Tapping my watch to activate the memo function, I raised my wrist and murmured, ?Note to self: See what you can do about getting an interview out of Tate?s camp sometime after the primary closes, whatever the results.? Technically, Shaun, Buffy, and I count as ?rival journalists,? given that we?re mostly devoted to following Ryman?s campaign. At the same time, we?ve all taken public oaths of journalistic integrity, and that means we can?at least supposedly?be trusted to provide a fair and unbiased report on any subject we address, unless it?s in a clearly flagged editorial. Getting close enough to Tate to see how the man ticks might help with my growing objections to his political standpoints. Or it might not, and that could give me a renewed reason to rally for Ryman. Either way, it would make for good news.
My water was nearly gone, and I hadn?t come to the convention center to people watch and cadge free beverages from the local newspapermen, no matter how much of an improvement that was over life at the convoy. I tapped my ear cuff. ?Call Buffy.?
There was a pause as the connection was made, and then Buffy?s voice was in my ear, asking, ?What glorious service may this unworthy one perform for her majesty on this hallowed afternoon??
I smirked. ?Interrupt your poker game??
?Actually, we were watching a movie.?
?You and Chuckles are getting a little cozy there, don?t you think??
Buffy?s reply was a prim, ?You don?t ask about my business, and I won?t ask about yours. Besides, I?m off-duty. There?s nothing to edit, and all my material for the week has already been uploaded to the time-release server.?
?Fine with me,? I said. Contrary to my earlier fears, the painkillers were preventing the headache from becoming more than an annoying throb at the back of my temples. ?Can you get me a current location on the senator? I?m over at the convention center, and the place is a madhouse. If I try to find him on my own, I may never be heard from again.?
?I?d be able to track a government official because???
?I know you have at least one transmitter planted on the man, and you never let a piece of equipment out of your sight without a tracking device.?
Buffy paused. Then she asked, ?Are you near a data port??
I looked around. ?There?s a public jack about ten yards from me.?
?Great. They don?t have wireless maps of the convention center up for public access?something about ?preserving the security of the hall? or whatever. Go over and plug yourself in, and I can give you Senator Ryman?s current location, assuming he?s not standing within ten yards of a scrambler.?
?Have I mentioned recently that I adore you?? I rose, chucked my bottle into a recycler, and walked toward the jack-in point. ?So, Chuck, huh? I guess he?s cute, if you like the weedy techie type. Personally, I?d go for something a little taller, but whatever floats your boat. Just make sure you know where he?s been.?
?Yes, mother,? Buffy replied. ?Are you there yet??
?Plugging in now.? Hooking my handheld to the wall unit was a matter of seconds. The standardization of data ports has been a true blessing to the technically inept computer users of the world. My system took a few seconds to negotiate a connection with the convention center servers, and most of that was verifying compatibility of antiviral and anti-spam software. It beeped, signaling its readiness to proceed. ?I?m in.?
?Great.? Buffy quieted. I could hear typing in the background. ?Got it. You?re in the exhibition zone on the second level, right??
?Right. Near the Starbucks.?
?Drop the singular; there are eight Starbucks kiosks on that level alone. Bring me a sugar-free vanilla raspberry mocha when you come back. The senator is on the conference floor three levels down. I?m dropping you a map.? My handheld beeped, acknowledging receipt. ?That should have everything you need, assuming he doesn?t move.?
?Thanks, Buffy.? I unplugged myself from the wall. ?Have fun.?
?Don?t call back for at least an hour.? The connection cut itself off.
Shaking my head, I focused on the map dominating my screen. It was fairly simplistic, representing the convention center in clear enough lines that my route was difficult to misinterpret. The senator?s last known location was marked in red, and a thin yellow line connected him to the blinking white dot representing the data port where I?d downloaded the information. Nicely done. Pushing my sunglasses back up, I began making my way down the exhibition hall.