"What about Eames? Did I notice some knowing smiles passing between you two?"

"That was for last night." She leaned against the tree, shoulder to shoulder with him, and stretched luxuriously. "It was no big thing, really, mostly talk. He's not as much my type as I thought he was."

"What is your type?"

"Aha. That is what they used to call a loaded question."

"What do they call it now?"

"An unnecessary one, given that I'm out here in the woods with you." She smiled uncertainly, searching his face. "I don't know about you, Gary."

"What don't you know?"

"Well, I can't help getting the feeling that you'd rather watch than participate. You like to stand aside and observe."

He cleared his throat. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

"No, not really. It's just that there's something about you that I like, and I get the feeling that you're not getting as much out of the Game as you might be."

"What am I missing out on? I mean, I'm having a ball."

She frowned at her boot-toes. "You've got this attitude, and I can't put my finger on it. You go through the moves, enthusi­astically, even, but there's something businesslike about it. As though you're afraid to have too much fun. I bet you take your job very seriously, don't you?"

"Oh, I guess so. I see what you're driving at. But why would someone who's afraid to have fun work at Dream Park?" He ran his finger softly along the side of her neck. "Or join a Gaming party?"

The voices floated to them:

"It was good enough for Dagon, A conservative old pagan

Who still votes for Ronald Reagan, And it's-"

"Since I don't know anything about you, I guess it's all right if I make a few wild speculations. It seems to me that Cowles Indus­tries is a perfect place for someone who likes their fun vicariously. How often do you actually use the facilities?"

"Not very often," he admitted, "but..."

"And I bet you've got some job with a killing amount of re­sponsibility, don't you?"

"Oh... hell, maybe so. Running a restaurant is as much work as you want to make it," he quoted Gary Tegner, too woodenly. (Then he remembered answering, "Come to think of it, so is being a Security Chief.")

There was a flicker of disbelief in Acacia's eyes, quickly hidden. "I would have figured you for a different kind of job. And actu­ally, I wouldn't think that corning on this expedition was your idea, either. You don't really fit in, Gary. Did your doctor tell you to do it for your health, or what?"

"Tell me," he said, putting his arms around her waist and lock­ing his fingers together. "If I promise to try to fit in and have some fun from now on, what do I get?"

She answered him.

"You know," she said, pulling just far enough away for her eyes to focus on him, "there was even a bit of business in that kiss."

‘Well, maybe I mean business."

"I just bet you do." She kissed him again, longer this time, and hotter. When she broke away, her questions were temporarily sub­dued. She ran her hands along his chest, feeling the hard muscle, and the questions flared again. "You know," she said in a near-whisper, "you don't really add up, Gary, but I like you."

"Why?"

"Because you ask too many questions, that's why. And damn few answers. Which means that behind the big strong silent man routine there is the kind of little boy I like." She snuggled up closer to him. "How long has it been since you told that little boy that he's worked hard enough, and it's all right to play for a while?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. About ten minutes. Damn! "I guess that's why I'm here. Maybe it has been a while." He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head slightly to one side so that he grazed her cheek.

"Gary, you use kisses to get away, not to get closer. You don't have to say anything to me, but ask yourself how long it's been. And if you feel like talking to me, I mean really talking, you know where to find me." She kissed him with a strangely subdued en­ergy, and disengaged his hands from her back, and walked back toward the campfire.

Griffin watched her go with rnixed emotions: relief at being free of her prying, and a little confusion at the sadness he felt. She had no right to pry into his mind or his life. He wasn't there for her pleasure, or even his own.

"It was good enough for Isis:

She will help us in a crisis, And she's never raised her prices, So she's good enough for me!"

Quietly, hands in pockets, he joined the Garners at the campfire. There was a lull in the singing, and the pork and beans were dished out. Eames came balancing two plates. He carried one of them to the small honey-blond girl who had been the cap­tive of the Fore, and sat down beside her. Alex had seen her dos­sier. Her name was Janet Kimball, and like Harvey "Kasan Maibang" Wayland, she was an actress participating for straight points and a small percentage.

She was perched on a rock, listening intently to Alan Leigh. Her ragged clothes were covered with a black cloak from Bowan's pack, but even in her state of disrepair she seemed totally at ease.

"-wanted to see how the other half lives," Leigh was saying, "so I signed up as an actor in Muhammad Porter's Slaver Game. Your objective is to free your fifty purchased tribesmen from the frigate Tante Marie before it reaches market in New Orleans, and without causing the crew to drop their cargo overboard-"

"I watched the tape. Yes, I remember you now. Brrr."

Leigh nodded complacently. "I made a good slaver. Suave, evil, ready to sell my own mother if she'd been the right color...ome to that, you'd fetch a fine price anywhere, my dear." He allowed his gaze to linger on Janet's exquisitely shaped legs with obvious relish. For that moment Alan Leigh looked evil, and

Janet looked like she liked it. Then he broke the spell by consum­ing a fat forkful of savory legumes. It blurred his voice somewhat. "So who exactly are you supposed to be, Janet?"

"Lady Janet, if you don't mind. I'm a British noblewoman, cap­tured by foul natives on my way to Australia."

"Were you ravished?"

"No," she said wistfully. "I rather think they hoped I was a virgin."

"No chance of that, huh?" Eames put in.

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that, Mr. Eames... ah! There's one of my brave rescuers now!"

Griffin nodded acknowledgement. He squatted in front of her with a plate of beans balanced in his lap. "You're well worth the saving, too." She curtsied where she sat, and he went on. "So you're going to lead us to the dreaded Fore, eh?"

"Yes. Just don't mention their name during the Game unless you're ready to die. I can, because they gave me permission. I sup­posedly spent three weeks among them, while they waited to sac­rifice me under a new moon." She turned to Leigh. "I find bar­baric customs very stimulating."

Leigh leaned close to her. "Madam, beneath this civilized and cultured exterior you will find the heart of an absolute beast."

She seemed fascinated. "Teeth and all?"

"Especially teeth. Perhaps you'd like to see my horns some­time...

"Warriors are a lot more basic and earthy than wizards," Eames sniffed. "I'd think you'd be a little more attracted to my type."

"Yes, you'd think so, wouldn't you?" Leigh said warmly. He and Janet giggled without malice.

Eames was growing increasingly frustrated. "Listen, Janet, would you like to go for a walk?"

"Love to," she said, gazing into Alan's eyes. "Shall we?" And the two of them left the campfire.

Eames stared after them, biting his lip. "I'll be damned. Who'd think she'd prefer a faggot to a real man?"