would hinder resocialization. The Megaversity is a free community of individuals seeking to grow together toward a more harmonious and enlightened future, and introduction of external coercion merely stifles academic freedom and— '
'How did you know that?' asked Casimir, amazed. 'That's word for word what they said the other day.'
Virgil shrugged. 'Official policy statement. They used it two years ago, in the barbell incident. E13 dropped a two-hundred-pound barbell through the roof of the Cafeteria's main kitchen area. It crashed into a pressure vat and caused a tuna-nacho casserole explosion that wounded fifteen. And the pressure is so high in those vats, you know, that Dr. Forksplit, the Dean of Dining Services, who was standing nearby, had a nacho tortilla chip shard driven all the way through his skull. He recovered, but they've called him Wombat ever since. The people who handle this in the Administration don't understand how deranged these students are. Now, Kruno and his people would like to pour molten lead down their throats, but they can't do anything about it— the decisions are made by a committee of tenured faculty.'
Casimir resisted an impulse to scream, got up and paced around talking through clenched teeth. 'This shit really, really pisses me off. It's incredible, Law doesn't exist here, you can do what you please.' 'Well,' said Virgil, still blasи, 'I disagree. There's always law. Law is just the opinion of the guy with the biggest gun. Since outside law rarely matters in the Plex, we make our own law, using whatever power— whatever guns— we have. We've been very successful in the Science Shop.'
'Oh, yeah? I suppose this was something to do with what you said the other day about some unofficial work here for me.' 'That's a perfect example. The researchers of American Megaversity need your services. It's illegal, but the scientific faculty have more power than the rule-enforcers, so we make our own law regarding technical work. You keep track of what you do, and I pay you through the vitality fund.
'The what?'
'The fund made up of donations from various professors and firms who have a vested interest in keeping the Science Shop running smoothly. Hell, it's all just grant money. In the egalitarian system we had before, nobody got anything done.'
'Look.' Casimir shook his head and sat back down. 'I don't want even to hear all this. You know, all I've ever wanted to be is a normal student. They won't let me take decent classes, okay, so I work on the mass driver. Now I come here to get your help and you start talking about local law and free enterprise. I just want some estimates from you on getting these electromagnets wound for the mass driver. Okay? Forget free enterprise.' Casimir dropped a page of diagrams and specifications on Virgil's desk.
Virgil looked it over. 'Well, it depends,' he finally said. 'If we pretend you're just a normal student, then I will charge you, oh, about ten thousand dollars for this stuff and have it done by the time you graduate. Now, unofficially, I could log it in as something much simpler and charge you less. But you can't put that into a formal budget proposal. Very unofficially, I might do it for a small bribe, like some help from you around the Shop. But that's really abnormal to put in a budget. Looks like you're stuck.'
'It wouldn't really take you three years.'
'It would take me.' Virgil waved at the door. 'Zap could do it in a week. Want to ask him? He's not hard to wake up.' Casimir brooded momentarily. 'Well, look. I don't really care how it gets done. But it's necessary to have something on paper, you know?'
Virgil shook his head, smiling. 'Casimir. You don't think anyone pays any attention to those budgets, do you?'
'Aw, shit. This is too weird for me.'
'It's not weird, you're just not used to it yet. Here is what we'll do. We work out a friendly gentlemen's agreement by which I make the magnets for you, probably over Christmas vacation, in exchange for a little of your expert help around the Science Shop. When I'm done with the magnets I put them in an old box and mark it, say, 'SPARE PARTS, 1932 AUTOMATIC BOMBSIGHT PROTOTYPE.' I dump it in the storeroom. When budget time comes around you say, 'Oh, gee, it happens I've designed this thing to use existing parts, I know just where they are.' Ridiculous, but no one knows that, and those who understand won't want to meddle in any arrangement of mine.'
'Okay!' Casimir threw up his hands. 'Okay. Fine. Ill do it. Just tell me what to do and don't let me see any of this illegal stuff.' 'It's not illegal, I said it was legal. Hang on a sec while I Xerox these pages.'
Virgil opened the door and was met by a clamor of voices from several advanced academic figures. Casimir looked around the room: a firetrap stuffed with books and papers and every imaginable variety of electronic junk. A Geiger counter hung out the window into a deep air shaft, clicking every second or two. In one corner a 1940's radio was hooked up to a technical power supply and wired into the guts of a torn-open telephone so that Virgil could make hands-off phone calls. An old backless TV in another corner enabled Virgil to monitor the shop outside. Electronic parts, hunks of wire, junk-food wrappers and scraps of paper littered the floor. And in three separate places sat those little plastic trays Casimir saw everywhere, overflowing with tiny seeds— rat poison.
'Damn!' spat Casimir as Virgil reentered. 'There's enough of that poison in this room alone to kill every rat in this city. What's their problem with that stuff anyway?'
Virgil snorted. Everyone knew the rat poison was ubiquitous; the wastebaskets might go a month without emptying, but when it came to rat poison the B-men were fearsomely diligent, seeming to pass through walls and locked doors like Shaolin priests to scatter the poison-saturated kernels. 'It's cultural,' he explained. 'They hate rats. You should read some Scythian mythology. In Crotobaltislavonia it's a capital crime to harbor them. That's why they had a revolution! The old regime stopped handing out free rat poison.'
'I'm serious,' said Casimir. 'I've got an illegal kitten in my room, and If they keep breaking in to spread poison, they'll find it or let it out or poison it.'
'Or eat it. Seriously, you should have mentioned it, Casimir. Let me help you out.'
Casimir rested his face in his hand. 'I suppose you also have an arrangement with the B-men.'
'No, no, much too complicated. I do almost all my work at the computer terminal, Casimir. You can accomplish anything there. See, a few years ago a student had a boa constrictor in his room that got poisoned by the B-men, and even though it was illegal he sued the university for damages and won. There are still a lot of residents with pets whom the administration doesn't want to antagonize, because of connections or whatever. Some students are even allergic to the poison. So, they keep a list of rooms which are not to be given any poison. All I have to do is put your room on it.'
Casimir was staring intently at Virgil. 'Wait a minute. How did you get that kind of access? Aren't there locks? Access checks?' 'There are some annoyances involved.'
'I suppose with photographic memory you could do a lot on the computer.'
'Helps to have the Operator memorized too.'
'Oh, fuck! No!'
Casimir, I am sure, was just as surprised as I had been. The Operator was an immense computer program consisting entirely of numbers— machine code. Without it, the machine was a useless lump. With the Operator installed, it was a tool of nearly infinite power and flexibility. It was to the computer as memory, instinct and intelligence are to the human brain.
Virgil handed Casimir a canister of paper computer tape. The label read, '1843 SURINAM CENSUS DATA VOLUME 5. FIREWOOD USAGE ESTIMATES AND PROJECTIONS.'
'Ignore that,' said Virgil. 'It's a program in machine code. It'll put your room on the no-poison list, and your cat will be safe, unless the B-men forget or decide to ignore the rule, which is a possibility.' Casimir barely looked at the tape and stared distantly at Virgil. 'What have you been doing with this knowledge?' he whispered. 'You could get back at E13S.'
Virgil smiled. 'Tempting. But when you can do what I can, you don't go for petty revenge. All I do, really, is fight the Worm, which is really my only passion these days. It's why I stay around instead of getting a decent job. It's a sabotage program. It's probably the greatest intellectual achievement of the nineteen-eighties, and it's the only thing I've ever found that is so indescribably difficult and complex and beautiful that I haven't gotten bored with it.'
'Why would anyone do such a thing? It must be costing the Megaversity millions.'
'I don't know,' said Virgil, 'but it's great to have a challenge.'
Sarah and I were in her room with my toolbox. Outside, the Terrorists were trying to get in. I sat on her
