by Lisa Tuttle
Olivia sighed, her shoulders slumping. ‘I think so … I don’t know. Like I told you, he’s changeable. Sometimes he’s so warm and welcoming and romantic, and it’s obvious he adores me, but then, other times, he just brushes me off, as if I don’t mean anything to him. Come to think of it, when he acts like that, he’s usually with Count Orsini.’ Olivia looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe it’s something to do with them … The way Roberto and Orsini pal around together, maybe … If Orson really does have this big crush on me, like you and Farren think, he might have told Roberto, so Roberto doesn’t want Orsini to know I fancy him …’
‘But Orson doesn’t know you’re the CyberQueen – does he?’
‘Oh, of course. I was forgetting. Well, bang goes that theory. And it can’t be that the two of them are romantically involved, because I’m sure neither of them is gay – what’s wrong?’
Rose had hopped off the bed and was twitching noticeably. ‘Uh, I’ve got to go, I forgot, I promised I’d help uh, clean the kitchen and cook supper.’
‘Okay. Calm down; I’ll run you home. We can talk more in the car.’
More talk was just what Rose wanted to avoid. She was sure she’d never been in the least receptive to the CyberQueen’s advances. Maybe Olivia had imagined a relationship where there was none, dreamed of a ‘warm, welcoming and romantic’ Roberto. Maybe she’d flipped out under the pressures of school and family, lack of sleep, and found some relief in the fantasy of a virtual lover when the prospect of a real one seemed too alarming.
Downstairs the meeting of the Granny Mafia was breaking up, which meant that Rose was reprieved: she could go home in Gran’s car. Before she left, Olivia gave her a hug. ‘See you later … Serenthia,’ she murmured in her ear.
*
Orson’s letter was waiting on her e-mail.
Rose groaned, hiding her face in her hands, after she had read it through. It was time for Roberto to disappear. She wouldn’t even answer. Roberto would simply never return. Olivia would get over it. It wasn’t as if there had been any real relationship between the CyberQueen and Roberto. Rose would be there, at her side in real life, to help her recover, and to aim her towards a more satisfying relationship with someone real. And maybe she could become Orson’s pal, replacing Roberto.
For a minute Rose thought of confessing, telling Orson who she really was. After all, why shouldn’t he be friends with a girl? He could love Olivia, and be Rose’s friend. He didn’t have to know that her feelings for him were warmer than friendship. For less than a minute it seemed possible. Then she remembered. If she couldn’t tell Olivia the truth, she couldn’t tell Orson.
No, Roberto had to stay Roberto, but he had to die.
The thought of giving up her precious e-mail friendship with Orson made Rose ache. She knew that he would be just as miserable as she was now. And Olivia, too, when she searched and searched in vain for the elusive Roberto. It would be days, probably, before she realized he really wasn’t coming back.
Why should she make three people so unhappy? Everything would still be all right if only Orson hadn’t insisted on taking ‘the next step’. Olivia recognized that her relationship with Roberto would never survive in the real world – if only Orson would be as obliging! Suddenly, Rose knew how she could keep the fantasy of Roberto alive.
Dear Orson,
No matter how early you get up on Sunday morning, I don’t think you’ll be able to drive over and see me. It would take you several days, even if you worked out the little problem of crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a car.
You see, I live in England. I’m a student at Oxford University. And I have no right to visit Illyria.
My sister is a student at your school, so she told me about it. I only meant to have a look around and leave, but then I met you, and despite my good intentions, I stuck around, until the thought of giving up either my adventures in Illyria or my friendship with you was just too hard to take. Believe me, I never wanted to lie to you. I kept quiet about anything that might identify me because I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. Not my sister, who gave me her ID number, not you, the president of the computer club, and not me, either.
And the closer we became as friends, oddly, the harder it was to tell the truth.
I don’t belong in Illyria. It is best that I leave, now, and don’t come back. I hope we are still friends, and that we can stay in touch via e-mail, even though we can’t get together on Sunday.
IRL, I’m called Simon Durcan. But to you, Orson, I hope I’ll always be
Your friend, Ro
Dear Ro,
Wow, an illegal alien, a foreign invader of Illyria … that’s one explanation for your secrecy that never occurred to me. But you really shouldn’t have worried!
Of course we’re still friends, and of course we’ll keep meeting like this – but I want to see you in Illyria, too. As if I’d turn you in! I’d offer you the keys to the city if you didn’t already have them! Look, I’ve got kind of a rep. around the school as a law’n’order kind of guy – and law school is very likely in my future – and I’m supposed to be responsible, in my position as head of the computer club, for kind of patrolling Illyria (guess I should play a sheriff instead of a count, huh?) and making sure no baddies get in, but, honestly, there’s no problem with your visits. Nobody has to know you don’t belong; it’ll be our little secret. Just keep using your sister’s ID number, and as far as anyone else knows, Roberto is Rose.
Speaking of whom, is Rose into computers? She’s never dropped a hint. But I guess she must be. What name does she use in Illyria? She’s not the dreaded CyberQueen, is she? Have I ever met her there? I’m intrigued!
Don’t you dare desert Illyria now, just as we’re getting the castle into some kind of shape! I need your help with the decoration, and the new bots! If you fink out on me, I’ll never forgive you.
I’ll expect to see you there, as usual, next weekend, or sooner if either of us has the spare time. Tell your sister to come, too. It would be nice to have someone else to appreciate what we’ve created.
Now you can tell me all about life at Oxford. What are you studying? Where do you live? Describe your surroundings. Describe yourself. How much like Roberto are you – if at all? Now that I know she’s your sister, I can’t help imagining Rose’s face on a guy’s body … but I can’t believe you’re as pretty as she is!
So it came about that Rose went to Illyria next on Sunday night as two different people, Serenthia and Roberto.
Although the character of Serenthia was based on someone she had played in games with Simon long ago – a gentle-born maiden of great beauty and grace, stolen by fairies as a baby and later rescued and raised by a wandering band of Amazon warriors, she was an expert horsewoman and archer with magical abilities relating to healing and illusion – Rose felt awkward now in that role. She was painfully aware of playing a part – probably because she knew that Orson knew who she was – and had to struggle to stay in character. Whereas Roberto felt like her other self, Serenthia was like an ill-fitting costume which might fall off and expose her at any minute as Roberto in drag.
Count Orsini was all graciousness, escorting Serenthia through the vast halls and luxurious furnished apartments which he and Roberto had designed during the course of many visits. As Rose pushed Serenthia through her paces, exclaiming in awe at the music of the magic harp, and tasting the wine which bubbled up from a fountain in the central courtyard, Rose was hardly aware of the descriptions on the screen before her. Instead, in her mind’s eye, she kept seeing Orson as he’d been at the mixed chorus rehearsal on Saturday. He’d sought her out afterwards, to talk, and had offered to take her home – but of course, she’d made plans with Olivia already and had to refuse. She was miserably aware that his new interest in her was only to do with her being Simon’s sister. How long would she manage to get away with it?
Roberto, Serenthia and Count Orsini were standing in the great hall, where a fire blazed in the huge hearth and the long t
able had been set with gleaming goblets of rich, honeyed mead, platters of sliced crusty bread topped with slabs of smooth yellow cheese, and bowls full of fresh strawberries, apricots, peaches, and grapes gleaming like edible jewels in the firelight, when, in a cloud of purple smoke, the CyberQueen arrived.
‘Serenthia,’ she cried. ‘I don’t think this was where we agreed to meet?’ Her face narrowed, her eyes glittering with suspicion. ‘I see you’ve wasted no time in tracking down my sweet Roberto. What are you doing here?’
‘She’s here as our guest,’ said Count Orsini. ‘Which is more than can be said of you.’
The CyberQueen sniffed scornfully. ‘It’s a cosy little castle, I suppose, but not very well fortified.’
‘It’s not meant to be a fortress,’ said Orsini. ‘We built it as our private retreat, Roberto and I, although it is open to all our friends.’
‘Well, I should think I count as a friend,’ said the CyberQueen. She moved close to Roberto and stroked his silken sleeve with one leather-gloved hand. ‘Aren’t I your friend – more than your friend? Tell me, please, how this sugarplum in red silk rates a personal invitation when I do not.’
‘You misconstrue our relationship, Lady,’ said Roberto coolly, unresponsive to her touch. ‘Although I know Serenthia of old, she is here by the Count’s request. She means no more to me than you do, and you mean nothing to me at all.’
‘I am no sugarplum,’ said Serenthia. ‘Give me a bow and a quiver full of arrows, or simply a short knife, and I am a match for anyone. I hope you are not looking for a fight because, while I will grant your wish if you insist, I would sooner be your friend.’
‘Indeed, we are friends, Serenthia,’ said the CyberQueen warmly. ‘I have no quarrel with you. But Roberto, allow me to speak to you alone, in a private chamber.’ Then she whispered privately to Roberto: (’Why this coldness? This pretence? Who are you trying to impress?’)
‘I have no wish to be alone with you, now or ever. There is nothing between us that cannot be dealt with publicly.’
When her whispered entreaty received no response the CyberQueen said aloud, ‘Are you afraid of me, young man, that you will not meet with me alone?’
‘Go on, Roberto,’ said Count Orsini easily. ‘Don’t be discourteous to the lady; I’m sure she means you no harm.’
‘Harm,’ purred the CyberQueen, wrapping her long, strong body around the resisting Roberto, ‘is the last thing on my mind. I will give you such pleasure …’
As Roberto struggled to disengage himself they were suddenly interrupted. The door to the room swung open, and a large man-shape, glittering like silver, entered.
‘I find this newcomer attractive,’ said the CyberQueen. ‘Indeed, I am drawn to him like a magnet to steel.’ As she spoke, she hurled herself across the room at the metal man, who opened his arms and caught her. Moaning low in her throat with pleasure, the CyberQueen pressed herself against the stranger’s hard, cold body and began to kiss him with undisguised passion.
Rose hesitated with her hands above the keyboard, uncertain how Roberto should respond. New words appeared on the screen and she stared at them in disbelief as Roberto, quite independently of her, began to speak.
‘No, no, how can you leave me?’ groaned Roberto. ‘Oh, my darling, wonderful lover, come back to me! How can you prefer a mere machine to me? CyberQueen, let me embrace you again!’
‘Forget it. You’re nothing but meat, and rotten meat at that. At last I have found what I truly desire – a hard, strong, metal machine.’
The metal man chuckled with a sound like gears meshing. ‘Come away with me, my CyberQueen, and I will show you pleasures undreamed of by mere mortals.’
‘Yes, yes. Oh, how strong you are, how masterful! Take me, take me!’
Rose typed word after word on her keyboard, but none of them appeared on the screen. Nothing she wrote had any effect. Serenthia and Roberto were out of her control. Someone else had taken over.
The silver metal man lifted the CyberQueen in his powerful arms and flung her across his hard, cold shoulder. She gave a shriek of mingled fear and delight as he carried her away.
‘Don’t worry, Roberto,’ said Count Orsini. ‘She’s not worth it. You’re well rid of her. Let her go.’
‘Noooooo!’ wailed Roberto in anguish. Tears streamed down his face, and his nose was running, too. ‘I love her! I can’t live without my beloved CyberQueen! If she prefers that metal monster to my sensitive soul, I cannot bear to live. Goodbye, cruel world!’ As Roberto spoke he put his hand on the hilt of his sword and withdrew it. Then, grasping the pommel with both hands, he plunged the blade deep into his belly. Blood spurted everywhere. Roberto gave a long, rattling death-cry and sank to the ground, dead.
Trembling slightly, Rose managed to execute the few necessary routines to exit Illyria, and then she switched off the computer. She was almost surprised that she, Rose, was still alive and in the real world.
*
Once he had recovered from the shock of it, Orson was blazingly angry. Someone – presumably the person using the silver metal man as his avatar – had used a programming trick to take control of everyone and everything in the MUD. Instead of being an interactive environment, it had become a story written by one person – and, quite obviously, a person with a grudge against Roberto.
Taking control of other characters was known as ‘making a voodoo doll’ and it was generally despised. It would have been far more acceptable if the silver metal man had burst in and cut off Roberto’s head with a sword, then attempted to abduct the CyberQueen. If characters got killed, that was part of the game, the risks you took. At least you could fight back. But having your own character turned into an idiotic puppet by someone else was another matter entirely.
Orson took what revenge he could with another programming trick and ‘toaded’ the silver metal man. It took a little doing, but when he was finished, that character was, in the words of one of the Munchkins of Oz, ‘really most sincerely dead’. He could never enter Illyria again. Unfortunately, it was only the character Orson had excluded. The person behind the silver metal man was still at liberty to return to Illyria in any number of other guises, any time he liked – unless Orson could find out who he was, and manage to banish him.
The first step towards that was to ‘finger’ the silver metal man’s electronic identity. That gave Orson an ID number, which he ran through another program until it gave him the name of the student who’d been assigned that number.
He stared at the name on the screen in disbelief, and shook his head in frustration.
WILES, FARREN.
‘No way,’ said Orson aloud. The silver metal man couldn’t be Farren; he’d stake his life on it. Someone else had to be hiding behind his friend’s ID number. And it was just possible that Farren knew who that someone was.
He looked at the clock and winced, recalling his mother’s injunction against making phone calls after ten pm. But he knew Farren would be awake and, besides, this was too important to wait.
As Orson had guessed, Farren didn’t know anything about anyone using his student ID number. ‘How could I give it to someone? I don’t know what it is myself.’
‘Wiles, it’s on your ID card. Check it out.’
‘Like, I’m supposed to know where it is?’
‘I’d guess it’s in your billfold.’
‘You’d guess wrong, then.’
‘And you don’t know where it is?’
‘Nope. Maybe under one of these piles of junk.’
‘When was the last time you used it?’
‘Don’t think I ever have,’ Farren said, sounding surprised. ‘What would I want it for?’
Orson began to reply, then hesitated. Although every student at Livingston-Duckett High School was issued with a student number embossed on an ID card, they weren’t often needed. Farren wasn’t likely ever to have been challenged to prove he was a student: he didn’t ride the bus, use the school computer system, or check out
school equipment for home use.
‘Nothing, obviously. Do you think you might have lost it?’
He could almost hear Farren’s shrug over the phone. ‘Oh, it’ll probably turn up.’
‘Take my advice, man, and go down to the office tomorrow morning and report it missing. Get ’em to give you a new ID number. Because I’m going to toad – I mean, bar – anyone using your current number from entering Illyria.’
‘Oh, wow, like that’s really going to bother me.’
‘I hope it’s going to bother somebody else. Will you do that for me, and get your number changed?’
‘Sure.’
After he’d hung up, Orson got back to work at the computer, fingering Farren’s ID number for an electronic address. He was disappointed but not surprised to find that the silver metal man had protected himself with an anonymous server. He – or she – could live anywhere in the world. But Orson didn’t think the disappearance of Farren’s ID card was a coincidence. Someone had found it and had used it to visit Illyria before, and was probably intending to use it again.
Orson knew there was a way to track down the identity of someone attempting to hide behind an anonymous server; he also knew it wouldn’t be quick or easy. But he wasn’t just out for fun or to prove his skills, like a lot of hackers. He wanted justice. Somebody had killed Roberto, and somebody was going to pay for that crime.
Orson sat up late at his computer that night. And finally, in the small hours of the morning, he was rewarded with the billing address at which silver metal man paid his anonymous server. It was a telephone account, identified not by name, but by phone number only. It was a local number. Orson stabbed out the number. He couldn’t wait to hear the guy’s voice and tell him he’d been caught. On the third ring, somebody picked up.
‘Hello?’ A girl’s voice, low and slurred with sleep.
‘Is this—’ Orson rattled off the number he’d just dialled.
‘Huh? Yes, it is. Who is this? Do you have any idea of what time it is? Who is this?’
