injustice of that for the moment, doggedly keeping the conversation on track. “I still don’t get why you’re trying to break into the System.”
Flynn leaned forward now. “Because somewhere in one of those memories is the evidence. If I get in far enough, I could reconstruct it.” He’d come close before, had only missed because he’d been crashing from an outside terminal. He’d thought of a new avenue of attack; with both Alan and Lora listening sympathetically he began to hope. “My password; Dillinger’s instruction to divert the data—”
Lora cut off the list of evidence. “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that. Dillinger’s shut off all Group Seven access. He must know what you’re up to.” Alan found himself not minding the concern in her tone.
Flynn slumped back, moaning, “Oh, great! So now nothin’ can stop him.” He spread his hands. “Just Dillinger and his Master Control Program, runnin’ things from on high, man!”
“Not if my Tron program was running,” Alan declared excitedly. It surprised him a little, how quickly he’d gone from neutral to sympathizer, from there to ally. But what Dillinger had done to Flynn, what Dillinger was doing now, those things were wrong . “That would seal the System off. If your file’s in there—”
Flynn’s eyes were eager, conspiratorial. “Man, if we were inside, I know how to forge us a Group Six access!”
They looked at one another, Flynn hungry for another shot at the System, Alan reserved but decided, and Lora recognizing the expressions on both their faces from experience. She held up the keys to her van. They twisted and jingled, a challenge.
“Shall we dance?” she invited.
D ILLINGER WAS SEATED once more at his console desk, with its endless projections of information and images, culled from wire services, industrial and military telecommunications systems, and ENCOM’s far-flung enterprises. But he ignored those now; before him stood Dr. Walter Gibbs.
Dillinger chose to conceal most of his irritation, where he might have hidden it all. In this manner he portrayed a busy man who, needlessly bothered, still behaved with gracious restraint.
Gibbs, for his part, was confused. His dealings with the upper echelons of the corporation he’d helped found had never been so difficult; ENCOM had always acknowledged its debt to him. But he’d come to see, as he’d confronted the maddeningly evasive Dillinger, that matters were no longer as they had been.
Gibbs tried one more time.
“Ed, all I’m saying is, if our own people can’t get access to their programs—” He stopped for a moment. The implications of such a state of affairs seemed so obvious to him that he didn’t understand why Dillinger didn’t leap up at once to rectify it. He couldn’t see how the Senior Operating Executive had allowed the situation to exist in the first place. “You know how frustrating it is when you’re working on a piece of research—”
Dillinger cut in at the precise moment when Gibbs was trying to formulate the end of his sentence, amputating it as a surgeon might. “Walter, I sympathize.” But there wasn’t much in his voice to indicate that he did. “But I have data coming out of the Master Control Program saying there’s something screwy—”
“That MCP; you know,” Gibbs broke into Dillinger’s smooth performance with unexpected heat, “that’s half the problem right—”
“The MCP is the most efficient way of handling what we do,” Dillinger said, by way of regaining the initiative. Above all, he mustn’t let the matter devolve into an attack against Master Control. The thought of what the MCP might do if it felt itself threatened was something that didn’t bear prolonged consideration. Harboring Dillinger’s own fears and insecurities multiplied many times, it would be capable of anything. The thought put even more force into the Senior Executive’s counterattack. “I can’t sit and worry about every
Flynn leaned forward now. “Because somewhere in one of those memories is the evidence. If I get in far enough, I could reconstruct it.” He’d come close before, had only missed because he’d been crashing from an outside terminal. He’d thought of a new avenue of attack; with both Alan and Lora listening sympathetically he began to hope. “My password; Dillinger’s instruction to divert the data—”
Lora cut off the list of evidence. “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that. Dillinger’s shut off all Group Seven access. He must know what you’re up to.” Alan found himself not minding the concern in her tone.
Flynn slumped back, moaning, “Oh, great! So now nothin’ can stop him.” He spread his hands. “Just Dillinger and his Master Control Program, runnin’ things from on high, man!”
“Not if my Tron program was running,” Alan declared excitedly. It surprised him a little, how quickly he’d gone from neutral to sympathizer, from there to ally. But what Dillinger had done to Flynn, what Dillinger was doing now, those things were wrong . “That would seal the System off. If your file’s in there—”
Flynn’s eyes were eager, conspiratorial. “Man, if we were inside, I know how to forge us a Group Six access!”
They looked at one another, Flynn hungry for another shot at the System, Alan reserved but decided, and Lora recognizing the expressions on both their faces from experience. She held up the keys to her van. They twisted and jingled, a challenge.
“Shall we dance?” she invited.
D ILLINGER WAS SEATED once more at his console desk, with its endless projections of information and images, culled from wire services, industrial and military telecommunications systems, and ENCOM’s far-flung enterprises. But he ignored those now; before him stood Dr. Walter Gibbs.
Dillinger chose to conceal most of his irritation, where he might have hidden it all. In this manner he portrayed a busy man who, needlessly bothered, still behaved with gracious restraint.
Gibbs, for his part, was confused. His dealings with the upper echelons of the corporation he’d helped found had never been so difficult; ENCOM had always acknowledged its debt to him. But he’d come to see, as he’d confronted the maddeningly evasive Dillinger, that matters were no longer as they had been.
Gibbs tried one more time.
“Ed, all I’m saying is, if our own people can’t get access to their programs—” He stopped for a moment. The implications of such a state of affairs seemed so obvious to him that he didn’t understand why Dillinger didn’t leap up at once to rectify it. He couldn’t see how the Senior Operating Executive had allowed the situation to exist in the first place. “You know how frustrating it is when you’re working on a piece of research—”
Dillinger cut in at the precise moment when Gibbs was trying to formulate the end of his sentence, amputating it as a surgeon might. “Walter, I sympathize.” But there wasn’t much in his voice to indicate that he did. “But I have data coming out of the Master Control Program saying there’s something screwy—”
“That MCP; you know,” Gibbs broke into Dillinger’s smooth performance with unexpected heat, “that’s half the problem right—”
“The MCP is the most efficient way of handling what we do,” Dillinger said, by way of regaining the initiative. Above all, he mustn’t let the matter devolve into an attack against Master Control. The thought of what the MCP might do if it felt itself threatened was something that didn’t bear prolonged consideration. Harboring Dillinger’s own fears and insecurities multiplied many times, it would be capable of anything. The thought put even more force into the Senior Executive’s counterattack. “I can’t sit and worry about every
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