Duel Identity

Chapter 2

Leif popped into the big, bare virtual meeting room with only a twinge from his temples.

Very nice, he thought. Recalibrating the lasers on his computer-link couch had paid off. He looked around the government-issue meeting space. The crowd of kids assembled for the monthly national meeting of the Net Force Explorers looked sparser than usual. Well, it was summer, and a lot of kids spent their time doing interesting things in the real world instead of venturing into cyberspace.

But not Leif-right now the real world around him was too darned hot. New York was going through one of its periodic summer heat waves. Dad was working on some massive deal that required his physical presence round the clock at the office, while Mom was chairing a big charity event that kept her occupied and away from home more often than not. For Leif, the decision to leave his body in air-conditioned comfort back in the penthouse while seeing his D. C. friends was a no-brainer.

He'd even mostly gotten over his anger with Andy Moore-although his second bout with the make-believe Andy had been a lot more intense than the first one. No neat little taps for scoring purposes that time. But the virtual carnage served him well. Leif was feeling sufficiently magnanimous not to go for Andy's throat when the blond boy popped into existence not too far away.

"Hey, D'Artagnan," Andy greeted Leif with a smirk. "How's school?"

"Don't push it, Moore."

"You have to admit it was funny," Andy said.

"Ask me in six months," Leif said. "Right now, no, I'm not laughing."

David Gray joined them-as usual, the crew was homing in on Leif's head of blazing red hair. "Thanks for your warning," David said to Leif. "I checked my files after a visit from the schlock-meister here, and ended up editing topless dancers out of the telemetry package from my reproduction of the Galileo space probe."

"You told?" Andy flashed a look of betrayal at Leif, quickly followed by outrage as he turned to David. "And they weren't topless! Each figure stays respectably behind her letter card"-he smiled slyly-"unless somebody found a way to erase the cards."

"You'd better not try slipping any nudie munchkins into my system, Moore," Maj Greene entered the conversation with her usual volume and energy, "/wouldn't be satisfied with just trashing you in veeyar."

Heads began turning at the sound of her raised voice.

Andy held up his hands. 'They're not nude/' he said feebly. "Just… cute."

"My lit instructor didn't think they were cute," Leif told him. "Trust me on that one."

"What's all the hubbub?" Megan O'Malley asked as she synched in.

As David explained, she shook her head. "You guys just don't know how to spend your summers."

"And you do?" Maj challenged. "Running around waving a sword?"

"Nothing wrong with that," Leif quickly put in. "Although why you'd want to learn a bunch of obsolete mumbo-jumbo-"

"I'll bet I've learned more about the why of things studying historical fencing that you ever heard of in your competitive fencing bouts, Mr. Junior Champion," Megan shot back. "My instructor is really into the history of the blade. In fact, Alan is into history in general. He's a charter member of the Fin de Siecle SIG in the local AHSO chapter."

"What?" Maj demanded. "What kind of acronym is that? Does the group check out the historical significance of Chinese food?"

"The letters stand for Amalgamated Historical Simulation Organizations," David said.. "SIG means Special Interest Group, right?"

Matt Hunter, another member of the group, came up to join them, followed by P. J. Farris.

"Aren't they the guys who go around playing knights in shining armor?" P. J. asked.

"More than that," David replied. "They've extended their interests to all the various eras of history. Each time period and geographical area is covered by a SIG-a Special Interest Group."

Matt Hunter nodded. "Fin de Siecle is the SIG for the turn of the century from the eighteen-nineties into the nineteen-hundreds."

Matt ought to know, Leif thought. His friend was into history in a big way. "Good name for it-the end of the era" Leif said, translating the phrase from the French into English.

"Alan invited me to come and check out their next meeting," Megan went on. "He made it sound like a lot of fun."

"My dad is always talking about our great Texas history," P. J. said. His father was a senator for the Lone Star State. "Not much swordplay down our way, though, unless you count bowie knives. Bows, arrows, fists, and guns were pretty much the weapons of choice in the bad old days in Texas."

"Alan wouldn't think much of Texas, then," Megan said. "He's fondest of times where swashbuckling heroes performed great deeds of daring with daggers drawn, not to mention sabers, rapiers, and any other kind of edged weapon you can think of."

Leif rolled his eyes. "This Slaney guy sounds like he thinks he's God's gift to fencing, and maybe history, as well."

"Not to mention God's gift to women," Andy added, nodding toward Megan. She seemed very up about her summer activities, her upcoming visit with the Fin de Siecle SIG… and Alan Slaney in general.

Leif cut into her earnest attempts to recruit some friends to go along with her. "All right. What's the Net address for this tea party?"

Megan glanced over at him. "It's not a veeyar thing," she said. "These guys are very old-fashioned. They meet in the flesh."

A stir in the crowd and a turning of heads showed that the Net Force Explorers meeting was finally starting. That would cut off any more discussion until after business was taken care of.

Leif shrugged. It looked as if he wasn't going to get to check out this Slaney person. He wasn't coming down all the way from New York to check out the possible competition from a guy who might want to go out with Megan.

After all, Leif wasn't going out with her, either.

Megan stood in front of the building, glancing from the number over the glass doors to the address Alan Slaney had written down for her. She'd expected the Fin de Siecle SIG to meet in a restaurant, or maybe in somebody's home-the old-fashioned houses around Dupont Circle would have been perfect. Instead, she found herself outside a large downtown office building. At least, it would have been an office building twenty years ago. Nowadays, the building provided more space for computers and servers than for actual workers.

Maj Green came out through the revolving doors. "This definitely is the place," she reported. "Maybe we should wait in the lobby. It's about twenty degrees cooler than the air out here."

"I guess they keep the place well air-conditioned for the computers," Megan said. "If you want to stay inside, that's okay with me. But I think one of us should be out here-that's where we said we'd meet."

Another girl passed them, carrying a long, very full garment bag inside.

"That's the fifth person I've seen with one of those things," Megan said. "What are they for?"

"Costumes," Maj told her. "I almost couldn't get into the ladies' room with all the people changing in there. I sat and watched them for a minute. Getting dressed in those days must have been a big deal. Too many layers and no zippers. I learned a bit about turn-of-the-century clothes while I was there. They had to be awful hot in a Washington summer." She waggled her fingers. "And they had lots of hooks and buttons."

P. J. Farris hopped out of a cab and gave the building a long once-over. "Well, it is old-fashioned, but it's still about sixty years ahead of the times for these AHSO people."

"They needed a large-sized meeting place, and Alan was able to arrange this with his boss," Megan explained.

Andy came walking from the direction of the nearest Metro station with David. Obviously, he'd heard what Megan had said. "Your pal Alan works here?" Andy said. "Doing what?"

"Computer maintenance." The words felt awkward on Megan's tongue.

"Maintenance? On those sealed boxes they keep in here?" Andy hooted. "That means dusting. The guy's a glorified janitor!"

Maj and P. J. joined Andy's laughter. Megan could feel her face going stiff as she looked over at David.

He shrugged. "It's not the greatest job in the world."

"Alan says it pays the rent," Megan defended her friend, "and gives him time to do the things he wants to do."

"Like fooling around with swords and the good old days," Maj snorted.

"He says it was a simpler, more beautiful time," Megan said.

David shook his head. His dark brown skin gleamed in the light. "Simpler, yes. As for beautiful, I don't think so. Things sure were a lot simpler for folks who were my color," he pointed out. "There were only a few jobs we were allowed to do. Picking cotton, cleaning houses, shining shoes-"

"And there were only a couple of states where women were allowed to vote," Maj put in.

"I was just repeating Alan's opinion. You don't have to convince me how much better things are today. What do you say we just check out what these people are doing?" Megan said. "Alan seemed really eager about tonight's meeting."

Megan and her friends entered the building, following the growing crowd heading to the meeting room. Megan couldn't believe her eyes as they entered. A good quarter of the people in the room were dressed in period costumes. One guy came by in a dapper-looking suit, his derby tucked under one arm as he swung an agate- topped cane in the other. Then they passed a girl wearing a hobble skirt so tight around the ankles she could hardly walk, along with a jacket that ended at her waist, and a hat wider than a pizza crowned with all sorts of iridescent feathers.

"I'll bet that hemline raised people's blood pressure back when," David said with a smile.

"You can't see anything!" Andy complained.

"In those days a glimpse of stocking was hot stuff," David replied. 'Too bad Matt's not around. He'd have enjoyed this, I think."

"I think he'll get by, vacationing with his family," P. J. laughed, then stared. "Check this one out."

"This" turned out to be a guy in a red uniform covered in gold braid, with a fore-and-aft hat, a gold-encrusted sash… and a sword with a gold hilt in an ornate scabbard.

"Either he rules half a continent, or he's the doorman for a very exclusive hotel," P. J. said.

"Nice sword," Maj muttered, turning to Megan. "Please, tell me this isn't your friend."

"No," Megan was happy to answer. 'There he is."

Alan stepped out on a small stage, dressed in everyday jeans and a polo shirt. "Glad to see you could all make it," he told the crowd, with a special grin at the guy in the general's rig. "Especially you, Chauncey."

"Think nothing of it, old boy," the guy in the glittering uniform replied with a condescending wave of his fawn-colored glove.

Except for the costumes and the slightly more informal tone, the business part of the meeting wasn't all that different from the Net Force Explorers gathering a few days earlier. In fact, Alan's final announcement was more high-tech than historical.

"I'm happy to say that Latvinia is up and running," Alan told them.

"Was she sick?" Andy Moore cracked-a little too loudly, Megan realized.

Alan pretended not to notice. "For almost a year, people have been talking about a virtual reality setup that would let us simulate life in our chosen era. Latvinia gives us an entire kingdom-even though it's a small one-with plenty of opportunities for adventures. It's based on some of the vest-pocket monarchies created in period novels like The Prisoner ofZenda, the Graustark stories, and Edgar Rice Burroughs's The Mad King"

"Sounds like you'd have to be insane to get involved with this," Maj commented.

The response from the rest of the crowd-the non-Net Force Explorers-was much more enthusiastic.

"What happens now?" asked the girl in the hobble skirt.

"Beta-testing," Alan replied. "The sim and all the non- playing characters are ready to go. If you're interested in visiting Latvinia, check with me, get a character profile, and fill it out. We'll run it through the computer, and you'll be in." He seemed to be looking straight at Megan as he said, "This is an open invitation. I hope we get a good response."

"Excuse me," an accented voice called out. Megan glanced over to recognize a young foreign guy from her historical fencing classes. "This invitation-it is for all of us? Even those who do not belong to this organization?"

"Let me introduce Sergei Chernevsky, the son of the Russian ambassador," Alan said. "I took the liberty tonight of inviting Sergei and several other promising fencers from the historical swordplay class I teach." He grinned. "After all, what would Latvinia be without flashing blades? For that we need swordsmen-and swordswomen."

"Oh, brother," Andy said.

"From the determined look on Megan's face," David said, "I'd cut that down to a simple-'Uh-oh!' "

Leif scowled at the holographic connection to Washington. "How can you say that?" he demanded.

"It's a pretty simple two-letter word," David Gray replied. "N-O. No."

Leif shook his head as he looked at his friend's face.

"I don't see what the problem is," David added. "Maj and Andy turned Megan down flat. P. J. wants to play cowboys and Cossacks, or whatever. Just because you volunteered to join in on this beta-testing jaunt doesn't mean I have to come along."

"I wish-" Leif began.

David cut him off. "Have you read any of the books this mythical kingdom is supposedly based on?"

"Not while I was preparing for my lit class final," Leif replied. "I had to make a good grade on it after Andy sabotaged that written report."

"Well, I read them. I found only one character who was African-American-a train porter who talked in the vilest dialect you could imagine."

"Colonial French?" Leif suggested.

"Cornpone English," David corrected. "I am not going to run around in veeyar crying, 'Lawdy, lawdy!' "

"I'd just feel a lot better if we had someone along who knew down to the smallest detail how these sims worked," Leif said. "It's one thing to buy into a commercial game world, but this Slaney guy programmed Latvinia by himself."

"And you wouldn't even be going in at all except 'this Slaney guy' all but offered Megan a personal invitation." David shook his head. "Frankly, compared to the dress- up brigade I saw at that meeting, he seemed like a tower of normality… and a pretty nice guy. If Megan wants to go play in his make-believe country, why don't you let her, instead of horning in-and trying to drag me along?"

"David, I need the favor," Leif finally said. "I'll owe you one, big-time. Just come in and check the place out. If you really hate your character, I'll get you out immediately."

David just looked at him, his eyebrows rising. "And how will you do that?" he asked.

"The quickest exit possible from a sim," Leif responded with a laugh. "I'll kill you-you have my personal guarantee."

"Anybody know where my book on poisons is?" Megan's father asked as he rooted around in the living room. "It's not on the bookshelf in its usual place." Megan glanced over to where her father had been working. A thick tome on Norse mythology had several pieces of paper stuck in it marking various pages, while beside it lay something titled Great Teen Detectives of the Twentieth Century. She was almost afraid to ask what writing project Dad had embarked on now.

"Maybe Mom has it?" Megan suggested. "I just hope Sean hasn't picked it up. It's his turn to cook next week."

Ordinarily, she'd help her father search for the escaped book, but one look at the clock just now had stopped her from volunteering. Tonight was the night that she, David, Leif, and P. J. were entering Latvinia for the first time.

Alan had okayed the idea of Megan going in with her friends, so long as they submitted character profiles just like everyone else. She'd spent a day filling in the long form that had appeared in her virtmail box, answering questions about her interests and abilities. David had almost pulled out again, but she and Leif had nagged him back into line.

More annoying had been Alan's insistence on keeping the results of those forms secret.

"You'll discover your character when you go in," he told her. "Everybody gets a full background as they get started. This isn't some commercial sim where you can pick and choose your character. I've got a kingdom to run here, and I won't be able to do it if everybody starts pestering me about changes."

Pestering Alan to tell her more hadn't worked, either. He'd kept her so busy in fencing class she scarcely had breath to ask questions.

So, as she settled into the computer-link couch in her room, Megan still had no idea what she was getting into. When she appeared in Latvinia, she could be a countess-or a scullery maid.

No sense worrying about it now, she told herself as the couch receptors began to synch in with her implanted circuits. She closed her eyes, thinking about the pile of dishes she'd helped clean after dinner tonight. She hoped she wouldn't be doing the same job in veeyar.

I'll never live it down with the guys if this blows up in my face, Megan thought.

She opened her eyes-and a loud explosion almost sent her tumbling to the floor!