“Or you could interest them, which is just using you in a different way — for entertainment.”
“Hey, you’re a rich kid, too,” Matt said. “You’re dumping on your own sort of people pretty hard.”
“I’ve met my share of snobs and users,” Leif said curtly. “I’m familiar with them. And to use another old saying, ‘Familiarity breeds contempt.’”
He thought for another moment, then said, “Computer! Identify for voice commands.”
“Voice identified as Leif Anderson.” The computer’s response was quiet, yet it seemed to fill the room.
“File transfer. Proxy, entree, Maxim dot com. Iconize.” Leif turned to Matt. “Hand out, buddy.”
As Matt stretched out his holoform hand, a small chess piece popped into existence on his palm. It was a pawn, maybe an inch tall, made of swirling red fire.
“That’s a program you’ll be able to take back with you through the Net,” Leif said. “Run it through your computer, and you’ll have the coordinates and a password for a very special Web-node — a virtual chat room.”
“Oh, great,” Matt muttered.
“I said it was special,” Leif said. “It’s a chat room for the young, rich, and restless. Nobody shows up in his or her real face. Everyone uses proxies — the wilder, the better.” He paused for a second. “That’s the rest of the program. I developed a new proxy for myself, something to catch the attention of the people who hang out there.”
Matt stared at his friend. “You go to this chat room?”
Leif laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in his voice. “Oh, yeah. I like to hang out with the rich kids, too. Even if it means I have to interest and entertain them.”
After returning home through the Net, Matt finished his homework, then had dinner. Only then did he reconnect to his computer and reach for the swirling red pawn. When the proxy program was activated, Matt called up a virtual mirror to check himself out.
Was this some sort of joke? Leif’s program had transformed him into an animated stick figure — a sort of quick free-hand figure with tiny dots for eyes and a line for a mouth. Even as Matt watched, the figure began turning red — from embarrassment.
Had Leif really intended to enter that chat room as a walking doodle?
Then Matt thought for a moment. The stick figure would offer him a perfect disguise. And if Leif was right, it would get him noticed. Matt decided to give it a try. So what if he wound up feeling like an idiot? He could always disconnect, and nobody would even know that Matt Hunter had been there.
Matt looked down and saw he wasn’t red anymore. He reached out with one stick-figure hand for his gold thunderbolt. His other hand grasped the red pawn with the destination and password.
He gave the subvocal order. Launch.
Matt swirled wildly across the neon cityscape of the Net, heading into areas he’d never explored before. The virtual constructions here were spread out more widely — surrounded by security zones, Matt suddenly realized. The developers had also fooled around more in designing them. Matt flashed past what looked like a neon graveyard, than a glowing replica of Dracula’s castle, and finally came to a halt at a set of red-and-gold gates.
A hulking, faceless figure confronted him. Matt quickly flashed the password he’d been given. He had no desire to find out what that glaring creature of light did to intruders.
The glowing gatekeeper flashed, transforming into a tall, thin man in an old-fashioned tuxedo — the image of a headwaiter at a super-expensive restaurant.
“Please follow me, sir or madam.” The waiter spoke with an accent — French, Matt realized.
He stepped through the gateway, to find himself in a setting of the sort he’d only seen in holos. Matt stood in a large hall, decorated in the style of the ’90s — the 1890s. Everything seemed to be red or gold — red satin wallpaper, plush red velvet drapes and chairs. Brassy gold columns held up a ceiling that seemed to be hammered gold leaf. Private balconies were trimmed with gold. Even the flame of the old-fashioned gaslights had a golden glow.
Part of the hall was set up as a restaurant, with black-clad waiters zooming among the tables. Another part was a casino, full of games of chance. A small orchestra played ancient music for an almost empty dance floor.
But most of the huge space was just an expanse of red-and-gold rug, where figures of all sorts walked, sometimes passing, sometimes speaking to one another.
Matt found himself staring. Off to one side was a giant red-and-gold robot whose head almost scraped the ceiling fifty feet above. People stood in his (its?) outstretched palm, chatting. A superhero swaggered by, every muscle showing in his skintight uniform. Behind him hopped a perfectly natural-looking frog — except that if this frog stood up, it would be a good six feet tall.
Another figure passed by — Matt recognized it as a cartoon character he’d followed on Saturday mornings. Beyond was something even weirder — a human skull haloed in fire, floating in midair at about eye level.
Well, Matt thought, guess I don’t have to worry about fitting in.
“First time at Maxim’s?” a girl’s voice asked from behind him.
He turned to find a young blond woman who looked, well, normal — except for the fact that she was very beautiful.
“Um…yeah,” Matt admitted.
“You’re turning red!” she said, laughing. “I love it!”
“I think it’s a fault in the program,” Matt said in embarrassment.
“No, it’s great,” the girl insisted. “What’s your proxy name?”
“I don’t—” Matt began.
“We’ll call you Mr. Sticks,” the girl said. “I’m CeeCee, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, CeeCee.” Matt knew he was staring at her, but this woman looked familiar. Then it hit him. She was a soap star on the HoloNet, Courtney Vance!
Or rather, he warned himself, she’s the image of Courtney Vance. Who knows who’s behind the mask?
“From the way you don’t seem very impressed by all this, I’d guess you come here pretty often,” Matt said.
CeeCee laughed, twirling her long blond hair around one of her perfectly manicured fingers. “You mean I don’t bother getting dressed for it?”
Compared to the elaborate getups on most of the proxies in Maxim’s, her clothes were refreshingly down to earth — jeans and a loose sweater.
Then Matt found himself staring again. He’d have sworn that CeeCee’s sweater was purple. Now it seemed to be dark blue. No, light blue, which was now shifting into green. “Do your clothes go all the way through the spectrum?” he asked.
The girl laughed again. “It’s a design for a real sweater. Something to do with microfiber optics and a phased discharge.”
“What happens when the battery runs out?” Matt asked.
CeeCee glanced at him. “I dunno,” she confessed. “Maybe it goes transparent!”
“Good idea if you should just wear it in virtual, then,” Matt said. “The worst that can happen is that you’ll be rated Holo-R.”
“Nah, this is just a onetime thing, Mr. Sticks,” CeeCee replied. “You keep turning up in the same proxy, and people begin to guess who you are.” She nodded to a big buff barbarian dressed in a wolfskin. “That’s Walton Wheatley.”
“Walt the Weed?” Matt burst out. The guy had gotten the nickname because he was so tall and skinny.
“You know Walt?” CeeCee said. “Do you go to Bradford, too?”
You’re supposed to be here finding out about these people, Matt silently scolded himself. Not giving them information.