Burdened by the first sense of unease he’d had since landing, Scotty went through his mental checklist in preparation for sleep.
“Moonman,” Ali said.
Scotty didn’t turn. “Here.”
“We have arrived,” Ali said. “All throughout our training, I sensed that you could not take things with complete seriousness.”
“Your safety I take seriously. The game… well, it’s a game.”
“Not to me,” Ali said. “You promised that once we arrived, you would, as you said, ‘get into it.’ Well. We are here. Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“‘Gotten into it.’”
“I’m doing fine,” Scotty said. “My primary job is protection. My secondary is to see that the client enjoys himself. We’ll be fine.”
“And how will you protect me if you are killed out?” His voice was challenging. “And that is what will happen, if you are not completely present.”
There it was again, a touch of imperious presumption that had begun creeping back in on the way to Luna, a reminder that Ali was a prince, and Scotty a pauper. While he suspected that this was just a way of dealing with a nervous stomach, Scotty fought to avoid irritation. “I always, under all circumstances, do my level best to avoid dying.”
Ali held his eyes for a beat, and then nodded. “Good. Please do that.” Something in the Prince’s face said he’d be relieved if Scotty was killed out of the game. After all, bodyguards were his father’s idea. With Scotty dead, Ali could concentrate on winning.
By 2:00 A.M. Lunar Standard Time, most of the guests had sunk into exhaustion. Counting travel from the L5 station and the arrival party, most of them had not slept for at least twenty hours. Some had grumbled that Xavier had deliberately arranged the times to confuse and fatigue them. Others just shook their heads wryly, knowing that they were in for a serious tail-wringing in only eight short hours. So sleep pills and delta-wave units were in heavy use, nightcaps were swallowed or smoked, and experiments with low-gravity sex conducted.
And now, the vid calls had stopped, and talking dropped to a soft burr.
By 3:00 A.M., silence had descended upon the dorm. The rooms sealed themselves into emergency mode: The doors would not open. Whoever was in there was simply in for good.
15
0730 hours, November 14, 2085
Wayne awakened slowly, eeling over in his mesh to find the previous evening’s chubby and improbably agile entertainment already awake, her face hovering just inches above his.
She leaned forward, red hair dangling. She rubbed his pointy nose with her stubby one, and kissed him lightly. “Hey there, sweet stuff,” Darla said. He placed his hands against her hips and pressed her against him, wiggling experimentally. It was a nice fit.
“Not now,” she said, then closed her mouth and chewed at the corner of her lip.
He knew that expression. And not later, either. Playtime was over. Maybe after the game. If you still want me. He believed that she had enjoyed their evening together. She had certainly displayed all the appropriate signs.
But… that little flash of insecurity in her smile. Gaming relationships could be brief and intense. He was a celebrity, and despite the current fashion for healthy padding, she might have a bit of unprocessed fear of rejection. She was used to being appreciated… once or twice.
Of course, he could be wrong. Their play had been intense… maybe too intense for a purely casual liaison. And anyway, win, lose or draw, in a few days he was heading back to Earth. No time to get all dewy-eyed.
“Playtime,” he said, hiding his disappointment even as he felt it dissolve. There was greater sport here, and he felt his gaming gland begin to pulse. Wayne was almost mechanical in the way he rolled out of the mesh and headed for the shower. When Darla joined him in the little spray cabinet, he was only perfunctorily welcoming.
But the water clung to them like jelly, and they needed each other to scrape it off and into the drains. He was completely new to lunar gravity. That was first frustrating, then fun, then-well, they were in haste. By the time he dried and began to dress, it was her turn to watch him with a smattering of disappointment. How could a man have forgotten her presence so easily?
But Wayne heard the thrumming beneath his feet, the distant bing-bong awakening the sleepers, felt if not heard the sound of water pumping through the walls, imagined that he could hear a dozen voices as dreams became reality, shortly to turn to dream once more. In five minutes they were dressed, and had eaten the tube breakfasts pushed through the door slot.
He hit the intercom button. “Fifteen,” he said, calling the room next door, where Angelique had turned in last night. She responded quickly.
“Wakey wakey,” she said. “Busy night?”
“Slept like a baby,” he said. Darla curled her tongue at him suggestively. Say hello to my little friend. She was definitely in character. Her behavior told him that something was going to happen, and it was going to be fast. Instinct warned him that, game-wise, Darla wasn’t going to live long. She was overplaying her hand, trying hard to make an impression.
“Meet you in the corridor in five?” he asked.
“Make it three,” Angelique said, and clicked off.
Fair enough. He slipped in his gamelink contact lenses (capable of receiving personalized signals from gaming central) and packed his bag. He was wearing tan Brit explorer regalia with mesh shocksuit underwear. Darla, dressed in a curve-accentuating feminine version, watched approvingly, and then stood. He grinned at her. “Let’s have a good game,” he said.
“Game?” she asked, too damned innocently, and stood out of his way as the door to the outer corridor slid to the side. She kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to his lips. “You go ahead,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
So. This was where their paths parted. Had she been sent to spy on him? Was this supposed to set him off balance? Was…?
He stepped out gingerly, not quite certain what to expect.
Nothing. Just a hallway, with Angelique entering a moment later, dressed similarly, carrying a pistol and a saber in a scabbard.
“What do we know?” he asked her.
“Look for anything Wells.”
Asako rolled out into the corridor: The bubble girl, looking alert despite last night’s revels. Wayne saluted with his sword. She smiled.
Another door in the hallway slid open, and Mickey and Maud Abernathy entered the corridor. He hadn’t known them before departing Earth, but knew their track record, of course, and a tiny bit of their personal history. They would be the oldest among the gamers, close to sixty if memory served him right. They had once been married, but then one of them had lost interest in gaming, and the relationship had drifted apart. If memory served, it was Maud who had gafiated. Mickey continued to play, but his solo characters weren’t as successful as their double-team. Their team personae were paired psychics. In a magical game, that might manifest as full-blown Dr. Strange-style abilities. Here, the effects would be more subtle, but no less powerful.
Mickey looked just a bit hungover, and Wayne didn’t blame him at all. Last night’s party had been massive.
Mickey and Maud extended hands to Angelique. “We’re not completely familiar with your portfolio, Lady Chan.”
“Perhaps you could refresh our memory?”
“I’ve studied many traditions of the sword,” she said. “And not merely the sword that kills. Also, the sword that gives life.”
Ah. A reference to sword techniques designed to take captives rather than slay. In this context, then, perhaps some of her healing points would still apply. The IFGS watched out for their players.
Whether the game was fantasy or science fiction, her powers tended to be the same: a swordswoman whose blade could suck or restore life force. Whether “steel” or glowing energy blade, she was an odd and spectacular meld of killer and healer. In a game with no fantasy or SF element, she would have great skills as a medic or doctor.