Wednesday 14 December 40 PY
Dear Diary,
It may be a sign of desperation, but I took Louisa's advice to pack a compact mirror in my purse. She used her mirror to catch one customer checking her out, and he became her ex from three ex'es ago. On second thought, I would probably be better off not listening to her.
I stepped out to draw out my potential stalkers. My route traced though the marketplace and then several busy streets. I didn't use the mirror, but I did stop by a greasy spoon diner and improvised with a buffed knife. I found him over my left shoulder, waiting across the intersection.
It was the same man on the rooftop. He did not make a special effort to hide his presence. The man stood in the cold for a half an hour before entering the pub at the corner. His massive partner never showed. I left with the lunch crowd and walked on the inside of the street, shielded from the pub by a large group of boilermen.
I am positive that I am being watched.
Something came up the night before and Carris had to step out, so I am going to meet her tonight. I warned her about my stalkers, and she laughed them off. "Under no circumstances will a friend of mine buckle to such crude intimidation. Coming? Are you my friend or no?" she said airily.
First Beck tried to use me to hurt Roger, and now I am putting the neighborhood at risk. This problem seems to follow me. In the end, I decided to see what Carris has picked up from her latest foray around Paradigm.
R. Dorothy Wayneright
Thursday 15 December 40 PY
Dear Diary,
My shadows did not follow me today. I am writing from a bus headed to middle Manhattan. I can handle my problems without Roger Smith's help, but the purpose for my trip directly involves Roger.
Late last night, Carris showed me a radio communicator that she had scavenged from somewhere. It was a utilitarian box with a microphone. The set could only pick up one frequency, which broadcasted a shrill refrain. Music sheets cluttered her desk. She transcribed the broadcast into notes, translated the notes in letters or number, which became letters, and then tried to unscramble the resulting mess. None of her attempts made any sense.
Carris led me to her chair and placed the headphones over my ears. I could understand the message clearly. The voice of the Archetype had been full of arrogance and overwhelming, while the Sea Titan sounded like a victim of Parkinson's disease. The voice over the radio grated out a single name over and over: "Roger. Roger Smith."
The tarped-over tower has come into view. This will be my first visit back to Roger's place.
R. Dorothy Wayneright