Ollie’s jaw hung slack. He said, “Heyyy . . .”
Gwen shook her head. “That was really good. I’m impressed.” Her face sobered, and she squared her chunky body up to him. “Ollie, would you really have come with somebody else if we hadn’t made up?”
Ollie looked stonily ahead, trying to pretend he was still thinking about Lenore.
“Ollie? I wouldn’t have come without you. Really.”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Gwen started to speak, but the opening hiss of the door silenced her. Ollie stepped out, then stopped and turned. “I thought you said you were coming with Furburger or whatever his name is.”
“Feinburger.”
“Feinburger. Well?”
“Oh, you nut, I wasn’t really gonna go with Gordon. All he ever wants . . . all he wanted was to get into my pants anyway. I just didn’t want you to think you had to feel sorry for me.” She brushed a strand of her short yellow hair into place. “Honest.”
“Well . . .” Ollie hesitated, then turned and started down the hall. She had almost to run to catch up, to hear him say softly, “I made the reservation for two ’cause I hoped you’d come with me, and I didn’t put a name down because I was scared you wouldn’t.”
Gwen seemed about to speak; then she linked arms with him and matched him stride for stride down the hall. Finally, as if she couldn’t stand it any longer, she swung him around and kissed him hard. With her hands locked behind his neck she looked dead into his eyes and said in all seriousness, “Adolph, I love you. I really do. But sometimes I could just break your kneecaps.”
He smiled at her, and it stayed warm. “Hey, I think this is our room.” He clicked his registration card into the slot in the door and it creaked open. From within the room there came a widening beam of dark purple light.
“Holy spit.” Ollie pushed the door further open, then stepped in, Gwen close behind. The room was an Edward Gorey opium dream. Dark twisted plants grew meter-high from rudely-stitched planters made of some kind of animal skin. The canopy over the bed fluttered without a breeze. Rain blew against the panes with a sound of crackling bacon. Things moved out there in the dark, and even the shadows on the wall seemed to flux with a strange rhythm. When Gwen looked at the bed closely she could see that the spread was slowly rising to normal level, as if someone had gotten off it the instant before the door opened.
She said, “Wow. This is really . . .”
“Really what? Come on, don’t keep me hanging.”
“Hush, I’m being terrorized. This is too much! Ollie, I adore this room.” She stood on tiptoe and bussed him. “I’m very glad to be your Significant Other. Let’s get the luggage out of the lift and get to bed. Tomorrow starts early.”
Chapter Four
THE MASTER DREAMERS
The ballroom of the Dream Park Sheraton was completely filled. Bleachers had been set up on three sides of the room, overlooking a conference table set near the fourth wall.
Of the eighteen hundred people in the room, only about fifty occupied the cordoned-off section near the conference table. These were the finalists: those pre-chosen to participate in the Game, and those whose credentials had passed the preliminary screening test.
There was little noise in the room, and no talking at all. All eyes were on the conference table.
Chester Henderson drummed his fingers on the table. His light blue shirt had dark rings under the armpits from nervous perspiration, and his eyes darted from the wall clock to the room’s main entrance, to the clock, to the entrance . . .
He leaned toward the bald man with the roll-top sweater. “Listen, Myers, do I have to put up with this kind of crap? He’s twenty minutes late!”
Myers was fortyish, with tobacco-stained teeth and a receding chin hidden behind a sparse beard. He smiled at Chester with the benignity of a suffering saint. “Mr. Henderson, this is Mr. Lopez’s Game. While the I. F.G.S. may enter your complaints in the minutes of today’s meeting I’m afraid that there is no set procedure for censuring a tardy Game Master. If you would care to submit a resolution to that effect at the next meeting . . .”
Chester waved a weary hand in the air and sighed his surrender. “We wait. Metesky, can we at least go over the basic points now?”
The other person at the table was a woman with a stripe of white dyed down the middle of a glorious wealth of gray hair. Age had been kind to her, mellowing the angular facial lines of her youth into softer curves. She moved her leather briefcase a protective inch closer to her chest and calmly said, “I’m afraid not, Mr. Henderson. Mr. Lopez was very specific about that.”
Henderson lidded his eyes and silently mouthed further specifics concerning Mr. Lopez, then inhaled deeply through his nose, holding the air down for a long count before exhaling. Temper, temper, he reminded himself. In a war of nerves, your own arsenal can destroy you.
There was a swelling murmur in the back of the room. Chester looked up, trying unsuccessfully to mask his eagerness. Two people were approaching, a short dark man wearing crisp white denims, and a slight Japanese girl several inches taller. Chester knew the woman. Chi-chi Lopez.
The murmur grew to spontaneous applause, and Lopez turned and bowed grandly. After a moment’s hesitation his wife Mitsuko curtsied. Chester had to smile. He had expected that forcing Lopez out of the woodwork would shake the great Game Master. The little man might have been born in front of an audience.
He strode directly to Henderson and extended his hand, a cool and businesslike smile on his face. “I hope my lateness hasn’t inconvenienced you.”
Chester took the hand and the gambit with the same firm grip. “Certainly not. I’m glad you felt free to take all the time you need to get your Game together.”
Lopez nodded curtly, and led his wife to their seats at the other end of the table. There was a barely audible hum, and a “soft” translucent hologram blossomed in the air over the table, greatly magnifying the faces of the five principles.
Ms. Metesky folded her fingers primly and cleared her throat before speaking. “As the representative of Dream Park’s Special Projects division, I would like to welcome Mr. Richard Lopez and Mr. Chester Henderson to our facilities. This is a momentous occasion, as these two greats of the fantasy gaming world have never before met face to face. Mrs. Lopez is known to us all, of course—” Mitsuko leaned over in her seat and gave a little wave to Chester, who returned it with warmth. “But many of you may not know Mr. Arlan Myers, representative of the International Fantasy Gaming Society.” The light reflected from the top of Myers’ head as he nodded.
“I believe we are ready to proceed. Mr. Myers?”
Myers stood and wiped the corner of his eye with his knuckle. “Good evening. I call this meeting of the International Fantasy Gaming Society to order at eleven twenty five A.M., Friday March sixth, twenty fifty-one A.D. Tomorrow morning at eight A.M., Dream Park’s Gaming Area A will open for the largest and most elaborate Game in the history of the Park. Basic rules will be as follows:
“One. Duration of the Game will be four and a half days, from the morning of the seventh to one P.M. on the eleventh.”
“Two. Number of participants, fifteen, with substitutions for killed personnel allowed until the beginning of the fourth day.”
“Three. An adjusted Wessler-Grahm point system will be used, with compensations for duration of assault, difficulty of logical problems, and abilities needed. Bonus points will be awarded for bravery, and for dying well.”
“Four. There will be a penalty of 50% of accumulated points in case of death, reduced to 25% if the ‘dead’ player re-enters the Game as a zombie.”
“Five. Players may withdraw from the Game for any reason at a loss of 25%, until evening of March ninth. Players may not withdraw after this point without total loss of points, except for medical emergencies.”
“Six. The Game will be conducted for twelve hours out of every twenty-four, which will allow for sleep time, meals, and two half-hou
r rest breaks per day.”
“Seven. Additional bonus points will be awarded based on a secret ballot vote cast by all surviving and non-surviving members of the expedition, each member rating all members of the party.”
“Eight. The Lore Master has final word on all prospective entrants to the Game, except for the single Game space reserved for discretionary use by Dream Park.”
“Nine. The Game Master and the Lore Master will share any profits accruing from the Game on the basis of an eighty-twenty split of net.”
“Ten. The usual good luck symbol—” Myers tapped at his keyboard. Glowing curves formed in the hologram overhead, shaping a crescent moon. Myers, smiling as if it hurt, waited for a ripple of laughter to die. “—will indicate the presence of restroom facilities. Look for it in patterns of trees, rock formations, whatever.”
“Eleven. As usual, a minimum of one novice must be included in the expedition.” Myers coughed politely and rubbed his eyes again. “Ms. Metesky?”
Metesky stood, shaking her head so that her gray mane billowed around her. “The following additions and qualifications have been approved by Dream Park. If they are suitable to Mr. Henderson, there are no further barriers to the opening of Gaming Area A tomorrow morning. Mr. Lopez?”
Richard Lopez stood, thanking Ms. Metesky as she handed him the leather briefcase. He opened it. “In this case,” he said, his Puerto Rican accent almost unnoticeable, “I have the complete outline for the Game that begins tomorrow. There are only a few points that remain to be discussed.” He raised a sheet of paper close to his face and read.
“One. The Lore Master is to receive 25% of all non-bonus or penalty points awarded during the Game.
“Two. The Game involves firearms. These will become available during the course of the Game.” The murmurs of surprise from the audience included a few groans. Firearms were unusual. Warriors tended to prefer hand-to-hand weapons.
“Three. All Gamers will wear neck tabs.” Lopez held up a short, flesh-colored plastic band bearing a silver-dollar sized disk. “The disk is standard make; it bears a microphone and receiver and a 100 volt/.3 amperage microwave receptor. As usual, a shock will indicate wounding or death.
“Four. All categories of players will be admitted, except where such conflict with the rules as already stated.” Lopez sat down.
Henderson looked at him suspiciously. “Is that all?”
Lopez nodded quietly. Chester said, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Mr. Henderson, after the last Game we were involved in, you claimed that the rules had been stacked against you, and that that was the determining factor in your defeat. I want you claiming no such handicap this time.”
Lopez’s smile was as innocent as a piranha’s. Chester nodded; he understood. A loss in a Game with rules as soft as this would devastate his reputation. He asked, “Why are you making the Survivors’ Bonus a lump sum instead of the standard allocation?”
“Merely to make things more interesting. Of course, if you think that it would make it impossible for you to engender a spirit of cooperation in your expedition . . .”
“Don’t let it worry you, Lopez. My team will pull together just fine, thank you.”
“Excellent. Do you have any further questions?”
“Just one. Am I correct in assuming that tropical gear will be needed?”
Richard lowered his gaze to his fingernails and considered. “I don’t believe that it would be giving too much away to say that. Any needed modifications of costuming will be provided by Dream Park.” He pursed his mouth meditatively. “Is there anything else you will need?”
“I do hope not.” Chester stood. “Let’s call it a Game and let me get down to the business of choosing my team.”
Chester looked at the dossier in front of him, then up into the eager face of a straw haired youngster of seventeen. “Says here that you play as an Engineer. We can use one, and I think you can fit the bill.” He glanced again at the papers and seemed pleased. “What do you think, S. J.?”
S. J. Waters exploded in laughter. “What do I think? Wow, I think that’s terrific! You won’t regret this, I promise!” He bounced off happily, and Chester watched in amusement.
Gina stopped trying to massage his neck. She leaned down to whisper in his ear. “First team? You’re going to start him? Are you sure you want to do that, honey?”
“Quite sure,” he said, trying to be irritated with her. He didn’t say that a little cannon fodder never hurt. Stick a few of them in the opening lineup, and use them to spring traps. By the time you get into the “no substitutions” period, you have the territory pretty well figured out, with a minimum of valuable characters lost. “Next!”
The selection process had been going on for two hours now. Nine of the slots were pre-registered, including Gina, Ollie, Gwen, Acacia and her guest Tony. Three more slots were filled now, so he needed three more primaries and some alternates. So far he was pleased with the quality of applicant. A rough calculation gave him almost a century of fantasy gaming experience among the players he’d already selected.
“Next,” he called again, and there was laughter in the line of applicants. A small strong fist banged on the table in front of him, and he jumped. The top of a head was showing above the edge. It rose until a pair of watery brown eyes was staring at him.
Chester cackled in delight. “Mary-Martha!” He jumped out of the chair and ran around the table and hugged the dwarvish woman. She was an inch above four feet high, and almost as wide as she was tall. Little of her bulk seemed to be fat, and when she hugged him back the creak of ribs was audible.
“Chester! Lord knows I couldn’t let you run off and get yourself into a mess without old Mary-em to pull your worthless carcass out of it.”
“No explanations needed. How’s your hip?” He had read of her injury in the I. F. G. S. Monthly Bulletin.
She slapped her hip with the flat of a callused hand. “Fine, jus’ fine. An’ I’m going back to Yosemite this year too. It’s gonna take more than little Mount Excelsior to keep me down.”
“I’m betting on you, Mary-Martha. Are you up for this jaunt?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, and for a bare moment she wasn’t a chunky, harmless woman at all, but a raging force of nature caught in the wrong era and the wrong body. “You can believe it, Chester.”
“Good to have you aboard. I’d like you as a Primary.” She nodded vigorous agreement, and waddled off. Absurdly, Chester sensed that that walk could only be balanced by a battleaxe carelessly toted on the right shoulder.
The next two wanted to compete as a team, which was unfortunate. Nobody had been able to prove anything, but the rumor mill had it that Felicia Maddox was a cheat. Very shrewd about it (she would have to be) but somehow she came out of Games with more than her fair share of Points. However she did it, she would be found out eventually. Chester just didn’t want to deal with that in one of his Games.
Problem. Her companion was the highest-ranking sorcerer who had yet applied. Could he perhaps manage to kill the woman off in the first couple of days . . . ?
Bowen the Black glared at him from behind massive brows. He had dense, curly blond hair and crystal blue eyes and the muscles of a distance runner. Chester tried to remember his real name, and couldn’t. Gamers were required to give their real names to Dream Park Security, but were under no obligation to give it to him.
“Thief and Sorcerer. Both high level. And you work together well as a team.”
Bowen’s words were heavy with exotic mystery. “We are no mere team. We are one. Together we represent a force greater than any challenge imaginable.” He folded his arms and lowered his eyelids like a drowsy hawk.
Felicia slid a step forward and leaned over the table with only the barest flicker of acknowledgement for Gina’s presence. “I’ve got what you need for this Game, Chester. I’ve got an eighty-two percent agility rating on level six.”
“Wessler-Grahm?” Chester glanced down
at her folder. It was there. Damn, but she could come in useful. He studied her face: short brown hair and fleshy lips, blunt nose, ears that stuck out from her head like flowers on a barrel cactus. Could he keep an eye on her?
Chester closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation of Gina’s fingers in his neck. Ah, well, as long as he could kill Felicia off if the occasion demanded. “Okay. You’re both in the Game, starting. See you tomorrow morning.
“Three more Alternate positions are available,” he called. A groan went up from the twenty-five people left in the room. These were low-ranked players, locals who hoped to squeeze into the Game more by luck than experience. A Lore Master was obliged to take one totally new player, but aside from that he picked only the strongest. Half the remaining supplicants left the room, and any of those still in line were grumbling, but one tall black woman was smiling. She had read up on Chester Henderson. He had a habit of losing dippy players in the first day or two of a Game. She could wait. Alternate was fine. This was the Game where the I. F. G. S. would sit up and take notice of Holly Frost.
The Ballroom of the Dream Park Sheraton was empty but for a forelorn maintenance ’bot sucking up dust and trash, and a pair of tired human beings at the big conference table.
Chester Henderson looked at the stack of seventeen dossiers sitting in front of him. It had taken hours of culling he pre-selected finalists to find these people. They would be an odd crew, but any expedition that included Mary Martha and Ollie Norliss would be both exciting and profitable.
Gina sat at the table next to him, her lovely face drawn with fatigue. He reached up and took her hand, squeezed appreciatively. “You know, hon? After everyone else is gone, you’re still around.” He was surprised to hear the sincerity in his voice. It was so easy to discount Gina. Just a beautiful Fantasy-Game groupie with a stunning body and love for playing dumb.
She rubbed his head with a hand that smelled faintly of musk oil and clean sweat. “Oh, Chester. I just like to feel needed, that’s all.”
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