*LONE GUNMEN:
TOO MUCH
INFORMATION*

*4 of 5


*

	

*LGHQ, MONDAY - 11:45 P.M.*

To compensate for their less then productive day, they'd managed to
create the impression that an army of journalists had been hard at work.
Byers wandered through the workroom, picking up bits of trash and
straightening the contents of their desks. His legs felt leaden, and he
yawned continuously. His bed and pillow were calling his name with the
siren promise of sleep.

Jimmy had finally gone home, after he'd spilled juice on his pants and
no one had offered him a replacement garment. He'd been goofy and
exhausted, but Byers could see the kid was happy to the core. It was
both embarrassing and endearing to realize how Jimmy felt about them.

Except for the occasionally muttered syllable, Langly had been silent
since they'd left for the restaurant. He'd demanded that Byers leave
Jimmy to watch the office, a compromise that seemed to work for Jimmy.
He'd let Byers order the food, and eaten with mechanical rapidity. When
the food was gone, Byers sat with him for another half hour while Langly
lay back against the restaurant booth with his eyes closed and drank cup
after cup of tea.

Byers had watched Langly solve other problems in this fashion, using
nothing but his knowledge of the way things worked, and his uncanny
perception of how they might be made to work. He often wished his own
expertise with mankind's latest greatest tools could have an element of
Langly's elegant, intuitive style. The pep talk Byers had given during
the wake was heartfelt. Langly's potential to produce some invention or
piece of software with lucrative commercial applications was vast and
untapped.

When they returned to the office, Langly passed his computer without
even checking his e-mail, and started in on the headset. He'd surfaced
enough to shout "Hallelujah!" as Jimmy left, then clammed up again.


 

	

"Are you nearly done for the night?" Byers knew he'd reached the end of
his stamina, his eyes felt raw. He turned off the spot lighting near his
desk, then Frohike's.

"I'm zoned." Langly coiled the headset cable into neat loops, then shut
down the black box set up, going so far as to pull the power cords out
of their sockets. "I need to look at this fresh, when my eyes can focus
and they aren't playing the anvil chorus in my noggin."

"Thank goodness. Everything's shut down ..."

"Frohike's gone for the night?" Langly slanted a look at Byers through
his curtain of hair. "Lucky stiff. Ed's okay ... Funny the way he goes
for redheads."

"Redhead? Edwina's a redhead?" Byers saw Langly's grin, and knew it was
true. "She warned you about sharing information about her."

"You won't rat me." Langly followed him away from the computers. "I'd
give a twenty to see his face when he finds out."

"Voyeur." Byers shook his head, trying to prevent the hazy mental
picture from forming. "We've got newspaper work to do tomorrow; we're
running behind, and we've got to be at the press two hours earlier then
usual."

Langly mumbled something, then was gone.

Somehow he managed one last check of the security systems, brushed his
teeth with his eyes closed, and found the hangers for his suit by feel
alone. The cool flannel of his pajamas felt wonderful against his skin.
Sandwiched between crisp cotton sheets, he should have been asleep in
seconds. Instead Byers tossed, his mind refusing to let go of the day's
events.

Byers didn't begrudge Frohike's obvious happiness and good fortune; but
selfishly he wished that the older man was in his usual spot tonight, in
front of his computer, watching over the office and occupants while they
slept. It would be just like Langly to go back into the workroom alone,
and Byers wasn't comfortable with an unchaperoned Langly playing with
that box. Langly had that expression in his eyes, that set to his jaw,
that told Byers the cracking of the black box had gone from an exercise
in problem-solving to personal quest.

Yes, that was it -- a quest.

Byers thoughts began to lose focus as his body powered down and his mind
followed. People looked at Langly, at his long hair, geeky glasses and
gaudy tees, and mistakenly pegged him as a science nerd who'd never
grown out of one of the vague counterculture phases. His pursuit of
gaming and music seemed to give credence this opinion. Byers knew better.

Langly's hair, for instance; the hacker didn't wear it long because he
was lazy, or because his sense of fashion was stuck in the past ...
Langly didn't even usually confine his hair in a fashionable ponytail
unless he was undercover. No, the hair was a mirror into Langly's soul,
a clue pointing the way to Langly's interior self-image.

There was a renaissance quality about Langly that could have placed him
in historical context with DaVinci, Galileo, Ben Franklin, or maybe
Cousteau, although his explorations and inventions were in a more
fantastic realm, a place where mathematics, logic, imagination and Rube
Goldstein intersected.

It was too easy to imagine Langly wearing an alchemist's robes,
meditating over arcane formulae in his pursuit of transubstantiation.
Byers could see him leaning out the castle window to cob apples at the
noisy herd kids. *Shut the eff up! I'm working here!*

... or Ringo of Langly, on horseback, haunting the countryside like
Robin Hood, dedicated to robbing the corrupt government so he could give
back to the poor. *Surrender your money belt, fat boy!*

... or Sir Langly on horseback, riding to the rescue of some fair maiden
being held captive by aliens masquerading as knights, with the entire
cast of Monty Python singing backup. *When danger reared its ugly head,
Sir Langly turned his tail ...*

The images were whimsical, dreamlike. Part of Byers knew that if he were
fully awake, they would never have surfaced. Soft darkness gobbled
Byers' final fantasy with a little burp of appreciation.

 

*EDWINA NORTON'S HOME, TUESDAY - 3 A.M.*

Frohike's sleep cycle had been seriously disturbed.

What the wake had started, trying to sleep in a new bed at an hour he
was usually wide awake -- with another body occupying part of the space
-- finished. He'd squirmed and turned, and finally quietly left the
bedroom and wandered downstairs at 2:30 to see if he could find
something to read. Ed had been curled in a tangled ball of blankets with
a dreaming smile on her face, and although he'd considered waking her
up, Frohike had decided to let her sleep since she was doing it so well.

There was a signed copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in the
bookcases. Frohike took the book and made himself comfortable on the
couch, turning on an end lamp. He held the book open to the first
chapter for several minutes without reading.

Langly was wildly talented, Frohike didn't mind admitting since the kid
was nowhere around, and he didn't have to say it out loud. He wondered
if they'd made any progress on the box, or if they'd all called it a
night. Something had been nagging at him since he'd heard the name
Gillian M'biswo. His fingers were itching to go on-line and do some
investigating.

*Stop it! Tomorrow will be soon enough to do research,* he scolded
himself. If Ed woke up in the morning and told him she'd made a mistake,
at least he'd have this one amazing night.

Not that he thought for one second they would have only one night. Sex
with Ed was like a carnival ride that you'd never been on before,
Frohike thought, grinning down at the unread book. When the ride ended
you were surprised, breathless, dizzy and nearly hoarse; you were also
headed back to the gate to buy another ticket ... without any fear that
the ticket-taker would be making snide cracks about complying with the
height requirement.

"Melvin?" Ed came into the livingroom. She was wearing a pink chenille
bathrobe the same color as her hair. Frohike had already decided he
would ask her about the hair if there was a "later" in their
relationship. "Are you okay?"

"You could say that." He closed the book. "I'm usually awake this time
of night."

She crawled onto his lap, and spread the robe over them like a blanket.
"Do you want to talk?"

Of the choices available, talking seemed like a good second. Ed fit on
his lap perfectly, her head tucked just under his chin, without too much
of her spilling over in any direction. Frohike could recall lusting
after tall, leggy babes in the past. None of them would have fit on his
lap perfectly.

"I'm just not used to sleeping with someone else," he said, stroking the
skin on the small of her back.

"And you were wondering about the office, and how far Langly and Byers
have gotten with the box," Ed said. "I'll get dressed and drive you back."

"No. You don't have to do that. I can wait until morning." Frohike tried
to sound decisive; what man in his right mind wouldn't want to wake up
with Ed in the morning? He felt her shoulders shaking. "Ed?"

She was laughing, holding her hand over her mouth. "Melvin." She leaned
in for one of her long, slow kisses, and thoughts of Langly, Byers and
the box dissolved.

"I adore you, Melvin Frohike. Let's go upstairs and get dressed."

Frohike let her pull him off the couch. "Are you sure? We could -"

"Lots of time for that." Ed patted his butt as they rounded the landing.
"I don't want to play house with you; I don't want you to change who you
are, and what you do. You've got something on your mind and want to go
to work."

The streets were quiet and deserted. Ed kept her hand on his thigh while
they drove, and Frohike covered her fingers with his own. Before she let
him out in the alley, she kissed him, quickly for her.

"Do you mind if I check in tomorrow? I don't want to crowd you ..."

"That's like the second stupid thing you've said in the last 24 hours,"
Frohike said. "*I* adore *you*. In spite of your recent stupid-remark
track record, your intelligence -- and taste in men -- is
unquestionable. You're welcome to move into my bedroom, if you want.
Visits certainly pose no problem."

She smiled, with a sultry, considering look that nearly made him climb
back into the car and do some experimenting with the spacial
restrictions of VWs when measured against two bodies.

"Shut the door. I still need a few hours of sleep," Ed laughed.

He shut the door, watched Cherry's lights disappear around the corner,
then ran downstairs, whistling a bit of Van Morrison, feeling like he'd
just been given new sneakers.

 

*LGHQ - TUESDAY, 7:00 A.M.*

"Thanks for making the coffee." Byers stood a few feet from Frohike's
workstation, trying to get a good look at him without being too obvious.
"I didn't expect you home so early."

"Everything is cool, Byers. Ed brought me back because I wanted to work;
amazingly she suggested it. Amazingly she wasn't just trying to get rid
of me." Frohike spun his chair a quarter turn away from the desk and
stretched his legs in the aisle. He could tell Byers was concerned about
him, and reluctant to make a blunt inquiry. "Sex was had. I have
discovered a new plateau -- or perhaps I should say twin peaks -- of
satisfaction."

Byers blushed, then grinned uncomfortably. "TMI, Frohike; for goodness
sake, I won't be able to look her in the eye."

"Jeez, Byers. That should be my line." Frohike stood and stretched. He
decided he wouldn't tease Byers any more; he felt too damn good. "To
tell the truth I wondered if not spending the night was a good idea ...
but I hit the mother lode on M'biswo."

"I'm not sure when Langly will get up. He was pretty fried when we went
to bed," Byers said. "We should wait for him."

"You didn't leave him alone with it?"

"No. He's taking it personal now." Byers looked down at Frohike's
screen. "I'm glad you found Ed," he said simply.

Life sucks the worst for some people when it shines the brightest for
others, Frohike thought. "Thanks, Byers. She's a sweetheart." He led the
way to the kitchen. "You haven't eaten yet; how about toast?"

They were on their second pot of coffee when Langly slumped down the
hallway.

"Morning, sunshine." Frohike could see circles under Langly's eyes,
barely covered by his lenses. "You look like shit."

"Yeah, well I feel like shit." Langly opened the refrigerator, picked up
the orange juice carton, shook it then hurled it against the wall. "Empty?!"

"You drank it," Byers said. "Don't get mad at us."

Frohike got up and put two slices of bread in the toaster, then filled a
mug with coffee, three spoons of sugar, and added a splash of cream.
"Sit your ass down and drink this. How's your head?"

Langly took the coffee with a surly curl of the lip. "It's still
bangin'. I think the whole night was one long, bizarre dream."

"Uh huh." Frohike buttered the toast, then reached for the peanut
butter. The kid needed some protein. "I've got info to share."

"What kind of info?" Langly perked up. The sugar and caffeine were
kicking in.

"Gillian M'biswo," Frohike said with satisfaction. He refilled their
cups, then sat down at the table. "Her boyfriend died in Paris, too.
He'd been registered at the convention under the name of John Kane. His
real name was John Lee Tan."

"John Lee Tan. Where have I heard that name before?" Byers frowned. "It
sounds ..."

"Some Japanese wunderkind who wrote a paper on the integration of visual
patterns in REM sleep," Langly said, around a mouthful of peanut butter.
"I didn't read the paper, just read about it. He had weird theories
about enhancing dream imagery."

"Bingo." Frohike leaned in toward the center of the table, talking
directly to Langly. "John Lee Tan was hired by Silver Lotus Industries
as soon as he graduated. SLI is heavy into R&D in extremely speculative
areas. My sources say before his death they were hearing words like
'photonic crystals' and 'quantum computer.' Nobody knows if Tan was
personally working in these areas." Frohike saw Langly's mind racing
ahead. "M'biswo and Tan met at SLI; she worked there from '98 to '99.
Then she quit and six months later she's heavy into lobbying for a ban
on human cloning."

"What was her area of expertise when she worked for SLI?" Byers asked.

"Virtual reality." Frohike saw them look at him, and nodded. "Their
bodies were cremated; SLI paid for both urns to be shipped back to Japan."

"That box isn't a cheap, do-it-yourself kit," Langly said. "You think
those two stole it from SLI?"

"Early clues say Tan probably did." Frohike watched their faces and
sipped his coffee. He was willing to bet that Langly would be into the
box before the day ended.

"I've been thinking about the drugs," Byers said, tentatively. "Why they
were there. What if the hardwiring came later? Butch said one pill would
send a good-size man to la-la land ... or maybe to sleep, wearing the
goggles?"

"That's it!" Langly nearly spilled his remaining coffee as he pushed
back in his chair. "Where are those pills?"

Frohike was on his feet and around the table. He pointed at the toast
and spoke very slowly. "Sit. Now. Eat the toast, Langly, or I drop you
like a dirty diaper."

"You could try -" Langly bristled, leaning into the argument.

"You'll need food in your stomach. I am not cleaning you up if you puke
yourself," Frohike said sternly.

"I don't like it, Frohike." Byers was disturbed. "He's already been
affected in some way; we don't know what we're dealing with, or what it
was meant to do."

True, Frohike thought. He looked at Langly's defiant, tired eyes, and
knew the risk was going to be taken. "There was nothing on Butch's list
that Langly can't cope with," he said carefully. "I'll give him half a
dose. The drug won't hurt him. The box ... well, we'll hook him up and
monitor his vitals." He slapped Langly on the shoulder. "If anything
starts to go wrong we'll jerk the headset."

"Sounds so simple," Byers muttered.

"Nothing about virtual reality is simple," Frohike said sourly. "Our
last VR experience is not a treasured memory."

"Don't worry ... If I see any goddesses, I'll run like hell," Langly
said. He finished the toast and last of his coffee with a gulp. "Come on!"

"Slow down. We're doing this methodically, thoroughly, as carefully as
we can." Frohike looked at Byers and saw him nod. "Byers, get the body
monitor equipment. Langly, go and take a pee -- reference the comment
about puking."

Both men were gone in a blink. Frohike walked back to the box and stared
at it. He didn't like putting Langly at risk on a whim. They had no
compelling reason to investigate the thing; it appealed to the Holmes in
all of them. By existing it offered him, and Byers, a fascinating
puzzle, no more; Langly, on the other hand, was after Moriarty.

"I'm ready." Langly showed up before Byers did, nearly dancing with
anticipation.

"Okay. Get the Mac started up. What's your call on the CDs?" Frohike
took the stack of jewel cases and sorted through them. "Beach?
Waterfall? Underground grotto?"

Langly looked over his shoulder and made a face. "Above ground, in the
sun. There was one with a meadow, river and forest in the background ...
marked 'pastoral.' We'll run that."

Frohike handed him the case. "I'll get a pill." He passed Byers on his
way to the floor safe. "Get set up, and get him wired."

After Butch's visit, Frohike had decided to keep the drugs as
inaccessible as possible. He eased out the camouflaging floorboard,
opened the safe, and took out one pill. In the kitchen he found a clean
saucer and teaspoon. Frohike crushed the pill into powder, carefully
pushed a little less than half of the power into a glass, and rinsed the
rest of the drug down the drain. He didn't think the drug would be a
problem for Langly's system, but Frohike had meant it when he'd said
'carefully.' He added a little water to the powder in the glass and
stirred it with the spoon.

"Everything's ready." Byers' laptop was already reflecting the
information coming from the telltales attached to Langly.

Frohike could see that Langly's heartbeat was a little fast; that was to
be expected. The Mac's monitor was full of green grass and sunshine. He
handed the glass to Langly, and glanced at his watch; it said 7:45 a.m.
"Bottoms up."

Langly emptied the glass, making a face. "Bitter, eww." He handed the
glass back to Frohike, then pulled the headset on and sat back in his
chair. "I've got the usual translucent view of the CD."

"Frohike." Byers was pointing to the laptop. "Heart rate is dropping
already."

The drug worked fast, Frohike thought. Langly's hands had been clenched
into fists, and he'd been leaning forward; as they watched Langly seemed
to loosen and relax, his hands fell open to rest on his thighs, his
torso slumped. Langly's head rocked back on his shoulders and rested
against the wall behind his chair.

"Oh wow. Feel pretty good." Langly's voice was dreamy. "There's a little
strobe at the top of the display. I never noticed that before. It's ...
way ... up ... high."

"High would be right." Frohike glanced at the monitor. No problems
there. "Anything else?"

"Can't type with my eyes," Langly said, as if this remark was perfectly
understandable. "Enable to enter. Going to sleep now; bye bye." His jaw
relaxed, and a little snort of sound came from the back of his throat.

"He's out of it!" Byers said, alarmed.

"Calm down. His vitals are fine." Frohike tried to keep one eye on
Langly, one on the monitor. "Damn, I wish we had a way to view brain
activity. Can you make me a portable PET scan, Byers?"

"Tomorrow," Byers said with a wry grin, "using only recycled medical
equipment, chewing gum and some of that spare plutonium ..."

The steady beep, beep representing Langly's heart, and the hum from the
Mac were the only sounds for a while. Frohike stood near Byer's
shoulder, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I'm getting another chair," he said, finally. "For all we know Langly's
down for a three hour nap."

"You don't need to sit here," Byers said. "We could take turns watching
the monitor, and one of us could do some writing. Deadline is getting
close."

"We'll be okay. You can lead with the PETA interview you did last week.
I've got a column, and Langly finished the piece on recycling CPUs.
You've got the layouts half done. Chill."

Frohike found the closest chair and hurried back. They should be working
on the paper instead of tackling something that could have waited until
the next issue was out. But waiting around was not on the 'assets' side
of their ledger. He glanced at his watch again. Only 15 minutes had
passed since Langly took the drug. If they sat here for hours and Langly
woke up with nothing to show for his nap but a nap ...

"Frohike. His heart rate's climbing."

Frohike's eyes darted between the monitor and Langly's still relaxed
body. Outwardly Langly appeared to be fast asleep.

"You watch the monitor. I'll watch Langly." Frohike took a step closer
to Langly's chair. If he needed to yank the headset, he wanted to be ready.

 

*A MEADOW OUTSIDE THE FOREST PRIMEVAL*

It hadn't been so very hard to get here, Langly thought, looking around
at the waving grass. Wherever here was. Kind of disappointing, really.
He could see movement around him, but he didn't get any sensation of
wind against his skin, and the silence was complete. He couldn't even
hear himself breathing.

The sun hung overhead without warming him. He bent to touch a meadow
flower, and while it appeared to move under his fingers, there was no
tactile affirmation that he'd made contact with it. This was
disconcerting, and a little scary.

Langly hastily slapped his hands against his chest, reassured to find he
felt solid and real, and the action had created a muffled sound. The
color of his tee caught his attention. It was bright orange, with an
Allman Brothers logo in the center, bearing the legend 'EAT A PEACH.' It
wasn't the tee he'd been wearing. If he remembered correctly, he'd given
this particular t-shirt to a friend back in the 80s, and had always
regretted doing so.

Curiouser and curiouser, he tried to say out loud. He felt his lips
move, felt his chest strain with the effort to project. Nada.

Okay. Langly started toward the river. He could see the silver-brown
line gleaming between clumps of rushes. It looked like the kind of
shallow trout stream he'd waded in his youth. As he walked, a distant
murmur of sound displaced the silence.

"Walk. Water." He tried the words, and found they were now weakly
audible. "What's the deal?" Langly felt a drop of perspiration on his
forehead. He was getting hot.

If this was VR, it was either far cruder, or light-years advanced from
the VR they'd played with. Things were still developing ...

He saw her, moving across the meadow toward him, ungainly and stumbling,
and for a moment couldn't place who she was. Her long blonde hair was in
disarray; the black tee and jeans she wore were tattered. Langly knew he
should have been petrified, but her white, wet face, and outstretched
hands dulled his normal reactions. Langly had always believed it was
suicidal to screw around with ghostly manifestations. Self-defense
dictated you ran, and fast.

But he could hear her crying now, as if her heart was breaking. Against
every ounce of better judgment he walked toward her, extending both
arms, offering a safe haven.

"Esther?" he said. "Esther Nairn?"

*LGHQ - 8:45 A.M.*

"I'm going to call Ed."

The monitor stayed steady, but Langly's arms and legs twitched with an
unsettling regular irregularity, like a dog that was chasing rabbits in
its sleep.

"Use this." Byers handed Frohike his cell phone. "I hope Jimmy is
sleeping late today."

"Would it bother you if Ed was here?" Frohike paused before he dialed.
"I was going to ask her to call Mad Jack and make him tell her where he
got M'biswo's name, and where that crate came from, then swing by."

Byers shook his head. "I don't mind. I just don't feel like answering
all the questions I know Jimmy would be asking right now."

"Yeah. I get that." Frohike walked away from Byers and listened to the
ring. When she answered, it surprised him how much he wanted to be
talking to her face to face. "Ed? I need a favor."

"What can I do to help?"

Frohike felt himself glowing. She didn't waste time, didn't play mind
games. He quickly explained the morning's events. "Do you think you can
get Mad Jack to give you the history of the crate, and how he got
M'biswo's name? It might help. Even if Langly succeeds, we will have
loose ends to tie up. Like who the rightful owner of the box is, and
whether we should try and return it."

"A call won't do it. I'll drive over and see him right now. The shop
won't be open yet, but he'll be there," Ed said. "Langly -- he'll be okay?"

"Yes. I think so. Ed ..." Even those traditional three words didn't
quite cover what he was feeling, and seemed common and trite. "I miss
you this morning."

He heard her make a sound, like an indrawn breath. "I miss you too,
Melvin. See you soon."

She hung up, and Frohike glanced at his watch. The impact of the drug
should begin decreasing soon, he judged, but there was no way to predict
when Langly might wake up.

Waiting was a bitch.

 

*THE MEADOW*

Langly was tired of holding a damp, wailing woman against his chest
while the sun beat down and threatened to fry his brain where he stood.
There were bushes by the river, offering potential shade and cooler air
from the nearness of water.

"Let's take a walk," Langly suggested, wincing as the woman who looked
like Esther Nairn wiped her face against his tee. She let him take her
arm and steer her toward the river.

"It's read you now," she said, speaking for the first time. She
shivered, as if cold under the blazing sun. "It's coming alive for you.
I tried to kill the bastard, but I didn't have the strength."

"Who? Who'd you try and kill?" It *was* all coming alive around him.
Langly could smell the hot, baked meadow grass smell rising from the
ground under his feet, and the brief whiffs of wild flower fragrance.
There was sound, too; the rush of summer wind rubbing grasses against
each other, the music of the river getting closer as they walked. He
licked the perspiration from his lips, and tasted salt.

"Johnny. Low rent murdering rapist pile of hyena shit," Esther said in a
keening monotone. "I'm slivered pent in fire and ice some jerk off's toy
god I'd fry his brain and rip his entrails steaming from his gut if I
were all here if I were all here help me get me out ..."

"Steady." The ground was dry and matted under the bushes, as if deer had
bedded there for the night. "You know I'm not this Johnny, right?"
Langly helped her sit. She sounded like she wouldn't mind having another
go at Johnny, and he wanted her perfectly clear on his own identity. "Do
you know who I am? We met once."

The tears stopped. She seemed to concentrate, then pushed her hair
behind her ears and took a deep breath. "I have many of the memories of
Esther 1.26. I haven't found you."

"Just after Donald Gelman's death. You were in the custody of two
federal agents, Mulder and Scully. Do you remember?" He didn't add that
her boyfriend had been fried by the same process she'd used to upload
her consciousness to the net. Must have worked, Langly thought with some
amazement.

"No. Johnny was clever snagging me, but he was a lucky slasher. I only
took a quick look inside; he was waiting. Esther 1.26 is more curious
then Esther," she made a motion with her hand, like an eight tipped on
its side, "so when the fire and ice went up, I was caught. The universe
went away. The rest of me went away. I don't even have enough memories
to run this tiny world. Johnny came and played; that helped but I still
couldn't kill him and he wouldn't risk bringing back the universe. Then
the bitch came and screamed at me without touching; then eternity until
you. Who are you?"

"Langly. Ringo Langly." If he understood half of what Esther was
babbling about, John Lee Tan deserved to be dead. "My friends and I
found the black box. We're trying to figure out what it is, what it does."

"Stupid juicy toy," Esther sniffed. "They built it to play, he said; I
was the big bonus."

She would be, Langly thought. What had Tan thought he'd found in Esther?
An AI?

"Did he know you'd been alive, with a body, once?" Langly asked.

"I don't know." Esther looked at him with less confusion. "The way he
played with me, he must have known. You've got a good mind; that's
helping. Johnny tampered, fixed it so I couldn't stay coherent long
enough to be really dangerous. The hysteria is periodic, and random."

"The box can be hooked to the net, through the computer modem? But it
hasn't been since Tan caught you?"

"Yes. And no." Esther stared at her hands, turning them over and flexing
her fingers.

Langly's hand went to his throat, protectively. "Umm ... I got this
message a few times, the first one came nearly three months ago. It said
"help me, get me out." But if you don't have net access, and you don't
remember who I am, or who my friends are, how could you have sent it to
me? Does any of this make sense to you?"

"I could have sent it." She looked triumphant, Langly thought. "Esther
/sideways eight/ could have sent it. I'm trying to get me out. You came
to get me out."

She threw her arms around him and pressed her body tightly against his,
sending him off-balance and backward into the grass. "I'm not sure what
we have to do, but you have to get the box hooked to the net. I'll get
me out."

Langly was uncomfortably aware of how real Esther felt in their current
position. Her breasts were pressing against his chest, and her sharp hip
bones were digging into his groin. "First I have to get me out of here,"
he said, moving her off him and sitting up again. "I took some of Tan's
drugs to get in. How does that headset work, anyway. It must have
something to do with retinal activity."

"I don't know. Johnny had something installed later, then he could pop
in and out. When he first caught me, he didn't seem to be able to
control when he left." She sniffed and made a face. "When the bitch
came, she stayed forever. Yapping at me, yelling at me, trying to hit
me." Esther's eyes gave the illusion she had pinpoints of steel in place
of pupils. "I didn't have the strength to kill Johnny, but I decked the
bitch."

Langly scooted away from her, just a few inches. "So I probably have to
wait until the drug wears off. That shouldn't take long."

She laughed, a bitter unmirthful sound. "Longer then you might think, in
here. You're lucky you're organic. It sets limits."

Crap. Langly had assumed his experience was happening in real time. He
hadn't even considered the possibility that inside the headset dream
time or machine time might rule.

"This isn't a Van Winkle trip, is it? I won't feel like I'm here for a
hundred years before I can wake up?"

"Johnny told me once he figured one of his pills let him stay with me
for the equivalent of 24 hours." Esther stood up, and stretched, and all
of her clothes disappeared. "Do you know where Johnny is?"

"Dead," Langly croaked out the word. Esther was ... glowing; her hair
had grown longer, and longer, and was curling over her breasts. She was
stroking the skin on her abdomen, smiling at him.

"Too bad. I wanted to do it myself, when I got free." She bent over him,
her hair cascading toward his face with the smell of apricots. "Do you
want to play until you leave? It doesn't make time go faster, but it
fills it up."

*If I see any goddesses, I'll run like hell.*

That had been a good resolution, Langly thought, trying to swallow the
knot in his throat. "I'm not Johnny," he managed. "He wasn't *playing*
with you, he was taking advantage of you. You're not a toy."

"No. I'm not. It's a good thing you realize that." The sound and look of
the old Esther Nairn was back. She stroked his cheek. "You're strong
enough to dominate in here, yet you're letting me control. Do you know
you're doing it?"

With a yelp, Langly felt his clothes disappear. "Stop it! I don't want
to play!"

The comforting sensation of old cotton was back. Langly rubbed his
sweating hands on the limp, orange tee and saw Esther smile and arch her
eyebrow.

"See? You've got control again." Her clothes were back too, although her
hair was still long enough to cover her butt. "I like you, Langly. What
do you want to do while we wait?"

"Wade in the river?" It would be cold, swift, spring-fed water, Langly
thought. Maybe he'd sit down in the river, and think, and just stay
there until the drugs wore off.

 

*LGHQ - 10:45 A.M.*

The door buzzer made them both jump.

"That's Ed." Frohike had been checking his watch every three minutes;
time had passed like molasses dripping out of a cold bottle. He hurried
to the door and let her in.

"Langly?" She gave him a hard hug and a soft kiss on the cheek, then
stepped away. "Is he awake yet?"

"Not yet." Frohike pulled her back into his arms and held her for a
moment without saying anything. "Did Mad Jack come through?"

"Yes. It's going to be okay, Melvin. I don't understand what's going on,
or what Langly's doing, but Mad Jack says it's going to be okay -- and I
believe him." Ed's voice was muffled against his shoulder.

"Come on." Frohike let her go and led the way back to Byers. He saw Ed's
expression as she took in the sight of Langly, face hidden under the
black headset.

"He'll wake up any minute," Byers said reassuringly. "Heart rate and
respiration aren't jumping all over any more; they're resuming normal
waking levels."

He'd seen the anxiety her face too, and didn't seem to have any trouble
looking Ed in the eye, Frohike thought with a private little grin.

Ed sat down in the chair Frohike had vacated, and stared at Byers'
monitor. "Mad Jack bought the crate at an auction of items from rented
cubicles whose owners had abandoned them, or hadn't paid the storage fee
for a certain amount of time. Grace Jones was the name on the lease for
the cubicle that contained the contents of the crate; Mad Jack said the
people he asked for help in finding out about Jones and the cubicle
turned up the information that Grace Jones was an AKA -- the renter's
real name was Gillian M'biswo. That's all he knows, except he told me it
wouldn't be necessary to return the box."

"But, Ed --"

Byers' protest was cut off as Langly's hands began to move purposefully
toward the headset.

"Langly?" Frohike was there first, untangling and unclipping wires,
taking the headset from Langly and putting it aside. "How do you feel?"

"Not too bad," Langly croaked. "Throat dry ..."

The kid had eyeballs like raw bacon, Frohike thought with some alarm.

"Take this." Ed pulled a bottle of water from her capacious purse.

Langly chugged the contents, splashing some on his face, and wiping it
across his eyes. "That hurts," he said, groaning. "My headache is gone,
though."

Byers was pushing Frohike aside, lifting Langly's lids. "Can you stand up?"

"Yeah." Langly leaned against Byers as he did so.

"Byers, take him to the couch." Ed was ahead of them going toward the
kitchen. "Melvin ... come in here and show me where your tea bags are."

Frohike let Byers and Langly go ahead of him. The kid looked like his
legs were functioning, but kind of noodly. He saw them safely to the
couch before going to the kitchen.

"Get me two teabags." Ed was filling a cup with lukewarm tap water. She
took the teabags from him, dunked them in the cup. "He could use more
fluids."

She left him looking for a clean glass, debating whether to fill it with
water or milk. They were out of juice again. Water seemed safer; by the
time he joined them around the couch, Ed was kneeling beside Langly,
scolding him, and arranging the tea bags on his eyes.

"Well, we're waiting," Frohike prompted, taking Ed by the arms and
gently pulling her away. "You can mother hen him after he's talked."

"You're not going to believe it," Langly said, lifting one tea bag and
looking at them.

Ed reached out and slapped his hand, pushing the tea bag back into
place. "Leave it. You will be able to judge audience response without a
visual. Lay there and talk."

"Yes mother," Langly said with a big grin. "I just spent a few hours
chatting with Esther Nairn."

"No way." Frohike lifted the tea bag and looked into Langly's
triumphant, red-veined eye. "How could you? She's ..."

"Dead? That does depend on your definition of dead," Langly said.
"Personally, I found her very much alive -- although handicapped."

"Who's Esther Nairn?" Ed asked.

Frohike looked at Byers. "Get the kitchen chairs, this could take a while."

The three of them sat so close to the couch that their legs were bumping
against the cushions. Langly lay quietly, drinking from the water glass
periodically, while Frohike told Ed about Esther. When he finished,
Langly handed Frohike the glass and started talking. When Langly stopped
speaking there was a long silence.

"Most of the technical stuff is over my head," Ed said finally, "so let
me see if I understand what you've told us. The box was developed for
recreational use, a kind of virtual reality playground. John Lee Tan was
one of the programmers, who managed to trap an artificial intelligence,
who used to be a woman -- this Esther Nairn -- inside. He kept her there
to augment his programming; he thought she was more fun then anything
he'd managed to create? He used her? Raped her?"

 

 
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She sounded appalled, and more then angry.

"The scary thing about the box is that it *isn't* virtual reality, as
we've dealt with VR. The box is called a CRD -- consensual reality deck.
Inside you aren't limited to just what the programmer has built; the
headset has its own brain that reads from whoever wears it, and adds
experience and memory to the mix," Langly said. "Once inside a
knowledgeable participant can influence and change the VR to reflect
their own agenda."

"That sounds a lot like our last experience with VR," Byers said. "We've
agreed that was attributable to a growing AI."

"Esther 1.26 doesn't have the same abilities that AI had," Langly said.
"Tan also messed with her code after he 'caught' her. I'm pretty sure he
must have been scared of her at first. The only things she can add to
the CR environment right now are things that Tan himself added after she
was snared."

"She's been fragmented," Byers said slowly. "Tan managed to extract part
of Esther that included information about her life before she uploaded.
The box holds part of her as a ROM matrix with a personality script.
He'd have left her a limited ability to learn if he wanted a toy."

"If he weren't dead, I'd say - find him and kill him!" Ed said in a tone
of voice Frohike had never heard her use before. "What can be done?"

"I have to go back in," Langly said, pushing the teabags against his
eyes with a groan. "You'll need to get the Mac on-line while I'm in.
That will give the box access to the net, and the net access to the box.
The rest of Esther should be waiting to help; the box has thin ICE. If
we can call Esther's shrew, it should be able to break the ICE, and
Esther can extract herself from the box."

"Ice?" Ed asked.

"Intrusion countermeasures electronics," Byers answered. "What's a shrew?"

"It's a burrowing program that the entity she calls Esther /sideways
eight/ developed; it's powered by a baby AI. Sneaky, fast and
potentially very destructive. Esther 1.26 is confident it can get in."

"Okay." Frohike looked at Byers, who nodded and pointed at his watch.
"We'll run a phone jack to the Mac. But we're waiting two hours. I'm
taking you out for a walk, then we're eating lunch. Afterwards Byers can
check you over and wire you back into the chair."

Surprisingly, Langly didn't disagree. "Sounds like a plan. What's for
lunch?"


ON TO FINAL SEGMENT, LONE GUNMEN, POS