Dream Park

by Larry Niven;Steven Barnes

“That’s it, then,” Chester said, taking infinite care not to let his emotions leak into his voice. “We’re down to six hands now. Tomorrow morning it is. “ His gaze flicked past Griffin without comment, and settled on Tony. For a brief instant something dark and murderous flared in the depths of those eyes, quickly hidden.

  Margie Braddon kneaded her hands together as if trying to scrub something indescribably filthy from them. “I had to bring the news in for you. You used Owen and me as couriers, didn’t you?”

  “Lucky coincidence, Margie. I had to see who might jump when he heard that the guard was dead.”

  Hope bloomed on McWhirter’s face. “Then you weren’t sure I knew!”

  “It’s still murder, Tony. Any death that occurs in the course of a felony is murder. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. So the hell am I”

  “Get your things.”

  There was no sound from the others as Tony walked stiff-legged to his backpack at the rim of the campfire circle. He lifted it with a long, tortured sigh, and slapped the sand off.

  In the wavering light, he looked like an old, old man, shadows furrowing his face into antiquity. He was stiff and slow as he walked back to rejoin Griffin. He turned to the other Gamers and whispered, I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. Cas . . . I picked that fight, the first night.” She tried to turn away, and couldn’t. “Cas, when I saw how tough it was going to be, I knew I had to get it done the first night, before I got killed out, so—”

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  “I love you, babe. That’s all.”

  Holly Frost broke the silence that followed, giving voice to the idea hiding in every mind. “Hell, Griffin, why can’t you wait for a few more hours?”

  An absurd thought, but Alex could feel himself becoming defensive. “There’s no way I can do that. A man is dead.”

  “Can any of us bring him back?” Margie tried to shush Holly, but there was no stopping her now. “I mean, why don’t you give us a break? I traveled over a thousand miles to be here. Now you’re telling me that it doesn’t matter what happens to me or any of us as long as you get your man.

  “It’s my job.” Griffin felt himself blushing in the dark. You’re not really leaving them to their deaths. It’s just a game! Just a game. The joy and the sweat were just a game. The lovemaking and the beer busts and the songs and the tears and the bone-weary exhaustion were just part of the game. And what happened tomorrow, when the Undead and the Foré and Lopez knew what else all came boiling out of the sea and the forest to smash five Gamers, that would be the biggest, shiniest fantasy of all.

  Acacia wiped her nose and regarded him. “All right, Alex or Gary or whatever you are. You and I know that what happened between us was a lie.” She cut him off when he tried to speak, and maybe that was good. No telling what he would have said. “All right. You don’t give a flying fart for any of us. That doesn’t hurt me too bad, mister. But I want you to tell me that you don’t care about what’s happening here. That you haven’t gone out of your mind with the rest of us weirdos. I saw you, Gary—Alex, oh, damn you, I saw what you were beginning to get out of this Game.”

  He heard the tremor in his voice. “What is it you think you saw?”

  “You can’t relax, Alex. You’re in better shape than the rest of us, by a mile. Why are you as wiped out as we are? Why are you more torn up than Margie?” She leaned toward him, and flinched as one of the coals popped. “I’ll tell you why. Because you work so damn hard at everything you do. Because you drive and drive and push until you’re about to fall over. And if it’s not hard enough, you’ll make it tougher on yourself just for the sheer hell of a job well fought. Now you tell me, Alex. Damn you, you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to stay in the Game just twelve more hours, just long enough to help us beat the pants off Lopez. You tell me you don’t care, tough man!”

  He shrugged massive shoulders. “All right.”

  “All right? What’s that?”

  Even to himself, he sounded like a little boy trying to explain something he doesn’t understand. “Sure I want to stay. But what I want doesn’t matter . . .”

  She stared at him. “My God, Alex . . . I thought I was hooked on fantasy. Just why—”

  He snapped, “I’m not here to answer questions, Acacia. I’m not here to have ‘fun’. I’m here in the interests of Dream Park, and that’s all there is to it.”

  His prisoner had set down his pack. Tony had long since made his own plea. He was just waiting.

  But Chester said, “Griffin. It’s in Dream Park’s best interests that you stay in the Game.” He had turned to face the fire. His voice was low, and very controlled, calculating.

  “Don’t try to hand me a line of bull—” But Alex knew that he had responded too quickly, too automatically, that he was almost afraid of being shown another way out.

  “Tomorrow,” Chester said, still facing away, “we are going to be slaughtered. The Game will be over, and will have to be considered one of the greatest debacles in Gaming history. Certainly the greatest I have ever heard of.”

  “So I’m sorry about your reputation.”

  “So I’m sorry about Dream Park’s investment.”

  That rang a bell. Hadn’t Harmony said something— “Go on.”

  “Don’t you know that Dream Park recoups a huge chunk of their money through sales of tapes and books of an Adventure? Through luring people to run through an automated Game, once the bugs have been worked out? How many people are going to want a piece of this one? Cowles Industries will take a bath, Griffin.” Now he turned, and met Griffin’s eyes squarely. “We both know I have ulterior reasons for wanting both of you to stay in the Game. Fine. All I’m asking is for you to take everything into consideration. You know what it means to you, what it means to the Park. And if you give a damn, what it means to all of us.”

  Griffin scanned the faces. Eager, tired, waiting for a word from him that would tear everything to hell and gone, or give them a fighting chance. Just twelve hours . . .

  Christ! What would Harmony think?

  Who cares? He’s the loon who got me into this in the first place! Still, hadn’t Harmony said—“I understand Dream Park’s investment is around a million and a half?”

  “More, I’d think. Check with your boss. There are resources tied up, interest on loans, advertising agreements—”

  “Never mind. Gather round, people. I may need you to talk for me. McWhirter, right next to me.” Alex flipped his wallet open. “Get me Marty Bobbick.”

  Marty was on instantly. “Griff! I was down to hoping you’d remembered to leave a dying message!”

  “Marty, I have Tony McWhirter in custody on suspicion of burglary and murder.”

  “Okay. Good. Tell me where you are and I’ll direct you to the nearest exit.”

  “Not so fast, Marty. See if you can get me Harmony, immediately.”

  It wasn’t immediate. The Gamers sat around him, tense and silent, waiting. Kagoiano, mangled, with edges of bone showing through where the rockfall had smashed him on the third day, brought him a thick sandwich and stood passively until Griffin took it. Griffin forced himself to take a bite, then, suddenly starving, wolfed it.

  Ollie said, “Do you know about the Fat-Ripper Specials? They use the same Game, but they cut all the distances by half, and the food is high-protein stuff, and there are paid doctors in the party. Five days rips the fat right off you, and you hardly notice how hungry you are because you’re too busy not getting killed. That’s how Gwen got her start.” He looked anxiously at Griffin, whose mouth was full. “The really good Games sell in places where you wouldn’t think there were places. Dream Park stands to lose—”

  The wallet spoke. “Griffin?”

  “Harmony? Look, if you’re asleep, get yourself awake. I’ve been handed a tricky decision, and I’m passing the buck.”

  “I wasn’t asleep. What’s the problem?”

  “I’ve taken Tony McWhirter into custody. He
admits to stealing the, ah, materials, but he denies killing Rice.”

  “Very good, Alex! We’ll call Sacramento PD and hand them a nicely wrapped package. Do you have the stolen materials?”

  “That’s our problem, sir. McWhirter has made us an interesting offer. He’d like us both to stay in and finish the Game. It’s only a matter of another twelve hours, and McWhirter will show us where he hid the, ah, materials.”

  “Game. Yes. Ah, what happens to the Game if you and McWhirter leave it now?”

  “ ‘Worst debacle in Gaming history.’ ”

  “Oh.”

  Harmony thought it over, and Griffin found that he was holding his breath.

  “What if this McWhirter cuts your throat and tries to run.? He’s killed once. If he perforates a Gamer . . . lawsuits . . . hmmm.”

  “We can take precautions. McWhirter will have a machete with a hologram blade. We’ll guard him all night. I’ll have Marty seal this place—”

  Tony whispered fiercely, “For God’s sake put me on!”

  Alex handed over the wallet. Tony said, “Mr. Harmony? Listen, I do not intend to run. Where would I go? And I didn’t—”

  “Just a minute, McWhirter. Have you been warned?”

  “I have the right to a lawyer. I have the right to remain silent. If I choose to speak, I can be recorded.”

  “You are being recorded.”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you in possession of materials belonging to Dream Park?”

  “No, but I hid them where nobody else is going to find them. I can give them to Griffin tomorrow. Look, Lopez will cream us if Griffin and I leave the Game now. And how would anyone explain it in Game context? It kills the plot line.”

  “Will the rest of your party trust you not to try to escape?”

  “I swear it—”

  “I want their word. On record.”

  It must have been obvious to all of them: in case Tony perforated anyone while escaping, Harmony was forestalling a lawsuit. One by one they swore they trusted Tony McWhirter’s word. Alex spoke last.

  “I’m going to lock this place up tight,” he said. “A mosquito won’t be able to get loose. But I think McWhirter means it. It’s going to be a long time between Games for him. “

  “I can hear the Board of Trustees now. Well, go ahead, and good luck. Oh, and I looked in on you while you were stealing that, ah, black fire?”

  Didn’t everybody? “Yeah?”

  “It looked like fun.”

  The transceiver clicked—and everybody started yelling. Griffin bellowed, “Quiet!” They stopped. To his transceiver Griffin said, “Security, quick. Marty? listen. I want airtight surveillance at every exit from the dome. If anyone tries to leave, the Game ends instantly. Don’t miss any exits, and don’t let someone past just because he’s wearing a uniform.”

  “Chief? You’re not coming out?”

  “Nope. Neither of us, not till one tomorrow, with our shields or on them.” Griffin clicked his wallet shut and looked around. “You’re crazy,” he said. “You’re all crazy, and I’m just as bad. I want a Gamer awake at all times to watch McWhirter, who is going to sleep with his feet wired together. Any objections from anyone?” Not a whisper. “McWhirter?”

  He was pathetically grateful. “Hands and feet, Griffin, I don’t care. Thank you.”

  “All right.” Griffin sank back against the dune. He felt very tired—and light as air. His thoughts finally settled on something. “Henderson?”

  The Lore Master still looked apprehensive. “Now what?”

  “Eight of us left. All those undead. We don’t even have boats. Just how are we going to win this mother?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  END GAME

  When dawn broke that final day, there were nine awake to greet it.

  Their clothes were soiled and torn. They themselves were scratched and bruised and unsteady on their feet, even with the benefit of a night’s sleep. But all of them gripped their tools tightly: swords, machetes, and the magic staff now wielded by Chester Henderson.

  Chester stood with eyes wide and nerves afire, waiting for the peep of a double sun that would signal the beginning of the Game.

  Alex took no offense that Acacia stood with Tony. She had spent the night with the bound man. Not with someone else, not crying or hating or blaming; rarely touching him, but there.

  Holly Frost, her Afro frizzled with sand and sweat, stood next to Alex, a Japanese short sword balanced uneasily in her hand. She studied Panthesilea and Fortunato at a distance, expression carefully neutral.

  Tony watched the horizon. He let his eyes sweep back and forth, barely acknowledging the girl at his side for minutes at a time, before relaxing with a great sigh and holding her fiercely to him.

  Easy to understand the unyielding focus of his attention. Play well today, Tony. You won’t be back for twenty years.

  Mary-em, Margie and Ollie stood together. Margie had seemingly gained strength during the night, energy from the endless strategy sessions. She and Mary-em grinned at each other and touched the tips of their weapons together in silent salute. Ollie raised his sword wearily and stitched together the rudiments of a smile.

  The group formed a rough circle around their campfire, all directions covered. The circle enclosed Lady Janet, who carried a machete. Chester’s instructions had been exact: “You don’t fight unless you have to. Getting you out is part of our mission.”

  Facing the woods with a katana held tightly in his massive hands, The Griffin suddenly laughed out loud. Marty, Millie, Harmony, are you watching? I hope you’re enjoying this!

  The second sun rose; the first faded out. Chester watched, critically, as yesterday’s wounds bloomed anew on his Gamers and on his own body. The sounds of New Guinea filled the air: birdcalls, the lapping of surf, and a creaking of metal . . .

  Low in the flank of the Spruce Goose, a door began to open. A long black arm pushed it back with deliberate slowness. Under a great black globe of hair, a small scarred face leered at them, mouthing words inaudible at that distance. It disappeared inside, and another figure climbed out, stiffly.

  It was an Undead, its clothing strips of tattered cloth hanging against dark, ashy skin. It climbed down into the boat and set itself at the oars. Two Foré priests joined it, untied the line, settled themselves. The boat moved toward shore with smooth, steady strokes from their hellish oarsman.

  Chester snorted. “Bastards. Only one boat!”

  Griffin stifled a sour bubble of gas, tasting his nervousness. The Foré seemed to be looking directly at him, leering with a mouthful of filed teeth. Now he could see the muscles in the zombie’s back as it guided the boat toward shore.

  Ten feet from shore, one of the priests stood in the boat and began to chant loudly. After a time the second priest joined in, creating a melody that made Griffin’s skin crawl to listen.

  He didn’t have leisure to critique the serenade. From the woods came answering sounds: a rustling, scraping promise, fulfilled within moments as the Undead began to line up.

  There were at least thirty of them, all armed. As before, the women and children were the worst. They laughed endlessly, bodies twitching with spasms, the laughter blending to hungry growls. Many of the women were bare-breasted, but the effect wasn’t erotic. Alex knew that it would be a long time before he could look at a half naked woman without remembering the empty-eyed zombies of New Guinea.

  Among the women and children were grey old men, crippled and deformed, their frail hands clutching edged weapons. But the front line held the healthy ones, so to speak: a dozen warriors who had died by violence.

  Most of them were as dusky as the others, the Foré priests. Two were European. S. J. and Felicia Maddox, Dark Star. S. J. rolled his eyes with zombie fervor. He waved his machete fiercely and grinned from a face ridged and pitted with blast scars. Griffin had to grin back. S. J. didn’t care which side he was on.

  Felicia’s face was supernaturally calm, but s
he led the other zombies.

  The boat had beached. The Foré priests disembarked without interrupting their song.

  “This is it, people.” Chester’s voice was loud but calm. “Everyone do their part and we’ll get through this. Shift!”

  The Gamers moved. before the zombies reached them they had formed a wedge, with Mary-em at the peak. They moved toward the rocks at quick-march.

  They stopped and turned when the animated army was ten paces away. Chester raised Gina’s staff. His fingers ran across its keyboard. Ruby spirals ran down its length, and light flashed from the tip to bathe the front line.

  Felicia caught fire. The zombie screamed a wavering wail that would have torn meat from a human throat, and she fell, smoking and throwing sparks. The two to either side were incinerated as well, but Chester’s beam was flickering.

  S. J.’s zombie had lurched behind one of its undead fellows, sparing him from the initial blast. In another second the rest of the force had passed the smoking corpses and were on the Gamers.

  The dead Engineer went straight for Margie. She almost stepped out of the circle to meet him, restraining herself at the last moment. She met his downward stroke and growled menacingly.

  Griffin kept a measured distance from Holly, and went to work. The blows were coming in a little faster, a little more elusively, and before three minutes had passed two small new patches of red flowed on his limbs. He set his teeth and sent a zombie to the sand with a diagonal crimson wedge creasing his head.

  Chester’s voice rose above the din. “Keep moving!”

  Mary-em screaming and chopping at the cutting edge, the Gamers clove the ranks of the Undead. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed the besieged Gamers won their way toward the Foré priests. The eight defenders were roused to frenzied heights now, as they saw the priests back away and move toward their boat. Mary-em swore foully and burst through the zombie wall, breaking formation to do it.

  Her short legs blurred as she charged across the sand, diving at the closest Foré and cutting him down at the legs. He fell to the beach at the edge of the water, and rolled in. The surf foamed red.