Virtual Vandals

Another girl rolled her eyes. “Krishna, but virtual parties are so…so heatherish.”

Matt got that comment. Heather was a very old-fashioned girl’s name, from before the turn of the century. The girl was saying that virtual parties were pretty much past it. When he stopped to think about it, the last one he’d been to had been for a friend’s seventh birthday.

“Not this one — it’s going to be red-line all the way. Her daddy shelled out big bucks for a way unbelievable locale. I know my dad blew a few zeroes for my virtual gown.”

“Gown?” the other girls chorused.

“It’s gonna be drop-dead formal,” Tricia announced smugly. “No proxies allowed — just your image and whatever someone can hack up for you.”

“I guess it will have to depend on my programmer,” one of the blondes said, twirling a lock of hair tightly around her forefinger.

“Not much time,” Tricia warned.

The other girl shrugged and grinned. “That’s what performance bonuses are for.”

Matt had to hide a grin of his own. Some poor programmer was in for a busy week. He forced himself back to Sandy, who was finally running down on his verbal data-dump.

“It’s interesting stuff,” Matt said, “good for a few paragraphs maybe, but I think you’re going overboard. These guys knew each other for years and years. This is just one small story.”

Sandy looked disappointed. “But I thought—”

“We’re supposed to concentrate on the Civil War, not stuff that happened almost twenty years before,” Matt said.

He tried to ignore the sneering comment from one of the girls as they got up to leave. “A real Dexter,” she muttered — another way of calling him a nerd.

Lunch was almost over, and everyone began leaving their seats. Matt rose, too, then suddenly froze.

“What’s the matter?” Sandy asked.

Matt pulled his eyes away from one of the lunch trays the girls had left. Sitting on the plastic was a little bow, woven together from strands of blond hair. He’d seen CeeCee tie a little knot like that at Maxim’s!

“That girl who was sitting here,” Matt said, tapping the chair in front of the tray. “I don’t think she’s in any of my classes, but she looks familiar.”

“Caitlin?” Sandy shrugged. “Maybe you saw her on holo with her dad — Senator Corrigan?” He paused for a second. “If you’re interested, well, I wouldn’t say you were out of your league.”

Yes, you would, Matt said silently.

“But Cat Corrigan is sort of — high maintenance — you know?”

Caitlin Corrigan. Slur those initials together, and you got…CeeCee.

No, Matt thought, he didn’t know much about Caitlin Corrigan. But he meant to find out.

Leif Anderson looked better when Matt came visiting him again through his computer. Although he sat in the same chair, Leif’s face wasn’t as pale, and he wore jeans and a sweater instead of pajamas and a robe. “How’s it going, Sherlock?” Leif asked with a grin.

“I may have a suspect from the Leets at school,” Matt reported. “Caitlin Corrigan.”

Leif’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa! The Senator’s daughter?”

“What I need to know is how to get next to her.”

Leif didn’t seem to find that funny. He sat straight up in his chair, his lips going thin. “So you thought you’d check in with your old pal Leif to get a few lessons in social climbing?”

Matt was surprised at the sharp response. “I–I just thought that you knew these people.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that I like them,” Leif shot back, then rubbed his forehead. “I’m still feeling crummy,” he confessed. “You’ve been in touch with me. So have David, and Andy, and most of the Net Force Explorers I know. A couple of pals here in New York have called to see how I was doing. But most of my rich so- called friends haven’t even bothered to punch in my number.”

“That sounds pretty cold,” Matt said.

“As far as those kids are concerned, I am a social climber.” Leif grimaced. “My father is a self-made man — that makes us what these folks call ‘new money.’ Cat Corrigan’s great-grandfather collected the family loot that paid for her grandfather’s political career. Her dad’s, too.”

“So what are you saying? She’s way out of my league?”

“I’m saying you can’t get in with that group — you can’t compete with their money.” Leif raised a finger. “But most of them, all they’ve got is money. When you’re rich, you don’t need brains, or hard work, or the other things we think are so necessary for success.”

All of a sudden, Matt found himself remembering Dr. Fairlie’s annoyed comments about Sandy Braxton. “I think I know what you mean,” he said.

“Skill and sneakiness can beat money any day,” Leif told him. “It’s how I got in with these people. You’ve just got to be outrageous.”

Matt nodded. “Like that crazy stick-figure proxy of yours.”

Leif nodded. “Exactly. How can you catch her attention, and make her want more?”

A faint smile came over Matt’s face. “I’m beginning to get an idea, but I’m going to need your help. We’ve only got a couple of days to get ready.”

I guess Tricia was right, Matt though as he synched in to Lara Fortune’s virtual party. The locale was red-lined all the way — and it had cost Papa Fortune a lot of money. Matt seemed to be standing on the inside wall of a clear plastic disk orbiting high above the Earth. The planet looked like a grotesquely inflated moon looming over them. Fluffy white clouds spread across blue oceans and brownish-green land masses. Matt squinted at the edges of the cloud cover, trying to spot a familiar landmark. There — in that open spot — a small spit of land jutted into the sea. It had to be the distinctively hooked arm of Cape Cod….

Matt grinned. Of course. They were in orbit over Washington.

The illusion was perfect, down to the smallest details. Matt watched as clouds shredded away from the Virginia coast, revealing the city. A girl peering through one of several telescopes by the wall suddenly squealed. “There’s my yard! And my mom is waving up at me!”

Matt shook his head. The greater the detail, the more expensive the sim. Lara’s dad had certainly dropped a lot of zeroes on this one.

Music blared overhead, and Matt looked up to find that some people had abandoned the disk-floor to float and dance in microgravity. Not the nasty-mouthed Tricia, of course. She stood in her expensive gown, clinging to the edge of a table.

Cat Corrigan must have had better spies. She wore a silver-blue silky jumpsuit that was perfectly suited for low-G dancing. Laughing, the blond girl spun in midair. Then she spotted Matt.

Or rather, she spotted the stick-figure proxy Matt had worn to the party. Caitlin bounced through the other dancers in a mad scramble, climbed down to where Matt stood, and goggled at him. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Just checking out a suspicion, CeeCee,” Matt replied lazily. “Or should I call you Cat? I’ve been trying to track you down ever since I saw you hit that girl at Maxim’s. You’ve got a couple of virtual tricks I’d love to learn.”

Caitlin continued to stare as if any words she might say would choke her. But she didn’t get a chance to say anything.

At that moment, another blond girl, wearing an even fancier jumpsuit, came up to them. “I don’t know how you got in, but if you had an invitation you’d know that proxies aren’t allowed.” Lara Fortune turned to Caitlin. “Friend of yours, Cat?”

“N-no,” Caitlin Corrigan gulped. Her eyes still hadn’t left Matt’s proxy.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Matt said. “I’m sure I have my invitation somewhere.” He went through the motions of a man searching his pockets, which looked ridiculous on a stick figure. “Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling something out of thin air.

It wasn’t an invitation icon, however. Matt shook out something that looked like a rubbery black pancake.

“What is that?” Lara Fortune demanded.