The sensation of moving all at once like that, like the blast ring of a Medusa bomb, had my internal processors struggling to make sense of the shifting waves of information. Thousands of images flipped through my mind as I extended farther out. Unable to completely abandon linear thought, my mind groped to make sense of snippets and pieces and parts. Twenty percent chance of rain tonight ... Il ya une I, ..." Holo-visuals of the entertainment frequency flashed through personal conversations and meshed with Traffic Control. Coordinates: 55 degrees latitude, by ... Oh, Trent, I can't live without you ... Wei. Joe sun! ... your very own, buy now! The jumble of voices and images threatened to overwhelm me. ¿Quien sabe? ... first level ... oh yeah? ... set alarm for ... I felt my real-time stomach tighten at the prospect of becoming indistinct within the greater universe of the LINK.
Soon the distinct voices became an unintelligible hum, and I merged with the LINK. Images blurred together into a blinding white light. Though sightless and soundless, I could sense the LINK as it pulsed and breathed, enveloping me in its living warmth. I could have pooled there forever in the information flow, but Mouse pulled me farther down, past the buzzing chatter of commerce and pleasure to something deeper, more basic.
Next to me, I felt him manipulate a password and trigger a response somewhere in the bowels of the beast. We snapped, with an almost palatable sound, into focus.
The LINK glittered like the stars above. My consciousness felt anchored in something solid now. A definite here, yet its base was enormous, like a giant whose feet straddled the Earth.
My God, where are we?
MOUSE.SYS. The page's voice was flat and emotionless. Mouse hadn't programmed any company manners into his secret base to impress visitors. No doubt he'd never anticipated having any guests in his hub.
I can't stand talking to a disembodied voice, Mouse. This is disorienting enough as it is, I said, tapping my foot to test the virtual landscape. My construct relayed no messages to my senses, and, although I saw a horizon, I felt disconnected, floating.
Humph. For my benefit, the white light of the page solidified into a construct. Long colorful robes billowed in an imaginary wind. The only part of his skin that was exposed were his hands and deep, black eyes. Gesturing wide with his hands, the page asked, Better?
Much, I said, grateful to have something besides the unending plane on which to focus. The page's costume reminded me of the Muslim women in New York. Red satiny material draped across his face and down his shoulders, mingling with a wild assortment of colors and patterns of turquoise, gold, and orange. It was not the kind of outfit I could see the real-time Mouse adopting, so I asked, Page, is there another name you would prefer to be called ... besides Mouse?
The nebulous light of the space intensified for a moment, reflecting twin silver disks in the page's eye.
Mouse is fine ... but thank you for asking. Sometimes Mouse calls me Mickey, but, honestly, I'm not fond of that.
'Mickey Mouse.' I can see why not. I stared out into the endless horizon. What is this place? I mean, real-time.
Everywhere. We're in the directory of every hard drive in existence. The world's databases are still stored on hardware, every old PC has a mouse or mouse-pen, mouse-drivers, and mouse directories. We spread the mouse.nest virus via the LINK and took up residence. That's where we are. Nowhere. Everywhere.
No wonder we could never find you, my subvoice translated oddly, sounding tinny on my electronic ears. The atmosphere of the directory felt at once both expansive and close, as though we were adrift in a monotonous ocean of black and white surrounded by a fine fog. To think, you were right below our feet. Now I understand how you could perform such seamless hacks. I always said every one of your info boosts smelled like an inside job. I can't believe I never saw the mouse/Mouse connection before.
Well, we count on people not getting it. Don't kick yourself. The billowing robes shrugged delicately.
Cut off from the LINK operating functions, I wondered how much time passed. Even here in the secret hub of mouse.net, I felt unsafe.
Page, I called you because I need your help again. I have to set up a real-time meeting with Daniel.
Daniel? The page's eyes were round. Mouse warned me that he was out.
Warned you? Why?
The page's colorful robes flapped in a warm breeze. The endless landscape rippled, like wind over dunes in a desert. Daniel is a liability, the page said finally. A loose cannon.
I nodded, wondering what Daniel could possibly know that would make Mouse nervous. How about I barter what Mouse wanted last time ... your help for what happened the night before the Pope was murdered.
There was a long pause. The flat, gray, opaque directory surrounded me, oppressive in its endlessness. I glanced up at the sparkle of the LINK above, waiting.
Deal, the page said finally. But this sucks, you know? I have no idea if other-Mouse still wants this information. His flippant tone seemed incongruent with the traditional clothing he had chosen. I might get my code in big trouble for agreeing to this.
Far away, I could feel a smile form on my face. Thanks, Mouse.
Yeah, well, before you get carried away with gratitude, maybe you'd better explain to me how you figure I can help. Mouse gestured for me to follow him. As we walked I felt as though we were passing through thin curtains as directories flipped past. Every syscop in virtual space is after you or Danny. Even my genius has its limits.
I doubt it. I conjured up an electronic laugh, which bounced hollowly in the expansive space. I just need you to provide a distraction. I'll do the real work.
Oh, I get it. I put my tail on the line and do some outrageous hack, so when the heat is elsewhere, you slip through to Daniel. Nice. If your info isn't really hot, real-time Mouse is going to be pissed when he on-lines, girl, and not just with me.
It is. Satisfied that the deal was struck, I readied myself for off-lining.
Hold on, dear heart. His words were like a hand on my arm, holding me in place, We struck a barter. Half now, half on delivery.
The page's voice hung in the space a moment longer than was necessary, insistent. I swallowed a hard lump in my throat. I hadn't counted on having to tell my tale, even part of it, right away. Steeling myself, I took a long, slow breath real-time.
You're stalling, Mouse noted. Spill or the deal is off. You can find some other LINK-rodent to risk his code for you.
Not wanting to lose him, I started. Fine. But, only half now, got it?
Mouse nodded. Taking a deep breath, I launched into my tale.
Daniel and I were at Kick's, at our table in the back, talking shop. I remembered the crowd was thin for a Friday night, but Danny was in good spirits. He thrived on the intensity of a challenging case. The one we had in front of us was a doozie. "What I can't figure is how the hacker got through the city's defense grid." Daniel's voice still rang in my ear. "The syscops said they didn't have a log-on all night."
So focused on imagining the perfect crime, Daniel blindly lifted the Guinness he'd been nursing all night to his lips and half of the sip splashed his shirt.