Zulfikar Sharif was no longer in the graduate program at Oregon State. Robert encountered a very old-fashioned error message: "No longer a registered student, no longer at OSU." Even Sharif's enum was a stub labelled "vacated." That was a little scary. Robert hunted around. Worldwide, there were about a thousand matches for "Z* Sharif". None of the accessible ones were a good match. The rest were people trying with various degrees of competence to keep their privacy.
But the Zulfi Sharif whom Robert sought was still a techno-bumpkin. After an hour or two, Robert had tracked him down to the University of Kolkata.
Sharif was very subdued. "Professor Blandings dimissed me."
"From the OSU graduate program? In my time, we professors were not so powerful."
"Professor Blandings had help from your authorities. I spent several weeks trying to explain myself to some very insistent U.S. government agents. They couldn't believe that I was an innocent who had succeeded in being multiply hijacked."
"Hmm." Robert looked away from Zulfi Sharif, at the city all around them. The day looked hot and muggy. Just beyond their small table, crowds swirled, young people laughing and smiling. The skyline had its share of tall and ivory towers. It was the Kolkata of modern Indian vision. For a moment he was tempted to open a second, nay-sayer channel and try to figure just what was real and what was hype. No, concentrate on figuring what part of Zulfi Sharif is real and what is hype. "I suppose the best evidence the cops think you're innocent is that they let you return to India."
"Indeed so, though sometimes I wonder if I'm not just a fish on a very long line." He gave a wan smile. "I really did want to do my thesis about you, Professor Gu. In the beginning, it was academic desperation. You were the trophy I could sell to Annie Blandings. But the more we talked, the more I --"
"How much was you, Sharif? How many --?"
"I wondered that too! There were at least two besides myself. It was a most frustrating experience, Sir, especially at the beginning. I would be in the middle of speaking with you, going through the questions that I knew would impress Professor Blandings -- and then at a whack I was a mere bystander!"
"So you could still hear and see?"
"Yes, often that was so! So often that I think the others were using me to generate some questions for inspiration, and then warping them to their own purposes. In the end -- and my confessing this to your police was a great mistake -- in the end, I came to treasure these bizarre interventions. My dear hijackers were asking questions I would never have conceived. So I hung around throughout your Librareome conspiracy, and in the end I looked the perfect foreign provocateur."
"And if you hadn't been there the night of the riot, my Miri would have died. What did you see, Zulfi?"
"What? Well, I had been most thoroughly locked out that evening. The other players on my persona had agendas that did not include any discussion of literature. But I kept trying to get through. The police claimed I never would have succeeded without terrorist assistance. In any case, for a few seconds I could see you lying there on the floor. You asked for my help. The lava was creeping up against your arm...." He shivered. "In truth, I couldn't see any more than that."
Robert remembered that conversation. It was one of the sharpest fragments in the jumble.
The two of them, eight thousand miles apart, sat in silence for a few moments. Then Sharif cocked his head quizzically. "Now I am well quit of my perilous literary research. And yet, I cannot resist asking: You are at the beginning of your new life, Professor. Can we expect something new under the sun? For the first time in human history, a new Secret of the Ages?"
Ah. "You're right, there is room for something more. But you know -- some secrets are beyond the expression of those who experience them."
"Not beyond you, Sir!"
Robert found himself smiling back. Sharif deserved the truth. "I could write something, but it would not be poetry. I got a new life, but the Alzheimer's cure ... it destroyed my talent."
"Oh no! I had heard of Alzheimer failures, but I honestly never suspected you. Thinking there might be another canto of the Secrets was about the only good thing I still hoped to come out of this adventure. I am so sorry."
"Don't be too sorry. I wasn't ... a very nice person."
Sharif looked down and then back at Robert. "I had heard that. In the days I couldn't get through to you, I interviewed your former colleagues at Stanford, even Winston Blount when he wasn't making conspiracies."
"But --"
"It doesn't matter, Sir. I eventually realized that you had lost your sadistic edge."
"Then surely you would have guessed the rest!"
"Do you think so? Do you think your talent and your malevolence were a package deal?" Sharif leaned forward, engaged in a way that Robert had not seen since their interviews of weeks before. "I ... doubt that. But researching the issue would be intriguing. For that matter, I have long wondered -- and been too timid to ask -- what really changed in you? Were you a decent fellow from the time of your dementia cure? Or was the change as in Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol', with new experience making you kindlier?" He rocked back. "I could make such a splendid thesis out of this!" His eyes swept back to Robert, questioning.
"No way!"
"Yes, yes," said Sharif, nodding. "It is such a great opportunity that I almost forgot my resolutions. And the first of those resolutions is no more activities that get me mixed up with the security authorities." He looked up, as if at unseen watchers. "Do you hear that? I am clean, clean in body and soul and even in my fresh fried clothes!" And then addressing Robert once more: "In fact, I have a new academic major."
"Oh?"
"Yes. It will take several semesters of prerequisite fulfillment, but that will be worth it. You see, the University of Kolkata is starting a new department with new faculty, real go-getters. We have a long way to go considering the competition from the universities in Mumbai -- but the people here have funding, and they're willing to take on fresh faces such as myself." He grinned enthusiasm at Robert's puzzled look. "It's our new Institute of Bollywood Studies! A combination of cinema and literature. I'll be studying the influence of twentieth-century lit on the latest Indian arts. And much as I regret our lost opportunities, Professor Gu, I am so happy to be in a major that will keep me out of further trouble with the authorities!"
Robert was actually busy between semesters. His contrived synch hack had raised him to the lowest level of guru-hood. He'd been noticed by a small company called Comms-R-Us. In a way it was a traditional firm. It was old (five years old), and it had three full-time employees. So it wasn't as nimble as some operations, but it had managed several innovations in concurrent communications. Comms-R-Us had paid Robert to consult for a period of three weeks. And though it was clear that the "consult" was mainly an opportunity for Comms-R-Us to decide if Robert Gu had any future, Robert jumped at the chance.
For the first time since he lost his marbles, he was creating something that others valued.
Otherwise, things were not going entirely smoothly around West Fallbrook. Juan Orozco was gone; his parents had taken him on vacation to Puebla, where they were visiting his mother's grandfather. Juan still showed up occasionally, but he never came into the house. Miri was still not talking to him. Robert had the feeling the boy might have camped out on their front steps if his mother had not dragged him away.
"I'm trying not to care, Robert. Maybe if I stop bothering her, Miri will let me start over with her."
"I'll talk to her, Juan. I promise."
Juan had looked at him doubtfully. "But don't make her think I put you up to it!"
"I won't. I'll choose the time carefully."
Robert had decades of experience in choosing the right time to strike. This should have been easy. Miri had wangled an Incomplete grade on her demo project. That meant that when she finally did perform at the end of the next semester, she would have even higher standards to meet. For now, she was a busybody around the house, mainly taking care of her mother. Alice Gu was a ghost of her former self. The steel of the last fifteen weeks of their acquaintance had been torn out of her. The result was ... charming. More evenings than not, Alice and Miri were down in the kitchen, attempting to make hard work out of modern cookery. His daughter-in-law was distant, but her smile wasn't the meaningless reflex it had often seemed before.
Then Bob was out of town again, and Miri seemed to be busier than ever. Every day, she had some news for him about her searches on burns and limb rehabilitation. Real soon now he should use that as an excuse to set her straight about Juan ... and about himself.
Maybe tonight was the right night. Bob was still out of town. Alice had retired to the ground-floor den shortly after dinner. None of Miri's "board games" tonight. They were fun, one of the nicer things about life since that terrible night at UCSD -- but tonight Robert had finally seen his way through some of his Comms-R-Us problems. Working on them, he lost track of the time. When he came up for air, he had some results, maybe things worth showing his employers. What a good night!
Downstairs, a door slammed. His eyes were still on his work, but he heard Miri come pounding up the stairs. She raced down the hallway and into her bedroom.
A few minutes later she came out. There was a knock on his bedroom door. "Hi Robert, can I show you some things I discovered today?"
"Sure."
She bounced into the room and grabbed a chair. "I found three more projects that could help your arm."
In fact, the medical condition of Robert Gu's left arm was best characterized by its absence. It was completely burned off at the lower forearm. There were two places near the shoulder where all that was left was a strip of flesh. His 'prosthesis' was more like an old-style plaster cast. But interestingly, the medics had passed on the opportunity to whack the thing off and fit him with some modern miracle. Reed Weber -- the physician's assistant had resurfaced now that the MDs needed someone to front for them -- had explained the situation, though perhaps not in quite the way the doctors would like: "You're a victim of the new field of 'prospective medicine', Robert. You see, we have prosthetics with five-finger motor control, and with almost the durability of a natural arm. But they're a little heavy and the sensor system is nowhere near the real thing. On the other hand, there are clear trends in nerve and bone regeneration tech. Even though no one knows quite how it will happen -- or if it will happen -- the odds are that in eighteen months they'll be able to grow out from what you have now, into an effective natural arm. And the MDs are afraid that debriding what's left of your arm for a prosthesis might make the later solution much more expensive. So for a while you are stuck with a solution that wouldn't have impressed your own grandfather."
And Robert had nodded and not complained. Every day with this dead weight on his shoulder was a small penance, a reminder of how close his foolishness had come to destroying lives.
Miri was oblivious to all that. In fact, she had dismissed "prospective medicine" as stupidity. Miri believed in making her own medical solutions. "So there are these three teams, Robert. One of them has grown a complete monkey's paw, another is into whole limb prosthesis, but very light weight, and the third has some improvements in neurocoding. I bet your Comms-R-Us friends would put you up as a fast-track guinea pig. What do you think?"
Robert touched the plastic shell that held the remains of his arm. "Ah, I think a deal involving a monkey's paw is too risky for me."
"No, no, you wouldn't have a monkey's paw. The monkey's paw was just --" Then she got a Googling look. "Robert! I'm not talking about some old story. I'm trying to help you. I want to more than ever. I owe you."
Yeah, tonight was definitely the night to set her straight. "You don't owe me."
"Hey, I can't remember it, but Bob told me what he saw. You put your arm in the way of molten rock. You held it there." Her face twisted with imagined pain. "You saved me, Robert."
"I saved you, Kiddo. Yes. But I created the problem. I played ball with something evil." Or something very strange.
"You were desperate. I knew that. I just didn't know how deep things would get. So we both made a mess."
It really was time to get down on his knees and beg forgiveness. But first let her know why this was beyond forgiveness. The words were hard to say: "Miri, you made a mess trying to fix things. But I ... I was the guy who set up your mother for what practically killed her." There. It was said.
Miri sat very still. After a moment, her gaze fell. She said softly, "I know."
Now they both were very still. "Bob told you?"
"No. Alice did." She looked up. "And she told me they still can't figure out how what you did could have brought her down. It's okay, Robert."
Then abruptly, she was crying. And Robert did get on his knees. His granddaughter threw her arms around his neck. She was in full bawl now, her body shaking. She pounded his back with her fists.
"I'm so sorry, Miri. I --"
Miri's wail got even louder, but she stopped beating on him. After half a minute, her weeping trailed off into choking sobs, and then silence. But she still held onto him. Her words were halting and muffled. "I just found out that ... Alice is ... Alice is back in Training."
Oh.
"She's not even recovered!" Miri was sobbing again.
"What does your father say?"
"Bob is out of touch tonight."
"Out of touch?" In this day and age?
Miri pushed him back. She started to wipe her face on her sleeve, then grabbed from the box of tissues he set beside her. "Really out of touch. Tactical blackout. D-don't you follow the news, Robert?"
"Um."
"Read between the lines. Bob is off somewhere making places and things glow in the dark." She wiped energetically at her face, and her voice returned to something like its usual tones. "Okay, maybe not literally. Bob talks that way when he has to do things he really doesn't want to do. But I watch the rumor mills and I watch Bob and Alice. Between the three I'm a pretty good guesser. Sometimes Bob is out of touch, and I read about something wonderful or something terrible happening in another country. Sometimes Alice goes into Training, and I know that somebody needs help or else very bad things may happen. Right now Bob is away and Alice is back in Training." She hid behind her hands for a moment, then resumed wiping her face. "My g-guess is that the top rumors are right. Something awful happened at the Library Riot, worse than the GenGen takeover. Now all the superpowers are running scared. They think someone has figured how to crack their security. A-Alice almost admitted that tonight. That was her excuse!"
Robert sat down again, but on the edge of his chair. His great confession had vanished into the abyss. "You should talk to Bob when he gets back."
"I will. And he'll argue with her. You've heard that yourself. But in the end he can't stop her."
"This time, maybe he can go over her head, or get the doctors to back him up."
Miri hesitated, seemed to relax a fraction. "Yes. This time is different.... I-I'm glad we can talk, Robert."
"Any time, Kiddo."
But then she was quiet.
Finally, Robert said, "Are you conspiring, or just Googling?"
Miri shook her head. "N-Neither. I tried to call someone ... but they're not answering."
Ah! "You know, Miri, Juan is in Puebla visiting his great grandfather. He may not be wearing all the time."
"Juan? I wouldn't call him. He's not very bright, and when the crunch came in Pilchner Hall, he was useless."
"You can't know that!"
"I know I was down in the tunnels by myself."
"Miri, I've talked to Juan almost every day since I started at Fairmont. He wouldn't let you down. Think back to the times you do remember. You two must have conspired a lot to keep track of me. I'll bet he played fair. He could be your good friend, another person you could talk to."
For once, Miri's chin came down. "You know I can't talk to him about these things. I couldn't talk to you, except you already know."
"That's true. There are things you can't tell him. But ... I think he deserves better from you."
Miri's eyes flicked up to meet his, but she didn't speak.
"Remember how I told you, you remind me of your great aunt Cara?"
Miri nodded.
"You were happy to learn that. But you know how I treated Cara. It was like the Ezra Pound Incident, over and over again, for years. I never had a chance to make up for that; she died when she was not much older than Alice is now."
Tears were back in Miri's eyes, but she held the tissues tight on her lap.
"I went through my whole life like that, Miri. I married a wonderful lady who loved me very much. Lena put up with more than I ever dumped on Cara, and for years longer. Even after I drove her away, you know how she helped me at Rainbows End. And now she is dead, too." Robert looked down, and for a moment all he could think of was lost opportunities. Where was I? Oh: "So ... I think you owe Juan. Dumping on him isn't in the same league as my screwups. But you still have a chance to set things right."
He looked at Miri. Her shoulders were hunched. She was shredding the tissues she held in her hands. "Just think about it, okay, Miri? I didn't mean to get carried away."
Finally, she spoke: "Have you ever broken a solemn promise, Robert?"
Where did that come from? But before he could get his mouth in gear, Miri continued:
"Well, I just did!" And with that, she grabbed the box of tissues and ran from the room.
"Miri!" By the time he got into the hall, Miri had disappeared into her room.
Robert dithered for a moment. He could go down and pound on her door. Or maybe he should message her.
He stepped back into his room, turned -- and saw the golden light on the table, right beside where Miri had been sitting. It was an enum, granting some kind of limited message capability. But he already had that and more for Miri. He opened the golden enum and looked inside.
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.