Larry Niven - The Moon Maze Game

“I’ll find other entertainment, then,” she said.

He grinned at her lazily, and she wondered what odd and perhaps embarrassing memories he was hauling out of mental storage. Dammit, she didn’t know why she reacted that way, but she didn’t like it.

“Well,” when McCauley was making a point, and wanted to seem all folksy, his Outback accent tended to rise to the top. You’d hardly know he’d taught engineering at Monash University, before winning his berth at New Melbourne. “Are we having fun yet?” He smiled, but she detected a certain tautness there.

“Isn’t fun a good thing?”

“Everyone has a lot at stake here. Especially you.”

“You, too.”

“I know. This whole game thing… could make us look silly, you know. It better run as smooth as glass.”

His eyes flickered away from her for a moment. That was interesting. She’d played poker with Toby, and seen that twitch and glance when he didn’t like the cards he’d been dealt. Maybe he wasn’t quite as confident about election as he wanted her to believe.

Or maybe something else. Jealous that Scotty was coming, perhaps? His smile brightened, and the odd expression was gone. “I just don’t want us looking like clowns, love. I’m not the only one worried about this gaming rubbish. And worries equal votes.”

Three weeks until the election, and there was little doubt that Mac’s polling was pulling even with her own. She still had a margin… but he’d cut it in half in the last week. But the Moon Maze Game could work in her favor.

“Hope you haven’t made a blue, love,” he whispered, circling behind her like a shark nosing an unguarded limb. Made a mistake. Aussie slang. “Then there’s always hubby dear.”

“What about my Scotty?” she said, already knowing the answer.

“Here comes drongo ex as we speak,” Mac said, and smiling politely, wove his way away. Modern Australian slang didn’t quite mesh with nineteenth-century Britain, but she doubted their conversation would make any of the game-vids. There were limits to the amount of fantasy she was willing to tolerate.

Counting to ten controlled her temper, forced a smile back to her face as Scotty and his partner arrived at her table.

Kendra stood for a chaste hug, and a small, dry kiss. “You look good, Scotty.”

“Back at you.” His hug was warm but unpresumptuous, his arms as strong as a flyer’s. He said, “Kendra. I would like to present my friend Ali. Ali, my ex-wife, Kendra Tuinukuafe.”

“I usually use Griffin,” she said, smiling her warmest welcome. She shook hands with the little man.

His palms were moist and warm, but pleasant. Ali was quite dark, and lithe in a wispy way. He wore golden pantaloons and a buccaneer shirt that felt more Arabian Nights than nineteenth-century sub-Saharan, but he seemed entirely unconcerned. Ali bowed deeply. “As-Salamu Alaykum”

“Alaykum As-Salaam,” s he replied.

“Even in my far and humble land, I have heard of Kendra Griffin,” he said. “I believe you keep an eye on some of my father’s treasures.”

“I do my level best,” she said. “But be not so humble. Your name has traveled far, as well.” She refrained from speaking further details aloud: Doubtless many in the room already knew of Ali, but she had no intention of broadcasting his identity to anyone who hadn’t made the connection. Privacy is a precious commodity. A prince masquerading as a prince was a delicious conceit.

Ali surveyed a knot of gamers congregating around a glittering, meticulously detailed ice sculpture of Buckingham Palace. “I think I’ll join my new friends,” he said. Then to Scotty: “You can see me from here, yes?” The sarcasm was unmistakable.

Scotty pretended not to notice. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Kendra sipped at her drink for a few moments, and then sighed. “I won’t lie. I wondered how it would feel to see you.”

“And?”

“Feels good. But a tad worrisome.”

“What’s to worry?”

She took a long sip. “You remember McCauley?”

“Think so. Big Figjam? Heard you dated for a while.” “Figjam” was an Aussie acronym: Fuck, I’m Good. Just Ask Me.

Kendra chuckled, but wondered who’d had the big mouth. “That’s the one. Well, he’s the face on the anti-Independence movement.”

“How serious is that? I have to admit I’ve been all gaming and training, the last few months.”

“Very serious, Scotty. Luna needs a seat at the table. We’re the ones who’ve made the change.”

“What change is that?”

The string quartet had begun playing again, very stately. Out on the dance floor, a pale balding gentleman in top hat and tails was leading a dozen couples through a graceful series of twirls.

She paused. “Back at the end of the twentieth century, there was a guy named Frank White who wrote about something called the ‘Overview Effect.’ Hear of it?”

“Sort of a long view on Earth because you’re seeing it from space?”

Kendra nodded enthusiastically. “High marks. Look. On Earth, you can actually see only fifty miles or so, up to the curve of the horizon. Psychologically, it’s very easy for corporations, churches or governments to convince you that your little corner of the world is the best place, the only ‘real’ place, and that people off somewhere else are somehow less… human.”

“Wars work that way.”

“And pollution, and economic exploitation, and land grabs. The human race suffered through that for a long time.”

“So? What’s wrong now?”

“Complacency. Earth was headed for trouble-energy and raw materials-before we caught the Second Wave back in 2020.” Efficient fusion, and just in time, too. “And I think that people don’t realize the degree to which every move, every dollar invested, every orchestration of every resource is still guided by our old way of looking at the world. But up here… looking at the Earth, it’s hard not to think of it as an egg, fragile, but destined to give birth to something… else. Something better.”

“Better than Homo sapiens?”

“ Homo interstellar, perhaps.” She winced. Even to her own ears, she sounded a bit evangelical. “I know, I know. But whether I’m right about that or not, it serves Earth just fine for her colonies to stay colonies. To remain children, in effect. But what would have happened to Europe if America had never grown beyond a patchwork of colonies? The United States generated an entirely new vision of human potential, and changed the world. I think that Luna, and the L5s, and the Belt can do the same for Earth, but we have to speak with one voice.”

“Hear, hear,” Scotty said, and raised his glass.

“But things aren’t that simple.”

“They never are.”

“McCauley is backed by a half-dozen concerns-including Cowles Industries, as if you didn’t know. The tendency has been to keep all of the negotiations case-by-case, rather than leveraging everything into a single package. If we stand together, we can change the world. The solar system.” She leaned forward. “The galaxy.”

Scotty felt his right eyebrow tense. “The galaxy? Ain’t that a little grandiose?”

“You’ve read the SETI reports. We still have zero real evidence of nonhuman intelligent life anywhere in the universe. A few amino acids here and there, and something that might have been some kind of fungoid fossil. What if we’re all there is? What if it’s our job to take this green plague and spread it across the stars?”

“The Green Plague.” He laughed, but under the mirth was a touch of unease. “Most people mellow with age. You sound more like a true believer now than when I met you.”

She laughed, and then laid her warm hand on his. Love had never been the problem between them. There had been hurt, but not betrayal or accusation in their parting. “Scotty, the timing of your return either couldn’t have been better, or couldn’t have been worse. I’m really not sure which.” She laughed. “When Mac attacks me, I can deal with it. But these are highly independent, alpha-plus psychological types we’re dealing with. They’d have to be to survive up here. I’m asking them to pull together in ways many of them fled Earth to escape. And their self-image is pure testosterone, believe me. Figjam to say the least.”