"Larry Niven & Steve Barnes - Dreampark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

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throat tighten. An instant before that noble body smashed ignobly into concrete, a giant hand
materialized. The laughter of a colossus was heard as the hand lifted him back to the flying
carpet, where he and the visier sprang at each other's throats once again.
Acacia sighed in relief, then chuckled at her own gullibility. She swept her hair back over her
shoulder and took Tony's arm. She felt happier than she had in months.
"It's all so. . . elaborate," Tony said. "How do they keep it all going? Jesus, Acacia, what have
you gotten me into? Are the Games this, this complicated too?"
"Horrendously," she confirmed. "Not always, but we're dealing with the Lopezes this time, and
they're fiendish. The real heart of the Games is the logic puzzles. But look, you're a novice. You
just concentrate on having fun, okay? Swordplay and magic and scenery."
Tony looked dubious. Acacia could understand that. He knew as much as she could tell him about
Gaming, and it was daunting- Dream Park supplied costumes, makeup, prosthetics, and character
outlines if necessary. The players supplied imagination, improvisational drama, and, bluntly,
cannon fodder. The Lore Master acted as advisor and guide, group leader and organizer. In exchange
he or she took a quarter point for every point made by an expedition member, and lost a quarter
point for every penalty point. A good Lore Master would make or break a Game. Experts like Chester
were kings among their kind.
But the Game Master was God.
If he could justify it by the rules and the logical structure of the Game, he could kill a player
at any time. Most Game Masters sought a "vicious but fair" reputation, and did what they could to
make any Game a fair puzzle. After all, players sometimes flew from the other side of the world to
compete. To send them limping back to Kweiyang after half a day's adventure would be bad business
for everyone, Dream Park included.
So the Game Master chose time, place, degree of fantasy, weapons, mythology and lore (generally
from a historical precedent), size of party, nature of terrain and so forth. He might put years of
work into a Game. Then, maliciously, he would conceal as much of the nature of the Game as
possible until the proper moment. It guaranteed maximum disorientation of the players, with
sometimes hilarious results.
"Hey, would I have talked you into something you wouldn't like? You'll love it. Stick with me,
kid," Acacia boasted. "I've got over sixteen hundred points in my Gamelog. Another four hundred
and I'll be a Lore Master myself. Then I can start earning back some of what I've put into these
Games. Trrrust me!"
"Who are you going as?"
She hadn't quite decided that. In the six years since she first learned to forget the debits and
credits for Ease-Line Undergarments ("So snug, you'll think a silkworm has fallen in love with
you!") Acacia had shaped and recorded half a dozen fantasy characters: histories, personalities,
special talents . . . "Panthesilia, I think. She's a swordswoman, and tough. You like tough
women?"
"I may need one for protection," said Tony.
The Chamber of Horrors line had pulled abreast of the building that housed it: a crumbling stone
castle with large, leaded glass windows. In the gloom within, one half-glimpsed monstrous shapes
moving.

There were five other waiting areas for the Chamber of Horrors, but this was the only one marked
"Adult." Its twenty occupants looked about them in uneasy anticipation. The room might have been
more comforting, Gwen Ryder thought, given the traditional paraphernalia: cobwebs, creaking