Dream Park

by Larry Niven

  Why fight it? He wanted to go. Tired and irritable and slogged

  down in a cesspool of work, he still wanted a chance to say good-bye to an unforgettable group of maniacs.

  And perhaps one particular lady maniac.

  He swung his feet down from the desk and was moving towards the door almost as they hit the ground.

  Alex took strange satisfaction in the debilitated condition of the other Garners. Chester's suite was spacious enough to accommo­date the extra couches. Those couches were draped with boneless-looking, bleary-eyed casualties. The suite looked like an emer­gency ward.

  Only the Garners who had been killed out the day before seemed alive, and the empty beerskins scattered around the room gave even these good reason to look woozy. He caught a strong, sweet whiff of something that wasn't tobacco and ground his teeth, weighing duty against fatigue. No contest. Fatigue won.

  He saw Acacia in the corner of the room and headed toward her without haste, letting his ears drink in snatches of talk.

  A half-familiar voice, jarringly energetic. "No, no, no. The

  Haiavaha was there because you needed the anti-fire to fight the

  Undead. You were supposed to ignore the airplane's egg entirely.

  And why didn't you go back for more anti-fire?"

  It was Richard Lopez, sharing a couch with his wife and- Chester Henderson! The Game Master seemed awake and alert. Mitsuko Lopez listened without comment, her attention shifting as if she watched a tennis match.

  "-can't tell me that. You weren't standing in front of the damned thing," Chester said without heat. He fished absently in a bowl of dried dip with a handful of corn chips, then popped them all into a mouth that had already started to speak again. "Ooo ner thrying... You were trying to kill us off and you know it."

  Richard shook his head. "Be your age. Where would I sell the Game that wiped out Lore Master Chester Henderson?"

  "I'm too tired to giggle. You were going easy on us, hey, Lopez?"

  "Oh... my youthful enthusiasm sometimes leads me to excesses. Mitsuko had to keep reminding me of the money we'd lose if I played too rough. Terrible woman. Always business be­fore pleasure." He and his wife exchanged a quick kiss.

  Chester saw Alex, and extended a hand. "Hey, Griffin. Good Game, man. You're not half bad."

  A ghost spoke behind him, and Alex jumped. "What happens to McWhirter, Griffin?" Gina! But she's dead.

  "It's out of my hands," he said, glad that it was true. He kept moving; he didn't want to talk about it.

  Mary-em, dressed in light green slacks and blouse and looking quite undrowned, was another sight he found startling. She was deep into reminescence with Owen and Margie and a stranger, a boy in a wheelchair, when she spied Alex pressing through the crowd. "Griffy!" she bawled. From some reserve of human strength she found the energy for what amounted to a flying tackle, setting him back on his heels.

  "I was afraid that you wouldn't make it."

  Overcome with an absurdly strong wave of emotion for the chunky little woman, Griffin hugged her back fiercely. She stepped back and set her fists on her hips, measuring him. "I may be off my mark, but I think you're gonna be one helluva Gamer."

  He raised both hands in protest. "Oh, no. No more for me, thanks."

  She snorted derisively. "Like hell." Her grin faded to something softer. "Come'ere, Griffy. There's somebody I want you to meet."

  Alex followed her to the Braddons, who greeted him with weary nods. Margie asked, "Did you hear about the frogman, Alex?" He shook his head negative. "Go on, tell him, Mary-em."

  The short woman laughed. "Remember when I went under, Griffy?"

  "Do I! Jesus. All I remember is, you went ‘glub' and disap­peared, and a cold hand clamped on my ankle and... wait a

  minute. I felt a hand. At the time I just... just accepted it. Am I

  nuts?"

  "You aren't. That maniac Lopez actually had a guy in scuba gear under the water. He pulled me down and fed me air. I laughed so hard that I almost drowned." She shared their laughter, then pulled Griffin over to the boy who sat in the wheelchair.

  On closer estimate, Griffin revised his estimate of his age. He looked closer to thirty than seventeen. His unlined face and thin body carried the illusion with ease at any distance over a few feet.

  "Griffy," she said, and there was a tone in her voice, a gen­tleness and caring, that transformed her face into something lovely. "Grifly, I'd like you to meet my brother Patrick. Patrick-?" Her voice was sweet, low, as if talldng to a beloved child. "This is

  a very important man. This is Alex Griffin, the chief of Security for all of Dream Park."

  Patrick reacted slowly, his head weaving in little circles as he raised it to say, "H-hello, mis-mister Griffin." He fought over the last syllable of Alex's name. He raised a frail hand for Alex to shake, the effort of keeping it in the air a heartbreaking thing to watch.

  Alex took it in the gentlest of grips. "I'm pleased to meet you, Patrick."

  "Y-you're a nize man, mi-mister Griffin. I saw you s-save muh my sister twice." Patrick's eyes lost their dull sheen as they

  glowed with the memory.

  Alex crouched down. "She was worth it, believe me."

  "Patrick watched the whole Game," she said, beaming with ap­proval. "He always watches."

  Griffin took a hunch. "Did your brother ever Game himself?" Mary-em nodded, sensing that Alex understood. "Until the ac­cident, yes. Now-" She touched his head fondly, and he rubbed it against her hand like an affection-starved kitten. "Now he just watches his big sister. He can even understand most of what hap­pens."

  He looked from one of them to the other, the crippled man/child and the stunted warrior, and the hunch grew solid. "How long have you been Gaming, Mary-em?"

  She nodded. "Right again, Griffy. You're definitely detective material."

  "That's a relief. Nice knowing you, Mary-Martha." He nodded to Patrick, who watched his sister with worshipping eyes. Griffin softened his voice. "And you too, Patrick."

  Mary-em grabbed Alex's arm and wrenched him down, planting a big wet kiss on his cheek. "You ain't shed of me yet. We'll go crazy again, sometime."

  "Maybe so." He picked his way across the room to Acacia, who sat with Gwen and Ollie. There was an empty space next to her that no one had filled, and Griffin could almost feel Tony's ab­sence. There were weary smiles in the group of three, and their voices were subdued.

  Gwen and Ollie, for once, weren't touching. Somehow it didn't seem to matter. They sat very close to each other, and the affec­tion between them was virtually a tangible thing, making the corner a warm place to be.

  As he walked toward them, the blare of the music receded to a dull throb in his ears.

  He stood directly behind Acacia, and Ollie's eyes flickered up to meet his as Griffin laid a large warm hand on her shoulder.

  Without turning, she said "Hello, Alex." He lit up inside, the weariness vanquished by the magic of her voice.

  He sat next to her, understanding who the space was really for. She turned slowly until her soft brown eyes scanned his face, and the edges of her mouth tugged up.

  "You know," he said, as honestly as he could, "I've wanted you to say my name for a long time."

  Her answer was a meld of warmth and reserve. Only the dark rings under her eyes betrayed a lack of sleep. "I wish that I'd known it." And she waited: a silent question- Griffin shook his head. "I can't say, Cas. II it's Tony's first offense-"

  "It is."

  "And he continues to cooperate, and if a reasonable doubt ex­ists as to the degree of maliciousness or premeditation..." He heard the whistle of air wind its way from his lungs, and felt old. "Maybe ten years. I don't really know."

  She was outraged. "And you can't help?"

  "Acacia..." Jesus. How to say it? "I like Tony. I don't have anything against him at all. But he planned to steal something worth millions. In the process he was guilty of assault and battery to say the very least. If t
he Park and the State should want to drop him into a hole and pave over the top-why should I say no?"

  If a fire in her head had been stoked with gasoline, her eyes couldn't have blazed hotter. He cut off her outburst.

  "Acacia. To you, this is someplace you visit once or twice a year, filled with people whose names you never know working overtime to provide your thrills. Now, I'm not blaming you. If I were you I'd probably think the same way about this. For us it's-"

  "It isn't fair, Alex! He didn't mean to kill anyone. Tony would never do that." Desperation seeped into her voice. "I thought I knew him. Dammit, I do know him. I'm sure he checked that guard's breathing before he left him. Alex, I know hhn."

  "Tell it to the coroner. Tell it to Rice, for that matter." Alex fought to keep irritation from his voice. This wasn't what he wanted to talk about, or what he wanted to say. Maybe he should just leave. .

  But Gwen reached across and touched Acacia's shoulder, and her budding anger melted.

  "All right. It was all his fault."

  There was a hollowness in the air that Alex wanted to fill with something. Words... touches.

  But he sat there next to her, almost touching but not quite, until Ollie tugged at Gwen's hand. "Come on, hon," he said, "I think we should go count some sheep. These two need to talk. Acacia- breakfast tomorrow?"

  "You know it. Goodnight, Gwen."

  "Good Game, Griffin." Gwen hugged Acacia goodnight.

  Acacia watched the two of them leave. "You should have seen the reunion."

  "Ollie and Gwen?"

  "Yes. It was weird. Ollie seemed scared to touch her at first. She had to grab and kiss him before he could move."

  They both laughed, and both knew it was only postponing the inevitable. When the chuckle died they said nothing, then Griffin's hand stole over to find hers. She squeezed it weakly.

  "Leaving tomorrow, Cas?"

  She smoothed her hair back with her free hand. "That's what the ticket says."

  "Then I guess that's it. Nice knowing you. I mean, really."

  She clenched her teeth and bored into the rug with her eyes. "I wish I could say the same thing."

  Alex felt her hand cool, and withdrew before she could break contact. "It's down to that then?"

  "Don't misunderstand me. You're fascinating, Griffin. And sexy as hell. And a little frightening. Did you seriously come in here to put the make on me after sending my boyfriend up for ten years?"

  That was that. The air clouded with frost. Oh, for a word, a clever line. It's just the neutral scent talking, babe, don't flatter yourself.

  "I was invited," he said, and stood up.

  "Griffin," she called up to him, her eyes impossibly wide. "There was an accomplice, wasn't there? An inside man? Suppose Tony was set up. What if they did get away with whatever it was that they wanted? Suppose Tony was just a patsy, and while you prosecute him, the big people are all getting away?"

  Alex's expression didn't change. "The fantasy is over, Acacia. Tony played the wrong game in the wrong place, and he's going to

  have to pay for it." Damn, you just can't say anything without being Mr. Griffin, can you? Then the only words that mattered bobbed up in his mind like letters in a bowl of alphabet soup. "I'm just sorry we had to meet like this," he said.

  She was silent, but the air was just a shade warmer, and he knew she had believed. And then, all that could be said having been said, he left.

  Griffin felt his weight settle into his mattress, a two-hundred-pound deadweight of human being.

  The temperature in his bedroom was seventy degrees and he didn't bother pulling the sheets up over his body.

  He watched the sleep pattern dancing in the air in front of his eyes, soothing pastel freeforms that pulsed and bobbed at eighteen beats per minute.

  Here, the distant gurgle of his living room aquarium and his low steady breathing were the only sounds. Here, away from the babble outside, he could listen to his body, feel the bruises and hurts, the places where he felt good, the clean spot in his mind that would fill in with work.

  Here he was free to let his control go, and sleep.

  And he couldn't sleep. Not at all.

  His job was done. There was nothing he could do, should want to do, about Acacia. Tomorrow he would wrap up his report with Harmony, be de-briefed, and that would pretty well end his per­sonal involvement.

  Rest. For days he had thought of nothing that would make him happier. And now, with the sleep-pattern snaking in front of his eyes, the warm air circulating around his naked body, nothing seemed further away.

  Murder in Dream Park. God, what a nightmare. Could it have been an accident, despite what Novotney said? Doctors weren't omniscient... Could Tony be a consummate liar, despite every­thing Griffin thought he had seen in him? The Griffin wasn't om­niscient either... Or had he been set up?

  Suppose, just suppose, Rice was the inside man? What a grim joke that would be. Rice was in a good position to commit the burglary. Suppose Rice handed the notes and neutral scent to Tony, then allowed Tony to tie him up... both following in­structions... wrap him up like a Christmas present so that a

  third accomplice, unsuspected by either, could shut Rice's mouth by pinching his nose shut.

  Griffin shook his head. It was the kind of thought you could only have about a man you disliked. It irked him to admit that he had never warmed to Rice. But then, Rice had never given Griffin much chance to warm to him. Distant. Polite, but cold. Capable of that total indifference even toward the man to whom he owed his job.

  Alex squinted in the darkness, following a disturbing train of thought. If Rice was the true thief, still, why should he be killed? If he knew too much... but why should he have been told any more than Tony? No, that wasn't it.

  Because Rice was in the wrong place at the wrong time, then. What did he see? What did he know... ?

  Griffy, you're definitely detective material.

  Griffin listened to his breathing: thunder in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears; and knew that he had to call Millicent. He propped himself upright and said, "Switchboard."

  The screen formed, a pale violet rectangle of light. A voice asked, "Yes, Mr. Griffin?"

  Stifling a yawn, he said, "Summers, Millicent Summers. Priority call."

  Twenty seconds later Millie rippled to life in front of him, her eyes puffy and half-crossed with bleariness. "Chief? What's up?"

  Gotcha! he thought; but it didn't seem to matter. "I need your help, Hon. You did the research-"

  Even as he spoke she was coming alert, her eyes focussing, mouth hardening. By God, he thought to himself, maybe I never will learn her secret.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  DEPARTURES

  At ten past ten that Wednesday morning, Skip O'Brien looked like the surviving Garners had looked stumbling out of the Goose. Smiling, successful, but very tired. He blinked at Griffin and Har­mony and, seeing no returning smiles, lost his own. "Am I late?"

  Alex felt awake and alert after ten hours of sleep. "We haven't been here long. Coffee, Skip? You look like you need it." He was already holding the pot.

  "Good. Black, thanks. I didn't get to bed till two this morning. Worth it, though." Skip slid his briefcase onto the desk and took the cup Griffin handed him. Griffin refilled Harmony's empty cup, then his own.

  Harmony gulped, made a face. "Good. Well, I'm glad to be wrapping this mess up, finally. Skip? Your report, please?"

  Griffin watched Skip remove three sheets from his briefcase and sort through them. Skip adjusted his glasses and skimmed down the chosen sheet.

  "We recovered almost half of the neutral scent. Considering the level of impact felt by the Gaming party, I believe we can safely conclude that we've got it all. The formula has been recovered, and we have stress-analyzed testimony indicating no copies were made. Although we don't have tapes to study, the report filed by security chief Griffin would seem to indicate that the drug per­formed at a level beyond our most optimistic e
xpectations." He smiled shallowly. "I think we've got a winner, gentlemen." He set­tled the papers back in his lap.

  Harmony tapped a thick finger on his desk pad. "Very good. Alex?"

  "It's not quite so neat on my end, Mr. Harmony."

  The bald man's face remained immobile. "Explain, please."

  "I'm just not sure that we know the truth yet. There are some questions about Rice that need to be answered."

  "Wasn't it murder?"

  "The coroner says so. McWhirter says he left Rice alive and healthy, and the voice-stress test says he isn't lying. But McWhirter's no doctor... Incidentally, we picked up his accom­plice at five this morning when he tried to recover the notes and the neutral scent." Alex grinned suddenly. "Wet as a cat in the rain, he was, and not happy. McWhirter was supposed to leave the stuff behind the fake waterfall. He's given us that much, anyway. We don't know who the man in Sacramento was... yet. We will. My question is: was Rice involved? His apartment was rifled only two days before, he was taking an unscheduled break. .

  "Exactly what are you saying?" Skip's eyes were narrowed.

  "It's pretty thin, but thieves have been known to fall out among themselves."

  Harmony's finger tapped more quietly. "I'm still not sure I fol­low."

  Griffin sighed. Here it came, and it wasn't going to be pretty. But he could be wrong; he could still hope he was wrong.

  Alex said, "Rice claimed that nothing was missing from his apartment. We think he lied. A statue was missing. The statue was known to be hollow. Two days later, Rice is dead and the neutral scent turns up missing. Skip, when exactly was the last time that the contents of that cabinet had been checked?"

  "I... see what... you mean." Skip thought a moment. "I'd have to check."

  "All right. Now, think with me. Suppose the neutral scent was

  already gone? Suppose Rice stole it, and the whole thing went down to divert suspicion?"

  "Then..." Harmony's frown deepened. "You think that the statue held the vial and someone stole it back? Gave it back to us? That doesn't make sense."