Somehow her smile grew so warm and alive that it crossed the distance between them, and they shared it. "Thank you. I really appreciate that. I've been feeling very much the novice, lately."
"There's something else, Alex. I care about Tony... Maybe I love him. I'm not sure. But he used me to get into the Game-"
"Hey, no. They probably propositioned him after he was already registered. They'd have wanted a novice."
Her brows contracted. "Oh." She shrugged, her strong smooth shoulders lifting under her blouse. "Never mind. What he did-I can't let what happened stop me from letting you know how much I like you."
"Not now, Cas-"
But she already understood. "No, not now. But you're not rid of me, and I'll be back." Her dark eyes twinkled at him. "Sooner than you want, probably."
"I doubt that," he heard himself say, surprised and glad that he had been able to get it out past numbed lips.
"My train leaves in twenty minutes," she said, rising. He stood, and the gulf between them grew great, impossibly great again. He held out his hand.
She looked at it for a second, then took it. Gently he pulled her closer, feeling only the slightest tug of resistance, and kissed her. It was a light, brief kiss, but it was less an ending than a promise, and he was happy.
She turned, pausing only at the door. "I'll be back, Alex," she said.
He fumbled in his mind for something appropriate to say. "Good Game," he said, finally, the beginning of a grin framing the words.
"Good Game," she echoed, and closed the door behind her. He sat there in his office, grinning like an idiot. Presently he tapped the Corn line. "Millie?"
His dark genie materialized. "Yes, Gruff?"
"My desk is irritatingly clear. Dammit, isn't there some work to do?"
"You bet, Chief."
"Then wire it in here." He stretched his head side to side, listening to his neck pop. Good Game. Damn straight, it had been.
"On its way," she said. His desk printer began to hum. "Oh, and one more thing."
"What's that?"
"I've never met a Slayer of the Unclean before. Can I have your autograph?"
"We heroes are a busy lot," he said blandly. "I'll try to work you in Tuesday." He watched the sheets of fanfold paper sprout out of his desk. When it reached a pile an inch high, it stopped.
Millie whistled. "That's a lot of business backed up there. Good luck. Personally, I'd rather be fighting monsters."
Wouldn't we all? he said silently. Wouldn't we all.
He tore off the sheets and went to work.
Afterword
The authors had a wonderful time researching Dream Park. As we hope you will agree, Melanesian myth patterns are as bizarre, convoluted and imaginative as any in the world.
All of the various monsters and most of the magics are taken from the literature available concerning New Guinea and its sibling isles. Road Belong Cargo by Peter Lawrence was the single most informative work; Albert and Sylvia Frerich's Anutu Conquers in New Guinea; Benjamin T. Butcher's My Friends The New Guinea Headhunters; Roy Wagner's Habu; and Ian Hogben's The Island of Menstruating Men (honest!) are also worth reading.
The Cargo Cult is the Melanesians' attempt to explain the disparity between their own lifestyle and the superior technology of the "Europeans" who changed their lives.
The Melanesian approach was and is pragmatic. They adapted Christian deities to their own naturalistic pantheon, to form such
entities as God-Manup, Jesus-Kilibob, and God-Dodo. They hoped that the right combination of ceremonies and imitation of Europeans would "open the road of the cargo", bringing them the wealth that God intended for all his children equally. When one approach to ihe rot bilong kako failed-and they have all failed, to date-the Melanesians always tried something else. Even twenty years ago there had been at least five systems of Cargo Cult belief; and where it stands now is anybody's guess. Because it is intended to divert goods now reaching "Europeans" alone, the Cargo Cult is by nature a secret society, and illegal.
The worship of European artifacts created some truly bizarre situations. One tribe did indeed try to hatch an "airplane's egg" in a fire, with results better imagined than witnessed. Europeans ignorant of the Cargo Cult have found themselves involved in strange schemes intended to divert mail or to build airfields.
There seems no sure way to convince a Melanesian native that his world-picture is wrong. If present spells are not effective, he tinkers some more with the system-as if a European were working on a car that has been seen to run. Consider the case of Yali- Born in (approximately) 1912, Yali was undoubtedly the secret leader of the Cargo Cults in the late 1940s and mid-l950s. He enlisted in the Army during World War II, and was trained in Australia. He toured European-style factories. He returned to New Guinea claiming to have seen God and His Cargo workshops. A highly intelligent, charismatic war hero, he amassed great power through his system of "Boss Boys" who controlled political and religious activity in dozens of villages. His legend includes a tale of Yali's death and rebirth in the jungle.
Depending on who's talking, he was either a saint or one of the greatest con men who ever lived. Peter Lawrence (Road Belong Cargo) sees Yali as himself a victim of the Melanesian world-picture. He saw those factories as an elaborate ritual intended to divert goods created and sent by God.
Cargo Cult, or the worship of material goods, is only one facet of Melanesian mythology. The winds, the tides and rains all were influenced by an incredible array of gods, goddesses, spirits and nether-beings.
The Fore do indeed exist, and are the only group of people on earth known to be carriers of Kuru, the laughing sickness. They are feared as magicians and cannibals of terrific ferocity.
Giant snakes, lizards, birds and other "natural" creatures
abound, and required no modification to bend them to our story needs.
Magical creatures needed a bit more modification.
The Nibek is a village monster or "big thing". It is generally described as having a head like a snake's, a body like a huge stone, and legs like a centipede's. It has a tiny mouth that expands "in the manner of a python swallowing a rat."
The dread Bidi-taurabo-haza, the "man ripe making animal" is precisely as presented, a tropical Gorgon of immense lethality.
The Haiavaha was a demigod who guarded the secret of fire. According to legend, a dog stole the secret and brought it to mankind. We added the "reverse fire" as well as the Just-So type "Why dogs can't talk" anecdote.
Zombies of one kind or another are common to many cultures. The Melanesians are no exception.
The Spruce Goose is, of course, an actual plane. It flew only once, off Long Beach, California, with Howard Hughes aboard. The fantastic troop-transport was constructed almost totally of wood, and was never put into production.
The concepts of Gaming used in Dream Park are drawn from many sources: computer-gaming, Dungeons and Dragons, the Society for Creative Anachronism, and the fiendish imaginations of fans throughout the Southern California area.
To the many friends who contributed eyes, ears and voice to the creation of this book, a hearty thanks. Without your knowledge and enthusiasm, writing Dream Park would have been far less than the exhilarating experience it was.