Dream Park

by Larry Niven;Steven Barnes

  The Game was over.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Thirty

  THE FINAL TALLY

  Hoarse cheering could be heard from within the cabin section of the Spruce Goose, even before the Dream Park attendants opened the door to let the gamers out. Lady Janet was the first to place a foot on the ground. Her legs were wobbly. She shook her head and said, “Wow.”

  Six more gamers followed. Holly Frost, last out, bowed grandly to the cast and crew. Chester lifted his arms and cried, “And let’s have a big round of applause for the best performance in an expiring role . . . Holly Frost!” Ragged cheers. “And for all the surviving members of the team!” This time the energy ran higher, and the attendants joined in.

  Griffin walked at Tony’s side. McWhirter’s smile was as honest as the others’; it faded slightly when he sighted Bobbick approaching with two security men. He stopped. before they reached him and shifted his pack off his shoulder. He brushed a straggling hair off his forehead with a steady hand, then extended it to Alex. “Thanks. You’ve really been decent about this. I promise you won’t have any trouble out of me.”

  Griffin took it, and was surprised at the ferocity of Tony’s grip. “We’ll see how it goes, McWhirter.”

  “All right, Chief. We can handle the prisoner now.”

  “Thank goodness.” Alex shrugged off his backpack and let it thud into the ground. “Marty, escort him to Detainment. Are the County cops here?”

  “You know it. We’ve got a lot to get done here.” Marty was steering him along toward a side door, while the other gamers headed for the main exit. Ahead of them, the two security men guided Tony.

  Griffin turned to watch the gamers leave. Most of them looked back over their shoulders to watch Tony taken away, but no one said anything, until Chester raised his voice.

  He sounded tired. “Griffin. You coming to the Tally Party?”

  “I’m sorry, Chester. I’m going to be pretty busy.” He turned to go, but Henderson raised a beckoning hand.

  “You’re invited. You earned it. Tonight in my suite at the Sheraton.”

  Alex waved at him and turned back to Marty. “You’re going to have to help me through this. I’m really tired.” Bobbick made sympathetic sounds.

  Griffin caught one last glimpse of Acacia. She had paused by the gate, almost as if she were about to turn around and speak. Then her shoulders sagged with fatigue and she walked on. Tony caught that pause and turned his head away, the remnants of his smile dying altogether.

  Griffin watched her go and felt something sharp and hot pricking at his gut.

  He handed his backpack to Marty, who took it without comment, switching a wad of gum from one side of his mouth to the other. “Come on, Griff. We’ve got a car for you.”

  Alex nodded wordlessly, responding more to nudges than to words. The textured plastic seat of the hovercar seemed alien to him, and he dropped into it hard, as if testing its reality. He leaned back and let his eyes close, his body jolting forward a half-inch as the car started to move.

  They were tired, they were dirty, their shoulders sagged under the weight of their packs. They looked like walking dead as they stumbled into the Hot Spot. They stopped, looked about them blearily, and found all tables full.,

  Alone at a table that might barely hold five drinks, a tall black woman beckoned cheerily. She looked familiar, somehow, Gina thought. She smiled and started that way, tugging on Chester’s backpack strap, knowing Gwen and Ollie would follow.

  They stacked their packs against a wall. Ollie headed for the Orders window while Chester looked for empty chairs.

  “Good Game,” the stranger said. “I’m Gloria Washington.”

  Chester performed introductions. Gina was wondering where she had seen her before. Suddenly the memory dropped into place, and Gina swayed in place, vision blurring.

  The tall woman saw it. She snatched an empty chair from the next table over—moving stiffly, a bit clumsily, but fast—and slid it into place behind Gina. “Here, sit down, love. I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you’d recognise me.”

  Gina sat down hard. “You were missing an arm and a leg the last time I saw you. And the make up . . .”

  Chester smiled suddenly. “Aha. The demon undead, undead O! That was a very effective piece of misdirection.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “How did you, um . . . ?”

  “I picked the wrong time to visit Antarctica Ciudad. I was lucky they thawed anything. These prosthetics are . . . well, I can use them, but I’ve had a hard time getting used to . . . anyway, when Mrs. Lopez suggested this walking dead gig, my doctor thought it would be great therapy. Get me used to the idea.” She was slowing down, having trouble getting words out. “That I’m a person who has one leg and one arm. But still a person. You know, I think he was right.”

  Ollie arrived, carrying a tray. Hands converged on mugs of Swiss Treats before he could reach the table. Gina savored the heat and sweetness in her mouth; her own hunger, suddenly stronger than her fatigue; the moment of revelation. You’re real again.

  She said, “Right or wrong, it was hellishly effective. I couldn’t believe you weren’t a hologram. It was like you came straight out of a grave.” She laughed, but it was shaky. “I’m glad we met. It was bothering me.” She knocked her mug against Gloria Washington’s. “Skoal.”

  “Confusion to our enemies,” Gloria answered.

  Alex crumbled a sheet of paper into a tiny ball and bounced it off the wall into the recycler. He wanted another cup of coffee, but it would have turned his stomach into an acid-scarred wasteland.

  “What’s left?” His voice sounded like a stranger’s, tired and thin. A stack of printout paper leered back at him from the top of the desk, and he groaned.

  “My God.” Numbly, he touched his computer screen to life and asked it for a second printout of “Urgent” material only. As expected, a mere four sheets folded up out of the desk.

  One was a synopsis of the McWhirter briefing. It would be sent to all concerned department heads on a need-to-know basis. Griffin nodded as he read. Tony had kept his promise. His description of the woman who had contracted him for the job might do them little good; she’d have changed both name and description.

  But they probably had enough information to nail the pick-up man. With the stakes as high as they were, someone had to try for the hiding-place.

  He initialed the sheet at the bottom and set it aside.

  Two pages were a condensation of Park business for the last four days. He set it aside after a brief skim. He and the computer had differed before on what was urgent and what wasn’t.

  The last sheet was a query into the status of Albert Rice’s personal belongings. That needed thought, and a clearer head than the one he carried at the moment.

  He glanced at his watch. A quarter to eleven, and time for any sane human being to get some sleep. Hell—why bother going all the way back to CMC? Why not just curl up in the office? He thumbed down the light and yawned until the hinges of his jaw hurt. Every muscle ached for sleep, but a single image remained clear and sharp in his mind.

  “Damn you, Acacia. Leave me alone.” Her face, that lovely dark-eyed face with the questioning mouth, had been haunting him all day, the most overwhelming reality of four days of fantasy.

  He glanced at his watch again, and muttered, “They’re probably all in by now . . .” then remembered the early-morning bull sessions of the Game and knew he was lying to himself.

  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 goodbye to an unforgetable 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 gamers. 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 gamers 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 reminescance 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. “Griffy, I’d like you to meet my brother Patrick. Patrick—?” Her voice was sweet, low, as if talking 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. If 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 the 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 stroked 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 k
now 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 not 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 him.”

  “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.”