lived the adventure. From the moment we enter California Voodoo until it ends, I want everyone in character. That means during the breaks. That's at night during the rest. We think, eat, sleep as a team. And if you get lucky and tepee-creep to the bushes, by God you'd better screw in character, too.'
They nodded, and chuckled a little.
A knock at the door, and a rounded older man with a peeling sunburn entered. 'Elmo Whitman,' he said. 'I'm here for final check on Virtual diagnostics. Helmets and headsets, please.'
Every player had a different headset, but in the most important particulars they were alike. Liquid-crystal visors could clear to become transparent; these gave each player his enhanced senses. Scouts could see paths, Wizards could see auras, Thieves were sensitive to treasure or hidden doors. These things appeared to them as overlays on the basic designs of prop, makeup, and hologram.
Steffie went first. Her helmet was ultralight, not much more than silvered goggles and earpieces. The complete illusion could be accurately conveyed despite the streamlined equipment.
El Whitman ran it through a complete diagnostic. 'Please hum what you hear.'
'La lala la lalala.'
'All right. Fine. Next-'
Major Terry Clavell inhaled sharply as he entered the locker room. He tried to suppress a rather childish grin and, he believed, succeeded grandly.
His team looked ready. Clavell was wishing he knew them better.
Corporal Waters was in because of his IFGS experience, he'd never played in the armed forces war games. It might make all the difference.
Lieutenant Madonna Philips was a thirtyish, hatchet-faced brunette with a linebacker's drive and a cheerleader's body. She was here because Waters had insisted that they needed a woman. 'Men and women keep secrets from each other in most cultures,' he'd said. 'If we're all men or all women, we'll miss some of the briefings.'
Philips had silvered in fencing at the '48 Olympics before joining the Army. She was wearing a chain-mail bikini, as useless a piece of fighting gear as could be imagined, and not a man was looking at her narrow, angular face.
Mind on business. 'Evil,' he said sharply. 'Is the team in order?'
General Harry 'Evil' Poule snapped to attention and saluted. Clavell enjoyed the moment. Pulling rank on a general! At another place and time, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the general would certainly make him pay, but for now…
'Everything is in order, sir. Except that Black Elk needs a new ROM for his spell computer. Some of his blessings come out as seduction spells.'
'Can't have that. Get on it.'
The general was junior to Clavell in Gaming experience. He'd pulled rank to get in and he still wouldn't be there save for his willingness to retrain, to upgrade his sword- and stick-fighting; and literally because he might frighten the other
Gamers.
He was a frightening man. At fifty-four years of age he had seen combat in six tough NATO war games and countless simulation drills. He bore an awesome collection of scars, and he loomed over Clavell like a battered mountain.
Playing as Warrior and Scout, 'Evil' Poule was a big, powerful blue-eyed blond of mainly Scots ancestry. Once he must have been built like a basketball player. Now his thin hair wrapped a fist-sized bald spot on the back of his head. His belly was grotesque but as hard as a drum. Poule would order junior lieutenants to punch him in the belly. It didn't sag; it rode squarely between his short ribs, making him look like he'd swallowed a smallish liberal Democrat.
Giving orders to a general was going to be awkward for Clavell. It would help if he could swallow his grin… 'General, you've been in Gaming A… four times?'
' Yes sir, Blue Team all four times, won three.'
'Have an opinion on what's coming?'
'Corporal Waters has studied a lot of Games within the last month. Waters?'
The youngest member of the team spoke up. 'The usual mistake seems to be hotdogging. I expect that to be a problem on Bishop's team. Gamers tend to go for publicity, whereas our only mission is to win.'
Clavell could trust that opinion: Waters was a Gaming addict. He had entered basic training stringy and soft. The Army had put muscle on him. He was still no Schwarzenegger, A., but he looked like he could trot through a war game without breathing hard.
Better yet-'Waters, you're here because you know Gaming Dome B. We've always used Gaming A for war games because it's bigger. This time they tell me-'
'They tell you right, sir.' Waters remembered the sir, but he did like to interrupt. 'Just because there are thirty of us doesn't mean they can't fit us all into B, or even something smaller. We could have a locked room mystery, or a Star Trek clone with transporter rooms, no real distances involved. Or they could use B and A and link them with a temporary tunnel. Bring in the Gravity Whip, too.' The corporal grinned. 'You just never know with Dream Park.'
'You're familiar with the A Dome, too.' Not a question: Waters's record showed that he'd played the South Seas Treasure Game eight years earlier, shortly before he joined the Army. 'In fact, you played as an Engineer. You should have told me that. '
'No sir. My Engineer got killed out, dead-dead. There's nothing left, no skill points, no talents. I had to build my Scout/Thief from scratch.'
Pity. And Waters didn't seem to want to talk about it. Clavell asked him, ''What do you think they'll hand us?'
'Sir, if you were a cartoonist, what could you do with a concept like California Voodoo?'
They debated the question. They had all been in Gaming A, four repeatedly. Waters hadn't been in there since the South Seas Treasure Game, but he'd been four times in B. Dream Park might give them permutations of A and B. secret connecting tunnels and trapdoors, sliding elevators and walkways, the possible integration of rides such as the Gravity Whip… they could hope for that. If Gamers found themselves unexpectedly required to perform in free-fall, Army would win that test.
The infernal ingenuity of Dream Park filled their time while they stretched, and dropped afterthought items into their packs, and rechecked each other's equipment and their own.
Expect anything.
Clavell believed he was ready for that.
Acacia took the elevator down. The tube car disengaged, slid sideways into another slot, and presently opened into the train station.
The tension had started to build. Acacia's stomach ate at her. She couldn't think or plan or project into the future now. Only the next moment was real.
The train was small. Five small shuttle cars labeled TexMits, U of C, Gen-Dyn, Army, Apple and a bubble- domed club car hovered two feet above a maglev rail sheathed in non-conducting foam plastic.
There were hundreds of spectators standing behind the security lines. Most wore costumes, though the quality varied from hologram-augmented alien creatures to twenty feet of Doctor Who scarf. They cheered and chanted the names of their favorites and held placards aloft. Some UClink, TEX-MITS were mere scrawls, or elaborate calligraphy in several colors. Some from GEN-DYN were 3-D displays. Psychedelic Day-Glo 1960s letters twisted in the air to spell ARMY! A toothy apple chewed up Apple Computer rivals and snapped at spectators.
Acacia's mood took a palpable upswing. Difficult not to, with such a send-off!
With very conscious grace she swayed to the rear of the platform. Without breaking stride she tossed her hair over her shoulder, a much-practiced gesture that brought all of the carefully nurtured highlights to the fore. In the same motion she stooped and entered the U of C compartment with the easy flow of an eel.
Her team followed. They stowed their gear under the seats. Captain Cipher reclined his chair, ready to snatch a last nap, while the rest gazed out the windows at the crowd.
Steffie said, 'Quite a show, eh?'
'Quite a show.' Acacia felt her skin tingle. Regardless of the surroundings, regardless of what anything
