• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 605 0

them, methodically enough, but with good humor, like someone used to interruptions from some other group, possibly a large family. This was the way things normally went at the regional meetings Catie had attended—a progression of events always verging cheerfully on chaos, but never quite tipping over the edge. After the announcements members might take the floor to talk about a Net seminar they were organizing, or something that had come up in a gaming or simming group, or some other issue that they thought would be of interest to the gathered Net Force Explorers as a whole. People popped in and out all during the meeting to suit their own schedules, though there was a long-agreed consensus that they should keep quiet as they did it. No appearing suddenly in bursts of virtual flame or other distracting manifestations. This rule was occasionally broken, but since breaking it infallibly caused the person who’d created the distraction to be chucked into the virtual “pool” and hence out of the meeting, with no chance of return, people tended not to do it more than once. However, even with all the noise, joking, and chaos, there was always an undercurrent of seriousness at these get-togethers. Everyone at them, or nearly everyone, intended to try to get into Net Force eventually, and the intensity of their intention as a group tended to shake out those who weren’t serious in pretty short order.

About half an hour went by in this way, and gradually Catie began to realize that nothing being discussed was particularly interesting to her. But there were other matters to think about. Toward the end of another Net Force Explorer’s brief presentation about a new virtual “chip-constant” diagnosis routine for house pets, and an upcoming Explorers charity fund-raiser to cover chipping costs for pet owners who found it hard to afford, that particular Explorer—a blond girl of maybe sixteen—finished up with: “And for all of you who made it here late after celebrating this evening’s victory by South Florida Spat—”

“Yayy!” went a surprising number of voices from the floor, and in the middle of the crowd a small raucous chorus of voices began singing, “What’s that slithering sound you hear?/We are the Slugs, and revenge is near—!” In response, “Fly High Seattle!” yelled one lone voice from the back, and was answered with a fair amount of teasing laughter from all over the room.

Catie raised her eyebrows at that, glancing around the floor. Her gaze suddenly rested on Mark and paused. He had gotten up out of his Eames chair to go have a word with slim, dark, little Charlie Davis, but now Mark was standing near Charlie and looking around the crowd with an unusually thoughtful expression. Seeing that look made Catie start to feel thoughtful herself. You didn’t normally see such expressions on Mark Gridley without good reason. He’s up to something, she thought, knowing that particular focused look too well from her own brother. Just what is he up to?

Neil Linkoping had gotten up behind the bench again and was once more pounding on it. “Anybody else?” he said. “Going once…”

There were already people standing up, already having vanished the chairs they had created for themselves or had arrived in. Catie got up and stretched herself, looking around her. I might have saved myself the trouble, she thought. It was the usual thing, though. As summer came on, a lot of the Explorers got more interested in topics that had to do with vacations, or (while the weather cooperated) the Real World. “Going twice?” Neil said.

“…You going to any more spat games?”

Catie looked around and down. Mark Gridley was standing next to her again.

“Going three times…”

Catie did her best to keep her curiosity, now raging, out of her face. “Probably,” she said. “It has its points. I’m starting to wonder if it’s something I want to play myself. Anyway, my brother wants me to meet a friend of a friend of his who’s a professional spat player. I’ll probably wind up going to the game before we actually meet.”

“Really?” Mark said. “Sounds pretty space. Who is it?”

“Uh, his