Larry Niven - The Barsoom Project

The Paija glared at them, the forest of black hair shadowing her face. Grunting, it took another step.

The ethereal figures fluttered above it, weaving in and out like a flock of glowing hummingbirds. The Paija swiped at them with the club, handling it like a flyswatter, and only the unnatural agility of the spirit forms kept them from Oops. The Paija made contact with Orson’s image, just a glancing blow, but Max’s brother said, “Ooof!” and rubbed at his shoulder, where a red glowing mark began to grow.

The Paija was beginning to catch the rhythm now. Charlene’s image caught a nasty wallop, and Charlene cried, “Wha’?” A red stain began to grow on one leg, glowing in the dark like some kind of phosphorescent fungus. The spirit creatures began to fade.

“Join hands!” Snow Goose grabbed Hebert and Hippogryph, panting as if with physical exertion.

Max reached out for Yarnall’s wrist. Yarnall joined with Kevin. The twelve Adventurers formed a semicircle facing the beast.

The creature snarled, sensing victory. The club smashed again on the bridge. The Paija dropped the entire force of its being into the blow. An eight-foot section of rock gave way, splintering and crumbling with a roar like the end of worlds. Max stutterstepped, struggling for balance.

Snow Goose remained erect, but her face was no longer so strong and determined. She stared down into the gulf before them, the chunks of rock spinning in crazy slow motion into infinity, and she was no longer sure.

The Paija grinned at them and leapt over the gap. Her suction-cup foot gripped the bridge, leaving a moist ring where it landed. She hopped forward.

Max saw Snow Goose crumbling, and he forced himself to his feet. Dammit, he had to do something, and he had to do it now. Tag-team!

In a pro wrestling match the audience would see you screaming obscenities, but they couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter what you said. Max stood as tall as he could and he screamed up at the Paija. “Monsterrr! We challenge you! We’re gonna rip your lips off and make you kiss your own backside!”

Not particularly inspired, but it got her attention. She smiled a smile that said, me and you, numbnuts in a universal language. He hefted his spear and pointed it, waiting for magic.

Nothing.

I’m dead, he thought.

But the ethereal double was more substantial now, brighter: he could no longer see through it. It was true! The Paija fed on their fear, and their doubles fed on their courage. He put on his best drill sergeant’s voice. “Get up, you slackers! Face this thing off!”

The Paija growled at them, as if undecided, and then Max saw his double launch its spirit spear directly between the Paija’s eyes. The monster screamed, reared back, and clasped its wound. The club rose up, and thundered down again directly at Max.

Here goes nothing. Max gritted his teeth and kept the spear upraised. The club landed to the side, deflected by his spear thrust.

The monster was horribly confused now, and in pain. The other Adventurers joined him, joined hands, screamed in concert. They backed the Paija up a short hop, and when they gestured aggressively, their doubles attacked.

It was playing possum. It sprang back to life, and caught Hippogryph’s double a good lick. Hippogryph yelped and grabbed his shoulder, which began to glow red. Charlene’s double, trying to swoop in close for a shot at its eyes, caught a grazing blow and went spiraling off to the side, almost slamming into a stalagmite before it could catch itself. Charlene’s entire right side went red.

But slowly, surely, the Paija was driven back. They cheered, and they screamed, and Max said, “What the hell!” and hurled his spear. It caught the creature in the throat. The Paija staggered backward a hop, teetered for balance, and fell from the bridge. Howling, it tumbled blindly into the blackness.

They all moved to the edge to see it fall, watch it die. Max’s double landed in front of him, beautiful, lean, and muscular glowing in that darkness within the earth, and it smiled.

Hell. He was a hero!

Slightly blue-faced, Gwen exhaled with relief. For a few seconds, the wail of the wind and the Paija’s receding death-howl were the only sounds. Then the Gamers behind her were leaping and screeching and clapping each other on the back.

Gwen watched Hippogryph with some amusement. Hippogryph screeched and Hippogryph leapt; but his face didn’t turn toward the sky in triumph; his eyes remained at the level; his big bouncing body formed an unobtrusive barrier between the others and Charlene. Just as well. Her legs looked a little unsteady.

The darkness helped… but Gwen could never quite believe that the holograms would mask her and Ollie well enough to produce the illusion of flight. But everything had gone perfectly. Now the Gamers crowded at the lip of the precipice, watching the Paija’s image fall to its death. She saw their faces; every damned one of them had been moved by the sight of his spirit image. They stood straighter, walked prouder.

Gwen knew the gimmicks hidden in the Game, and still she felt the effect. She took the time to square herself, then dove headfirst into her “Snow Goose” routine again.

“All right, team! Way to go!”

“That was great!” Orson was vibrating where he stood, his considerable mass jiggling and wiggling with delight. “I feel ready for anything!”

“That’s what’s next,” Charlene surmised. She was panting as much from excitement as exertion. Gwen heard a low beeping tone in her ear, and she glanced over at Ollie.

His left hand was covering his ear, as he listened to medical reports from Central Processing. With his right hand he signaled her: a finger pointing to the ground, followed by a horizontal palm: slow down.

It might be that Charlene’s vital functions, picked up and broadcast through mesh underwear, had alerted Central Processing. Maybe it was the heavier Sands brother. For all Orson’s jolly sarcasm, Ollie thought he looked ripe for a nice, juicy cardiac incident…

So Gwen’s eyes unfocused, and her hand closed powerfully on Orson’s wrist as he was about to speak. “I hear them,” she said, “whispering,” rolling her eyes, “the Gods. They-”

She waited for their attentive silence, then squeezed her eyes shut and made a happy pout. “They are most pleased. They say that they will bring us gifts!”

Through the darkness at the cave’s unimaginably distant roof there shone a shaft of golden light. It pierced the black and danced palely on the far side of the gap. The beam was broken up by a fluttering motion, something like fat snowflakes… but every “flake” was a living thing, reflecting and adding to the light.

Trianna said it first. “Butterflies!”

Exactly right. White butterflies. They drifted this way and that, creasing the light, reflecting it, questing into the darkness for a moment, then returning to coruscate and sparkle anew.

They landed in a cone, prancing and fluttering in heaps, and covered the ground as if huddling together for warmth against the winter. They crawled over each other in a churning Brownian movement. Any trace of individual identity was submerged in an amoeboid tangle.

Gwen watched the Gamers’ eyes, squeezed Ollie’s hand in acknowledgment and thanks for his signal.

Then the butterflies took to the air again, leaving behind them A huge platter heaped with apples and grapes and pears. There was a small mountain of crackers and breads, four wide-mouthed jugs, and some miscellaneous cans.

“Lunch!” Johnny Welsh said reverently. “My stomach was about to sue me for desertion. Wait a minute-”

The Paija had shattered the stone bridge. They looked at lunch across an eight-foot gap. Kevin asked, “How do we get to it?”