by Lisa Tuttle
‘Hey, no fair!’ complained Troll-Slayer.
‘Read my character specs if you want to try to kill me,’ snarled Medusa. ‘I ain’t afraid of no mirrors!’
Troll-Slayer raised his sword, and Count Orsini stepped forward with upraised, open hands. ‘Please, no fighting here! Remember, the marketplace is where all feuds are suspended, a permanent zone of peace.’
Troll-Slayer put down his sword, grumbling loudly. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I’m sending old snake-head the bill for getting my shield re-silvered.’
Count Orsini raised his voice to be heard over the hubbub. ‘I’d like to call for a second vote. Now that we know we’re all agreed that we don’t want voodoo, I suggest we should register our identities.’
‘What for?’ demanded Blue Dwarf and Troll-Slayer.
‘Because how do we know that silver metal man isn’t here right now, hiding behind another persona? He could be laughing at us and just waiting for the chance to strike again. He could slip from identity to identity as often as he likes, and we’d never be able to ban him, or even catch him, unless we know who we all are.’
‘I guess that’s right,’ said Lady Purple. ‘I have three identities myself, although only two of us are here today. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? I could still have as many characters as I wanted, as long as I registered them, right?’
‘Right,’ agreed Count Orsini as Orson mentally knocked off another vote in his head. Whatever they decided here tonight wouldn’t be a majority; they’d have to do this all again, try to round up more Illyrians the next time …
‘No, it’s not right,’ objected Troy, an incredibly good-looking hunk in a black leather jacket who went everywhere on a motorcycle. ‘Maybe Lady Purple doesn’t mind if you know what her name and school are, and obviously you don’t Orsini, but some of us like to disguise ourselves. Although, no matter what I call myself, I can’t disguise my attractiveness – as those lucky girls who’ve met me IRL know! But I’ll name no names … Not for me to kiss and tell …’
‘You wish,’ muttered the bear.
Vail – an ethereal being of indeterminate gender – spoke up. ‘Registration is a good idea. Nobody here has anything to hide. If they do, then there’s something suspicious about them.’
‘I object,’ said Medusa, scowling ferociously. ‘Just because I won’t give you my e-mail address … you’ve been trying to find out who I am for weeks, and I don’t see why you should get my RL identity handed to you on a plate. Yes, we do go to the same school; I’ve told you that much. And I’ve figured out who you are. If you’re really that interested in me, try talking to people IRL instead of just on the Net, fat boy.’
‘Ouch,’ murmured Vail, looking even more ethereal. ‘Rumours of my excess avoir dupois – not to mention my gender-orientation – have almost certainly been exaggerated.’
‘I object too,’ said the CyberQueen. ‘Some people here now know my RL identity, but that doesn’t mean I want it to be public knowledge.’
‘And me,’ said Albertus. ‘The point of Illyria and other places like it is that it enables us to be whoever we want to be. It enables us to build our own reality, and our own identities without the restrictions other people, or cruel fate, may try to lay on us. We can do things here that would be impossible in the outside world. Why should we voluntarily limit ourselves to one identity when we don’t have to?’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Count Orsini. ‘Registration isn’t some evil spell. It’ll just be on file, not always flashing on the screen. You can still be whoever you want to be, and in as many different personas as you like.’
‘Once we’re registered the knowledge is available to anyone who wants to look. And people will look whenever they get curious. And once they know the truth – tell me, Orson, would your response to Troy be the same if you knew he was really a girl?’
‘I’ll kill you for that, wizard,’ grated Troy, revving his motorbike and flexing his bulging muscles at the same time. ‘How dare you call me a girl? You’re the one who’s a big girl.’
‘You’d feel differently about Medusa, about me, about your poor dead friend Roberto – you wouldn’t see us the way we want to be seen, you couldn’t, if you always had our RL names and our RL faces at the back of your mind. Registration would be just like an evil spell to take our powers of self-creation away from us. If you’re honest you’ll have to admit it, Count Orsini.’
Orson felt the truth of what Albertus said. Already his attitude towards the CyberQueen was different than it had been. When she’d dumped that beer over his head, instead of just being annoyed at her dramatics, he’d wondered what Olivia was trying to tell him: did she really find him as irritating as the CyberQueen seemed to, or was it just a joke, maybe even a gesture of affection? And he had to admit, at least to himself, that knowing she was the CyberQueen had changed his perception of Olivia.
While he was musing, several others put in their two cents’ worth, and it soon became clear that there was a lot of feeling against registration. Orson decided there was no point in putting it to the vote. It was unenforceable, anyway. A hacker like the silver metal man certainly wouldn’t be bound by it, and he might find a registration list a gold mine for his own private use.
Count Orsini finally brought the debate to a close. There would be no registration. For the time being, at least, life in Illyria would continue as before.
13 Family Affairs
Roberto was dead and Rose was glad. She found it easy to resist Orson’s e-mailed suggestions that Roberto come back to Illyria. It was not so easy to accept that her e-mail friendship with Orson would have to end, so she mostly put it out of her mind. Maybe Orson would never have to know the truth. Serenthia had, to some degree, filled the gap left by Roberto in Illyria. Although she wasn’t exactly whom Rose would have chosen to be, if she’d had time to think about it, Count Orsini seemed to like her well enough.
To her surprise, Olivia didn’t seem bothered by Roberto’s disappearance from her life. The CyberQueen, on her rare visits to Illyria, never asked about him, and Olivia hadn’t mentioned him to Rose since that first confession. But they didn’t often speak about Illyria or their private adventures on the Internet when they met in real life – only really sad cases with no other life would go on and on about their adventures in virtuality. And maybe, Rose thought, Olivia had been exaggerating, or teasing, when she claimed to have fallen in love with Roberto.
Thanksgiving was upon them, with extra rehearsals for the mixed chorus and the first of several scheduled performances at different venues around the county. Rose was thrilled by her first experience of singing before a large audience. She enjoyed being part of a group, hearing her voice mingle with those of Orson, Farren, Olivia and all the others, and the appreciation of the crowd lifted her spirits even higher. She felt a warm sense of belonging. The only thing lacking to make her happiness complete was the rest of her family – and they would be arriving in a few weeks.
For Thanksgiving Day itself – a holiday Rose had never celebrated, despite her mother’s American heritage – Gran and Rose were invited to the Mason’s for dinner. For the first time Rose met Olivia’s famous mother, the State Senator. Despite her impressive reputation, Mary Ann Duckett Mason was relaxed and informal and funny. She and Olivia looked very alike, and seemed in their interactions almost like sisters, the two not-quite-grownup daughters of Nanny Duckett. They kept the conversation general and lively, drawing Gran into an active discussion about the past and present. Rose was fascinated to hear about her mother’s schooldays, and to think of her as a friend of Olivia’s mother. Sam Mason, the only man at a table which included females from three generations, kept quiet and carved the turkey and made sure everyone’s plate was always piled high with meat, stuffing, cranberry sauce and sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, crescent rolls and succotash, all prepared by Olivia and Mrs Duckett as the cook had the weekend off.
After Thanksgiving life became even more hectic, as pre
parations for both Christmas and the Midwinter Ball went into overdrive. With the aid of Lily, the aged seamstress who had been making ball gowns for nearly fifty years, Gran was creating something special for Rose to wear. Although she didn’t know how to sew herself (having resisted all Gran’s offers to teach her) and so was unable to help, Rose was still required to be on hand for numerous lengthy fitting sessions.
There was Christmas shopping, there were school projects to complete, there were even more mixed chorus rehearsals and performances as well as all the usual things Rose did. Rose had no time at all for virtual adventures; but every evening, she sent some message, however brief, to Orson and to Simon, who kept in touch with her the same way.
Ro – Can’t wait ‘til we meet in the flesh. That day is almost here, and I’m more excited about it than I am about Christmas itself. You are hereby invited to a party at my house, the day after Christmas. It’s a family event, my father’s birthday, and I hope that all your family will come, too. Will that be our first meeting in RL, or do you want to meet up somewhere else alone first? When exactly are you arriving? I could meet you at the airport! Just say the word. Are you as excited as I am? – Or.
Yes, she was excited all right. Positively sick with it. She’d let this go on too long – she should have been cooling things down more since Roberto’s ‘death’, not staying so steadfastly in touch with Orson online.
And the other thing she should have done, which she could no longer possibly avoid, was to confess everything to Simon and beg him to help her out. When he and Orson met for the first time, well, they would either like each other and become friends, or they wouldn’t. If they didn’t get along, the on-line friendship would die a natural death; sometimes people became the best of friends in virtuality but found they didn’t get along so well in real life. No hard feelings and all that … at least, there wouldn’t be if it were mutual.
She forced herself to stop anticipating, and sat down to compose the necessary e-mail to Simon. After ten minutes of fidgeting in her chair, staring into space and chewing her lip, Rose finally took a break. It would be so much easier to explain to Simon in person, when she could watch his face and see how he was taking it. He wouldn’t be able to refuse her a silly little favour when he was actually here, whereas if she wrote to him now, he might. She’d wait and get the timing just right. Relieved, she bought a little more time with a note to Orson. She took a slightly cool, stern tone to put him off: Or – I haven’t seen my parents or my sister since August. Yes, I am looking forward to meeting you, but they are my family and they come first. I’ll want a few days alone with them, first, and then we can get together after Christmas. Thank you for the invitation; Rose and I will certainly come.
*
‘So have you sent him your invitation?’ Olivia asked Rose as they left school together on an afternoon in early December.
‘No. What’s the point of sending it? I’ll give it to him.’
‘When? You’ve had the cards since before Thanksgiving. I know you’re shy, Rosy, but you can’t keep putting it off. It’s not fair to him, for one thing. And what if somebody else asks him?’
Rose shot Olivia a puzzled glance. ‘Who else would ask him?’
Olivia laughed. ‘That’s not very flattering, now, is it? Better not let him know you think you’re the only girl who’d want him!’
Rose couldn’t figure out why Olivia was making such a big deal about this. Of course Simon was going to take her, and she would give him his invitation after he arrived. ‘After you told me about the guy whose dog ate his invitation you don’t think I’d risk losing it in the mail, do you?’
Olivia bit her lip, looking genuinely worried. ‘I – didn’t think about that. Do you think it’s too risky? I mean, all the way to England—’
‘Well, it’s better not to risk it, I think.’
Olivia sighed. ‘Maybe I should have—’
‘What’s wrong? Haven’t you heard from your lucky cousin?’
They had reached Olivia’s car in the parking lot and now got in, but Olivia made no move to start the car. She stared into space, still looking worried, and said, ‘I didn’t invite a cousin.’
‘You didn’t?’
Olivia shut her eyes. ‘Oh, I hope I didn’t just make a huge mistake …’
‘Who did you invite?’
‘What if he doesn’t get it? What if he does, and he doesn’t want it?’
‘Who? Olivia, for goodness sake, who are you talking about?’
Olivia opened her eyes and gave Rose a hard look. ‘Who do you think?’
Rose’s heart lurched. ‘Orson?’
Olivia snorted and sat up. ‘Good lord, darlin’, I wouldn’t go that far just to light a fire under you! He’s a nice enough boy, but not for me. Orson’s your beau – if you’ll just get off your behind and send him an invitation!’
‘I’m not going to the ball with Orson – I’m going with Simon!’
‘You are not going with Simon,’ Olivia said firmly. ‘You are going to invite Orson if I have to address the envelope and frogmarch you to the mailbox – or over to his house if you really are that paranoid – so quit fighting the inevitable.’
Rose didn’t care to argue. She was getting a sinking feeling about Olivia’s mystery man. ‘So who have you invited?’
Olivia cocked her head and gave her a puzzled frown. ‘And I thought you listened to me … Rosy, have I ever mentioned being interested in anyone else? How fickle do you think I am?’
‘You can’t have invited Roberto!’
Olivia smiled strangely. ‘Actually, I have.’
‘But he’s dead! I mean, he’s an imaginary character!’
‘Oh, well, nobody’s perfect.’ Still smiling to herself, Olivia turned on the ignition and reversed smoothly out of the parking place.
Rose was silent, her thoughts in turmoil. Finally, as Olivia accelerated away on the main road, Rose said, ‘So where did you send the invitation? Not to Illyria?’
‘No, Roberto’s dead in Illyria. As you know. But the real person who was Roberto has an e-mail address. And I am not without hacking skills, you know. Luckily, Roberto was easier to trace than the silver metal man with his anonymous server … I just sent the invitation to his billing address!’
Rose’s stomach took an elevator plunge, and she began to curse herself for not having sorted this all out with Simon already. ‘You haven’t heard back from him yet?’
‘No. I don’t know how long it’ll take. E-mail is sooo much quicker than airmail. And now you’ve made me worry – what if it gets lost? Not that it really matters, I can get him another ticket, but … I should have waited. I should have just asked him, and waited.’
Rose didn’t dare look at Olivia as she asked, ‘You sent the invitation to England?’
Olivia gave a crow of delight. ‘Oxford University – yes! As soon as I realized that was “Roberto’s” server, I knew who he had to be! Have you known all along?’
‘Not … not really. I just guessed. So – you figured out it was Simon all by yourself?’
‘All by myself. He didn’t tell me – and I guess he didn’t tell you, if you thought he was going to be your date to the Midwinter Ball. So sorry to disappoint you.’
‘You’re not sorry at all.’
‘You’re right. I’m not. And neither are you!’
Rose’s heart was singing, even though she still knew she was balancing on a tightrope. She’d have to tell Simon – but with Olivia as his prize, she didn’t think he’d refuse to do as she asked. She still had to deal with Orson, but this was a challenge she was suddenly delighted to take up.
‘Well, I guess I’d better hurry up and invite Orson, before somebody else beats me to it!’
‘I’m driving you straight home,’ Olivia said. ‘And then I’m standing over you while you put the invitation in an envelope and address it.’
‘Yes, ma’am!’
*
When Olivia had gone, Rose st
ill had to get through dinner with Gran before she could escape to her room, and the computer, ostensibly to do homework.
Dear Simon, Have I got a story for you… Minutes later, she concluded … Please restrain your impulse to preach! I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I did, and now I’m in trouble without your help. But why shouldn’t you help? I’m sure you’d much rather go to the ball with the prettiest, smartest, richest, most desirable girl in town than simply be your little sister’s dutiful escort! As Olivia has already convinced herself that you’re her dream-date, it shouldn’t be hard for you to live up to her fantasies. As for convincing Orson that you are the person he has come to know so well over the past two months in virtuality, well, that might be harder, but think of it as a challenge. You’ve always enjoyed acting; think of this as your most difficult but potentially rewarding role! I’ll brief you on the things you should know about Orson, and what he thinks he knows about you before you actually meet him. All you have to do, really, is to pretend to be me, as I would be if I were you, if you see what I mean. You can probably wing it; you won’t have to spend that much time with him. I’ll do my best to distract his attention. I certainly hope that he will be paying more attention to me than to you at the Midwinter Ball.
Be a pal, Simon! Say ‘Yes’ to Olivia’s invitation when you get it, and be Roberto for me with Orson as well, and you won’t regret it. I’ll owe you one.
Anxiously awaiting your reply, I am,
your loving sister
My dear Rose,
Of course I will take Olivia to the ball. And I won’t have to PRETEND to be Roberto – because I really am he. Yes, I am the Roberto that she knows and (dare I say it?) loves. Cyberlove, anyway, from the CyberQueen of my very real, not merely virtual, heart.
You see, before you ever went to Illyria (surely you remember that it was I who recommended it to you?) I dropped in to check it out on the suggestion of a friend, using his ID number, and styling myself Roberto for reasons you may guess. There I met the CyberQueen, and we duelled – verbally, flirtatiously, and not at all fatally, except to my heart. She suggested another meeting, somewhere else, and so we met again, in another part of the virtual universe. And again. After that, I never returned to Illyria (and had no idea you’d decided to use ‘my’ name!) but continued to meet the CQ elsewhere. For a long time, even after we had got to know each other quite well, she was ‘CQ’ and I was ‘Roberto’, and we never introduced ourselves properly. She figured out who I really was before I knew her name! Although I had guessed she was someone at your school, I still know her only virtually, by what she’s chosen to reveal, and I am FASCINATED to learn from you that she is the ‘prettiest, smartest, richest, most desirable girl in town’ – already, to me, she’s the most desirable, and clearly very bright, but she’s very self-deprecating about her looks, and she certainly hasn’t mentioned being particularly well-off … I was suspicious when she mentioned her car, but she assured me that all American teenagers above the poverty line are equipped with wheels from their sixteenth birthday. Don’t let on you’ve told me anything else!
