54
The last two days whirled in Dale’s brain.
Time.
Lash’s body arching from its chair, in the front of this same lecture hall.
A half-eaten Danish tumbling from his thrashing grip and onto the table.
It was all about time.
A mysterious voice behind the closed door of Lash’s bedroom.
Deck saying, I have to talk to that bastard.
Columns of data from the registration system.
Rules exist to be exploited.
Mallard saying Hey! I win!
It could be.
Timing.
It could be that simple.
Dale’s hands scrabbled into place on the keyboard. He shut Langton out, his neighbors, every sound, in favor of a web search.
He’d been right.
Time.
His shaking fingers switched to a terminal window, where he went to the files containing his downloaded copies of the residence hall data.
He had had suspe
