Larry Niven - The California Voodoo Game

"I'll be dipped in shit." He held it up to the light, marveling. Could McWhirter have been wrong? "Can Bishop really pull this off?"

"Why not?" Acacia said. "It's not even strictly illegal. Gaming isn't licensed by the state athletic commission. I might get blackballed from the IFGS, but this has been the biggest Game ever. Maybe it's time to go."

''And what about Sharon?"

"I don't know more than I've told you, Alex. Maybe he didn't-didn't. Maybe it's nothing."

"Has he tried to kill you?"

"How can I tell? Everything's trying to kill me. I'm a Gamer. "

But the question hadn't surprised her. "I don't think so, Alex. And if he wanted me dead, wouldn't he have drowned me? That was the easiest place."

Alex sat back. What to do? Unless and until he got more information, his hands were tied. Even if Bishop had fixed the Game somehow, there was no proven connection to Sharon Crayne, and there might never be.

Bishop moved carefully around the inner periphery of MIMIC's fourth level. He was in shadow now, invisible to the unaided human eye.

But that wasn't what he was up against. He heard the purr and looked up. A maintenance robot glided along the crease of ceiling and wall. Its camera eyes stalked him, watched him. It would make no mistakes.

And it would not be alone. So. The forces of Dream Park were alert, but it was too damned late.

He had to keep moving. Had to stay in motion. By now Griffin must know all that Acacia knew, but that wasn't enough.

He could hear his own breathing, hear his own heartbeat, but somehow the sound of his crepe soles against the floor, the loudest sound of all, eluded him. I've made it. I've beaten them all.

And still he was second-guessing himself, going over it again, every move at the motel, every countermove. He had compartmentalized all information so that even Sharon Crayne's reanimated corpse couldn't tell them everything they needed to know. He had taken safety precautions, the irony of which Alex Griflin would appreciate, if he was bright enough to appreciate irony.

Nigel Bishop crept through the halls, paying no obvious attention to the roving camera eyes. He checked doors, drew maps of the hallways, made secretive preparations with his equipment. He was back in control. He could feel it. He was safe. All he had to do was hold out another hour or two, play the bucking Game, and get out, get far away, get away from where the woman had lain, submerged in water, blood oozing from her left nostril, her terrible blue eyes staring at him, through him…

He stopped, shaking, and wiped his palm across his clammy forehead. He had nothing to worry about. And it was too late for Dream Park to start being clever.

There's a parable about horses and barn doors, he thought. Griffin should learn it.

Friday, July 22, 2059 — 7:00 P.M.

Captain Cipher had packed his chillum with herbs and settled back to puff. Around him, his companions were enjoying the last of their rude, makeshift dinners. It was still break time, but he wanted to experiment.

He puffed hard a few times and then exhaled. The smoke hovered in the air…

And turned slowly red. And then black. And then red.

And sank down into the ground at his feet.

And seeped back up again. Not just at his feet, but "On your guard!" he screamed. "The graveyard is smoking, the graveyard is smoking!"

Tammi threw her dinner plate aside and had her staff in "guard" in the blink of an eye.

The Adventurers collected at the gazebo. Major Clavell peered out at the wisps of smoke rising from cracks in the mud. His fingers itched for a weapon. There was an extra sword in Tammi's bundle, and her eyes were elsewhere…

He stole it, hoisted it, feeling a terrible pleasure.

Top Nun bowed her head and pressed her palms together against the sides of Babalu-Aye's crutch. Golden light spilled from her fingertips, her eyes, her open mouth, and spread to surround them in a cocoon of protection.

Tammi kept her staff tucked under her right arm and clutched her magic necklace with her left. "Into place! Now!"

In the graveyard, smoky things appeared, wavered for a few instants, and then disappeared again. They leapfrogged from grave to ruptured grave. Will-o'-the-wisps? Vaguely human outlines quavered and became enormous, silently screaming mouths without lips or teeth or even faces to support them. They trembled to come closer and then backed away, like flames flickering in a breeze, or coyly flirtatious shadows. They circled the gazebo, locked in a ritualistic dance without music or rhythm.

Then one of the things broke free of the circle, attacking.

Tammi gripped the beads, and a bolt of light erupted from her chest, striking the creature a shattering blow. It shredded into fragments of black, leaving only an outline, which stood for a second and then collapsed.

"This is it!" Bishop said. Griffin swung his gaze to the man: he hadn't seen Bishop until that moment, wasn't sure exactly when he had reappeared.

In wedge formation, the Adventurers plowed toward a corner exit. The shadow things flitted in and out of existence, swooping on them, repulsed by the light.

"What have we got here?" Acacia panted.

"Don't know." Cipher said. "The Mayombreros have too many tricks right now."

They had almost reached the stairwell when the door burst open, and Thaddeus Dark stood before them.

He was massive, swollen, twisted with animalistic hungers, face distorted with rage and killing-fever. His fingers were crooked into beastlike talons. He shambled hunchbacked from the shadows with unmistakably lethal intent.

It would not do to laugh, Alex thought; and Thaddeus did look fearsome. Behind him came a flood of Mallbeasts.

They struck Top Nun's protective dome and rebounded. The shadow demons were utterly foiled, but the Mallbeasts raked with fang and claw, and some of them fought their way through.

There was a thunderous melee, a dizzying flux of swords and staffs and knives, fireballs, sizzling shafts of light, and the howls of the damned and dying.

Blood flowed freely, slicking the dirt and the cobblestone paths as they fought through the press, and Griffin found himself face to face with Thaddeus Dark.

A hideous growl and then a swipe of claws. Alex slashed with his sword. Dark grabbed the blade, wrenched it-a voice in Griffin's ear said, "Let it go!" — and pulled it from his hands. Thaddeus Dark brought the sword down across his knee. It snapped like a twig; he lunged at Griffin; Alex stumbled back, tripping over the bleeding body of Major Terry Clavell.

Clavell bore four diagonal slashes across his chest, and they pulsed blood in cardiac rhythm.

"Here…" he said weakly. "Take mine." He handed his sword to Alex, then went limp.

Alex spun and found himself shoulder to shoulder with Acacia. She had a long, limber fighting style, graceful as a dancer. He felt more like a trained bear, but was actually almost as quick. Together they smashed and cut and hacked their way through the ranks.

A female Mallbeast came at Acacia, and Griffin vaguely recognized the huge dark eyes and dark skin beneath the ashy complexion. This creature had once, in another life, been his friend, Millicent Summers. Scoundrels!

Acacia slashed at the transformed Millicent, and Millicent hissed and slashed in return. They circled each other, searching for openings.

Alex didn't have a chance to watch. Thaddeus Dark had found him again. The man-beast was fast, and strong, and "One side, Guide!" Bishop said behind him. "I'll take care of this."

Alex gritted his teeth and stepped back.

Bishop went after Thaddeus Dark with power bolts lancing from his aura, lightning blasts that struck Dark's flesh and exposed bone. The scraps of flesh actually attempted to knit themselves together again, and then again, and Dark roared, losing even more of his human countenance, becoming totally bestial as his lifeblood pulsed from a dozen wounds, as smoke drooled from gaping saucer-shaped burn holes.