Larry Niven - The Moon Maze Game

Every father wants his son to have the advantages he himself was denied. But then, if you provide those advantages, you risk producing a weakling. The core parental paradox.

Ali was speaking to his father, but in another way, he seemed to be talking to himself. “Father… all my life I have awaited the moment when you felt I was ready to serve my people. I hope you live to be two hundred, but I know that when the time comes, I will be a good king. The last king of Kikaya.”

“And what of your own firstborn?”

“He will be raised to wealth, power and privilege… but not a throne. Our family has vast holdings. That will have to be enough.”

It was the right answer, but felt rehearsed. So the grandson wouldn’t be king. Scotty silently bet himself that the kid would go for “President for Life.” What the hell-every other dictator did.

Kikaya II sighed. “You see what concerns me, Mr. Griffin. My son does not appreciate the truth of power. It is all a game to him. I hope that this trip will be the end of one phase of his life, and the beginning of another.”

“Sir,” Scotty said. “I’m sure the Prince will be everything you wish, and more.” He tried to detect a change in expression on Ali’s part. Any hint of his attitudes and emotions. Not much: The kid was a cipher.

Kikaya spoke first. “You need to get to know this man,” he said. “He has agreed to accompany you during your training, transportation and during the game itself.”

Finally, that caught Ali’s intention. “So? You would use your influence to put an anchor around my neck? You bring this American thug here, ram him down the-” Ali lapsed into Congolese again, and his father did the same.

Scotty held up his hand. “Pardon? May the American thug interject a few words?”

Ali whipped his head around, squinting with anger. “By all means.”

“Well, where I come from, ‘American thug’ is a compliment, and I’ll take it as such.” There, that should confuse him. “The truth is that I grew up at Dream Park. My father was head of security, my mother chief of guest relations.”

“Really?” Ali seemed intrigued in spite of himself.

“Have you been to California Dream Park?”

“Of course. In disguise, four times.”

“And did you go to the Santa’s Workshop Adventure?”

“Yes, a minor game, but entertaining.”

“Well, I was the third elf, the one who says: ‘Who kidnapped Santa?’ I was only eight years old at the time, and the kid who was supposed to play the role got the flu. Mom got me in.”

Ali stared at Scotty, and then laughed uproariously. “You are an elf! And a bodyguard as well?”

“Yes, and a Luny. I’ve been around.”

Ali’s eyes widened. “You’ve been to the Moon? And you know gaming?” Scotty watched the kid’s gears spin. “Perhaps… perhaps you are not an anchor after all. Father,” he said, “I would like to have breakfast with this man. Will you leave us together to talk?”

Kikaya smiled approval at Scotty. I think you will do fine, that expression said. He shook Scotty’s hand, and said in a low voice, “Please. He is my only son. Convince him. Protect him. Please.”

They locked eyes for a moment, not monarch and commoner, but two men with a common interest: the health and safety of a boy. “If I take the job,” Scotty said, “he’s safe. I promise.”

“Take the job, Mr. Griffin,” Kikaya said. Then nodded to his son, and left the room

Ali and Scotty faced each other without speaking for a moment, then the boy said: “Have you ever had an ostrich omelet?”

“Never.”

“Our chef makes them with little fish from Lake Victoria, garnished with a local onion found nowhere else in the world, and forbidden to export. Will you join me, Mr. Griffin?”

Scotty smiled. “Only if you’ll call me Scotty.”

“Yes,” the boy said. “Scotty. And you may call me… Prince Ali.”

A pause, and then Ali broke into laughter, and Scotty followed. And at that moment, he decided he liked the kid, and would take the job.

October 10, 2085

In any modern society, privacy is one of the most prized commodities. This was as true on Luna as anywhere else. More so, perhaps, as every spoonful of water or breath of air was produced or managed by a central processor, and every human being was tracked at all times.

As a result, the ability to promise secure communications between Earth and Moon was a lucrative business, birthing a half-dozen communication streams boasting high-level encryption and guarantees of hack-free voice- and facemail.

Doug Frost sat in his cubical, enjoying the fruits of such privacy. But even with guarantees, the current communication was conducted with coded language and careful tones.

The face on the screen was a man’s. Then it shifted and became a woman’s. The skin tone shifted to black, and then Asian. As it did, the vocal tones shifted as well. There was simply no telling who or what a “Shotz” actually was. Frost’s sources speculated that he was a man, but there was no way to be certain. All they knew beyond question was that a person known as “Shotz” was Shotz, leader of a group called Neutral Moresnot, the most successful practitioners of a very specialized criminal profession. Kidnapping had been big business for hundreds of years, and the Moresnot group was reliable, conducting twenty high-profile extractions a year, usually leaving little trace, and always demanding high fees.

“You have received all data?” Doug said.

The Chinese woman on screen smiled. Was that a real interpretation of Shotz’s mood? He had no idea at all. “Yes.”

“And were there any last-minute concerns? I’m not certain why you requested this unscheduled conversation.”

“It has to do with a passenger list,” Shotz said. “Of course, we would be interested in anyone traveling with our… person of interest.”

“Of course.”

“And we see that he is traveling with a man named Scott Griffin. Are you familiar with this person?”

“No,” Doug said. “Should I be?”

“Our records show that he was married to the current Chief of Operations, Kendra Griffin.” The Asian woman was morphing, melting into a dark-skinned Latina.

“Was? She still wears his name?” Many western women could not wait to shed their former husband’s names, once the divorce was concluded. “Is that a problem?”

“It is a matter of some interest. His path crossed ours several months ago. He interfered in an operation of substantial value. He harmed a valued associate.”

“Will that cause a problem? I was assured that you were professional. Surely revenge-”

Shotz cut him off. “Not at all. But he is competent. And therefore dangerous. On the other hand, a personal connection between this man Griffin and his ex-wife might help us to maintain control. She has kept his name. Perhaps there are still feelings.”

The voice was certainly synthesized, as was the visual image, but something about the conversation was chilling. “We want no unneccessary violence,” Doug said. “Everything is in place, and the situation will be volatile enough as things stand. We need no complications.”

“There will be none,” Shotz said. “In fact, I think that this man Griffin’s presence might actually work to our advantage. To tell you truthfully, my… associates and I would enjoy the chance to deal with this man.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No. Everything is on track. The remainder of the monies are to be paid into our accounts by the end of the month. You have arranged for our equipment?”

“Yes.” Fabrication of gear that could not be brought through lunar customs. Acquisition of funds through expatriot groups on Earth. Identification of an effective organization capable of carrying out a bizarre and demanding plan. Contact with revolutionary forces within the Republic of Kikaya itself…