"Many moons?” Carlos raised his eyebrow.
Chief Black Deer grinned then grew serious again. “To most people, mutants are simply a legend. But for us, the tribal elders, they are monsters with no souls."
* * * *
The night was sultry. A taxi took him to the Net Building, and Carlos gave a low whistle when he spied it. He walked into the front door, nodding in a friendly fashion to the beefy guard posing as a liveried doorman.
"I'd like to see Mitch Palo,” he said when he arrived at the front desk.
The secretary smiled coldly, peering at him from behind green, pointy glasses that looked like a prop for a cartoon character. “I'm afraid that isn't possible."
Carlos didn't return the smile. “I must insist. My name is Daniel Glover Brims, and I have orders from Ms. Girt concerning her employee, Mr. Palo."
"Orders? Let me see your ID and the orders.” She pushed her chair away from the ornate desk and took the papers Carlos removed from his vest pocket. She stared at them, then without another word she left the room, muttering angrily. Her high heels tapped a staccato on the mahogany floor, and Carlos winced as he imagined the damage she was doing to the burnished wood.
When she was out of sight, he leaned over her desk and peered at the console. Mitch's room was not hard to locate; there was a red tag with his name on it plugged into a socket. The wire went towards a small screen, and, with a quick glance at the heavy door the secretary had disappeared behind, Carlos flicked the button. The screen lit, and he saw a young man sitting cross-legged on a huge bed. A tray with empty dishes was at his side. As Carlos watched, the man took a bottle of wine from a bedside table and poured himself a glass. Before he drank, he raised the glass and looked straight at Carlos. “Cheers,” he mouthed.
Carlos took an involuntary step backwards. He looked for a camera then quickly turned off the screen. The secretary returned a few minutes later, a small, dapper man at her heels.
"I'm Frank Dinde, head of Net Security,” he said, but he didn't offer his hand to shake.
"Daniel Glover Brims,” Carlos said.
"So, you're Virtual Tours’ operator. I've heard much about you.” His expression said very clearly that what he'd heard hadn't included the fact that Daniel was a nearly seven foot tall, full-blooded Kiowa, with obsidian eyes and black hair nearly to his waist.
Carlos grinned widely. “You have? How wonderful. It's hard living up to my reputation, but I try my best. Now, when may I speak to Mr. Palo?"
"We can't go to his room right now. You've arrived quite late. I'm sure he's sleeping. You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning. I hope you made reservations in the city."
"Oh, if I know Mitch, he'll be lounging in bed, watching a dirty movie and drinking a glass of red wine.” Carlos shrugged. “What can you expect from these playboy types? I'll just give him a call on the phone, and he can come down to the lobby to meet me. We'll go to the diner across the street to talk."
Frank Dinde opened his mouth then shut it. The skin around his nose turned white. “I'll take you to his room."
Carlos hid his amusement behind a blank, Indian stare.
They took an elevator to the third floor and walked down a luxurious hallway. On the walls were several beautiful Italian Renaissance paintings. Carlos stopped in front of one and stared. “Amazing."
Frank Dinde stopped and retraced his steps. “What's amazing?"
"The colors. They are so vibrant. Titian really knew his stuff, didn't he?” Carlos raised one eyebrow and shrugged. “Although it has to be a copy, it's a very, very good one."
"Indeed. Now if you'll please follow me. Mr. Palo's room is right around the corner."
He knocked once, and Mitch opened the door. Behind him, the television was blaring and he was holding a glass of wine. He looked at Frank Dinde then at Carlos standing behind him.
"Can I...” He began.
"Mr. Glover Brims is here. He has orders from Ms. Girt. I must say, I don't approve of your company's way of doing things,” he added, turning to Carlos.
"We do our best,” Carlos said coldly. “Now, if you'll excuse us."
"When you're through, call the receptionist. We'll send you an escort."
After Carlos shut the door in Frank Dinde's face, Mitch said, “I'd love to see Digby. Have I got some things to discuss with him! Is he in the lobby?"
"No, he's not here. I hope you'll forgive the ruse, but it was the only way to get to see you."
"I'll forgive you if you can get me out of this place. They put me under house arrest, so to speak."
"Your door's locked?"
"Try it and see.” Mitch shrugged.
The knob would not turn. “Escort. That's a euphemism for goon, I suppose."
"Goon? Whoever you are, I like you already. Would you care for dinner? If I order now, it will arrive in about twenty minutes. The service is fast and the food sublime."
"I'll have a glass of wine, if you don't mind,” Carlos said. “And let's stay in sight and out of sound. Is that possible?"
Mitch cocked his head. “Unless the Net has someone better than me in their service, which I doubt, we can stay right here and talk. I've tuned the bugs to the Puerto Rican Radio de Noche. Right now whoever is listening is getting an interview with this year's new limbo champion."
"In Spanish.” Carlos grinned.
"Exactly. So, if you're not Digby, and I can assure you that you're not, who are you?"
"My name's Carlos, and I work with the mutant program."
"Oh.” Mitch ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it then smoothing it back down. “Why are you here, Mr. Carlos?"
"Just Carlos will be fine."
"Monkey, I'm Sarah and Just Carlos. I'm collecting a whole load of friends with odd names."
"You've met Monkey?"
"Of course. He's a great guy,” Mitch said, a trace of frost appearing in his voice.
Carlos nodded. “I don't actually get to approach the mutants that often, and until lately I had never tried to have a conversation with one."
"That's too bad. You might have learned something.” Now Mitch's voice was icy, and the frost had spread to his pale blue eyes.
"I realize that."
"Why don't you let them out?"
"I beg your pardon?” Carlos hadn't expected that question. It caught him completely off guard.
"I said, why don't you let them out? They are perfectly normal human beings except for the fact that they've been kept in cages all their lives."
"I wish you were right, but you've only met Monkey. The others aren't like him."
"They're not?” Now it was Mitch's turn to be surprised. “He didn't tell me that."
"They don't see each other. They can't even see themselves. They have no mirrors, and they float in thick, opaque clouds."
"Why aren't the others like Monkey?"
"Only one or two mutants ever developed a normal physique. A couple of them are literally monsters only fit for a freak show. Some are partially paralyzed; others are autistic and won't communicate in any way that you or I could understand. Monkey was the only mutant we could even consider ‘letting out,’ as you put it."
"Freaks?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
Mitch took a sip of his wine. “I'm sorry. Perhaps you'd better sit down. Here, have a glass of Bordeaux. It's a nice little wine."
Carlos held the glass up to the light, gently swirled the ruby liquid around it, and inhaled. “Nice legs. Black currant, strawberry, banana, blackberry, pepper, cinnamon and lots of tannin. Excellent.” He held the glass to the light again. “Almost terra cotta. I'd say about twenty years old."
Mitch raised his eyebrow. “Twenty-one, actually."
"Good choice."
"I just asked for their most expensive bottle,” Mitch said.
"Are you paying?"
"Do I look like I could afford a two thousand dollar bottle of wine? I charged it to someone else's account."
Carlos nodded
. “A wise decision."
"How did you like meeting Mr. Dinde?” Mitch asked, tipping the bottle over his glass and shaking out the last drops.
"You do know what dinde means in French, don't you?"
"I do, and I agree that the name suits him perfectly."
Carlos raised his glass. “Here's to the turkey.” He drank deeply.
"Now, perhaps you can tell me why you're here.” Mitch lay back on his bed, his arms over his head, a knee drawn up.
Carlos sat down on a chair nearby. “I'm here to tell you to be careful."
"As if I didn't know that already.” Mitch grinned.
"I spoke to M-6. He's considered by all the other mutants and the scientists to be the spokesman of the group. He calls himself the elder son."
"Go on."
"I have a copy of the conversation here. I'd like you to read it.” Carlos took a paper from his hip pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Mitch.
There was a long silence while Mitch read. An even longer silence followed, while he considered it, slowly tearing the paper to tiny shreds and dropping them on his sheets. “Bait? Mahler thinks I'm bait?"
"My theory is the Net wants to frame the mutants for the murders so they can get total control of virtual travel. Perhaps they've even developed their own virtual tour, which is why they'd be willing to sacrifice the mutant program."
"That's impossible.” Mitch brushed the paper off his bed in a snow flurry. His eyes followed the white bits as they drifted to the ground. “They haven't found a way to create a virtual travel program because it's impossible to do that without the mutants’ help."
"What do you mean? The program exists, you work in it, and you should know better than anyone how it was made."
"I know nothing at all about it. I thought I did.” Mitch wrenched his eyes away from the torn paper and looked at Carlos. His mouth was quirked in a wry smile. “I'm afraid you've come all the way here for nothing. The Net doesn't dare harm the mutants. They're the only ones who can create the programs. No human being in the world is capable of such a feat."
Carlos sat very still. “I had no idea. I simply assumed that the mutants were the best at developing a tour. I didn't know they were the only ones who could make one.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Do you think the Net knows this?"
"I'm certain that no one knows this. Right now, only you, me and the mutants know who really creates these programs."
"Programs worth billions."
Mitch nodded. “The most precious commodity on earth, manufactured by mutants."
"If the Net doesn't realize that, then you're still in danger,” Carlos said gravely.
"Perhaps I am. Maybe Monkey will save me."
Carlos gave a start. “He's going into the program with you?"
"Who else can catch a virtual murderer?” Mitch smiled.
"I thought it was a setup."
Mitch rubbed his face. “I hope the new virus-catching program can flush out whatever is wrong."
"Maybe there is a virus, after all.” Carlos felt like an idiot. He hadn't even considered the most obvious situation.
"But who made it? It couldn't just appear."
"Usually you look for the one who will profit the most."
Mitch's smile slid from his face, leaving him looking tired. “No one could profit from killing Arthur or Jonathon. It must be more complicated than that. No, I think you're right somehow. The Net seeks to profit from this, but how and why I don't know."
"The why is easy: money and power."
"And the how?"
Carlos shrugged. “I have no idea.” He yawned. “I better get going. I have to be at the airport at dawn to be back to work. I'm catching the five a.m. flight to the base."
"Where are you staying, Just Carlos?"
"I'll sleep in the airport on a bench."
"There's room here. I get lonely if there's no one in bed with me.” Mitch grinned at him.
Carlos was startled. “I appreciate your offer, but I'm not interested, thank you."
"Oh, it was made in all innocence. My bed is big enough for two. I'll sleep on this side, and you can have that side, and when you get up at five, don't wake me."
"When this is finished, stop in at our Center. I'll show you around, and you can meet the rest of the mutants. Monkey will be glad to see you."
Mitch shook his head. “Monkey won't be coming back, I'm afraid."
Carlos froze. “Why not?"
"He's discovered the joy of sex.” Mitch stifled a yawn. “Seriously, don't count on him trotting back to his cage. He's a free man now. What's more, I'll do everything in my power to keep him that way.” His eyes were chips of frozen ice, all friendliness gone.
Carlos nodded. “I see."
"No, I don't believe you do.” Mitch picked up the phone. “Shall I call the goons to get you now?"
"No, I think I'll accept your invitation. Move over.” He lay down. “If what you say is true, then you're in far more danger than I thought, Mitch Palo."
"Excuse me?” Mitch sounded startled.
"Be quiet, I've had a long day and I have to get up early.” Carlos closed his eyes, and was asleep in an instant.
* * * *
"What did they speak about?"
"It's very strange. They spoke all night about some sort of dancing contest."
"Let me see that. They spoke in Spanish?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What are they doing now?"
"Sleeping, ma'am."
"In the same bed?"
"It seems that way. Oh, Ms. Andrews?"
"Yes?"
"The restaurant faxed your bill to us. Shall I give it to you now?"
"No, don't bother, I had a club sandwich and some fries. Send it straight to accounting, and they'll debit it in the morning."
"Very well, Ms. Andrews. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
* * * *
Monkey shifted in his bed. He'd polished off the dinner Mitch had sent him and most of the bottle of wine. He'd never had alcohol before so he'd become very drunk. He hadn't realized it, though. All he'd felt was a sort of slowing of his system, a dopiness combined with a sort of anesthesia of his nerves. He lay in a boneless heap on his bed, his mind full of the things I'm Sarah had done to him, his pal sticking straight up into the air. Mitch's advice came to him, through the wine-induced fog. He grasped his penis with one hand and imitated I'm Sarah's actions. It worked beautifully. After a few moments, he dissolved into the shivering delight of release. He waited a while and started again.
* * * *
Down in the back office, where little screens glowed, a man wrote his notes as dutifully as possible.
Masturbation, rest, masturbation, some wine, television, masturbation, sleep.
The notes would ultimately be read by the Net security agent, then by Frank Dinde, and finally, by Sonia Andrews, who would be too upset by a message from her banker to take any notice.
Chapter Ten
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow'd earth-rich apple-blossom'd earth!
Smile, for your lover comes.
~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
* * * *
"The coast is clear,” Monkey said for the thousandth time as they lay in the sand sipping margaritas. The palm trees rustled overhead, and the frigate birds sailed lazily in the blue sky. Bright notes from a steel-drum band playing Calypso tunes rose gaily over the sound of the waves crashing on the beach.
"Shall we try the next frame now?” Mitch asked.
"I'm almost finished with my drink.” Monkey sat up a little straighter and his voice dropped. “I don't sense any signs of a virus in this section of the program, and I've checked out everything around us. There's absolutely nothing out of place."
"Why are you whispering? You said, ‘The coast is clear'. That should trigger the virus hunter within the program."
Monkey shrugged and took anoth
er sip from his frosty drink. “I don't know why I whispered. There's nothing here, but there's an odd feeling. I just can't place it. Perhaps it's the virus hunter."
"Do you think something could be wrong?” Mitch took off his sunglasses and squinted at Monkey.
"Not exactly. And I trust the Net's virus hunter. When they explained it to us, they were very thorough. Supposedly, if any killer virus were attracted to you, the program would be able to isolate it immediately. But the feeling I get isn't one of danger. It's very strange. Usually I can trace those sorts of things...” His voice trailed off and he frowned. “I don't know, and it bothers me. It's as if I should know."
"Do you want to try another screen?” Mitch glanced at his watch. They were staying close by the two places the deaths had occurred, but so far, nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"Let's go back into Arthur's room. I want to check out the doorway, and then we can take a sail to Virgin Gorda again tomorrow. I didn't feel anything on the beach there, but in the cave there was a definite eddy or aftershock the program absorbed. I'll try to sort that out."
"You're working very hard, Monkey. Don't you want to rest?"
"I don't want to leave you alone here."
"That was part of the plan, remember? I'm the bait."
"I didn't agree to that plan. You stay with me, okay?” Monkey hesitated. “Besides, I'm not sure which one of us is the bait. I don't think we should get separated."
Mitch didn't argue. He got to his feet, picked up his towel, shook out the sand, and then followed Monkey back to the hotel.
* * * *
They woke up after three days and gave a full report. The Net verified everything with the virus trackers installed in the program. Everything seemed as it should be, but Monkey shook his head when Frank Dinde asked if this particular tour could be opened to the public once more.
"No, I don't think so. There's definitely something in there although I couldn't find it. I think you'd better give the program back to the Center and have the team that created it work it over.” Monkey grinned shyly as he said this, ducking his head and looking at Mr. Dinde sideways.
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