This one was for Lena Llewelyn Gu.
Robert sat beside the enum for almost half an hour. He studied it. He studied the documentation. It was exactly what he thought. Lena lives .
There was no physical address, but he could write her a simple message. It took him only two hours to do so. Less than two hundred words. They were the most important words that Robert Gu had ever written.
Robert couldn't sleep that night. Morning came, then afternoon.
There was no reply.
Epilogue
Six weeks passed. Robert was watching the news more now; he had learned that the world can bite you. He and Miri compared notes on what they saw. The raids at the edge of the world were allegedly over. Rumors held that little had been discovered. Rumors and some real news spoke of scandals in the EU, Indian, and Japanese intelligence services. All the Great Powers remained very nervous about insert-your-favorite-crazyass-theory-here.
On the home front, Bob was back! Robert and Miri took that to mean that some disaster theories were much less likely. Others remained scarily viable. Indeed, Bob blew his stack when he learned about Alice. Things got very tense around the house. Both Robert and Miri sensed heartbreaking battles hiding behind the looks and silences. Miri had years of putting together the clues. Her best guess was that Bob had appealed to the doctors, that he had complained far up the chain of command. None of it mattered. Alice remained in Training.
Somewhere in all of this, Juan returned from Puebla. Miri didn't have much to say about him, but they were talking. The boy was smiling more.
From Lena there was silence. She lived. His messages didn't bounce and her enum remained accessible. It was like talking into an infinite void. And Robert did keep talking, a message every day and wondering what more he should do.
Xiu Xiang had left Rainbows End.
"Lena asked me to leave," Xiu told him. "Maybe I pushed her too hard." But I know where she lives now! I could go there. I could make her see how much I've changed . And maybe that would just prove that he had changed in all the ways that didn't matter. So Robert didn't drive out to Rainbows End; he didn't snoop the public cams there. But he continued to write her. And when he was outside, he often imagined that besides the 7-by-24 at-tention of the security authorities, perhaps there was another watcher, one who would someday forgive him.
Meantime, he threw himself into schoolwork. There was so much to learn. And the rest of his time was spent with Comms-R-Us. They liked his work.
Two months after the Great Library Riot, Robert returned to UCSD. He had lost track of Winston and Carlos. It was strange when he thought about it. For a few days the cabal had been such a tight conspiracy, but now they never spoke. The easiest explanation was mutual shame. They had been used, and their various agendas had come close to killing a lot of people. There was truth in all that, but for Robert there was another explanation, something weirder and almost as unsettling: the cabal was like a childhood clique, the animosities and closeness now vanished as his childlike attention morphed in new directions. Sometimes the desperation of the fall semester seemed almost as remote as his life in the twentieth century. There were so many things he wanted to learn and do and be, and they had so little do with what had previously consumed him.
In the end, it was his project with Comms-R-Us that brought him back to campus. Jitter and latency were bad problems in video protocols, worse in voice, and absolute death for touchy-feely interfaces. Haptic robots were getting better and better but they were almost useless when run over the net. Now, Comms-R-Us wanted Robert to try his crazy synch schemes on haptics.
In the aftermath of the Librareome and the riot, the UCSD administration had dumped further bushel-baskets of cash on the library. In some ways its touchy-feely experience was better than commercial parks like Pyramid Hill. The question was, how could you export that across the net? He had done plenty of reading, studied the design of touchy-feely bots, but until the problem was solved there would be no substitute for firsthand experience. He took a car down to UCSD.
Two months. Not really a long time. The server shacks on the north side of Warschawski Hall had merged. There was a soccer field where the Software Engineering Department had been. Robert could see that this wasn't destruction related to the Library Riot or the marine landings; it was the normal churn of any modern institution.
He took the footpath through the eucalyptus. As always, coming out of the trees gave the naked eye a sudden vision across miles of tableland, into the mountains. And there, standing before it all, was still the Geisel Library.
It was by far the oldest building at UCSD, one of the twenty percent that had been rebuilt after the Rose Canyon quake. But that damage had been nothing compared with what befell it during the riot, when the cabal's sponsors literally ripped the east side from its foundations. Any other building on campus would have been razed after such trauma, perhaps restored if it was of sufficient historical value. But neither had happened in the case of the Geisel Library.
Robert walked around the north side of the library, down past the loading dock. He had seen views of the structure immediately after the riot, the floors sloping and sagging, the ad hoc buttresses that the fire department had added as the internal servos burned out, the chunks of twentieth-century concrete that littered the terrace.
Those signs of destruction were gone. The overhanging floors were level once more.
The university had not undertaken a simple restoration. On the west it looked almost unchanged, but there was perceptible distortion above the loading dock, and on the east there was a graceful twisting of the building's great pillars. Where those pillars had moved, where the library had "walked," now the pillars were set. At the base was grass and smooth concrete, the tiled path that was the snake of knowledge. Looking upward, lush ivy followed the curving twist of the concrete. Where the ivy ended, there were lines of colored pebbles set in the pillars, making bands like stress fringes in illuminated crystal. And then above that, the rectangle of each floor was slightly turned from the one beneath it.
From the building specifications, Robert could see that some of the pillars were carbon fibers embedded in lightweight composite. Yet the building was as real and solid as it looked to the naked eye; more than any building on campus, this was real. This building lived.
He took the stairs, stopping at each floor to look around. He recognized the Hacek domain. There were still Librarians Militant here. But I thought their circle got booted out ? In other places, there was craziness he recognized as Scooch-a-mouti. The Scoochi mythos was eclectic nonsense that he had never figured out. How it fit with library metaphors was beyond him. But the Scoochis had "won" the riot and the library.
In other places, both belief circles were running in parallel. You could choose which you wanted, or neither.
Robert concentrated on management and naked-eye views. After all, he was here to study the touchy-feely support. There were haptic robots everywhere not as many as at Pyramid Hill, but the university had crammed almost as much parallel variety into a few floors of a single building. UCSD had spent an enormous amount of money on the gadgets. There were some free-running models, but most were surface-mounted. These were fast. As quick as a Librarian Militant could reach for the vision of a book, a robot would slide into position, altering its surface just where it would meet the reacher's hand.