Dream Park

Griffin stood.

'Aren't you staying, Alex?'

'No, I don't have any stomach for this.'

He had reached the door when he heard Skip whining, 'But what do I tell... Melissa?'

And before he could stop his tongue, he heard himself say, 'Just follow your instincts, Skip. Tell her anything but the truth.'

Then the door sighed shut behind him.

Alex watched the towers and domes of Dream Park shift in his office, shadow-puppets that swirled and loomed at his command.

There were people in the streets. He couldn't see their faces or hear their sounds, but he knew they were happy. Their balloons and cotton candy and plaid cotton shirts said so. The children that skipped to a faroff jaunty melody said so.

There was sunshine out there, and color and magic and music. But tomorrow, or next week, the people would leave, go back to their worlds carrying a little bit of the Dream with them to lighten their lives. And when those lives grew dreary again, they could think of vacations, and holidays, and travel... and Dream Park.

He had to laugh at himself. How often had he accused the Garners of blurring the line between fantasy and reality? The truth was that their fantasy was his reality, and their reality his fantasy.

Tony would go to his grave thinking he had killed a man, and there was nothing to be done about it.

For that matter, it was true enough. Tony McWhirter had gam­bled the lives of anyone who crossed his path that night. He might have found a witness waiting when he emerged from G. A. 18; and then what? He might have crushed Rice's windpipe; Rice might well have died of a stopped nose; McWhirter could have died in that fight, leaving Rice to carry the guilt of the manslayer. Instead, he had left Rice as a gift to anyone with the whim to hold his nose shut.

Tony must have known the odds when he set forth to rob Dream Park. People die during burglaries.

But if Tony McWhirter was getting justice, then what was Skip O'Brien getting?

Alex's fingers dug into the controls on his desk, and the shad­ows shifted, now the abandoned Gaming area, now the streets of Section One, now the hotel transport strips.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't. For Skip O'Brien to escape was ob­scene.

'See you later, Chief-'

Right. And maybe if Griffin had consciously noted that Rice had no words for O'Brien, his former teacher, the man who got him his job at Dream Park... if he had noticed that Rice had been talking to him for O'Brien's benefit, taunting... They must have skipped over anything important.

But that was expecting too much of himself, and that wasn't fair, either.

A holo window opened up in the air above his desk, and Mil­lie's face materialized.

'You have a visitor, Gruff.' Millie was unusually subdued, eyes worried. She and Bobbick had been treating him with kid gloves ever since he'd laid out his suspicions about O'Brien. Friend. Buddy. Killer.

'Can't it wait, Millie?' His voice was more petulant than he cared to admit. Leave me alone. Let me hurt.

'I don't think so, Alex.'

He sighed and faded the holo map to black. 'Send ‘em in.'

When she stood in the doorway, outlined in the darkness, her brown hair flowing behind her like a scarf, he swallowed, not knowing if this was something he wanted. He thumbed up the light.

'Hello, Alex.'

'Hello, Cas. What brings you here?'

'Do I need a reason?'

'No. No, but you've got one.'

She nodded, smiling. 'I just wanted to tell you that you were voted fifty bonus points for Best Novice Player.'

He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. She walked a few steps closer. 'May I sit down?'

'Please.' She folded herself into a chair, and wiped her hands on her slacks.

'I thought you might want to know the final score.'

He was silent, just watching her.

'As a party, we won almost 2100 points. Personally, I walked away with a hundred and sixty.' She paused. 'You earned a hun­dred and seventy-four, counting your bonus. Congratulations. You're no longer a novice player.'

Somehow her smile grew so warm and alive that it crossed the distance between them, and they shared it. 'Thank you. I really appreciate that. I've been feeling very much the novice, lately.'

'There's something else, Alex. I care about Tony... Maybe I love him. I'm not sure. But he used me to get into the Game-'

'Hey, no. They probably propositioned him after he was al­ready registered. They'd have wanted a novice.'

Her brows contracted. 'Oh.' She shrugged, her strong smooth shoulders lifting under her blouse. 'Never mind. What he did-I can't let what happened stop me from letting you know how much I like you.'

'Not now, Cas-'

But she already understood. 'No, not now. But you're not rid of me, and I'll be back.' Her dark eyes twinkled at him. 'Sooner than you want, probably.'

'I doubt that,' he heard himself say, surprised and glad that he had been able to get it out past numbed lips.

'My train leaves in twenty minutes,' she said, rising. He stood, and the gulf between them grew great, impossibly great again. He held out his hand.

She looked at it for a second, then took it. Gently he pulled her closer, feeling only the slightest tug of resistance, and kissed her. It was a light, brief kiss, but it was less an ending than a promise, and he was happy.

She turned, pausing only at the door. 'I'll be back, Alex,' she said.

He fumbled in his mind for something appropriate to say. 'Good Game,' he said, finally, the beginning of a grin framing the words.

'Good Game,' she echoed, and closed the door behind her. He sat there in his office, grinning like an idiot. Presently he tapped the Corn line. 'Millie?'

His dark genie materialized. 'Yes, Gruff?'

'My desk is irritatingly clear. Dammit, isn't there some work to do?'

'You bet, Chief.'

'Then wire it in here.' He stretched his head side to side, lis­tening to his neck pop. Good Game. Damn straight, it had been.

'On its way,' she said. His desk printer began to hum. 'Oh, and one more thing.'

'What's that?'

'I've never met a Slayer of the Unclean before. Can I have your autograph?'

'We heroes are a busy lot,' he said blandly. 'I'll try to work you in Tuesday.' He watched the sheets of fanfold paper sprout out of his desk. When it reached a pile an inch high, it stopped.

Millie whistled. 'That's a lot of business backed up there. Good luck. Personally, I'd rather be fighting monsters.'

Wouldn't we all? he said silently. Wouldn't we all.