"Ah…"
Sharif — Stranger-Sharif — –leaned toward him, but there was no feel of motion in the faux leather seat. "I am everywhere, and I appear however I wish, to produce the results that I wish. Despite all Tommie's cleverness, I was there." He stared into Robert's eyes. "Heh. At a loss for words, aren't you, Professor? And that's your whole problem, isn't it? I want to help you with that, but first you'll have to help me."
Robert forced a cool smile. A winning reply was nowhere to be found. The best he could do was "You're promising me a miracle, without showing me a particle of evidence. And if it's JITT you're offering, I'm not buying. That's not what creativity is about."
Sharif sat back. His laugh was open and pleasant. "Very true. JITT is a dread miracle. But happy miracles are possible nowadays. And I can make them."
His car had left the freeway. It drove the winding way along Reche Road. They were only a few minutes from West Fallbrook and Bob's place. The Mysterious Stranger seemed to watch the scenery for a few moments. Then: "I really wanted to get a head start on things today, but if you insist on hard evidence…" He gestured and something flashed in the air between them. Normally that indicated that data had been passed. "Take a look at those references. And here's proof that I was largely behind the breakthroughs described."
"I'll take a look and get back to you."
"Please don't take too long, Professor. What your merry crew is planning is dead on arrival without your prompt help. And I need that if I am to help you."
His car turned onto Honor Court and slowed to a stop just beyond Bob's house. It wasn't even 4:30, but the ocean haze had moved in and things were getting dark. Little clusters of children were playing here and there along the street. God only knew what they were seeing. Robert stepped into the chill air and — there was Miri pedaling a bicycle up the street toward him. They stared at each other awkwardly. At least, Robert felt awkward. Normally they didn't see each other except with Bob or Alice. In the old days, I never would have felt an instant's discomfort for blasting this child . But somehow the concerted anger of Bob and Alice — and Miri's own stiff-necked courtesy — made him very uncomfortable. I can't stay here, owing children who should owe me .
Miri slid off her bike and stood beside him. She was looking into the car. Robert glanced at the departing vehicle. He could see Sharif still sitting in the backseat; maybe she could too. "That's Zulfikar Sharif," Robert said, rushing into explanations like the guilty soul he was. "He's interviewing me about the old days."
"Oh." She seemed to lose interest.
"Hey, Miri, I didn't know you had a bike."
She walked the bike along beside him. "Yes," she replied seriously. "It's not good for transportation, but Alice says that I need exercise. I like to ride around Fallbrook and game out the latest realities."
Thanks to the miracle of Epiphany, Robert could guess what she was talking about.
"In fact, it's not really my bike. This is Bob's, from when he was younger than I am."
The tires looked new, but — his eyes traveled over the aluminum frame, the peeling green and yellow paint job. Lord . Lena had insisted they buy this bike for the boy. Memories of little Bobby came back, of when he was trying so hard to learn to ride. He had been such a nuisance.
They walked the rest of the way to the door in silence, Robert lagging a bit behind his granddaughter.
16
The Front Bathroom Incident
Winston Blount called a couple of times during the next few days. His cabal was very anxious to talk further about "what we talked about." Robert put him off and refused to talk privately. He could almost hear Winnie's teeth grinding in frustration — but the guy gave him another week.
Robert had several more interviews with the real — well, he could hope it was the real — Sharif. They were a heartwarming reminder of the Good Years, and totally unlike his encounters with the Mysterious Stranger. The young grad student gushed semi-intelligent enthusiasm, except that sometimes he seemed fond of science fiction. Sometimes. When Robert mentioned this, Sharif looked stricken. Ah . The Mysterious Stranger strikes again. Or maybe there were three… entities… animating the image of Zulfikar Sharif. Robert began to track each word, each nuance.
Juan Orozco's compositions had blossomed. He could write complete sentences intentionally. The boy seemed to think that this made Robert Gu a genius of a teacher. Yes, and someday soon there will he chimpanzees who look up to me . But that thought did not escape Robert's lips. Juan Orozco was working to his limits. He was doomed to mediocrity, much as Robert himself, and spreading the pain of such knowledge was not appealing anymore.
The Mysterious Stranger stayed out of sight. Maybe he thought Robert's own need was the best salesman. The bastard. Robert returned again and again to the references the Stranger had given him. They described three medical miracles of the last ten months. One was an effective treatment for malaria. That was not such a big deal, since cheaper cures had existed for years. But the other two breakthroughs related to mood and intellectual disorders. They were not examples of Reed Weber's random "heavenly minefield." Both had been commissioned by the customers they cured.
So what ? Miracles happened in this modern age. What proof was there the Stranger could create them? He pulled up the documents the Stranger had given him. Their visual represention was as medieval letters of credit, envelopes sealed with wax. If one broke the metaphor, it was easy to look inside and see the lower layers, a few megabytes of encryption. Useless nonsense. But if you followed the metaphor from the top, then you found pointers to magic tools to employ the certificates, and other pointers to the technical papers that explained what these tools actually did with the underlying data.
For three days now, Robert had been digging through those papers. The old Robert would not have had the intellect for this. God had taken away his true and unique genius, and perversely given him this analytical talent in return. Playing with protocols was fun. Okay, another couple of days and he would put it all together — and call the Stranger's bluff.
Meantime, he was falling further behind in his work with Juan for Chumlig's composition class.
"Will you have time to work on my graphics suggestions?" Juan asked one afternoon. "Before tomorrow, I mean." That was when their current weekly project was due.
"Yes, sure." The kid had been great about working to Robert's directions. He felt a sliver of shame for not reciprocating. "I mean, I'll try. I've got this problem with some outside things…"
"Oh, what? Can I help?"
Lord . "Some security documents. They're supposed to prove that a, um, friend of mine was really involved in solving a… game problem." He made one of them visible to Juan.
The kid looked at the wax and gilt and parchment. "Oh! A creditat. I've seen certs like that. You — oops, yours has an outer envelope so only you can do all the steps, but see — " He grabbed the certificate and pointed where Robert should do what." — you gotta apply your own stamp first, and then you tear along the server line and you'll see a release like this." Phantom transformations spread in the air around him. "And if this friend of yours is not blowing smoke, you'll see bright green here and there'll be a written description of his contribution, backed by Microsoft or Bank of America or whoever."