"Three weeks."

Griffin tsked discontentedly. "Maybe still. Better yet... Skip, how long before that was it known that a shipment was to be made?"

"At least another month."

"That's the margin for error we need. That gives plenty of time for the information to reach our competitors. Time for them to research our defenses. After they found our weak spot, they looked for a Game that was running at the right time. After that, find the aah... right, the Lore Master being challenged. Get the names of the people he's likely to choose, and make your ap­proach from that list. Complicated, but with seven weeks lead time, not impossible."

"What exactly do you see as the sequence of events here, Alex?" There were oceans of tension crackling just beneath the superficial calm of Harmony's voice.

"At approximately nine o'clock last night, one of the Garners in Gaming A broke away from the others and headed toward the northwest corner of the Research and Development complex, staying clear of any workmen renovating the Gaming area. This person entered a service duct and gained access to the lower level

of the complex. He reached the first floor by stairs or elevator. Rice blocked his path, so he rendered Rice unconscious with a ‘sleeper' hold of some kind, probably an air or blood strangle. They're easier than nerve strangles. Rice was tied and gagged, and our intruder completed his business with no further trouble."

"Rice's death was accidental?"

"I'd think so. Would you bind and gag a dead man? The impor­tant thing is that the killer is still in the Game. If we move now, we can collect them all before morning and begin questioning."

Harmony raised a single thick finger. "There are several prob­lems inherent in this situation. First of all, we cannot detain these people against their wills without involving outside law enforce­ment agencies. They would demand to see their attorneys, and in such a meeting information concerning the drug could change hands. If the thief becomes aware that we know he's a Gamer, be­fore we know which Gamer it is, the drug could be hidden any­where in the seven hundred and forty acres of the Gaming area. It may already be stashed away, and we might never find it. Then there is the Game itself to consider. We stand to lose a good deal of money if the drug escapes our control, but we also stand to lose approximately-" He consulted a figure scrawled on his deskpad. "-one point five million dollars of our money already invested in the South Seas Treasure Game. Not to mention an estimated twenty-two million in revenue over the next eight years if film, book, programming, and holotape leasing and sales go according to estimations."

Harmony's voice dropped a bit. "Frankly, there's another prob­lem. You are both aware that our water rights and tax privileges are coming up for review next year. If we can isolate our suspect before we call in the authorities, we'll be that much further ahead, without investigating teams crawling over us."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not totally sure. I need to think about this, and we'll need to consult the I.F.G.S. I believe that the Game lasts four more days? Then that's how long we have before it becomes necessary to call in outside help. I believe our legal department can negoti­ate us that much time. Alex, please meet me back here at nine o'clock, in-" He consulted his watch. "-three and a half hours. You may or may not like my idea, but I think it may be for the best."

GAME PLAN

The world around Alex Griffin blurred like dreams, then sharp­ened to near-reality, as Bobbick and Millicent fiddled with the focus of the hologram projector. Griffin found himself in the living room of an apartment at the Cowles Modular Community.

The apartments were almost infinitely maleable to the tastes of the occupants. Windows, built-in accessories, raised or lowered ceilings or additional rooms were no problem. Even entire living units could be moved into varying clusters with a minimum of difficulty. Griffin's own apartment presently included a small gym, a large library-study and a sundeck overlooking one of the star­burst-shaped pools.

He didn't recognize this one. "What have we got here, Miffi­cent?"

"It's Rice's apartment, Gruff," Bobbick answered, chewing the end of a pen. Griffin restrained a snort. Chewing gum, pens,

fingernails, Bobbick always seemed to have something in his mouth. He wondered idly if the man's oral compulsion bad any­thing to do with his popularity in the secretarial pool.

The viewpoint backed away from the fireplace for an overall view of Rice's living room. The gas burning fireplace was brick-encased and raised a foot above the living-room rug, which was light brown and high-tufted. There were two shelves of books and what looked like a microcube reader to the right, with wrought iron spider bookends. The other wall was a picture window.

The scene blurred, sharpened. Kitchen. "When were these taken?"

"This was about a month ago, standard shots for our designers to study. We've been wondering if the vandalism in Rice's apart­ment was all coincidence." Millie hesitated, then plunged ahead. "It's an awful thing to think, boss, but since Rice wasn't shifted to the night schedule until after the vandalism, well, it just seemed kind of strange to us, that's all. We thought we'd look a little closer, that's all."

"Rice didn't report anything stolen..." Where did that thought lead? Could Rice have been involved in the Neutral Scent Affair? If he wanted to change shifts, he could have done it with a simple request. That might have been suspicious, so he had a con­federate set off the alarm while.

Too much, too complicated. And too grotesque. But not impos­sible.

"All right," he said at last, "just keep me posted on any devel­opments. I need to think for a while. Let me know when Dr. Novotney comes up with anything, will you?"

Millicent and Bobbick acknowledged and went back to their viewings.

Griffin let himself into his office and plopped into his chair without bothering to turn the lights on. He leaned back and put his feet up on his desk.

They want me to handle this, he mused. I wonder what Har­mony will come up with? I wonder if the legal department can buy us the time we need.

In the middle of a Game, one of the players had departed and returned unnoticed. What kind of Garner would do that? Possibly for the first time in his life, Alex wished he knew more about the Games.

The thief would have to have some experience, though. Enough

to be able to find that extra time, that opportunity. To count on it. Ideally, he would have played one or more Games in Gaming Area A itself. It'd be in their records.

Alex had seen Rice twice in the two or three days preceding the

- burglary? Accident? Murder? Call it accident for the mo­ment. Rice had called in the vandalism forty-eight hours ago. About thirty-six hours ago Alex had seen him for the last time, hauling luggage for the Lopezes. What were his last words? I'll see you later, Chief. Right, Rice.

Griffin rubbed his eyes, tried to remember. Rice had thrown a housewarming party four months after coming to Cowles Indus­tries, a fairly drab affair with tons of official-issue smiles and po­litely inebriated people acting mildly scandalous. There had been a few moments of genuine hilarity, notably Millie and one of the maintenance techs singing a duet of "Baby It's Cold Outside" with the male and female roles reversed. There had also been a tiny tiff of some kind, between... who had it been? Rice and some buyer from Costuming over something or other. Couldn't re­member.