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removed her hardhat, shaking loose soft waves of hair.
    Of course, Gibbs took the question literally. As Alan gave Lora a quick embrace and a kiss—making her blush—the older man corrected, “Not disintegrating, Alan; digitizing .”
    Alan and Lora traded amused looks. Gibbs, unheeding, lectured. “The laser array dismantles the molecular structure of the object. The molecules are suspended in the laser beam, and then the computer reads the model back out. The molecules go into place and,” he held up the orange with a theatrical flourish, “voilà.”
    And let the boardroom infighters and administrative beancounters think what they like, Gibbs added to himself. There’s not a one among ’em who’ll ever feel the way I do right now!
    “Great,” Alan was saying. “Can it send me to Hawaii?”
    “Yes,” Lora told him with a grin and her best airline-commercial voice, “but you have to go round trip and you must purchase your program at least thirty days in advance.” Alan laughed, and she enjoyed hearing it. Gibbs, temporarily dragged back from the dizzying heights of scientific breakthrough, chuckled too.
    “How’s it going upstairs?” she added, putting aside her own elation. Alan had been preoccupied with his Tron program for weeks now.
    He shrugged, and the laughter was gone. How serious, how intense he can become in a split second, she thought. Just like me, when it comes to his work. But she liked that in him. Alan had a sense of humor, but he never ignored his goals, or his responsibilities to himself and to others.
    “Frustrating.” Alan frowned. “I had Tron almost ready to run, and Dillinger cut everybody with Group Seven access out of the System. Ever since he got that Master Control Program set up, the System’s got more bugs than a bait store.”
    Gibbs had forgotten his triumph for the moment, drawn by talk of things he knew and liked to discuss. “Well, you have to expect some static. Computers are just machines, after all; they can’t think.”
    Alan replied, “Some programs’ll be thinking soon.”
    Gibbs made a wry face. “Yes, won’t that be grand! The programs and computers will start thinking and people will stop.” Shaking his head, he contemplated what he and a few others had unleashed on the world those decades ago. Was there anything beneficial that didn’t carry seeds of misfortune? Apparently not , Gibbs decided. He finished, “Lora, I’m going to stay and run some data. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    They made their good-byes to one another and Gibbs went offto ponder what he’d accomplished and what his obligations were. Perhaps it was time to have a talk with Ed Dillinger.
    Walking with Alan beside the towering frame, Lora asked, “Did you say Group Seven access?”
    His answer was distracted as he worried at the problem. “Yeah. Pain in the neck; you know, I was all set—”
    “Did Dillinger say why?”
    His faced worked in irritation. “Something about tampering.”
    “Tampering?” she echoed. The phrase meant much more to her than it did to Alan. Into her mind came the image of Flynn—Flynn the master crasher, system-bucker, and hot-head. She knew it was time to bring up a subject they usually avoided.
    She stopped Alan. “Flynn’s been thinking about breaking into the System ever since Dillinger canned him. And he had Group Seven access.”
    Anger had taken away all the pleasure that usually showed on his face when he was with her. “Flynn had access to you, too. I’m not interested in talking about him.” He didn’t like himself when he was like that, but he cared so much for Lora that it was hard not to feel jealousy. I’m not as flamboyant as Flynn, he realized, not as breezy, but I know that she loves me. Still . . .
    “Oh, I wish you’d forget about that,” Lora was telling him. “It was all so long ago.” She was emphatic about it, to herself as well as to Alan—perhaps too much so. “I’ve totally gotten over it.”
    Alan relented,