Dream Park

long in the Game?'

Chester held his head, trying to think.

'They're going to come out, Chester,' Tony said flatly. Alien-looking Fore priests had appeared among the Undead, oiled bod­ies gleaming in the sun. They were directing the launching of boats.

Griffin ignored the boats. Easy to drive through them, if they chose to go that route. 'Equipment,' he said. 'If we've got the ceremony, we've got the equipment too. There's a full Cargo Cult workshop in that Quonset hut. It's a good thing we didn't burn it down.' He looked out. 'The zombies are blocking the fuel, but not the Quonset hut. We can ram right through those boats. The rest... well, by the time we got to the Headquarters building they'd be there too, unless... unless we run the Goose up on the beach. We might never get it loose. Yeah. But it's a chance!'

'No.'

'We may have to-'

'No.' Chester was smiling, but it was not a nice smile. 'I kept looking for the flaw, but I didn't see it till Lady Janet spoke. It's another mousetrap. Lady Janet, have you forgotten the copyright violation rule?'

'By Jimmy, I believe I did,' she laughed, and Chester laughed with her.

Alex slapped his forehead, hard enough to hurt. 'Some detec­

tive. The Enemy's spells are the Enemy's property. We can't use them, can we?'

Tony spun from the window. 'Waitaminute!' He shook Chester's shoulder. 'It wasn't the Enemy who stole the Goose. They stole it from the Daribi. So we could use Daribi spells if-'

'Yes. Who has Maibang's skull?' Chester searched desperately from face to face as there was no answer. Then Margie raised her hand.

'I got it from Owen, I think.' She opened her pack and rum­maged swiftly. The guide's charred skull was a pitiful relic, all per­sonality gone; but Chester seized it like a priceless jewel.

'Table ceremony. Tony, Griffin, rig me a table. The rest of you, I want any remaining rations. Chocolate bars? Salt tablets? Any­thing that might be accepted.'

They set it up in the cargo hold. A warped chest served as a table; they raided a crate of bedsheets for a tablecloth. A few pieces of dried fruit and a lone stick of gum lay on the cloth next to the black skull. No flowers, no candle... but Chester was grimly pleased.

'The bilasim tewol,' he murmured, then spread wide his arms. 'Hear me, Kasan Maibang. Hear me, oh Gods. We destroy the last of our precious supplies that we may speak with him who was our guide. Hear us, Jesus-Manup-' The air above the table shim­mered, and Chester gestured. 'Fire,' he commanded, and bare sparks fell from his fingertips. 'Fire,' he commanded again, and his aura tinged red. He ignored it. 'Fire!' he screamed, and the table crackled in flame.

The burn-scarred face of Kasan Maibang wavered in their vi­sion. 'I know why you call,' whispered the guide, 'but I cannot help you. Only one greater than myself can save you.'

'Who?'

'Pigibidi, the greatest chief of my people.'

'Summon him.'

'It will cost you mana. What have you of power?'

Chester was frantic, tearing at frizzled hair with long fingers. Then he barked laughter and dumped his pack out. Almost at the bottom was what looked like a set of black leather pajamas-the shed skin of a Fore spy. He placed it on the magical fire.

'It is good...' Kasan said, and his face shifted outline and became the pitted and wrinkled visage of old Pigibidi.

'Pigibidi, Great Chief,' Chester began. He licked his lips nerv­ously. 'We are desperate. We must move this tremendous air­plane, and we have no fuel.'

The old man's lips moved, and his words echoed in the hold. 'The woman offered you the spell of the Fore. Be glad you did not use it. One must have permission to use such magic, and to steal a spell from its owner carries a terrible price.'

Chester glared at Lady Janet, who hid a smile. 'Pigibidi . what shall we do?'

'I will give you the spell you need. If our peoples ever contend again, beware of trying to use it against us.'

'No! I swear-'

'A European's promise is worth little. If you have the magical power to lift so vast a machine, I will work the spell for you, that the Fore might be beaten.'

'Power. We're out. Pigibidi, there's nothing left! You've got to-'

'I am sorry. Then it is all for nothing.'

Chester stomped and swore. 'That Lopez! Fli kill him! I swear to God-' He hoisted himself on a crate to look out one of a pair of tiny portholes. The boats of the Fore had reached the Goose. Soon it would be over.

The fire burned without consuming, and Pigibidi's translucent visage watched them with the dispassionate calm of the dead.

Alex leaned against the wall of the hold, eyes hooded specula­tively. Pigibidi hadn't vanished. There must be more. A crate of Coca-Cola? The corpse of a Fore priest? Or- 'Chester?'

'What?' the Lore Master snarled. His entire body was shaking. 'Didn't Margie say that Hughes himself flew this thing?' 'That's right,' Margie agreed. 'He was pilot on that one short flight off Long Beach.'

'Well, if that was when they stole it, then it stands to reason that-'

Tony was sprinting up the ladder to the cabin.

'-that Hughes is one of the skeletons,' Griffin finished. 'My God.' Chester's body calmed down, the excitement flaring in his smile as he realised what Alex was saying. 'It's Cargo Cult mythology. And we've got access to the tindalo of one of the twentieth century's greatest aeronautical industrialists!'

Acacia retrieved the skull Alex had discarded earlier. 'Is this the right one?'

Hughes or the pilot? The bony face grinned sardonically, secure in its anonymity. Griffin said, 'Hughes was a millionaire. His clothes would be in better shape-'

Tony half-fell down the ladder, his arms full of bones. 'What the hell, we'll use them both! A test pilot makes a perfectly good tindalo.' He took the other skull from Acacia and set the two at opposite corners of the table, under Pigibidi's hovering face. The flames sparked up.

A Fore zombie had crawled up to the window. It leered at them, pounding with the flat of an ashy hand.

Pigibidi's translucent face nodded at them. It began to speak. 'God-Dodo, Jesus-Manup, hear my-'

And his words were drowned in the sound of leviathan engines turning over. All eight propellers ripped at the air. Margie gasped and ran for the cockpit, with the other Garners in hot pursuit. The Spruce Goose shuddered and jerked and surged forward.

Margie scrambled into a seat. A last zombie lay flat in front of the windshield, yelling, hugging the painted wood.

The seaplane rose on its step and picked up speed, nudging aside smaller craft and heading for open water. Margie grinned fiercely as the Goose raced along the surface and finally skipped free. They bounced back down, once, with a massive, stomach-churning splash, and the zombie vanished. Then the plane truly found its power and rose from the water with a throaty roar.

Shore and dock fell away beneath them. Jungles and mountains, monsters and dooms, and the gesticulating figures of the Fore were pinpoints to their eyes. As the Spruce Goose kissed the clouds the Garners turned to each other, and there was a swollen moment of silence. Then Alex whooped, and Acacia hugged him, and Tony hugged Margie, and Chester kissed Lady Janet, and the cockpit was filled with laughter and