“Oh yes, Joe, and there was an American in here asking for you while you were out,” Rooney said.
“Oh, really?”
“A woman—quite a nice-looking one, too, if you want a professional’s opinion.”
Corrigan was suddenly all attention. “When?” he asked, putting down his glass with a thump. “Where’d she go?”
“About ten, ten-thirty, I’d say. I’ve no idea where she went. Paddy might know something.”
“He’s got a different one after him every time,” Dermot muttered, but Corrigan was already halfway out and didn’t hear.
He found Paddy, the owner of the hotel, checking an order list at the front desk. “Rooney says you had somebody in looking for me this morning,” Corrigan said.
Paddy looked up. “Joe. . . . Ah, yes. An American woman, it was. Didn’t give a name.” He turned to the pigeonholes on the wall behind. “She did leave something for you, though. . . . Here we are. I told her we expected you back for lunch, and she went off to look around the town.” Paddy handed Corrigan a slip of paper. “Said she’d be back about now.”
Corrigan unfolded it. Written neatly with an ink pen were the words:
I’m assuming this is real, but have gone to buy a leprechaun just in case. Back later.
L.
Corrigan smiled, and at that moment Paddy’s voice said, “In fact, if I’m not mistaken, here she is now.”
Corrigan looked up, and through the double, paned-glass doors saw a figure in a white raincoat and tan skirt approaching the bottom of the steps. She was tall, with dark wavy hair, and walked elegantly. He went out through the doors as she approached, and waited for her at the top, smiling.
“I wondered when you’d show up,” Corrigan said.
Lilly didn’t ask what had made him so sure that she would. There was no need. In the way that it had always been between them, most of their conversation remained unvoiced.
That was why they had made no elaborate agreements and plans when she left Pittsburgh to return to California. He’d had a no-longer-viable marriage to disentangle himself from; she’d had the Air Force. Neither needed to ask or be told that they would pick up again where they had begun, when the time was right. It had been too obvious to need saying that the place would be here.
“How did things go with Evelyn?” Lilly asked him.
“She’s fine. Do you remember I told you there was always that attraction there between her and Tom? Well, they got together, and it’s working out okay. In fact, I talked on the phone to Tom yesterday.”
“I’m glad,” Lilly said.
“How about you?”
“No real problems. What happened at Xylog?”
Corrigan shrugged. “Everyone’s fighting like mad dogs there. I just left them to it. They’re welcome. Some things aren’t worth making lawyers millionaires over.”
Lilly nodded. “Somehow I can’t see Tom feeling that way,” she said.
“Oh, he’s going for the throat—every ounce of blood he can squeeze. Then he says he and Evelyn are going off to see all of the real world and enjoy it. After that, who knows? I shouldn’t think we’ll lose touch.”
Lilly turned and took in the scene of the town with the sea and the mountains. “It’s pretty,” she agreed. “So did you get fixed up with the project that the professor of yours from Trinity is running here?”
“It looks like it. And he got a fax this morning from Eric Shipley. They’re both interested, so it looks as if Eric might be moving over with Thelma too.”
Lilly turned back, they looked at each other for a moment, and she moved a step nearer. Corrigan slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close for just a second. Then he reached out with his other hand and pulled open one of the doors. “In fact, Brendan’s inside now,” he said. “Come on and start meeting some new friends. They’re all real this time, I promise.”
“You’re sure?” Lilly checked dubiously.
“Oh, definitely. No computer on earth could simulate these people.”
They went through into the hotel. With their unique experience of sharing a world that most people would never know had even existed, they were natural companions for life. That much didn’t need saying. And there was no particular rush to figure out exactly what they intended doing with it. Here, time ran to suit itself.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James P. Hogan (1941-2010) was a science fiction writer in the grand tradition, combining informed and accurate speculation from the cutting edge of science and technology with suspenseful story-telling and living, breathing characters.
Born in London, he worked as a digital system engineer and sales executive for several major computer firms before turning to writing full-time. His first novel, Inherit the Stars, beginning his celebrated "Giants" series, was greeted by Isaac Asimov with the rave, "Pure science fiction . . . Arthur Clarke, move over!" and his subsequent work quickly consolidated his reputation as a major SF author.
He wrote over thirty novels, nonfiction works and mixed collections, including Echoes of an Alien Sky and Moon Flower (both Baen). His earlier works include the Giants series (Baen) the New York Times best sellers The Proteus Operation and Endgame Enigma, and the Prometheus Award winners Voyage from Yesteryear and The Multiplex Man.
Cyber Rogues Page 76
