Larry Niven: The California Voodoo Game

"How much of ScanNet was developed in-house?"

"Nobody said. 'Need to know' and so forth." His eyes narrowed speculatively at her. "Come to think of it, I should be asking you, lady."

A sphinx.

"Yeah. That's what I thought. " He remembered the complete briefing. ScanNet was a massive neural-modeling project, an outgrowth of speech-recognition and artificial-vision research in the last century. It was able to sample, digitize, and record any sound, light, or vibration in MIMIC. Thousands of miles of copper wire cocooned the corridors, acting as antenna, impedance sensor, and Faraday cage, alternating between modes several thousand times a second. All transmissions would be either authorised and filed, or monitored. ScanNet could block unauthorised transmissions in a few milliseconds.

Sharon interrupted his reverie. "Alex," she asked, "isn't it dangerous letting Gamers in with the system incomplete?"

"There's computer equipment and tools in shops… maybe some industrial diamonds. But those areas are sealed off, and ScanNet's external shield is solid nothing comes in or out unless we know. We can scan Gamers before they leave. Should be pretty safe."

Sharon brooded. "There are a hundred and sixteen countries participating in the Barsoom Project. Most are bringing their best resources into the fold: technology, the nimble minds, raw materials, money. If we don't keep them safe, the Barsoom Project fails."

Virtually indistinguishable black and grey dots, a stream of lilliputian workers labored in MIMIC's central well.

MIMIC rose sixteen stories tall against the cliff, and another three stories above the edge. Light-transport landing systems were up on Clark's Ridge at level sixteen. Heavy cargo chopper pads were at MIMIC's base. Four miles away, landing strips for Earth-to-orbit cargo and passenger transports were under construction. Roads and railroad tracks splayed out from the ''ground" floor.

Pull out the convertible floor panels, close down the Mall levels, and MIMIC's industrial capacity tripled with a considerable loss of population density. The internal structure was being reworked. Foamed steel struts and monofilament from Falling Angels' lunar-orbit research-and-manufacture facility allowed a level of flexibility beyond anything the original planners could have dreamed. Immense inner spaces were open for shops. Twelve stories of eastern wall could roll to the side, to allow repair or modification of gargantuan machinery.

Point of view shifted again and again: now they were completely outside the building, floating at about the eleventh floor, facing the raised bronze letters spelling out M.I.M.I.C.

Now they were above it, a view provided by geosynch satellite, or survey plane, or perhaps computer animation. DreamTime technology was simply too good to show a difference.

"The power of a dream," Alex said contentedly. He leaned back in his seat. "You know, there must be a thousand stories about Earth uniting to face a threat from space. Who ever thought we could do the same thing peacefully?"

"Travis Cowles and all the little Cowlettes?"

"Cowlettes? Are those like raingear for little duckies?"

Sharon scooted in close to the console. "May I?"

Alex watched her fingers sink down into the holographic matrix, felt sympathetic constrictions in his throat as she slid into the controlled mumble an experienced computer operator used in the information maze. "Sharon Crayne," she said. ScanNet accessed her file, analyzed her personal collection of fricatives and glottal stops, and was ready to go.

As she began moving effortlessly around inside the security guts of MIMIC, Alex felt an uneasy mixture of pride and alarm.

The project was so big.

And Dream Park had been essential to its creation. Although the actual physical park lay seventy miles southwest, its influence infused MIMIC's every level.

Sharon was deep into her routine, exploring the labyrinth that was MIMIC. Within a few weeks, he would hand over responsibility of the structure to Sharon, and whomever the board of directors appointed security chief for the Barsoom Project.

And when he no longer carried the weight of both MIMIC and Dream Park, perhaps he could be more human with her. Between now and then they would discover everything they needed to know about each odher, and just maybe…

If the "real world" would just leave him the hell alone…

But for now they were firmly enmeshed in different worlds. Sharon didn't even seem to notice as he slipped out the door and into the outer corridors.

Tammi exhaled as fully as she could and squeezed through the gap in the crystal caverns. She felt the walls pulse. Was that music? No

… wait… the walls began to shift, molding themselves to her body.

The walls clamped on her until there was just barely room to breathe. She found enough space to turn her head and look back at her teammates. Interestingly, The walls seemed to flex to make each of them uniformly uncomfortable. From what she could see, Appelion was almost exactly as cramped as lithe Mouser.

There was no room to pull a dagger, let alone a sword. It would have been smarter to let Twan go first. In the Crystal Maze, magic was often stronger than steel.

Tammi stopped in her tracks, chilled by a crackling, creaking sound. She squelched a quick flare of panic. Where had that come from? It sounded like ice breaking…

Tammi had played Crystal Maze seven times, but had never been through this corridor. It might be new. Common sense told her that things were about to get deadly.

The crystal in front of her cracked open. Something disturbing wormed its way out.

At first it seemed like a sea anemone a tiny sprout with tentacles, protuberances that wavered like fronds in a sea bed.

There were four little fronds, and then… it budded an opposing thumb. A tiny hand as large as a newborn child's. It reached for her…

And where it touched, its tiny fingers grew crystal claws. It raked, leaving scarlet creases along her skin. Evil, impish laughter echoed through the Maze.

Tammi strained and reached back along the corridor, breathing gone suddenly ragged. "Appelion!" she panted, and he reached out his hand to her. "Get Twan!"

Appelion reached back and linked hands with Twan, and Twan began to mutter a spell.

As she began, the wall erupted with tiny infants. They laughed insanely. They had pale dead eyes, and red, crinkled skin. And crystal knives for fingers.

Acacia was halfway across the bridge. Wind and mist boiled out of the abyss, and she tottered (Someplace in Dream Park, a computer rolled its electronic dice, and she was saved…)

— She extended her arms to the side, windmilling for balance. She crouched into a ball, steadied herself, and waited.

From the far side of the gorge came a high-pitched chittering sound.

A crystal monkey… baboon… orangutan? It was perhaps three feet tall, with long hairless arms and a fixed grin. It chittered again and then screeched in challenge. It stepped out onto the rope and hopped up and down experimentally a few times, and came on.

It swarmed down the rope so quickly that she barely had time to prepare herself. Acacia whipped her sword into position as the ape jumped off the rope, catching itself with a single paw. It dangled there and then swung up, sweeping at her ankles.

Acacia jumped back, sucking air. She couldn't cut at its hand without cutting the rope. And yet, if she didn't do something, she was going to be shaken off.

She had a choice. She backed up and hunkered down.

(Curious, but the rope felt, well, broader than a mere rope. Eighteen inches wide, perhaps. She grinned at what could only be interpreted as an interesting kinesthetic illusion.)

She wrapped her legs around the rope and edged forward. The crystal monkey eyed her from its upside-down world. She swept the sword at it experimentally.