Anthony, Piers Killobyte

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wedding."
She laughed, but remained uncertain. She had seen enough of illusion in the game; she didn't need it in
reality.
They drove through the night, stopping only for necessities. Baal took her turns driving, letting Tyson
sleep. She didn't tell him that she had learned stick-shift only recently, in the game. She was thrilled to
verify that now she could do it in life. It was tiring, but she kept close track of her blood and stayed in
balance. They made good time in the wee hours when traffic was low.
Next day they kept moving, eating, and talking. "You know something, Baal?" he asked rhetorically.
"You're good company! I'm enjoying being with you like this."
She realized with surprise that she felt the same. "I guess we did make a good match, when we matched,"
she said. "But I'm so grateful to you for doing this that I must be trying extra hard."
"I don't think so. It's just the way you are. Character."
She didn't argue. She just hoped she could get along with Walter as well, in real life.
Later, she realized that this was a lot like the game. She had a mission, and it was a real chore to
complete, but it was exciting too. Struggling against seemingly impossible odds, but making steady
progress, if only she didn't get killed on the way. There were parallels between reality and the game that
she was now coming to appreciate. Life wasn't dull at all, even on a long dull drive, when there was
something important to be done and the company was good.
At last, the afternoon of the second day, they pulled into Atlanta, Georgia. They found Walter's address.
The house was closed. The power was evidently off and the mail seemed to have been stopped. Walter
was gone.
Baal stared, trying to figure out what to do next. Her mind refused to function.
Tyson stepped into the breach. "Look, that Phreak kid's bugging him too, right? So his utilities and all
have been cut off, and he can't get it straight, so he had to go somewhere else until he can get 'em turned
on again. We just have to find out where he's gone."
"Yes," Baal breathed, beginning to function again. "I'll ask the neighbors."
She knocked at the door of the adjacent house. "I'm a friend of Mr. Toland," she said brightly. "I came to
see him, but he seems to be out."
The woman was glad to fill her in. "He got arrested yesterday. They say he held up a bank or something.
That's ridiculous; he was a policeman. But they took him away."
"Thank you," Baal said faintly. "I will check with the police." So Phreak had struck that way too,
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trumping up an arrest warrant. How could the local police know it was false, if it came over their own
system? Phreak's vengeance was a frightening thing.
But back in the car she had mixed thoughts. "I can't go to the police. There's probably a warrant out for
my arrest, or something."
"Don't be crazy!" Tyson said reassuringly. "You haven't done anything. I should know."
"But Phreak could have trumped up a charge against me too. This is like the game: anything can happen."
He nodded. "Maybe you're right. But Phreak doesn't know anything about me, does he? Let me get
cleaned up, and I'll go inquire."
"Oh, would you?" She was grateful all over again. But she had to agree that he was a sight, with sweat-
soaked clothing and two days' beard on his face.
They went to another gas station, where they filled the tank and did their separate chores in the rest
rooms. Soon Tyson looked like a slightly rumpled college student again, and she looked like a woman in
a bathrobe.
They located the jail complex. Baal waited anxiously while Tyson went in. In due course he emerged. "I
have good news and bad news, and good news," he announced. "The good news is he's there and okay.
The bad news is he's so tangled in paperwork they can't figure out, that he can't get out. They are
suspicious that something's screwy, because they know him; he used to be one of them. But the orders on
the wire don't give them any choice."
"You said there was more good news," Baal reminded him tightly.
"He's allowed visitors. I said I had a female friend who knows him, and they said it was okay."
Suddenly Baal felt weak. "Oh!" The prospect of actually physically meeting Walter frightened her.
"Come on, Princess," Tyson said. "I can't get off my guilt trip until you get together with him. Then
maybe I can be jealous instead."
She let him guide her to the station and in. Then she was signing in, throwing caution to the winds, using
her real name. Then she was being guided down the hall toward the cells. Tyson kept a hand on her
elbow, steadying her.
Suddenly they were there, and there he was: a man in a wheel-chair. She was surprised to find his face
familiar: he looked like his character in the game! She realized that this was no coincidence, but still it set
her back. Then they were in the cell with him. She was tongue-tied.
"Mr. Toland, this is Baal Curran," Tyson said. "Baal, this is Walter Toland."
They looked at each other, feeling mutually awkward.
The man spoke. "Needlepoint," he said.
Now she could speak. "Wheels."
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He held up his hands. "This is all there is."
Suddenly she realized that Walter was as uncertain as she was. She was diabetic and plain; he was
crippled. She threw what little remaining caution she had away. "I love you, Evil Sorcerer," she said,
blurting out the truth.
"I love you, Princess," he responded seriously.
"Those were the words," Tyson said. "Chain's been cut. I'll just wait in the lobby." Then he was gone.
Baal walked to Walter. She took his hands in hers. She leaned down and kissed him. She had meant it to
be a token, a trial effort, but it was much more than that. When it was done his hair was badly mussed,
she was out of breath, and she was strewn across the armrests of his wheelchair with her robe in
embarrassing disarray.
"I came to rescue you," she said. "I guess that was foolish."
"You are a beautiful angel of mercy."
She opened her mouth to make an automatic protest, but stifled it. She was tempted to believe. Walter
had come to know her mind and history before he ever saw her body, and he had just seen more of that
than was proper. It was possible. "The one who brought me that's Tyson Blunt. My former "
"He told me. He's a nice guy."
That seemed to cover that subject. "We've got to get you out of here."
A policeman came down the hall. "You're released on your own recognizance, Walter," he said.
Walter looked startled. "How did that happen? I thought you needed disinterested character witnesses."
The man rolled his eyes. "They're coming out of our ears! The phone's running off the hook, and now
they're arriving in person."
"But how ?" Baal asked, getting to her feet.
"Your friend Blunt called the local gaming society. It turns out that they know all about you and Miss
Curran. And about this character called Phreak. They're really filling us in on what happened. The
proprietors of this game, what's it called, Kilogram, called too. It's enough for the judge. You're out, and I
don't think you'll be back in."
"But it's only been a few minutes since we arrived," Baal said. "Not nearly enough time to "
She broke off, because the man was grinning. Walter looked at his watch. "It's been an hour," he said,
surprised. "It seemed like a minute to me too."
They followed him down the hall and out to the lobby. Tyson was talking with three other men. One of
them looked familiar, and she realized that she had seen his face somewhere in the game.
That man approached her while Walter was signing out and getting his things back. "Hi, Spy. I'm the
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Maronite officer you killed in Beirut."
Baal stared. "Oh! I'm sorry. I "
"All part of the game. Next time we meet there, I'll klonk you with a crowbar! But it's truce in this setting. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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