Robert took the proffered hand, and stood uncertainly for awoment. Book shredders below, mystery man up here. And the crazy choir. He could finally see the singers in the plaza.
"Ha. You don't recognize me, do you, Robert?" No . The guy had lots of blond hair, but his face was as old as the hills. Only his laughter was familiar. After a second, he shrugged and waved for Robert to sit down. "I don't blame you," he chattered on. "But recognition the other way is easy. You lucked out, Robert, didn't you? I'd guess the Venn-Kurasawa treatment worked a hundred percent for you; your skin looks better than when you were twenty-five years old." The old man slid an age-spotted hand across his own features and smiled ruefully. "But how's the rest of you? You look a little twitchy."
"I — I lost my marbles. Alzheimer's. But — "
"Hey, right. I can tell."
It was the heedless frankness that Robert suddenly recognized. Behind the stranger's face, Robert recognized the freshman who had made his
UCSD years significantly more exciting. "Tommie Parker!" The young squirt who could never be put down, who had been a computer-science jock at UCSD before he had even graduated from high school, before there had even been such a major. The little guy who couldn't wait for the future.
Tommie nodded, chuckling. "Yup. Yup. But it's been 'Professor Thomas Parker' for a long time. You know I got my doctorate from MIT? Then I came back here and I taught for almost forty years. You're looking at a Member of the Establishment."
And seeing what time had done… for a moment Robert was silent. I should be immune by now . He looked out the window at the crowds, away from Parker. "So what's going on, Tommie? You're camped up here like some grand commander."
Parker laughed and typed at his keyboard. From what Robert could see of the display, it was some ancient system, worse than his view-page — and nothing like what he could get from Epiphany. But there was enthusiasm in Tom Parker's voice. "It's this protest demonstration we set up. Against the Librareome Menace. We didn't stop the shredding, but — jeez, look at that. I got your break-in on video." Tommie's display showed what looked like a telephoto image shot from north of campus. A tiny figure that might have been Robert Gu was entering the library's freight area. "I don't know how you got past security, Robert."
"Management wonders that too," said the young man who rescued Robert. He had sat down behind the front desk and brushed flakes of paper dandruff off of his hair and T-shirt. Suddenly the "Chad is Bad" slogan on his shirt made a lot of sense. He noticed Robert's regard and gave him a little wave. "Hi, Professor Gu. I'm Carlos Rivera, library staff." His T-shirt morphed to white, which at least made the little bits of paper less obvious.
"You're part of this destruction?" He suddenly noticed the half page he had saved from the shredder. He laid it gently on the table There were words there; maybe he could figure out what they had been part of.
"No, no," said Parker. "Carlos is helping us. In fact, all the librarians oppose the shredding — excepting the administrators. And seeing that you got past library security, I think we have allies even there. You're a famous guy, Robert. And we can use the video you got."
"But I — " Robert started to say he didn't have a camera. Then he thought of the clothes he was wearing. "Okay, but you'll have to show me how to give it to you."
"No problem — " began Rivera.
"You're using that Epiphany junk, aren't you, Robert? Yeah, you'll have to get some wearer to help you. Wearables are supposed to be such a convenience, but mainly they're an excuse for other people to run your life. Me, I'll stick with the proven solutions." He patted his laptop. Through some fluke of memory, Robert recognized the model. Twenty-some years ago, this gadget had been at the cutting edge of power and miniaturization, barely eight inches by ten, with a brilliant, millimeters-thin screen and a fancy camera. Now… even to Robert it was a ponderous behemoth. How can it even talk to the modern magic ?
Parker's glance slid across to the librarian. "How did he make it into the building, Carlos?"
Rivera said, "Wó bù zhidào ."
Tommie groaned. "You're talking Chinese, Carlos."
"Oops, sorry." He glanced at Robert. "I was an army translator during the war," he said, as if that explained everything. "I don't know how he got in, Professor Parker. I saw him walking down from Warschawski Hall. I was using the same viewpoints as our security does. But you notice that even after he got to the shredders, there was still no one to stop him." He turned, looked expectantly into the stacks. "Maybe the dean has other people working on this."
After a moment, an old man stepped out from behind the books. "You know I don't, Carlos." He walked to the window without looking at Robert. Aha , thought Robert, so this is where Winnie's disappeared to the last couple of weeks . Blount stared down at the plaza for several seconds. Finally he said, "The singing has stopped. They know about Gu's arrival, don't they?"
"Yes, sir. Even though we haven't published our own video, there's plenty of journalists floating around. At least three popular sources have IDed him." Outside, the crowd was cheering.
Robert tried the little shrug that Juan said would bring up local news. All he got was advertising.
And Sharif was still silent.
After a moment, Blount walked back to the head of the table and sat down with a wheeze. He hadn't looked directly at Robert; Winnie didn't seem nearly as confident as in Chumlig's class. How long has it been since we last played our little political games ? Robert gave Blount a steady look. That should cause Epiphany to search on him. Also, in the old days, that look had always unnerved the guy.
"Okay," Blount nodded at Tom Parker, "tell our protestors to start the windup. You know, the interviews and opinion pieces."
"What about Mr. New Development here?" Tommie jerked a thumb in Robert's direction.
Blount finally looked at Robert. And Epiphany began streaming information across his view: Google BioSource: Winston C. Blount, MA English from UCSD 1971, PhD English Literature from UCLA 1973, Associate Professor of English at Stanford 1973-1980, Professor of Literature and later Dean of Arts and Letters at UCSD 1980-2012. [Biblio, Speeches, Favorite things] …
"So, Winnie," he said, "you still wheeling and dealing?"
The other's face paled, but his reply was evenly worded. "Call me Winston, or Dean Blount. If you please." There was a time when he had gone by "Win." It was Robert who had cured him of that.
They stared at each other silently for another second. Finally, Blount said, "Do you have an explanation for how you got in the service entrance?"
Robert gave a little laugh. "I just walked in. I'm the most ignorant of all, Winston." What had become of Zulfi Sharif?
Tommie Parker looked up from his laptop. "There is recent public information on Robert Gu. Robert's been in deep Alzheimer's for almost four years. He's one of the late cures." He glanced up at Robert. "Jeez, man, you almost died of old age before you got well. On the other hand, it looks like you've had great medical luck otherwise. So what brought you to UCSD on this of all days?"
Robert shrugged. It was surprising how much he did not want to go into his problems with Bob and Miri. "The timing is just coincidence. I came down to UCSD because… because I wanted to see the books."
A not-so-friendly smile came to Blount's face. "How very like you, that you come the day we start burning them."
Rivera protested, "It's shredding, Dean. I mean, technically speaking. Except for the chad, all the shredda is preserved."