The Barsoom Project

“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.”

Chapter 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.