He cleared his throat. ‘It was a long, draining process—that project—and several years passed, during which Robert and I were thrown together often. We’d known each other fairly well earlier but, during Project Icarus, we forged a strong bond and spent hours discussing various things, although not the work itself. He was quite secretive about whatever he did, although he never refused to answer a question.’

‘That doesn’t sound very secretive.’

‘Oh, he had a unique way of dealing with it. He’d just give you answers that didn’t make sense.’

So that’s where he gets it, thought Albert, taking care to keep the innocent expression plastered firmly in place.

‘So as I was saying, we’d talk about lots of things, the world, the cameras, and of course his … his, um … fairly strong opinions on how the technology being developed should be utilized.’

Here he permitted himself a smile. ‘He was a very … how should I put it … moral man, with a highly developed sense of responsibility for his work. In a sense, he was that rarest of geniuses, the one who understands not only his creation but its significance. And as far as the project went, once again, Robert’s contributions were immense. And then it was done, the announcement was made that the Intelligence Interface was ready, and mankind queued up to receive its greatest gift. Or, to be more accurate, to buy its greatest gift. For six hundred and twenty-five, plus taxes. And, of course, pay-per-minute charges. It flew off the shelves like, like—like the Intelligence Interface. I can’t think of anything to compare it to—it sold by the billions.’

He paused, looking at both of them in turn. The air in the room was still now, very still.

‘And what followed was the Information Epidemic.’

22

‘The Information Epidemic?’ whispered Albert, feeling the hair rising up on his arms. He wasn’t sure why he was reacting like this, but something, some unknown impulse, told him to be prepared—that nameless instinct of the wild animal that tells it that at any moment now, danger is about to spring upon it.

‘Yes, the Information Epidemic, or just the Epidemic, as it was called. It didn’t need any other name. It was the single greatest plague in recorded history. And will no doubt remain so, because ever since it blighted us, it has been difficult enough to avoid becoming history without taking the effort of recording it, too.’

Father looked at him, the usual twinkle completely absent from his blue eyes. They looked tired and, more than tired, they looked sad, as if beholding some tragedy unfold. ‘You see, Albert, the Epidemic didn’t cripple the world, or derail it. It destroyed it. Thousands of years of human civilization undone with a single act. Forty-eight hours after the first outbreak, over ninety per cent of the total population was affected.’

‘Wha—Did you say ninety? Ninety?’