Virtual Murder

by Jennifer Macaire

  ~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

  * * * *

  Nothing made sense. Bells rang, sirens shrieked, and the president of the Net died. There was a stunned silence in the sending room.

  The two technicians and the mobile emergency unit worked frantically on the body until it was obvious nothing would bring him back.

  The emergency unit, two female doctors and a male nurse, packed their needles and electrodes away, their postures slumped in exhaustion. The technicians nodded in stunned silence as the doctors explained the cause of death. Then the doctors shook hands with them and left, the doors closing with a loud ping. A minute passed.

  The door slid open, and two Net Reps walked into the room. One was a woman with pale hair pulled back in a tight chignon, the other a man with a red tie decorated with tiny Christmas trees. Odd, it was September. The technicians stood up straighter. Wary, they watched as the dark-suited man and woman approached. The man peered at the president's body, his eyes lingering on the smile that twisted the president's mouth and the damp stains like egg white on his skinny thighs.

  The two technicians backed away uneasily. One tried to speak, but the words died in his throat. Finally, his partner stuck out a hand. “I'm Jim Lockheart."

  The Net Reps both ignored the outstretched hand. The man said, “I want a full report in triplicate."

  "My God, sir, he's dead!” blurted the other technician.

  "Heads are going to roll,” the Net Rep said coldly.

  If he hadn't been so shaken, Jim Lockheart would have laughed.

  * * * *

  Frank Dinde and Sonia Andrews looked at each other. “What do we do now?” Frank asked.

  Sonia licked her dry lips. “What were you told to do in such a situation?” Her voice wavered. She felt as if she'd just fallen into a deep well.

  "Snap out of it!” Frank's voice, on the other hand, was sharp. “I don't need you to fall apart now."

  "We have to call the vice president."

  "The hell we do. This is a security breach. I'm security. Go get that mutant, M-18 or whatever the Hell he's called, from his room. I have some questions for him."

  Mitch and the president's bodyguards were still asleep in the chairs. Dinde turned towards the two technicians still standing rooted next to the president's body. “Wake up the rest of them. I want to speak to them immediately. Hurry up!"

  "It will take a moment to unhook the electrodes and take out the IVs."

  Frank Dinde glared at the technician, and the man fumbled with the monitors, his hands shaking so badly he dropped the bottle of alcohol used to sterilize the electrodes. The glass broke, and a sharp scent filled the room.

  * * * *

  Mitch was in the president's room with Monkey. They were standing by the bed, the window was open, and the palm trees outside were gently rustling in the wind. There was no sign of the president, his bodyguards, or of Madeline. The bed was rumpled, and an echoing vibration in the air made Mitch's head ache. Or perhaps it was the bump. He fingered it gingerly. Monkey's explanation made no sense to him.

  "Are you certain it happened that way?” he asked, rubbing his forehead. The bells were ringing now; soon the scene would fade and he would wake up. His head throbbed.

  "I think so. She never meant to hurt anyone. She only tried to love them. You must understand!"

  Mitch tried to grin, but his face felt frozen. Horror was seeping into his bones, freezing them. He felt as if he was in a nightmare. Perhaps it was all a dream, and when he woke up, the president would still be alive, Digby would be laughing at him, and Sally would be holding him tightly. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'll have to tell the police. You can see that, can't you?"

  "I'll take care of Madeline. Don't let anyone hurt her. Do you promise?"

  "I can't promise anything; I have no power at all in the real world. All I can do is warn Andrea. You'll have to go to the Center and speak to Professor Toutbon. Maybe he will be able to protect her. I can't. I'm sorry."

  "Sorry, sorry—everyone's sorry.” Monkey frowned and turned his head. “I have to go now. The picture is fading. I can't see you anymore. Goodbye, Mitch, until we meet again."

  Mitch struggled against the fog, but it swept in, filling his eyes with mist and numbing his body. There was a sickening jolt, like an elevator coming to an abrupt halt, and then a feeling of weightlessness and cold. For a minute, he floated in a deep gray cloud, deprived of his senses. He wondered if the mutants lived like this, encased in a cotton silence, neither in nor out of the world, simply existing. Then lights blinked on and he gasped for breath, as he always did when he woke up. There was an indistinct murmur of voices, and someone draped a warm blanket around his shoulders. A cup of hot tea was pressed into his hands.

  "Mitch, are you all right?” It was Sally, the color leached from her skin and her eyes immense in her small face. “I was so worried. When we heard the sirens I thought ... I thought it was you.” Tears spilled out of her eyes and dashed down her smooth cheeks.

  "I'm fine.” He smiled at her. It was so easy to smile when she was there. His heart resumed its normal rhythm. Sally was with him and he was all right.

  Digby dropped to a crouch near his sofa. “Hey, Mitch.” His face, too, was pale and his eyes glittered strangely behind his glasses. Mitch darted a glance behind his shoulder. Frank Dinde and Sonia Andrews were approaching. “The virus catcher put a name tag on two mutants. Do you know what happened? Can you tell me?"

  Mitch winced. “Two?"

  "M-18 and M-19."

  Mitch shook his head. Tears threatened to spill. If only he didn't feel so helpless when he woke up. He was still dizzy. But the Net Reps were nearly in earshot. He tried to speak clearly. “It was just an accident. She never meant to kill anyone. She didn't even know what she was doing."

  From the way Frank Dinde stiffened, Mitch knew he'd overheard. His hands tightened on the cup of tea. There was no backing out now. If he wanted to save Monkey, there was only one way he could do it. The Net would need a scapegoat, and he didn't want it to be Monkey.

  * * * *

  Digby stood up as the Net Reps drew near. He wiped his hand on his lab coat and stuck out a hand. “I'm Daniel Glover Brims."

  The two Net Reps looked at each other, then down at Mitch.

  "I think you have some explaining to do,” Frank Dinde said, the skin around his mouth whitening in rage.

  Mitch looked at Digby, still standing with his hand hovering in front of him. “If you don't both shake his hand and introduce yourselves properly, I won't say a thing to anyone. I'll take the Fifth Amendment and let Virtual Tours—let's see, how would you say it, Frank? Go down the drain. That's it. I'll let the whole bloody mess go right down the drain.” He lifted his tea and took a long, deliberate drink. His face was pale, but his eyes flashed.

  Frank Dinde shook Digby's hand.

  * * * *

  Officially, it was called the killer virus.

  The Net flew Monkey to the Virtual Tours office in New York that evening to secure the program from viruses, human intervention and, most importantly, other mutants. Any mistakes, they said, would mean the end of the mutant program. He could do that, of course. The program was already secure from viruses and outside agents, but who would have thought to secure it from mutants?

  No one knew how easy it was for him, however, so nobody wondered why he spent all night in the room, alternately hooked to a shunt or standing in front of the console, a pensive look on his angelic face.

  "The program is ready,” Monkey said, finally. His face was haggard, his magnificent eyes bruised with fatigue.

  Frank Dinde nodded. “Thank you, M-18.” He refused to address him any other way. “I'm sure Dr. Djusky at the Center will be pleased with your work here."

  "I'm sure he will, sir. Am I going back to the Center now?"

  Frank Dinde smiled. “As soon as we clear up the mess here, M-18."

  Monkey nodded, too tired to argue. “She didn't mean to hurt
anyone,” he said for perhaps the hundredth time.

  Frank Dinde didn't blink. “That makes her even more dangerous, then, doesn't it?” he said quietly.

  Chapter Twelve

  Space and Time! now I see it is true, what I guess'd at,

  What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass,

  What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,

  And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.

  ~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

  * * * *

  Andrea wore her new engagement ring. Whenever she felt her patience slipping, she would glance at it, take a deep breath, and smile at David Willow. He had inherited her post as Virtual Tours president.

  "Shall we start over this section again? You have to know exactly how the process works or else you can't possibly direct the company."

  "You wrote this whole book?” David lifted the heavy manual and made a face. It fell on the desk with a loud thump.

  "Yes.” Andrea glanced at her ring again and opened the book to page four hundred and fifty. “This section tells all about the company's structure. I set it up..."

  David reached over the desk and shut the book. “I'm finished for tonight. Just tell me the truth. Are only the mutants capable of creating a virtual world?"

  Andrea leveled a cool glance at him. “It's true. If anything happens to the mutants, Virtual Tours will collapse. The only way that we've been able to stretch two days into two weeks is thanks to the mutants."

  "How can that be possible?"

  "Who knows? But if they disappear, the only things left will be the games created by humans fifteen years ago and substandard tours. And, of course, educational sites.” Her voice was almost amused. “Fifteen years of progress, down the drain."

  "We could get it back,” he insisted.

  "Perhaps, but it would mean all the money you sank into the program was a total waste. It's better this way, believe me."

  "We can't control them."

  "They can be restrained.” Her ring winked at her, reassuring. “I'm done for the night, too. I have plans for dinner."

  David ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I'll see you tomorrow, then."

  Andrea gazed at him for a minute. “We're not enemies, you know. I'll be working with the mutants and you'll be working with the public. Instead of three parties, there are only two, and we'll communicate better. Mistakes like the one that killed Wilbur Megalot and the tour guides won't happen again."

  "Three parties?” David looked confused.

  "The Net, Virtual Tours, and the Center. We were all fighting for control. Now we know who has it, and it's balancing itself out."

  "The mutants are the ones in control,” he said bitterly.

  "God no, don't you understand anything? They don't even exist in our world."

  "Except M-18."

  "He's an exception,” Andrea admitted.

  "He should have stayed in his case."

  They glared at each other. Then Andrea's face softened. She could never stay angry with an old boyfriend. Once she'd slept with them, they became part of her. “Let's not start out with a disagreement, David. I'm glad they chose you to take over here. I'm looking forward to starting a new program directly with the mutants."

  "You didn't have to accept blame for Wilbur's death. The papers you signed absolved you of responsibility."

  "Who else could? I had already left Virtual Tours. No one could hurt that program, and besides, the Net is protecting it now."

  "And so you formed your own company. How did you know the public would react the way it did?"

  She smiled. “The public is terribly predictable. Let them know about a secret program—any secret program—and they'll scream scandal. Poor creatures, they honestly believe they have the right to know everything."

  David smiled uncertainly. “So you saw the breach in the wall and offered to fill it up."

  Andrea nodded. “I'm leaving in three days to start a new life. It's my choice, and as chance would have it, it means we'll be working closely together. Let's stay on good terms, shall we?"

  "I'll put it a different way. The public screamed scandal, the government wanted to dump the mutant program, and you somehow came up with the idea of starting a new company with the mutants as its assets. Now everyone is grateful. The CIA because you took responsibility for the Net president's death, claiming that the Virtual Tours program had been flawed from the very beginning. The Net because you managed to portray them as a savior when Monkey repaired the program and everything was restored to order. Even the Mutant Center is grateful, because you're taking over their business program and you'll make it as successful as Virtual Tours ever was."

  "I hope so. It's going to be interesting, working with them. Mutants—who would have thought they really existed? People are going to be begging to go on virtual tours made by mutants now that they aren't secret any more. You're going to have your hands full."

  "What page were we on?” David picked up the book and leafed through it.

  "Four hundred and fifty. Chapter nineteen. I wrote it for laymen. You'll be running this company like a pro in no time. But finish reading it yourself. Right now, I'm going to dinner.” Andrea picked up Cocotte's leash and walked out of her former office.

  * * * *

  In the dark, in the deep, several miles beneath the surface of the earth, there were many happenings. Love and death, betrayal and hope, all were swirling together. In the maelstrom, a loss occurred. It was a small loss but would have important consequences.

  Laurel was the first to notice Mahler's disquiet.

  She had been speaking to him daily, asking his advice about dealing with the different mutants. Since the Net president died, the Mutant Center had been restructured into something resembling a corporation and not a laboratory. The three top floors were opened to the public, and although the mutants remained hidden, their presence was discussed regularly in corporate meetings.

  "I don't like that document.” Mahler's lips moved as the words formed on the crystal screen above his case.

  "What document?” Laurel checked her records.

  "The one about Madeline. I don't like what the Net Representatives are planning to do."

  "Ms. Andrews?” Laurel raised her eyebrows. Sonia Andrews, or ‘The Ice Queen,’ as Laurel had dubbed her, was, along with Frank Dinde, one of the representatives the Net had assigned to the Mutant Center.

  "No, just Frank Dinde."

  "How did you get this document?” asked Laurel, typing quickly.

  "Do you really need to ask?” Mahler shifted in his case. “Dr. Djusky is helping them. Did you know that?"

  Laurel shook her head, startled. “No, I didn't. What else do you know?"

  "There are talks. Professor Toutbon isn't in on them. No one knows what to do about M-19."

  Laurel nodded. M-19 still floated silently in her glass case, but she was totally isolated, kept within the Center and out of the Net. She could not escape to her own world; even that was blocked to her. She spoke to no one. Laurel's fingers flew over the keyboard. “What are they thinking of doing to her?"

  Mahler stirred. His face came closer to the glass and Laurel was shocked to see tears on his cheeks. “They will set her free,” he said finally.

  "Is that so bad?"

  "She is too fragile. She is like a deep sea creature pulled up to the surface. The pressure will be too great for her.” Mahler paused. “Don't tell Monkey. Please?"

  "Why not?"

  "I don't want him to worry. He worries too easily."

  Laurel smiled. Monkey did tend to worry. Since the Center had become public, Monkey was the mutants’ representative to the clients. Andrea had trained him, and he was now working under Laurel as an assistant to Professor Toutbon.

  "What about Ms. Andrews?"

  "She's not privy to this news."

  "Maybe she can help us.” Laurel looked at Mahler, but he shook his head and disappeared into the dept
hs of his mist-filled case.

  * * * *

  "Monkey, why don't you go get us some coffee?” Frank Dinde jerked his thumb at the door. “This conversation doesn't concern you."

  Andrea nearly called Monkey back but didn't want to lose her temper in front of him. When the door closed behind him, though, she let Frank Dinde know exactly what she thought of him, which was not very flattering.

  Dinde just waited until she was finished and shrugged. “We're talking about a mutant, M-19. I don't think he should hear this. It will just upset him."

  Andrea tapped her fingernails on the desk. He had a point. Monkey was still too sensitive to emotions. He had not been put back into his case, and Andrea had given him several jobs. One job was to coordinate the communication between the mutants and the engineers. Digby headed that group, with Mitch as his assistant. Sally was still Andrea's private secretary. That hadn't changed, although the office was now on the ground floor of the Center. Huge bay windows revealed stunning views of the desert instead of the city streets. Tony was still her chauffeur, although the limousine had given way to a solar-powered four-by-four.

  Cocotte still dozed in the wicker basket beneath Andrea's desk, her silken ears twitching as she dreamed.

  Andrea was pleased at how well everything was going but wished Dr. Djusky and Frank Dinde would go for a walk in the desert ... and never return. Sonia Andrews was proving to be extremely competent, and if she would only relax a bit, Andrea thought she might even get to like her. She wished Sonia were here right now.

  "I won't let you harm her in any way.” Andrea leaned over her desk, placing her hands flat on the smooth, red marble surface.

  "She is more dangerous than you can even imagine,” Dr. Djusky said. “She killed two of your own men before killing the Net's president."

  "She had no idea she was killing them. No charges have been brought against her.” Andrea looked from Dr. Djusky to Frank Dinde. “You both understand that."

  "She knows now and expresses no regret at all. If she escapes your control, she will commit murder again. She has no moral values whatsoever,” Dr. Djusky said.

  "Whose fault is that?” snapped Andrea. “You said yourself that she was not human. She wasn't raised as a human, so why would she react like one?"