At the knock on the door, she called out, “Yeah, come in.” She expected the floor nurse, hoped to have a file of medical data to comb through. Instead, a waiter walked in carrying a tray.
“Got your lunch order.”
“I didn’t order lunch. You’ve got the wrong room. Scram.”
“Room 880, East Surgical Wing. You Dallas?”
Frowning, she gave him and his tray a closer look. “Yeah.”
“Got your lunch order. Got one for Peabody, too. Waiting room A, East Surgical Wing.”
“Who placed the orders?”
“Ordered up by Roarke.”
“Of course they were. Well, what’ve I got?”
He set the tray on the desk, pulled off the insulated top. “Got your burger—that’s moo-meat, too. Got your fries, got your small side salad. Got your coffee—real deal. A double, black.”
“Never misses a trick.” Eve dug into her pocket, came up with enough loose credits for a decent tip. “Thanks.”
“Enjoy.”
“I guess I will,” she murmured as he went out. She sampled a fry as she tagged Feeney. “What’ve you got?”
“We’re not going to try removing the disc. Working on some ideas first. We got your time frame. Vic set up the holo at—is that a burger?”
“No, it’s a catcher’s mitt. What does it look like?”
“It looks like a burger. Is it meat?”
“Mmmm.” She took a huge bite, grinned around it.
“That’s cold, kid.” Genuine sorrow clouded his eyes. “Just cold.”
“You get that disc out without blowing it up, I’ll buy you ten pounds of cow meat. Time line?”
“Holo starts at twenty-one forty-six. The program ran until twenty-three fifty-two.”
“Over two hours. Longer than Bart.”
“Solo player, like him. We’ve got her starting off the jump. Level one.”
“He started at four. So she ran whichever scenario she picked from the beginning, either because it was new to her—and I don’t like that one. She started at square one because she wasn’t playing so much as working. Working to shut out the grief. She’s going to check the program, look for any flaws or glitches, or any place to improve it. Can you tell where she stopped?”
“She nearly finished level three.”
“Nearly?”
“It reads ninety-one percent. She didn’t make it to the end of the level.”
“You play. What would make you stop that close to moving up a level?”
“Screwing up, getting shut out.”
“Losing the level, okay. What else? If you got interrupted?”
“Nobody’s going to stop me from moving up unless they’re bleeding or on fire. And they’d have to be gushing blood or frying. And I’d have to like them. A lot.”