“Still spitting razor blades! Three days after the reception!” Adrian Fielding laughed and ate a forkful of salad. “Stern was telling anyone who’d listen. Corby had only grabbed the Prof at the party when he was already upset because he’d missed his chance to get a word with the bigwigs from IBM. Then he dragged him over to the lab and told him his research was rubbish. Then he asked him for money.”
“How to win friends…” A blonde woman across the table took up the story. “Apparently his grant application’s computer generated.”
“And Stern’s going to make sure it gets the consideration a computer generated application deserves.” Fielding was slim with sandy hair and an expression of sardonic amusement.
“Do you think he’ll get a grant?” The question came from a man near the end of the table.
“And divert money from the Prof’s pet projects? Not after last week’s fiasco. I was at a meeting yesterday with Stern and the secretary to the funding committee and I can tell you absolutely. Corby and his mouldering heaps of scrap iron are history.” Fielding smiled broadly. “And guess whose project gets the nod instead. Yes, people, you are looking at the leader of the new Project Economic Assessment of Knowledge – PEAK – assessing the value of knowledge in the commercial property sector.”
“I hate to say ‘I told you so’ but the fact remains.” The blonde woman put down her coffee cup. “I said he should’ve asked for authorisation before he started. I told him he needed sponsorship – preferably from Stern – before he wrote a single line of code. Steven thinks he’s very clever, going it alone, but he should learn to listen to people.”
“Yes.” Fielding nodded. “I’m the last person to criticise personal initiative but where would things be if everyone turned their block into a store for junk computers?”
“Well they’re being moved out as we speak.” Anne Baxter looked up from her plate. “I know I was the one who complained to administration but I didn’t expect them to come down on him this hard. I saw him this morning and he was distraught, opening up machines and fishing out disk drives. Honestly I felt really sorry for him.”
“Well, well. What a surprise!” Fielding raised an eyebrow. “Just goes to show what a little judicious influence can achieve, doesn’t it?”
“Are you saying you had something to do with Admin’s closing him down?” Anne looked at him in surprise. Perhaps that explained why the university had over-reacted?
“Me? What Admin does is nothing to do with me. Not that they didn’t need to be aware the Prof thought there might be a fire hazard. Nothing to do with me at all. But quiet everyone. Here comes the man himself.” Fielding looked down at his plate and began, deliberately, to eat.
“Hello Steven, are you OK?” Anne called out as Corby walked past, heading towards the lunch counter.
“No. Thanks to you.”
“Steven, I’ve said I’m sorry. I told them you’d taken the machines from my office but it was out of my hands.”
“Lost something, Corby?” Fielding looked up mischievously. “Or has the city dump been round to reclaim its own?”
“Those machines are my personal property. The University can’t just throw them away.”
“Well they certainly couldn’t be allowed to stay where they were, starting fires and possibly toppling over and injuring people. And I heard you had a week’s notice and you didn’t move them.”
“You’re on dangerous ground Fielding. You know there was nowhere to take them. Why don’t you just keep quiet?”
“Why? You’re going to complain to the Prof about me? All I’m saying is what everyone thinks.”
“You can think what you like.” Corby’s eye twitched slightly and he clenched his fists. “But I don’t want you to say it.”
“Just face it, Corby. There’s nothing to stop me. The University is clearing out some obsolete junk and quite rightly.” Fielding pushed his chair back and walked over. He was half a head shorter than the other man but he grinned broadly up at him.
“Just shut up.” Corby’s voice was taut. He’d been showing signs of stress when Anne saw him in the morning and there was no telling now what he might do.
“Or what? What are you going to do about it?”
“Just shut up.” Corby turned away.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Fielding mimicked. “His conversation’s is as intelligent as his systems.”
At the sound of laughter behind him, Corby turned round, his eyes blazing.
“I’ll show you what I’ll do about it,” he ground out through clenched teeth. With the palm hand, he slapped Fielding across the cheek. The whole weight of his six feet three inches was behind the blow and Fielding staggered backwards under its force. Then, abruptly, Corby turned and left the cafeteria.
With the sound of the slap, the room was instantly silent. Fielding stood stunned, with his hand to his face.
“He hit me.” He said incredulously. “He hit me. He actually hit me.”
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