‘Mitch,’ said Clay. ‘Bob and Alice.’
‘That’s crypto,’ said Darryl. ‘Mehta, what are you still doing here?’
‘I think I spotted something, sir.’
‘You’re right, man,’ said Clay ‘Hey, Arjun, this Layla Zoo-hair is like an actress, isn’t she? You ever see any of her films?’
‘What do you mean, spotted something?’
‘About the virus.’
‘She’s hot. To me a lot of Indian chicks are hot.’
‘Clay. Mehta, what were you doing looking at that code?’
‘I–I was curious. Interested.’
‘That is totally irregular. You’re not holding a sample on your machine, are you?’
Arjun didn’t answer. Instead he laid out, as if it had just occurred to him, an elegant solution, a way to scan for Leela using a signature pattern of behaviour. The two analysts looked at him in frank amazement.
‘That would totally work,’ said Clay.
Darryl nodded thoughtfully. At that moment Tran and Brian wandered into the room, throwing quizzical glances at Arjun.
‘You can go now, Mehta,’ said Darryl. ‘I’ll bear in mind what you said.’
Arjun went back to his desk. He wasn’t sure if it was enough. He had impressed them, certainly, but would it make Darryl see? Arjun Mehta, his indispensable team member. Arjun Mehta, the one who shouldn’t get fired. Somehow it didn’t seem like he had gotten the full effect. The moment should have had more drama. When he was planning it, he had imagined a climax. Excitement and gratitude. Backslapping. Speeches. Now behind the hot-zone glass Darryl was explaining something to the other engineers. There were high-fives. They were laughing, shaking his hand.
They were treating Darryl like a hero.
The world suddenly seemed very far away to Arjun, with himself as a spaceman, attached to it by a slender umbilicus.
‘Aw, man.’
Clay hung over the rim of his cubicle. There were seventeen cowrie shells on his necklace. In the phrase enticing guava-lime blend fortified with citrus bioflavonoids, ginseng, rosehips and spirulina which appeared on the side of his drink bottle, there were six instances of the letter e. Clay looked at him darkly.
‘He burned you, man. He told them it was his idea.’
Arjun nodded, mute. Clay leaned down a little closer. ‘Arjun, tell me something. How did you know?’
‘I’m a good employee, Clay.’ He almost whispered it. He was trying not to cry, or shout out. ‘I’m very dedicated.’
Clay looked over his shoulder. He felt bad about Arjun getting fucked, but big emotional scenes were not his thing. He tried to look encouraging. ‘It’ll work out,’ he said. ‘I know it will.’
‘How do you know, Clay? How do you know?’ Mehta suddenly looked violent, unpredictable. His eyes were glittering. Clay was afraid.
‘Hey figure of speech, man. Just trying to help.’
Clay backed away. The guy was being seriously uncool.
‘Yes, Ma, very well. Of course I am. Main tikh huh. You shouldn’t worry so much. Accha.’
Over there it was morning. Malini would be making tea, putting out the breakfast things.
‘Could you put Priti on the line?’
He waited, looked out of the window at the complexities of the tree.
‘Bro?’
‘Hello, Sis. Why are you still speaking in that accent?’
‘What accent? You’re very bad, Bro. You haven’t phoned for ever so long. Mummy was worried.’
‘She told me.’
‘Hey, it’s gone mad here. You wouldn’t believe — you sound funny. Is everything OK?’
‘Are you on your way to work?’
‘In a minute. Hold on. I’m taking it into the other room.’ The acoustics changed. Priti had shut herself in the smaller bedroom.
‘You’re not all right. What is it? I can hear it in your voice.’
Arjun was silent for a very long time. There was so much to say, all of it unsayable.
‘I miss you. There’s no one to talk to here.’
‘I miss you too, you bigshot. When are they going to give you some time off? Surely you deserve it. And if you’re head of the whole department, can’t you just tell them? Say you need it. Say you’ll come back for Manoj-bhai’s wedding. Everyone would love to see you.’
He wanted desperately to tell her the truth.
‘Bro? Say you’ll come. Mummy would be so happy.’
I’m afraid, Sis. Afraid.
‘Bro?’
He told her he had to go, and put down the phone.
Virugenix did well with Leela01. They got a fix and removal instructions up on their site before their competitors. According to etiquette, they shared their information, and soon the other software houses caught up, but the speed and efficiency of their solution were enviously noted. There were caffeinated smiles in the Michelangelo Building. At around 03.20 PST on the morning of the 14th, Darryl Gant posted a JPEG to the internal departmental list. It was a rough of a new t-shirt design, a blood-splattered fist squashing an Indian dancing girl.
Arjun did not sleep at all that night. His boss was on his mind, looming over his bed in the darkness, an irritable bearded gatekeeper barring the way to happiness. No amount of soothing calculation could dispel him. Arjun imagined curves and estimated the area beneath them. He hypothesized complex shapes and distorted them according to esoteric rules of transformation. Still Darryl persisted, dressed in his Gemini Mission souvenir MAI flight jacket, shaking his head and laughing maniacally.
Denied.
At some point during the night he realized there would have to be a confrontation.
The next morning when he got into work there was a mail from the personnel division, giving him a date to vacate his apartment. It was the stimulus he needed. As the little potbellied figure shuffled in and shut itself in its den, he got up from his cubicle and knocked on the office door, his knuckles hitting the small area of laminate visible between the SETI poster and the handwritten What part of DO NOT DISTURB do you not understand? sign. Darryl’s voice came from the other side.
‘It’s too early. Go away.’
He ignored him and went in.
‘What the fuck?’ said Darryl, retreating defensively behind his desk. He shot a little glance over Arjun’s shoulder, as if looking to see who might be around to assist.
‘Darryl, you must sit down and listen to me.’
‘I must do nothing of the kind. This is my space, Mehta. My space. It is clearly demarcated. There is a sign.’
‘I think you’ve treated me very unfairly.’
‘You did this yesterday too, this walking in. Do you — I don’t know — have a problem with boundaries? Do you maybe have a condition? This is a compulsion, right? Compulsive boundary-transgression syndrome.’
‘Please, Darryl. I helped you yesterday. I don’t mind you taking credit for it.’
‘Whoa there. Just back up. You are being very aggressive, buddy. That’s something I don’t hold with.’
‘I’m sorry. I apologize if I was disturbing you, but I think you should give me some kind of recognition. This is very important to me. And I was helpful. I could help more.’
‘Just stay back, Mehta. I know aikido. I can break bones. Look, isn’t this something you could have done on email? You don’t have to come into my office with this stuff.’
‘Please, Darryl.’
‘Crumble bones. Literally reduce them to dust. I can concentrate all my chi in my palms.’
‘Please give me my job back. That’s all I’m asking.’
‘Stop talking. That’s an order. I don’t feel comfortable.’