Dream Park

a damnably realistic experience.

Acacia was talking animatedly with an older couple. 'I do the Everest Slalom every time I come here. I'm getting better, too. Eighty-five percent control this time. But, by God, that's the first time they ever threw a baby yeti at me! There he was, right in front of me, all fluffy white fur and big trusting blue eyes. I damn near slammed a tree getting around him...'

Gwen watched a strolling band of acrobats perform their flip-flops and joined in the applause, wishing that she had kept up with the gymnastics that her mother had pushed her into at the tender age of five. Her thumb traced a line over the bulge around her waist, and she cast a wistful eye at Acacia's trim figure. Gwen compared her own wispy blond hair to the dark girl's lush brown mane. Even Margie Braddon's hair, though white, was long and thick; and her wrinkles were all smile wrinkles, and her figure was enviable. Envy was what Gwen felt now.

Gwen Ryder didn't often dwell on the differences between her­self and other women. Most of the time she considered com­parison-shopping either odiously self-congratulatory or self-pity­ing. She liked her mind in neither mode. But there was a four-day jaunt ahead, and romances were known to bloom or die during such, and Gwen wondered.

Ollie and Tony were playing a computerized hockey game in a small arcade nearby. She loved to hear Ollie laugh, or see him smile, even the uneasy smile he wore when he thought he was the focus of attention.

It was easy to remember her first meeting with Adolph Norliss. It was an I.F.G.S. function. He was wearing motorized armor lifted from an old novel, Starship Troopers, and she had knocked on the chest cannon and asked if it wasn't a little humid in there. He'd started telling her all about the cooling and dehumidifying system he had rigged up for it. Before they knew it they were in a nearby coffee shop finding out how much they had in common, while a goggle-eyed waitress brought them breakfast.

Dating and wargaming together had followed, with the spectre of romance hovering close behind. Maybe it was the fact that he never took himself seriously that made her love him. Heck, some­body had to take him seriously, and she wasn't doing anything better than falling in love. But sometimes she worried about what he could see in her, worried that some day he'd decide the whole thing was a mistake, and she would be alone again, haunting the conventions and tourneys and libraries alone, just another little fat blond girl marking off bland days in a bland life.

The older woman's words broke her reverie.

'Oh, I was playing Zork when I was seven,' Margie Braddon was saying. 'My father had a computer and a Modem. You know Zork?' Acacia shook her head. 'You played a role-playing game against a program in the computer at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Zork was a treasure hunt with death traps, just like some of the Games we play now, but with no sensory effects at all. The computer led you around like a blind person. There were a lot of ways to get killed,' Margie laughed. 'Monsters, and mazes to get lost in, and logic puzzles.

'And you Gamed with Hap the Barbarian?'

Her thick white hair bobbed when she nodded. 'His real name was Willie Hertz. He was superb. He was a Lore Master for eight­een years. Owen and I had an open marriage, and he wasn't inter­ested in Games-'

'Wrong-oh!' said Owen Braddon. He was white-haired too, and bald on top, with a tanned and freckled scalp. His long body was all stringy muscle, but for a small, discrete pot belly. 'The Games sounded too damned interesting,' he said. 'I could see how it got to Margie. It would've wrecked my career if I'd let myself get that hooked. So I'd go skiing with someone, and Margie would become Shariett the Sorceress and go off with Hap the Barbarian.'

'Then Willie died,' said Margie, 'and Owen retired, and now he is hooked. Aren't you, dear?'

The older man grinned. 'I'm getting good, too. The Startrader Game last year was the first time I haven't been killed out.'

'He tries to research the Games,' Margie said. 'This time he was right.'

'The lizard was a Merseian. Never trust a Merseian. I think I'm right about the South Seas Treasure, too.'

Acacia waited, but Owen didn't go on. Margie said, 'He won't even tell me.'

Ollie ran up to Gwen, breathing heavily. 'I trounced the infidel, my lady!' Gwen squeezed his hand.

The white-haired couple took their leave, headed toward the Gravity Whip, by God. Tony McWhirter, moving to join Acadia, stopped and looked past her shoulder. A trio of weary-looking, dusty tourists had come stumbling into the Hot Spot carrying backpacks.

Tony said, 'I wonder what did that to them?'

'Let's ask.' Acacia smiled brightly and called, 'Hey, we've got some empty seats!' The trio, two young men and a woman who looked to be in her late twenties, waved gratefully and ambled over, weaving to avoid other customers. They propped backpacks against the low wall, then staggered to the service window to order. Presently they were back with sandwiches and Swiss Treats.

'Whew. Thanks, people. This place is a madhouse,' said a tall, lanky fellow with long yellow hair plaited in braids. He reached over to shake hands. 'I'm Emory, and these are Della and Chris.'

Talk paused while Emory and his group made a ritual of tasting civilized food.

Chris looked well rested except for his eyes, which were bright and glassy. Della had a bad complexion and ears that stuck out a little too far, but her voice was sheer magic, a husky growl that was pure female animal. 'Hi,' she said. 'You guys just coming in?'

McWhirter tore his eyes away from her mouth with a visible tug. 'How did you know?'

'You look too rested. In a few days you too will join the ranks of the walking dead.'

Della looked at Gwen for a second and asked, 'Didn't we do a Game together about two years ago?'

Gwen looked uncertain. Tony said, 'You're a Gamer, Della?'

'How else would I get so tired? We just went through a two-day Game in ‘B'.'

Tony's eyes widened. Two days? But they looked like they'd fought the Vietnam War!

Ollie perked up. 'How was it? I mean, was it good? How many points did you win? Who ran it?'

The drawn look left Chris's face. 'It was Evans's Game. Heard of her? Mean broad. It was hotter than Hell, and never a second to relax. Between the three of us we got three hundred twenty- ­seven points.'

Tony looked sheepish. 'Is that a lot?'

Everyone laughed, and he took it without flinching. Acacia said,

'The average player earns about thirty points a day on an ex­tended Game.' She turned to the three Gamers. 'You people re­ally did a job.' And they all beamed proudly.

'What kind of Game was it?' Tony asked.

Della said, 'Salvage. We were following the trail of a lost ar­cheological expedition somewhere in Persia. We ended up in a subterranean lake, fighting off a tribe of cannibal troglodites for the right to lug back a golden idol that came to life on us any­way.'

'Lose many of your party?'

'About half. Chris got killed. But we figured out how to make the idol-'

'Ssss!'

'Sorry. Emory's right, you might want to play it yourself one day.'

McWhirter looked at Chris, who was looking wrung out again. 'What's it like to die?'

'Cold'

'Cold?'

'Persian hell is cold,' said Chris.

Ollie piped up. 'That would be Zoroastrian. Early Persian.'

Chris nodded. 'It wasn't cold enough to be really uncom­fortable. Sort of a maze filled with spirits of the dead. Took me about an hour to find my way out, then I cashed in my stuff, got my points registered and went back to the Shogunate Fortress- that's my hotel-to watch the rest of the Game.'

Tony asked, 'Didn't it bother you, getting killed?'

He shrugged. 'Part of the Game.' It bothered him.