Could be that Mr. Seurat had what some of Jay’s buddies at MIT had called Euro-Q. Back in his school days there had been a good number of best-of-the-brightest imports from Europe, who had thought that because they were in the land of the tasteless American, that it meant they were naturally smarter as well.
But Jay also remembered one of his old college buddies, a guy named Bernard from Tennessee. Bernard had been invited to play chess by an Englishman named Sykes. Bernard, who spoke slowly with a thick Southern twang, had looked mildly bemused.
“Well, ah’m afraid I barely know the rules of that game, sir,” his friend had said. “But ah’ll give it a try, if’n you want.”
Sykes had, according to the story, looked positively gleeful. He’d been ready for a fine round of pummel-the- Colonial, but instead had been
“Allo? You must be Monsieur Greedlee?”
Because he didn’t want to be at the meeting, Jay was primed to be irritated, and this was enough to start the ball rolling. “Mr. Seurat,” he said, taking care to pronounce the second syllable “rat” instead of “rah.”
Seurat’s frown was paper-thin and gone in a second, but Jay had seen it.
Jay had played this game before. Guy was gonna have to get up earlier than that to stay ahead of him. He smiled and waved at the chairs.
They sat down at the glossy-finished wood table. The fluorescent lights overhead gleamed upon the thick finish, and Jay could see their distorted reflections as he sat down. Seurat’s body language was relaxed, but Jay could tell it was a front. The man’s eyes did not match his poise, and while there were no overt signs, Jay thought he could feel the man’s annoyance.
He stifled an inward sigh. Better get it started so he could get it over.
“I understand you’ve had some problems at CyberNation with your networks?” Jay asked.
Seurat’s lips compressed slightly before he replied. “Indeed, we have been attacked by a major VR talent, on several occasions. By that, I mean someone very good was involved. World-class, Mr. Gridley.”
The stupid-Frenchman accent had vanished. His English was now as crisp as an icicle at thirty degrees below zero, with barely a trace of any accent.
Aha! Shades of the Tennessee chess champion!
Seurat said, “I understand you have some familiarity with VR?”
“Yes, I have some small knowledge of it,” said Jay, thinking,
“Or perhaps we might show you a way to keep your military’s very expensive war scenarios from going into the toilet?”
Seurat smiled, his expression as bland as Jay’s.
Oh, he wanted to play?
“I don’t expect we need any help there. I’m on the trail of the perpetrator. Only a matter of time until I get him.”
“Time is money, is it not?”
Jay smiled. The man was smooth. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Seurat shook his head, and the smile, this time, seemed genuine. “Mr. Gridley, I will acknowledge that you are better than I, better than any of our people when it comes to chasing VR criminals and terrorists. And that I am an arrogant Frenchman and you have put me in my place. Now that we have both waved our weenies at each other, perhaps we can get past the posturing
Despite himself, Jay had to laugh. The guy had it nailed. Score a point for him.
“Go ahead, Mr. Seurat.” He pronounced the name correctly this time. “I’m listening.”
Seurat continued. “Our most recent incursion was just a few hours ago, when a VR dragon entered one of our shared-space utopias and began attacking our citizens.”
“A dragon?”
He handed Jay a slip of paper with a VR address on it.
The form of the dragon might add weight to the clue he’d uncovered at the VR saloon. Jay looked at the address and nodded.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, then added, “but I may need unrestricted access to your network.”
The unasked question hung in the air.
The Frenchman seemed to reach a decision, and nodded to himself.
“I shall see that you are allowed whatever access you need, Mr. Gridley.”
Jay nodded. That was true, the guy had just made a big decision.
Jay made a decision of his own. “Call me Jay,” he said.
Seurat nodded. “And I am Charles. I will be at the Watergate until tomorrow morning. Please contact me if you have any trouble with network access.”
“The Watergate,” said Jay. “Of course.” He smiled. This time Seurat smiled back at him.
Jay didn’t like CyberNation, but he had to give Seurat points for style. And balls.
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to help the virtual nation, nor even if he wanted to help it, but he was certainly going to enjoy walking through their systems while he tried.
14
Kent attended to his paper- and e-work, always a bigger part of his job than he liked. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he would just plow into the requisition forms, assorted order-postings, and such, and make an attempt to catch up on his perpetual backlog. Much as he hated it, there were times when he had to get into the grind.
While deep in the minutiae of a report on uniform grades and current in-house stocks of same, his computer
He had the system set up for voxax, so he said, “Searchbot report.”
The file on uniforms collapsed and shrank as if being sucked down a drain, leaving a small icon in the bottom of the computer screen. The bot’s report appeared in its place, and the bot started to read it aloud in a voice that reminded Kent of a particularly boring professor whose course Kent had once taken at the War College. “Stop vocal,” he said. He could still read.
The report, which on the face of it seemed innocuous enough, was about a classical guitar competition in, of all places, Lincoln, Nebraska. The solo finals were being held this coming Saturday at seven in the evening, and would consist of four contestants. Their names were Emile Domenicio, Sarah Pen Jackson, Richard Justice, and Phillip Link.
