by Larry Niven
Very little sleep last night. Like most first encounters, it had been a whirlwind evening, a veritable symphony of mutual exploration with a sinuous and greedy lady. He could always catch up on sleep-one rarely had so fine a reason to miss it.
He had four days off, and Dream Park was about to hold the greatest Game of all time. He and Sharon would share in it, not as Gamers, but to help maintain the illusion of reality for the players.
He ground his palms into his eyes and stared into the mirror across from his bed. A big, gangling stranger stared back at him, body taut from countless hours of training, a certain rakish hollowness surrounding the pale green eyes. They were algae green, emerald with hints of blue and black swirled together. The lips curled naturally into a smile just now, flat but not quite cynical.
Sharon's scent was still in the air. Quite distinctly, he remembered her legs, their silken warmth as he peeled her nylons away. She had whispered wordlessly, feverishly, as the two of them sank back onto his bed. It had molded to their bodies, adjusted to their thermal patterns, and given back precise waves of heat and vibration, the exact levels of firmness and fluidity necessary to maximize pleasure.
He was lost in the bed's undulations. Swept away in Sharon's pungency, the smell and taste of her, the way she whispered his name, or clung shuddering to him as she tumbled over the edge and into the long, long descent.
Dammit, he just plain adored her, even the imperfections. Assiduous study had found only two: a discolored molar at the top right of her mouth, and the featherlike remnant of an appendix scar. In every other way, the lady was just too damned perfect.
He remembered the flash of coolness in the moments directly afterward, when she turned away from him to light a cigarette.
A spark of light, followed by the brisk tang of contraband. She inhaled harshly.
"You ready to do three months in County?"
"You turning me in?" she asked. She made a rustling sound. "Want one? Tennessee Tornado." Her voice was cool. She had given him so much, so completely, almost submissively, but then something inside her drew a curtain, retreated into observer mode. That's all, folks.
"Later, maybe."
"I'll leave the pack."
The sound of an exhalation cut off all possible communication. Nothing special, or even unusual, in Griffin's life. Just an abrupt cessation to closeness, then a pat on the butt as she rose to shower.
Griffin felt a surge of panic, swiftly suppressed as he realised he wanted more.
He lay in darkness, absently scratching at an existential itch.
Postcoital irritation? His hand searched out and found the plastic pack of contraband tobacco. He shook one out halfway and slid it into his mouth. Found her lighter and sparked the cigarette into smoke. Drew shallowly at first. He savored the burn, the quick hot dizziness spreading out from his lungs.
And thought of her.
Sharon Crayne sat at ScanNet's console, doing what she had to do, what she had committed herself to do. For a moment, she thought of Alex Griffln, and her resolve weakened.
He was just a man, she told herself. Just another man who had used her body. And that made Griffin an animal, like all the others. Something to be used and then thrown aside. Maybe they could have been friends, but that potential had ended the moment he went for the bait, the moment he let her coax him into bed. The moment he had entered her, no matter how gently.
No friendship was possible, and yet her head sagged, and something inside her cried out in loneliness, in need ignored for years. There was something different about Alex, something good and gentle and strong. She was ashamed to have used his loneliness.
Just perhaps, if all went well, they could start over again. Perhaps, if he could forgive her for what she had to do, she could forgive him for what he had done. He needed someone, as she did. He didn't really love her, he was in love with the idea of love. Enthralled, and perhaps amazed, that he still believed in love.
And what did Sharon Crayne believe in?
She didn't know, and wouldn't have time to find out, not until her task was done. So for now, focus on that task. Let nothing interfere.
"I'm coming, sweetheart," she whispered. "Mommy's doing everything she can."
4
The Crystal Maze
Tuesday, July 19, 2059 9:00 P.M.
Acacia Garcia calmed her breathing. She wiped sweat out of one eye at a time for fear of obscuring her vision. She was ever alert for symptoms that the Crystal Maze was preparing to shift.
The Maze's forest of glass and plastic mirrors crawled and crackled with slow lightning. A vaguely mint-scented mist roiled around her knees. Sometimes tentacled things writhed in its depths.
All of the lights dimmed, and she held her breath. A ploy? Laughter. Fanged reptilian mouths materialised in shifting demonic faces, dancing in the wan light. Then the glowing image of Tammi floated through the darkness.
Acacia swiveled, back flattening against the wall. Tammi's face was an illusion: its eyes didn't track her. Perhaps lurking behind her back? Close enough to breathe in her ear?…
Acacia checked her wrist monitor and punched in TAMMI. She got a heartbeat and respiration rate, a blood-pressure reading. If she chose to monitor it long enough, she might be able to tell when or if Tammi was getting ready to spring a trap. But it couldn't give her Tammi's location.
And of course Tammi had a monitor, too.
Six hours before, at the beginning of what was supposed to be a three-hour exhibition Game, Acacia and her team had entered the Crystal Maze.
Wrist monitors were supposed to give each team a complete readout of the other, plus a rough location within the Maze, making general strategy easier and melees more complex.
But…
Team leaders had monitor bands operating on a five-hour rechargeable battery. Acacia shut hers down, then employed the bridge-cutting strategy designed to confuse and infuriate the volatile Tammi. In order to have any chance against the unbeaten Troglodykes, Acacia had to force Tammi to play Crystal Maze to an alien rhythm.
By that dreadful fifth hour it seemed that Acacia's strategy was madness. Both teams were exhausted, but the Troglodykes had lost one player, and Acacia had lost two.
Then Tammi's locator died. Acacia had watched Tammi's panic register in the biomonitor: a sudden surge of respiratory and heart rate. Grimly satisfied, Acacia switched her locator back on.
Acacia sat tight in the Maze, waiting for Tammi to do something irrational.
Waiting… and waiting.
If Tammi was impulsive, Twan, her other half, was as nerveless an opponent as Acacia had ever faced. As a team they were too damned dangerous.
She had to shake their confidence now.
From the balcony around the edge of the lobby, the Maze looked like a jeweled city. The spectators wore costumes from a hundred lands and eras. Some weren't human. They wore prosthetic plastic or makeup, and, in a few cases, moderately effective holographic shrouds to give them the appearance of lizards, or glass-skinned damsels from the planet Wyndex, or denizens of worlds yet undreamed of. There were minstrels, and warriors from Africa and Japan and the Aztec empire. There were costumes from the English Regency and the Italian Renaissance and the antebellum
South.
Wagers were offered and taken as the contestants crept about in their arcane patterns, deployed their various stratagems, and engaged in bloody battles.
In their thousands, Gamers surged at the rails and crowded about monitors in every Dream Park hotel. These were the legions of the IFGS, having the party of their lives. Confetti streamed from the top level. Party rhythms wafted from the rooms, from Waltz to Big Band to Salsa and Elf Hive Hop. A different era and beat blared forth every twenty feet or so.
Hotel security men eyed each other nervously as the press increased. Even for Dream Park, this crowd was decidedly weird.
Without turning, Acacia knew that Captain Cipher was beside her. No sound had betrayed him, and certainly Acacia had
no sixth sense. She was merely unfortunate enough to be standing downwind of him.
Sweat plastered his red hair down and painted dark pungent stains in the armpits of his red tights.
"Captain Cipher," she whispered.
"At your beck and/or call, milady," he whispered, with a sweep of an imaginary hat. He was slow straightening. He had been on his feet continuously since five that morning and was starting to fade.
The glass walls around them glowed red. In a few moments the glass might clear again, and their antagonists would know exactly where they were.
"Listen," Acacia said urgently. "We're going to die here in a minute-"
"But you think Captain Cipher can save the day?"
"Yes," she said wearily. ''Captain Cipher can save the day. Look at this."
She tapped out the first five notes of the Starship Troopers theme on a crystal keyboard inset in a wall. A hidden plate slid up.
Within was an old-fashioned computer console keyboard. Its screen revealed the remaining three members of Tammi's team as they crept through the mist.
So, they were together, not separated into a pincer movement. That was valuable information, but she needed more. She needed their location.
"Look," she said. "We've accumulated twelve thousand three hundred points. With seven hundred more, we get a tunnel through the mirrors. But we have to gamble seven to win seven, and this is a Fourth-Level puzzle."
She tapped out a request, and categories appeared: 1) Historical Trivia 2) Famous Battles 3) Killer Konundrmns 4) Minor Masters
Corby blinked his rather protruding eyes rapidly. " 'Famous Battles.' Erk. History was always Captain Cipher's weakest subject. "
"I might be able to handle that-"
"Not at Level Four. Nine-nosed Napoleon, milady, they'll pull out some fourth-century Mesopotamian ca-ca, trust me. Minor Masters is probably eighteenth-century Italian card sharks and street mimes. Captain Cipher likes Killer Konundrums." His round little eyes grew shifty and distant as he considered. "If it's a classic, I'd probably know it. Even if it's brand-new, it might be a reframe of a classical puzzle. Or I can logic it out. I mean, it has to be solvable, you know?"
She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "I'm gonna trust you. "
"With a face like mine, who can blame you?"
It was a face, Acacia decided, that only a mother or a desperate Loremaster could love.
She made her choice with the touch of a finger. The screen cleared. A cool synthesised voice spoke while matching words crawled across the screen.
"A hunter leaves home one morning. He walks a mile south and finds nothing. He walks a mile west, sees a bird, runs it down, and spears it for his supper. He walks a mile north and is home again. Tell me: What probable color is the bird, and why?"
Acacia stared, perplexity creasing her lovely face. "I've heard that one," she said. "It's too easy. The bear is white.''
"Bird, not bear. So the answer can't be 'It's white, it's a polar bear, he's at the North Pole.' So."
The Maze around them began to throb, smoke pouring from beneath the nearest sliding panel.
Captain Cipher's eyes defocused. "Spears it. Runs it down and spears it. That takes…"
"Can you solve it?" They could take their loss and scamper, or try to answer the question. Every second cost them another five points.
"I've already got half of it, milady. The bird…"
Acacia decided to let him work. She raised her sword high, set her back against the Captain's, and waited, ready for danger, but never forgetting for a moment to keep tummy tucked in and chest lifted high for the camera. The eternal "Cheese."
Her body, once lean as a runner's, was now carefully ripened, so lush it almost burst out of her costume. Fashions change, she told herself, but mammalian response remains the same.
In every Game, players had a variety of factors going for them. Stamina, fighting skill, intelligence, luck, memory of obscure trivia
… all these figured in the actual playing of the Game. An additional quality was needed to create a champion:
Showmanship.
A true champion needed to spend an inordinate amount of time playing the Games, traveling from one area of the country and the world to another. In order to do that, she had to be popular with the players, the NPCs, and ultimately the millions of people who would never play a Game but would pay to watch it. Professional Gamers competed to divert as much of that loot to their own pockets as possible.
To that end, as well as the others, Acacia had deployed her considerable charms. She considered her alter ego, Panthesilea, to be the best mixture of brains and beauty, brawn and bravado in the Gaming world.
The Warrior-woman's past was sketchy. Panthesilea was known to be the great-granddaughter of Hercules and an Amazon queen, a second-generation product of parthenogenesis.
Acacia had played Panthesilea for almost ten years, had nurtured her carefully. She had never died in a Game. She had ascended through time and effort to become one of the most powerful and highly ranked Player Characters in the
International Fantasy Gaming Society.
During Games Acacia disappeared, immersing herself completely into the Warrior-woman from afar.
The mirror behind Captain Cipher flamed red. A mouth had appeared in it now, glowing brightly, a vast, grinning diamond shape, chockablock with needle teeth. Flames danced within. Insane laughter rang in her ears.
The demon of the Maze. This was the final trump. If Captain Cipher failed, all of their accumulated points might vanish. If he succeeded but she was killed by the materialising demon, the Troglodykes would hunt Cipher down and fillet him.
"Have you got an answer?" she hissed.
"Never published. Brand-new puzzle. Lovely!"
And the demon leapt.
Acacia screamed Panthesilea's battle cry (an assiduously practiced blend of Johnny Weissmuller and Ella Fitzgerald) and The demon froze in midleap. Captain Cipher had begun to answer the question. Mutilations were temporarily suspended.
She peered anxiously over Cipher's shoulders.
He had typed, "Black and White. Penguin."
A politely inquisitive demon appeared on the screen. "Why?" he/she/it asked sonorously.
Cipher looked around. "The camp is one plus one over two pi times N miles north of the South Pole."
Acacia stared. "What?"
"The hunter runs it down, yes? The bird's flightless. Penguins. The tuxedoed darlings are found only near the South Pole." He was typing furiously: 1 + 1/2Pi(N) miles north of the South Pole (N a positive integer)
"Just so the demon knows Captain Cipher means business," he said arrogantly. "Now, Hunter set his tent just north of the pole, right? He walks a mile south, toward the pole, then circles the pole. That takes him a mile west, see? If he's closer yet, he can circle the pole two or three or four times. Then he backtracks, one mile north, and he's back at base camp. Only place he can do that is at the South Pole."
She felt dazed. Captain Cipher waited coolly, matching gazes with the ruby-flame apparition dancing in the glass before him.
"Dinner," it said, "is served." Its mouth opened wider, wider. A tunnel to the beyond. " Bon appetit," the demon said in a very bad French accent.
Acacia whispered, "Stay here" in Panthesilea's husky voice, and stepped through the portal.
The entire Crystal Maze revolved around her with a barely audible vibration. The path beneath her feet remained stable.
The important thing was that she could see the enemy, but they couldn't see her. The three surviving Troglodykes had found their own console and were attempting to defeat their own demon. If they made it, both teams would have an equal footing, and Acacia was doomed.
As always, Tammi was stunning. Her icy-blond hair framed fashion-model cheekbones and blue eyes that burned with a challenge few men could ignore, and none surmount. Makeup made her pale skin even paler. Her shimmering white costume was radiant in the rotating lights. Her partner Twan Tsing w
as busy at the console. What would their chosen category be? Acacia had no idea and couldn't afford to guess.
Just concentrate on the action to come. Brain and brawn. Beauty and bravado. The Troglodykes were said to be the Crystal Maze's Dynamic Duo. Better than any individual, better than any other team.
Like hell.
Tammi kept her staff at the ready, as alert as a cobra. Behind the walls of glass, lights slid past like the eyes of disembodied jinn. Her nerves burned. What was it? Could she subliminally sense approaching footsteps? Or a change in noise level from outside? Or was the tension simply beginning to get to her?
Behind her, Twan labored through a three-dimensional maze. A rolling red ball guided by a set of delicate finger controls crept its way through a forest of swinging axes and flopping trapdoors, toward an opening at the top of the screen.
The Troglodykes had invested two thousand points here, but if they made it, the entire Maze would turn transparent. Superior forces would trample what remained of Acacia's team.
"Almost…" Twan said.
Tammi glanced at Appelion, the Warrior Warlock at her side, with satisfaction. He was a burly, hairy brute in matching black leather, and a stalwart companion. He growled, "I want first crack at Panthesilea-"
— who promptly stepped out of the wall and scythed him down. He squeaked incongruously and started to swing, then (hearing the death-buzz in his ear) toppled.
Tammi screamed and leapt.
Terrifying. Acacia had never confronted Tammi, the Warrior half of the Troglodykes. Tammi's staff, padded composition plastic imbued with a mystic glow, blurred to the attack. Panthesilea's sword swooped to counter.
Her sword was pure Dream Park. The components of a hologram projector were woven around a rigid, padded core, with a gyroscope in the handle to simulate weight and heft. She could parry and block with it in safety, while the holograms simulated a web of glittering, razor steel. This was where genuine proficiency, the grueling hours of saber or iaido or Filipino escrima, paid off.
They spun and dodged, Tammi taken aback and disadvantaged momentarily by the need to defend Twan, now fighting to keep her ball floating on its track.