was in the middle of taking a sip of bottled water when the turn came up on him, and he had to swerve one-handed from the fast lane onto the exit ramp, cutting across solid white lines just before an abutment.
He glanced over at the sleeping form of Laney Price, who stirred a bit but then settled back to sleep. Sebeck followed the glowing blue line superimposed on reality over a bridge that crossed the highway to arrive at a travel center where trucks and cars were clustered around gas stations, convenience stores, and ever-present fast-food outlets.
There in the middle of a parking lot his new Thread ended in a swirling aura of blue light, above a live human being this time—a woman standing next to a white passenger van. The van was parked in front of a Conoco convenience store.
It was not exactly the destination he’d envisioned—not that he had any clear idea what to expect. Sebeck parked the Chrysler facing forward in a row of cars across from the woman and peered through the freshly bug-spattered windshield at her.
She was a trim American Indian woman in her fifties with long gray hair braided into a plait. She wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a tan button-down shirt with some sort of logo on the breastpocket. She also wore slim, stylish HUD glasses, through which she was gazing directly at Sebeck. She looked like a Santa Fe art gallery owner. Her D-Space call-out marked her as
Riley
—a fourteenth-level Shaman. Riley’s reputation score was five stars out of five on a base factor of nine hundred three—which, if Sebeck had understood Price’s ramblings over the weeks, meant that she had an average review by nine hundred–plus darknet operatives who’d interacted with her of five stars out of five. She was apparently highly regarded—about
what
Sebeck didn’t know.
He turned off the engine and glanced over at the sleeping form of Price in the passenger seat. Sebeck pulled the keys from the ignition and stealthily opened the driver’s door. He didn’t feel like having his Daemon-assigned minder along for this conversation, so he placed the keys on the seat and quietly closed the car door behind him, checking that Price was asleep.
Sebeck then walked across the parking lot toward Riley, who regarded him with some curiosity, since he was leaving his companion behind. It was fairly cloudy and rather cool. Sebeck closed his jacket as he approached Riley. Fellow travelers came and went around them.
He took note of the passenger van she stood alongside. It was new and bore a logo for “Enchanted Mesa Spa & Resort”—the same logo printed on her shirt pocket.
When he reached her, the last of the Thread disappeared and a chime sounded—leaving only the soft blue light of a D-Space aura slowly swirling above her head.
Sebeck was unsure how to feel. He spoke without emotion. “I’m supposed to be looking for the Cloud Gate. Is there something you can tell me?”
She extended her hand. “Why don’t we start with hello?”
Sebeck took a deep breath and shook her hand briefly. “Hello. You’re Riley.”
“Shaman of the Two-Rivers faction. And you are the Unnamed One.”
“Yeah, that just about describes it. I hope you have some answers for me.”
“What sort of answers?”
“Like how I can complete my quest? How do I justify the freedom of humanity to the Daemon?”
She frowned. “That’s not visible to me.”
He rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Why do I have to wander all over hell’s half acre to complete this damned quest?”
“It’s the hero’s journey.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Don’t forget: Sobol was an online game designer. In the archetype, a hero must wander lost in the wilderness to find the knowledge necessary for his or her quest. Perhaps that’s what’s happening to you.”
“And I’m supposed to be the hero.”
“It’s your life. You should be the hero of it. If it’s any consolation, I’m the hero of mine, too.”
“Riley, why did the Thread lead
He glanced over at the sleeping form of Laney Price, who stirred a bit but then settled back to sleep. Sebeck followed the glowing blue line superimposed on reality over a bridge that crossed the highway to arrive at a travel center where trucks and cars were clustered around gas stations, convenience stores, and ever-present fast-food outlets.
There in the middle of a parking lot his new Thread ended in a swirling aura of blue light, above a live human being this time—a woman standing next to a white passenger van. The van was parked in front of a Conoco convenience store.
It was not exactly the destination he’d envisioned—not that he had any clear idea what to expect. Sebeck parked the Chrysler facing forward in a row of cars across from the woman and peered through the freshly bug-spattered windshield at her.
She was a trim American Indian woman in her fifties with long gray hair braided into a plait. She wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a tan button-down shirt with some sort of logo on the breastpocket. She also wore slim, stylish HUD glasses, through which she was gazing directly at Sebeck. She looked like a Santa Fe art gallery owner. Her D-Space call-out marked her as
Riley
—a fourteenth-level Shaman. Riley’s reputation score was five stars out of five on a base factor of nine hundred three—which, if Sebeck had understood Price’s ramblings over the weeks, meant that she had an average review by nine hundred–plus darknet operatives who’d interacted with her of five stars out of five. She was apparently highly regarded—about
what
Sebeck didn’t know.
He turned off the engine and glanced over at the sleeping form of Price in the passenger seat. Sebeck pulled the keys from the ignition and stealthily opened the driver’s door. He didn’t feel like having his Daemon-assigned minder along for this conversation, so he placed the keys on the seat and quietly closed the car door behind him, checking that Price was asleep.
Sebeck then walked across the parking lot toward Riley, who regarded him with some curiosity, since he was leaving his companion behind. It was fairly cloudy and rather cool. Sebeck closed his jacket as he approached Riley. Fellow travelers came and went around them.
He took note of the passenger van she stood alongside. It was new and bore a logo for “Enchanted Mesa Spa & Resort”—the same logo printed on her shirt pocket.
When he reached her, the last of the Thread disappeared and a chime sounded—leaving only the soft blue light of a D-Space aura slowly swirling above her head.
Sebeck was unsure how to feel. He spoke without emotion. “I’m supposed to be looking for the Cloud Gate. Is there something you can tell me?”
She extended her hand. “Why don’t we start with hello?”
Sebeck took a deep breath and shook her hand briefly. “Hello. You’re Riley.”
“Shaman of the Two-Rivers faction. And you are the Unnamed One.”
“Yeah, that just about describes it. I hope you have some answers for me.”
“What sort of answers?”
“Like how I can complete my quest? How do I justify the freedom of humanity to the Daemon?”
She frowned. “That’s not visible to me.”
He rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Why do I have to wander all over hell’s half acre to complete this damned quest?”
“It’s the hero’s journey.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Don’t forget: Sobol was an online game designer. In the archetype, a hero must wander lost in the wilderness to find the knowledge necessary for his or her quest. Perhaps that’s what’s happening to you.”
“And I’m supposed to be the hero.”
“It’s your life. You should be the hero of it. If it’s any consolation, I’m the hero of mine, too.”
“Riley, why did the Thread lead
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