The Shapechanger Scenario

by Simon Hawke

  There could be thousands of miles of virgin, unpopulated country available all around us, and yet most of us always gravitated to the skyscrapers and the slums, the concrete and the steel, the pulsating, sweating, heaving multitudes choking in their own effluvium, pressing in on one another, living like insects in a hive, all for the illusion of security and fellowship. The city made its own rules and forgot about the rules of nature. It became a ravening beast, its pulse abnormally fast, its reactions unnatural, its sexuality perverse, its mind twisted. When there are too many ants in a colony, they all go mad. The loneliest, saddest people I've met have always lived in cities.

  My ancestors were Irish and Russian, both peoples with a passionate involvement with the land, a feeling for it, a love as profound as that for family and self. Somewhere in the distant past, my people had worshiped at Druidic altars and galloped on horseback across vast steppes. They had farmed and hunted. When the game was scarce, they went hungry. When the drought came, they starved. Their connection with the land was tangible, if at times brutal. But as we built our cities and exerted our collective will against the wilderness, we lost that connection with the land. And in so doing, we had lost a part of ourselves, as well.

  We would either live or die. We would do our best to live, and with Tyla's help, we had a far better chance than we would've had on our own. The terror of (he city dweller out in the wild and away from everything familiar had abated and in its place there came a quiet acceptance, a serenity, a sense of peace. It was as if the vastness of the desert had reminded me of my insignificance and, properly humbled, I had once more assumed my proper place in the natural scheme of things. I wasn't "master" of anything. I was, instead, merely a part of everything. There was a certain inexpressible joy in that realization, a true feeling of community that people always seek in cities and never really find.

  It was almost dawn by the time we reached the foothills. We had walked briskly all night and made surprisingly good time. I was absolutely exhausted, but I had to give Coles credit. If it weren't for all the hell he'd put me through, both physically and mentally, I doubt I would have made it. The others would've had to carry me.

  Tyla heard it first. She stopped and pointed back the way we came. I couldn't hear anything at all. Neither could Breck, at first, but then he heard it, too. Moments later, so did Higgins and I. It was the faint, far-off sound of a jet engine. It might almost have been the wind. But then we saw the silvery sparkle of light reflected off a desert sled as the sun started to come up over the horizon.

  "He's circling," Higgins said. "Right where our sled crashed. By now, the wind will have erased any tracks we left, but he'll figure out we've headed for the high country. He'll probably fly a few widening circles around the wreck, then he'll start heading this way. It might be a good idea if we got out of sight."

  "And it might be an even better idea if we didn't," Breck said. "Since you're a competent outdoorsman, Higgins, I assume that one of these packs contains something in the way of an emergency shelter?"

  "Well . . . yes, I'm packing a collapsible, reflective dome shelter, but-"

  "Excellent," said Breck. "If you're quick about setting it up, it should reflect quite nicely as the sun climbs over the horizon."

  "But that would only attract . . . oh, I see."

  Breck smiled. "Precisely."

  A few moments later, Higgins had the shelter erected. It was a silver nyflex dome big enough to comfortably sleep two; four if comfort wasn't a major concern. Obviously, Higgins hadn't counted on using it, but being a competent outdoorsman, as Breck had observed, he had packed it as a prudent safety measure.

  "What happens now?" said Higgins as he finished setting it up.

  "Now ... we wait," said Breck. "Let's see what he does when he spots the reflection off the dome."

  "You think it's an ambimorph in that sled?" said Higgins. "Our saboteur?"

  Breck nodded. "I'm sure of it. Unless you can think of any other reason why someone would wish to follow us out here."

  "I hate to bring it up," I said, "but I can think of one. Someone could have followed us with the express purpose of arresting you for murder. The people back there wouldn't have any way of knowing that bartender you killed was an ambimorph. If there are other shapechangers present in the city, they'll be certain to exploit that situation. And it's entirely possible that someone familiar with the terrain might have found us without the aid of a locator beacon."

  "How?" asked Higgins, frowning.

  "Simple. They could tune in to the broadcast of the game."

  Higgins stared at me with astonishment. "They could what! Wait a minute, let me get this straight," he said. "I want to make sure I understand this lunacy I've gotten myself mixed up in. You and Breck are Psychodrome players, but you're also working for the government. However, since that's supposed to be a secret, you've made it part of your alien invasion game, only the invasion is actually real, which nobody's going to believe because it's part of the game to act as if it's real. So, supposedly, what's happening isn't really happening, except it is, right? And anyone with a psy-fi set can tune in on this craziness?"

  "That's about it," I said.

  "But. . . but when you explained about editing and enhancement for broadcast purposes, I assumed you meant that steps would be taken to protect your mission."

  I shook my head. "Not necessarily. They edit primarily to protect the home audience from reality. And for maximum dramatic impact when they broadcast the condensed version in a rerun. You see, Higgins, the more danger we're in, the more interesting it is for the home audience. That's the bottom line, because if we get good ratings, more people will tune in. If more people tune in, the game becomes more popular. The more popular the game becomes, the more people will enter the lottery, the more biochips will be given out as prizes, which means more minds and bodies for our friend Coles to play with. He calls it 'increasing the data base.' He'd probably like to do it more quickly, but if he started handing out biochips by the thousands, it might look a little funny. Instead, what he's trying to do is pick his winners carefully, utilizing things like demographics, position in the business community, political affiliation, and so forth. Of course, this part of our conversation will probably be edited out for broadcast and redubbed with simulsynch. That's the sort of reality people have to be protected from. So as far as the home audience is concerned, we probably aren't even having this conversation. I wonder what we're really saying?"

  Higgins turned to Breck. "Is he serious?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "But . . . that's crazy!" Higgins stared at us with disbelief. "Don't you realize what that means? It means you're being used as Judas goats! It means that any ambimorph with access to a psych-fidelity set can tune you in!"

  He pointed to the silvery speck of the desert sled in the distance, gradually getting larger as it approached. "Whoever or whatever that is only needs a communication link to someone tuned into you right now to know exactly what you' re planning!"

  "Makes it a bit more challenging, doesn't it?" said Breck, watching as the craft approached.

  SIX

  The jet-powered desert sled came out of the sun, heading straight for the reflective dome tent. As it banked sharply, turning its canopy toward us, Higgins followed it with binoculars.

  "It's Jarrett!" he said.

  "I think we can safely assume that it most definitely isn't Jarrett," Breck said as we hid in some rock outcroppings a short distance from the dome. "Not unless Jarrett has some sort of official law-enforcement status here."

  "No," said Higgins, glancing at Breck and then putting the binoculars back up to his eyes. "Blaisedell's Chief of Security. You met him when we went to visit Cavanaugh. If he had a warrant out on you, he'd serve it himself. He wouldn't send Jarrett. And if he came after you, he sure as hell wouldn't come alone."

  "I didn't think so," Breck said.

  The sled banked sharply and circled round the dome.

  "He's ret
racted the canopy," said Higgins. "He's-"

  A burst of automatic weapons' fire sounded above the whine of the jet engines and the fragmentation rounds plowed into the dome shelter, exploding as they hit.

  "Now," said Breck, bringing his pistol up, "as our friend lands so that he can survey the damage ..."

  The sled set down with a diminishing whine of engines beside the wreckage of the shelter. Jarrett jumped down from the cockpit and came toward what was left of the shelter, holding an assault rifle at the ready. Breck stood up and rapidly fired three stunner darts into his back. Jarrett spun around and fired a burst in our direction. The rounds exploded as they hit the rocks, sending shards and chips of stone flying everywhere. Breck tried to fire once more and Jarrett opened up again, forcing him to duck back down. I edged around the outcropping on the other side, leveled my gun and fired twice. The fragmentation rounds took Jarrett in the chest, spinning him around as they exploded. He fired as he fell and the frag bullets stitched the body of the sled, struck the fuel cells, and the whole thing exploded into flame.

  "Damn you, O'Toole!" swore Breck, "I was trying to take him alive!"

  I glanced down at the grip indicator of my gun and saw a strip of red showing through the clear plastic. Red magazine. Fragmentation rounds. I thought I'd loaded stunners.

  "I'm sorry," I said, lamely. "I thought I... Holy Christ!"

  I stared wide-eyed as the ground around Jarrett's body churned and what looked like hundreds of fist-sized, hairy, multilegged creatures erupted to the surface. They looked like a cross between tarantulas and hermit crabs. They swarmed over the body, covering it completely in a black, writhing, hairy blanket. There was an incredible sound, like hundreds of walnuts cracking, and moments later, they had burrowed back down beneath the surface, leaving nothing behind. Not even bones.

  "My God," I said. "What were those creatures?"

  "Sandstriders," Higgins said. "They burrow underground at night and then come up and swarm over the surface toward their prey."

  "We were standing right there just a little while ago," I said, swallowing hard.

  "That's right," said Higgins, uneasily. "And we're standing way the hell too close right now. We'd better move it."

  "My apologies, O'Toole," said Breck as we hurried away. "You may not have intended it, but you just saved our lives. "It's a pity about the sled, though."

  "At least Jarrett, or the shapechanger, didn't realize it was a trap," said Higgins. "What if he had been in communication with another ambimorph who was tuned in on the game?"

  "It might have been interesting," said Breck. "And if they were tuning in on us, it would certainly have been worth knowing. However, I think they'd shy away from that idea. I don't think they're certain yet how vulnerable they would be if they plugged into the net. For that matter, I don't think we're sure of that, ourselves."

  "I'm having a hard time keeping all this straight," said Higgins, "but it occurs to me that if people could follow our experience right now by tuning in to either of you guys through the psy-fi network, then wouldn't they have been able to see the bartender transforming herself into a sandcat? That means they'd know she was an ambimorph, wouldn't they? Surely that would clear you?"

  "It isn't something I would care to bet on," said Breck. "If anyone on Purgatory was tuned in at precisely the right time, and if they believed that what they were seeing was actually real as opposed to a psychocybernetically achieved special effect, then perhaps it might have cleared me. But I don't think a court of law would be convinced that anything experienced on Psychodrome was representative of reality."

  "But what about the body?" Higgins said. "Certainly they can't doubt that reality!"

  "It's the body of a human female," said Breck. "And no autopsy would be able to prove otherwise."

  "But unless she was an ambimorph,-what reason would you possibly have for killing her?" asked Higgins.

  "Some of them will think I simply went berserk," Breck said. "After all, I am a hybreed who has been trained to kill and everyone knows that genetically engineered killing machines such as myself occasionally slip a cog, especially given the high incidence of Psychodrome players going insane. Of course, there may be others who will think the alien invasion game is real, especially if they witnessed the girl's transformation on psy-fi." He smiled. "It all depends on which brand of reality you subscribe to. In any case, none of it amounts to proof. I imagine it will prove somewhat controversial."

  "Aren't you even worried?" Higgins asked.

  "I never worry," Breck replied, with a shrug. "What would it accomplish?"

  "But you could wind up facing a murder charge!"

  "Quite possibly."

  "And that doesn't bother you?"

  "At the moment, we have other things with which to concern ourselves. Such as the fact that your wife seems to have disappeared."

  Higgins spun around, looking all around him. There was no sign of Tyla.

  "She was here a minute ago," I said.

  "You didn't see her leave?" said Breck.

  I shook my head.

  "Neither did I," he said. "Now that may be cause for worry."

  Higgins turned on Breck. "What are you saying? You don't think that... Now wait a minute! You're not seriously suggesting that Tyla could be one of them? Oh, come on! That's ridiculous!"

  "Is it?"

  "Don' t be absurd! She must have gone to hunt for food or..."

  "Or?"

  "For God's sake, Breck, I've lived with her! You can't seriously believe that she could be one of those creatures!"

  "I've told you once before, Higgins," Breck said, "I suspect everyone. Even you."

  "You're crazy. Tyla! Tyla!" His voice echoed in the rocks above. There was no answer. He glanced from me to Breck and back again. For the first time, I saw uncertainty in his face. He didn't want to think about it, but he was only human and Breck had planted a frightening, horrible suspicion in his mind.

  "You said yourself that you lived apart much of the time," said Breck. "How do you know that it was really Tyla who came back to you this time?"

  "You think I wouldn't know my own wife?" Higgins looked around anxiously, then called her name again.

  The answering call came from high up in the rocks.

  "There!" he said triumphantly, visibly relieved. "I knew she hadn't run out on us! She must have found us shelter up there or some food."

  He started climbing quickly up the slope. Breck and I followed.

  "What do you think?" I said.

  "I think we should take turns sleeping tonight," said Breck.

  Tyla had found a small cave in a large group of rock outcrop-pings higher up in the foothills. It provided some welcome shelter from the savage heat. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, I was extremely grateful that we had walked all night and not stayed on the desert. We would have cooked down there. Not to mention the possibility of being eaten alive by creatures like those sandstriders.

  Higgins spread out his bedroll and settled down on the rock floor with Tyla, who curled up beside him. Breck volunteered to take the first watch, since I was exhausted. I spread out my own bedroll, on loan from Higgins, and stretched out my aching legs. Breck took up position near the entrance to the cave.

  "Breck," said Higgins quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the confines of the cave.

  "Yes?"

  "How do I know that you 're not one of them?"

  Breck smiled. "You're learning, Higgins. We'll make a psycho of you yet."

  I closed my eyes and wondered where the whole damn thing would end. What would we find out here in the middle of this godforsaken no-man's-land? And how would we get back? I felt that we were stumbling in the dark, improvising as we went along. How the hell were we supposed to capture an ambimorph alive? And how were we supposed to deliver it to Coles? We'd had several chances already and we'd blown every one.

  I thought about Kami, a young woman I had known back when she was the leader of a gang of wild
scooter bandits in Tokyo. She'd moved up in the world a bit since then. She was now known in the Japanese underworld as the Tiger Lady, operator of The Pyramid Club, the plushest casino on the Ginza Strip, and through her position as shogun of the bushido gangs, she controlled over a dozen more. The empire that had once been Hakim Saqqara's was now hers. I'd had something to do with that and she had made it clear that I was welcome there to share it with her anytime I chose. I wished I was there right now.

  There had been a time, not very long ago, when the life that Kami led seemed frighteningly violent to me. I had told myself I was too old for taking up with a gang of scooter bandits and zooming around high above the streets of Tokyo on a jet-powered skimmer, terrorizing the "zens." That sort of life seemed very tame now compared with what I was involved in. At least Kami's world was simple and brutally direct. Mine had become about as unpredictable as possible. And far more violent than I could have dreamed.

  I opened my eyes and saw a dark figure in a long flowing coat that billowed like a cape. He stood at the entrance to the cave, silhouetted against the light. I looked for Breck, but he was nowhere in sight. Higgins and Tyla were both gone.

  I sat up quickly, reaching for my gun, but my weapons had disappeared, as well. The sun made a blinding aura around the shadowy figure standing motionless at the mouth of the cave, watching me. He took a couple of steps forward, seeming to glide across the rock floor of the cave. As he came closer, I could see the long white hair falling to his shoulders, the gaunt face etched with age, the dark and penetrating eyes, the blood ruby amulet of the playermaster on a chain around his neck...

  "Mondago," I said.

  He smiled, standing over me, and though his lips did not move, I heard his familiar deep sepulchral tones as he spoke inside my mind. "How are you bearing up, O'Toole?"

  I realized I was asleep. Mondago always had a flair for the dramatic. He liked to contact players in their dreams, making his entrances in clouds of mist, appearing like a specter from beyond. He was another one for tiptoeing through people's minds without their knowing it. He'd done it to me on at least several occasions that I knew of. Now here he was again, appearing in my dream like an unwelcome guest come to spoil the weekend.