heading for open water. Margie grinned fiercely as the Goose raced along the surface and finally skipped free. They bounced back down, once, with a massive, stomach-churning splash, and the zombie vanished. Then the plane truly found its power and rose from the water with a throaty roar.
Shore and dock fell away beneath them. Jungles and mountains, monsters and dooms, and the gesticulating figures of the Fore were pinpoints to their eyes. As the Spruce Goose kissed the clouds the Garners turned to each other, and there was a swollen moment of silence. Then Alex whooped, and Acacia hugged him, and Tony hugged Margie, and Chester kissed Lady Janet, and the cockpit was filled with laughter and screams of joy.
The Game was over.
PART THREE
Chapter Thirty
THE FINAL TALLY
Hoarse cheering could be heard from within the cabin section of the Spruce Goose, even before the Dream Park attendants opened the door to let the Garners out. Lady Janet was the first to place a foot on the ground. Her legs were wobbly. She shook her head and said, "Wow."
Six more Garners followed. Holly Frost, last out, bowed grandly to the cast and crew. Chester lifted his arms and cried, "And let's have a big round of applause for the best performance in an expiring role... Holly Frost!" Ragged cheers. "And for all the surviving members of the team!" This time the energy ran higher, and the attendants joined in.
Griffin walked at Tony's side. McWhirter's smile was as honest as the others'; it faded slightly when he sighted Bobbick approaching with two security men. He stopped before they reached him and shifted his pack off his shoulder. He brushed a straggling hair
off his forehead with a steady hand, then extended it to Alex. "Thanks. You've really been decent about this. I promise you won't have any trouble out of me."
Griffin took it, and was surprised at the ferocity of Tony's grip. "We'll see how it goes, McWhirter."
"All right, Chief. We can handle the prisoner now."
"Thank goodness." Alex shrugged off his backpack and let it thud into the ground. "Marty, escort him to Detainment. Are the County cops here?"
"You know it. We've got a lot to get done here." Marty was steering him along toward a side door, while the other Garners headed for the main exit. Ahead of them, the two security men guided Tony.
Griffin turned to watch the Garners leave. Most of them looked back over their shoulders to watch Tony taken away, but no one said anything, until Chester raised his voice.
He sounded tired. "Griffin. You coming to the Tally Party?"
"I'm sorry, Chester. I'm going to be pretty busy." He turned to go, but Henderson raised a beckoning hand.
"You're invited. You earned it. Tonight in my suite at the Sheraton."
Alex waved at him and turned back to Marty. "You're going to have to help me through this. I'm really tired." Bobbick made sympathetic sounds.
Griffin caught one last glimpse of Acacia. She had paused by the gate, almost as if she were about to turn around and speak. Then her shoulders sagged with fatigue and she walked on. Tony caught that pause and turned his head away, the remnants of his smile dying altogether.
Griffin watched her go and felt something sharp and hot pricking at his gut.
He handed his backpack to Marty, who took it without comment, switching a wad of gum from one side of his mouth to the other. "Come on, Grill. We've got a car for you."
Alex nodded wordlessly, responding more to nudges than to words. The textured plastic seat of the hovercar seemed alien to him, and he dropped into it hard, as if testing its reality. He leaned back and let his eyes close, his body jolting forward a half-inch as the car started to move.
They were tired, they were dirty, their shoulders sagged under
the weight of their packs. They looked like walking dead as they stumbled into the Hot Spot. They stopped, looked about them blearily, and found all tables full.
Alone at a table that might barely hold five drinks, a tall black woman beckoned cheerily. She looked familiar, somehow, Gina thought. She smiled and started that way, tugging on Chester's backpack strap, knowing Gwen and Ollie would follow.
They stacked their packs against a wall. Ollie headed for the Orders window while Chester looked for empty chairs.
"Good Game," the stranger said. "I'm Gloria Washington."
Chester performed introductions. Gina was wondering where she had seen her before. Suddenly the memory dropped into place, and Gina swayed in place, vision blurring.
The tall woman saw it. She snatched an empty chair from the next table over-moving stiffly, a bit clumsily, but fast-and slid it into place behind Gina. "Here, sit down, love. I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you'd recognise me."
Gina sat down hard. "You were missing an arm and a leg the last time I saw you. And the make up. .
Chester smiled suddenly. "Aha. The demon undead, undead 0! That was a very effective piece of misdirection."
"It was, wasn't it?"
"How did you, urn... ?"
"I picked the wrong time to visit Antarctica Ciudad. I was lucky they thawed anything. These prostheses are... well, I can use them, but I've had a hard time getting used to... anyway, when Mrs. Lopez suggested this walking dead gig, my doctor thought it would be great therapy. Get me used to the idea." She was slowing down, having trouble getting words out. "That I'm a person who has one leg and one arm. But still a person. You know, I think he was right."
Ollie arrived, carrying a tray. Hands converged on mugs of Swiss Treats before he could reach the table. Gina savored the heat and sweetness in her mouth; her own hunger, suddenly stronger than her fatigue; the moment of revelation. You're real again.
She said, "Right or wrong, it was hellishly effective. I couldn't believe you weren't a hologram. It was like you came straight out of a grave." She laughed, but it was shaky. "I'm glad we met. It was bothering me." She knocked her mug against Gloria Washington's. "Skoal."
"Confusion to our enemies," Gloria answered.
Alex crumbled a sheet of paper into a tiny ball and bounced it off the wall into the recycler. He wan
ted another cup of coffee, but it would have turned his stomach into an acid-scarred wasteland.
"What's left?" His voice sounded like a stranger's, tired and thin. A stack of printout paper leered back at him from the top of the desk, and he groaned.
"My God." Numbly, he touched his computer screen to life and asked it for a second printout of "Urgent" material only. As expected, a mere four sheets folded up out of the desk.
One was a synopsis of the McWhirter briefing. It would be sent to all concerned department heads on a need-to-know basis. Griffin nodded as he read. Tony had kept his promise. His description of the woman who had contracted him for the job might do them little good; she'd have changed both name and description.
But they probably had enough information to nail the pick-up man. With the stakes as high as they were, someone had to try for the hiding-place.
He initialed the sheet at the bottom and set it aside.
Two pages were a condensation of Park business for the last four days. He set it aside after a brief skim. He and the computer had differed before on what was urgent and what wasn't.
The last sheet was a query into the status of Albert Rice's personal belongings. That needed thought, and a clearer head than the one he carried at the moment.
He glanced at his watch. A quarter to eleven, and time for any sane human being to get some sleep. Hell-why bother going all the way back to CMC? Why not just curl up in the office? He thumbed down the light and yawned until the hinges of his jaw hurt. Every muscle ached for sleep, but a singie image remained clear and sharp in his mind.
"Damn you, Acacia. Leave me alone." Her face, that lovely dark-eyed face with the questioning mouth, had been haunting him all day, the most overwhelming reality of four days of fantasy.
He glanced at his watch again, and muttered, "They're probably all in by now..." then remembered the early-morning bull sessions of the Game and knew he was lying to himself.
