Ali was trying to cut other gamers free, but it was slow work. Wayne was still half tethered. Only his arm and the Selenite blasting spear were free.
The guards scrambled, thrusting with stun-staffs and sharp objects that looked as if they might have been snapped off a praying mantis’ foreleg.
The newcomers thrust and parried in a manner reminiscent of classical European swordplay. The parries, ripostes and degages might have seemed perfectly at home in a French saber salle. The green one had retreated against the wall. It opened to receive her just as the newcomers pushed the guards back and formed a line between Selenites and gamers.
Wayne aimed his blasting spear at the newcomers’ officer. Its weapon swung toward Wayne-as Ali knocked his weapon aside.
What?
“Ally,” he said. A beat. The officer could have killed Wayne, but didn’t. How the hell did Ali figure that one? Wayne gaped, then nodded.
Angelique gasped as several of the newcomers lifted her up like a sack of potatoes and carried her out of the room.
And from that point, aside from the sound of insectile screams and metal-on-metal, she knew no more of what happened in that chamber.
The gamers were swiftly spirited through a maze of darkened tunnels, until she lost track of all the twists and turns. Perhaps ten minutes later, they were in a chamber with softly glowing golden walls, with shining cushioned floors, and a shining ceiling.
Their rescuers deposited them on the ground gingerly, with a degree of respect and consideration that their previous hosts had entirely lacked. Ali was being led; though armed, he remained docile. As for the rest, their bonds were slashed, and the gamers rolled to their feet-except for Asako, whose pod treads finally activated again, so that she was able to roll around the room, exploring.
Wayne asked Ali, “How did you know that thing-”
“Sir, I know my Wells. And I believe he described such a creature, and gave it a friendly disposition.”
What? Where? But… well, damn, Wells had a gigantic oeuvre, and it made sense that the kid might know something he didn’t. Still, it irked him. “Fine.” Exasperated. “It didn’t kill anyone. Now it’s taken us to this hive-”
Ali said, “What do you think is going on?”
“Civil war?” Wayne asked.
“Is this a cell? What are we supposed to do now?”
“Save us.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Angelique turned this way and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of her benefactors, but the shadows defeated her.
“In the walls,” Maud said, and pressed her hands against a golden surface. Did she see something? Mickey wore virtual gear, contact lenses capable of receiving images from the central gaming computer: magic users and psychics who wore such lenses could literally see things the other gamers could not.
She and Mickey joined hands, and Ali came to stand beside them, lending his magic to their efforts. And…
The walls dissolved. At least, that was the visual effect. Became translucent, perhaps. Arm-sized, glowing grubs appeared in the hexagonal wall chambers. Dozens of them. Perhaps hundreds. Unborn, but moving slowly, like restless, sleeping infants.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“We are the future of our nest, and we need your help.”
“Where is Professor Cavor?” Wayne asked.
“The great one is lost to us. He showed our people a new way, and then was taken from us. But we remember him, and follow his teachings.”
“His teachings?” Angelique said.
“He told us that we have the right to decide what our lives will be, that we are not only to toil unto death in the darkness, at the pleasure of our Queen. And for these teachings, he was sentenced to death.”
There it was, the word that they had hoped not to hear.
“Then… Cavor is dead?” she whispered.
“No. He lives.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We rescued him. The guards assigned to protect us were mind-locked to follow our commands. They rescued him from the executioners, and took him to the caverns, where the colony dares not go.”
“The caverns?”
“The deep darkness, where the Old Ones live, the ones who could not be bent to the hive ways. There the Queen has no authority. There, Cavor lives… or did until last lunar day when he sent us a message.
“Even though he hides, he still inspires and teaches us. We need him. We dare not enter the caves, for such transgression might birth war. But you are outsiders, as he was. You can go, and find him, and bring him back. If you do, then the hive might rise up and take its freedom. Overthrow the Queen.”
“And then… if we do this… we would be able to leave? I will tell you honestly: We come to take Professor Cavor back to Earth.”
“That would be perfection. He would return to Earth our emissary, capable of brokering a peace between our peoples.
“Will you help us?”
Well, that was more like it. A rescue mission. And perhaps then a battle to win the Moon. With their retreat Angelique’s spirits soared.
“We accept,” she said.
There was a trilling burr from the walls, as if an entire forest of cicadas had awakened from their slumber at once.
“We are so grateful to you. May we show you appreciation?”
“What do you have in mind?” she asked.
The walls parted and insectile creatures appeared, carrying platters of steaming meat and vegetables. “Professor Cavor showed us how to make the food he loved. Our fungus can be trained to produce flesh of any flavor and texture. Please accept this offering.”
Scotty Griffin snagged a chunk of meat from the platter, and took a healthy bite. The rest of them looked at him, as if their growling stomachs were suddenly awakening from slumber.
Angelique sat beside him, and he noticed that Sharmela had arranged to sit closely next to her. Their knees brushed. Sharmela took a healthy bite and grinned at the Lore Master. “Tastes like chicken,” she said. “As long as your chickens taste like tofu.”
19
From Heinlein base to Hanzo crater and the Pan-Asian group, to the European Union spray on Luna’s dark side… to Falling Angels, the industrial complex orbiting in geosync, to the L5s and the surface of Earth a quarter- million miles away, the adventures of the first lunar expedition into nineteenth-century fantasy dominated the entertainment news.
They crowded in bars watching the vidscreens, they hosted home parties with overflowing bowls of popcorn served to couches filled with engineers and tram-jockeys hypnotized by wall screens, they programmed their watches and glasses and the corners of their transport windows to display the streaming live or edited feeds from the gaming dome.
And that was hardly the extent of it. With seconds or minutes of delay, the feeds flew out as far as the
