It meant that he could forge ahead with Armorgeddon 2000.
Armorgeddon was going to make Pete Saville’s fortune. He had only to iron out a few bugs, and then the whole package would be ready. It was hacker-proof, it was easy to learn and to play, and above all, it was addictive. Yes, Armorgeddon 2000 was the computer game to beat them all...
‘Hello, Pete.’
He almost leaped out of his chair. Recovering quickly, the first thing he did was switch off the screen.
‘Sorry, did I startle you?’
‘No, it’s just, well, I didn’t hear you come in, that’s all.’
‘Ah.’
Miles walked around the room, inspecting the individual consoles, while Pete watched him.
‘Working late again, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘You work late a lot, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lots to do, I suppose, being a processor?’
Approaching Pete’s desk, Miles crouched slightly, gazing into the blank screen. Reflected there he saw his own face, and, in profile, the face of one very anxious young man.
‘Am I disturbing you, Pete?’
‘No, not really.’
‘I couldn’t help noticing you switch off the screen when I came in. Something top secret, I suppose?’
Pete smiled.
‘You could put it like that.’
With a quick movement, knowing exactly which button to press, Miles brought the screen back to life. A green space zombie was obliterating the Orgone commander.
‘Haven’t you added the soundtrack yet?’
Pete Saville was silent.
‘Have you found the bug yet?’
What color there was in Pete Saville’s face fell away. Miles was smiling now. He began his tour of the room all over again.
‘I’d like a favor, Pete.’
‘How did you know?’
‘It’s my job to know. Everything. I’ve stood here behind you and watched you work. What’s it called again? Armageddon 2000?’
‘Armorgeddon,’ Pete was quick to correct. ‘It’s a pun.’
‘Is it now?’ Miles nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I can see that. But I’ll tell you what else it is. It’s an abuse of your position here. R2 is not your toy to play with.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Peter, I’m only here for a favor, and I want to know if you will do me that favor, that’s all.’
‘How could you stand behind me and watch me work without my seeing you?’
‘What’s my nickname, Pete? What is it they all call me?’
Pete remembered, and swallowed hard.
‘What’s this favor?’ he asked through dry lips.
‘I need to look at some personnel files, and a few other bits and pieces. Nothing sensitive or classified... well, not really.’
‘It’s no problem then—’
‘But I don’t want to leave any record on the computer that I’ve been through the files. That is possible, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Pete thought again of Armorgeddon. All he needed were a few quiet weeks, perhaps three more months at the outside, and then he could leave this place forever. ‘I’m not sure it’s been done before,’ he said, ‘not on this system. So I’m not sure that it can be done. Tampering with the memory... getting past the codes... I don’t know.’
‘If anyone can do it, Pete... I have faith in your ability to worm your way inside the system. Will you have a go?’
Pete’s head felt as light as helium. He touched the computer screen, touched the place where the Orgone commander had been standing.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, I’ll give it a try.’
‘I thought you might,’ said Miles, pulling a chair over toward the desk.
Six
No one had been killed, that was the miracle. But over the next ten days everyone became more cautious than ever. An empty shoebox could not sit for long in an open rubbish bin without one of the bomb disposal teams being summoned. It was a busy time for them. A busy time, too, for Miles Flint, sifting through what information he could find. He asked discreet questions of a few uninvolved colleagues, tracked as far as was possible the daily affairs of those closest to the Latchkey case, and was himself interviewed on three occasions by men from internal security.
He had been assigned to the Harvest surveillance, working with Richard Mowbray and his team in Forest Hill. This gave Miles the chance to apologize to Mowbray, then to pick his brains about what dirty dealings he thought he had uncovered. Most of these were simple paranoia.
Then one day, having driven the Jag home, Miles opened the door of his study and saw, jumping across his desk, the largest beetle he had ever set eyes on. Astonishment turned into panic when he noticed that the beetle was a joke-shop affair, with plastic tubing trailing from its rear to a point beneath the desk. Looking down, he saw a man there, bundled up like a fetus so as to squeeze into the space beneath the desk.
The man was grinning, and, letting go of the rubber beetle, he began to extricate himself from his cramped position. For a moment Miles wondered, who the hell is it? And he even considered the possibility of some outlandish execution before realizing that the tall young man was Jack, who now rubbed his shoulders as he stretched.
‘Christ, Dad,’ he said, laughing. ‘The look on your face!’
‘Ha bloody ha!’
Miles hesitated, wondering whether to reach out and shake his son’s hand. The dilemma was resolved when Jack came forward and gave him a brief hug.
‘So, what brings you home? Broke again, I suppose?’
‘Summer hols, you know.’ Jack walked around the room like an investigating policeman, or, thought Miles, like a caged big cat, impatient, larger than his surroundings. ‘I just thought I’d give you the benefit of my company for a week or so before I head back to Edinburgh.’
‘What have you been up to all summer?’
‘The usual.’ He studied one set of beetles, trapped behind glass. ‘I worked for a few weeks in a café during the Festival, and before that I was on the dole. I took off up north for a while actually, wandering about the Highlands. If it weren’t all cliché, I’d say it was a consciousness-raising experience. You know, you can start walking across the hills up there and never see a soul from one day to the next. No houses, no electric pylons even. Lots of birds and animals, but not another human being. When I got back to Edinburgh, I nearly went mad. I was seeing everything differently, you see.’
Yes, Miles could see.
‘How did the exams go?’
‘Fine. A cinch, actually.’
‘I don’t suppose Edinburgh’s changed?’
‘You’d be surprised. New hotels and shopping complexes. A big drug problem in the housing estates. High incidence of AIDS. Child murderers running around everywhere.’
‘I meant the university.’
‘Oh.’ Jack laughed. ‘It’s the same as ever. Nothing happening. Departments full of drunks and half-wits.’
‘Do you mean the students or the lecturers?’
‘Both.’
Miles had been surprised — pleasantly so — when Jack had decided to go to Edinburgh University, while the majority of his school friends had stuck to Oxbridge. But Miles could guess why Jack had not followed them: he was independent, stubbornly so, and he was just a little proud of his Scottish roots.
Miles had not set foot in Edinburgh for fifteen years, but he had a vivid memory of the city and its people, and he remembered the weather above all else, the relentless wind which chilled to the marrow, and dark winter afternoons that drove one indoors to study. Sheila and he had gone back just that once. It had been enough.