He grinned until the corners of his mouth threatened to meet in the back. He reached out for her, and she backed away coyly. "Do you like it?"

"South Seas Treasure or not, I already know I'm a winner."

Gwen blushed. "You know what I like best about Gaming?" Ollie shook his head. "You always say the sweetest things when you think you're someone else."

Ollie looked her dead in the eye. "Maybe that's because you're someone else?"

"Hah! You know perfectly well-"

Acacia stooped over them. "You guys ready? Everything in order?" Her Character Identification sheet was doubled in her hand. "We'll be starting in a few seconds. What's that, Ollie, Tropical Chocolate?"

"Frankish Oliver to you, Panthesilea, and yes. The stuff tastes like cocoa butter, but it doesn't melt. We'll find food along the way, but I like to be prepared."

The final warning sounded, and the Garners began shouldering knapsacks and gear. There was an impatient buzz in the air, and all eyes turned to Chester, who stood by Gina in the center of the room. His voice was nearly cracking with excitement. "May I have everybody's attention, please. Will the fourteen Primaries please line up by the elevators. The doors will be opening auto­matically. It is now 7:52, eight minutes until the Game begins. Hustle, people, come on..."

He was wasting his breath. Long before he finished, fourteen faces were clustered below the digital floor monitor as it displayed the approach of the elevator cars. When the doors slid open there was a general whoop of delight, and the fourteen Primaries crammed in. Chester turned to look around the waiting room. No one had left anything behind; the room was clean and empty. Within hours the first Alternates would appear. Within minutes

the progress of the Game would be broadcast to monitors in selected areas of Dream Park.

But he and Richard Lopez had been at war for one solid year. Chester stepped back and the elevator doors closed.

Chapter Six

FLIGHT OF FANCY

Somehow Acacia had expected the elevator to carry them down, into the bowels of the R&D building, to long lost caverns where blind gnomes would lead them, hand in gnarled hand, to the beginning of the Great Adventure. Instead it went up. A McDonnell-Boeing Phoenix helicopter was waiting on the roof, its engines humming quietly as the vast horizontal blades turned in lazy circles.

"What the hell... ?" Tony whispered. She turned to caution him, but saw the grin of incredulous delight and said nothing. "You know, I've always wanted to ride in one of these."

"Let's just take it one fantasy at a time," she murmured. Over one edge of the roof she could see the shapes and colors of Dream Park, its towers and mazelike walls. To the other side... noth­ing. Area A was hidden in featureless haze, a hologram projection of primal chaos.

The cargo doors of the Phoenix were open, waiting. A dark brown face suddenly popped out of the darkness, immediately split in a grin. "Greetings!" the man yelled cheerily. "Please, come aboard!" Chester looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded and stalked aboard lugging his totebag.

Acacia was fifth aboard, just behind a huge man named Eames who walked with a self-conscious swagger. Warrior, she snickered, then reflected that his freckled boyishness might have interested her, if Tony weren't along to keep the chill off. One fantasy at a time, she reminded herself. Anything can happen.

The interior of the Phoenix copter was comfortable but not plush, with twenty seats and room for their gear in both overhead racks and a hamper in the rear. The pilot of the copter waved back at them as they were seated. "Make yourselves comfortable, folks. I'm Captain Stimac, and you just let me know if you have any problems." The dark man who had greeted them at the door was energetically bouncing up and down the aisle, helping people with their luggage and generally having a great time. Tony filled the seat next to Acacia, and she took his hand affectionately. He asked, "What's next?"

She shook her head. She didn't want to talk; she wanted to sense.

The cargo doors creaked shut. The rotors of the Phoenix accel­erated, blurred and disappeared; but, characteristic of the model, the engines only made a hoarse and urgent humming sound. De­veloped for nocturnal combat duty, the Phoenix was as silent as a motor-driven craft could be.

The ground dropped away. "Yah hooF" screamed Mary-em's buzzsaw voice. "Children, we are off!" The Gamesters cheered as the Phoenix tilted and began to eat distance.

When the "fasten seat belts" pictogram clicked off, their one-man welcoming committee stood and bowed shallowly to them. "I would like to introduce myself to all of you. I am Kasan Maibang, and I will be your guide and liaison with the people of my island." Chester stood now, his facial lines gone angular with eagerness. "Your island. Then you know where we're going? And what our quest is?"

Kasan's smile was innocent. "Of course, Mr. Henderson. You do not think that your government would send you on such a per­ilous adventure without benefit of a guide?"

"Our government..." Chester absorbed that. "No, of course not. I assume you have our briefing sheets?"

"I am your briefing sheets."

The Lore Master's shoulders relaxed and he nodded. Behind him, Tony whispered, "Why is that good?"

Acacia told him. "The briefing material has to be true, in con­text. Lopez isn't allowed to lie to us about the basic assumptions behind the Game. Now Chester knows he can trust Kasan, up to a point. Kasan can't lie."

"Uh huh." Tony examined the "native" suspiciously. "Is he a hologram?"

"No. I saw him carrying luggage. Later he might be a holo­gram. He's a Gaming actor. Probably playing for straight points:

he gets his whether we win or lose, as long as he doesn't blow his lines."

The Lore Master, more relaxed now, was perched on the arm rest between two empty seats. He asked, "Where are we headed?"

"To the Melanesian islands, New Guinea to be specific."

Chester almost laughed. "You're from New Guinea?"

Maibang was apologetic. "The Episcopalian mission sent me to

UCLA."

"Where you were recruited, no doubt."

"Oh, absolutely. You must appreciate the problem. Ever since the Road to the Cargo was opened in 1945-"

Chester's sigh of comprehension was audible all over the copter. "Cargo Cult. Right. Please go on."

Maibang was clearly pleased that Chester had made the jump. "Yes. Well, ever since then, the Melanesian peoples, those who have learned the secret, have been stealing back the possessions that the Europeans-"

"That's us?"

Their guide shrugged. "There are us, and there are Europeans. Some Europeans are black or brown or yellow, though most are white-"

"Okay."

"My people, the Daribi, were among the peoples blessed with the true secret of the cargo. We prospered. God-Manup sends many wonderful things to his faithful children. Canned meat, elec­tric lights, jeeps, refrigerators, and, of course, weapons with which to drive out the Europeans."

"Of course," said Chester.

"Then, nine years ago-" Bare flicker of an eyelash. "In 1946-" Chester absorbed that datum, and nodded. "-my people the Daribi began to divert shipments of cargo intended for Europe and the Americas. Naturally your people fought back with your own rituals, but our sorcerers were mighty. Then you tried the force of your military, and again we prevailed. Late in 1947 my people made their greatest effort, and stole from your people a very great cargo indeed."