Kelley Eskridge (42 page)

She sat back and folded her hands to show
she was finished, and let her breath out slowly through her nose. She'd
done her best.

Crichton gave her a flat white look for a
minute, and then said, “Just for the sake of discussion, suppose I
simply negotiate with the NNA for the pattern information from your
last aftershock?”

“You wouldn't have come here if you didn't
need me. You've already run the pattern and something went wrong, or
there's some data missing. That's why you're here. You probably weren't
even sure I was editing until Scully talked to you.”

Crichton nodded. Another moment of silence.

“And suppose I don't want a bunch of solos
running around my offices moaning about aftershock?”

“Then you can set up someplace else for
them to do it, and staff accordingly. Damn it, Crichton,” she said,
leaning forward, “no one deserves what Scully gets in aftershock or
what Estar Borja got in VC. It's not going to kill Ko to give them some
skills to cope with it. And it's just more data for you.”

“About Estar Borja,” Crichton said
carefully. “It's my understanding that, given editing ability, she
might be amenable to a long-term assignment in a virtual environment.
I'll need extended term data to justify life-support applications of
the technology. Is this something that would be permissible under your
program arrangement?”

Jackal regarded her thoughtfully and then
turned to Snow.

“I've been making some proposals of my
own,” Snow said evenly.

“I see.”

“You should. It's your damned win-win
scenario that I've heard up, down and sideways since you started
Neill's training. Estar gets to realize her visions and I get to sleep
a little better most nights.”

Jackal put a hand up. “She…well, of course
she'd want this. But it's risky, especially for her. What happens if
something goes wrong with the technology and she gets trapped back in
her cell and no one lets her out for another bunch of years?”

“Then I guess she'd have to deal with that
crocodile of hers after all,” Snow replied, without much apparent
sympathy.

“You don't know what it's like. It's too
dangerous.”

“She's a grown-up. Who are you to make
these kinds of decisions for her?”

“Who are you to do it?” Jackal retorted.

“I'm not making decisions,” Snow said with
an edge, “I'm creating opportunities.” She relented, leaned in toward
Jackal. “Just don't stand in the way of it. If Estar wants it, let her
have it. She wouldn't think twice about stepping right on top of you to
get it, you know that. You're too nice sometimes.”

“That's funny,” Jackal said quietly.
“That's what Estar said.”

Snow didn't respond.

“Okay,” Jackal said finally, “I won't
oppose it.”

Crichton smiled. “Then I think we can come
to an arrangement. I'll give you a call within the next two days to let
you know what the current status is.” She swallowed the last of her
wine. “Snow, thank you for a most enjoyable conversation.”

“My pleasure.”

“I like her,” Crichton told Jackal. “I
might even like her better than you. And I should tell you that Gavin
Neill sends his regards.”

Oh, she missed him: the long, sometimes
frustrating hours of learning, the meetings and practicums when she
soared on his approval, the sheer joy of watching the expert at work.
And she missed his keen eye and the knowledge that on some level he had
cared for her.

“And my best regards to him,” she said.
And then, unable to help herself: “Will I hear from him?”

“You've been hearing from him all
evening,” Crichton said. She smiled with her moon-white eyes, and
disappeared around the screen as unexpectedly as she had come.

They did not speak for a long while, as if
Crichton had taken all the words with her and left them only able to
hold hands and sip wine and occasionally sigh. Jackal's shoulders
gradually relaxed, like iceworks melting into a softer shape.

“You did well,” Snow said finally. “She'll
go for it. I'm really, really proud of you.”

“It's the only way I can go through with
it. The things that have happened to people in virtual space…when
things go wrong…well, it's just horrible. Did I tell you that one guy's
food bled every time he tried to eat for a month?”

“Ick.”

“Big ick.”

Another silence. She liked being quiet
with Snow; it was a rich and comfortable thing. Then she remembered:
“Hey, I got a job!” She recounted the conversation with Scully.

“Great. I'll expect you to keep this nice
wine in stock.”

Another quiet moment.

Snow said abruptly, “This thing with
Estar…”

Jackal shook her head. “I know that I
can't protect her. I don't even know why I want to. But what she did to
you—it made me want to hurt her back, you know? Like Tiger that day in
the plaza. So now if something bad happens to her because of this, I'll
wonder if it's my responsibility. Letting someone walk off a cliff
because they want to isn't that much better than throwing them off.”

“Of course it is. It's entirely different.”

“You sound very sure.”

“Of course I'm sure. You would be too, if
you weren't so twisted up about making everyone's choices for them.”

“That's not fair.”

“Isn't it?” Snow pushed her hair back from
her eyes. “I love you, Jackal, and you have consistently excluded me
from all your choices. The only thing I got to consult on was whether
you should go to Mirabile with the web, and you can bet I feel great
about that piece of advice. But the rest of the time you just go off
and do what you think is best for other people. And I'm tired of it.
Your theories about how people behave may work in meetings, but I'm not
a theory and you don't have to manage me.”

“I'm not trying to manage you.” She had
been feeling so good a few minutes ago, and now she was angry and
miserable.

“Then look me in the eye and tell me what
you want. Do you want me to stay here? Or do you want me to go back to
Ko and never darken your door again?”

“They'll make it hard for you—”

Snow held up a hand. “That's my choice.
You make yours.”

“What happened in VC—”

“Just tell me what you want. Tell me what
Jackal Segura wants.”

“I'm trying to tell you that I'm
different. I've changed. I'm not the same person I was at Ko. If you
come here, you won't be the same.”

What if we
don't like each other anymore
? her internal voice wailed.
“We're different now.”

“Of course we are.” Snow shook her head
and reached across the table with both hands. “We'd be different even
if you'd never gone to Mirabile. That's what people do, they get
different together.”

Snow took one hand back and drank the last
of the wine, and Jackal took a deep breath. She wondered if all of life
would turn out to be making choices that she wasn't ready for. She
breathed again and said, “Snow, will you come back and find your own
place to live that isn't too far away and help me figure out how I can
live in my head and in the world at the same time?”

“Is that what you want?”

She nodded. “More than anything.”

They took the empty bottles and all the rest
of the dishes and glassware downstairs to Scully.

“Thanks for saving me a trip,” he said.

“Just building job skills.”

He peered at her. “You've been crying.”

She nodded.

“You look happy.”

She nodded again. He looked at Snow.

“I'll be going home to pack my things.”

He beamed: then he tried to beam even
bigger. “That's great. That's terrific. It's…”

“About time,” Snow said, and they all
three laughed together.

“More wine?” Scully said, reaching for
another bottle.

“How about some coffee?”

“Sure, and I've got some lovely strudel,”
he said. Snow made a happy noise.

Jackal carried everything on a tray to a
table Snow found near the center of the bar. Solitaire was crowded with
people Jackal recognized: Razorboy puffed up with pride at his twenty
minutes of close encounters with solos; Duja climbing the stairs to the
solo level with another bright red drink; Drake with a shy nod to
Jackal, blushing furiously when Jackal raised her coffee cup in
acknowledgment.

“You're going to clean up here,” Snow said
contentedly. “You'll own the place in two years.”

“I don't want to own it, just run it.”

“That's my Jackal,” Snow said, and Jackal
had to agree.

A week later they sat at the same table.
Jackal was wearing an apron, with a bandanna tied around what hair
she'd managed to grow so far.

“I have to get back to work.”

“Mmm,” Snow said. She was mapping a plant
systems problem on her palmtop, and Jackal knew that she was lost to
meaningful conversation.

She was about to kiss Snow's neck and get
back behind the bar, when Jane came into Solitaire with Estar behind
her. Although Jackal had been expecting it, waiting for it, it was
still a shock to have Estar in the room.

“Snow,” she whispered, and Snow looked up
and became very still.

Jane came ahead to their table. “She'd
like to talk to you,” she said to them both. “Will you?”

Snow said nothing. Jackal answered, “Yes,
of course.”

Estar looked like a beautiful child,
dressed in a long sea-blue dress and boots, her face as soft as Jackal
had ever seen it. “

Buenas noches
.”

“Hi, Estar,” Jackal said. Snow nodded,
more civilly than Jackal had expected. Jackal looked around for a
chair. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No,” Estar said. “I will not stay. I will
go home as soon as I have done what I came to do, and I will wait to
hear from Crichton that this gift of yours is now available to me. And
then I will make a home for myself inside my head.” She looked serene,
almost peaceful. “I am grateful to you. I hope you will accept this.”

She handed Jackal a package. Inside the
wrapping was a small framed painting, exquisite and fine: an outdoor
café at the edge of a

playa
,
full of people painted in dashes and strokes of color, all suggesting
motion and sound and a density of humanity. The only people
distinguishable were two women at a table, one with olive skin and dark
hair, the other fair like summer wheat, subtly pooled in light, hands
clasped, talking, laughing, happy. Connected.

“It is my vision for you,” Estar said.

Jackal almost wept. “It's beautiful,
Estar. Thank you so much. I love it.”

Estar smiled. “

Bueno
.
Then I will go home happy and begin to wait.” She bowed to Snow. Then
she said to Jackal, “They tell me that the next area of study is shared
virtual experience. I am counting on them to fail in this for a long,
long time. But perhaps one day I will have my fill of being alone, and
then they will send me a friend. Perhaps it will be you,
chacalita
.”

She stepped very close and they looked at
each other: then she kissed Jackal suddenly, fiercely, and was gone.

Jackal wiped her eyes and turned back to
the table. She found Snow studying her.

“What?”

“I remember telling you what a good Hope
you would be. And I was right.”

“I'm not a real Hope. I never was.”

“That doesn't matter, and anyway, yes you
are.”

Jackal said, with a frown, “I don't get
it.”

“I know,” said Snow. “But you will.”

Acknowledgments

MANY PEOPLE HELPED, AND I'M VERY
GRATEFUL. FORE
most are Nicola Griffith, Shawna McCarthy, and
Jennifer Brehl.

Special love to Sharon and Larry, my mother
and father, and Celeste and Arthur, who are also my parents and family.

And for various reasons—support, candor,
knowledge, joy, or just plain love—Ronnie Garvey, Chuck Munro, Steve
Swartz, Liz Butcher, Cindy Ward, Ed Hall, Mark Tiedemann, Pierce
Watters, Gretchen Hastings, Vonda McIntyre, Therese Littleton, Bill
Eskridge, Ben Eskridge, Neil Eskridge, Ken Saint-Amand, Vince Caluori,
Peter Adkison, Tina Trenkler, Juliane Parsons, Dave Slusher, Darlene
Slusher, Timmi Duchamp, Amber Fullerton, Bryan Kinsella, Casey
Leichter, Dave Schwimmer, David Serra, Donna Simone, Doru Culiac,
Jan-Maree Bourgeois, Jarrod Nack, Jennifer Dirksen, Jill Waller, Josh
Fischer, Karen Kapscady, Larry Weiner, Leeds Chamberlain, Lori Heric,
Marty Durham, Mendy Lowe, Motoaki Nagahisa, Nelson Chang, Pat
Robinette, Tamara Grunhurd, Wendy Wallace, Yasuyo Dunnett, Kathy Acey
and the Astraea Foundation, Jeremy Lipp, Ellen Datlow, Rob Killheffer,
Kris Rusch, Center Theatre, St. Paul's School, and U2.

Jackal's story of Las Tres Hermanas was
inspired by Sebastian Junger's

The Perfect
Storm
.