"Doesn't sound like a lot of fun," Matt said. "David didn't sound exactly wild about the place, either."
Leif shrugged.
Matt grinned. "On the other hand, Captain Winters is delighted that you and Megan are so into this Latvinia place."
Captain James Winters was the liaison agent between Net Force and the Net Force Explorers. "Winters likes it?" Leif said in disbelief.
"He said it's kept two of his biggest headaches-you and Megan-too busy to create any trouble for him this summer." Matt laughed. "At least, so far."
"I think he should pay more attention," Leif said. "There's some exposure possible if something goes wrong on the beta test. Besides us regular Net Force Explorers, he's got a Senator's son in Latvinia-not to mention the Russian ambassador's kid."
All this mentioning of Latvinia got Leif glancing at his watch. This was about the time he usually synched in with his computer, opening the cybergate to Latvinia. There was a royal ball that evening… but nothing important happening this afternoon.
Leif hesitated for just a moment, then slapped Matt on the back. "Enough of this Latvinia crap," he said decisively. "That's not what I came to Washington for. Let's have fun."
He grinned as he and Matt left the central traffic island, crossing the street. "What's doing around here in real life?" Leif asked. "Think we could find ourselves a baseball game?"
Leif got home later than he'd planned that evening. He'd already checked in by phone and gotten the message from his dad. The super-secret business negotiations were going to continue over supper. Leif unlocked the apartment door to the Andersons' Washington pied a terre and zipped straight to the kitchen. Given the family's often weird schedules, the freezer was always stocked with dinners to be nuked.
Sniffing appreciatively as a nice beef dish began to bubble in the cooker, Leif rummaged around for a plate and silverware. This wasn't some mass-produced glop prepackaged in a food factory. The Andersons could pay for real people to prepare real food. Nowadays, it seemed to Leif that commercial frozen food sometimes tasted faintly of fish oil-even when the dish was supposed to be meat. Probably just his imagination-or maybe it was that heart-healthy stuff the government had added to any high-cholesterol meal.
The oven bleeped, signaling that its heating job was done. Leif removed his dinner, juggling the hot container until he got it emptied onto his plate. Then, blowing on each forkful, he began shoveling the food into his mouth.
There was supposed to be a big feast during the ball tonight. One of the big nightmares about the Net had been the specter of people jacked into fantasy worlds, forgetting reality for so long that they starved to death.
Built-in safety features would keep that from happening, but there was a big difference between starvation and missing a meal. On the other hand, Leif knew from personal experience that eating virtual food instead of the real thing would leave him with a ravenous case of the munchies when he synched out. Better to feed his face now than wait until later and get socked.
He took another look at his watch. There was still a little time before the ball was supposed to begin. All he'd miss would be the boring last-minute preparations- hair-combing and so on. Leif finished his hurried meal at the kitchen counter, washing it down with a glass of juice. Then he washed his dishes, made a quick pit stop in the john, and headed down the hall to his bedroom.
The computer-link chair by the window here was the same top-of-the-line model as the one back home. Leif bypassed it to set the room's air-conditioner for low- no sense freezing in reality while he was in Latvinia. Then he took a moment or two to carefully calibrate the chair. It had been a while since he'd used it, and he didn't want to be dealing with implant pains when he arrived at the ball.
That should do it, he thought, finishing his minute adjustments. He settled back into the comfortable upholstery, let his eyelids come together, and gave a mental command to synch straight into Latvinia.
Leif opened his eyes to find himself walking down a palace corridor.
Nice to know Vm on time, he thought, pausing for a second to lean against the tapestry-covered wall and let the brief twinge of static in his implants die away. Vm already on my way to the ball.
Leif looked down at the conservative uniform he'd chosen to wear tonight. No super-tight riding pants tucked into tall boots this evening. He was wearing a dress uniform military tunic and gray trousers with gold piping down the seams. The jacket was bloody-nose red, with enough gold braid worked into the chest to qualify as light armor.
I wonder if the girls will find it scratchy when I dance with them, he thought.
Instead of boots, he had on lightweight dancing shoes. And, of course, there was the ceremonial sword at his side. That might make for a bit of a handicap while he was swirling around on the dance floor.
Satisfied by his brief inspection that the sim had taken care of all the necessary preparations for his appearance at the ball-he backed the inspection up by a quick look in a wall mirror-Leif continued on to the royal ballroom. Several harassed-looking flunkies, dressed in even louder silk outfits and larger powdered wigs than those he'd seen previously, stood outside the door.
One carried an ornate wooden staff with silver fittings. "Sir," the head flunky said in tones of rebuke, "Her Majesty will appear in moments."
"Then I suppose you'd better announce me immediately," Leif replied in his haughtiest tones.
The doors flew open, and the lead flunky stepped inside, thumping the staff on the floor. "The baron Al- brecht von Hengist," he called out.
Leif stepped into the ballroom, to find himself confronted with a much more colorful assemblage than he'd expected. The ladies' gowns were even more flamboyant now than they'd been during the day, colorful concoctions of silk and lace that showed off shapely bare shoulders and a king's ransom worth of jewels. Apparently every male with any kind of military connection had a dress uniform of some sort and had dragged it out for the occasion. No two seemed to be the same, and Leif's crimson-and-gold number seemed quiet and tasteful compared to some of the getups around him.
If I really wanted to stand out around here, I should have worn a nice, simple black-and-white tuxedo, Leif thought as he walked through the thronged nobility. No, this ball was white tie. He'd need to wear a formal cutaway coat here, and he hated those things. The tails always made him feel like Jiminy Cricket. He imagined that the historical version of the rig would be even more uncomfortable than the modern version. He was glad he'd stuck with his uniform.
Leif caught a familiar face in the crowd. David Gray stood impassively in gorgeous silk robes, with a uniformed P. J. standing beside him. Actually, P. J. was chatting with three or four court cuties while David pretended to pay no attention to the by-play.
"Hey, there, baron," P. J. called out, doing his best imitation of a Texan abroad. "Thought you were going to miss this hoedown. Were you visiting your old girlfriend in the hospital?"
"What? Who? Where?" Leif asked.
"You didn't hear?" P. J. chuckled. "Your lady friend- Violin or whatever she calls herself-tried to stir up the peasants again. This time she didn't get dumped in horse flop. She was wavin' the red flag of revolution-literally, ya' know-and darned if a lightning bolt didn't come down and get her-ka-ZAP!
"Frankly, I thought her speeches were electrifying enough," David said dryly. "Apparently, the monarch really does rule by divine right around here."
"I'm afraid no one told me about this," Leif said. It sounded as though the Latvinia program had some serious responses built in to deal with people who tried to mess with the basic concepts of the sim.