Lesser Gods (28 page)

Ralph Crocker

I didn’t run far.

I realized that all the noise the two punks were making would probably keep whatever was chasing them on their trail.

So as long as I avoided going the same path they took, I should remain safe. In theory at least. So I headed down a different fork from the one they’d taken.

Like the cave behind me, this passage was lit by smoking torches along the walls, just like you’d see in a Grade-B net flick. Like those torches, these would most likely never burn out. But I wasn’t complaining about the premise; it beat being in the dark and bouncing off the rough-hewn wall with whatever it was that chased my two comrades in thievery.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I stopped running, turned, and peered from behind the safety of a column of rock back. Looking toward the fork to see what was doing all the growling, I waited. I didn’t wait long.

A snarling Cyclops at least fifteen feet tall and heavily muscled loped into view, its single orb casting this way and that for victims. It stopped, flicking a six-foot club back and forth nervously the way a man might swish a fly swatter. It started down the tunnel I’d taken, but then stopped, another cry of fear from the two punks having betrayed their path. To my great relief the creature was hot on their trail again.

The ground shook and the whole world rotated, the floor and ceiling becoming walls. I scrambled up and onto a wall — that now was a floor. There was another rumble and the world rotated once more, turning what had once been the floor into the ceiling. And yet the torches somehow remained upright.

“Oh, lordy,” I muttered,” I’m stuck in topsy turvy land with a Cyclops and two punks. As good as it gets.” I leaned against the wall, pondering what my next step ought to be. I couldn’t have got much of a whiff of jet so the effects should wear off soon — I hoped. But I really didn’t know what dosage I’d inhaled nor did I know how this trip would compare to one via computer.

In fact I wasn’t even so sure any more that I wasn’t jetting at home with my computer. Could I possibly be in the original session? Had I dreamed everything since then?

That really made more sense then thinking I’d somehow got into the middle of a SupeR-G without being jacked into the net. Reality is only perception deep. I had no way to compare my present situation to any reality. Dreams seem very real while the dreamer doesn’t realize he’s deep in slumber.

There were a couple of things I did know.

First, if the Cyclops caught me and I was jetting, I’d undoubtedly become one of the tragic brain-dead junkies the government liked to parade on the screens for its just-say-no ads.

Second if I could avoid that fate long enough, the jet would eventually wear off and I’d end up either in my own apartment or Huntington’s house with the magic-carpet-ride Tiffany lamp.

And even if I was simply dreaming or mad, not becoming cyclops dinner would be a plus.

So the key thing to do now was to stay alive.

Since I didn’t know what dangers might be present in the tunnel ahead of me, the best bet was simply to sit tight and move only if some peril presented itself. I pulled up a boulder, sat down, and relaxed.

For all of thirty seconds.

Because the world rotated again, turning walls into floors and the ceiling and floor into walls. And again the torches stood on the new walls, upright, their flames flickering.

And the screams of the two punks now echoed in my tunnel. They were advancing toward me. That meant the two were now in front of me instead of behind.

This puzzled me for a moment before I realized that could only mean the tunnel they’d gone into had doubled back and they were headed for the central cavern again. It dawned on me that this SupeR-G construct, like many others that at first appeared almost infinite, was in fact pretty small. Its programmer had simply made a single cavern and then duplicated the tunnel over and over, each one doubling back to the main cavern. Cheap-and-dirty replication.

If that was a correct assumption, then a guy could run around in here and have absolutely no chance of escaping Cyclops because everyone would always return to the main cavern.

That meant that there was no apparent escape from the small labyrinth I was in. The only possible exit would be a secret trapdoor the programmer had built into the game.

Or so I hoped.

I avoided thinking about the possibility that this was nothing more than a maze meant to kill victims. I hoped and prayed an escape route of some sort had been built into the system to take a player to a higher level, or to allow the designer, when testing the system, a way to escape.

The trick would be in finding that route to safety. If I could do that, then I might have a chance of survival. If I could not… I tried not to dwell on that thought.

I jogged back to the main cavern and glanced around for any telltale features that didn’t belong.

None.

Only barren gray rock.

Since the cries of fear were now growing much louder, I ducked into a side tunnel, hoping the two punks would choose another of the ten other choices ringing the cavern.

Again in relative safety, I turned my attention back to saving my own behind: How would a programmer mark the trapdoor?

Maybe the torches?

A bit obvious but worth a try.

I continued down the tunnel and pulled at a torch. It was securely attached and didn’t budge. I twisted, jerked, and struggled with it but nothing happened. Not even my muttered curses helped. Nor the kick to the wall with my sandaled foot.

I stopped, deciding it was again time to run when the two screamers hit the cavern because, for a terrible minute, it seemed their screams were coming right down my tunnel.

But then the hollering faded.

Moments later the growling Cyclops passed, hot on their trail. The chase wasn’t going to continue for much longer, judging by the dwindling space between prey and predator.

Stepping up onto the boulder that also appeared to be in each tunnel, I tried jumping toward the ceiling. Nothing. No boost or other unusual feature that often accompanied such games. I gave up on the rock and continued farther down into the tunnel, thinking the key to the escape route might be beyond where I hadn’t been so far. If every tunnel was identical, then it seemed likely every tunnel had an escape route.

I strolled forward, stepping over a small stream of lava that boiled across the floor. Traditionally, since some of the very first electronic games were created, lava was bad news — just like real life. However some programmers also bucked tradition, making it a way out. If all else failed, I’d try jumping into the burning rock as a last-ditch attempt to break out. But that was the choice of desperation since a mistake would be painful if not fatal. As Freud might have put it, “Sometimes lava is only lava.”

The reverberation of feet running my direction echoed from far ahead of me. The two punks were now once again coming down my tunnel. The chances of that happening by accident twice in a row were too steep; there must really be only one tunnel that looped around. That would complicate things since I was going to have to keep dodging the racing Bobbsey Twins with the Cyclops nagging at the rear.

Four seconds later, a punk rounded the corner ahead of me. “Look out!” he gasped. “It’s right behind us.”

I stared at his companion who was now far behind him. The other punk was about pooped from the look of it. He staggered a few more steps and dropped to the floor.

I turned and ran with the fleeing teenager as the Cyclops rounded the bend and pounced on the fallen juvenile delinquent whose yells of anguish filled the air.

We were almost to the cavern when the remaining punk turned toward me and pulled me to a stop. “You’ve got to do something. He’s eating Frank.”

Around deep breaths, I told my new comrade, “This is only a game. We don’t have any way to fight that thing. We’ve got to escape. Somewhere there’s probably a trap door or some way to escape. We need to stop and find it so we — “

“If we keep running we can lose it,” the punk insisted. “Come on, these tunnels go on forever.”

“No they don’t,” I said. “You’ve been running in circles.”

“No way, man!”

“I’ve seen you go through that cavern twice, and I’ve never even gone all the way through one tunnel.”

“Then how can we, ever… survive?”

“Not by running. Unless we find the way out of this level of whatever game we’re in we’ll end up like your buddy Frank.”

“Level of game?”

“Yeah, we’re in a SupeR-G of some sort.”

“A computer game? But how — this is all too real to be a —”

“You guys tripped a booby trap in the apartment you broke into. You breathed in jet. Now, somehow, we’re all in the middle of a computer game.”

“So that’s what happened.”

For a moment the logic of the situation struck me: If he remembered the house, that meant it must be real and that, somehow, we’d got connected into this game without accessing a computer.

Only then I realized my logic was false.

Because the punk I was talking to might simply be a computer construct rather than a real person.

Or part of my dream.

Or, maybe, a part of my madness.

There was no reality yardstick here. Reality can’t ever really be determined when one sits in the valley of madness.

But one thing was certain. “We need to get moving,” I said. “Sounds like the appetizer is finished and it’s time for the main course.”

The punk swore, turned white, and looked as if he was about to faint. Then his color came back. “How do we find the way out?”

“Look for something unusual,” I told him as I turned to jog away from the monster.

“This isn’t unusual enough for you?” the punk said, his voice getting hysterical. “You don’t call being in a maze with a one-eyed people eater unusual.”

The growling behind us got louder and we broke into a dead sprint.

“Okay,” he gasped. “I’ll watch… for something… unusual.”

As I trudged forward, a gleam on the wall caught my eye. I slowed down and crossed to it as the punk raced by. I studied the tiny jewel embedded in the granite wall. This has to be it.

“Hey, come back,” I called to the punk.

“No way,” he yelled.

I tapped the jewel.

Nothing.

I kissed it, tugged at it, swore at it.

No results.

The Cyclops was nearly on top of me. Then he came to a halt as I frantically tried to activate what I knew must be the escape route out of this game. I hoped.

“You again?” Cyclops asked, his gravelly voice so low it sounded more like thunder than speech. “This is a surprise. I thought you were dead.”

“Funny, I don’t feel dead.” I clawed at the tiny stone. Come on secret passage! What was the trick?

“You must have a charmed life to have survived our last encounter,” the Cyclops/Huntington said, shuffling toward me. His tall head nearly reached the top of the tunnel. “What’s your name? I’d like to know who you are before my snack.”

“Actually I’m just a computer construct.”

Huntington laughed and the walls shook, small pebbles falling from the ceiling. “That’s good. With lines like that I will almost feel bad about devouring you.”

“Not half as bad as I’ll feel.”

He chuckled again. “A fine exit line,” he said, his massive paw reaching out for me.

I jumped aside, dodging his huge fist, slamming into the wall right where the jewel was.

Everything vanished.

I had lurched my way into freedom.