Terminal Compromise Part 156

Scott's name was in constant demand as a result of his expos of h.o.m.osoto and the hackers. Fame was something Scott had not wanted specifically. He had imagined himself the great transla- tor, making the cacophony of incomprehensible technical polysyl- labics intelligible to 'everyman'. He had not planned for fame; merely another demand on his time, his freedom and his creativi- ty.

"What I wanted was a break." Scott poked at the steaks. In the pool Arlene Duncan and Sonja kicked their feet and chattered aimlessly. The perfect respite. The Times made Scott the most generous tenure offers in a generation of writers, and Scott recognized the fairness of the offers. It was not now, nor had it ever been a question of money, though.

"What's next?"

"The book, I suppose. The Trial of Miles Foster."

"And then back to the Times?"

"Maybe, maybe. I haven't given it much thought," Scott said watering down the coals to reduce the intensity of the barbecue inferno he had created. "I promised to help out once in a while.

Officially they call it a sabbatical."

"How long do you think you can hold out on this rock before going nuts?"

"We've managed pretty well, so far." Scott said admiring his bride whose phenomenal physical beauty was tightly wrapped in the high French cut one piece bathing suit that Scott insisted she wear in honor of their more conservative guests. Tyrone, he was sure, would not have minded Sonja's nudity, but Arlene would have been on the next flight to Boston and her parents.

"Three months so far, and nine months to go. I think I can take it," he said staring at Sonja and motioning to the view.

Tyrone silently conveyed understanding for Scott's choice of an island retreat to get away from it all. But Tyrone's choices demanded his presence within driving distance of civilization.

"So the bureau wasn't too upset about your leaving?" Scott changed the subject.

"I guess not," Tyrone said laughing. "I was approaching mandato- ry anyway and I'd become too big a pain in their a.s.ses. Using your hackers didn't endear me to too many of the Director's staff."

"What about your friend?"

"You mean Bob Burnson?"

"Yeah, the guy we met at Ebbett's . . ."

"He got his promotion right after I left. I guess I was holding him back," Tyrone said with tongue in cheek. "On the other hand, I could have stayed and really made his life miserable. We're both at peace. Best of all? Still friends."

"I have to say, though, I never thought you'd go through with it," said Scott turning the steaks. "You and the Bureau, a thirty year affair."

"Not quite thirty . . ."

"Whatever. You've certainly built up a practice and a half in six months."

"Yeah," chuckled Tyrone. "Like you, I never planned on becoming a big player . . .Christ. Who ever thought that Computer Law would be the next Cabbage Patch Doll of the courts?" Tyrone saw the smirk in Scott's face. "O.K., you did. Yes, you predicted a mess in the courts. Yes, you did Mr. Wisenheimer. I just saw it as a neat little extension of const.i.tutional law and then whammo!

All of sudden, computer litigation is the hip place to be. Every type of lawsuit you predicted is somewhere in the legal system - SEC suits, copyright suits, privacy suits, theft of data, theft of service."

"Sounds like everyone who was scared to admit they had a problem in the past is going b.a.l.l.s to the wall."

"The j.a.panese lawyers are living their worst nightmare: OSO Industries is up to top of its colon with lawsuits, including one asking for OSO to be denied any access to the American market for 100 years."

Scott whistled long and loud, then laughed. "And that's fun?"

"You're G.o.dd.a.m.ned right, it's fun," Ty a.s.serted, popping another beer from the poolside cooler. "It's a s.h.i.t load more interest- ing that rotting here," he spread his arms to embrace the lush beauty from their 1500 foot high aerie. "How much sun and peace and quiet and s.e.x and water and beach can one man take?" He spoke loudly, like a Southern Spiritual Minister. "Too much scuba diving and swimming and sailing and sunsets and black starry nights can be bad for your health. This is a G.o.dd.a.m.ned Hedonist's Heaven." He brought his hands to his side and gave a resigned sigh. "I guess if you can stomach this kind of life."

"Jealous?" Scott asked gently. He knew about Arlene's reticence to try anything new, out of the ordinary. She was very pleased with her life in Westchester. She felt that knowing someone who lived in Paradise whom she could visit once a year was new-ness enough.

"No, man," Tyrone said genuinely, speaking as himself again. "I got exactly what I wanted." He c.o.c.ked his head at the pool, where Arlene seemed more relaxed than she had in years. "Can't you see? She's miserable, but she's mine. Scott, you've lived your fantasy, made a difference. Now, it's my turn."

Scott looked over at Arlene. "Hey, s.h.i.t for brains," he said to Tyrone. "She's no slouch. It's what the h.e.l.l she's doing with you I never understood." Scott lunged at Tyrone's attention- getting sized abdomen with the steak fork.

"Nice and juicy," retorted Tyrone, patting his prominent stomach.

"You're not my type. I like mine lean. I cut off the fat,"

Scott barbed. Before Tyrone could get in his jibe Scott called out, "Steaks' on. Outside black, inside mooing."

The girls smacked their lips in antic.i.p.ation and sat in the elegant all weather PVC furniture. A red sailor's delight sun was mere inches above the horizon, setting to the west over Ha.s.sel and Water Islands which provide umbrage to Blue Beard's harbor of choice.

The men were providing all services this evening and the ladies were luxuriating in this rare opportunity. Little did they know, or little did they let on, that they knew the men enjoyed the opportunity to demonstrate their culinary skills without female interference. Beside, thought Scott, it was the maid's day off.

"Seriously, though," Tyrone said quietly as Scott piled the plates with steaks and potatoes. "I know you better than that.

I don't see how you can do nothing. You don't know how to sit your a.s.s still for ten minutes. It's not your personality.

Don't you agree Arlene?"

"Yes dear," she said, still talking to Sonja.

"And that room you call your office, Jesus. You have more equip- ment in there than . . ."

"It looks like more than it is . . ." Scott downplayed the point.

"Mainly communications. The local phone company is a joke, so I installed an uplink. No big deal."

"C'mon, man, I just can't see you sitting on the sidelines."

Tyrone stressed the word 'you'. "Not with what's happening now?

There must be a thousand stories out there . . ."

"And a thousand and one reporters. Too much noise, too busy for my liking. After the h.o.m.osoto story, if there's one luxury I've learned to live with, it's that I can pick and choose what I do."

Scott spoke much too reserved for the Scott Mason Tyrone knew.

"Aha! So you are up to something. I knew it. I gave you one, maybe two months, but I never figured you'd last three."

They carried the four plates laden with steaks and potatoes over to the table where their spouses waited. Fresh beers awaited their much appreciated efforts.

"I do get a little itchy and I read a lot." Tyrone glared at Scott with disbelief. "No really, just a little research,"

laughed Scott in mock defense. "O.K., I received a call, and it sounded kind of interesting, so I've been looking into it."

"Poking around, here and there and everywhere?"

"Kinda, just following up a few leads."

"Just a few?"

"Well, maybe more than a few," Scott admitted.

"When did this little project begin?" Tyrone asked accusingly.

He suspected Scott was hiding a detail or two.