P. J. Farris, on the other hand, was having a whale of a time in the sim. It gave him the chance to shed the responsibilities of being a senator's son, kick back, and be as outrageous as he wanted to be.
And, Leif had to admit, Bronco Jack Farris was pretty outrageous as a rootin'-tootin' courtier. On one occasion he'd seen his friend give roping demonstrations by lassoing Megan's ladies in waiting, and then keep out of trouble by buttering the ladies up with a combination of cornpone humor and cowboy charm. Judging by the ladies' delighted grins, it wasn't the first time he'd tried it.
Yeah, P. J. would be more concerned about the future of Latvinia. And maybe his political background would help him come up with some suggestion that Leif just couldn't see now to stop the incoming trouble before it got ugly. He gave his computer the order to connect with the Farris phone number.
P. J. himself picked up, his face breaking into a grin when he recognized his caller. "You feelin' about as bored as I do, champ? I tell ya, I'm hooked. Man, the hours just seem to stretch on forever when there's nothing good goin' on in Latvinia."
"I'm sure you could always go in there and impress some girl with your Ragtime Cowboy Joe act," Leif shot back.
P. J. looked pained. "I am basing my characterization on a noted actor, raconteur, and roper-even if he did come from Oklahoma instead of Texas-I'm sure you've heard of Will Rogers."
"Oh, right," Leif said, vaguely remembering the name. "The burlesque comedian."
"Vaudeville, not burlesque," P. J. corrected. "There's a difference. The girls didn't wear much in the way of clothes in Ziegfeld's Follies, but they kept them on."
P. J.'s joking mood vanished when he heard why Leif was calling, however. "Shut down Latvinia?" PJ.'s distress showed in his voice. "Why would anyone want to do that? I'm having the most fun I've ever had since learning to ride a horse. Megan is obviously having the time of her life being a princess. Everybody's enjoying it. Why should some sorehead come along and shut the sim down?"
In the face of such enthusiasm, Leif decided to keep quiet about his own reservations. Instead, he pointed out, "Maybe that sorehead got annoyed about losing her dress, being dumped in a pile of merde, and then struck by lightning and deported."
"Oh, come on!" P. J. protested. "That guy who runs the Dominions of Sarxos role-playing game does much worse stuff to people who try to mess around with his sim."
"Rod," Leif said. "Chris Rodrigues. But Sarxos has been running a long time, with enough paying customers to make Chris rich many times over. Alan Slaney is just getting Latvinia off the ground-and he's aiming it toward AHSO people. If AHSO pulls its members out, Latvinia crashes and burns."
"We can't let that happen." P. J. leaned toward the holo pickup, his face serious. "I mean, think how upset Megan would be."
Leif repressed a brief shudder at the thought. "That's why I'm talking to you instead of her. Megan would probably go over to Roberta's and put her in a choke- hold until she promised to lay off. I thought you might come up with a slightly more.. political… solution."
P. J. just shook his head. "Most politicians I know would probably go for the choke-hold, too." He frowned, looking out at Leif. "Couldn't you just-well, talk to this Roberta person? Make her see how unfair she's being?"
Leif sighed. "Have you ever tried to get Megan to change her mind?"
P. J. nodded, wordless. But the look on his face told it all.
"Imagine that, squared, and backed up by a fortune and an 'I am bulletproof' attitude. Roberta's been given anything she ever wanted by her parents, and it shows in the worst way. She's not going to be rational. Megan's going to expect me to do something about it. And both Megan and Roberta have my phone number and Net addresses."
"So whatcha got here is a delicate decision, as far as you are concerned. Who is it that you really want to tee off? Roberta? Or Megan?"
Leif gave an unhappy nod. "That's it in a nutshell."
"I will say, Megan is likely to take it personal," P. J. went on. "And she's formidable. While this Roberta, despite her parents, sounds like the yelling kind. I'd plump for going up against Roberta. Just get yourself some good backup. Have you thought of asking Captain Winters for help here?"
"I'd have better luck getting the president lined up behind me," Leif replied. "We've got a history, you know. Winters doesn't exactly trust me."
"Well, I can't get you presidential backup, but I can offer some support from the Senate-at least from a senator's kid." P. J. grinned. "Think that might help turn this honey's head?"
"Maybe. It's a start," Leif admitted.
P. J. frowned in thought. "Suppose we get the guy who saved your bacon last night-Sergei. He's the son of the Russian ambassador." That big Texas grin came back.
"Create a sort of international peacemaking mission, y'know?"
"I don't know how to get hold of him," Leif said, "except that he's one of Alan Slaney's fencing students."
"Let me take care of that, then," P. J. promised. "Do you know where we can find this Roberta person? I figure we should get to work on her tomorrow morning."
Leif gave P. J. the Hendry address. "Just don't make it too early tomorrow morning," he said. "Roberta enjoys her sleep."
And so do /, he thought, as he signed. It's one of the best parts of summer vacation. And I seem to have missed out on my share of it so far.
The next morning Leif got out of a cab in one of the quieter side streets of Georgetown-a super-ritzy part of an extremely ritzy neighborhood. It was a few minutes before eleven, the time they'd agreed to meet. But Sergei Chernevsky was already there, waiting by the corner.
It took Leif an instant to recognize the Russian boy out of uniform and with a few years shaved off his virtual appearance. He still didn't know how P. J. had tracked Sergei down so quickly-or how he'd persuaded him to come along. But the closer Leif came to actually meeting Roberta, the more hopeless their mission seemed.
"No sword," Sergei said, finally recognizing Leif without his Albrecht von Hengist beard.
"And no gun," Leif replied with a grin. "Though we might wish we had one if Roberta decides to fly off the handle."
"Fly off-?" Sergei had to think for a moment to translate Leif's slang. "Oh, you mean she'll get angry.
Well, maybe P. J. brings one of his six-shooters." He did a thumb-and-finger imitation of a pistol.
"To change Roberta's mind, you'd probably do better with a thermonuclear bomb," Leif said.
A moment later, P. J. came walking up the block. Apparently he'd spent the night getting cold feet, too. His grin was all too obviously false as he greeted the other two. "Well, guys. Ready?"
"As we'll ever be," Leif said. "Prepare to charm the socks off her, Pretty Boy."
P. J. shot Leif a look. "Don't call me Pretty Boy."
Leif knew his friend was sensitive about his male- model good looks, especially now that they weren't hidden by his weather-beaten Bronco Jack persona. He also knew that unless he distracted P. J. from his nervousness, their attempt to change Roberta's mind was doomed before they even started. Roberta's car was parked in the circular driveway framing the three-tiered fountain in front of the house. She was home, apparently. It was to time to try their luck.
P. J. leaped up the steps of the house and rang the bell. He stood there for a moment as the others climbed up to join him, then rang the bell again.
No one answered the door. Nor did any faces appear in the curtained windows.