The harsh buzz of a telecom sawed its way into my brain. I groaned. Toni and I had spent a late night celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary. We partied on long past when people our age should have stopped.
"Honey," I muttered, "it's the hospital. Would you get it?"
My wife opened one eye under delightfully tousled brown hair. "Nice try, husband-mine," she growled, "but that's the police ring."
"Ah," I answered, "yet another disadvantage of decades of marriage. You're on to all of my tricks."
"You were happily enjoying some of the advantages of those decades of marriage last night. Tricks included," she replied before closing her eyes and rolling over.
I struggled out of the covers, walked over to the com and hit the receive button after killing the video. "Detective McManus," I said.
"McManus," said a husky Southern tenor. "It's me. Put on the video."
"Oh no," I groaned. "Freddie, tell me that you're not calling me on my house phone at-" I looked at the computer screen, "three-thirty five in the morning. It's way after snitching hours."
"It's urgent," the voice insisted.
"Freddie, I'm standing here in my less than underwear, having thoroughly enjoyed my wedding anniversary- to this point."
"Congratulations," Freddie husked, "I just got engaged myself. That's why I called you."
My brain, already fuzzy, threatened to slide out of focus entirely. "You want some marital advice? First, you have to tell me which gender you got engaged to."
"Male- this time, but I don't need bedroom help."
I narrowed the focus of the screen to where it would show just my face and lit it. Freddie's face simultaneously appeared on the screen, black hair, tormented not teased, cat's-eye makeup, eyes that had seen too much in twenty years. As usual he provided a stunning example of not being able to judge a book by its cover.
Freddie gave a moue of disapproval. "You look like crap."
I glared at him. "I'm going to reach right through this computer screen and beat your silk-clad ass with a baseball bat."
"I get 200 credits an hour for that," said Freddie, grinning wickedly. "And anyway I told you that I'm spoken for."
"I'm turning off the phone, Freddie."
"No wait. I'm in trouble and so's my fiancée."
"Okay," I said. "You've got me awake. Give."
"I'm singing at the Radioactive Flamingo right by the Koch spaceport these days. I'm mostly off the hooking thing."
"Mostly," I said dryly.
Freddie blushed a little. "I wouldn't be much good as a source if I went entirely straight."
I looked at him.
"Don't say it," Freddie warned, lips pressed together.
"I don't swing at the easy ones," I replied. "Now what the hell did you want?"
"Oh, all right. I met a nice guy at the club. He really loved my singing."
"Humph," I said, eyes closing slightly.
"He was with a whole bunch of college kids about my age."
"Did you ever go to college?" I murmured. The sandman was winding up on me.
"Yeah. Like I had that chance," he said, bitterness twisting the pretty face.
"Ok," I prompted, "the college kids."
"Right. They call themselves the Geeks. Old word, has something to do with computers."
"Never heard it," I said. "So they're comptechs."
"Nothing so basic," Freddie replied. "They are the high-end visionaries. Metaprogrammers and wizards, holoworking the stuff that makes galactic trade work--the stuff that guards and defends the databases of planets.
"My fiancée, Nava, is one of them. He says they've formed a hacking group. They've done some minor illegal stuff, but they've got a new leader named Sid who's taken over and he has big plans. Nava's frightened and wants out but Sid's got some ex-mob muscle, Swedes from the gang you broke up."
An unintelligible voice spoke to Freddie off screen. It held a panicked quality.
"They're coming," Freddie said. "I'll call back if I can-"
"Freddie, wait-" But the screen went dark.
"Computer," I demanded, "police emergency override code Piper Alpha Romeo 334 level one, launch trace on call just received here."
The computer's toneless feminine voice advised. "No calls received at your location in the last six hours."
"Impossible," I muttered. "Recheck."
"Confirming no calls since 7:30 this evening."
I could only stare at the screen. Telnet wrong? I couldn't conceive it, but there it was. Slowly I walked back to the bed.
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