Griffin politely said nothing. Eames looked at him, challenging. "What do you think?"

"I think she's a Gaming groupie. She went after Alan because he has more I.F.G.S. points than you do." It might even be true, Alex thought.

Eames grunted, somewhat mollified. "Yeah, that must be it." He gave Griffin a "just-us-men" smile. "You know, you can't ever figure women out."

"No, I guess you can't." Griffin directed his attention mightily to his rapidly cooling food. To Barnes's verbal sallies he merely grunted his replies. The warrior lost interest and grumbled away into the woods.

Alex let his mind follow an earlier track. Leigh has a good many Experience points. Leigh played a previous Game in Gam­ing Area A. And if Leigh noticed, some time last night, that Eames was safely occupied with Acacia, then ... but would he count on Acacia keeping Eames occupied?

Mary-em bounced down next to him. "How ya, Gary?"

"Doing pretty good. Feel a little tired, I guess."

"Big strong man like you?" she cackled. "I would have thought you'd wear out the lot of us."

"I just haven't slept well for the past couple of days," he said truthfully. "That always tears me up."

"Well, get some rest tonight, you'll need it soon enough."

"How so? These things don't seem so tiring. Nobody's fallen over yet."

"And the real fireworks probably start tomorrow. Lopez has just been testing us. By tomorrow night the last of the replace­ments will be in, and that's when we'll get hit with everything in the book."

"But why should that be so tiring? It's just a game. .

She looked at him incredulously. "Take a look around you, sonny. Do these people look like they've been playing a game?" He did look around. And Mary-em was right. Fatigue was etched into every face, dark rings under eyes and noticeable trem­bling in fingers and hands. He focussed for the first time on the amount of touching and cuddling going on around him. Tony and Acacia cuddling in the shadows, Bowan and Dark Star touching each other with almost embarrassing intimacy, and Chester snug­gled with Gina in their double sleeping bag. Oliver and Gwen had retreated from the campfire altogether.

It was a little like a battlefield, he realised. The highly charged sexual atmosphere was no mere tease, and anything but casual. The immersion into a fantasy world was total; the exhaustion was real. The real need to reach out and touch. .

Where did it all fit together? And how did it relate to him, and

his problem? He looked at Mary-em, who was waiting patiently for his response. There was no electricity in her face now, but there was poise, and purpose. How did she fit in?

"You're right. It doesn't feel like a game. But it sure isn't real life. So what is it?"

"It's not that simple, Gary," she said, and he realised with a start that he had never before heard her speak softly. "It's a little different for everyone." Her eyes twinkled at him, and he was star­tled again to find himself considering her attractive. "Mostly, it's just fun. What you bring is what you get, sonny. Now, me, I do some pretty wild things all the time. Some of these folks never do anything more exciting than talk to a filing computer. So they come for straight out adventure. Some come for the Game chal­lenge. You know, chess with living pawns. Puzzles. Some come for the people. I mean, when you're into Gaming as deep as this, sometimes it gets hard to find friends who don't think you're from Mars. That's all too simple, really. It's little bits of all of the above, different for every Gamer." She chucked him under the chin. "That's what makes it fun. So think about it. I think you'll make a hell of a Gamer when you figure out where you fit in."

She waddled off to her sleeping bag and zipped herself halfway in. The bag rustled, and she started handing clothing out, making a neat pile by her head. Griffin felt a sudden and inexplicable wave of affection for her; he fought an urge to hug her goodnight. Instead, he deposited his dish in a grimy pile and found his own backpack.

He was within touching distance of half a dozen sleeping Garners. No aspiring killer would try anything with so many po­tential witnesses nearby. The Griffin unrolled his superlight, heat-reflective sleeping sack, wishing for a moment that it was plain cotton. He slipped into it and took a final look around. All was quiet, all was peaceful, except for the half-formed questions that raced through his mind in unending circles, like dozens of tiny dachshunds chasing their tails.

With a supreme effort of will he pushed the questions out of his head and settled down to rest. He heard crickets in the bushes. He was wondering whether those chirps were live, or just more Dream Park magic, when his mind fuzzed out in sleep.

(delete this)

Chapter Seventeen

THE LAST REPLACEMENTS

The dream was too vivid for comfort. It began with the Nibek chasing Griffin through the halls of R&D, and ended with the crea­ture cornering him in the first floor lounge. A spear materialized in his hand, and Alex threw it into the monster's head. It screamed thunderously and collapsed to the floor, melting into the form of Albert Rice, trussed and gagged and sitting dead by the drink dispenser.

"I'm sorry..." Griffin found himself saying automatically. A small crowd of people materialized, tsking the still form of the guard. A little gray-haired lady waved a disapproving finger at Alex. "He may not have been well balanced at the end, but he was a fine, upright boy," she said.

Someone in a snowy-white doctor's smock spoke with Bob­bick's voice. "I knew the lad well, and he wouldn't take this sitting down..."

And just before the morning mists dissolved into the sounds and smells of breakfast, a third voice whispered, "Believe me. He was for real until he got his back up against it. Believe me . .

"Hey there, sleepy-head!" Acacia grinned at him, squatting to look into his face. Griffin parted gummy eyelids and groaned aloud. "What's the matter, tough guy?"

"That's simple, Cas. This sleeping bag doesn't go over too well with my water-bed body."

"Well, how would some bacon and eggs go?"

"Fresh eggs?"

"Absolutely. Kibugonai showed up this morning toting a cache of fresh eggs, bread, and orange juice."

"Me for cargo." The last niggling speculations about his dream were swept away by the sudden hollow in his belly. "What time is it? How long till Game time?"

"About an hour. Come on and eat. Kasan says that there'll be a place to bathe up ahead." She sniffed under her arms, dubiously. "Frankly, I need it." She bounded up and made for the next bed­roll, where S.J. lay curled into a compact lump.

Griffin yawned. He split the velcro seal and rolled out of the bag. His legs felt a little sore, and he massaged life into them with the practiced edges of his thumbs. Breathing deeply and slowly, he stretched out to touch his toes and twisted to each side, feeling the circulation return to the muscles in his back. He finished the warm-up with a few slow push-ups, then got to his feet.

The mood of the group was highly charged again. A night's sleep had refueled their fantasy engines. Alex remembered the nuzzling going on yesterday evening, and wondered whether sleep had much to do with it.

Henderson was holding court against the bole of a tree, munch­ing a sweet roll while balancing a plate piled high with eggs and fresh bread. Kagoiano served Alex his breakfast, and the security man ambled over toward Chester to eavesdrop.