Fall Revolution 4: The Sky Road

chances of sponsorship or patronage were
now nonexistent. Even if I were cleared, I would lose at least
part of the first year of my project, which as good as meant
losing it all. I wired Gantry back, thanking him; but I held
little hope that he could do much to help, or that I, with my
stubborn closed mouth, deserved it.
    Not to my surprise, Menial was not at work. I got through most
of my dangerous day in the arc-lit dark of the platform leg
without incident, and was just cleaning my tools (and everyone
else’s) at a quarter past four when Angus Grizzlyback
loomed out of the dim scaffolding and sat down at the crate.
    ‘Clovis,’ he said. I looked up. He scratched the
back of his head with one hand, and looked away from me and at a
piece of paper he held in the other.
    ‘Something wrong?’
    Even then, the thought that leapt on me was that he was the
unwilling bearer of bad tidings about my parents, or some such
family matter.
    ‘Aye, I’m afraid so,’ he said.
‘I’m going to have to let you go. Pay you
off.’
    ‘What for?’ I asked, simultaneously relieved and
shaken.
    ‘Nothing you’ve done here,’ he assured me.
‘It’s much against my own inclination, Clovis; for
all I’ve slagged you off you’re no bad at what you
do, and you’re a sound man, but – ’ He
shrugged, and looked down at the paper again. ‘It’s
the Society. They’ve withdrawn your clearance to work on
the project.’ He looked up at me sharply, a question in his
eyes. ‘Some trouble you’ve got into at the
University.’
    I put the tools down on the rough table and clasped my oily
hands to my head. ‘How can they do that?’ I asked,
but I knew the answer. The University had fingered me to the
Society – of which it was, of course, a part – as a
risk to the project’s security. It all made sense, unjust
though it seemed.
    You can appeal, you know,’ Angus said. ‘I’ll
back you up.’
    I swallowed bile. ‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘I’ll bear that in mind. Of course I’ll appeal
it’
    The only reason I could think of to appeal it was that not
doing so would seem like an admission of guilt – and,
indeed, I was guilty of plenty, none of which I’d want
brought out in a work tribunal. Confident though I was that
nothing I’d done could endanger the project, others might
not regard being madly in love with a stranger as a sound basis
for this conviction.
    ‘Ach, well, I’ll set the machinery in
motion,’ Angus said. ‘I’ll tell Jondo and
he’ll take it up with the union.’ He forced a grin.
‘Have you back in no time.’
    ‘Thanks, Angus,’ I said.
    ‘But right now,’ he went on, ‘I’ll
have to ask you to leave straight away. It says here I should
escort you off the premises, but I’ll not do
that.’
    I was very grateful indeed that he trusted me as far as the
gate; but as I turned and looked back on my way out of the yard,
I noticed his tiny figure on the outside of the platform, and
realised that he’d discreetly watched my every step.
     
    I took an early and almost empty bus back to Carron Town, and
went to my room. The whisky bottle, at that moment, felt like my
only friend. By morning, it would seem false; we’d have had
a severe falling-out, but we’d both know it was only a
matter of time before we’d make up. I knew all this
perfectly well as I sat under the skylight and tipped myself a
generous measure of the malt. Its fortifying fire rushed through
my nerves, and I could contemplate my unravelling life with a
degree of detachment.
    I thought about what I’d lost, and what I hadn’t,
and determined that what I had left was enough to win me back the
rest, if only I could think of a way. So, instead of settling
down to some sad solitary drinking, I cleaned up and shaved and
changed and went over to The Carronade.
    The doors of the pub, heavy with glass and brass, swung shut
behind me. After the sunshine the light seemed low. As I walked
to the bar my eyes adjusted. At that time, about half past five,
it was almost empty. The barmaid was the same girl who’d
served us on Monday evening. She was a local girl, tall and thin,
with long fair hair bundled up, and strong arms from pulling the
pumps. Her name, as I learned in a few minutes of chat as I
leaned idly on the bar, sipping at a half-litre of pale ale,
wasjeannaBenymead. She’d grown up on a farm up the glen a
bit, at Achnashellach.
    Carron Town, before the