The Zenith Angle - Bruce Sterling [51]
“Oh, man. That would rock so hard. Why don’t you build a Grendel at Joint Techs? We’ll get you a truckload of crap PCs. We’ll wire ’em up real time. Joint Techs will go ape.”
That would definitely work, thought Van. Such a showman’s stunt would never have occurred to him, but Tony was absolutely right. The guys at Joint Techs would be totally thrilled by a hands-on confrontation with k-rad streaming hardware. They would forget how to breathe.
He beamed on Tony suddenly. It was impossible not to love the guy. Van could barely remember how lousy he had felt twenty minutes ago, how grim and committed and full of fortitude. Now, with Tony in this sorry little room with him, there were suddenly some bright shining lights in his future. Days that would be full of sunshine for him. And happiness. Future days that would be really cool.
The guy was light and magic.
Tony silently reached to pour himself more booze. The happy moment passed quickly. There was an anvil on Tony’s back.
“What are you up to, Tony? You got plans to turn it around, right?”
“Well,” said Tony, who was definitely not okay, “you mustn’t lose sight of the end goal, Van. After a stock market bubble, people are just as irrational as they were before. But now it’s all about the terror, instead of all about the greed. They are more irrational now, because they can’t see any future.”
“You’ve got money troubles?”
“It’s not that simple. By the way, I’m really sorry about your board of directors gig for DeFanti’s holding company. You were right to resign before you turned fed, but, well, I wanted to make that thing work out a lot better for you.”
“That’s okay, Tony,” said Van, and it was, because Van hated corporate board meetings even more than he hated federal ones. “They never got it about what I told them about real security, that was clear.”
“When you’re a master-of-the-universe like Tom DeFanti, sometimes you just plain lose track.” Tony’s face twisted. “You heard all about what happened to Tom, didn’t you?”
“I know that he retired. The board never talked much about that. They kept it real hush-hush.”
“Oh, everyone knew Tom was getting erratic, that part was all over the media, but . . . Well, Tom finally, completely crashed. Basically, Tom is a prisoner now. They wouldn’t send a guy like that to just any mental clinic, you know. They built one around him, the way they did for Howard Hughes. Tom is delusional. They’ve got him trapped inside a wing of that farmhouse. The Chinese wife looks after him . . . He talks about Martians, Van.”
“Oh, jeez. You mean that?”
“I know it. Tom met a UFO. Among other things. It’s like the Heaven’s Gate thing. Spaceships and Martians. He’s really bent in the head. It’s been a total nightmare for all the associates.” Tony emptied his cup and slumped in the shining chair. “The very same powers that made Tom so great are tearing him apart. The acuity, the imagination. The mental daring. I think it’s the very worst tragedy that I have ever witnessed at first hand.”
“My God,” Van said. “I had no idea it was that bad.”
“Van, listen.” Tony was passionate now. “I have learned something important about people who are profoundly creative. They are unbalanced. That’s why they have so much to give. They have to give. They are fighting with some kind of black chasm inside. Great artists, great writers . . . Captains of industry, even. The top ones get much better than any human being ever needs to be. No mere reward could ever make anybody act to that level of performance. Because it’s never about the money, or even the fame. It’s all about the inner terror.”
“Come on, Tony.”
“That is the truth, Van.” He was bitter. “I have seen it happen with my own eyes.”
Van rallied himself. He was feeling pretty good now, the brandy was smoothly taking hold of him, and it was time for him to exert himself for the sake of his unhappy friend. “The work is its own reward, Tony. If you do it right, it feels great. To give is good for you.”
“You say that because you’ve got creative power, Van. You are a scientist.