"A little electric shock to its paws," Mantilla said. "Not enough to hurt, but enough to persuade the animal to move forward. The object of Counterpoint is to get one of the animals assigned to you—a pawn—through the maze and all the way across to enter one of your opponent's doors. The first player to do that wins, and the game is over. Each player has ten pawns, and several lines of defense. Just watch what happens."
The cat was nosing its way through a swing door and ascending a shallow upward ramp. On the other side of the room a second cat had been released and was moving forward at the same level. After a few moments the two animals caught sight of each other. Both paused, then went cautiously forward to sniff for the scent of aggression. When the inspection was complete they went on their way.
"Every game worth playing has two elements." Mantilla was crouched forward, watching the cats with obvious enjoyment. "It must call for a combination of luck and skill. Without both, a game is dull. The skill in Counterpoint is in the way in which the players release and control the pawns, opening and closing pathways and stimulating the animals to walk along them. Each player has ten pawns, which vary in their species from one game to the next. A good player can handle all ten at once with no trouble. But there is luck also. Some things cannot be predicted. Will two pawns back away from each other when they meet, will they fight, will they pass each other? No one can predict that. So the players must prepare multiple strategies."
As he was speaking, a second door had opened. This time something different emerged, a familiar-looking pudgy shape. It shuffled forward a few steps, sniffed the air, and looked across to the other side of the chamber.
Mike jerked around to face Mantilla. "That's a Cappy! It's Benjy."
"Not any more." Mantilla's voice was casual. "It's a capybara, but it is no longer enhanced. As you see, it is not blind now, and there is no self-awareness. Benjy was not efficient, and twice he disobeyed orders. I was reluctantly forced to . . . demote him."
A third Pawn had been released, this one a white-furred cat, and instead of moving hesitantly along the walkways it was racing straight across the room on the most direct course it could find. Two new pawns on the opposing side showed no interest in intercepting it. It sped along a spiraling up ramp, then over an arched crossway. In less than thirty seconds it was no more than ten yards from the gates on the far side of the chamber and heading straight for one of them.
"Last ditch defense," Mantilla said urgently. "He'll have to, or he's done for."
As he spoke there was a great crackle of electrical discharge within the chamber and a bright blue flash. The running cat leaped upward to bang against the ceiling of the ramp, then gave a single intense scream and collapsed with rigid limbs. The fur on its sides was aflame.
Mantilla nodded in satisfaction. "Just in time. That man has played before. You don't use the high voltage until the last possible moment—and you can only use it four times altogether. The connoisseurs try not to use it at all."
In the chamber beneath them the capybara had sunk quivering to the floor, staring at the smoking body of the cat with terrified eyes.
"Look at him," Mike said. "He knows!"
Dominic Mantilla laughed. "I'm sure it seems that way, but it's not true. He was startled by the sound, that's all, and maybe he's catching the smell of burning fur, but he has no idea what happened. You'll see, he'll start to move again in a minute. If he's not careful he's likely to end up the same way himself." He looked at Mike in surprise. "What's wrong? Don't you want to watch the game to a finish? This is exciting. It's one that I designed myself."
Mike shook his head. "I must be getting back to Melly."
He hurried away from the balcony. Mantilla followed reluctantly. "One more item," he said. "Then we'll go back. This next one is not for the gambler. It's for the sportsman who has tried everything."
They were unexpectedly emerging from the underground play chambers into the open air. Mike felt an icy cold wind on his face and followed Dominic Mantilla into total darkness. As soon as his eyes adjusted he realized that they were standing on an open platform that jutted out from a cliff side.
"Walk carefully. The mountain side is nearly vertical here and there is no guard rail." Mantilla stepped confidently forward. "This is the loading area for Glissando."
The chute seemed to drop away forever. It was about fifty feet across, a half cylinder with curved sides of polished ice. On the platform in front of Mike were half a dozen bullet-shaped coffins, each large enough to hold one or two riders.
Mantilla put one hand on Mike's shoulder, coaxing him along closer to the edge. "The run widens at the bottom, as it gets closer to the ocean—that's to make it more difficult to control the sled into the electromagnetic brake rings. And of course, close to sea level we have to maintain an ice surface by artificial means. But no one ever complains about that . . . or about anything. It is the perfect cure for jaded appetites. Fourteen thousand feet drop in altitude, a maximum speed of well over three hundred miles an hour, and any slight control error enough to ruin you. Pure excitement. Only one person has ever made the run twice."
"Then I assume he'd had enough?"
"I cannot say. On the second descent, he missed the braking rings.
Boom
!" Mantilla roared with laughter. "Perhaps you would like to try it?"
Mike shuffled back from the edge. Mantilla was insane! He shook his head. "I don't have jaded appetites, thank you." And if I ever develop them, I'll sure look for some other solutions.
Without waiting for Dominic Mantilla, he set a determined return path for Melly and the reception hall.
* * *
He had an answer to his main question before Melly said a word. She shook her head as soon as she saw him.
"Slight signs of physical change, but not nearly enough for the behavior patterns Eckart and Cesar are showing. If only we had some way of doing a full brain scan!"
"Forget it. I'm sure the equipment is here, but Mantilla would never agree. Anything else?"
"Yes. Cesar is dying—of altitude sickness. If we don't get him out of here he won't last another week. But he doesn't seem at all worried. I couldn't get him to admit to feeling ill, even though he must be finding it hard just to stand up. What did you see?"
Mike gave her a quick summary of his tour of the Dreamtown facilities, but he had to keep it short. Dominic Mantilla was entering the reception hall. Mike had time to add, "Don't let him get you alone tonight," and to wonder about his own motives in saying it, and then the master of Dreamtown was at their side.
Mantilla was in excellent spirits, deferential to Melly and indulgent—almost paternal—toward Mike. "There were many more things to see," he said. "Why did you want to shorten our tour? Unless perhaps it was to return to Melinda, which any wise man would of course wish to do." He turned to Melly. "And you, my dear, you have seen nothing of our extensive pleasure facilities. May I be permitted to show them to you? They offer nothing to me comparable with the pleasure of your company, and no man or woman in them compares with you for charm and beauty, but perhaps you will find them entertaining. Shall we?"
He held out his hand. Mike glared, while Melly appeared enraptured. She tucked her arm into his, nodded at Mike, and allowed Mantilla to lead her away across the chamber floor. They disappeared together through an archway on the far side. Mike remained at the reception until after midnight, but neither Melly nor Dominic Mantilla reappeared. Finally Mike headed back to their quarters. Melly was not in her rooms.
Mike went through to his own bedroom and lay down. He had taken a precautionary pill himself, and he was not at all sleepy. It was the time when a Trader put his thoughts together and established the final overall strategy for the mission. In this case, nothing fitted. In principle, the first task was complete; they had negotiated a treaty on behalf of the Chipponese, and it was a ridiculously good one from their point of view. Dominic Mantilla, representative for the Unified Empire, was worse as a negotiator than the newest Trader trainee. His line was thrills and torture, and he was surely a sadist.
His thoughts returned to Melly. Was she safe with Mantilla? She was supposed to be experienced with men; Mike could only hope that she knew what she was doing.
Their second task had also gone as far as it could. Clearly, neither Eckart nor Cesar had been tortured into breaking Trader Oath, and they were not staying in Dreamtown against their will—they loved it here, even though it was killing Cesar. Somehow, Mike and Melly had to get Cesar away.
They love it here. That thought came back into Mike's head. He let it roll around on the edge of his consciousness, while he thought again about Dominic Mantilla. Lord Dominic, Prince of Pain . . .
A pattern was finally beginning to form when Mike heard a soft spitting sound from the wall of the room and felt a moment of terrible agony in the top of his head. He started to sit up.
The pain was gone as quickly as it had come. He lolled back on the hard bed and laughed aloud with satisfaction. Everything was fine—better than fine, it was wonderful. He reviewed the events since they had started on the mission and found that he was totally pleased with every one of them. Tomorrow they would examine the agreement between the Chipponese and the Unified Empire and make whatever changes were needed, and then they would celebrate. Already he was looking forward to the celebration.
He rubbed his fingers along the bed sheet. The feeling of the cloth was cool, sensuous, wholly delightful. It made him want to fall asleep on it, to abandon himself to its caress. The prospect of a long, satisfying sleep filled him with gratification—with
excitement.
He had been lying there for almost two hours, still sleepless but perfectly happy, when Melly came hurrying into the room.
"Mike!" She sat down on the bed and gripped his arm. "Mike, I was sure that something terrible had happened to you. Are you feeling all right?"
"Much better than all right. I'm feeling
wonderful
." He reached out to take her in his arms. "Melly, come and lie next to me. Come and love me. It will be the most exciting thing ever."
She had moved closer to him, but instead of lying down she took his head in her hands and examined it closely, probing delicately at the crown. She seemed to know exactly where to look. Mike lay back blissfully. She had found a wounded spot there, but it all felt marvelous.
And then, suddenly, she was tugging hard at him, shaking him. He opened his eyes again. "Melly? Don't stop. Keep on touching me."
She was pulling him upright. "Mike, stand up—
now
!"
"Why?"
"I have Cesar all ready. We have to leave. We'll have to let Wernher Eckart fend for himself for a while, he's in good health. Do you hear me, Mike?" She shook him. "We have to go!"
Melly was amazingly strong. She had Mike up to a sitting position and was lifting him under the armpits. Every touch—even the shaking—gave him intense pleasure. Mike closed his eyes. "Go? I'm not going—not now, not ever. Not anywhere. Come to bed, Melly. We don't want to leave Dreamtown, it's the only place you'll ever feel full happiness. Lie down next to me."
He put both arms around her and tried to draw her back to the bed. She resisted hard for a moment, then reached out to stroke his cheek. "Lie quiet for a moment, Mike. Then I'll come back and lie down with you. Remember now, don't do anything while I'm away!"
She was gone. Mike lay back on the bed again, his head filled with blissful thoughts. Melly would return in a minute or two. And if she did not, that would be all right, too. Everything would be all right.
Even when she returned and began to run the bonds around his arms and legs, he was not worried. The tight bindings provided an erotic touch to his wrists and his ankles, and the close-fitting gag across his mouth felt like a lover's kiss. He smiled up at her as she hoisted him off the bed and carried him out of the room.
"Not a sound!" Her voice was a whisper. "Dominic Mantilla may arrive at my rooms at any moment. Relax and let me carry you."
She was hurrying with him along the corridor, bearing his whole weight with no apparent effort. Now they were on a downward-spiralling ramp. Mike, his head against her chest, could not speak through the gag. He inhaled her perfume through his nose and smiled up at her. When they turned a corner in the corridor and a gust of freezingly cold air hit them, Mike thrilled to its icy touch.
The interior lights of Dreamtown vanished, and Mike was looking up at a starry sky. They had emerged on to a wooden loading platform, the starting point for Glissando. A two-man sled was already in position at the top of the ice chute. As Melly moved forward and rolled Mike inside the curved body of the sled, platform lights suddenly came on, dazzlingly bright.
"Stop." The deep bass voice that shouted the command was unmistakable. Melly did not even look around. She strapped Mike in the rear sled position, and began to rock the metal shell on its runners. Craning his head up, Mike saw that the forward sled position was already occupied by Cesar Famares.
The sled began to tilt. With no emotion but pleasure, Mike saw that they were poised at the very brink of a gleaming wall of ice. It dropped away forever in front of them, curving slightly to the left as it went.
There was a sound of running footsteps from behind, hard leather boots crashing down on the wooden platform. Melly, still bending over to strap Mike into locked position, was seized around the shoulders. As Dominic Mantilla began to lift her away from the sled she allowed herself to be drawn backward, She slid down to the level of his knees, turning and gripping his thighs as she went. As he moved forward to avoid overbalancing, she set her grip higher on his body and exerted her maximum leverage. Melly and Dominic Mantilla fell together on top of the metal sled.
The double impact of their bodies was more than enough to push the shell farther out onto the downward ramp of the ice. For a second the whole group teetered on the edge, then rocked past the point of recovery.