Larry Niven - The Barsoom Project

“I’m afraid that I don’t know where all of this is going.”

“Where is it going? If anything unusual happens, I want you to know that we’re going to be right on top of you.”

Fekesh came as close as a human being could to yawning without actually opening his mouth and doing so.

“Mr. Griffin. I wonder how your superiors would feel if they knew that you had threatened me in such a manner?”

Alex’s lips twitched. Harmony would have a calf. “It wasn’t exactly a threat.”

“Nonsense. Don’t insult my intelligence as you have my integrity.” He browsed through the folders. “You have quite a bit of information here on my financial activities. I wonder how you got it.”

Griffin smiled thinly. “We have our sources.”

“Indeed you do. And some of your sources have obviously reached into our computer files. We have security of our own, Mr. Griffin, and I daresay more efficient security than that of Dream Park.” He smiled with those astonishingly white teeth. “Present company excluded, of course. Tell me, Mr. Griffin. Have you ever thought about changing companies? We have excellent benefits for men who honestly know their jobs and loyalties.”

“I do. In both categories.” He didn’t say anything more, just smiled.

“Well. We’ll leave it open, all right? But this other matter.. ”

He looked at the files again. “We can no more tolerate security leaks than you, Mr. Griffin. I’m afraid that we will have to do something about this. Computer theft requires-how would you say? A terminal solution.”

Griffin’s back straightened. “I don’t think-”

“Indeed you don’t. And you obviously didn’t before you started this. Mr. Griffin, the records say that at one time you were in military intelligence. For the last eight years you have been living in Fantasyland. Apparently you have forgotten how the real world works. Very well. I shall have to remind you.” He looked at his watch. “Ah. My time is up. If you would excuse me?” He stood. “Until another time, perhaps?”

Griffin stood uncertainly. He tried to find a conversational riposte, but cleverness eluded him.

That wasn’t what this was all about, anyway. So he left.

It was big, and mean, and sounded hungry.

The thing shambled past their cave, hairy and brownish-white, sniffing in their direction.

Snow Goose held the spool of Falling Angel wire like a crucifix. In her hands it glowed like tame lightning. Her eyes were tightly closed.

The beast at the entrance sniffed. She whispered “Winigo” under her breath, more a prayer than a comment. Finally it turned and left.

“What in the hell was that?” Johnny asked.

Orson snorted. “Looked like an Abominable Snowman.”

“We call them ‘Winigos.’ They eat people. I should have been able to make us totally invisible to it.”

“It went away,” Trianna said reasonably.

“It came too close.” Her round, pretty face was troubled. “I think that it wasn’t just a Winigo.”

“What do you think it was?”

“I think that the Cabal is taking over the minds of their beasts: seeing through their eyes, hearing through their ears.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Now, just a minute here. If they’re out looking for us, they can’t be protecting their sanctum properly, now can they?”

Yarnall thought it over. “I’ll buy that. Look: we need some distractions. Say a couple of flares on the far ridges? While we’re doing that, a couple of us can slip into that ruined building, temple, whatever. We’ll have to work fast-take on the Cabal, destroy the satellite.”

Snow Goose looked doubtful. “Never work… mmm. Unless we split their attention?”

Max was warming to it now. “Right-I’ll buy that. Now listen. Who was it that got the sealskin?”

Charlene raised a nervous hand. “Me.”

“White seal against the snow. Hard to see, right? Maybe hard to sense, too?”

Snow Goose was hiding a grin. “It sounds plausible. What are you thinking?”

“We split into three teams. Two of the teams provide distraction, while the third sneaks into the temple, spearheaded by Charlene under the camouflage of the sealskin. Do you really think your plan can work, Orson?”

“Don’t see why not,” he said.

“The Gods have looked upon the play with favor,” Snow Goose added. She need not describe the conversation that she’d heard from Gaming Central.

Wait a minute! That wasn’t in the original scenario! They’re supposed to retreat, find that beached Eskimo canoe, and the dynamite!

Well, Welles had chuckled, they came up with another approach. Can we handle it?

Well…

More laughter.

Hell, boss, is we Dreams ‘R’ Us or ain’t we?

Then let’s give it a shot.

Max looked back at Trianna and Orson, shushed them and pushed them back into the shadow.

They stood on a narrow ridge up around the lip of the valley.

Something was scuttling around the other side of the trail, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to meet it without a formal introduction. A tickle of fear stirred in the depths of his stomach. There was only one thing to do, and that was to do what a man had to do.

Max squared his shoulders, inhaled deeply, and said: “Johnny-you want to lead for a while?”

Johnny Welsh’s eyes flicked to him and away, back to where a long, horny, hairy leg was coming around the corner.

Earlier, looking up toward the ridge they’d have to reach, they’d seen something that might have been an immense spider, a cross between a daddy longlegs and a tarantula. This could be its leg. There was a sharp, molded tusk fixed to its ankle, anchored by rivets in the chitin.

A second leg came probing, armed with a second tusk. Max was reminded of the fighting spikes mounted on the collars of pit bulls, back before the dogs were bred into animals so vicious they would no longer mate or nurse their young.

The spider’s torso emerged, six feet up.

It scuttled backward for a moment, as surprised to see them as they were to see the spider. Its black eyes were multifaceted, and slightly reflective. Max saw his own face in the creature’s orbs, distorted with shock and fear. Trianna whispered, “Why didn’t you chop it?”

Max winced. “I froze up.”

The creature opened its mouth, revealing a black, red-rimmed cavity. It hissed, and charged.

This was like no spider Max had ever studied in biology. Each of its legs seemed capable of bending in either direction. It flickered those leg spikes with disturbing speed.

The ledge was narrow, and Max backpedaled.

Behind him, Trianna said, “There’s a wider spot back about fifteen meters.”

“Get to it!” He started backing up. He tripped over his feet and fell heavily. “Oh, shit!”

A rifle fired behind him. He glanced back to see Trianna huddled on all fours to give Johnny his chance. Johnny, with carbine to shoulder, was firing into the thing as it advanced.

It slowed, licking at the blood, and came on.

Eviane watched Hippogryph for a signal. Somehow what they were doing, sneaking around to split the attention of the Cabal, seemed vaguely wrong.

They had found a boat, with provisions and dynamite. The canoe was shattered and bloodstained, and…

She rubbed her hands against her temples.

There was a fragment of a human foot in the canoe, as if something had risen from the depths and devoured the occupants. But they weren’t supposed to discharge the satellite. They were supposed to find the boat, and the dynamite, and blow up…

That was a different Game.

Game?

She smiled to herself, even as the confusion threatened to drive her batshit.