'Ah… coordinating a Game?'
'Those two could have died sliding down that cable, don't you realize that?' He didn't say 'I knew that we shouldn't have let someone like you run this Game.' Perhaps he wasn't even thinking it. But he'd not been happy when he'd read the fifth Game Master's dossier.
Tony worked to keep the irritation from his voice. 'I'm sorry you feel that way, but it was an internal decision.'
Meyers sniffed. 'If a player dies during a Game, it could cause a blot on the record of the IFGS '
'With all respect, sir, if those two players had slipped, it would have made a blot elsewhere, as well. The risk was theirs. This is a Nekro-Max Extreme Environment Game, and everyone involved knows it. Waivers have been signed all around. If anyone, or anyone's heirs, so much as whisper the word 'lawsuit,' their firstborns grow tails.'
'Are you trying to be funny?'
'No. Yes. Look there's no need for conflict here.' Tony McWhirter steepled his fingers. He'd finally realized why it was his turn in the barrel. 'We both want to show Gaming in the best possible light. The audience likes the excitement, sir.'
Arlan Meyers tried to calm himself. 'The IFGS is a family organisation, McWhirter. If parents see people plummeting from the sides of buildings '
'Then the ratings will go up. Stop thinking of this as a chess match, and start calling it what it is: a sporting event. The risk/benefit ratio is-'
Meyers had heard enough. 'We are going to revoke our sanction, Mr. McWhirter.'
Tony examined him shrewdly, like a lepidopterist examining a new and rather ugly species of moth. 'Um- hmm. And if nobody dies, will you give it right back, like you did for Ancient Enemy last year?'
Meyers flinched. Expressionless now, he squared his shoulders and said, 'Good day.' And stalked off.
Tony's whistle of relief was echoed all over the control room. The whistle wasn't enough. His whole body tingled with suppressed tension.
Then Doris was behind him, her strong fingers kneading his shoulders. 'He's an idiot,' she whispered. There was a sudden starburst on Tony's holo field, and a cartoon caricature of Arlan Meyers appeared. The field expanded, and
Meyers was staked out before a firing squad. A further expansion, and a row of Richard and Chi-Chi Lopezes were pointing rifles.
Nice to know that he had the gods on his side. Better make sure the lawyers were there, too.
And if the IFGS revoked Dream Park's sanction… yeah. They'd claim that Meyers had acted from prejudices against one of the Game Masters: against the jailbird, Tony McWhirter. The Lopezes never missed a trick.
Back to work. Where had the wandering Adventurers gotten to now?
Mary-em had searched the cubicle of bedroom. From time to time she or Clavell would call out, 'Find anything?' and receive a negative response.
She had torn back the bed sheets, emptied the closet, taken apart everything that she could find and nothing.
At an almost subliminal level, a soft musical refrain had begun, a chanting sound that whispered in her ears:
Chango mani cote Chango mani cote olle -
She tapped at the earpiece of her Virtual set. Was this… Then she was on instant alert.
A rooster, red-combed and white-feathered, crawled out from under the bed and pecked its way across the floor, ignoring her.
…masa Chango mani cote olle Maya Chango ara bard…
A closet door flung itself open, and above the hypnotic chant, she clearly heard 'baaaa…' and a longhorn sheep wandered out, grazing at the rug. It sauntered across the room and into the hall.
The chant was loud now, drowning out thought.
…mani cote ada mani cote aran bansoni Chango mani cote Chango mani cote elle masa Chango arambsoni Chango ara mani cote…
The air swam hazily in front of her. Where was Clavell? Didn't he hear the music? Hadn't he seen the animals? Where Then a voice behind her said softly, 'I have what you seek.'
Mary-em turned and faced the window.
A man stood there, a man who burned. He was African, fantastically muscled, utterly naked, and his skin crawled with fire. Mary-em was stunned. His body was perfect, his dimensions formidable in every respect.
'Who are you?' Her voice shook. At first she wasn't sure why, and then she knew.
Crom, but he was a fine-looking man.
It felt like her shorts were percolating, and Mary-em fought for control. She was a loner by nature, and even if men had come flocking after her, she would have been difficult to approach. But her age and diminutive size, not to mention her extremes of preferred activity, made her all but celibate.
It had been five years since her last lover.
A voice whispered in her ear: 'You are bewitched. Let yourself go.'
She relaxed, letting herself slip into the syrupy warmth of the illusion. No need to be so defensive-who the hell turns down a god? And as gods go, Chango was prime.
Woof.
How far did Dream Park expect her to go? For that matter, how far did she want 'I am… Chango,' he said, and smiled hugely.
And came closer.
He had to be a Virtual projection. With one shaking hand, she flipped her Virtual shield up.
He was still there. Hologram, then, with a Virtual overlay. That explained his graphic arousal. She was almost ashamed of herself for lowering the Virtual shield again. She hoped to God he was computer-animated. Could she maybe meet this guy, later?
'Come to me…'' he whispered. His voice was intoxicatingly warm and exciting. 'Take the gift…'
His hand opened, palm outstretched, and resting in it was a bloodred gemstone. A ruby.
Mary-em's head swirled. She heard herself say 'yes' with a stranger's voice
And took the step forward.
Her hand reached out, and the gem dissolved as she touched it. Her world exploded into flame. The chanting in her ears drowned out thought, clouded sensation as his downturned face came to hers.
There was no physical contact, nothing but the sudden heartbeat throb of the electric mesh in her costume. The air became a kaleidoscope of colors, raging, pulsing Major Clavell screamed, 'Hold! Demon!'
The perfect face flickered away from hers. Fire jetted from his eyes, hammering Clavell squarely in the chest.
Clavell smashed back into the wall, jarring the entire capsule.
Dazed, Clavell raised his sword and chanted, 'By the powers entrusted in me-'
Chango, still enfolding Mary-em in an embrace of cold fire, turned to look at him. 'You? You think that you can best me? I will destroy you, mortal!'
Clavell was panicked. War games weren't like this; weren't this personal. This thing had seduced the indestructible Mary-em, and her body, convulsing rhythmically, was He had to snap his mind out of that track. The visual was designed to throw him off base.
Now. 'Fire, god, lust. Which god?' He'd spent enough time preparing: the meager information sheets that they had been given, and the volumes the Army research team had found. 'Chango, of course.' And can he be destroyed?
Idiot. He's a god!
Bargained with? Frightened away? Ah!
Major Clavell pulled himself off the wall and spread his arms again, chanting.
The skin on Clavell's own head began to singe and peel away. Flesh rolled down in droplets, burning and spattering on the floor beneath him.
Incandescent in the narrow hallway, Clavell's head had become a naked, blazing skull.
Chango screamed, a high-pitched sound that shook the entire dangling apartment. He turned to run. In three
