IIII REALLY SHOULDN’T have touched him. “Nice retro-wisdom, Marj,” I said to no one in particular. Hindsight being 50-50 as the old humor went.
My words echoed off the walls of the 4th sub-level Atkinson storage area I was walking across. Almost making as much noise as my clacking heels against the grey painted concrete hallways.
Here, I was more an archaeologist than analytic researcher. They had me along to sort out anything the file clerks found. It was tough work, as the government had simply retreated and left all this material behind, but no coherent map of the rooms or how anything was organized. (We figured that was on purpose, but the idea of a “conspiracy of idiots” was more likely.)
I got up to the surface for real daylight every few days, and spent a good deal of my time run
