Page 45 of Nearly Roadkill: Queer Love on the Run
What else could we do? We had to sign off. Winc says to be patient.
END SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY
TOOBE ENTRY
To: Jabba
From: Toobe
Subj: Just please
::looking at you straight in the eyes:: Please help us. Isn’t there something you can do about that last node? I guess I’m asking you again for help, which I know I’ve done too much lately. But it’s really important.
—T.
To: Toobe
From: Jabba
Subj: Just please
You are compelling, my friend. My fish tanks are sparkling. I have made my temporary conduit safe from the bored antics of its two occupants.
By my calculations, the feds will be at their door by 8am.
END TOOBE ENTRY
GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
At last, I’ve finished my signoff anthem:
AND THIS I STATE:
I started getting cranky back when they shuttered the Coney Island Freak Show and put up a McDonald’s. Let me tell you—there weren’t many places left for a bearded lady to work.
Memories:
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Look at the man in the dress, Mommy!”
“Sorry, this land is for women only.”
I have always found refuge in my computer.
Next to my cats, that ornery pile of chips and circuits was the most forgiving creature in my life.
I plied a thriving trade in online tarot readings.
Until my site was hacked, and suddenly men were signing on for cybersex.
Gave the damn fools a tarot reading anyway, and they never knew the difference. Ka-ching for me.
I flourished, built vast domains, for all who entered to explore, experience, and emerge enlightened. I had one lone companion who could match me in my speed and desire for all things techno.
My friend and I built cyberworlds and romped as playmates, inventors, artists.
We were there when Tim first proposed the idea of using hyperlinks to create a “web of information.” It wasn’t long before we came up with HTML.
Ah, great days. Never did we meet face-to-bearded face.
And then one day twelve long years ago, my friend simply disappeared.
I was suddenly alone in an empire of zeros and ones. I built and fortified my secret cyber-fortress. I practiced my Code and my Craft, waiting to discover my raison d’être. I missed my large friend.
Now, after twelve years of virtual and quite real solitude, I have three new friends who’ve gazed upon my furry face and never blinked an eye. It’s been worth the wait. And lo, of late my brilliant friend and I are speaking again. All this because my three new friends needed us both so badly.
Oh, you can call it chance.
You can say it’s Fate.
I call it the power of an open heart.
Now I know the reason for my cyberpowers.
I know the reason for my understanding of the Craft.
And the reason for my beard.
From this day forward, I pledge my life to opening my strong arms to all my family members everywhere. By Code and by Craft, I do.
SO BE IT
This is me, signing off. Plus all my cats.
—Gwynyth
END GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
PERSONAL LOG, JABBATHEHUT
To my… what can only be described as shock, the strike seems to be working. In all honesty I never thought it would get this far.
END JABBA PERSONAL LOG
SCRATCH AND WINC JOURNAL ENTRIES, COMBINED
Okay, this is us signing off.
We can’t wait anymore to see if the last node changed its mind.
Question authority ain’t the half of it.
Question everything.
We don’t have any advice, just big hearts and no common sense, and we hope nobody gets hurt in all this.
Until we can meet again,
Digqueer/Luvboyz
Frankie/Johnny
Leilia/Karn
Spoiler/StarfleetFT
Mythter/Gyrl
Spike/HoneyDew
Scratch/Winc
We luv you, buh bye…
—ScratchnWinc
We grabbed the elevator down and were outta there.
END JOURNAL ENTRIES
NARRATIVE ENTRY, JABBATHEHUT
8:00 a.m., and he’s tired of waiting for the goddamned elevator, even though it’s slowly headed down.
Wally Budge is out of breath from climbing five flights of stairs.
He heads to the node room of EcoTech Technologies.
He’s grinning ear to ear, though. Henderson’s tone of bitter resignation over the phone had made it all worthwhile.
“They’re not in San Francisco, Budge. They must be at your site.”
“Is that an order to search the premises, sir?”
Henderson had simply hung up the phone, and Budge started issuing directives.
His dirty dozen, as he has come to regard them fondly, swarm through EcoTech like ants at a picnic. He knows he’s just missed them. Shelly Dunlap looks up from one of the monitors.
“Got something interesting here, Wally. It’s the master database for the Registration. They tapped into the ACI master file!”
“How? Never mind. What’d they do to it?”
Shelly pauses before answering.
“Well,” she says slowly, “they’ve given it a command it can’t comply with.”
He lifts a craggy eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she says, “there’s gonna be no more database, no more Registration, no more online marketing, and…” She pauses.
“And?”
“And you won’t have to be Ms. Budge anymore.”
“Well, ain’t that a pleasant surprise.”
The two of them stare into the screen for a few moments.
“Those two little idiots won’t find anything important, will they, Wally?”
“Nah, they hit delete. But we’ve got them. On my home turf. I’ll have them in custody in less than two hours.”
On the screen before them, the hourglass sits squarely in the middle of the screen.
END JABBA NARRATIVE ENTRY
PERSONAL LOG, JABBATHEHUT
There is only the gun-rights node left, and my own of course. No strike. Well, not unless I tap this little button here. The button that someone there should have tapped but didn’t know how. When oh when did activism become the bureaucracy it was founded to take down?
::flicking my wrist::
And the node is disabled.
My own node is easy as well. For me that is.
::flicking my other wrist::
All this wrist flicking has made me weary.
Viva la revolución and goodnight!
END JABBA PERSONAL LOG