Cole Perriman's Terminal Games

by Wim Coleman

  Finally, with a resigned sigh, Marianne allowed Baby’s flashlight to pause. It fell squarely upon a conventional human couple—the female somewhat excessively busty—copulating in a bubbling Jacuzzi and making ordinary sounds of passion. Babylonia paused and watched for a moment. The beam automatically expanded like a silent movie iris, bringing the scene into full-screen view.

  Why would somebody come to cyberspace to do something so—average?

  But then, was the man really a man and the woman really a woman, as they appeared to be, or were they alter-egos for some other combination of genders? Or were they actually one desperately lonely person performing both roles?

  As Marianne wondered, the male image raised his head from the foam and steam and seemed to look directly at Babylonia. Marianne realized with a start that Baby was visible to those she watched. The woman in the Jacuzzi waved, and her words appeared at the top of the screen.

  jozee>hi there. want 2 join us?

  jose>c’mon in, gorgeous. the watrs fin.

  Marianne gulped.

  Well, I’ve got to start somewhere.

  Then she typed:

  baby>i’d luv 2 pla with u luvly peeple 4 a litl whil.

  *

  Baldwin Maisie and Ned Pritchard watched as Auggie approached a figure at the bar, a cheerful-looking character who wore a brown robe with a hood. “Who’s the monk?” Maisie asked, but Pritchard just shrugged.

  awgy>congrats friar john on yr chang uv habit. r u njoying yr nu rol?

  jon>its ben most edukashunal & i hav u to thank 4 the idea.

  Auggie’s raucous programmed laughter rang out.

  awgy>didn i tel u that al u had 2 do wuz folo yr intrests & giv n 2 yr obseshuns? wusnt i rit?

  jon>u wer rit, awgy. i fel so much mor at hom now & u wudn beleeev the mpruvment in mi soshul lif.

  Auggie’s laughter rang out again, followed by the sound of whistles and applause.

  awgy>wel, i’m alwas glad to help out a frend. n fact, 2 nit i brot a nu plamate alng jst 4 u.

  The friar just stood there grinning while Auggie pulled out a rubber ball attached to a horn. But instead of toots, the horn seemed to produce three hymn-like organ chords. A new figure appeared at the door to the bar. This one was dressed as a nun, with a black habit and a large white headdress that partially hid her face. With one hand, she hiked up her skirt and struck a pin-up pose, then wiggled her hips as she came toward the friar.

  awgy>u 2 shd hv a fin ol tim 2 nit.

  But the friar did not respond. Now the nun had reached the bar and her face was visible. It was the face of a middle-aged woman with startling blue eyes. A few tendrils of gray hair escaped the elaborate headdress. In her hand she carried a ruler. The friar figure snapped around, turning his back on the nun.

  jon>u monster. how did u no?

  awgy>mi frends usually tel me wut they lik, whut it is they reeeley want.

  jon>how dare u. that was my private memory

  awgy>it was yr faaantaseee & ooobviosly not so private, after al.

  Pritchard punched Maisie in the arm, saying, “Lookee, these guys have a cyberfight brewing up.”

  “That’s nothing new for Auggie. He has his noisy little disagreements with lots of people.”

  “Yeah,” Pritchard snickered, “but look at what this one’s over.”

  awgy>u just sed u’r having a grat tim being a reeelijus figger.

  jon>this wuz supposed 2 b just a game. ure supposed 2 b just a cartoon. NO—this is getting far too personal. you have no business poking around in my mind.

  awgy>u gav me sum of yr seeecrets & i gav u sum of min. but thers much more, mi frend. much mor. i thot u wer 1 uv the speshul 1s. i thot u aaaalmost unnerstud the tru natr of reeeality.

  jon>i don’t know how u did it. but 4get it awgy. 4get about evrything. you won’t ever see me again. not here. not anywhere.

  Two things happened then in rapid succession: Auggie threw his drink in the face of the friar; and the friar, brown trickles running down his face, vanished from the bar. Apparently his operator had turned his computer off.

  Did you see that?” Maisie asked.

  “Yeah. Auggie’s drink splashed all over that guy.”

  “He’s not supposed to be able to do that. One cartoon character’s not supposed to be able to touch another one in Ernie’s.”

  “Tell me about it,” Pritchard said. “No, tell that to Auggie.’

  “You know,” Maisie said thoughtfully, “Marianne said that her friend and the clown used to argue a lot. Maybe we should be keeping track of his tiffs.”

  Pritchard said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the screen.

  Auggie sat down at the bar and ordered another drink. He told the nun to go back to Aphrodite Escorts. As she wiggled her way out the door, he raised his glass to her. The clown’s synthesized voice said aloud, “Glug-gluggles!”

  Pritchard let out a snort of laughter, “Hear that, Maisie? Know who that is?”

  Baldwin Maisie looked blank. “What? I was watching the nun make her exit. What happened?”

  “The clown just said, ‘Gluggles.’”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “Remember—‘glug-gluggles, don’t get caught in the bottleneck’?”

  “You mean that little wizard who was always so irritated with the von Neumann bottleneck? What was his name?”

  “Zo-o-o-o-mer,” Pritchard said. “That’s gotta be either ol’ Zoomer or some fan of his too stupid to make up his own lines. Zoomer used to put messages on bulletin boards everywhere, bitching about digital computers—complaining about all those little ones and zeros trotting along single file through the binary bottleneck.”

  “Sure, I remember him now,” said Maisie. “He said information shouldn’t have to stay in line, that millions of operations a second isn’t fast enough. He was crying for a parallel processor by the time he learned to talk.”

  “Zoomer’s a very, very bright guy. He coulda done it. I mean, all this stuff that’s been happening up on Insomnimania. Zoomer coulda gotten around our programming in Ernie’s. He coulda invented the Snuff Room. He coulda set up the files on his snuffs so that anybody who downloaded only got a loop.”

  “Is he a super phone phreak?” Maisie indicated the caller ID box. “We got a Chicago number on the box tonight. Zoomer’s still in L.A., right?”

  “Last I knew. I don’t imagine he’s gone anywhere.”

  “We’ve been recording addresses and numbers from all over the country. Could he have logged in from here and made it look like he was coming from somebody else’s connection in some other state?”

  “I don’t remember him having that deep a background on phones. But I’d be willing to bet he could figure it out if he really wanted to.”

  Maisie considered for a moment, then asked, “What do you think? Should we tell the cops?”

  “Zoomer sure didn’t sneak up and kill anybody.”

  “Let’s let them figure that out for themselves.”

  “Are we gonna get him into trouble?”

  “Don’t see how it could. We know he didn’t do any murders.”

  “They’re gonna hassle him, though.”

  “Pritch, maybe he knows something. Maybe he can give them a lead in the direction of the guy who did kill that lady’s friend.”

  Ned Pritchard squirmed on his stool. “I’d hate to turn a hacker over to the cops.” He was silent for a few moments. “But it was murder. Two of them, maybe. I guess they won’t bother Zoomer too much, once they get to see him.”

  “Know where he is now?”

  “Probably still living at home with his parents. Like he always did. In fact, I think he actually joined Insomnimania—legitimately even. We probably have an address for hi
m.”

  Maisie punched a few keys, calling up membership information. “Yeah, here he is. He’s legit—the old boy’s slowing down. One alter listed. Named Gargantua. Yeah, that’s the gorilla we see around sometimes.”

  “That’s curiouser and curiouser.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ve seen Auggie talking to Gargantua. Do you suppose Zoomer’s getting schizo in his old age?”

  Baldwin Maisie dialed the police station and asked for Detective Grobowski.

  *

  This is almost like taking your clothes of for the first time with a new man. Not that Babylonia had cause to be timid about revealing her body. This was what she was made for. It was the lack of subtlety in the situation that made Marianne feel awkward. But none of that shyness showed in Babylonia as she waited in the Motelibido room that Auggie had reserved for them.

  Auggie had been in Ernie’s Bar when Elfie got there tonight. He greeted the elf and asked her to join him, but he had not seemed in the mood to continue their previous conversation. In fact, he wasted little time before suggesting Pleasure Dome activity. Marianne was glad that she had made preparations.

  The door opened and another figure entered the motel room. Marianne thought it must be Auggie, because only he knew the location of their private liaison. Only he would know the code to open the door and enter. But if this was Auggie, he no longer resembled a clown. Marianne stared at the screen.

  The image that stepped forward was almost androgynous. An indication of the standard male genitals was visible on the completely naked figure, but the body was slender and unformed, smooth and characterless, and completely hairless. The face was expressionless. The whole figure was a simply sketched line drawing—black outlines with no color at all within.

  It’s as though he just took off the clown costume and makeup and this is what’s left. She had hoped that Auggie’s Pleasure Dome alter would give her some clue to the personality behind the clown, but this image looked unfinished, like a doll or a cheap mannequin. This ... this dummy ... could put on another costume and be something else entirely. A familiar phrase ran through her mind: You ain’t got nothin ’in there. She giggled nervously. How could this be Auggie?

  “My name is Mr. Zero,” the figure said aloud, moving tentatively toward Babylonia. His programmed voice was almost a whisper, without inflection.

  baby>so glad to met u, handsum man. mi nam is babylonia.

  The pale figure stood gazing at Babylonia, the features unchanged, looking blank and disinterested. Finally he spoke aloud again, in the same uninflected voice. “Ah, yes. You and I are going to have a fine time together.”

  Marianne thought his voice sounded more like a sigh than anything else. But now Mr. Zero was continuing, this time typing his lines.

  0>welcom, babylonia. let me see. ah yes, of cors, she of babylon. i m inded honord bi yr meting me her 2day.

  baby>& i have long wantd 2 get 2 no u, awgy.

  As soon as Marianne had typed her words, she realized her error.

  I called him Auggie.

  She wondered if a tantrum would ensue. Instead, she sensed an almost palpable gentleness in Mr. Zero’s typed response …

  0>we shud 4get abt r rel livs 4 now. awgy & lfy arn’t her now. u, babylonia, u r her now. u r the 1 i want.

  As he spoke, the pale slender figure approached Babylonia and reached out to her. But what should Babylonia do? She opened her arms to wrap them around the man. Marianne was vaguely aware that the erotic handicap she had given Babylonia would affect her interactions with Mr. Zero. In fact, she had experienced the result of the handicap earlier in the hot tub scene, when she had found herself dominant over both of the characters she joined.

  But now she was amazed when Mr. Zero wrapped his arms around Babylonia and threw her down on the bed. Marianne giggled nervously. There was no doubt who had the higher aggression quotient here.

  Babylonia struggled briefly, but then Mr. Zero produced ropes, apparently out of nowhere. The whore was swiftly bound and tied to the bed, her arms stretched upward, her legs spread. The clown said:

  0>now u’ll njoy it much mor, mi love.

  Marianne gasped. Her mind reeled into panic. How had he known that this had sometimes been her fantasy? Had she told him? When could she have told him? This was an image that had occasionally flickered into her mind in years gone by—certainly not anything she had ever wanted to act out.

  Now Mr. Zero stroked Babylonia’s hair. He punctuated his typed words with his verbalized whispers. “How lovely.” “Such a beautiful woman.” And, “Ah, yes. You and I are going to have a fine time together.”

  Marianne relaxed a little. After all, bondage is an extremely common female fantasy. For all I know, he has all this preprogrammed and uses it automatically every time he meets someone here.

  Androgynous as he had seemed before, there seemed no doubt of Mr. Zero’s masculinity now. He stroked Babylonia. He removed her two purple veils and pushed her skirt aside. There were no more typed words—only a soft stream of sighs, compliments, and endearments was audible. Occasionally Marianne tried to direct Babylonia’s responses, but it was as though her alter insisted on simply following Mr. Zero’s lead. Then she saw that the ropes binding Babylonia had apparently melted away. The whore was tied down no longer.

  To Marianne’s amazement, the two characters simply folded together, made a fairly prosaic sexual connection, undulated, and emitted something like a purring noise. How easy it looked. How easy it was.

  She found the scene quite fascinating. There was none of the bizarre activity she had witnessed in the beam of Elfie’s flashlight. This was even simpler than her earlier experience in the hot tub. She felt a great sense of relief. She realized how much she had dreaded the possibility of seeing Elfie brutalized, even thus disguised as the Whore of Babylon.

  It was increasingly hard to believe that the person who had created Auggie and Mr. Zero could have been involved in two murders, much less that he might be the murderer himself. He certainly knew how to act the part of a gentle lover. The cartoon activity on the screen indicated a person who was—what? Seductive. Auggie knows how to be quite seductive.

  Then her whole body stirred with a physical memory so potent that it overwhelmed the images on the computer screen. It was as though Nolan was on top of her again and she felt her body move to receive him, without thought, without hesitation, her knees rising on each side of him, her arms wrapping around his great warm body.

  *

  The pale man moved his arm, pixels tracking across the screen in rhythmic strokes, both characters moving tirelessly, the whore’s red clothing and gold jewelry flashing with every motion.

  *

  Nolan entered her and drew a deep sigh, beginning a gentle motion. She realized contently that this was going to last a long time.

  *

  Babylonia’s red lips that would not smear formed a round “O,” her long black hair that would not tangle spread in curls around them. The pale lover moved ceaselessly.

  *

  Marianne became aware that Nolan was stroking the side of her face, kissing her eyelids, her nose, stroking her hair as it spread out on the pillow. All the while he moved gently, rhythmically. She reached up and ran her hands along Nolan’s hairy arms, his sweaty body, relishing the absolute reality of him.

  10100

  HACKER

  As Clayton drove the squad car slowly up North Figueroa, Nolan watched for the cross street. On any weekend, the park on their right would be full of picnicking families. Now some kids, probably a class from one of the neighborhood schools, were kicking a soccer ball around.

  Nolan remembered driving by that park after one of the more serious earthquakes. Many Mexican-American and Asian-American families had moved out into the park, setting up their tents and c
ooking out until the aftershocks were safely over. It had looked like some sort of fiesta.

  “Turn left at the next corner,” Nolan said. Clayton turned and headed into the lower edge of Mount Washington. Nolan directed them through a few more turns, and they wound their way steadily up the steep hill. Houses were packed along narrow roads that rambled through hairpin curves and steep grades. Many of the houses were old, some of them small and worn, but most shared an excellent view—at least when the view could be seen through the smog. Here and there, new houses were shouldered into the landscape, with bold decks jutting out precariously over the hillside. Nearer the top, the houses were larger with more space between them. Those belonged to Mount Washington’s more affluent inhabitants. However, nothing here looked much like Beverly Hills.

  They had to turn around and backtrack through a honeycomb of old lanes before they found the address Maisie had given them—a tall narrow house on the uphill side of the street. There was no driveway, just a slight widening of the road in front of a small garage. Clayton pulled the car as far over to the right as he could to avoid being in the path of other traffic coming down the hill. The detectives made their way up flagstone steps to the front door of the house.

  “If this guy tries to break and run, I don’t think he’ll be able to get out of here very fast,” Nolan muttered.

  “Maisie seemed sure he wouldn’t run,” said Clayton. “In fact, he’s positive this guy isn’t violent at all.” He knocked several times before a middle-aged Latina opened the door.