But Wayne heard the thrumming beneath his feet, the distant bing-bong awakening the sleepers, felt if not heard the sound of water pumping through the walls, imagined that he could hear a dozen voices as dreams became reality, shortly to turn to dream once more. In five minutes they were dressed, and had eaten the tube breakfasts pushed through the door slot.
He hit the intercom button. “Fifteen,” he said, calling the room next door, where Angelique had turned in last night. She responded quickly.
“Wakey wakey,” she said. “Busy night?”
“Slept like a baby,” he said. Darla curled her tongue at him suggestively. Say hello to my little friend. She was definitely in character. Her behavior told him that something was going to happen, and it was going to be fast. Instinct warned him that, game-wise, Darla wasn’t going to live long. She was overplaying her hand, trying hard to make an impression.
“Meet you in the corridor in five?” he asked.
“Make it three,” Angelique said, and clicked off.
Fair enough. He slipped in his gamelink contact lenses (capable of receiving personalized signals from gaming central) and packed his bag. He was wearing tan Brit explorer regalia with mesh shocksuit underwear. Darla, dressed in a curve-accentuating feminine version, watched approvingly, and then stood. He grinned at her. “Let’s have a good game,” he said.
“Game?” she asked, too damned innocently, and stood out of his way as the door to the outer corridor slid to the side. She kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to his lips. “You go ahead,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
So. This was where their paths parted. Had she been sent to spy on him? Was this supposed to set him off balance? Was…?
He stepped out gingerly, not quite certain what to expect.
Nothing. Just a hallway, with Angelique entering a moment later, dressed similarly, carrying a pistol and a saber in a scabbard.
“What do we know?” he asked her.
“Look for anything Wells.”
Asako rolled out into the corridor: The bubble girl, looking alert despite last night’s revels. Wayne saluted with his sword. She smiled.
Another door in the hallway slid open, and Mickey and Maud Abernathy entered the corridor. He hadn’t known them before departing Earth, but knew their track record, of course, and a tiny bit of their personal history. They would be the oldest among the gamers, close to sixty if memory served him right. They had once been married, but then one of them had lost interest in gaming, and the relationship had drifted apart. If memory served, it was Maud who had gafiated. Mickey continued to play, but his solo characters weren’t as successful as their double-team. Their team personae were paired psychics. In a magical game, that might manifest as full-blown Dr. Strange-style abilities. Here, the effects would be more subtle, but no less powerful.
Mickey looked just a bit hungover, and Wayne didn’t blame him at all. Last night’s party had been massive.
Mickey and Maud extended hands to Angelique. “We’re not completely familiar with your portfolio, Lady Chan.”
“Perhaps you could refresh our memory?”
“I’ve studied many traditions of the sword,” she said. “And not merely the sword that kills. Also, the sword that gives life.”
Ah. A reference to sword techniques designed to take captives rather than slay. In this context, then, perhaps some of her healing points would still apply. The IFGS watched out for their players.
Whether the game was fantasy or science fiction, her powers tended to be the same: a swordswoman whose blade could suck or restore life force. Whether “steel” or glowing energy blade, she was an odd and spectacular meld of killer and healer. In a game with no fantasy or SF element, she would have great skills as a medic or doctor.
Mickey and Maud bowed as if they were joined at the cerebellum. “We are honored to meet you,” they said as one.
Sharmela Tamil appeared next, still dressed in a feminized nineteenth-century Raj uniform: a white turban, a uniform of thick blue fabric with draped cords across the chest. Medals Wayne did not recognize, and a military bearing-but also bangles and gemstones on fingers and ears. He sensed a complex and fascinating backstory, and promised himself to inquire at first opportunity.
Suddenly, a red light began to flash in the corridor. “Shuttle arrival in ninety seconds. Please make your way to the central departure gate.”
A series of bright arrows ushered them toward the previous night’s entry doors. Just as the last of the group arrived, the safety lights began to flash from red to green, and the door sighed open. They walked through a short coupling tunnel and took seats in a twelve-person shuttle with side windows and a bright central viewscreen.
“Buckle in, please,” a woman’s voice asked. Wayne recognized Darla’s mild Oakie twang. As soon as the last buckle was fastened, internal lights flashed from green to red, the door sealed.
Scotty heard a click as the external coupling was disconnected, and the shuttle began to coast.
If Scotty kept his eyes toward the ground, he could look out of the windows and feel no flash of panic. The same gray-white dust, the same cratered surface, rolling past in a surreal tableau. He could hear the ooh s and aah s around him and appreciate their reactions, while keeping his own reactions muted.
Ali kept his face glued to the window, fingers spread against the glass like a kid at a candy store. The gaming dome loomed up in front of them, ten stories high, wide as a football field, built within an impact crater older than the Coliseum. Their shuttle slowed, then crawled up a graded track to the side of the dome. He felt it shudder as it mated with the dome’s external wall-track, and after a series of little jolts it began to climb vertically.
Ooh s and aah s again, as the perspective began to shift, and their view of the crags, cracks and valleys, the craters and unweathered jutting spires of lunar landscape expanded. It took them two minutes to climb ten stories, at which point the shuttle rattled again as the track beneath them shifted, and they were pulled to a coupling at the very top of the dome. The shuttle sighed to a halt, and there was a nervous moment waiting for the safety lights to change. Scotty only realized he’d been holding his breath when green flashed, and the door opened.
A woman in explorer’s gear crawled out of the vehicle’s cockpit. “Ms. Tabata will exit last, please,” she said. This didn’t feel very genteel to Scotty, but he didn’t complain. Red hair: He thought he recognized last night’s mermaid.
The tunnel connected to a revolving escaladder. One at a time the gamers took hold of the rungs and descended into the top of the dome. Nice option for a puzzle, Wayne thought, but he saw nothing.
The mechanism went through some kind of clanking shift, and Scotty peered up the escaladder well, watching Asako maneuver her pod into position for the mechanism to take hold and lower her capsule to the floor.
When she had fully descended, the gamers all applauded. They followed their guide-Darla, Wayne noted, entering the game early-as she led them twenty meters away under a curved ceiling, to a ramp in the flooring. They descended again, and found themselves in a mock-up of the original Cavorite sphere, complete with plush seats and pewter-colored “Cavorite” scrolls, a few rolled up to make square windows. They buckled themselves in, Asako purred down and anchored her capsule. The ramp folded into the ceiling, and they were ready to go.
A countdown clock appeared on the screen, showing that they had ninety seconds until the game began once again. Wayne strapped himself in, and gave a hard exhalation. This was starting at a rush.
“Her name was Darla,” he murmured.
Angelique didn’t look around. “Did Xavier send her?”
“She didn’t say. I didn’t ask. But that’s her.” Wayne pointed with his nose. “The guide.”
“Dr. Darla McGuinness. Her backstory is she’s an astronomer. Studied the Moon. Xavier will kill her out as soon as he thinks we’re depending on her.”
“Right.”
“What did he think you’d do when you saw her in the game? Flinch?”
“Yeah. Or kill her. Or you’re supposed to kill her.” Or he was supposed to hesitate and let her kill him. Or be
