The Girl Who Kept Running

8. The Boy Who Played with Fire

23 September 2050

No one can see the floating motes of dust when the curtain's drawn. 

Harry was not ready to let his excitement for 'The Dismantler' extinguish the fire burning inside of him since last night. He sat resolutely before his Bureau boss, determined to see that Jorge's legacy did not become a mote of dust along the data cables of a government network.

"You know I read your work as soon as you bring it in." Timothy Ross's beady eyes bored holes into Harry after the young monitor hastily explained why he didn't leave the room. 

"It is an unusual death ... I underlined the part about the fingers," Harry ventured.

"I noticed, Harry," Timothy spoke without moving his lips. "You know what I'm expecting from you this month." 

"Of course, I'll start on it as soon as I'm out the door. It's just that those fingers ..."

"Do you know that a single study of science in any field rarely establishes anything? If you'd gone to college you'd know. It has to be repeated, the study, it's conditions, in different contexts, on different populations, with similar results to be accepted as veritable."

Harry nodded like a good student. "Of course, sir. It makes sense. It's more secure that way--"

"More reliable." The second eyebrow now joined forces with the first. Harry could get lost in the drama of Timothy's facial twitches, so he tightened his fingers wrapped around the armrests of his chair. 

"It's just that the fingers seemed-"

"Nope."

"I did some research. I couldn't--"

"Nope."

Harry balled his hands into fists in frustration, safely out of Timothy's sight. 

"Patience, boy. Observation. Replication. Meticulousness. All the hallmarks of objectivity. A wild river is not a safe ride to the ocean, boy."

What the hell is he saying? Then it clicked. 

"So, without, um ...," Harry struggled trying to rephrase the philosophy talk into something he could grasp, "similar occurrences, similar posturing of hands found in other cases, this one-time occurrence is not worthy of our attention ..." He felt bitter admitting as much.

"Even if we deemed it worthy, it would lead us nowhere. You plot the first point on a graph. Where do you go from there?" 

Ross relaxed back into his chair, his gaze hinged to the restlessness of Harry's eyes. His own eyes grew bemused the more he watched. "And yet, the Coroner's office is right up the next block." Ross once again leaned forward in the chair and clasped the fingers of his hands as he resumed. "Put your monitor ID to use if you are so eager to honor your departed." His eyes wrinkled pleasantly, preparing to dive into another preachy monologue: "It's called priming: Don't force your mind into premature theories. Be all ears to what the medical examiner says. And pick your questions like a surgeon's instruments. And don't believe in coincidence."

Harry removed his gaze before the smile of his boss could reach full bloom. But he felt pumped, refueled. His mind was buzzing with possibility.

"Thank you, sir."

"If the canoe leads to the ocean, you'd only have your gut to thank."

Suddenly, there was so much Harry needed to do. Trying to keep a cap on his excitement in place, Harry took his leave and went straight to the Information Room.

The idea of hooking up with Hackster didn't seem like a time-waster anymore. He could be useful on both the fronts Harry was now challenged on. 

There were several neat rows of open desks in the spacious Information Room, each with a computer station. Every station was a complete unit, with a low frame supporting both a comfortable seat and a tube leading to a flexscreen. Continuous wooden desks had been constructed around the stations preventing theft.