“I know how you make a living,” she said. “I know you put your life on the line every day that you work.”
He nodded. “But then, that’s not exactly what we’re talking about, is it?”
Her face didn’t move, but he saw reflected in her eyes all the answer he needed. There was a particular variety of nerve necessary to make it up here. And Kendra’s ex-husband, whose name she still carried, didn’t have it. And if the husband lacks courage, what of the wife? Why else would she want to bind us into some singular group, of one will and one word… “Freedom” from people a quarter-million miles distant means tyranny here at home.
Then again, the argument could have been made the other way: Does Kendra secretly want us to keep our apron strings? Does her husband’s cowardice infect her? Will she sell us out to Earth, once we give her power…?
McCauley could attack her two ways with a single premise.
“God.” He squinted, hard. “I hate politics.”
“Me, too,” she said. “But its all we’ve got. Listen, love. Play your game. There will be time for personal talk later. Right now, I’m just glad to see you.”
And it was to her credit, and the strength of the relationship they’d always had, that he actually believed her.
“I should win,” he decided.
“That would be good,” she said. Then grinned wickedly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
13
Two hours later the music and merriment came to an end. The bald little man called Lord Xavier herded Scotty and the other gamers down a gleaming narrow hallway into a neighboring room. It was another cavernous chamber, lightly decorated, and Scotty had the sense that it was a storage unit of some kind, hastily reconfigured to resemble a hangar.
A thirty-foot grayish metal sphere balanced on four telescoping legs. The surface was covered with little flaps, and at the lowest edge a six-foot door opened onto a ramp.
At the base of the ramp, Xavier turned and faced them. “I present the Cavorite sphere, built to the professor’s specifications. This is the beginning of your adventure. It will take you ten days to make the lunar passage. We will be in contact with you during that time, thanks to our great friend Mr. Tesla. I wish you Godspeed, and good luck.”
He soberly shook each of their hands as they walked the ramp. The small hand within the white glove was soft and warm. Lord Xavier’s eyes were very clear, bright blue and twinkled with mirth. He paused for a moment with Scotty. “Commander Griffin,” he said gravely. “You are not known to me, but your father was. A mighty warrior, and I believe he was simply known as ‘The Griffin,’ was he not? In fact, I know that he distinguished himself highly on missions for my department, and I expect no less from his son.”
Scotty bowed. “He set a very high standard indeed. I will endeavor not to shame him.” And then passed up the ramp.
What was that about? Certainly giving Scotty more reinforcement about his role… the Non-Player Characters had circulated the room, casually mentioning aspects of the players’ backstory, allowing them to springboard their role-playing off the NPCs. A general framework for improvisation, their names and personal histories worked into their new identities.
Interesting. He’d been told to expect that. But the reference to his father “The Griffin” implied that Xavier knew exactly who he was. Did he know the Prince’s true identity as well?
The question was answered a moment later. “Prince Ali,” he said to Scotty’s charge. “You have traveled far, all the way from the Republic of Kikaya, to partake in our adventure. Now you travel farther still. Salaam Alaykum.”
“Wa Alaykum As-Salaam,” Ali replied courteously. But when Scotty met his eyes, it was clear that the young man was worried. Later, Scotty would reassure him. Surely, there was no safer place for Prince Kikaya than Heinlein base.
They marched through the door… and into a maze of plastic struts. Assistants hustled them off to the side, so that they would not obstruct the doorway. From this position, he saw that the great curving wall was a hologram-assisted facade. When the last gamer and NPC was aboard, the door was closed, and the assistants gave a collective sigh of relief.
“We’re off!” quoth a plump, charming redhead. Scotty noticed that she seemed rather attached to Wayne, who himself was linked to Angelique Chan. “Game time is over, you are all off-duty until nine tomorrow morning. Please follow your escorts to your lodgings, where you will find your personal gear already stowed. If you have any needs, please let us know. Game starts at ten tomorrow morning, and until that time no cameras or recording devices will invade your privacy.” Again, she glanced significantly at Wayne. Her eyes were liquid heat.
A lunar hookup. Sweet.
“So…,” Angelique said. “What is happening now? I mean in game time?”
“Look for yourself,” the redhead said.
She clapped her hands and the bare wall blossomed. In the void, a crowd waving British flags cheered as a Cavorite sphere lifted off from the middle of Piccadilly Circus. Like a feather caught in an updraft it drifted into the sky, accelerating until it was swallowed by clouds.
“Ten days of game time will be condensed into ten hours of real time. A clock on the screen will give viewers on Earth and even here on the Moon a countdown to tomorrow’s game. We had to make a choice: either reduce the number of hours it takes for a sphere to reach the Moon, or use time-lapse. We chose time-lapse. Any other questions?”
She was so bright and perky, and it all seemed so reasonable, that he relaxed. Fine. The game aspect of all of this was well in hand.
The redheaded mermaid’s name was Darla, and her two-legged incarnation had attached herself to Wayne during the party, all twinkling eyes and smiles and warm soft promise. Her voice hinted at north Texas, or Oklahoma. She wasn’t exactly pretty, and her Fit/Fat curves were fuller and rounder than Wayne’s usual flirtations. But her energy was irresistible, her obvious interest in a tryst provocative as hell. His fingers tingled when they touched hers.
Angelique had raised an eyebrow at their connection, but after all, she was the one who had insisted that their partnership was all business and no yum-yum.
“I’ll be ready,” he said. “Trust me.” Muscles and joints still ached from the months of training, and he knew that there was no way he would waste all that he had done, all that he’d been through.
Darla walked him to a rim elevator, taking him up to the surface, where shuttles waited to hustle them out to a clutch of dorms set in minor craters around Heinlein’s rim. At every step, they’d each had to thumbprint the reader to pass to the next station.
The shuttle sped over its levitation track and deposited them in the dorm in about thirty seconds, barely enough time to accelerate and decelerate. The windows were deeply polarized, but the sun still blistered the white sandy ridges and meteor pockets. Hypnotic. He’d seen this territory countless times in films and vids, but to actually be here…!
The dome rose before them, and the shuttle slowed. Darla had leaned into him more fully. He could feel her body heat even through his dress uniform.
“Ask me in, darlin’?” she asked.
“I’m not sure I could find my way without you.”
She giggled as the door opened. The hall outside was sealed to the side of the shuttle, the extending walkway firmly in place. “I assume my luggage is already here?”
“You assume correctly,” she said. “Twenty-one, and twenty-two. Here you are. Your thumb?”
