three streams from each side and the ceiling, focusing on the pile of mooncow excrement. The gamers scrambled away as the pile melted, shrank, finally sluiced away into grates in the floor.
The vapor hung in the air, dissipating so slowly that it might have been smoke. Ali, the skinny African magic user, backed up with one hand on his sword. “There’s something in the mist,” he said.
Angelique stopped laughing instantly, and dropped into a crouch. “Alert!” she called. “Ali. Sharmela. Can you dispel?”
Sharmela ran up to stand at Ali’s side. She was a little shorter than the kid, twice his thickness, with a forceful bearing that led Wayne to suspect she could break him into pieces.
The pair might have been practicing for a month. In tandem, they raised their arms as they stood before the growing, billowing cloud. Not steam now, but some kind of smoke.
“By the bones of my ancestors-” Ali said.
“By my mother’s blood-” Sharmela chanted at the same time.
“Dispel!” they both called. A wind swept down the tunnel, punching into the mist like a fist into a cotton cloud. For a moment, they could see clearly. Perhaps two dozen Selenites stalked toward them, their carapaces vaguely warlike, as if they had been born in armor and battle helms. Each of them gripped a staff with a crooked head. Their faceted eyes glowed red as the mist dissipated. They howled, and charged.
“Ali, Sharmela. Back to second position! Wayne, front and center!” Angelique drew her sword and charged.
Regardless of his years in gaming, all his experience and skills, for the first hours of a new game it was impossible for Wayne to totally turn his mind off, to stop noticing the glitches, stop trying to second-guess the Game Master.
But… there was a moment, there came a time. When the illusion of the game, the effects and the scenario and the players all melded together and overwhelmed the part of his mind that knew he was Wayne Gibson, nobody, current address Las Vegas. When the adrenaline started to run, he became Wayne Gibson, thief and warrior.
The slithery whisper of steel on leather as sword left sheath was music to his ears. The sword balanced like a willow wand in his hand.
His sword was a Mitsubishi FlexMax 80, designed for close-quarters impact work. Eyepieces recommended. (And he noted the faceted goggle-eyes of the Selenite masks. Protection for NPCs.) No sharp edge, and a telescoping point. While not suggested for use against bare skin, the soft plastic surface above a foamed metal core would generally produce about as much damage as a willow wand while simulating the deadly appearance of any sword imaginable. To all but the most discerning eye, the FlexMax resembled a British army officer’s sword with a brass handle and snakeskin grip.
Dream Park’s computer system would eventually augment the localized holograms, improving the images for discriminating Earth-bound consumers. Wayne couldn’t care less: In his mind, he was fighting for his life against an entirely convincing alien horde, and a moment’s hesitation meant death.
For Queen and country! Wayne Gibson was out for alien blood.
Angelique stood to his right, guarding his flank as he defended hers. From the corner of his eye he caught Griffin backing them up. He was a thief, yes, but a thief with a sword. And he looked as if he knew how to use it.
Game fencing was different from competition saber or foil. You could be an Olympic saber champion, and without IFGS points your thrusts and parries simply wouldn’t register. Meanwhile, a relatively unskilled opponent with gaming experience would cut you to ribbons. So the fact that Griffin appeared to have a bit of genuine sword skill was irrelevant. What were his points? In some games you knew everything there was to know about your teammates. In others, like this one, you learned as you went along.
But as the gamer part of his mind took over from the logic, all he thought was My sides and back are covered. Let’s get it on.
The first Selenite stepped into range. Sword crossed staff. A blue light at the tip of the staff glowed violently, and a brief, sharp tingle ran up his arm. Damn! He slid his head to the side, and a flare of blue fire boiled out of the tip, missing him by an inch. Those behind him would just have to fend for themselves.
Wayne ducked under the stream, disengaged his blade and thrust. The Selenite’s scream was more like a teakettle’s whistle than the anguished howl of a living being.
The blade slid in, and a thin stream of greenish ichor flowed in return. Wayne kicked the Selenite away and turned back to the fight in bare time to avoid the touch of a staff.
“Stun staffs!” he screamed.
Angelique swayed to the side and thrust at a Selenite’s segmented chest. “Can we neutralize them?”
“Better hope so,” Mickey said. He and Maud had linked hands, and then raised them, and a shrill squealing sound rang through the tunnel.
The insects howled in pain. Instead of clapping their hands to the sides of their heads, several of them dropped their staffs and hugged their sides, twisting and dancing in apparent pain.
Angelique grinned. This was going to be a slaughter. At first she had worried that Xavier was playing some kind of really ugly game. Would he really kill them in the game’s first hour?
No. Any entertainer knows that an audience can be angry with a short show, especially if they have paid premium prices. Xavier knew that an excessively dangerous game would actually diminish the profit of his next event. She could be fairly certain that his early challenges would be irritating but not lethal.
Of course, that was assuming that he was playing for posterity, and not personal vengeance…
Her team had made a tight knot, and moved forward in formation, hacking and slashing. Thieves used swords and knives, but lacked the lethality of the warrior class. That was fine: They made up for it with stealth.
Griffin and his little friend Ali were having a grand time, slaughtering Selenites by the bunch. Darla was hanging back, sword raised, ready for attack from the rear.
Wayne killed an insect man and scooped up the energy spear it had been carrying. He blasted another Selenite, then slid the weapons down his shirt front, catching Angelique’s eye.
The insect folk kept arms and elbows tucked to their sides and were unable to defend themselves effectively, so that even Asako Tabata was able to score kills. Her pod’s stubby little arms spouted threads of fire, perhaps a laser of some kind, cutting through their enemies so that the tunnel was heaped with smoking corpses. Mickey and Maud kept their arms raised, chanting and concentrating. The air around them rippled with energy, distorting the view of the tunnel so that the entire visual field flexed and shimmied.
The Selenites finally broke and ran, screaming for their lives. Or… so Angelique thought.
Then the walls, as if they were actually in some kind of immense speaker system, began to vibrate with a tone similar to the one Mickey and Maud were broadcasting.
Pain!
An electric crackle crawled up her shocksuit, and she cursed. In game reality, that meant they were being hit with a pain or immobilization ray of some kind, and the shocksuit’s buzz would cause genuine discomfort if a gamer didn’t get the hint.
She dropped her sword, and clapped her hands over her ears, dropping to her knees. Around her, her team was collapsing, as the Selenites reflected the psychic wave right back at the intruders.
Angelique collapsed. Paralyzed.
They were caught.
They hadn’t long to wait. Within a minute, a hollow clanking in the walls presaged the sliding of doors, circular openings in the metal walls so cunningly designed that they had been neither seen nor suspected. A small horde of bulky Selenites emerged: not the skeletal soldiers, but more like fat beetles with six arms and legs.
These creatures were designed for work. Longshoremen Selenites, perhaps. Two of them addressed each of the downed gamers, lifting by hands and feet, hoisting them up and then hauling them toward one of the circular doors.
Angelique ground her teeth. For a moment she came closer to Griffin’s face, and almost laughed at his frustrated expression. Nice eyes, she decided.
No, IFGS had approved this paralysis. In her mind, that meant that this was just a transition. They were being taken somewhere that related to their game. There, the gamers would receive information, and begin to
