From: Lester <maxim@netcom.com>
Date: Sat, 15 Nov 1997 16:54:20 -0800 (PST)
Subject: Logo Fyles - End
Message-id: <Pine.3.89.9711151646.A1995-0100000@netcom16>
"Gobbo is --"
"Wait a minute, I get 20 for MANIOC. How do you get 29?
"Double it, it covers the star. But Kam, you have to listen to this. It's vital to you. Gobbo is ---" She broke off again. Brond had his finger on 9g, and was recounting her last play.
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o ----------------------------- 1|= . . R . . R E . . . ' . . Q|1 2|. - g I N G E L I S . . . - U|2 3|. W I D E . ' U ' . . . - T I|3 4|' . . - . . . V E G . - . O X|4 KAM: ZIT 489 5|. . . . - . . I . O - . N . O|5 TRAVIS: ACJMMOU 398 6|. * . . L U P A N A R . E * t|6 7|G R A D I N O . ' F E W T E R|7 8|= . . A N I . - . . B ' T A Y|8 9|. . ' . . . ' . ' B . . ' S .|9 10|. * . . . P A C H A K . . T .|10 11|. . . . - . . H O Y E D . L .|11 12|' . . - . . F A S . D E . I '|12 13|. . - . . . ' L ' . . R E N .|13 14|. - . . . * O O . * E V E S .|14 15|= . . ' . . . T . . . ' . . =|15 -----------------------------
She slapped him. "Listen to me, Kam. You're a patsy."
Brond rubbed his cheek, focusing. "Eh?"
"Skudler set you up. The Gobbo are not terrorists. They are just verbile obsessors, who happen to be active on the Net."
"So. Why is he after them?"
"One of them obtained -- don't ask me how -- corporate fyles and tapes. Ever heard of the Hash-Brown Megadeal Corporation? Remember when their execs swore before Congress that Wordgame was not addictive? They also argued that they deserved exclusive intellectual property rights to the game, in perpetuity, because of their devotion to it."
"It is their property, isn't it?"
"Perhaps in some surreal legalistic sense. But their love of the game will be a source of irrision if the Logo Fyles reach the public. It's ugly stuff, Kam. Videotapes of board meetings. Wordgame racks used as coffee stirrers. Execs playing Wordgame with GI Joeys instead of letters. Extortive publishing contracts -- "
"But what does this have to do with CIAOS?
"Skudler has a deep position in Hash-Brown securities, Kam. He's working with the company execs in a rogue operation, to make sure the incriminating material never gets uploaded. He hatched a plan to kill two garudas with one piece of datolite."
"You mean get rid of me and make it look like Gobbo did it?"
"Exactly."
"And you -- you were to be the hit-person?"
"I'm sorry, Kam." She touched his arm softly. "I guess I was pretty angry at you. I realize now that accepting the assignment was an overreaction."
There was a moment of silence. They looked into each other's eyes.
Brond said, "Well, what do we do now?"
"Do? There's only one thing to do. Head for Oxlands. When Skudler sees us together at the tournament, he'll bail."
"I should go back and --
"Forget him, Kam. Right now, there's a magenta nametag waiting for you at the Oxlands Mayflower. However fraudulently obtained. And," she blew on her nails, "with expert coaching, and a few miracles, you may win a game or two. If not, well, there's the buffet."
Brond considered. "Well, hell! Okay, let's do it." They were close to one another. Their lips were almost touching. "You can start coaching me now, Travis." Their fingers touched. He moved closer. He felt lightheaded. The train was coming into Oxlands, passing a strand of rose-apple trees and other eugenia. Brond's throat felt constricted. He could only whisper, "Travis, what is a jambu, exactly?"