Duel Identity

Chapter 10

"Ouch!" Megan O'Malley yelped as her opponent's blade whacked her right in the midriff. She stepped back, lowering her own saber as her free hand rubbed at her "wound." That hurt, even through several layers of padded fencing jacket.

"Reverse moulinet." Her opponent remained on guard. And Megan wasn't sure, but she suspected he was grinning behind his fencing mask.

What made things worse, this was the balding, out- of-shape guy who usually couldn't touch her. But then, that was the way the whole evening's practice had gone. People had criticized her during the exercises, then picked on her during the free bouting section. And she wasn't holding her own, so she could hardly blame them for it.

Taking a deep breath, Megan brought her sword up, assumed the en garde position, and said, "Let's go."

She did all right for a couple of minutes, and then, humiliatingly, the guy nailed her again!

"Megan!" Alan Slaney called. "Could I see you, please."

She went through the after-bout ritual-saluting, removing her mask, and shaking hands with her opponent-even though what she really wanted to do was punch in his face. Then she walked over to where Alan stood observing the room with his back to a wall.

"What's wrong?" Alan asked.

"Nothing," Megan answered. "Absolutely nothing."

"Megan, I've been watching you tonight. Maybe you think you're trying, but you're just going through the motions. And when that happens, you get results like Ed there trouncing you. Alan shook his head. "Whether you want to admit it or not, there's some sort of distraction coming between you and your fencing. And until you deal with whatever is bothering you, you might as well hang a big sign on your chest that says, 'Please beat me up!' Because that's what every fencing partner you face will do."

"There is something wrong," Megan confessed. "Something about Latvinia. But you said we're not supposed to talk about it in the salle."

"That's just to keep people from getting distracted. But if it's making you fence like you're sleepwalking, maybe we'd better talk about it," Alan said. "I know your character has more duties than you might have expected. Is this about being virtmailed so early this morning?"

Megan shook her head. "It's about what happened after. That girl, Roberta Whatsername. Leif knows her. He says she's not going to take being thrown out of the sim lying down."

Alan grinned. "That's about all she could do, after being struck by lightning."

"That's not all she can do out here in real life," Megan explained. "Her Mumsy and Pater aren't your ordinary set of parents. They've got endless resources. They also know everybody, and that apparently includes some of the muckety-mucks at AHSO."

"I'm well within my rights to boot her out. The responsible authority for any SIG or sim-which in this case is yours truly-is allowed to eject anyone whose activities demonstrably disrupt the basic concept agreed upon for simulation. Which is what Roberta was trying to do, starting the Russian Revolution about twenty years too early. It's in the AHSO bylaws, to prevent participants from imposing their particular view of history-you know, the folks who expect to find hidden Viking colonies in America, or who demand to see alien gods from space building the pyramids. They're free to develop their own alternative sims, but they aren't allowed to ruin the party for everybody else in one that's up and running according to a given set of rules."

"I know that," Megan said. "But there were anarchists in the period you're dealing with."

"And I arranged for Roberta to be treated much better than most governments of the day treated accused anarchists," Alan replied. "Would it have been better to stick her in a dungeon for the rest of the beta-test? Or have her hung or shot? Any of those actions would have been historically accurate."

"I don't know," Megan admitted. "But I do know this. Rules don't matter much to the rich and powerful. And Leif says that Roberta has the juice to turn AHSO against you at the national level. You've obviously worked so hard on Latvinia-I don't want to see it fail before it becomes a moneymaking proposition for you."

Alan shook his head. "I never went into the Latvinia project to make a profit," he said gently. "You might call it a labor of love."

"But it will be an empty labor if AHSO makes all its members pull out," Megan insisted. "And it seems Roberta might be able to make that happen."

"I think I can keep most of the adventurers." Alan sounded confident, but a little worried wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. "All I need is a little time to work it through. But thanks for the warning, Megan. Thank Leif as well."

Leif cautiously checked out his virtmail, expecting to find some sort of flame job from Roberta Hendry. When he saw nothing, he was surprised… and somewhat curious. It was out of character for her.

"Computer," he ordered, "research function. Scan for mentions in the media regarding the Hendry family- specifically, Alexander Hendry, Susan Hendry, or Roberta Hendry."

That specified Roberta, her dad, and her mom, but was a bit too broad. He'd get blasted with information.

"Focus on society news," he added, "for the last four months. Execute."

"Searching," the computer's silver-toned voice responded.

Moments later the computer's holographic display began to fill with various references to the Hendry clan. Leif quickly weeded out stories about Roberta's attempts to bring back radical chic, or about Mrs. Hendry's home and garden tours. There were fewer references to the balls and parties the family would usually be gracing, then Leif saw why.

Alexander and Susan Hendry were apparently spending the summer at some count's villa in Monaco. It would make a nice vacation, but they wouldn't get the press among the international jet set that they would in their hometown papers.

"Too bad Roberta didn't choose to visit that little principality instead of Latvinia," Leif muttered as he looked through the rest of the clips. "Although they'd probably take much more practical action there if she tried to chain herself to the casino doors."

He told the computer to delete the references and plumped down on the living room couch. It looked like a dead night-nothing worth watching on the holo-or rather, if there was, it was just too much effort to search out. After his early morning, Leif didn't have the energy to find himself a party or hook up with anybody who wanted to go dancing. And with both Megan and Alan Slaney off at fencing practice, he was ready to bet that nothing exciting would be going on in Latvinia.

Right now the biggest danger threatening the kingdom was out here in real life. Would Roberta make good on her threats?

Leif turned to the living room computer console, ordering it into telephonic mode. Then he hesitated. His first choice to talk things over would be David-Leif valued his friend's calm, analytical approach to problems. But David might see Roberta as the solution to a problem. He was obviously not in love with Latvinia. Although it had been a clever idea to make David an Abyssinian prince, that plot device had also made him a fish out of water in the Zenda-like setting.

P. J. Farris, on the other hand, was having a whale of a time in the sim. It gave him the chance to shed the responsibilities of being a senator's son, kick back, and be as outrageous as he wanted to be.

And, Leif had to admit, Bronco Jack Farris was pretty outrageous as a rootin'-tootin' courtier. On one occasion he'd seen his friend give roping demonstrations by lassoing Megan's ladies in waiting, and then keep out of trouble by buttering the ladies up with a combination of cornpone humor and cowboy charm. Judging by the ladies' delighted grins, it wasn't the first time he'd tried it.

Yeah, P. J. would be more concerned about the future of Latvinia. And maybe his political background would help him come up with some suggestion that Leif just couldn't see now to stop the incoming trouble before it got ugly. He gave his computer the order to connect with the Farris phone number.

P. J. himself picked up, his face breaking into a grin when he recognized his caller. "You feelin' about as bored as I do, champ? I tell ya, I'm hooked. Man, the hours just seem to stretch on forever when there's nothing good goin' on in Latvinia."

"I'm sure you could always go in there and impress some girl with your Ragtime Cowboy Joe act," Leif shot back.

P. J. looked pained. "I am basing my characterization on a noted actor, raconteur, and roper-even if he did come from Oklahoma instead of Texas-I'm sure you've heard of Will Rogers."

"Oh, right," Leif said, vaguely remembering the name. "The burlesque comedian."

"Vaudeville, not burlesque," P. J. corrected. "There's a difference. The girls didn't wear much in the way of clothes in Ziegfeld's Follies, but they kept them on."

P. J.'s joking mood vanished when he heard why Leif was calling, however. "Shut down Latvinia?" PJ.'s distress showed in his voice. "Why would anyone want to do that? I'm having the most fun I've ever had since learning to ride a horse. Megan is obviously having the time of her life being a princess. Everybody's enjoying it. Why should some sorehead come along and shut the sim down?"

In the face of such enthusiasm, Leif decided to keep quiet about his own reservations. Instead, he pointed out, "Maybe that sorehead got annoyed about losing her dress, being dumped in a pile of merde, and then struck by lightning and deported."

"Oh, come on!" P. J. protested. "That guy who runs the Dominions of Sarxos role-playing game does much worse stuff to people who try to mess around with his sim."

"Rod," Leif said. "Chris Rodrigues. But Sarxos has been running a long time, with enough paying customers to make Chris rich many times over. Alan Slaney is just getting Latvinia off the ground-and he's aiming it toward AHSO people. If AHSO pulls its members out, Latvinia crashes and burns."

"We can't let that happen." P. J. leaned toward the holo pickup, his face serious. "I mean, think how upset Megan would be."

Leif repressed a brief shudder at the thought. "That's why I'm talking to you instead of her. Megan would probably go over to Roberta's and put her in a choke- hold until she promised to lay off. I thought you might come up with a slightly more.. political… solution."

P. J. just shook his head. "Most politicians I know would probably go for the choke-hold, too." He frowned, looking out at Leif. "Couldn't you just-well, talk to this Roberta person? Make her see how unfair she's being?"

Leif sighed. "Have you ever tried to get Megan to change her mind?"

P. J. nodded, wordless. But the look on his face told it all.

"Imagine that, squared, and backed up by a fortune and an 'I am bulletproof' attitude. Roberta's been given anything she ever wanted by her parents, and it shows in the worst way. She's not going to be rational. Megan's going to expect me to do something about it. And both Megan and Roberta have my phone number and Net addresses."

"So whatcha got here is a delicate decision, as far as you are concerned. Who is it that you really want to tee off? Roberta? Or Megan?"

Leif gave an unhappy nod. "That's it in a nutshell."

"I will say, Megan is likely to take it personal," P. J. went on. "And she's formidable. While this Roberta, despite her parents, sounds like the yelling kind. I'd plump for going up against Roberta. Just get yourself some good backup. Have you thought of asking Captain Winters for help here?"

"I'd have better luck getting the president lined up behind me," Leif replied. "We've got a history, you know. Winters doesn't exactly trust me."

"Well, I can't get you presidential backup, but I can offer some support from the Senate-at least from a senator's kid." P. J. grinned. "Think that might help turn this honey's head?"

"Maybe. It's a start," Leif admitted.

P. J. frowned in thought. "Suppose we get the guy who saved your bacon last night-Sergei. He's the son of the Russian ambassador." That big Texas grin came back.

"Create a sort of international peacemaking mission, y'know?"

"I don't know how to get hold of him," Leif said, "except that he's one of Alan Slaney's fencing students."

"Let me take care of that, then," P. J. promised. "Do you know where we can find this Roberta person? I figure we should get to work on her tomorrow morning."

Leif gave P. J. the Hendry address. "Just don't make it too early tomorrow morning," he said. "Roberta enjoys her sleep."

And so do /, he thought, as he signed. It's one of the best parts of summer vacation. And I seem to have missed out on my share of it so far.

The next morning Leif got out of a cab in one of the quieter side streets of Georgetown-a super-ritzy part of an extremely ritzy neighborhood. It was a few minutes before eleven, the time they'd agreed to meet. But Sergei Chernevsky was already there, waiting by the corner.

It took Leif an instant to recognize the Russian boy out of uniform and with a few years shaved off his virtual appearance. He still didn't know how P. J. had tracked Sergei down so quickly-or how he'd persuaded him to come along. But the closer Leif came to actually meeting Roberta, the more hopeless their mission seemed.

"No sword," Sergei said, finally recognizing Leif without his Albrecht von Hengist beard.

"And no gun," Leif replied with a grin. "Though we might wish we had one if Roberta decides to fly off the handle."

"Fly off-?" Sergei had to think for a moment to translate Leif's slang. "Oh, you mean she'll get angry.

Well, maybe P. J. brings one of his six-shooters." He did a thumb-and-finger imitation of a pistol.

"To change Roberta's mind, you'd probably do better with a thermonuclear bomb," Leif said.

A moment later, P. J. came walking up the block. Apparently he'd spent the night getting cold feet, too. His grin was all too obviously false as he greeted the other two. "Well, guys. Ready?"

"As we'll ever be," Leif said. "Prepare to charm the socks off her, Pretty Boy."

P. J. shot Leif a look. "Don't call me Pretty Boy."

Leif knew his friend was sensitive about his male- model good looks, especially now that they weren't hidden by his weather-beaten Bronco Jack persona. He also knew that unless he distracted P. J. from his nervousness, their attempt to change Roberta's mind was doomed before they even started. Roberta's car was parked in the circular driveway framing the three-tiered fountain in front of the house. She was home, apparently. It was to time to try their luck.

P. J. leaped up the steps of the house and rang the bell. He stood there for a moment as the others climbed up to join him, then rang the bell again.

No one answered the door. Nor did any faces appear in the curtained windows.

"You'd expect to see a mess of servants in a place like this," P. J. said, irritation entering his voice. "Think the bell is dead?"

The walls of the old house were too thick to let them hear anything, and heavy drapes muffled the windows. P. J. made a fist and began rapping on the door. "I know you said she slept late," he told Leif, "but this is overdoing it."

Sergei only shrugged. "I do not believe she is jacked into Latvinia," he said. "I checked just moments ago."

"Maybe she decided to join her folks in Europe," Leif offered. "With Roberta-"

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted him. Leif turned around to find a short, stout, gray-haired woman walking up the steps looking him up and down.

"We-ah, were hoping to find Miss Hendry in," Leif said. "But when we rang, we didn't get an answer, either from her or the staff-"

"Well, now, you wouldn't, since Mr. and Mrs. Hendry gave most of the staff the summer off," the stout lady replied with a faint trace of Irish brogue. "I'm only in to do the day cleaning and to take care of Miss Roberta."

She frowned. "I've no idea why she shouldn't be answering the door, as I expected her to let me in. She should be up and hungry for her breakfast by now." The woman began rummaging in her purse and produced a key ring. "But I'll certainly be getting an answer for you gentlemen after I see her."

The three boys stepped aside as the cleaning lady swept past with all the presence of a duchess going to court. Sergei began pointing out the obvious. "Maybe Roberta just doesn't want-"

Now his words were interrupted-by a scream. Leif flung himself at the door, which swung wide open-the cleaning lady hadn't fully closed it. Banshee screams echoed off the marble walls and floor of the reception hall. Toward the rear of the house rose the central staircase, where the cleaning woman huddled, still screaming.

Then Leif realized the woman was huddled over another figure lying on the floor, a pale, still figure with great legs peeping out from under a frilly nightgown. It was Roberta Hendry, and she was unconscious- Or worse!