Corrigan went through into his office with Lilly and closed the door. “Let’s assume I’m right and we weren’t supposed to remember anything about having gone through this once before, but something’s gone wrong. Pinder will be able to decouple straight away and let them know. That way we don’t have to wait for Sylvine to get back to us.”
Lilly sank down into a visitor’s chair, but Corrigan carried on prowling about the room. “No, that isn’t it,” she said, watching him. “You’re just mad as hell at what’s been going on. You can’t wait to get at them.”
Corrigan stopped pacing and looked at her, then emitted a loud sigh. “Hell, what else do you expect?” He folded his arms and propped himself back against the desk. “They’ve been working some secret deal with Borth and his backers all along, and taken control when they got me inside the simulation. They’ve stolen the damn project. My project! . . .”
The call tone sounded from the desk unit. He straightened up and turned to accept. Judy’s voice came through. “Jason for you. He’s across the river at Head Office.”
“Thanks. . . .” Pinder’s face materialized. “Hello, Jason.”
“Yes, Joe? I’ve ducked out of a meeting, so this had better be good.”
Corrigan was still in two minds as to whether Pinder had been a party to the conspiracy. If he had, then much of what Corrigan thought he remembered didn’t add up. But those memories were from what had been twelve years ago to Corrigan, and it was impossible to be sure. Giving the benefit of the doubt where due, he decided to play things low-key.
“It’s no good, Jason,” he said, shaking his head. “We know. You’d better tell the others. There isn’t anything wrong with the set, as you’ve seen for yourself. In fact, it’s way ahead of anything that I’d have bet on. But we know it’s being rerun. The memory tape from last time didn’t get wiped. It’s still there.”
“Joe, what are you talking about?”
Now Corrigan was irritated. He’d played it straight with Pinder, and he would have expected at least the same in reciprocation. “Look,” he said tiredly, “acting dumb is unbecoming, as well as being insulting to the intelligence. We know what’s going on, and we want out. I’m not saying you were involved personally, Jason, but some people out there are going to have to do a lot of explaining. I’ve had twelve years of this shit, and I’m not in a very patient mood for talking. So get yourself out of that cubicle and go and tell whoever’s running things to shut it down—now!”
But Pinder, far from conceding anything, glared back with a look of outrage. His jaw clamped tight, his mustache quivered, and even on the screen his face turned visibly a shade redder. “Who in God’s name do you think you are, and who do you think you’re talking to like that?” he spluttered. “Allow me to remind you that you are not a director yet. And if this is a foretaste of how it’s likely to go to your head, I have a strong mind to recommend to the Board that they reconsider.”
For a terrible moment, Corrigan did wonder if he had made one almighty, god-awful mistake. But no, there could be no doubt. The memories of the simulation were clear in his head. Lilly was there, right behind him. There was no flaw in the argument. They had to be in a rerun, for all the reasons they had figured.
Conscious of Lilly watching him, Corrigan’s mind wallowed as if in a gel. This sudden change in demeanor of Pinder’s had thrown him completely. Earlier today and the day before, Pinder’s disposition had been almost deferential, acquiescing to Corrigan on just about every point that had been raised. Corrigan remembered thinking to himself how their roles seemed almost to have reversed themselves, and in his headiness he had attributed it to the transformation that he then believed himself to have undergone. But now . . .
Then Corrigan realized what was happening. He swallowed hard and blinked. Pinder was being belligerent, yes; but at a deeper level nothing had changed. Corrigan had come on the line spoiling for a fight, and Pinder was simply responding in kind. He was still taking his lead from Corrigan. Corrigan stared disbelievingly. No wonder there had been something naggingly but undefinably different about Pinder, which he hadn’t been able to put his finger on in two days. Pinder wasn’t going to be of any help. Pinder really didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Not this Pinder.