It swooped past. The wind from the impossibly huge wings almost knocked them flat. Cawing, it disappeared into the clouds.
“We’re screeewed,” Orson started. “I thought he came to help us. Why—”
“Look!” Charlene Dula pointed to the horizon. Striding toward them on legs the size of redwood trees, swathed in furs and carrying a hunting-axe the size of a skyscraper, came Torngarsoak, Lord of the Hunt and Sedna’s lover. Summoned by the Raven and fueled by a terrible mission of vengeance, Torngarsoak came, his round, weather-creased face aflame with rage, black eyes flashing lightning, the aurora borealis writhing about his ears like a crown of glory.
The Terichik squealed in terror and reared back, hissing and swallowing air to increase its size, inflating like an angry cobra.
Ahk-lut and Torngarsoak were matched for size, but the Lord of the Hunt seemed unimpressed by the Terichik’s efforts.
In a blur of speed, the Terichik struck, fanged cilia darting out to rend, to tear and grasp.
Torngarsoak sidestepped, his booted feet smashing through the ice, sending a tidal wave of freezing water thundering to shore. Suddenly the hunter was thigh-deep.
It should have slowed him . . . but the Terichik’s lunge carried it past Torngarsoak, and now Sedna’s lover was behind the beast, thundering through the ocean, every step rending sheets of ice that might have locked a freighter dead.
Ahk-lut turned to strike again, and as he did, Torngarsoak’s axe clove the air. Ahk-lut barely snaked his serpentine head out of the way in time.
The mass of Torngarsoak’s weapon carried considerable momentum. The Lord of the Hunt spun a little past his target. The Terichik lunged in, and Torngarsoak sprang back out of reach, his awful weight thundering like the detonation of thousand-pound bombs.
The two antagonists circled each other in the shallow sea, probing for openings, weaknesses, as the Gamers watched ashore, mouths open, silent and awestruck.
Torngarsoak swung back with the axe—
And let it fall, lunged forward, grasped the Terichik’s neck in both hands, and locked his furred legs around the scaly thickness of its body.
It hissed, it wiggled and writhed, it coiled about him and sought his face and throat with its teeth. Torngarsoak held on, and the two antagonists fell into the ocean together.
The Terichik gouged Torngarsoak’s face, fastened its teeth into his arm. The Lord of the Hunt screamed in pain, but never let go, and although blood -flowed from the wounds, the Adventurers saw the god’s fingers sink into the Terichik’s flesh.
With greater and more frantic exertions the monster struggled, but Sedna’s lover hung on. They rolled together onto the shore. Adventurers and Eskimos alike fled from their path, and the blackened skeleton of a hypersonic jet was smashed to ashes beneath them.
Finally Torngarsoak sat astride the Terichik, hands crushing out the monster’s life. The god threw his head back and laughed hugely, a terrible, primal laugh, the blood running down his face, down his arms, and into the distorted face of the Terichik.
The Terichik spasmed, and then, unexpectedly, began to shrink.
Torngarsoak stood up, shaking the blood from his face, and walked out into the surf. He recovered his axe, and turned, watched as the Terichik continued to shrink. Then he lifted his bloody hand in salute to them, turned, and walked straight out into the ocean.
Far beyond him, a wet black mass burst up through the ice. It was as big as the Terichik, too big to be bothered by bullets. Eviane was ready to fire anyway, before she recognized the face beneath dripping black locks.
Sedna smiled, and submerged. Torngarsoak kept walking until the ice rose above his head.
The Gamers walked toward the dead, shrinking Terichik. It fluxed, changing shape. It was only the size of an elephant now, and assuming the shape of a man—the shape of Ahk-lut.
And finally they stood around the still, naked corpse, the ravaged body of the dead Eskimo wizard. Just a man after all. A dead, defeated man.
For a moment there was stunned silence, and then the Eskimos, men, women, and children, emerged from hiding places around the battlefield, and gaped, and pointed, and (a few) screamed in triumph.
The five survivors formed a group hug and looked at each other. Dirty, grimy, exhausted, and—and ecstatic.
Then the lights came on, and the Game was over.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
CONFESSIONS
Griffin felt sick. He wanted nothing more than to smash or bury the sorry object in front of him, but he had to deal with it, had to question it. He had no idea what he would do with it afterward.
“All right, ‘Hippogryph.’ How much did they pay you?”
With immense effort, Marty looked up. For the first time in many hours, his eyes focused; for the first time, there were tears. “Griff? I don’t understand. I’m dead. She shot me—”
“She had the right!”
Marty waved it off. “Griff. Where did she get the bullets?”
Griffin turned away. Vail said, “You got caught.”
“Caught.”
“Here.” Vail set his tape going. He was still brisk, and it jarred.
Marty’s wobbly eyes found the right screen. He watched himself and Charlene in the ice cave . . . brow furrowed, indignation trying to surface . . .
Harmony’s attitude seemed to vary: vindication, anger, and apprehensive nausea. Sandy Khresla and Tom Izumi showed barely suppressed rage. Dwight Welles wore an air of almost academic speculation. He doesn’t care enough, Griffin thought.
Vail was enjoying the vivisection enough for all of them. “Watch the graphs. You told Charlene Dula you’d never seen Eviane before, here. Your blood pressure and pulse rate and skin conductivity all jumped, see? You didn’t just lie, you were nervous about lying.”
“So you . . . killed me? Made magic?” Marty looked around the interrogation room and knew that there was no hope. He sat on the edge of his chair, his arms hugging his belly, holding himself in. The muscle structure might have been poured into his skin with no concern for rigidity or function.
Marty was a beaten man. He hadn’t slept or eaten in at least thirty-six hours, and as far as Griffin was concerned, he might not for another thirty-six. Griffin wanted answers. Legality could be worked out in civil court later, if Marty survived to see a courtroom.
Millicent touched his shoulder, tried to calm him. “Griff—whatever there is to find out, we’re not going to get it like this.”
“Revenge has an undeserved bad name, these last few centuries. All right, Millie. Marty, what would you like to tell us?”
“It wasn’t money,” he said, and stopped.
They all watched as Marty weighed his options. Then a great shuddering sigh went out of him, and he said, “I know what it must look like. When it all started, I didn’t want to hurt the Park.”
Nobody said anything.
“You know what was happening. Cowles’s relatives were handling business in the Park, and in the company, and everything was falling apart. Then the woman came to me.”
“Tell us about her.”
“She called herself ‘Madeleine,’ but I never believed that was her name. She told me that she represented a group of investors interested in pumping some new blood into the company. They needed information before they made an investment like that. So I helped them.”
“Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“No—” He was reddening now. “You don’t have to talk to me like that. I’m talking to you without a lawyer here. I know what I did, and what happened was wrong. Maybe I’ve waited eight years for it to come back and settle with me. Let me talk.”
“Go on.”
“So I got money, and . . . other considerations.”
“She was very pretty.”
Marty flushed.
“I suppose you thought that putting live ammunition into the Game was just a practical joke?”
“No no no, that came later. But they had me then
, Griff, I was in too deep, and besides . . . What was supposed to happen was, the stock would go through the floor and then someone would snap it up. I’d be moved up to executive level. Meanwhile I’d get rich by selling Cowles short. Griff, it was a monstrous bribe, and if I didn’t take it, Madeleine said they’d publish my unauthorized biography!”
He lowered his eyes. “I did what I thought I had to do. To protect myself, to protect the company from itself.”
Alex saw the tension hit Izumi’s face, and reacted just a half-second too late. The chunky Japanese moved with startling speed, and his fist took Marty in the face.
Marty’s head snapped back, and Tom’s hand blurred, formed into the deadly shuto position to strike into the exposed throat. But by that time Alex had responded, snatched the smaller man by belt and elbow, pivoted, and threw him into the wall. Tom Izumi bounced, came down balanced on the balls of his feet, eyes blazing.
“No!” Alex said, voice crackling with authority.
“It was an accident,” Izumi said hoarsely, hungrily. “Marty and I were just sparring around. It got a little heated. I slipped. Training accidents happen all the time!”
“No,” Alex said, the single syllable hanging in the air between them like a shield.
Marty was pawing at the blood on his face, terrified. “I . . . I think my nose is broken.” The words were mushy.
“I think you’d better talk anyway,” Vail advised warmly. “Otherwise, Alex and I may have to leave the room for a few minutes.”
Marty swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean for anyone to be killed. I thought . . . I thought . . . ”
He buried his face in his hands, and moaned. “I don’t know what I thought. They had me. Griff?” Marty’s eyes peered over his fingertips. “They didn’t lose. I didn’t lose. I stuck with Dream Park, and I did get moved up, and I did make money by selling short. And Madeleine’s people, they didn’t get Dream Park, but they must have made money from the stock they bought. It went up heavy when Cowles got the vacuum subway contract.”
Alex was pitiless. He threw a woman’s picture on the table. “Does this look familiar?”
Marty examined it: a pretty olive-skinned woman with a sensuous mouth. “Huh! Yes, that’s Madeleine! I should have wondered how you knew she was pretty.”
“Turn it over.” He did. On the opposite side was a picture of the same woman, her throat slashed from ear to ear. “Her real name was Collia Aziz. She was found in Altadena, in a trash dumpster, two days ago. Fekesh doesn’t take chances.”
Harmony looked sick, but managed to find words. “How did you communicate with this woman?”
“A telephone number.” He gave it to them, and Griffin noted it quickly. “To be used only in case of emergency,” Marty said miserably. “She got in touch with me. Always. I never heard the name ‘Fekesh’ until Harmony tracked him down a year later.”
“But all of this time, you’ve spied for her.”
He nodded his head. “And every month an extra thousand finds its way into my bank. I have no idea how it gets there. It’s just there.”
“What happened with Michelle?”
“Aw, hell, poor Michelle. Griff, I recognized her. Scared the liver out of me. I called the number. I got a voice that told me I’d be called back in an hour. In an hour Madeleine called. She listened to my story, and told me that she’d get back to me in twenty-four hours. The next day they gave me a virus program disguised as a routine watch report. It insinuated itself into the main computer matrix and found the right place to operate. It was almost automatic.” -
Griffin turned to Welles. “Is that possible?”
“Absolutely. Not just possible, it’s one of my recurring nightmares. We’re not set up to defend ourselves from our own security personnel.”
“All right, Marty, what then?”
“Not much, really. You know all the rest of it. How was I to know you can’t kill someone out of a Fat Ripper?”
“Marty, what is Fekesh planning now?”
Marty blinked. “Now?”
“You’re small fish. Why would he protect you?”
“I . . . ”
Alex leaned close. “Shut up. I’ll tell you. He didn’t care about a mindless little rat turd like you. You’re a distraction. He’s got something in mind. It probably involves the Barsoom Project.”
Marty went paler. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Why would you? All right.” He hit a button. Two guards entered. “Take him away.”
“Wait. She shot me. Griff? How could she have killed me and—Griff!”
“We switched your parka and vest. Get him out!”
Marty was carried out unceremoniously. Alex sighed hugely, and collapsed into a chair.
For over a minute he just sat there, silent, face dark and brooding.
Vail spoke first. “This is a mess. I better go and check out the Gamers. This whole thing has thrown the psychological balance off. Hope to God everyone’s all right.”
Griffin cleared his throat. “Dr. Vail. Might I have a word with you?”
Norman Vail’s bright blue eyes narrowed, and the leathery brown skin around them crinkled tight. “Yes?”
“You recognized her.”
‘‘Ah?’’
“You had to. You were here eight years ago, in it to your teeth. You must have recognized Michelle Sturgeon when you gave her the psychological tests.”
“As unlikely as it seems,” Vail said evenly, “no, I didn’t.”
Sandy Khresla snorted. “Of course you won’t admit it, Norman. You’re not the type.”
“Let me tell you what happened,” Griffin said.
“I’m fascinated.”
Griffin paused a moment. He gazed up at the ceiling, putting his mental filing cards in order. “Eight years ago, you were just as pissed as Harmony. There was no way to touch Fekesh. You must have tried to help Michelle, and the doctors at Brigham Young told you to butt out. Ancient history she was, and suddenly she’s back in the Fimbulwinter Game.
“You had two choices. Expose her, and have her removed, or let her go in and hope it would stir up a hornet’s nest. She was the lure. It worked better than you expected.” He met Vail’s eyes squarely. “How am I doing?”
“Alex, I’d no idea you were so imaginative.”
“That’s okay. I had no idea you’d risk your professional standing for Dream Park.”
“Alex, as long as we’re being the omniscient author, why don’t we say that she checked out? She was fine. Sane.”
“She was a loon. Vail, you’re as cold-blooded as anyone I’ve met. But as you said, where else but Dream Park would you find a home? And just like me, you were willing to risk Michelle’s sanity to expose Marty. Jesus, you must have been hiding a grin when I tried to talk you into putting her back in the Game. You couldn’t have dreamed it would turn out so well.”
“if you’re quite through?” Vail said politely. “I have business to attend to.”
Alex’s temper flared, and his voice thundered in the room. “The truth, dammit!”
But Vail was already at the door. Alex wanted to pick him up and hurl him back; his body was ready, poised . . . but Vail had paused in the doorway. “We all do what we can, Alex,” he said. At that moment, he looked every one of his sixty-four years. “You said it yourself. Where else? Where else but Dream Park?”
Then he was gone.
Griffin watched Vail leave, mind racing. There was silence in the room for a long, long thirty seconds, silence that Griffin finally broke.
“Shit,” he said in a soft, wondering voice. He turned to face them. “All right. Business.” Welles was still watching the doorway. “Dwight, I need you.” With seeming reluctance, Welles eased out of his reverie. “All right. Something is happening, and it’s happening soon. We don’t know where, but it’s probably Gaming A. We don’t know what.” He thought a moment longer, then added, “We don’t know when. Lovely. Business as usual.”
Chap
ter Thirty-Eight
SCORE SHEET
Gwen heard Johnny Welsh’s voice above the din, strident and tired, but happy. “Hey, Robin! You’re looking pretty good, for a dead guy!”
Bowles acknowledged the backhanded compliment with a suitably regal nod. Gwen had to admit, he did look good. Bowles had probably gotten twenty hours sleep since the game ended. He had assumed his former throne in the Phantom Feast, and was surrounded by lovely young things who were watching highlights from the Fimbulwinter Game on a bank of overhead monitors.
“What do you think?” Gwen asked Dr. Vail. She tightened her arm around Ollie’s waist. Damn, it was good to be back in civvies again. No more Gaming for six weeks!
Four at least.
Vail smiled thinly. He seemed preoccupied, and even—a little worried. “Of Robin Bowles? All indications are that he will do well. But I’d value your opinions regarding the others.”
He took her arm. Gwen stood; Ollie stood too. They strolled among the Gamers, their guests, and other visitors culled from the Barsoom Project families. Vail seemed content to be relatively unknown. Gwen wondered how the roomful of guinea pigs would react if she revealed that the tall, well-kept older man so quietly gliding among them was one of Dream Park’s maddest scientists.
“On the other hand . . .” Vail said somewhat regretfully.
Here he veered over to the far side of the room, losing Ollie at the bar. Johnny Welsh was holding court, an adoring Trianna on his arm. “And well, hey,” Johnny said expansively. “When I saw that the monsters were getting ready to eat me whole I said, ‘Hey—” and here his voice changed as he prepared to deliver his infamous tag line: “I’ve had dates like you!”
On cue, his audience roared.
Vail grunted. “He’s the tough nut.”
Ollie was back, with three squeezebags of flavored club soda in his big hands. He said, “Johnny? What makes you think Mr. Mirth might be beyond the reach of your insidious mind-bending skills?”
“His defenses are too strong,” Vail said reasonably. “He can laugh damn near anything off. With more time . . . or if we’d been able to push him without concern for holding up the others, then maybe.”
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