Romy drove. A mostly silent ride during which she replied to his questions with terse monosyllables. He sensed an inner struggle but hadn't a clue as to what it might be about. In his brain-fragged state, Patrick didn't have the strength or the will to probe.
She stopped at a small cabin on the edge of Rye Lake. Patrick stepped from her rented car and looked around.
The surrounding woods lay dark and silent; the cabin was an angular blotch of shadow with no sign of habitation; on its far side a dock jutted into the lake where tendrils of mist rose into the chill air from the glassy moonlit water.
"Doesn't look like anyone's home," he said.
Romy was moving toward the cabin. "Look again. And use your nose."
Patrick sniffed the air. A wood fire somewhere. And now he saw a thin stream of smoke drifting from the cabin's chimney. Okay, so someone was inside. But who? Along the way Romy had told him that he'd find out when they got there. Just what she'd told him when she'd led him to the sim whorehouse. This time would be different. He wasn't going through that door until - But Romy wasn't waiting for him. She was already halfway to the house.
He hurried to catch up to her. "This cloak and dagger stuff is getting to me."
"Relax. You may find a cloak here, but no dagger." Without warning she leaned forward and kissed him - too briefly - on the lips. "Thanks."
"What for?"
"For hanging in there tonight. For caring."
Patrick touched his mouth where the warmth of Romy's lips lingered. He wanted more, but she'd already opened the door and pushed through. He followed her into the dark interior, lit only by the glow from the fireplace.
"Over here, Romy," said a deep voice near the fire. Patrick could make out a dark form seated in a high-backed chair, positioned so that the light came from behind him. The figure leaned forward and extended a hand. With a start Patrick realized he was masked. "Welcome, Mr. Sullivan."
Hesitantly Patrick stepped forward and shook the hand, surprised to find it was gloved. "And you are...?"
"My name is Zero."
And that stands for what? Patrick thought. IQ? Personality rating? But he said, "Interesting name."
"Forgive the melodramatic trappings," Zero said, "but we take security very seriously."
Melodramatic barely touches this, Patrick thought. I'm standing in the dark talking to a masked man.
But it was right in tune with the nightmarish unreality of the past few hours.
"Just who might 'we' be?"
"A loose-knit organization I've put together."
"An organization...what's it called?"
"I've resisted naming it. Once a group gives itself a name, it tends to take on a life of its own; the group can become an end in itself, rather than simply a means."
"What end are we talking about here?"
"In a nutshell: to protect existing sims from exploitation and stop SimGen or anyone else from producing more."
"Tall order."
"We know."
"How many members?"
"Many."
"Like those doctors who showed up tonight?"
"Yes. Volunteers. They were on standby in case of disaster."
"Which we had - in spades."
"Yes. Mistakenly I had expected more direct violence, a bomb or the like. I had the barrack under guard." Zero's voice thickened. "I never thought to guard the kitchen."
Romy said, "So it was one of the help?" The flickering firelight accentuated her high cheekbones, glittered in her eyes. Even in the dark she was beautiful.
"I doubt it. That sample of stew you brought me was laced with a very sophisticated synthetic toxin we've been unable to identify. This was not the work of a jealous kitchen hand or a union goon. Whoever did this has considerable resources."
"SimGen," Patrick said.
"Not impossible, but out of character. SimGen has always protected its sims."
"But have its sims ever posed a threat before?"
Romy spoke. "That's a point, but we're coming to believe that SimGen is not quite the free-standing entity it presents to the public. That it's not pulling all its own strings. This may be the work of another shadow organization within SimGen or linked to it."
Uh-oh, Patrick thought, sniffing paranoia. What next? New World Order conspiracy? Trilateral commission? Illuminati?
Only Romy's presence kept him from backing away. He couldn't think of anyone more firmly grounded in reality. And he couldn't deny the reality of the poisoned Beacon Ridge sims.
"But why kill those sims?"
"Because what threatens SimGen," Zero said, "threatens the shadow group. And in this case, the sims were the logical target: Lawyers are replaceable, plaintiffs are not."
"Thanks a lot," Patrick said, but knew it was too true. "Any idea who they are?"
"No, but we've got the start of a trail, and we're following it. That's why I've asked you here tonight, Mr. Sullivan. We'd like your help."
"You want to hire me?"
"Not exactly. You'd be an unpaid consultant, a volunteer like Ms. Cadman."
"I don't work for free."
"Even for people who saved your life?" Romy said.
She had him there. "Glad you brought that up: Just whodid save my life?"
Zero said, "Join us and you'll know...eventually."
"You need me in the legal field?"
"There, and wherever else your unique brand of ingenuity can be of service."
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"And who knows?" Zero said. "We may be able to position you for another crack at SimGen's deep pockets."
"Now you're talking."
"I thought that might sell you," Romy said.
"I'm not sold yet. You've been calling the shots for Romy, I assume."
Zero inclined his head. "I merely suggest...she is always free to decline, just as you will be."
"But who's calling the shots for you?"
"No one."
"You could be just telling me that."
"I could. But I'm not."
"So you're funding this operation?"
He shook his head. "I raise money in various ways...donations from a number of sources."
"I must have missed the last annualFree the Sims telethon."
No one laughed. Tough crowd, Patrick thought. But then, after what had happened tonight, what did he expect?
"Your point?" Zero said.
"Money tends to come with strings."
"True. And these donations come with one string, and only one: Stop SimGen."
"What about freeing the sims?"
"That will be the fallout, but first we shut down the pipeline. Once we cut off the flow of new sims, we can deal with the problem of what to do with those who already exist."
"These donors...who are they - specifically? I like to know who's footing the bill."
"I will partially answer that when you join us, with the proviso that you never breathe a word of what you learn. But I must warn you not to accept my invitation lightly. The deeper you delve into this morass, the more you'll see that nothing connected with it is what it appears to be. And there's danger. You've witnessed firsthand on more than one occasion the ruthlessness of the other side. We're in a war, Mr. Sullivan, and any one of us could become a casualty."
Patrick swallowed. Where had his saliva gone? But if Romy was in this and willing to take the risks, how could he stand here next to her and back out? What kind of a man would that make him?
Perhaps a man who'd live to a ripe old age.
"What about if I decide I don't like what you're up to? If I want to walk, I want be able to do so with no strings."
"Of course. As long as you understand that you're not walking away from the confidentiality agreement."
Hoping he wouldn't regret this, he managed a shrug and a nod that conveyed a lot more bravado that he felt.
"Fair enough. I'll give it a try. Do I have to sign in blood?"
Zero shook his head. "Your word is enough."
He raised his hand and a TV flickered to life on the far side of the room. Diagonal lines danced across the screen, then the Reverend Eckert's face appeared.
"Jerk!" Patrick said.
"Give him a listen."
Eckert's face looked grave, anguished. His voice was at least an octave lower than his usual ranting tone.
"My friends...I have just heard that a number of sims - nineteen of them, I'm told - have been killed. Poisoned. These were the sims who were trying to unionize. This is very disturbing. More than disturbing, it's a terrible, terrible thing, and I hope, I pray to the Good Lord that no one in my flock is responsible. Because if one of you is, then I must shoulder some of the blame. It might have been my words that drove one of you to this terrible deed. If so, then I have been misunderstood. Terribly misunderstood.
"So hear me now, friends, and hear me well.
"I wish no harm to any sim. I have never, ever preached violence against them. I have said they were created by evil, Satan-inspired science, and I know that to be true, but I have never said the sims themselves were evil. They are not. They are the innocent products of unnatural science who should be allowed to live out their lives in peace.
"Violence toward sims is not the way. If you kill sims, you only give SinGen the excuse to produce more. We want SinGen tostopproducing sims. We must use the law - the law,my friends - to cut off the supply at its source by piercing the beating evil heart of the problem. And that heart is the devil corporation that subverts the Laws of Creation by fashioning creatures that are not part of God's design.
"Please. I beg of you: Do not harm sims. That is not the answer - it is, in fact, counterproductive. Spreading the word, boycotting businesses that lease sims, endlessly harassing SinGen in court until it finally surrenders. That is the way, my friends. The only way.
"And to continue fighting that battle, I need your support..."
The screen went blank.
"His standard request for contributions follows," Zero said.
"When did he broadcast that?" Patrick said.
"He hasn't. He rushed it into production and it's going out to replace his previously scheduled message."
"How'd you get it?"
"The Reverend Eckert is part of the organization. One of its major contributors, in fact."
For the second time tonight Patrick found himself speechless.
Romy smiled, her first in too many hours. The pearly enamel within her smile caught the light, giving her a Cheshire Cat look.
"If only you could see your face! Oh, God, I wish I had a camera!"
