Dream Park

by Larry Niven

  He didn't recognize this one. "What have we got here, Miffi­cent?"

  "It's Rice's apartment, Gruff," Bobbick answered, chewing the end of a pen. Griffin restrained a snort. Chewing gum, pens,

  fingernails, Bobbick always seemed to have something in his mouth. He wondered idly if the man's oral compulsion bad any­thing to do with his popularity in the secretarial pool.

  The viewpoint backed away from the fireplace for an overall view of Rice's living room. The gas burning fireplace was brick-encased and raised a foot above the living-room rug, which was light brown and high-tufted. There were two shelves of books and what looked like a microcube reader to the right, with wrought iron spider bookends. The other wall was a picture window.

  The scene blurred, sharpened. Kitchen. "When were these taken?"

  "This was about a month ago, standard shots for our designers to study. We've been wondering if the vandalism in Rice's apart­ment was all coincidence." Millie hesitated, then plunged ahead. "It's an awful thing to think, boss, but since Rice wasn't shifted to the night schedule until after the vandalism, well, it just seemed kind of strange to us, that's all. We thought we'd look a little closer, that's all."

  "Rice didn't report anything stolen..." Where did that thought lead? Could Rice have been involved in the Neutral Scent Affair? If he wanted to change shifts, he could have done it with a simple request. That might have been suspicious, so he had a con­federate set off the alarm while.

  Too much, too complicated. And too grotesque. But not impos­sible.

  "All right," he said at last, "just keep me posted on any devel­opments. I need to think for a while. Let me know when Dr. Novotney comes up with anything, will you?"

  Millicent and Bobbick acknowledged and went back to their viewings.

  Griffin let himself into his office and plopped into his chair without bothering to turn the lights on. He leaned back and put his feet up on his desk.

  They want me to handle this, he mused. I wonder what Har­mony will come up with? I wonder if the legal department can buy us the time we need.

  In the middle of a Game, one of the players had departed and returned unnoticed. What kind of Garner would do that? Possibly for the first time in his life, Alex wished he knew more about the Games.

  The thief would have to have some experience, though. Enough

  to be able to find that extra time, that opportunity. To count on it. Ideally, he would have played one or more Games in Gaming Area A itself. It'd be in their records.

  Alex had seen Rice twice in the two or three days preceding the

  - burglary? Accident? Murder? Call it accident for the mo­ment. Rice had called in the vandalism forty-eight hours ago. About thirty-six hours ago Alex had seen him for the last time, hauling luggage for the Lopezes. What were his last words? I'll see you later, Chief. Right, Rice.

  Griffin rubbed his eyes, tried to remember. Rice had thrown a housewarming party four months after coming to Cowles Indus­tries, a fairly drab affair with tons of official-issue smiles and po­litely inebriated people acting mildly scandalous. There had been a few moments of genuine hilarity, notably Millie and one of the maintenance techs singing a duet of "Baby It's Cold Outside" with the male and female roles reversed. There had also been a tiny tiff of some kind, between... who had it been? Rice and some buyer from Costuming over something or other. Couldn't re­member.

  Griffin's eyes kept wanting to close without permission. He shook his head to wake himself up. He was losing the battle when the intercom buzzed. "Griffin," he said automatically.

  "We may have found something, Chief. Could you step out here for a minute?" Millicent's voice had perked out of its leth­argy.

  "Right." Somewhat to his own surprise, Alex was on his feet in­stantly. He walked from his office into another shot of Rice's liv­ing room. "What have you got?"

  Bobbick rotated the view three hundred and sixty degrees. "There are a few minor changes in this shot. Oh, this holo was made about three hours ago. Rice cleaned up whatever mess had been made. Remember that he insisted on handling it all himself, said there was nothing missing? That may have been a fib. Millie, would you put on the other shot?"

  Reality blurred; then an almost identical picture colored the air. "This is a shot taken a month ago. See that statue?" Bobbick pointed out a simple but very attractive statuette a meter tall. It was of a nude woman reclining on crumpled cloth, her face a graceful oval. "The statue isn't in the later shot."

  "It isn't?" For an instant Griffin was uninterested, then sud­

  denly he remembered. "The argument at Rice's party with that lady from Costuming."

  "Mrs. Kokubun." Millie sounded positive. "She really wanted to buy it from him, made him a good offer, too."

  "Right." Griffin remembered now. "He begged off for some reason or other. Didn't he make the statue himself? Something about the ‘last relic of a misspent youth'?"

  "It's nowhere in sight now," Millicent said. "We looked."

  "Maybe it was broken," Bobbick murmured.

  "Could be. Why wouldn't he make an insurance claim, then? He had a roomful of witnesses who could verify that he was offered a stiff price for it. If it was destroyed by the vandal-"

  "No," Bobbick interrupted, "I mean maybe it fell over acciden­tally."

  "Hmmm. I see what you mean. It's fairly low to the floor on that shelf, but I could see it happening. It's a horizontal motif, though, so it wouldn't be easy to just knock it over. If it did fall

  probably wouldn't shatter, not in that carpet. It's worth look­ing into." Griffin looked at his watch. "Eight-fifty?" He smacked his palm to his forehead in mortification. "I didn't even know I'd fallen asleep. Let me wash my face, I've got to be back in Har­mony's office in ten minutes. Well done, people, keep looking." And he disappeared into his office while Millie and Bobbick counted softly to each other. At the count of thirty, Griffin ex­ploded out still pulling on his coat, and was gone.

  There was an ironhaired woman in Harmony's office. It took Alex a moment to place her. "Ms. Metesky," he said with an un­conscious bowing motion. He took the chair next to her, nodded his greeting to Harmony. "Where are we?"

  Harmony brooded before answering. "Alex, I'm still not sure how this is going to hit you."

  "If it's a good one, I'll go with it." Alex crossed his legs and sat back. All right, let's see how much trouble I'm in. .

  "It goes like this. Until the South Seas Treasure Game breaks up, we have all our suspects in one place. They don't know that we've narrowed our search to Gaming A. Our legal department has notified me that we can proceed on our own initiative as long as all suspects are made available for questioning after the Game is over. Ms. Metesky understands the severity of the situation, and

  has already spoken to the Lopezes concerning my proposaL To save the Game, they have consented."

  "To what?"

  An ironic smile tugged at the corners of Harmony's mouth, and his voice was more soothing than ever. "I want you to join the Game, Alex. It is scheduled to last another three days and some hours. We hope that in that time you can identify the killer, and perhaps even find the missing sample. Of course you'll get special compensation for this unusual duty, but I'm sure that the main at­traction will be the chance to handle the situation ourselves."

  Oh, brother! Still, crazy as it sounded- "It sounds better than just turning it over to the State Police. I never liked that."

  Harmony was delighted; his face and hands became animated to the point of nervous tic. "Good, good. We'll insert you into the Game as Dream Park's optional player. In this context, your f an­tasy identity is more important than a cover story about your out­side life, and we'll have one drawn up for you. The Lopezes will keep us informed of their game plan, and so we'll know where and when to insert you into the Game, hopefully within the first few hours of today's play. Metesky, you work for us, so I expected you'd approve our request. How did the I.F.G.S. representative react?"

  "Myers d
idn't like it. He felt that the Game was more impor­tant than, as he put it," and Metesky's voice became an unex­pectedly and wickedly accurate imitation of Myers' painfully pre­cise diction, "a little petty thievery.' He hardly seemed to understand the importance of solving the crime." She looked down at her folded hands as she said, "When they've been at this too long, they forget that dying can cost you more than points. Maybe that's just what some people want to forget... In any case," she looked up, "Myers agreed to extend the sanction of the I.F.G.S. after I guaranteed minimum disruption of the Game, and threatened to close the Game instantly if he didn't."

  "So the Game is on."

  "Afoot," Griffin said softly. "I'm going to need a briefing on Gamesmanship, although I assume Lopez won't be trying to kill me off. - -

  But Metesky was shaking her head, her gray locks rippling around her shoulders. "I'm afraid that's out of the question. You will have the same chance of being killed out of the Game as any other player. To conduct this in any other way would be disrup-

  tive to the Game, as well as a dead give-away to the other players. You will play as a novice, and we'll give you a set of charac­teristics that will serve, you fairly well. The rest will be up to you. If you are forced out of the Game, I imagine we'll have to shut it down at once. The Fantasy Gaming Society will withdraw their sanction if there is any tampering with the odds of a Game, and the Lopezes won't run it without I.F.G.S. support, so there you have it."

  "Just great. I have to stay in the Game and solve the crime at the same time." He closed his eyes tightly. "I'm going to need a transceiver to stay in touch with my staff. Any new developments might be more than professionally interesting."

  Harmony seemed confused. "What do you mean by that?"

  He couldn't really have missed that point, could he? Alex said, "We've been assuming that Rice died by accident. If he didn't, or even if he did, and our thief becomes aware that he's being hunted for murder... well, I could lose more than experience points." Griffin seemed on the brink of saying more, then shook his head and stood up. "It's nine-thirty now, so the Game's been going for ninety minutes already. I think I'd better get ready. Where do I go from here?"

  "Gaming Central for costuming and briefing. As soon as Lopez makes a kill, we will insert you into the Game." Harmony pushed himself up from his chair and shook Griffin's extended hand. "Good luck, Alex. We're counting on you."

  Alex waited until the office door had closed behind to release a soft, amazed whistle. "Of all the cockamamie ideas I've ever heard. ." Then, that one moment of doubt voiced and behind him, he headed for the elevator, his mind filled with variables and unknowns.

  Chapter Twelve

  OVERVIEW

  Myers was adamant. His little black eyes focused down to points. "All right, the snake was justified. I still say that the bird attack was uncalled for, beyond anticipation, and possibly a non-organic part of the Game structure you are building."

  Richard Lopez regretfully pulled his attention away from the Game, secure in the knowledge that Mitsuko could cover any problems.

  "Listen, Myers, I run my (lames by the book. Melanesian magic is naturalistic. What I mean by that is that its structure is designed to explain natural phenomena: crop shortages, disease, weather peculiarities, luck in hunting, and so forth. They explain all of this with a series of myths concerning gods and spirits. Some of them were once men or animals, but in dying they became op­erative on a higher plane. Human beings gain power through wealth, knowledge, age, social position, or the help of spirits.

  "Now: Pigibidi was the most respected elder in the village, and therefore a powerful magician. Clearly the village is under assault by unnamed enemies. Clearly the enemy is skilled in sorcery. Pigi­bidi, an old man, went into a dancing frenzy intended to impress the visiting wizards and warriors. He pushed himself too far and weakened himself physically, and that weakened his psychic powers as well. He himself formed one of the most formidable barriers against outside attack. When he passed out, the Daribi be­came vulnerable. The rest of it follows from that."

  Myers was unimpressed. "And you think that Henderson should have followed that line of reasoning?"

  "Not at all," Lopez said in a voice he usually reserved for chil­dren. "How many people were killed in that attack?"

  Myers frowned. "None of the Gaming party, but..." "No buts. How many were seriously wounded?"

  "None, but I don't see. - ."

  "You're supposed to see, dammit! Myers, don't you find it unu­sual that there wasn't even a serious wound among the whole lot? It was a warm-up. Henderson needed an opportunity to blood his group, and I need to teach him some of the rules of my universe. Don't worry. When the real fireworks start, any nasties I come up with will have clear precedent in prior Game encounters. There will be no valid protests from Mr. Henderson, I think." Lopez turned back to his console.

  As he did, Mitsuko visibly relaxed at her controls. They each had their own keyboard, and individual sets of foot controls for the viewfields. Within easy reach were additional controls that reg­ulated conditions in the control room itself. At the moment, a sin­gle hologram floated above and slightly in front of the central con­trol board.

  It was the Daribi village. All of the Garners were present, and packed to go. The council of elders was present, along with the blanket-swaddled Pigibidi. Richard cocked his head, and Mitsuko nudged a sliding indicator, and the sound rose to audible levels.

  "-leaving now," Henderson was saying to Gun-Person. He seemed chipper and alert. Maibang was at his elbow, wearing khaki shorts and shirt and carrying a backpack.

  Pigibidi, a sickly figure nursed by two young attendants, spoke a string of unintelligible words filled with long vowels. Maibang translated. "He says that he is dying. He must tell you something that he feared to say before."

  Chester pursed his lips speculatively. "Can't his enemies get to him in the hereafter?"

  Lopez immediately bent forward and whispered into the goose-necked microphone projecting from the top of his keyboard. "Tell him that Pigibidi's ancestors are strong enough to protect his spirit, if not his body."

  Maibang scratched his ear. "Although the powers of our de­parted ancestors are limited upon this plane, they assure the soul of Pigibidi a welcome resting place among the heroes. In life, he fears only for the village. In death, he needs fear nothing."

  "I see."

  Mitsuko diddled a dial and Pigibidi's face broke out in a sheen of sweat. He was in obvious torment. Saliva drooled from the corner of the wrinkled mouth, and when he coughed there was a deep-seated moistness to it that was decidedly unpleasant. He tried to sit up, and the two young men helped him. His mouth framed words in English.

  "You find... find them. They... Fore."

  There was a gasp from the assembled villagers, and Pigibidi's body shook as if a string of firecrackers was exploding in his stom­ach. Chester Henderson called to the other Garners. "Do not say that word! Don't mumble it, don't whisper it. We can't use that word during Game time!"

  His attendants tried to steady Pigibidi, but they could do noth­ing. Their leader howled in torment. His eyes rolled back into his head until they were glistening white orbs shot with red and yel­low. He bit through his lower lip; blood trickled down his chin.

  Someone whose back was to the camera pointed an unsteady hand at the dying Pigibidi's abdomen. It was collapsing from within. As it did, the trickle of blood became a torrent. His mus­cles locked in a final spasm, and he was dead.

  A mournful wailing fflled the air. The villagers began falling to their knees to clutch at the dirt in sorrow. Kasan Maibang re­mained standing, his dark face darker still with pain and rage. "This will be avenged. The spirit forces of our enemy have eaten Gun-Person's liver, but we shall slay them to the man." He raised his arms in invocation, voice quavering with holy wrath. "Hear me, men of the Daribi! These brave and powerful strangers come to fight our fight for us. They will need bearers, guides, and friends. Who among you wi
ll come with us to help?"

  Mitsuko leaned to her mike. "Let's not get too dramatic, Har­vey. Just say the lines."

  Maibang scratched his ear, doing a good job of hiding a grin. Mrs. Lopez covered the microphone and giggled.

  Myers asked, "Harvey?"

  "Harvey Wayland. Isn't he good? I found him in a student pro­duction of Illuminatus at USC eleven years ago. We use him as often as we can."

  In the projection field, three strong young men had joined the ranks of the Gamers. They were dressed in native garb of woven fiber. Chester was questioning Maibang, but as if he already sus­pected the answers. "Why the birds last night? Why did Pigibidi die like that?"

  "We are in a continuous battle against the forces of our foes," Maibang explained. "The elders of our people are our first line of defense. Gun-Person was our greatest power. When age and ex­haustion sapped his strength, the barrier was breached."

  Chester nodded. "And the liver? What could do that? Some kind of worm?"

  "No. Very bad thing. Izibidi. Ghost people."

  "Ghosts. ‘Bidi' suffix means person or people..." Chester was talking to himself. His voice rose to more audible levels. "Our en­emies can control the spirits of their dead?"

  Maibang shook his head. "Not control. They are allies. They cooperate."

  "Do the spirits of your dead cooperate with you?"

  "They may, if the call is strong enough. I have the knowledge, but not the power."

  "Then we'll get along fine. We have the power, and Fm get­ting the knowledge a little piece at a time..." Henderson's voice was drifting away again, and Gina's hand on his shoulder pulled him out of it. "Right, hon. All right, let's clear out of here before something uncuddly pops up. Mary-em, I want you up front with me. Offie and Bowan in the rear. The rest of you, eyes open, I think the gloves are off."

  The troop shouldered their packs, and with a last backward glance at Pigibidi's hideously twisted body, moved off in an or­derly line. As soon as they were out of sight, Mitsuko's private viewscreen flashed to a patch of jungle, where the Garners were coming into view. Richard's screen stayed with the village. At a flick of his finger, Pigibidi's body, the two retainers, and the silent