Larry Niven - The California Voodoo Game

Griffin didn't like to think about that. As strong. Possibly faster. Probably smarter. But there had to be a flaw there. Griffin felt the stirrings of a sour cold knot of fear in his belly.

Bishop nodded to Griffin and slipped feetfirst into the water. Griffin went in a moment later, followed by Twan. The water closed about him in warm embrace.

It was fresh water, unchlorinated and murky. He couldn't see anything in it but submerged walkways and corridors. He shone his lamp around, and the beam stretched out like a yellow finger, briefly touching first a statue, then an ancient, rusted bank of computer terminals.

The water rolled. For a moment he thought, Wave! and readied himself for the turbulence to follow.

But it wasn't that. Something like a textured torpedo brushed past him. It was rough and slick at the same time.

Griffin kicked back and reached out for it, but it was gone. When he switched his light around, the murk had already concealed it. Gone.

He hovered there, sucking cold, flavorless air from his mouthpiece. What had it bet on?

Nommo.

He pushed a button on his wrist, and a line of green arrows projected in front of hirn, taking him down farther into the depths.

Bishop was a few feet off to his right, moving beautifully and having no trouble keeping up. The setting was so ethereal that for a few minutes Griffin was able to forget the mission, forget the job at hand, and just submerge himself in the underwater world.

Twan slid alongside him and extended an arm, pointing out a building that looked something like a cathedral dome.

Bishop stopped, floating, and made a very broad gesture. Reveal magic.

The dome glowed weakly at first, and then more strongly, until they were all but blinded.

Griffin shielded his face, the hiss of air muffling his hearing.

But when the light died down, they were surrounded by Dolphins. Alex tried to touch one of them. His hand slid along its body, and it darted away. There were six of them. With gentle nudges, they herded the three Adventurers down to the glowing dome.

The dolphins seemed as friendly as Flipper. They coaxed the swimmers through the water with gentle bumps and nudges. Despite their incredible delicacy, one could feel the power of a dolphin moving past: a wall of muscle, capable of smashing bone with a flick of a tail.

Their inner sanctum was tropically warm, a lagoon within a lagoon. Wisps of steam rose from slow, swirling, oily whirlpools.

Imitation rock slabs rose from the surface of the water, forming broad rough steps. Lounging on the steps were-something was wrong with the light-a man and a woman? But their arms and legs were well, flattened, a little like the flukes of a whale; and their faces were unforgettably ugly; and their skin was not white or brown or any human shade, but a dark blue reminiscent of the dolphins themselves. They whispered to each other in high-pitched, gobbling, squeaking sounds.

One of the dolphins arched backward out of the water and danced on its tail as it skipped across the surface. It balanced upright at the edge of the stone steps, shimmered, melted into an amorphous cloud of blue light, then became another of… those. The Nommo. Her face, like theirs, seemed immobile, the eyes lidless and staring, the mouth turned up in a rigid meaningless grin. Without a shred of self-consciousness, she lounged back on one of the steps and grinned at them, challenging.

She gave a dolphin-like burbling chuckle, and then addressed them in a very human voice. "Betcha like this tons better."

"May I?" Bishop indicated the steps out.

Twan said, "Go for it."

Bishop settled himself on the steps. Griffin continued treading water, working off restless energy. So did Twan, for whatever reasons.

"We are from the outside," Bishop explained.

The blue woman found that funny. "Oh? Outside. And we are from Queeepzz-from outer space, from the worlds circling Sirius Little."

Back on the surface, eight remaining Adventurers were as relaxed as might be, considering the circumstances. There was little to do until the two Loremasters resurfaced. Only a nominal guard was placed on Alphonse Nakagawa, Clavell, and Poule. They were, after all, disarmed and helpless.

All this water: it seemed likely that they'd all be under it sooner or later. Al wasn't the only Gamer who had changed into his swimband. Slender and muscular, he looked almost as good as Bishop. He'd spent a few minutes making eye contact with Tammi and Acacia and Top Nun. The ladies weren't responding; they were ignoring him, in fact.

So no one seemed to be watching Alphonse as he stood watching the water, or knelt and stirred it with one hand, near the piles of discarded clothing and costumes.

Bishop had left all of his gear behind. Al the Barb's fingertips wandered through side pockets in the Loremaster's pack. A spare shoestring… a dirty sock… good. They went into his waistband. And what's this a long-toothed comb? Humming a silent, joyous little song, Alphonse teased it out with two fingers, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on the water's surface.

Still nobody watching? He peered down. Caught in the black plastic tines were six black, curly hairs.

He plucked them out. For an instant he held them in his open palm in full view, not of any passerby, but of some omnicient deity, some hypothetical ceiling camera. The Game Masters could play it back if need be. Nakagawa's Law

#4: If the GM didn't see it, it didn't happen.

Then he rubbed the hairs into a tiny ball the size of a pinhead and tucked the ball under his right thumbnail. His folded hand returned to Bishop's pack and emerged empty. A lost comb would be noticed.

According to voodoo lore, a single hair was enough for a charm.

Mess with me, Bishop? My daddy put a rattlesnake in a man's pocket once, then asked him for a match. And he's the family wimp.

Al the Barbarian edged back from the pool. Nobody watched him too closely, and why should they? He wasn't close to any weapons, or anything valuable at all.

"Sirius Little?" Bishop asked, momentarily confused..

"The Dogon," Twan said with deep satisfaction. "Appelion was right."

"Oh, yeah," the blue woman said. "We thought we'd zip on down here. Earth looked like a party planet. We'd catch some rays…"

The blue male behind her rose, stretching until joints popped. She slapped him smartly on the buns as he passed. He jumped up, flipped, and took a header into the water. In mid-arc he transformed into a dolphin. The dolphin nosed up against Bishop, who stroked it affectionately.

"Our folks-damn near ancestors, now." The Nommo woman grimaced. "Some of them have even died. Well, they were only supposed to stay for a few months, but they took a bad splash when we landed. Couldn't repair the lander."

"Why not?" Twan asked.

"Dig it. It's not like they were some high-dome expedition. They were a buncha kids, out for a good time. Weren't supposed to be here at all. There was a mother ship, stashed up in orbit. When the lander crashed, they must have gotten scared, zipped back to the motherland." She chuckled. "I'd like to hear the story they told the folks back home. Most of the tech they brought was biomech-you've seen some of that? And the Ethereals. You folks call'em demons and angels and so on, but they're like roaches and rats where we came from. Useful, but they breed too damned fast. And we have some little tricks, mental matter-energy conversion stuff, too minor to do a really big repair, but your folk-your ancestors seemed to like'em."

"I'll just bet they did," Bishop murmured.

"Now, the lander crashed in the Atlantic, off what you called the Ivory Coast. Good people. Like the food. We just played around with them, taught 'em a little stuff, and, well…"