The Barsoom Project

Beneath the picture of Michelle Sturgeon was a short psychological evaluation concocted by the Dream Park psych division. He traced it with a finger that shook.

Eight years before, Michelle Sturgeon had murdered one Dream Park Actor and severely wounded another. Her alter ego, the persona of “Eviane,” however, was an Adventuress who had defended herself against evil magicians. It seemed that “Eviane” had become the dominant identity.

How had she gotten past Dream Park Security? The “Rivers” name shouldn’t have fooled anyone.

“Came in with Charlene Dula. Okay, they wouldn’t want Charlene irritated, they need her uncle’s money in Barsoom. So no heavy security check?” He couldn’t convince himself. “No, dammit. You couldn’t stop The Griffin with politics. So what happened? Fekesh could have changed her records.” The man’s voice trembled. “But if he did, why? Because if Harmony and The Griffin saw the flag… hmm. He was afraid they’d use her. Somehow. So why the hell didn’t Fekesh tell me? Damn, damn, damn.” He opened a bottle of headache tablets and swallowed two of them without water. “Why now? I’ll never get any sleep. What kind of game…”

He caught himself, forced the panic into remission. The office was empty, dark except for the light of the holoscreen. “Calm down,” he muttered. “I can handle it. So she’s back. It’s not a trap. It’s an accident. She doesn’t know anything. I can get her out.”

He scrolled Eviane’s chart. He read slowly; he wasn’t used to reading charts. “He’s got to help. Fekesh. He’s got as much to lose-” Finally he let out a sigh. “All right. It started in the Fimbulwinter Game. It can end there too. Kill her out.”

He punched another button, and the screen went dead.

Chapter Four

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ENGAGEMENT

An aroma of fresh-ground coffee wafted in the air. Alex averted his eyes from the urn as he stormed into his office.

The west wall blinked through the spectrum in its “alert” mode. The hubbub beyond quieted as the door closed. He circled his desk. When his weight hit the chair, the screen triggered.

Cary McGivvon, Griffin’s new assistant, appeared on line. Her egg-shaped face was drawn with panic. “Chief-we’ve got a problem-”

“We’ve always got problems. If it isn’t an emergency, it’s a ‘B.’ Handle it yourself.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Isn’t it always. Take a deep breath and talk to me.”

Cary stopped and sucked air, flicking her head to get a few strands of brown hair out of her eyes. “Well, we had a punch-out. Delegates from Pan-African and the Libyan group. Everybody says the other guys started it. Chief, they’re talking about walking.”

“What is Psych doing?” McGivvon was a terrific worker, but a little on the emotional side. Why dump this on him? He had no control, or anything even close to it, over the actions of those zanies.

“Vail has already channeled them into the War-Bots scenario.”

“Terrific. This is what he designed it for. I’ll bet his black heart is tickled pink for the chance to run it.” Alex’s nose twitched at the pungent coffee aroma from the outer office. He would not walk out there and get a cup, nor would he ask someone to fetch one. Time to put a fan in here!

“What’s the situation? Have they agreed?”

“More or less. Chala and Razul should be fighting it out now, but everyone else is twitchy too.” He saw her beginning to relax now that she’d passed the problem on. He turned her off.

He still hadn’t settled back into real space/time yet. The sounds and sights of the shaping of Mars played against the back of his eyeballs. If he closed his eyes even for a moment, blackness exploded into light.

Cary appeared in the doorway. He missed her mischievous expression, transfixed by the steaming mug in her hands. Was she going to drink that in front of him? Could she be so cruel?

“Looked as if you needed this more than me, Chief.”

He stifled a whimper of relief. “You are an angel of mercy. Ten dispensation points. Shoot your husband tonight and move in with me. You’ll still go to the front of the line on Judgment Day.”

“Thanks-I’ll save it. I may need it the next time my boss disappears for three hours and turns off his pager.”

Touche. He sipped from the mug, then made a face. “Half-full?”

“Remember your ulcer.”

He growled at her, and then drained the cup. Damn, that hit the spot. It was the taste he loved. Honest. The fact that decaffeinated coffee never tasted as good just meant that he loved the taste of caffeine. “Give me a minute to digest this. There wasn’t any actual violence, was there?”

“You may want to look at the tapes yourself.”

“Code them through, would you? And any updates on the Dula business.”

Arrgh! There was just too much to do. The panoramic window behind his desk looked out onto the Little San Gabriel Mountains, but the touch of a switch could display any part of Dream Park that he chose. His fingers played on the keyboard, and the window divided into sections.