Part 20 (1/2)

She looked at the photo and smiled politely, unaware that it was really Peter in person and in the newspaper. ”A mineral water?”

she said.

”Thank you, my dear. Anything for you, Mr. Jones?”

”No thanks.”

The man closed his eyes and turned his smiling face into the sun.

As Peter studied him, he felt a dim glow of recognition. Had he met him before, perhaps seen a photo of him somewhere? There was something about the cynicism in the man's eye. No doubt he was a former businessman well into his retirement, for with his eyes closed, he looked maybe seventy-five.

”Here you are, Mr. Holmes,” the waitress said.

With his eyes open, however, the man suddenly looked ten years younger. Pouring the mineral water over the ice cubes in the gla.s.s, he fixed his gaze on Peter. ”It isn't easy walking away from something you've given birth to, is it?” He squeezed some juice from the lime slice floating in the gla.s.s.

”No. It sure isn't,” Peter said. Except for Kate's weekend trips away from Los Angeles, Peter had been completely alone for the past three months in Maine. During this period he had spoken with hardly anyone, except when necessary - ordering food in restaurants, paying for goods at the general store, or collecting his bundles of forwarded mail at the post office. He had forgotten how good it could feel to talk to someone, even a stranger. Especially a stranger. But Peter sensed that this wasn't just any stranger.

”Yep. Same thing happened to me. Gave them fifty years. Started when I was twenty, not that different from you. Yes sir, I remember how it felt.”

”How?”

”Like someone ripped my heart out and chopped a chunk off it.”

For a few moments the man's gaze turned introspective as he poked at the lime in his drink. ”Sound about right?” His lively blue eyes revealed sympathy, understanding.

This man knows, Peter thought. He managed a small smile and a nod.

”Son, you're a bright boy. I know all about you. How old can you be, thirty?”

”Thirty-two.”

”h.e.l.l,” the man said with a guffaw, ”when I was that age I'd just got going.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter considered the man with curiosity and puzzlement. What had the waitress called him?

”Yes sir. That's how old I was when I invented a new system design that went on to become our standard for the next many, many years.” He took another sip from his gla.s.s. ”Still is,” he said, jutting his lower lip out proudly.

”What design was that?” Peter asked. But before the man answered, Peter deduced that there was only one computer standard that had been in existence that long, and that was -

”The 990.”

Peter tossed his head back, and for the first time in months he let go a huge, cleansing laugh. Of course! Byron Holmes, inventor of ICP's 990 series, which had become, and still formed the foundation of, the architecture upon which all of ICP's mainframe computers were built. Byron Holmes, son of Jonathan Holmes, founder of ICP.

”What's so d.a.m.n funny?”

Peter touched the man's arm in apology. ”I was just thinking how funny it is for us to meet. Go on, please. What did you do after the 990?”

”Revise, revise, revise.”

”Things moved more slowly back then, didn't they?”

”Back then? You make it sound like I figured out how to add three wheels to one, so that families could take kids to the dinosaur races.”

Peter could see that the man was enjoying this as much as he was.

He became wholly attentive and invigorated.