Downtime - Marc Platt [40]
He came away understanding why Victoria had this great reputation with all the other students. She had a sort of innocence that had no business in a business suit. It was at odds with everything in the place.
Which was more than could be said for the Marketing Facilitator, Christopher Rice. From the moment Danny had first seen the guy, there was an instant dislike. Rice was a poseur who liked to throw his weight about. Danny had been working on his terminal after hours and had surfed into something, he couldn’t remember what now, that made him burst out laughing. At that moment, he saw Christopher Rice watching him across the ranks of terminals from the far doorway of the computer room. Christopher had said nothing, but the next morning there was an e-mail message warning all students that the computer room was out of bounds after session hours.
Every time Danny had encountered Christopher since, the unspoken look was, ‘I’m watching you, you little creep.’ And they hadn’t even spoken yet.
That was why Danny had to know more.
The terminal pinged angrily at him.
‘ Authorization Failure. ’
He nervously tapped at his teeth with a fingernail.
‘ You have 10 seconds to enter Stage Three Security Key. ’
He consulted the paper and began typing. No. It was all wrong – a trick. He deleted it and stared into the screen for a moment. He visualized the mainframe and found what he wanted.
Speak the same code aloud. ‘Waterfield.’
Aural response. The screen turned blue.
‘ You are attached to Priority Zone Zee. ’
A line-graphic pyramid appeared and began to spin in the centre of the screen.
‘Yes!’ Danny made a little fist of triumph. Good game.
By the time Sarah Jane reached New World reception, she was considerably irritated. The university’s one-way system consisted of enough junctions and circuits to fill a computer.
There were Chillys everywhere, all neatly uniformed in green and yellow, all studious, all plugged into their headphones.
Sarah guessed that Student Accommodation provided them all with neat pigeonholes in which to live and sleep. Further education had started to take on the attributes of the battery farm. Yet there was also an air of cheerfulness about the campus. The students all looked happy. Sarah found that doubly worrying – probably something in the tea. She began to wonder what exactly she had walked into.
She crossed the airy foyer where a group of Chillys sat motionless on expensive leather sofas. The crass beat of N
Treble U FM was being piped in from somewhere.
The girl at the reception desk was another typical example of the breed. So bright and friendly with her ‘Hi. Welcome to New World. How can I help you?’, that Sarah thought it would be more appropriate to order large fries and a strawberry milkshake. Plainly there were no administrative staff here – the students were expected to run the place themselves.
‘Sarah Jane Smith of Metropolitan magazine. I have an appointment to see the Vice Chancellor.’
The receptionist was staring at her computer screen while she tapped away at her keyboard.
Sarah added, ‘I am expected...’
‘At eleven o’clock,’ completed the receptionist. ‘Would you like to take a seat.’ She handed Sarah a yellow pamphlet and indicated the sofas. ‘Have the best one yet.’
Sarah gave a surface smile and sat down. On the speakers, the DJ started to babble something inane. The pamphlet contained the same New World hype that had made her switch off earlier. She glanced across at the waiting Chillys.
With one concerted movement, their heads swivelled to return her stare.
‘Ms Smith?’
Startled, she saw a man standing beside the reception desk.
He had slicked black hair and his smile oozed sincerity.
Somehow it all matched exactly with the Bransonesque pullover.
‘Welcome to New World. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.’ As she stood, he took her hand firmly with both of his. ‘I’m Christopher Rice, the Marketing Facilitator.’
‘Good morning,’ she said, somewhat taken aback.
‘I hope you’ve brought the files.’
She tapped her