Islands in the Net

She refilled their glasses. "Sorry, there's not much left."

"What else have we got?"

"Uh ..." She winced. "Some plum wine. And quite a bit of sake."

"Sounds great," he said unthinkingly. He was staring at the television. "Can't send out for liquor. It's quiet here in your place ... but believe me, it's getting very strange out in those corridors."

"I've got some cigarettes," she confessed.

"Cigarettes! Wow, I don't think I've smoked one of those since I was a little kid."

She got the cigarettes from the back of the liquor cabinet and brought out her antique ashtray.

He looked away from the television-it had switched to a public statement by the Japanese premier. Meaningless fig- urehead. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to barge in on you like this. I was in your building before I heard the news and.... Actually, I was just hoping that we could... you know ... have a good talk."

"Well, talk to me anyway. Because otherwise I think I'm going to have a fit." She shivered. "I'm glad you're here, Charlie.

I'd hate to be watching this alone."

"Yeah-me too. Thanks for saying that."

"I guess you'd rather be with Doris."

"Doris?"

"That is your wife's name, isn't it? Did I forget?"

He raised his brows. "Laura, Doris and I have been sepa- rated, for two months now. If we were still together I'd have brought her with me." He stared at the television. "Turn it off," he said suddenly. "I can only handle one crisis at a time. "

"But-"

"Fuck it, it's gesellschafr stuff. Out of our hands."

She turned it off. Suddenly she could feel the Net's ab- sence like a chunk taken out of her brain.

"Calm down," he said. "Do some deep breathing. Ciga- rettes are bad for us anyway."

"I didn't know about Doris. Sorry."

"It's the demotion," he said. "Things were fine as long as

I was CEO, but she couldn't take the Retreat. I mean, she knew it was coming, that it's customary, but ... "

She looked at his denim overalls. They were worn at the knees. "I think they take this demotion ritual a little too far

... what do they have you do, mostly?"

"Oh, I'm in the old folks home. Change sheets-reminisce- pitch a little hay sometimes. Not so bad. Kind of gives you the long view."

"That's a very correct attitude, Charlie."

"I mean it," he said. "This Bomb crisis has people totally obsessed right now, but the long-term view's still there, if you can back off enough to look at it. Grenada and Singapore

... they had wild ideas, reckless, but if we're smart, and very careful, we might use that kind of radical potential sensibly. There's a world of hurt to be put right first ... maybe a lot more if these bastards bomb us...ut someday ..."

"Someday what?" Laura said.

"I don't really know what to call it.... Some kind of genuine, basic improvement in the human condition.'.'

"It could do with some," Laura said. She smiled at him.

She liked the sound of it. She liked him, for having brought up the long term, in the very middle of hell breaking loose.

The very best time for it, really. "I like it," she said.

"Sounds like interesting work. We could talk about it to- gether. Network a little."

"I'd like that. When I'm back in the swing of things," he said. He looked embarrassed. "I don't mind being out of it a while. I didn't handle it 'well. The power... . You should know that, Laura. Better than anyone."

"You did very well-everyone says so. You're not respon- sible for what happened to me. I went into it with my eyes open."

"Jesus, it's really good of you to say that." He looked at the floor. "I dreaded this meeting.... I mean, you were nice enough the few times we've met, but I didn't know how you'd take it."

"Well, it's our work! It's what we do, what we are."

"You really believe in that, don't you? The community."

"I have to. It's all I have left."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too." He smiled. "Can't be such a bad thing. I mean, we're both in it. Here we are. Solidarity,

Laura. "

"Solidarity." They clicked glasses and drank the last

Drambuie.

"It's good," he said. He looked around. "Nice place."

"Yeah... they keep the journos out.... Got a nice bal- cony, too. You like heights?"

"Yeah, what is this, fortieth floor? I can never tell these big Atlanta digs apart. " He stood up. "I could use some air. "

"Okay." She walked toward the balcony; the double doors flung themselves open. They stood on the balcony looking down to the distant street.

"Impressive," he said. Across the street they could see another high-rise, floor after floor, curtains open here and there, glow of television news. The balcony was open above them and they could hear it muttering out. The tone rising.

"It's good to be here," he said. "I'll remember this mo- ment. Where I was, what I was doing. Hell, everyone will.

Years from now. For the rest of our lives."

"I think you're right. I know you are."

"It's either go

"Yeah... I should have brought the sake bottle." She leaned on the railing. "You wouldn't blame me, Charlie, would you? If it was the worst? Because I did have a part in it. I did it."

"Never even occurred to me."

"I mean, I'm only one person, but I did what one person can do."

"Can't ask for more than that."

There was a bestial scream from upstairs. Joy, rage, pain, hard to tell. "That was it," he said.

People were pouring into the streets. They were jumping out of vans. Ru

Distant leaping bits of anonymity: -the crowd.

Horns were honking. People were embracing each other.

Strangers, kissing. A mob flinging itself into its own arms.

Windows began flying open across the street.

"They got 'em," he said.

Laura looked down at the crowd. "Everybody's so happy,"

she said.

He had the sense not to say anything. He just held out his hand.