The Barsoom Project

“We could get sued for our lungs and kidneys.”

“To hell with that,” he growled. “Listen. For eight years her father took our money, and tucked this woman into that hospital in Salt Lake City. Then he demanded the rest of the money in a lump sum. We gave it to him. He blew it, and tucked her into a state home in Saint Paul. When Minnesota went through a recession last year, they let her go. That’s when she started using the name ‘Rivers.’ She’s still, pardon the expression, a loon.”

“I don’t understand those esoteric medical terms, Alex.”

“I’m hardly a doctor.”

“Precisely.”

“Dr. Vail.” Alex’s voice was deceptively mild. “Let’s cooperate with each other, shall we? We both made mistakes. It could be argued that yours was larger-unless you’d like me to believe a sealed file kept you from reading her Rorschach blots.”

To Alex’s immense satisfaction, Vail stammered for a beat before composing himself. “We-ah, utilize a more complex battery of tests than that, I assure you. But Michelle Sturgeon is a classic schizophrenic, and she took the test as her Eviane personality. There were, ah, no pathological symptoms.”

Vail’s voice wavered. Griffin almost felt sorry for him, but bored in relentlessly. “Oh, I’m sure she’s as right as rain. Now, Doctor, why do you think she came back here? Don’t you think she had a reason? She thinks Dream Park is the medicine she needs. I think she’s right.”

“I’m not sure you understand the significance-”

“Don’t be patronizing,” Alex said. “I’m not in your league, but I minored in psychology. You tell me if I’m remembering straight.”

Vail narrowed his eyes cautiously. “All tight. Shoot.”

“We’re talking selective amnesia and a multiple-personality disorder, brought on by a strong tendency toward dissociation, and a high hypnotic responsiveness.”

The doctor sat up straight. “That’s-actually quite perceptive. Go on, Alex.”

“Now bear with me. When Michelle Sturgeon shot three players in a Game, she subjected herself to massive guilt.”

“In essence, yes…”

“Michelle Sturgeon sees herself as a murderess, even though she was innocent. Eviane, on the other hand, is a heroine who only fought to protect her cause. Michelle is a rabid mouse, Eviane a lioness. She needs to become Eviane to live with herself.”

“You have about half of it,” Vail said, almost reluctantly. “The question is, what is she doing back here? She intends to relive that shattering moment. Do you have any idea how dangerous it would be to put her back into the Game?”

“Dangerous to her? She’s already pretty screwed up, wouldn’t you say? Could it get worse? Dangerous to us? Hell, we can put a security shield around her. We already have Marty in the Game. It won’t happen a second time. I can guarantee that.”

He leaned very close, and consciously flexed the muscles in his chest. A big man’s trick: Alex was perfectly willing to use subliminal physical intimidation if it would get him what he wanted. “And Vail, this is what it boils down to. We don’t know whether or not she can identify the killer, but the killer can’t be sure either. That’s good enough for me.”

Vail thought about it for a long moment. “If you put it like that

… ”

“I do.”

“Then it seems there is very little to lose, and much to gain.”

“Don’t get cute-I know we’re risking what’s left of her sanity. I think Eviane and Michelle would both agree with me, and approve of the cause.”

Vail tapped his fingers. He touched a few more buttons on his computer, then crooned to it softly.

“All right. I think that I may have an answer. When I was in medical school, we performed a rather interesting experiment. If modified, it may suggest a solution. The key to it is her susceptibility to hypnosis.” He looked at Griffin, face showing the traces of surprise. “By the way-how did you figure that? It’s not in her dossier.”

“She’s a Dream Park junkie,” Griffin said. “This whole place is an altered state of consciousness.” Alex paused. “You mentioned her father. What about her mother?”

“Dead. And I think you guessed it-her mother’s maiden name was Eviane Rivers.”

Michelle Sturgeon floated in a tank of water a few degrees cooler than skin temperature. Hundreds of pounds of Epsom salts were dissolved in the water. She was as buoyant as a balloon. There was no light. There was no sound. 100 mg of synthetic tranquilizer/hypnotic had left her without the urge to do anything but lie here and relax.

Without light, without sound, without a reference of physical sensation, her mind drifted in its cocoon of warmth, and her recent troubled sensations died away.

Who was she? Eviane? Yes. Eviane. Strong. Powerful.

Who else? Some part of her was far, far away, alone and miserable. As she should be. Michelle was bad. Had done something terrible. Eviane didn’t want to think about that part.

Wait, now. There were lights in the darkness!

They sparkled, and moved in rhythm across her line of sight. They were differing colors, jewel-like. She liked them.