Fall Revolution 4: The Sky Road

that you’ll see a
way to go beyond the, um, shall we say hagiographic treatments of
the past, without…’ He paused, sucking at his lower
lip. ‘Ah, well, no need to spell it out.’
    ‘Of course not,’ I said.
    I looked at the master scholar with what I’m sure must
have been an expression of gratifying respect. ‘Shall we
have a look through them now?’
    Gantry stepped back and threw up his hands in mock horror.
‘No, no! Can’t have me looking over your shoulder at
the raw material, Clovis. Unaided original work, and all that.
This is yours, and there’sa thesis in there if ever I saw
one. No, it’s time I was off and left you to it.’ He
hesitated. ‘Ah, I shouldn’t need to tell you, colha
Gree, but not a word about this, or a single page of it, outside,
all right?’
    I had a brief, intense tussle with my conscience, which neatly
tripped me up and jumped on me. ‘Nothing for the vulgar, of
course,’ I said carefully. ‘But in principle I could,
well, show it to or discuss it with other scholars?’
    ‘Goes without saying,’ Gantry confirmed jovially.
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘If you can find anyone
you’d trust not to claim it as their own.’ He winked
at Menial. ‘Untrustworthy bunch, these scholars, I think
you’ll find.’ He punched me, playfully as he thought,
in the ribs. ‘Confidence, man, confidence! I’m sure
you have the wit to understand and explicate this lot yourself,
and it’ll make your name, you mark my words!’
    ‘Thank you,’ I said, after a painful intake of
breath. ‘Well… I think I’ll make a start right
now.’
    ‘Yes, indeed. Splendid idea. Don’t stay up too
late.’ His complicitous grin made it obvious that he
thought it unlikely that we’d stay up too late. ‘Best
be off then,’ he said, as though to himself, then backed to
the door and turned away.
    ‘Good night to you, sir!’ Menial called out after
him.
    ‘Good night,’ came faintly back from the
stairwell.
    Menial let out a long breath.
    ‘What a strange little man,’ she said, in the
manner of someone who has just encountered one of the Wee
Folk.
    ‘He’s not entirely typical of scholars,’ I
said.
    ‘I should hope not,’ Menial said.
‘Wouldn’t want you turning into something like
that’
    ‘Heaven forbid,’ I said, adding loyally,
‘but he’s afine man for all his funny ways,’ I
looked down at the stack of folders. ‘Maybe it would be a
good idea,’ I said slowly, ‘if you were to do your
thing with the computer, and I could stay here, just in case he
comes back.’
    ‘Oh, and leave me to face the deils all on my
own?’ Merrial mocked, then laughed, relenting. ‘Aye,
that is not a bad idea. If he or anyone else comes in, keep them
busy. I’ll not be long, and I’ll be fine.’
    ‘What about this security barrier?’
    She waved a hand and made a rude noise. Taugh! This wee gadget
here has routines that can roast security barriers over a
firewall and eat them for breakfast.’
    Considering how she’d had to program something a lot
simpler than that to sort out the dates, I doubted her, but
supposed that was the black logic for you.
    She smiled and slipped away; after an anxious minute of
listening, I heard the sound of the inner door being opened and
the scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor and propped
against it. I relaxed a little and turned again to the files
– to the paper files, I mentally corrected myself, for the
first time making the connection between ‘files’ in
Merrial ‘s and, I presumed, tinkers’ usage, and my
own.
    I was eager to get into the early decades, but I knew that
would be somewhat self-indulgent, and that I would have plenty of
time for that It was the later years, closer to the time of the
Deliverance, that were hidden from history. I picked up the
folder for the final decade, the 2050s, and was about to open it
when I heard Merrial scream.
    I don’t remember getting to the door of the dark
archive. I only remember standing there, my forward momentum
arrested by a shock of dread that stopped me like a sparrow
hitting a window. The file folder, absurdly enough, was still in
my hands, and I held up that heavy mass of flimsy paper and
fragile cardboard like a weapon – or a shield.
    Merrial too was holding a weapon – the chair she’d
been sitting on, and had evidently just sprung out of. In front
of her, and above the computer, in a lattice