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“All right!” she called. “Forty-five minutes to Game time. Men’s showers in the gully, women’s in that stand of trees. Breakfast is on the table. Hurry up, people! We have a big day today.”

Yarnall still stood silently, staring up at the dissipating clouds. Gwen was overwhelmed with admiration: Welles had taken a bad situation and turned it into a day at the circus.

Belatedly, she wondered if she could have gotten the same deal.

They had been on the march for an hour, and now Max Sands could make out more detail on the mountains ahead. He and his brother Orson walked abreast, and to Max’s satisfaction, Orson was humming softly.

Kevin Titus had been looking at him oddly since breakfast, as if trying to place that face and body. Oh, well…

He could understand that feeling. He had been staring at Robin Bowles, memories of countless B-movies flooding through his mind. He found it vastly amusing that before Bowles got his first major roles he had played low-budget quickies. If memory served him right, before the two Oscars had come a Golden Turkey award for his portrayal of Abdul Alhazred in the musical comedy version of The Fungi From Yuggoth.

Yarnall carried his rifle/club at port arms, scanning in every direction for trouble. He expected something to drop from the sky, pop out of the ground, materialize from thin air… So far, nothing had happened. Too soon, Max thought. Welles would wait and wear him down.

Up in the mountains were the nests of the Tin-mi-uk-puks, or Thunderbirds, fabulous creatures which Snow Goose said could take them closer to Sedna… if they had enough magic to command the creatures. Snow Goose wasn’t sure. If not, they might just as well paint themselves with mustard, lie down, and be lunch.

Minus Eviane, there were nine Gamers and three Actors. It should have been ten and two by now, and even that felt a little sparse. How could they run so expensive a Game with so few players? Certainly not on the fees Max had been charged-though steep, they couldn’t pay for all of this. The Actors outnumbered the Gamers!

Snow Goose had explained it to him just after breakfast. “Dream Park has most of the bugs out of the program now. They’re going to monitor our progress. If everything goes as planned, home marketing follows. They’ll sell a cassette, see? A tougher Game. Your average player would have to run it a dozen times before he gets all the way through. They figure that much interactive role playing in a Total Environment room can affect a major behavior shift. Sixty-three percent of Americans have TEs available to them. Could be a major sideline.”

The slopes had begun to get steeper, and his legs ached a little. Max looked back down the mountain, and was surprised: they had climbed close to a thousand feet. The campsite was far below them. Looking down he could see the lake, and the floor of a gentle valley that swept away to a snow-crested horizon. It was difficult to believe that anything ugly could be hiding in this world. Around them the mountains stretched endlessly, and although the going was increasingly steep, he found that he enjoyed the effort. The breath came harshly in his throat. He was sweating. He liked the sharp heat of exertion. The air was very clean, bracing, cold enough to make him feel totally awake and alive.

Beside him, brother Orson was having a harder time of it, sweating and gasping but gritting his teeth and gamely humming a tune. Max listened long enough to pick it up, and then started humming along.

Trianna was right behind him. Her breathing, though labored, was as evenly paced as his. “What’s that song?”

“Ah… I’m not sure. Ask Orson.”

“Orson?” She called out.

“Yes-, ma’am?”

“What are you humming?”

Orson grimaced. “The Ballad of Eskimo Nell.”

“Can you sing it for me?”

Orson started to blush. “It… I… well, the truth is that I don’t know the words. Do you, Max?”

“Never learned ‘em,” he said, rolling his eyes soulfully. “I was deprived as a child.”

“Oh,” she said, dejected.

Orson breathed a sigh of relief when a squeaking voice cried out, “I know it! I know it!”

“I might have known, Kevin. Now keep it to yourself, would you?”

Trianna turned and grabbed Kevin’s arm. “Oh, come on. Singing always makes a hike more fun. Give us a verse.”

“Maybe the little shit’s too winded to sing,” Orson hissed hopefully.

No such luck. Kevin’s eyes glowed at Trianna’s contact. “Where are you? Let’s see. ‘ So Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete… Dah de dah de dah… ”He inhaled deeply, trying to remember. “ And as they blazed their randy way no man their path withstood. And many a bride, her husband’s pride, knew pregnant widowhood.’ De dah de dah…”

“That’s enough, Kevin,” Orson commanded.

“No, I’m trying to get to the good stuff.”

“Kevin, I will pitch you off this mountain.”

Max looked down, and damned if it didn’t look like they were halfway up Everest. The campside lake was barely visible.

Clouds veiled most of the valley, diffusing the morning sun into aweak yellow splotch.