Dream Park [2] The Barsoom Project

by Larry Niven;Steven Barnes

  “All right, Tommy. Later, hey?”

  The room disappeared. They were in a small studio, maybe a third the size of the ballroom, and Alex swallowed his amazement.

  Dammit, he wasn’t going to get goggle-eyed again. He just wasn’t going to do it.

  Izumi said, “So. What can I do for you?”

  “Are you sure we’re secure here?”

  “Very.”

  Izumi gestured to a couch, and Alex tested it with the tip of his toe before sitting. “I want to talk to you about your brother Calvin.”

  Tom Izumi stopped breathing for a moment, and his eyes closed. A network of little muscles clenched and relaxed under his eyes. When the mini-rebellion was over, he opened them again and examined Griffin.

  “You were not even at Dream Park when Calvin died, Mr. Griffin. What is it that you wish?”

  “I need to know more about the circumstances of his death. All of the files are sealed, or erased. The county coroner’s office had a terrible accident about eight years ago. Impounded some kind of electromagnet as evidence, and ended up erasing data files. Your brother’s included.”

  “That is most unfortunate.”

  They paused as someone walked down the hall outside. hum! reached over and bolted the door.

  “What can you tell me about the death?”

  Izumi leaned back against the wall, holding a private debate with himself. Then he began to speak. “It was in April. April of ‘48, I believe. Calvin was working on the combat rifle range we had set up for the California State Sheriffs’ Association. He took one of the rifles outside the park for additional testing up in the mountains. One of two shells had been a hangfire. While he was changing targets it detonated, and he was struck in the head. Killed instantly. A hunter found him.” He paused, and Alex saw calculations flashing behind those penetrating eyes. “That’s really all there is to say. What is it that you’re looking for?”

  “The truth. I know that Calvin died here, in Dream Park. I know that there was an accident in a Game involving live ammunition. I know that it was no accident. I know about the cover-up.”

  Tom Izumi was silent. Slowly he rose. “I’m afraid that I have to get back to my work. I’m sure you can understand.”

  “I can understand your wish to protect Dream Park. I can appreciate your loyalty. You’re thinking this is what Calvin would have wanted. But what you have to understand is that there is a chance, just a chance that if you help me, we can nail the people involved. We can do it without airing Dream Park’s laundry in public.”

  Izumi sat back down again. “I don’t understand. How?”

  “Something new has been added. The Fimbulwinter Game is running again—”

  “I know that.”

  “The girl’s back too. She’s in the Game under a pseudonym.”

  Izumi mulled it. “What of it?”

  “Persons unknown got her killed out. I’ve put her back in. And that’s it, Tom, that’s all I’ve got. I don’t understand enough of what happened yet. Tell me. Help me. Somebody’s frightened. If I can get enough information, maybe I can find a pressure point.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Then we’ll be no worse off than we are now. I won’t do anything to jeopardize Dream Park, or your family. And at least we’ll know that we tried.”

  Izumi seemed to weigh his words, then he shrugged. “Tried . . . okay. Calvin was a little heavyset, and he liked acting. They asked him to be an Eskimo in one of the Games over in Gaming A. He’d done it a couple of times, I think. Certainly no one expected any trouble. Then we got the call—there had been a terrible accident.”

  “Who called you?”

  “Medical staff. One of the doctors.”

  “All right, go on.”

  “My mother and I were working on one of the displays in a trade show set-up, and we hurried to the dispensary. It had been cleared out. Dr . . . . Vails. No, Vail. That was his name, Vail.”

  “Chief of Psychiatric Services?”

  “No, not then, he was just one of the psychs. And Harmony was there, and two others. A half-dozen security people knew the truth, and three medical personnel. They were all sworn to secrecy. When they showed us the body, we had to make our own choice.”

  “Just like that?”

  “No, it wasn’t just like that. Mother fell apart. We had to sedate her. But when she was calm, we realized that justice could not be served. If we tried to find the murderer publicly, the whole thing would come out, and the killers would get the disruption they were seeking. So we covered it up, and we all helped, Mr. Griffin.” He paused. “It killed her, you know. She only lasted another year.”

  In some corner of his mind Alex tallied up another life, gone for nothing. “How did you manage it?”

  “Calvin and I were about the same height. The head of Prosthetics joined the conspiracy. She made me up to look like Calvin. Mother started crying again when she saw how good the job was. Really unbelievable, And then I went to a couple of conferences as Calvin, let myself be seen, and then took that rifle out into the mountains.”

  Alex visualized the pieces thus far presented, letting them fall into place, in proper perspective. “You said you couldn’t try to find the murderer publicly. What about privately?”

  Tom Izumi smiled mirthlessly. “We went over every possibility, Mr. Griffin, and we came up with only two ways that rifle could have gotten into the Game.”

  “I’d like to know. I want to see.”

  Izumi paused, and nodded, and said, “All right, come with me.”

  Griffin wondered briefly how his subconscious had known that they would end up in Maintenance. Why else would he have had such a strong reaction to passing that window?

  Sandy Khresla spent a lot of time outdoors. The sun had put streams of red in her straight black hair and turned her skin nut-brown. She was a demon softball pitcher; he’d watched her. She had the muscle to put speed on that heavy ball. Most women develop soft, smooth muscle contours; but a few, like Sandy Khresla, grow hard and defined. He’d lay long odds she pumped iron.

  The blue smoke of an aromatic pipe tobacco hovered around her. Alex missed her leathery smile. She looked dangerous without it. She had never looked at him like this: like an enemy. He said, “So you know about all of this too?”

  Sandy’s voice was surprisingly deep. “When they started poking around, Gruff, there was only one place to go. We’re the only people who have complete knowledge of every entrance and exit, how everything moves. I was just a junior supervisor then, but Calvin and I were tight. When his brother came to me and told me the truth, they knew they could trust me.”

  Alex nodded. He felt like a Johnny-come-lately around these old-timers. “So what conclusions did you come to?”

  “We have to go back to an earlier set of detail maps. A lot of additions were made six years ago, and new security put in.”

  She called maps up on the computer, until a scale map of Dream Park rotated on the table in front of them. The image flashed and expanded, flashed and expanded, until they were looking at the dome of Gaming B, tangential to Gaming A but sharing no walls or surface connections.

  “If I remember right, the Game was this winter thing. Eskimos. Sun going out. We had every refrigerator unit pumping at once.”

  “Fimbulwinter.”

  “Whatever. Okay, at the end of the Game the Gamers have lost almost everything, but there are still some weapons left be-hind after an airplane crash. These are handed out to the Gamers who need them so they can fight this last big battle. Are you with me so far?”

  “No problem.”

  “Now, all of the rifles are coded and numbered. The rifle that killed was indistinguishable from a Dream Park rifle. It hadn’t been modified. Somebody smuggled it in at the last minute, and handed it to that poor little mouse—”

  “Michelle Sturgeon.”

  “Yeah, that was it. Kid never had a chance. She had the highest score of anyone in the Game, you know t
hat? They may have picked her for that.”

  Alex examined the checkpoints. The Dream Park armory was an ultra-high security area, and all weapons were checked, rechecked, and the complete breakdown recorded on videochip for reference. Some of the weapons were replicas, and could never fire. Many were fantasy weapons dreamed up by R&D. But a few were antiques, or army surplus, and needed safety modification.

  Tom Izumi traced his finger along the underground connecting tunnels. “This rifle entered the Game here, at a service duct, or here, at the players’ entrance. This corridor, where the equipment is brought up, is very secure.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “But. One of our Eskimos disappeared after the Game. Poof, gone. Laid a false trail and was out of the country, as far as we can determine.”

  “Pictures?”

  “Yes,” Izumi said. “I can have them to your office this afternoon.”

  “One of the Actors smuggled in a rifle, switched it, and carted the modified rifle away?”

  “It seems the simplest explanation,” Sandy said.

  Alex thought, and thought, and finally sighed. “I need more information. I think there must be a simple answer. Get me the data on the Actor. What was his name?”

  “Called himself Toby Lee Harlow Jr. All of the files were lifted, but I got them out of the system, and kept them.” Once again, Griffin was treated to that utterly merciless smile.

  “Just in case.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  OLD FRIENDS

  Millicent Summers’s office was tucked away beneath the Blue Lagoon swimming spa. A wall-wide window piped in a view of clear blue water. Healthy young and firm old bodies smashed through the rippling mirror-surface and drove swarms of bubbles under as they plunged.

  Millicent’s head snapped around, and she sprang out of her chair delightedly. “Alex! I was hoping you’d come by.”

  “Couldn’t stay away,” he said. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his smile wasn’t very convincing. “Besides,” he said with more bitterness than he had intended, “I don’t know who I can trust.”

  She was taken aback, opened her mouth and closed it without speaking. Millicent spun without touching him, and raised her voice. “Are you there, Jackie?”

  “Yes, Miss Summers.”

  “Hold all my calls for the next hour.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Millicent led Alex by the hand over to her desk, and sat with him. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “I don’t have enough yet, but . . .” He reached over to her key pad. “Mind?”

  “What’s mine is yours.”

  He typed his security code in, and made a few quick routing instructions. When he looked up, he saw that she was seriously concerned.

  “Alex, you don’t usually ignore an innuendo.”

  “Millie, I can’t trust anyone who was here ten years ago. You came in seven years ago, so that’s why we’re talking.”

  “And here I thought it was my lucid personality.”

  “I need that too.”

  “So talk.” The smile was gone. Millicent knew him too well to expect pleasantries, or anything pleasant at all.

  He took a deep breath. “All right. Ten years ago, Cowles Industries was in trouble.”

  “Financial trouble. I know, I’ve got it in my files.”

  “There was going to be a hostile takeover, but enough stockholders held on out of loyalty to make it difficult. And then somebody, no one’s sure who, but his initials are Kareem Fekesh, set up an accident that would help to scare off some of our supporters. Enough to tip the scales.”

  “Kareem Fekesh . . . I’ll look him up. What kind of an accident?”

  “Murder. A man named Calvin Izumi was killed during the playing of the Fimbulwinter Game. The woman who killed him is a Michelle Sturgeon. She popped back up in the park two days ago.”

  Millicent sat down hard, her face tight. “Oh. That Michelle Sturgeon.” She searched his face for clues. “All right, Griff. What can I do?”

  “Help me sort through this. This first part isn’t pleasant at all, and maybe only Harmony has had the nerve to look at it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It was no outside job. The current theory among the bereaved is that someone came in as an Actor, switched rifles, and carried the dummy away somehow.”

  “You don’t buy that.”

  “Not for a hot second. Ah.”

  Millicent’s wall screen beeped, and a picture took form. It showed a man in Eskimo makeup, pouchy cheeks, epicanthic folds, and long, glossy black Mongol hair. The next picture was of the same man out of makeup. The two pictures matched only vaguely.

  “Have they run this through FBI? How long ago did this all happen?”

  “Maybe ten years. And the FBI wouldn’t have looked too carefully. We never let them know just how serious it was.”

  Millicent’s puzzlement was obvious and easy to understand. Griffin took a few minutes to explain the facts of life. When he was done, she exhaled harshly. “Wait. I’m going to need some coffee for this. You?”

  “No, thanks. My ulcer already has all the acid it needs. Anyway, my bet is that that picture isn’t of our man. Anyone who could tamper with the Game data banks to reprogram a hologram can certainly change a few pictures. And the person who can do both of those things is no short-time employee. Even if he was, his intimate knowledge of Dream Park security and operations means that he had a collaborator.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  “Not that difficult. Our traitor entered himself pseudonymously into the Gaming Actor roster. Donned makeup. On the day of the Game, guards ferried rifles from the armory to Gaming B. Our traitor got several of them to be distributed. He disassembled one and restored it to firing condition. For a practiced expert, maybe two minutes of work, but he had to be carrying the tools and parts he needed. He passed the rifle to Michelle Sturgeon, and got out of there . . . let himself be killed out, I’d guess. The stolen parts were dumped in a scrap-metal recycler.” Alex sighed. “That’s really all there is to it, Mil. I wish there were more.”

  “Sure there’s more. Did he replace another Actor? Or was there just one extra Eskimo in the Game, made up out of whole cloth?”

  “One extra. Numbers changed throughout the program.”

  She mulled it. “So what can I do for you?”

  “First, I want to know which Dream Park employees at the time had large registered blocks of stock in the company. It’s thin, but a natural way to pay off the traitor. Second, I want you to put a trace on the level of interest Mr. Kareem Fekesh had in the Park at the time. That will be hard. I’m sure that he covered his trail.”

  “I . . . don’t know whether I can get that information, Alex.”

  “Not alone. I’m going to get you help.”

  “Help?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Sunlight was beginning to dwindle by the time Millicent teased the first precious pieces of data out of the computer banks. The list of stockholders in Cowles Industries circa 2048 was immense—there had been a profit-sharing plan in place far earlier than that, and many employees funneled their funds back into the Park. Only about twenty current employees had had over two hundred shares. Harmony’s name was there, and so was Dr. Vail. The other names were just names.

  “Does this give you what you need?”

  Alex scanned the list, nodding slowly. He glanced at his watch. “And my helper should be available any moment now.”

  “Are you deliberately trying to be mysterious?”

  “No more than usual—ah!”

  A beep on Millicent’s desk told him that the new call had been routed through. It hadn’t taken long.

  One section of her screen cleared, and a young man appeared. He had reddish hair and a thin face. His eyes looked tired but still very alive. His lips were curled sardonically. “Griffin. How go things in La-La Land?”

  “Not so good, Tony. How’s
Chino?”

  “Another eight months and I’m out. Till then, I sleep on my back. I don’t suppose—” He finally seemed to see Millicent. “Scuse me. Have we met?”

  “I don’t think so . . .”

  “Tony. Tony McWhirter. Few years back The Griffin was responsible for sponsoring me into this boy’s club.”

  She nodded. “Right.”

  “Curiously enough, once I was here, he did just about everything he could to make it as comfortable as possible. Almost as if he had a bad conscience about the whole thing.”

  “Why would Griff have that?” Millicent was not a good liar. She should have shown surprise.

  “The very question. I’ve asked myself that one many times, and come to no useful conclusion. At any rate, I doubt that this is a social call. What’s the job, O Griffin?”

  “Tony, I got you a work dispensation to get you points with the parole board and to keep you current on computers until we can get you out. If you’re smart enough to break our security system, I want you on our side.”

  “La-de-dah, S.S.D.D. Same shit, different day. Come on, what’s the pitch? You need something, don’t you?”

  “I surely do. I need you to investigate a man named Kareem Fekesh. Offices in the DuPont building, downtown Los Angeles. Find out everything you can about his involvement with Dream Park, Cowles Industries, as far back as you have to go. A lot of it will be hidden.”

  “Do I get to violate his civil rights?”

  “He’s not a citizen.”

  Tony’s sardonic manner dropped away. He studied Griffin’s screen image with wonder and a little fear. “That doesn’t make it ethical. Anyway, it’ll take more computer time than they give me here.”

  “Yes. Millicent will make one of the banks here available to you. Set up the program and let it run overnight if you have to. I need you to break security on his accounts, stockbrokers, banks, anything else.”

  “Illegal too.”

  “You’re a criminal, aren’t you?”

  “Such a mouth. What’s in it for me? More time if I’m caught?”

  “‘Tony, everything I’ve done for you was gratis, because I know you never wanted that guard to die. You do this for me, and you will have paid back everything, If you work it through the lines here at Dream Park, your legal risk is minimized.”