Simon Hawke - Psychodrome 01 - Psychodrome.pdf

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PSYCHODROME
Simon Hawke
Ace books by Simon Hawke
The Time Wars Series
THE IVANHOE GAMBIT
THE TIMEKEEPER CONSPIRACY
THE PIMPERNEL PLOT
THE ZENDA VENDETTA
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THE NAUTILUS SANCTION
THE KHYBER CONNECTION
THE ARGONAUT AFFAIR (coming in August)
PSYCHODROME
SIMON HAWKE
ACE BOOKS,NEW YORK
For M. S.
PSYCHODROME
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with
the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace edition / July 1987
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All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1987 by Simon Hawke.
Cover art by Neal McPheeters.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,
by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue,New York,New York10016.
ISBN: 0-441-68791-1
Ace Books are published by
The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue,New York,New York10016.
PRINTED IN THEUNITED STATES OF AMERICA
-PROLOGUE-
I didn't know if I was in a war or if Psychodrome was playing
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mind games. It works both ways. You play Psychodrome and
Psychodrome plays you. If this was a hallucinact, the only
way to tell would be when it was over. Assuming I survived. A
hallucinact is not supposed to kill you, but if your mind
believes your death is real, it might persuade your body. And
my body was getting some heavy doses of reality.
The combat armor I was wearing was supposed to be state-of-the-art
equipment, but it was state-of-the-art equipment
that had been contracted out to the lowest bidder, something
you don't really want to think about while under heavy fire. I
couldn't help thinking about it because the recirculating and
cooling system in my suit wasn't working properly. I was
sweating like a pig and having trouble breathing. It felt like
being locked in an ambulatory sauna bath. The home audience
was getting a graphic taste of what it felt like to be a human
tank, advancing through a bug-infested jungle that was bursting
into flame. Of course, if this particular tank took a direct
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SIMON HAWKE
hit from a plasma rocket, the "death" of the home audience
would only be a vicarious experience--appropriately edited--and
they could then switch channels and tune into another
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fantasy. I, on the other hand, would either wake up screaming
or experience an incredibly brief instant of unutterable agony
before I turned into a smoking, gelatinous puddle on the
jungle floor. That's entertainment.
A war always got good ratings. There was a time when I
didn't understand that. As a child, I played with toys of violence
and rained death upon my playmates, who usually stubbornly
refused to die, insisting that I'd missed them. There
would then ensue heated arguments concerning their mortality.
Sometimes the consensus of opinion would declare a pre-pubescent
little soldier KIA, but it didn't really matter except
as a momentary blow to pride. We all lived to die another day.
I didn't understand it--then.
The ugly truth is that violence is life affirming. If it's a fantasy,
it gives you the illusion, the vicarious experience, of confronting
the reality of your own ephemeral existence. If what
you're witnessing is real, it especially compels your fascination.
It may frighten you, outrage you, shock you, or depress
you, but in some deeply buried aspect of your psyche, there is
a frightened little guilt-racked thing that huddles like a Judas,
making you feel good because it isn't happening to you. No .
matter how real the illusion or how graphic the reality, you
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