Dream Park

Problem. Her companion was the highest-ranking sorcerer who had yet applied. Could he perhaps manage to kill the woman off in the first couple of days... ?

Bowan the Black glared at him from behind massive brows. He had dense, curly blond hair and crystal blue eyes and the mus­cles of a distance runner. Chester tried to remember his real name, and couldn't. Garners were required to give their real names to Dream Park Security, but were under no obligation to give it to him.

'Thief and Sorcerer. Both high level. And you work together well as a team.'

Bowan's words were heavy with exotic mystery. 'We are no mere team. We are one. Together we represent a force greater than any challenge imaginable.' He folded his arms and lowered his eyelids like a drowsy hawk.

Felicia slid a step forward and leaned over the table with only the barest flicker of acknowledgement for Gina's presence. 'I've got what you need for this Game, Chester. I've got an eighty-two percent agility rating on level six.'

'Wessler-Grahm?' Chester glanced down at her folder. It was there. Damn, but she could come in useful. He studied her face: short brown hair and fleshy lips, blunt nose, ears that stuck out from her head like flowers on a barrel cactus. Could he keep an eye on her?

Chester closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation of Gina's fingers in his neck. An, well, as long as he could kill Felicia off if the occasion demanded. 'Okay. You're both in the Game, start­ing. See you tomorrow morning.

'Three more Alternate positions are available,' he called. A groan went up from the twenty-five people left in the room. These were low-ranked players, locals who hoped to squeeze into the Game more by luck than experience. A Lore Master was obliged to take one totally new player, but aside from that he picked only the strongest. Half the remaining supplicants left the room, and many of those still in line were grumbling, but one tall black woman was smiling. She had read up on Chester Henderson. He had a habit of losing dippy players in the first day or two of a Game.

She could wait. Alternate was fine. This was the Game where the I.F.G.S. would sit up and take notice of Holly Frost.

The ballroom of the Dream Park Sheraton was empty but for a forlorn maintenance ‘bot sucking up dust and trash, and a pair of tired human beings at the big conference table.

Chester Henderson looked at the stack of seventeen dossiers sit­ting in front of him. It had taken hours of culling the pre-selected finalists to find these people. They would be an odd crew, but any expedition that included Mary-Martha and Ollie Norliss would be both exciting and profitable.

Gina sat at the table next to him, her lovely face drawn with fa­tigue. He reached up and took her hand, squeezed it appreci­atively. 'You know, hon? After everyone else is gone, you're still around.' He was surprised to hear the sincerity in his voice. It was so easy to discount Gina. Just a beautiful Fantasy-Game groupie with a stunning body and a love for playing dumb.

She rubbed his head with a hand that smelled faintly of musk oil and clean sweat. 'Oh, Chester. I just like to feel needed, that's all.'

He started to tell her that he didn't need anybody, that three other girls had proposed sharing his bedroll for a position in the Game, that one was in Gina's league as regards beauty. But there was something.

'Well,' he said, feeling sleep-demons tug at his eyelids. Tomor­row is a big day, they whispered. Surrender. 'You're needed, Gina. You pull your weight. You always do.'

'Nice to know the team needs me,' she said softly, and behind the heavy makeup her face was warm and open. 'What about you, Chester?'

'What about me?' He tried to smile up at her, but the muscles in his face were fast asleep.

'Don't you need me too?'

Again Chester was tempted to say something other than what was in his mind, but he was too tired for anything but the truth. He closed his eyes and said, 'Gina, you are very much appreci­ated. Let's go to bed.'

Gina kissed him wetly. 'You say the sweetest things.'

'It's why you love me as you do.' He tucked the stack of dos­siers under his left arm and slipped his right about Gina's waist.

The echoes of their footsteps followed them as they walked past

the empty bleachers. The lights in the ballroom dimmed to deep shadow. The only sound was the lonely bumming of the mainte­nance ‘bot.

Gwen stepped out of the shower and into a drying screen, feel­ing her skin tingle as the water evaporated from it. She wrapped herself in a towel and looked at the effect in the mirror. She pulled the towel tight around her waist and let one leg protrude from the slit. Not bad, she thought. The leg was white and firm and smooth; only the ankle and upper thigh betrayed her chunki­ness. If she pulled the towel a little tighter.

She tossed her head to the side, watching the bounce of her short blond hair. Good enough. Have at you, Oliver the Frank! A dab of perfume behind each ear and another in the rounded cleft of her bust, and she was ready for her entrance.

Stepping from the bathroom to the bedroom was like stepping into another world. Phantasms floated through the air, and shad­ows shifted menacingly on the walls. Something tapped at the win­dow, and when she looked, a large black bird was squatting on the sill, pecking at the glass. It cocked its head at her and uttered the inevitable three-syllable word.

Wrong-o, she thought at it.

Ollie lay on the bed, naked, watching the raven. When Gwen emerged from the bathroom he flipped a switch at the bedside and the bird faded away, along with the other illusions. His eyes gleamed. 'You know, I really like the way you look fresh out of a shower.'

She curtsied low, then lay down on the bed and, still in her towel, snuggled next to him.

'What do you think, Gwen?'

'I wanna.'

Ollie rolled to face her, and tried again. 'What do you think about tomorrow's Game?'

'I think it's going to be hard. Harder than anything I've been in, that we've been in. That's why I don't want to think about it right now.'

'South Seas Treasure. What would that mean?'

'It means I'm going to roll over and go to sleep if you don't pay some attention to me, that's what it means!'

Ollie snapped out of his reverie. 'I'm sorry, hon. I'm just worried about my standing, that's all.'

'Oh. Well, I think I can handle that,' she said, and reached down.

Ollie wiggled delightedly. 'Okay, all right, you win, monorail mind,' and they kissed in a chorus of giggles. Some time later Ollie said, 'You know something? I love the way you smell.'

'I was hoping you'd notice.'

Tony McWhirter poured himself a big glass of orange juice and added a splash of vodka. 'Do you want anything, Cas?' he called over his shoulder.

Acacia's eyes flamed at him, and she coyly raised the bedsheet up to her chin. 'Lo que yo quiero no veine de la botella, hombre,' she said.

He sipped from his drink as he crossed the room to the side of the bed. 'That drink's too complicated for our limited bar facili­ties. What's it mean?'

'Why don't you put that drink down and find out?'

'No sooner said...' He lifted the glass and chug-a-lugged. His robe hit the floor with a rustle, his glass hit the