'He's good?'
'He's a freak. He's got no practical skills at all, but throw him into a trivia game, or funny math, and there's no one better.' She caught herself. 'And he is a mighty Wizard.'
'The world needs more magic,' Alex said, a little surprised at himself. Hermaphrodites have none; Mermaids are minus, too. Nell Gwynn possessed a double share if books we read are true. It's used by all in Nuptial Bliss, in Carnal Pleasures found. Destroy it, Life becomes extinct, the world is but a sound…
Acacia had finished her food, and she daubed at her mouth with the corner of a napkin. She stood and extended her hand to Alex. 'Walk with me?'
'Wait one,' he said, and whispered, 'Tony?'
A cricket-voice in his ear said, 'Here.'
'Watch Bishop.'
'Absolutely. '
'And get an inventory on these apartments.'
'Got it. Out.'
'Ready,' he told her. Lasciviousness here has its sources, Harlots its use apply. Without it Lust has never been, and even Love would die. Now tell me what this wonder is, but pause before you guess it. If you are mother, maid, or man, I swear you don't possess it.'
Cipher lazily said, 'The letter L.' And Top Nun groaned.
Acacia laughed and led Alex out.
She collected her bedroll in both arms and threw her head back, hipshot, in an attitude of naked challenge.
Alex followed her out into the hallway and down past the other bedroom, into a modular living room.
The modular capsule hadn't been fitted in. Acacia punched up the safety code, and the weather wall rolled up, exposing blue-black desert sky and night-grey mountains.
Stars clustered beneath and above them in uncountable thousands, like handfuls of diamond dust floating on a warm pool of oil.
Acacia busied herself in creating a nest, pulling together cushions, a mattress, pillows, and her bedroll. Finally she sat down, drawing him to sit next to her.
'Hello, stranger,' she said, suddenly shy. She seemed a little smaller, more vulnerable.
'Am I talking to Acacia or Panthesilea?'
'Acacia. You're not here to play, Alex. What is this?'
Alex sighed. Relief was surely not the proper emotion, but it was as if the burden of maintaining an impossible deceit had lifted from him. He stretched; his shoulders relaxed; his spine seemed to expand upward. Acacia watched in astonishment.
'I need to know, and I need to know now,' he said bluntly. 'Was Bishop with you Tuesday night?'
'Part of the time.' She kept her voice even. 'I came in late. Then he went out, and came back in. There were a lot of parties going, Alex.'
He watched her eyes closely. 'One of our security personnel died Tuesday night. There could be a connection to this Game. Can you account for your whereabouts?'
She shook her head slowly, for the first time feeling her disquiet blossom into fear. 'I was in my room, alone.'
Alex cursed to himself. Acacia was as much of a suspect as Bishop. And with thousands of Gamers in the hotels, and hundreds of parties, how hard would it be for Bishop to establish an alibi? Or a dozen alibis?
'I'll only ask this once,' he said. 'Are you fixing this Game?'
Acacia's stomach sank. It had all come down to this. Bishop was a Thief, a liar, a manipulator. But he wasn't a killer. She was certain of that, as certain as a woman could be of a man she… cared for. She could never have opened her heart like that, never have responded like that…
Then, why were you afraid? You have no proof, she told herself. And if you say anything, and Nigel is innocent, then millions will be lost, to no avail. And even if he If he did it…
There would be time later for prosecution. Buy time to think. She knew damn well she had hurt no one, but she might still be implicated. She would need that money for her defence. As Nigel would need it for his. And after all, he's innocent until proven guilty.
Mother of Mercy, Nigel just couldn't…
It isn't difficult to fool a lie detector, or a superb inquisitor. One technique involves deliberately misunderstanding the question. The question Alex had asked was, 'Are you fixing this Game?' a question she had anticipated.
The question she answered was, 'Does Gaming bore you?'
'Jesus, no,' she said fervently. 'Alex, I love competing, more than anything in the world. Don't you know me better than to ask that?'
Alex searched the beautiful face he knew so well. Something flickered there, some unease…
But he couldn't call her reply a lie, and his gut instinct told him that she was no murderer. Whatever she was concealing, it was not that.
He wanted to believe her…
And he wanted to believe her a liar. It would have made everything so damned simple. Case solved. Sleep well, Sharon. You made a mistake and paid for it. But I brought the bastard down.
Now, he felt lost. Where to start? Unless there was physical proof, or a solid motive, or a link between victim and prospective perpetrator…
He had zip.
He felt tired, and old, and beaten.
A dot of light flashed across the horizon-the real horizon, wasn't it? Could there be a hologram going? It would have to be huge, and to what end? So that was a flying car zipping just above the horizon, heading over to Yucca Valley.
There was a glow over the hills to the north. Was that the new spaceport? And what would be coming in there? There was a very distant hum, perhaps the sound of a helicopter. They were building things out there, things that would have some meaning in the new world that was coming.
And he, Alex Griffin, wouldn't be a part of it. Sharon would have been. But Sharon was dead now, had been cold for sixty hours.
Clutching at straws, Alex bore back down: he and Acacia had met during the South Seas Treasure Game. There, Tony McWhirter had used her to get in and commit industrial espionage. Tony truly believed she had been duped. Could it be happening again? Or could she be partially guilty, and afraid to talk?
'So now you're with Nigel Bishop?' he asked casually.
She smiled. There was only moonlight and starlight and the distant glow around them. Alex rolled over and looked up at the luminous height of MIMIC, allowing himself to feel awe.
'As much as anyone could be.'
'Where is he now?' He watched her starlit face flicker with uncertainty. And then he was sure. She doesn't know what he's done. She has no idea.
'I'm cold,' Acacia said, her voice a child's. She had snuggled up closer to him. Her body smoldered, like a coal wrapped in cotton. She draped the sleeping bag over them both, concentrating enough heat to bake potatoes.
Someone had found a music system, and from one of MIMIC's other alcoves drifted a soft, seductive rhythm. It seemed to wrap around them, separating Alex from the pain and the suspicions. He gazed out over the desert. It seemed so open, so direct and unsullied. It reminded him of another Alex Griffin, a younger Alex Griffin. The night's chill enveloped him.
Acacia sensed his withdrawal. Her head lowered, until she was staring down the blanket, at the floor.
The moonlight silvered her hair, her eyes, the long elegant line of her throat. He remembered the times of holding, and striving together. Remembered when they had tried to love each other.
They had failed. Failed each other, and themselves. And what, if anything, did he owe this magnificent creature now? The benefit of the doubt?
'Are you ever sorry we didn't work out, Alex?'
