elders vanished. He spoke into the mike. "Attention. This portion of the Game is over. Those of you who are scheduled for the Agaiambo sequence should report to makeup immediately. The rest of you, thank you for excellent performances." The two dozen ‘native' men, women and children gave themselves a round of ap­plause.

Silent electric trains buzzed through the underbrush, and work­men bustled out to dismantle the village. About half the actors got onto trams, which ‘moved them quickly away. Some of the others began walking; others waited for the second run.

The holo dissolved, and Richard Lopez spun around in his chair to face Myers. "Our first chance to kill somebody comes in about forty minutes. We've got to get them closer to the swamp first." He drummed his fingers against each other. "You know, I've got this Game stocked with some of the nastiest surprises we've ever come up with, but this is too much like murder, some­how. I don't like it."

"There's no reason for you to feel like that." Myers was sooth­ing. "Accidents, those with positive or negative results, are always part of every Game. If the odds are shifted a bit this time, another player will have the advantage of the counterbalancing good luck. I promise that the Game won't suffer."

Richard looked at the bald man curiously. "Official nitpicker of the I.F.G.S. that you are, Myers, I'm surprised that you agreed to this screwing about at all, let alone as calmly as this." He fingered his small beard reflectively. "Last year when Henderson threw a tantrum about a few little snow vipers, you were the first one to start waving the rule book in my face, screaming infraction. When I was cleared of any fouling, you were instrumental in forcing me into a face-to-face with the aforementioned Lore Master, in the in­terest of ‘fair play.' Why are you now playing lap dog for Dream Park?"

Myers purpled a bit, and Mitsuko threw her husband a worried glance. Myers said, "Shall I call Ms. Metesky and tell her that you find Dream Park's terms unacceptable? She would halt the Game immediately, of course. This would be inconvenient and em­barrassing to all concerned, and, I might add, expensive to you. Exactly how much of your personal capital is invested in the South Seas Treasure Game?"

"A lot," Lopez conceded. He looked up to Myers from behind

beetled brows. "Fm relieved to find you so interested in my we!­fare."

Myers bristled. "I've said all that I need to say-"

"More," Lopez corrected him gently.

"I'm going back to the observation room. Goodby, ma'am," he said to Mitsuko. She turned and flashed him a brilliant smile, which he could not make himself return. He departed, spine rigid.

Mitsuko reached out her left hand to her husband, and he took it warmly, chuckling to himself. Then his expression sobered.

The control room door opened again, and Metesky entered. "My goodness, what did you say to Myers? There was a storm cloud following him out of the room."

"I'm afraid that my husband expresses displeasure perhaps too skillfully."

Lopez looked sheepish. "I didn't really mean to be nasty with Arlan. I just dislike people messing with my Games."

"I know, Richard. I'm sorry, but there has been a murder."

"Dammit, there are a hundred murders a day in this state, but only one Game a year. Why can't they leave me alone to do my work?" He sighed. "All right, all right. I'll cooperate. You'll get your sword fodder."

"Thank you, Richard."

Metesky folded a cot out of the wall and sat, fascinated. Rich­ard and Mitsuko were far more interesting than other Game Masters, most of whom were either sallow scholars or ex-Gamers so deeply immersed in their fantasy worlds that their motivations were nearly incomprehensible, and their conversations completely so.

But like any professionals at the top of their field, the Lopezes were exceptional. Bright, imaginative, personable and often irasci­ble, Richard contrasted with his wife, the better known of the pair. Mitsuko was always reserved, never displaying more of her talent than necessary. As people, they were interesting. As Game Masters, they were spellbinding. Metesky had watched them con­duct the hornbill attack. During these sequences, when the com­puter-animated holograms had to attack and respond in the most lifelike of fashions, the Lopezes were one mind with twenty fingers. The illusion they created was complete: no one ever seemed to notice that only two or three of the birds were actually attacking at any moment; the rest were in the air, in a holding pat­tern. It was marvelous the way Richard would take a bird out of

its automatic figure-eight and bring it to life with the sure hand of a master puppeteer, flying it with double-toggle controls and foot pedals.

It was like watching a duet on a synthesizer keyboard. With something close to awe in her heart, Metesky watched them.

The group had been trudging through the bushes for some time before the terrain began to change. The bushes gave way to vines and creepers, and the soil was becoming damp and sticky. Maibang chose their path more carefully now. He and the warrior Kagoiano were in the lead, and they looked worried.

Chester's voice crackled into the room. "Gina! Let's have a sweep of this area. What exactly do we have here?"

Richard sat back and whispered to Metesky. "Chi-chi can al­ways pick up on a Magic request faster than I can. I'm not totally sure how she does it." He glanced into the hologram. Gina was swathed in green, and her eyes were closed. Mitsuko listened care­fully to Gina's invocation.

When her fingers touched the keyboard they fairly disappeared into a pink blur, the keys beeping softly at machine speed as she fed her request into the computer. A shadow-image of a steel locker appeared floating before Gina, and vanished a few seconds after she opened her eyes.

The Lore Master nodded. "Good. We're very close to something interesting. I want Garret up front, we may need a Cleric." A dark face separated itself from the rest of the group.

"Are we going to need protection, Chester?"

"Some of us might. We'll need to recover that chest, whatever it is, and that probably means an Engineer. If it does, he'll need pro­tection all right."

Richard muttered to himself about the sharpness of the holo image, and when Chester called for a trail indicator, the Game Master handled it personally. He manipulated the image of the chest until it was translucent but dead clear. The image floated ahead of the group and led them to a stand of trees growing in moist, spongy earth. The trees were thin-boled, with spidery branches and sparse leaves. The roots twisted about on the surface for a few feet before disappearing underground. The chest image sank into a tangle of roots.

Chester looked at the patch of trees speculatively, and raised his right arm. "Reveal to me hostile or malignant spirit forces!" His green glow expanded to a field twenty meters across, and in its

light there were dim, writhing shapes, little more than wisps of fog. They retreated from the light.

"Right," he muttered. "S.J., front and center." There was a whoop, and the youngster materialized at Henderson's shoulder, breathing heavily. "We have some treasure to recover, and it's be­tween those trees. What do you suggest, Engineer?"

Grinning, S.J. walked quickly around the stand; probed into the soil with his boot toe; nudged the roots. "I don't think it would take long to dig through this stuff. These trees aren't from New Guinea, that's for sure. They look like something from the Matto Grosso. My bet is that the Army didn't spray them with fungicide before they planted ‘em. They look like they have root rot."

"Would you try to stay in character, please, Engineer?"

Richard Lopez gritted his teeth. "Little bastard. We'll have to cut that out of the final tape. I'd love to kill him out of the Game right about now."