Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'Brave new world, that has such buildings in it!'

Perhaps that wasn't so inappropriate, he thought. This really was a building that represented a new tomorrow.

Every night Sam Gleig came on duty he reported in person to the site office on the seventh floor, to see if there were any special instructions and to check out who might be working late. He could have picked up the telephone and achieved the same result from the desk in the security guard's office on the ground floor. But with twelve hours of solitude facing him, Gleig preferred a little human contact. Have a bit of conversation with whoever was there. Shoot the breeze. Later on he would be glad he had made the effort. The Gridiron was a lonely place at night. Besides, tonight he was curious to hear the official verdict on Yojo's death.

In an effort to keep fit Gleig usually avoided using the elevator and took the stairs. The treads were made of glass to ensure the maximum penetration of light into the stairwell. At night each one of them was lit up by an electric light the colour of water in a swimming pool. The stairway to heaven. That was what Gleig called it. A religious man, he never mounted the stairs without thinking of Jacob's dream and quoting the text from the Book of Genesis to himself:

'Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, Surely the Lord is in this place; and I did not know it. And he was afraid, and said, "How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." '

In the site office he found Helen Hussey, the site agent, and Warren Aikman, the clerk of works, filling their briefcases and getting ready to go home.

'Evening Sam,' Helen said pleasantly.

She was a tall, skinny redhead with green eyes and lots of freckles. Gleig liked her a lot. She had a good word for everyone.

'Evening, Miss,' he said. 'Good evening Mr Aikman.'

'Sam,' grunted the clerk of works, too tired to talk very much. 'Ah, what a day. Thank God it's over.' Instinctively he straightened his college tie, ran a hand through his grey hair and found it still full of dust — the result of inspecting a ceiling on the sixteenth level while workmen had been re-laying the plenum floor on the level above. As the Yu

Corporation's personal representative on site, it was Warren Aikman's job to inspect the site periodically and provide a complete case-history of the whole job; and to refer any discrepancies between the design policy and the finished building to Mitchell Bryan or Tony Levine. But Aikman's frustration had more to do with Helen Hussey than with the interpretation of any architectural details. Despite having told her he loved her, more or less, Helen still refused to take him seriously.

'So,' said Sam, 'who's working late tonight?'

'Sam,' she scolded, 'what have I told you? Just ask the computer. Abraham is programmed to know who's working late, and where. It has heat sensors and cameras to help you.'

'Yeah, I know, it's just I don't much like talking to a machine. It ain't very friendly. A bit of human contact is still important, you know what I'm saying?'

'I'd rather talk to a machine than to Ray Richardson,' said Aikman. 'At least there's a slim chance that the machine has a heart.'

'I don't mean to bother you none.'

'You don't bother us at all, Sam.'

Aikman's telephone rang. He answered it and after a second or two sat down behind his desk and scribbled a note. Covering the mouthpiece he looked up at Helen Hussey and said, 'It's David Arnon. Can you wait a minute?'

Relieved that she would have an opportunity to get down to her car without having to fight of Aikman's wandering hands in the elevator, Helen smiled and shook her head.

'I really can't,' she whispered, 'I'm late as it is. See you tomorrow.'

Aikman grimaced with irritation and nodded. 'Yes, David. Do you have the specification there?'

Helen rippled her fingers at Aikman and walked to the elevator with Sam Gleig.

'They say what happened to Mr Yojo yet?'

'Apparently he suffered a massive epileptic fit,' said Helen.

'Figured as much.'

They stepped into the elevator and told Abraham to take them to the parking lot.

'Poor guy,' he added. 'Kind of a waste. How old was he?'

'I don't really know. Thirty something I guess.'

'Damn.'

'What's the matter, Sam?'

'I just remembered I forgot my book. Left it at home.' He shrugged apologetically. 'You've got to have something to read on a job like this. And I can't stand to watch TV. TV is pollution.'

'Oh, Sam,' said Helen, 'you've got a work-station. Why don't you use the electronic library?'

'Electronic library, huh? I didn't know there was such a thing.'

'It's really simple to use. Really simple. It works kind of like a juke box. Just select the multimedia library icon on your work-station and the computer will list all the available categories of material it has on disc. Choose the category and then the title and the computer will play the disc for you. Of course it's mostly reference books here, but they're all of them interactive, with audio excerpts and film footage. The Variety Film Guide is just wonderful. Believe me, Sam, it's a lot of fun.'

'Well thanks, Miss Hussey. Thanks a lot.' Sam smiled politely, wondering if it was actually possible to read anything from the library: from the way Helen had described it, it sounded like just another way of watching television. After leaving prison he had vowed he would never watch television again.

He watched her get into her car and then went back up to the atrium floor where the piano was playing an Impromptu by Schubert in the style of Murray Perahia. Although he liked the music, Gleig was always a little unnerved by the sight of the keys playing as if an invisible person was sitting on the piano stool. More so now that Hideki Yojo was dead. It still shook him when he remembered those blackened eyes. Epilepsy. What a way to go.

Death was a subject often on Gleig's mind. He knew it was the solitude of the job that was responsible. Sometimes, touring the building at night, it was like being inside some huge mausoleum. Preoccupied with death and dying, and with so much time on his hands he had become something of a hypochondriac. But what worried him more than the idea that he too might suffer an epileptic fit was the awareness that he knew nothing at all about it or what warning signs to watch out for. As soon as he had the opportunity Sam accessed the encyclopedia in the electronic library.

After selecting the appropriate category with his mouse there was a momentary pause and then an Aaron Copland fanfare of trumpets that caused his heart to leap in his chest.

'Welcome to the encyclopedia,' announced the computer.

'Damn,' he exclaimed nervously, 'don't do that. Machine, you scared the shit out of me.'

'The information resource that covers all fields of human learning and history in all times and places. Quite simply, you have before you the most complete information archive anywhere on earth. Entry titles are alphabetized according to the English language A-Z.'

'No kidding,' grunted Gleig.

'All diacritcal marks and foreign letters without parallels in English are ignored in this alphabetization.'

Gleig shrugged to himself, unsure if his previous remark had been critical or not.

'Titles beginning with numbers, such as 1984 , the novel by George Orwell, are alphabetized as if the numbers were written out Nineteen Eighty-Four. When you have decided upon the entry that you require you may take up any cross-references, or you may browse among countless subjects that are grouped around the original entry point. Now type your chosen subject please.'

Gleig thought for a moment and then typed uncertainly: