Fall Revolution 4: The Sky Road

that bit of casuistry, but hers would do at
a pinch. My two conflicting programs meshed: I was in trouble,
yes, but I could get out of it, by the aforementioned grovelling
and covering up.
    The clock above the bar showed the time was a quarter past
ten.
    ‘I doubt Gantry’s still around,’ I said.
‘And I don’t know where he lives, or his phone
number, if he has one. I suppose the best thing to do is see him
in the morning, before we leave.’ I took my return ticket
from my pocket. ‘Train leaves at forty minutes before noon.
I’ll be round to see him at nine, and try and straighten
things out.’
    Menial nodded. ‘Sound plan,’ she said. She cocked
an ear. ‘Things seem to be quietening down, but I
don’t think wandering around back there would be a good
idea right now.’
    ‘D’you want to go back and check over what
we’ve got?’
    ‘Dhia, no! I’ve looked at enough of that
for one day. I want to stay here and drink with you, and maybe
dance with you – if a wee bit of siller can make that
fiddler change his tune – and then go back to the lodging
and test the strength of that bed with you.’
    That is not what we should have done, I grant you; but are you
surprised at all that it is what we did?
     
    I sat on the steps outside the Institute, in the still, chill
morning under the shadows of the great trees, and looked at my
watch. Ten to nine. I sighed and lit another cigarette. A couple
of hundred metres away a pneumatic drill started hammering.
Brightly painted trestles and crossbeams and piles of broken
tarmac indicated that some similar work had been done already
during the night.
    The path of power, indeed. One reason why it’s called
that is that electronic computation is inextricably and
unpredictably linked to electrical power generation, and can
disrupt it in expensive and dangerous ways. I had an unpleasant
suspicion that the cost of all this was, one way or another,
going to meander through some long system of City Council and
University Senate accountancy, and arrive at my feet.
    ‘Good morning, Clovis.’ I looked up at Gantry. He
had his pipe in one hand and a key in the other. ‘Come on
in.’
    His office had a window that occupied most of one wall, giving
a soothing view of a weed-choked back yard, and bookcases on the
others. Every vertical surface in the room was stained slightly
yellow,and every horizontal surface was under a fine layer of
tobacco ash. I wiped ineffectually at the wooden chair in front
of his desk while he sat down on the leather one behind it.
    He regarded me for a moment, blinking; ran his fingers through
his short hair; sighed and began refilling his pipe.
    ‘Well, colha Gree,’ he said, after a minute of
intimidating silence, ‘you have no idea how much my respect
for you has increased by your coming here. When I saw you a
moment ago, stubbing out your cigarette on the pavement, I
thought, „Now, there’s a man who knows to do the
decent thing.“ Considerable improvement on your blue funk
last night; considerable.’
    I cleared my throat, vaguely thinking that whatever the
doctors may say, there must be something harmful in a
habit which makes your lungs feel so rough in the morning.
‘Aye, well, Dr. Gantry, it wasn’t yourself I was
afraid of.’
    ‘Oh,’ he said dryly, ‘and what was it then,
hmm?’
    Without meaning to, I found my gaze drifting upward. ‘It
was, uh, the demon internet software that I’m afraid I and
my friend, um, accidentally invoked.’
    Gantry lit his pipe and sent out a cloud of smoke.
    ‘Yes, I had gathered that. And what on earth possessed
you – so to speak – to poke around in the dark
storage when I’d just given you more than enough material
for years of study?’
    I met his gaze again. ‘It was my idea,’ I said.
‘Call it – excess of zeal. I got the idea before you
gave me the papers, of course, but even after that I thought we
might as well go through with it I’m afraid I was –
rather blinded by the lust for knowledge.’
    ‘And by another kind of lust, I shouldn’t
wonder,’
    Gantry said. ‘This friend of yours, she’s
more than that, am I right?’
    There seemed no point in denying it, so I didn’t.
    ‘All right,’ he said. He jabbed his pipe-stem at
me, thumbed the stubble on his chin, and gnawed at his lower lip
for a moment. ‘All right. First of all, let me say that the
University administration has a job to do which