by Larry Niven
He was going to give them one. That would be the way to do it. He was going to win the damned game. At the very least, he wasn’t coming in last. That would be fine for a first-time gamer playing at this level. Just don’t come in last.
Burdened by the first sense of unease he’d had since landing, Scotty went through his mental checklist in preparation for sleep.
“Moonman,” Ali said.
Scotty didn’t turn. “Here.”
“We have arrived,” Ali said. “All throughout our training, I sensed that you could not take things with complete seriousness.”
“Your safety I take seriously. The game… well, it’s a game.”
“Not to me,” Ali said. “You promised that once we arrived, you would, as you said, ‘get into it.’ Well. We are here. Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“‘Gotten into it.’”
“I’m doing fine,” Scotty said. “My primary job is protection. My secondary is to see that the client enjoys himself. We’ll be fine.”
“And how will you protect me if you are killed out?” His voice was challenging. “And that is what will happen, if you are not completely present.”
There it was again, a touch of imperious presumption that had begun creeping back in on the way to Luna, a reminder that Ali was a prince, and Scotty a pauper. While he suspected that this was just a way of dealing with a nervous stomach, Scotty fought to avoid irritation. “I always, under all circumstances, do my level best to avoid dying.”
Ali held his eyes for a beat, and then nodded. “Good. Please do that.” Something in the Prince’s face said he’d be relieved if Scotty was killed out of the game. After all, bodyguards were his father’s idea. With Scotty dead, Ali could concentrate on winning.
By 2:00 A.M. Lunar Standard Time, most of the guests had sunk into exhaustion. Counting travel from the L5 station and the arrival party, most of them had not slept for at least twenty hours. Some had grumbled that Xavier had deliberately arranged the times to confuse and fatigue them. Others just shook their heads wryly, knowing that they were in for a serious tail-wringing in only eight short hours. So sleep pills and delta-wave units were in heavy use, nightcaps were swallowed or smoked, and experiments with low-gravity sex conducted.
And now, the vid calls had stopped, and talking dropped to a soft burr.
By 3:00 A.M., silence had descended upon the dorm. The rooms sealed themselves into emergency mode: The doors would not open. Whoever was in there was simply in for good.
15
“Have a Good Game”
0730 hours, November 14, 2085
Wayne awakened slowly, eeling over in his mesh to find the previous evening’s chubby and improbably agile entertainment already awake, her face hovering just inches above his.
She leaned forward, red hair dangling. She rubbed his pointy nose with her stubby one, and kissed him lightly. “Hey there, sweet stuff,” Darla said. He placed his hands against her hips and pressed her against him, wiggling experimentally. It was a nice fit.
“Not now,” she said, then closed her mouth and chewed at the corner of her lip.
He knew that expression. And not later, either. Playtime was over. Maybe after the game. If you still want me. He believed that she had enjoyed their evening together. She had certainly displayed all the appropriate signs.
But… that little flash of insecurity in her smile. Gaming relationships could be brief and intense. He was a celebrity, and despite the current fashion for healthy padding, she might have a bit of unprocessed fear of rejection. She was used to being appreciated… once or twice.
Of course, he could be wrong. Their play had been intense… maybe too intense for a purely casual liaison. And anyway, win, lose or draw, in a few days he was heading back to Earth. No time to get all dewy-eyed.
“Playtime,” he said, hiding his disappointment even as he felt it dissolve. There was greater sport here, and he felt his gaming gland begin to pulse. Wayne was almost mechanical in the way he rolled out of the mesh and headed for the shower. When Darla joined him in the little spray cabinet, he was only perfunctorily welcoming.
But the water clung to them like jelly, and they needed each other to scrape it off and into the drains. He was completely new to lunar gravity. That was first frustrating, then fun, then-well, they were in haste. By the time he dried and began to dress, it was her turn to watch him with a smattering of disappointment. How could a man have forgotten her presence so easily?
But Wayne heard the thrumming beneath his feet, the distant bing-bong awakening the sleepers, felt if not heard the sound of water pumping through the walls, imagined that he could hear a dozen voices as dreams became reality, shortly to turn to dream once more. In five minutes they were dressed, and had eaten the tube breakfasts pushed through the door slot.
He hit the intercom button. “Fifteen,” he said, calling the room next door, where Angelique had turned in last night. She responded quickly.
“Wakey wakey,” she said. “Busy night?”
“Slept like a baby,” he said. Darla curled her tongue at him suggestively. Say hello to my little friend. She was definitely in character. Her behavior told him that something was going to happen, and it was going to be fast. Instinct warned him that, game-wise, Darla wasn’t going to live long. She was overplaying her hand, trying hard to make an impression.
“Meet you in the corridor in five?” he asked.
“Make it three,” Angelique said, and clicked off.
Fair enough. He slipped in his gamelink contact lenses (capable of receiving personalized signals from gaming central) and packed his bag. He was wearing tan Brit explorer regalia with mesh shocksuit underwear. Darla, dressed in a curve-accentuating feminine version, watched approvingly, and then stood. He grinned at her. “Let’s have a good game,” he said.
“Game?” she asked, too damned innocently, and stood out of his way as the door to the outer corridor slid to the side. She kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to his lips. “You go ahead,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
So. This was where their paths parted. Had she been sent to spy on him? Was this supposed to set him off balance? Was…?
He stepped out gingerly, not quite certain what to expect.
Nothing. Just a hallway, with Angelique entering a moment later, dressed similarly, carrying a pistol and a saber in a scabbard.
“What do we know?” he asked her.
“Look for anything Wells.”
Asako rolled out into the corridor: The bubble girl, looking alert despite last night’s revels. Wayne saluted with his sword. She smiled.
Another door in the hallway slid open, and Mickey and Maud Abernathy entered the corridor. He hadn’t known them before departing Earth, but knew their track record, of course, and a tiny bit of their personal history. They would be the oldest among the gamers, close to sixty if memory served him right. They had once been married, but then one of them had lost interest in gaming, and the relationship had drifted apart. If memory served, it was Maud who had gafiated. Mickey continued to play, but his solo characters weren’t as successful as their double-team. Their team personae were paired psychics. In a magical game, that might manifest as full-blown Dr. Strange-style abilities. Here, the effects would be more subtle, but no less powerful.
Mickey looked just a bit hungover, and Wayne didn’t blame him at all. Last night’s party had been massive.
Mickey and Maud extended hands to Angelique. “We’re not completely familiar with your portfolio, Lady Chan.”
“Perhaps you could refresh our memory?”
“I’ve studied many traditions of the sword,” she said. “And not merely the sword that kills. Also, the sword that gives life.”
Ah. A reference to sword techniques designed to take captives rather than slay. In this context, then, perhaps some of her healing points would still apply. The IFGS watched out for their players.
Whether the game was fantasy or science f
iction, her powers tended to be the same: a swordswoman whose blade could suck or restore life force. Whether “steel” or glowing energy blade, she was an odd and spectacular meld of killer and healer. In a game with no fantasy or SF element, she would have great skills as a medic or doctor.
Mickey and Maud bowed as if they were joined at the cerebellum. “We are honored to meet you,” they said as one.
Sharmela Tamil appeared next, still dressed in a feminized nineteenth-century Raj uniform: a white turban, a uniform of thick blue fabric with draped cords across the chest. Medals Wayne did not recognize, and a military bearing-but also bangles and gemstones on fingers and ears. He sensed a complex and fascinating backstory, and promised himself to inquire at first opportunity.
Suddenly, a red light began to flash in the corridor. “Shuttle arrival in ninety seconds. Please make your way to the central departure gate.”
A series of bright arrows ushered them toward the previous night’s entry doors. Just as the last of the group arrived, the safety lights began to flash from red to green, and the door sighed open. They walked through a short coupling tunnel and took seats in a twelve-person shuttle with side windows and a bright central viewscreen.
“Buckle in, please,” a woman’s voice asked. Wayne recognized Darla’s mild Oakie twang. As soon as the last buckle was fastened, internal lights flashed from green to red, the door sealed.
Scotty heard a click as the external coupling was disconnected, and the shuttle began to coast.
If Scotty kept his eyes toward the ground, he could look out of the windows and feel no flash of panic. The same gray-white dust, the same cratered surface, rolling past in a surreal tableau. He could hear the ooh s and aah s around him and appreciate their reactions, while keeping his own reactions muted.
Ali kept his face glued to the window, fingers spread against the glass like a kid at a candy store. The gaming dome loomed up in front of them, ten stories high, wide as a football field, built within an impact crater older than the Coliseum. Their shuttle slowed, then crawled up a graded track to the side of the dome. He felt it shudder as it mated with the dome’s external wall-track, and after a series of little jolts it began to climb vertically.
Ooh s and aah s again, as the perspective began to shift, and their view of the crags, cracks and valleys, the craters and unweathered jutting spires of lunar landscape expanded. It took them two minutes to climb ten stories, at which point the shuttle rattled again as the track beneath them shifted, and they were pulled to a coupling at the very top of the dome. The shuttle sighed to a halt, and there was a nervous moment waiting for the safety lights to change. Scotty only realized he’d been holding his breath when green flashed, and the door opened.
A woman in explorer’s gear crawled out of the vehicle’s cockpit. “Ms. Tabata will exit last, please,” she said. This didn’t feel very genteel to Scotty, but he didn’t complain. Red hair: He thought he recognized last night’s mermaid.
The tunnel connected to a revolving escaladder. One at a time the gamers took hold of the rungs and descended into the top of the dome. Nice option for a puzzle, Wayne thought, but he saw nothing.
The mechanism went through some kind of clanking shift, and Scotty peered up the escaladder well, watching Asako maneuver her pod into position for the mechanism to take hold and lower her capsule to the floor.
When she had fully descended, the gamers all applauded. They followed their guide-Darla, Wayne noted, entering the game early-as she led them twenty meters away under a curved ceiling, to a ramp in the flooring. They descended again, and found themselves in a mock-up of the original Cavorite sphere, complete with plush seats and pewter-colored “Cavorite” scrolls, a few rolled up to make square windows. They buckled themselves in, Asako purred down and anchored her capsule. The ramp folded into the ceiling, and they were ready to go.
A countdown clock appeared on the screen, showing that they had ninety seconds until the game began once again. Wayne strapped himself in, and gave a hard exhalation. This was starting at a rush.
“Her name was Darla,” he murmured.
Angelique didn’t look around. “Did Xavier send her?”
“She didn’t say. I didn’t ask. But that’s her.” Wayne pointed with his nose. “The guide.”
“Dr. Darla McGuinness. Her backstory is she’s an astronomer. Studied the Moon. Xavier will kill her out as soon as he thinks we’re depending on her.”
“Right.”
“What did he think you’d do when you saw her in the game? Flinch?”
“Yeah. Or kill her. Or you’re supposed to kill her.” Or he was supposed to hesitate and let her kill him. Or be preoccupied with the possibility of some mid-game nookie, and miss a clue…
“Or he’s just messing with our heads.” Angelique scowled. “We wait.”
Only the lack of weightlessness told Scotty that what he saw was not completely real.
When the last of them were seated in the mock-up sphere, the light suddenly vanished from the room, plunging them into darkness. Scotty heard a soft clunk that might be Asako’s wheel grips locking against the floor.
Light came in patches: Screens rolled up one at a time to reveal a curved glass surface, and a glare like yellow-white bone cratered with acne. It was the Moon, and it was growing, hurtling toward them at reckless speed.
He looked for Ali first. His charge was seated and belted in. Then Asako: Her bubble chair locked against the floor. The gamers all seemed to be belted down and waiting. Then the blocky shape of a big man rolling up metallic-looking screens, exposing more of the Moon and a terrifying glare of stars. “Landing might be rough.” A marked Scottish accent burred his words. The big man’s naval uniform gleamed in the reflected lunar light. Their Captain.
The big man straightened like a soldier standing at parade rest. Moonglare lit a bristly haircut and a luxurious handlebar mustache. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the lunar surface. You-”
“Excuse me, Captain,” Maud and Mickey said.
“A poor time to disturb me, madam. Best remain seated and wait.” The big man began manipulating the blinds again.
Despite the knowledge that it was all illusion, Scotty’s fingers crushed the armrests as the dappled surface approached. And then… he was confused. Xavier had made clear references to H. G. Wells’ Moon. Scotty hadn’t ever read the book, but had a vague memory of the CliffsNotes version. Wasn’t Wells’ Moon a living planet? He saw nothing but rock and shadow.
Wait… there were dapplings of pale green below, visible only as they approached more closely. That wasn’t right. At least, it wasn’t the Moon he knew.
He heard the intake of amazed breath around him, and Ali whispered: “Wells’ Moon.”
Then the last thousand meters passed in a blink, they were plummeting, and their Captain was frantically pulling levers. The click of opening and closing Cavorite shutters rattled through the room, and at the very last instant, their descent slowed.
With a mammoth crunch they slammed into the surface. The air outside clouded with dust. Their vehicle yawed side to side crazily, flipping almost upside down at one point, so that he felt dizzy and sick, as if he had swallowed a dozen raw eggs.
Then a smooth skid, dirt piling up against the outside of the sphere, and then stillness.
“Is everyone all right?” the Captain asked.
“All parts seem in working order,” Angelique said, and then checked with her crew. All seemed to agree that they had survived.
“I will wait here with the ship,” the Captain said. “I wish you Godspeed in your rescue attempt.”
The gamers gathered their gear, and, unable to conceal their eagerness, crowded against the curved transparent hull.
Scotty peered out. They were in a vast circular plain, on the floor of a giant crater. High walls closed them in on every side. Sunlight was just cresting above a jagged gray cliff.
Pale summits and rocky protuberances were pretty much what he would have
expected. But there was more. Much more.
The entire plain was covered with a curling, coiled profusion of plants and vines and grasses.
The other gamers and NPCs had gathered around the windows, gazing out on the display.
So far, he saw nothing that looked like a tree, or the beginnings of one. But there were cactus-like plants, and young bushes, and the infancy of a grassland.
The ship’s Captain had completed a series of movements near the door. Scotty now saw a rectangular gate in the middle of their inner door, because the Captain had screwed it open. Into the rectangle he inserted a cage containing two white mice, extending them by means of some apparatus a foot or two beyond the door, into the central air chamber.
The Captain closed his eyes, seemed to offer a prayer, and pulled a lever. With a series of clanks and groans, the outer door opened (poof!) and lunar sunlight flooded into the airlock.
The window was wide enough for four gamers to peer down into the chamber, and Scotty made sure he was one of them. The mice were eating seeds at the bottom of their cage, completely unaware of the fact that they were the first Earth creatures in many years to breathe lunar air.
After a minute, the Captain closed the external door. Then gingerly, he opened the internal one.
The air had a sterile, grassy smell, like the first spring after a cleansing frost, and just a whiff of spent gunpowder. “Volunteers?” he asked, and a forest of hands sprang up.
Mickey and Maud Abernathy, Angelique Chan, Wayne and Ali hustled themselves to the front of the line, and the others applauded their courage. Scotty thought about it for a moment, decided that Xavier wouldn’t dare pull a lethal Gotcha! at the beginning of the game, and went to stand beside his charge. The six of them were ushered into the airlock. The Captain handed Angelique a furled Union Jack. “Do us proud!” he said. And the door closed behind him.