The California Voodoo Game

Thursday, July 21, 2059 — 3:40 P.M.

Alex Griffin stared numbly as Tony McWhirter's image blossomed on the wall before him. "What is it?" He felt his lips moving, but it sounded as if he were speaking in someone else's voice.

"Some stuff just came in through personnel, Griff. I broke the seal on Sharon's files, and I've done some poking around. She might have been supplying someone with Game specs that might mean betting. There's big money at stake, and that's the oldest motivation in the world. Second oldest, maybe."

Griffin's eyes were as cold as rifle barrels. "Can the humor. I'm coming down to Central. I want complete dossiers on everyone in that Game."

"It doesn't have to be someone in the Game, Alex. It could be an outside gambler who wants an inside edge."

"But it isn't, is it?"

Tony hesitated, then said, "No, Alex. It's not."

Alex Griffin was down in the office in ninety-two seconds. The personnel files were already flowing in the air in front of McWhirter.

Alex studied them, and Tony waited for his reaction as Acacia Garcia's file floated up. Alex's hands white-knuckled on the chair back.

"You didn't know she was in California Voodoo?" Tony asked.

"I guess I managed not to notice. Panthesilea…"

Acacia had been with Tony eight years before, until South Seas Treasure. Then Tony went to prison and Acacia went to Griffin. She liked dangerous, manipulative Games. And maybe dangerous, manipulative men. Maybe she just traded up.

"Alex?" Tony said quietly. "Acacia has been linked romantically with Nigel Bishop."

" The Nigel Bishop? Who came out of retirement for this Game? That I heard about." Alex's green eyes narrowed as his brain went into overdrive. "I want into that Game. Now."

"Wait a minute-"

"For what? We're losing time, dammit."

"Give me fifteen minutes," Tony said. His fingers tapped independently. "I've got even less time than you do, but you especially have got to see this."

Replay: the Mami Wata ceremony, a view across the rooftop pond toward men who waited to rescue drowning women. Tony McWhirter's voice told Major Clavell that he had been possessed. When the voice said, "Now!" Clavell struck like a rattlesnake.

"The Army's Loremaster," Tony said. "Guess what it would do to Army's odds to lose the major?"

Clavell killed a second man. The Bishop stepped forward, dropped his weapons Tony's fingers tapped. Alex barely noticed when a second window popped up next to the first. Green threads wove through the air: the Las Vegas betting graphs.

Alex was busy watching Bishop as he trounced Clavell. "Very nice. Excellent, in fact. Aikido, maybe.'' Alex's tone implied grudging admiration. "Why would Bishop save Army's ass, Tony? He's Gen-Dyn's Loremaster."

"Weird, yes? Bad enough if Bishop bet on himself, but that isn't what we're looking at. Six hundred thousand dollars got itself bet on Army."

Army's odds traced a jagged icicle: steeply down and steeply up as Army's Loremaster was doomed, then saved. A shallow stalactite on Gen-Dyn's line marked the moment when Bishop stepped forward with empty hands. Vegas had known the risks. And Tony was still talking. "I followed twenty trails so far, tracking the money. I got lost a few times, but the rest all went through Ecuador."

"Ecuador? Why Ecuador?"

"I haven't the remotest. You'd think he'd scatter his footprints more."

Alex mulled it. "Tony, could Bishop force a win for Army?"

"Alex, I… no. Yes. Hell, I don't think so, but I want to ask the Lopezes what they think. A better question might be: Is Bishop egotistical enough to believe he can do it?"

"Okay. Call costuming for me, I'm on my way." The Griffin stormed out of Gaming Central.

For ten seconds Tony didn't move or make a sound, then he exhaled in a long, noisy sigh. He leaned back and stretched his fingers.

Why not Ecuador?

At least the Griffin hadn't asked him why he was studying gambling curves. But maybe he hadn't needed to ask…

Thursday, July 21, 2059 — 5:00 P.M.

Creeping on all fours, Acacia Garcia peeked around the corner of the hallway. The other Adventurers were behind her, eyes on her upraised hand mostly. Several eyes were watching her delightful gluteal muscles as they clenched and released rhythmically.

She held up a palm, fingers outstretched, and then made a fist.

Get ready.

The palm opened. No immediate danger.

The room was dark and quiet, an alcove off a main hallway on the fifteenth floor. The hallway was bordered by a chain-and-pipe railing, which lipped a sunken dining area complete with tables and chairs. Here, long ago, malted milks and slushed ice drinks had been consumed by doomed, famished teenagers. A sobering thought.

Metal boxes within the room flickered with light, occasionally sparking or smoking. Some of the boxes were as tall as Thaddeus Dark, and some of them were emblazoned with readable emblems.

XAXXON, one said. Another said MARIO BROTHERS CONQUER THE UNIVERSE. And another: WAR OF THE POD DEMONS.

A video arcade.

There had been earthquake damage. Two of the walls had a wavy look. Most of the third wall had collapsed, shattering several games and opening a way into an adjacent jewelry store. From beneath the rubble came a fitful flickering.

Acacia called Cipher to the front. There didn't seem to be any direct threat here… "What do you think?"

"Don't know," Cipher said. "Mamissa said something about demons that feed on power. Here's electrical power. I'd be careful if I were you."

"Talk to Tammi," she said. The Troglodykes had taken the rooftop surfer as their guide. "Where's, uh, Bobo?" She cast around for him. "Bobo?"

Top Nun said, "He was here just a minute ago. Stepped over against the wall. Oh, here he… is?"

And Bobo stepped back out of the shadows. For a moment Acacia's mind didn't work fast enough. Bobo had changed size. He'd gained two inches (he stooped to hide it) and some breadth across the shoulders, and lost some belly And the face: bronze shades, peeling pink nose, short whiteblond beard and Holy shit.

She fought to keep her composure. "Bobo," she said to Alex Griffin.

He looked at her without betraying anything, with that neutral NPC attitude. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

She scanned him. Definitely Bobo: she got the same clear identification code. This wasn't a trick, it was a simple substitution, fully allowed by IFGS rules.

Even as they spoke, computers would be editing earlier Game records, implanting Alex Griffin's image over the old Bobo. There was nothing to do but accept the change.

"Does the electricity always work in here?"

"As far as I know."

"All right, then." Memory tickled at her. Every game she could recognize was a combat game, a war game of some kind. A clue? Electricity? Or maybe metal?

She drew her sword and moved into the video parlor.

First she poked her sword's tip, then her head, through the truck-sized hole into the jewelry store. Here were elegant dust-colored chairs, and glass-and-wood jewelry cases, all broken, all empty. Rubble was strewn across a case and two chairs; one chair bore broken human bone.

And that was all. Acacia judged it safe and turned back to the video arcade. Dust lay thick on the floor and revealed no recent footprints.

Acacia hissed for Captain Cipher to come to her. "What do you make of this?"

Tammi and Twan circled around to the other side, careful and alert.

Captain Cipher's answer was a rapid mumble and a waving of hands: Reveal magic. One of the machines lit with a pale green glow. "Bingo, milady."

Tammi and Twan continued their prowl, seeking other dangers. Captain Cipher examined the machine. ''Fairly advanced," he said finally, "given it's an antique. Circa 1995 video arcade game with full Virtual-reality helmet. Took dollar bills. Visual and auditory, of course, and pressure feedback for the hands, but no taste or smell. Anybody got a dollar bill?"

Nobody answered. "Shame. All the voodoo gods were greedy. Okay…" Cipher sat down in a pneumatic seat made of black metal and plastic.

It wrapped around his body and cinched him in until his face went red. Only his arms were free. He gulped. "Hope this was a good idea."

"Shall we get you out?"

"Wait one on that, milady." He was swathed in a black cocoon, facing the screen.

As his hands touched the fingerboard, the holostage flickered to life. Air churned into black liquid and fluxed into an inhuman, metallic face that was all planes and angles. It examined Cipher like a serpent contemplating a robin's egg.

"I am… Oggzuz," it said. The voice was totally synthesised and bore no trace of human origins.

"God of war," Cipher said without hesitation. "God of metal."

"Do you dare to challenge me?"

Cipher smiled sickly. "I come not to challenge-"

Tammi had described a cautious spiral, zeroing in close enough to touch the floating head before it turned to face her.

"You," Oggun said. "You are a Warrior. Is this one of yours?"

"Cipher is under my protection."

"You will stand by it?"

Instant of hesitation. "Yes, I will."

"Good. Good. Then, let the Game begin."

Acacia heard a low pulse tone in her ear. The "activate visor" tone. She made sure her Virtual equipment was in place, and backed up until her hips and shoulders were against a wall.

Oggun's head was twisting, pulling, ripping itself free from the video game.

Living tendrils of light boiled out of the game's shell. Blinding, sterilizing light. It tugged and stretched and twisted, bulging out, dark lines and colors threading through the brightness, an entire world of two-dimensional computer graphics now expanding and rotating out into three dimensions.

Bobo was close behind Acacia. She burned to talk to him.

That security woman died, and now Alex Griffin is here. Why? If he wanted Nigel, he'd just pull Nigel out of the Game, wouldn't he? Does he want me? To watch me? To talk?

Split attention would get her killed. Concentrate!

Light diminished in the video junkyard until she could barely see. If claustrophobia had been one of her problems, she would have been near panic.

Tammi and Twan were handling it better than she was. As if directed by a single mind, they had formed a back-to-back defensive posture and were waiting calmly.

"I am Oggun," a voice behind her said. She twisted her head in time to see the screen of an ancient video game extrude a giant yellow happy-face. Its teeth were shark-sized, and it made constant, famished gobbling motions.

"And I eat flesh."

Here it comes…

The happy-face Oggun laughed. "Not your flesh. I prefer other meat, and it pleases me to be witnessed."

Under the shattered wall, the sparking of a not-quite-dead machine cast a moving shadow. A miserable black mongrel dog crawled out. It might have been a mix of collie and spaniel, head too large and body a little too small. It limped toward them, whining, shuffling.

And then a second happy-face, this one with red lipstick and improbably long eyelashes, tore free from a game opposite. In a single smooth motion it scooped the mutt up in its teeth and bore it, howling and screaming, to the opposite wall. The two happy-faces kissed obscenely, passing the pup from one to another. There was a hideous chewing sound.

"Observe," Twan said steadily. "Our collective life energy just dropped."

General principle, Acacia said to herself. Protect the living from the unliving.

"All right," Tammi yelled. "Let's rock!"

Another black dog wriggled from a jagged inch-wide crack along a wall. A third video machine popped open, disgorging four masked, green, slightly anthropomorphic turtles. They brandished assorted martial-arts hardware. Acacia steeled herself for action.

Behind her, lights flashed and power bolts flew as Twan plied her trade against an endlessly multiplying centipede. For Acacia, steel would have to suffice.

Her blade glowed, and the dog scampered behind her, whining. A turtle approached, samurai sword levered. It champed grinning teeth at her, canted its head sideways, and spoke. "Puppy pizza time. Back off, beautiful."

Acacia screamed and swung her sword, aiming at the junction of shoulder and neck. Her aim was true. As the turtle's head flew from its shoulders, it screamed, "Radical!" It bounced once. Its beak opened and closed, and opened and hissed, "Pizzaaaaa…" and it died.

And…

"Cowabunga!" a second reptile screamed, leaping at her, slashing with a pair of sai. On the defensive again, Acacia fought furiously, the mongrel dog shadowing her the entire time, whining, its tail tucked between its legs.

Acacia was tiring. She managed to deflect a sai and lifted her leg high, smashing her heel into the turtle's breastbone. Well, her heel didn't actually make contact with anything, but the creature sailed backward and crashed into a pinball machine with a satisfying thump. Sparks erupted, and steam, as the evil reptile was electrocuted. The air reeked with the stench of scorched turtle flesh.

The battle was going poorly. All about them, the video machines were disgorging Tie-fighters, mercenary soldiers, and professional wrestlers. A Michael Jackson clone moonwalked off a screen, pirouetted, and rolled his snap-brim hat into his hand. He threw the fedora like a Frisbee. It skimmed through the air and struck Aces Wilde in the side of the neck. She crashed to the ground, dead.

Dogs were dying, borne screaming to the wall by Larry, Moe, and Curly. Their sinister nyack nyack nyacks reverberated endlessly, drowning out the yips of canine terror.

"Cipher!" Acacia screamed. "Where the hell are you?"

The fabled Troglodykes were doing better than any of the others. Shattered, smoldering centipede segments lay heaped about their feet. Six dogs had formed a pack behind them, cowering but alive.

A statuesque brunette Amazon in red-white-and-blue spangled tights threw a golden lariat at Twan. The Troglodyke glowed, caught the noose, and spun, sending her attacker hurtling through the air. The Amazon landed in the lap of a grotesquely deformed sailor, his tattooed forearms swollen to the size of beer kegs. His eyes bugged, and he said, "Arf arf arf! Blow me down, little lady!"

Suddenly, Cipher croaked his reply. "I can hear you, but I can't see you…"

Twan knew that it was time to take a chance. To flip from this level of reality meant to blind herself to the very real danger of the video demons, but she had a hunch, and she'd play it.

"Tammi! Cover me. I'm going blind for a few seconds."

Tammi's breath was coming in shallow, controlled hisses. "All right, hon. Make it fast."

Twan switched off her Virtual field.

She could see no dogs, no miniature starships firing photon torpedoes. She was in the unchanged arcade. A pinball machine had collapsed. Captain Cipher was at the video game, playing desperately, enmeshed in his own Virtual world. The cocoon about his chest and shoulders heaved like a devouring mouth. His bound hands struggled with finger toggles, fighting miniature video images. The images came faster and faster, giving him no time for rest. No time for thought.

A video game, she thought. That's exactly what this is.

In certain video games, it is impossible to win. All you can do is survive as long as you can, piling up points, until you are eventually dragged down and killed.

Much like life itself?

She hit the floor in a flickering shoulder roll and came up next to Cipher's machine.

Twan conjured with her hands, chanting spells. The air crackled and leapt with blue and green power bolts, darkened with mystic smoke. Her feet slid around the lower edge of the video game.

She locked both hands around her sword, while her left leg edged around for the power cord. Carefully, she wrapped it around her foot Instinct made her flip her Virtual visor into place. Tammi was busy, trying to swat a tiny black, bat-winged helicopter from the air. Twan started to flip it back up, when a leering moose appeared next to her. It giggled like an imbecile and said, "Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat."

What he pulled out of a black top hat was an abomination, some unnatural meld of lion, gorilla, and maybe squirrel. It snarled and leapt Her foot twisted in the power cord, and she yanked The mutant screamed, and froze, and spun backward into the hat. The moose disappeared. Turtles, centipedes, Michael Jackson, all vanished.

"Iiii ammmm Ogguuunnn," Cipher's video machine groaned. The cord lashed and writhed across the floor like a wounded snake, searching for the outlet. Twan watched in horrified fascination.

Cipher, gasping, ripped himself out of the cocoon, scrambling out so fast that he fell to the floor, breaking his fall with his hands. There was genuine fear in his face. "Screw you!" he yelled. His aura flared, bolts of power arcing out and playing over the machine. It smoked and burned, plastic and metal melting, tiny video images in the flames screaming and writhing until there was nothing left but slag.

Acacia examined the ruin, and then Cipher. He was flushed, sweaty, heaving for breath.

Acrid smoke filled the air. The other Adventurers were silent. "Ah

… Cipher," she said as gently as she could. "If it isn't completely dead, would you maybe like to torture it for a while?"

He considered for a moment. "Naw," he said finally. "That would be cruel." He dusted himself off and went to inspect the damage.

Acacia stared after, trying to figure out which was worse: the fact that he might be serious, or the fact that she couldn't be sure he wasn't.