If he believes in the Game Master, how can he believe he’s Oliver the Frank? Tony shrugged inside his mind. Schizo. Well, maybe I’ll have to be schizo too. “Oliver, what is it exactly that Thieves do? It’s easy to see what warriors and Clerics and Magic Users do.”
“Thieves steal, mostly.” Gwen skipped a half-pace to keep her step even with Oliver’s. “You skulk around, and you’re practically invisible to your enemies. You’re not much with weapons, except maybe a throwing knife. It’s loads of fun. You’ll get a chance to try your hand later today, probably. That’s about all I can think of. Chester can fill you in on anything else. Don’t worry; we won’t let you get killed before you learn the rules. It won’t get really rough for a bit yet.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you haven’t had a chance to bless anything yet, either.”
“Not true. I blessed dear Oliver before he engaged in mortal combat with that overblown water worm.”
“Behind every man, et cetera,” said Oliver. His persona cracked for an instant, and he bounced on his toes and was Ollie again, smiling bright as sunrise, saying, “I am having so much fun. I really hope you can get into it, Tony.
McWhirter smiled and nodded. He dropped back to Acacia’s side. “Happy as two fleas in a bottle of blood, they are. “
“What do you want out of all this, Tony? What will make you happy?”
“Just a little of something that I can’t get anywhere else, I guess.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
“Well, you, of course. But, you know. Breathless adventure, exotic sights, heaps of fabulous gems . . . all that.”
“All that. But you do value my friendship, don’t you?”
“Sure I do, Cas. Besides, I can’t afford what you charge strangers.” He hugged her with one arm as they moved down the trail, the shrubbery closing behind them like a healing wound. “I’m a city boy, Cas. What am I supposed to want? Six days from now I’m back at work copying blueprints eight hours a day. Hell, I . . . guess my expectations are a little unreasonable. I can’t really expect an amusement park to undo in a week the damage a dull job does in fifty, but I do.” He gently turned her face to him and spoke in all seriousness. “Help me, will you, Cas?”
She looked half puzzled, half pleased. “You know, hombre, every once in a while you’re such a decent human being that I might as well have left my hip boots a home.”
“How ’bout if I tickle your butt next time you’re facing down a giant snake?”
There was a shout up ahead, and several of the gamers had broken ranks, running forward to a clearing 100 meters up the trail. Acacia half-drew her sword; then she saw and relaxed. The first half of the journey was over.
In a few seconds they were out of the jungle and into cultivated area, where knee-high and waist-high plan grew in neat rows. She could see men and women working in the fields, weeding and irrigating. “Please!” Kasan Maibang’s voice rang out. “Stay on the path. The young tubers are very delicate.” Acacia immediately wondered how far the cultivated area really went, and where the Dream Park magic took over.
Some of the land had been irrigated into marshiness and men waded knee-deep in the mud planting and setting up stakes to indicate private plots in the community garden. Acacia recognized sweet potatoes, yams and sugar cane. In the distance banana trees and breadfruit grew, and the air was full of the scent of rich wet earth and growing things. Like Tony, she was a child of the city, but a granduncle in Mexico owned his own ranch, and she and her two brothers had spent glorious summers there helping with the cows and pigs. She knew something of wide spaces, and working in the open air, and remembered the smell of sweating bodies toiling in the afternoon sun.
The villagers were small people, most of them darker than Kasan and showing the physical impact of a primitive life style. Adults seemed to be made of leather and woven gut, faces etched but not scarred by endless labor in the fields, bodies scarred but not broken by the rigors of the hunt. Their attire, g-strings and animal-hide flaps, made her feel she was sweltering, and she toyed with the idea of adapting that style for the rest of the trip. Poor Tony would have a fit.
The gamers were attracting attention from the field workers now, and many stopped their work to point and stare. Warriors carrying bamboo spears had emerged from the cluster of thatched buildings on the other side of the fields. The Gamers had gathered around Chester while he quizzed Maibang.
“You’re sure that your chief knows we’re coming? And wants us here?”
“I am sure of all that,” Maibang answered gravely.
A nasty suspicion lit Chester’s face. “The Daribi are cannibals, aren’t they?”
Maibang looked wounded. “Upon special occasions, of course. You are not our enemies, you have come to help us. It would be ingracious in the extreme to do such a thing.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Just to be on the safe side, though, you might be careful of the phrasing if anyone invites you to dinner.” He leaned close enough to whisper, jerking a thumb at Gina, “A few yams and a sliced banana or two would do wondrous things for you lovely friend there.”
“Be careful about telling her that,” Chester said absently. “She’s been known to kiss on the first date, but . . .” He turned quiet as the first quartet of stocky spearmen drew near. Two were carrying bulky rifles. None of them left footprints in the dirt. The foremost of them raise his spear in greeting. They wore colorful necklaces of woven vine and leather, and ceremonial headdresses short, brilliantly colored feathers. Chester kept his expression neutral as he raised a hand and waited. The field workers were gathered about them now. Small dark children, protuberant bellies bouncing with their scampering hid behind the skirtlets of their bare-breasted mothers.
The lead warrior spoke, his words rapid and melodic Kasan listened carefully, then turned to Chester. “Hi name is Kagoiano, and he has come to escort you to the Council of Men, at the request of our council chief Pigibidi who extends greetings and hopes that you will join his company immediately.”
“Pigibidi?” Chester asked in amusement.
“There is great power in his name. It means ‘Gun Person,’ and when he was at the height of his power, he was a great man indeed. Shall we proceed?”
Chester relaxed noticeably. “All right, let’s go talk to Gun-Person.”
The Council hut was a little longer and broader than the rest of the wood-and-woven-straw huts. Several sleeping mats were rolled and stored neatly aside near the door flap. Chester assumed Gun-Person liked to keep his warriors close at hand. The walls were hung with skins, and furless and headless bodies of marsupials hung from the rafters.
Acacia, Mary-em and the other women were stopped at the door. Kagoiano spoke a few words to Kasan, and he interpreted for them. I am sorry, but the women cannot be admitted to this council. They will be escorted to the Council for Women, for a reading of the omens.”
“What’s this reading of the omens business?” Mary-em demanded. “Try to shuck me, Junior, and you’ll be eating soft foods for a month.”
“Only men can be admitted to this hall,” Kasan explained patiently, “just as only women may enter the Council of Women. They do not make policy, but provide us with a valuable source of information on the plans and movements of our enemies.”
Chester laid a hand on Mary-em’s shoulder. “We’ll split up for now. I don’t think we’re in any danger. We can trade information as soon as we’re through here.”
The women departed, reluctantly. The nine male adventurers, escorted by Kasan and Kagoiano, walked to the rear of the council hut.
Tony sniffed the air. There was old smoke, and smoked meat, and what smelled like cheap tobacco.
The air toward the rear of the hut was cooler. Better cross-ventilation, deeper shadow. The floor was wood covered with straw mats, some of them decorated with stain. He looked in vain for the hidden holo projector. Kagoiano was a projection; Tony had contrived to brush against him. But he couldn’t figure how the continuity w
as handled. Surely Lopez had had to switch projectors at least once, when Kagoiano entered the hut, but the transition was carried off so smoothly that it was unnoticeable.
Which raised another disturbing possibility: that a hologram could be substituted for a real person, even a Gamer. Tony was learning respect for Henderson. Hell of a Game you’ve got here, friend.
In the rear of the hut was an alcove partitioned off with a hanging mat. Kasan lifted it aside, and the Gamers entered the new room.
In a few seconds Tony’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. The first things to emerge from the gloom were ten small points of light. At length he could see that they were eyes: unblinking, glaring, not-quite-focused eyes that seemed to stare through them all and off to distant and unknowable reaches beyond. A withered and trembling voice said, “Come.”
He could see more clearly now. Five old men were seated in a semicircle around a dish of what looked like dried fruit. Chester squatted in cross-legged position directly in front of them. Tony saw that their eyes didn’t “track” as he moved, and concluded that he had found a easy way to differentiate between holograms and human actors.
“I am Chester Henderson, and these are my followers,” the Lore Master said. “We come to assist your people in any way we can.
Kasan reeled off a string of gibberish, and one of the men answered with his own unintelligible words. The man who spoke was very old, the skin hanging on his body like a coat on a rack, time-ravaged lines eaten into his neck and face until he resembled nothing so much as a sun-dried fig. His features were very African, his skin darker than Kasan’s, darker than almost any 21st century American black. Tony caught the name Pigibidi.
“Gun-Person welcomes you to the Council, Chester. He says that he knows you are a mighty sorcerer, and hopes that with your help the threat to the souls of all people can be averted.”
Chester was interested now. His gaze shifted equally between Kasan and the elderly Pigibidi. The old chieftain pulled a piece of fruit from the bowl and chewed it thoughtfully, then spoke again. When he ceased, Maibang interpreted.
“Gun-Person says that for years the people of the islands endured and cooperated with the invading Europeans in the hope that your people would share with them the secret of your enormous wealth. When it became clear that you did not wish us to make contact with the spirits who had made such wealth possible, we knew that you had much to lose if we ever discovered your secret. We knew that whatever the origin of your cars, your planes and gasoline engines, you had gained some part of them by thievery and lies. The people of the islands began a campaign to discover your secrets, the secret to the rot bilong kako, the path the cargo travels from God to men.” Kasan paused, and Gun-Person talked in his native language for another minute or two. Kasan sank down into a squat as he listened. Kagoiano and the rest of the gamers followed suit.
Kasan Maibang spoke. “We joined your churches, learned of God and Jesus, your names for our deities Manup and Kilibob. We prayed to Jesus-Kilibob for cargo, and received nothing. We worked as slave labor on your Plantations, and learned the Pidgin English that you taught us to speak. We built roads, changed many of our native customs, and many ceased to own as many wives as they could feed, all that we might at last be given the secret of Cargo. All was useless, and in the process many of our old gods turned against us, thinking that we had abandoned them. We were a people without a culture, abandoned by, our gods, and denied the secrets of yours.”
Kasan paused, his dark face screwed up in concentration as he apparently hung on Pigibidi’s every word. “At last we determined how the foul imbalance had happened. God-Manup had always intended for us to receive the cargo, but the Europeans had, with sacrifice and prayer, won over to their cause some of the minor gods who were in charge of addressing and distributing the cargo. They changed the labels on the packages to the names of white men. We knew what was happening now but how could we bring it to a halt?
“The great battle that you called World War II provided us with the opportunity that we needed. Many of our young men joined your forces against the yellow Europeans, the Japanese. During this time it became possible to kidnap several of your men and officers, attributing their disappearance to field casualties.” Pigibidi was grnning
Kasan spoke. “We . . . entertained them for several days, some for weeks. At last, shortly before they gave up their ghosts, they also gave up the secret of the cargo. We know now that the ceremonies must be spoken in proper, not pidgin, language. Sacrifices of pigs and fruits are desirable as are other things that even you might not know, Paramount is the holy sacrament, the sacred fluid that binds you Europeans together, that infuses your bodies and spirits, that is given to children when they need suck, and to the old wise ones before they close their eyes for the final time.” Kasan’s voice quavered with religious ecstasy.
Chester mused for a second, then shook his head. “Wine? Milk?”
“Those too have power. But I refer to the rare and precious substance you call Ko-Ka-Ko-La.”
Chapter Eight
THE BANQUET
The Lore Master stared, then spread his hands in acquiescence. “You’ve found us out.”
“We used our newfound knowledge to open the Road of the Cargo, and in the year 1946, began to regain some of the power that had been stolen from us.” Pigibidi spoke again, some sadness in his face. “For a time,” Kasan said, we had everything we hoped for. Do not look at our village now and think that you know the way it was then. White soldiers came to take away our Cargo, but the gods were with us once again, and we killed them all. We drove the Europeans from New Guinea, and lived in peace with our neighbors. We, the Daribi, were first to know the secre of the Cargo. We ruled the other peoples of the land, but we did not kill or enslave them. We even made them gifts, to ease their hunger and want.
“At last, our sorcerers began to divert even the Cargo intended for the Europeans, and still your people could not stop us. We had grown too strong. And we grew in power and in mana until the black day on which we grew too proud.”
“What happened?”
“We stole your greatest and most powerful Cargo. The feat drained their strength from the tindalos, the ghosts and gods who serve us. A rival tribe had stolen a case of the precious Ko-Ka-Ko-La. At the last moment they used their own knowledge of the rot bilong kako, the Road of the Cargo, to divert this tremendous gift to themselves. Our loss cost us much honor and much mana. Today our enemies rule most of the tribes of this land. We and the Agaiambo are the only remaining free peoples. Soon, very soon, our enemies will be strong enough to destroy us for defying them. Afterward they will extend their rule to the other Ocean Peoples, and from there to the entire world, and when they rule the world they will crush all other religions. Your gods will die for lack of worshippers.”
Chester shifted his posture and rubbed his bony knees to get some circulation back into them. “If the entire world is trying to stop them . . . how can they resist?”
Kasan spoke a few words to Gun-Person, who spoke in reply. The guide turned to Chester. “Your people do not know that our enemies have removed themselves from the physical plane of your world. They have turned the world, our world, inside-out, and nothing can come here unless a path is opened from within. My people opened the path for you.”
Chester closed his eyes to think. Without opening them, he said, “That would explain the altered shape of Chambri Lake.”
Oliver spoke. “It would explain why the water was salt instead of fresh.”
“Ah hah.”
“Yeah. I didn’t think of it at the time, but the lake was salt. So it wasn’t Chambri Lake. It’s the Pacific Ocean . . . in fact, it’s every ocean in the world.”
“Good, Ollie. Very good. That means our directions are going to be screwed up. We can’t trust our compasses. If it hadn’t been for the mountains we used as a reference, point, we would never have gotten here.” His eyes, opened slowly. “What was it your enemies stole from you?”
Kasan spoke to Pigibidi, who seemed surprised and disturbed. “Surely you would know better than we? It was, large, and we sensed many of your greatest men gathering to see it used. Our sorcerers sensed it when it began to move, and we took hold of it and guided it toward us. But it never reached us. We do not know its size nor its weigh nor its shape nor its color. But it would have brought us immense power, and now it is in evil hands.”
Chester nibbled at his lower lip. “World War Two. Hum. Could be . . . a prototype thermonuclear bomb? But the war was already over . . .
Maibang shrugged.
“. . . All right. What exactly do you hope we can for you?”
The chieftain conferred with his council, while Kasan listened. Presently Kasan said, “Tomorrow night is the full moon. There is to be a sacrifice of a woman plucked from the seas, in a place sacred to your God, an Anglican mission far to the west. If you can stop the ceremony, you will weaken our rivals and gain precious information from the woman, who has lived among them for a month. She can tell you how to reach their stronghold, there to steal back the mighty Cargo which they stole from us, which we in turn stole from you. You must do this thing, for the sake of all living souls. We will give you guides and other help, but the trip will be dangerous. Many of you will die. But there will be rich reward as well.”
Chester looked at Maibang, a tiny smile playing over his lips. “Well, we’re here, and I guess we’re ready. One more thing. Who are we fighting?”
Maibang acted as if he had been struck with a live wire. Too rapidly to follow, he babbled out a string of words to Gun-Person, whose face grew ashy with fear. “No! No can say!” Pigibidi said, his first English words since his initial invitation to “Come.”
Chester frowned. “Why so coy? Why can’t you tell us who we’re fighting?”
Maibang shook his head. “Very bad, very very bad. This tribe is our enemy. To use their name would be theft. To use anything that belongs to another without his permission is very bad mana. You Europeans never understood that. Perhaps that is why you lost your power at last.”
Dream Park Page 9
