yes, I know he hates those too. Stubborn cuss. He’s not planning to go anywhere for the next three days, is he?”
“No, Mr. Logan. He called the concierge at Castle Scrooge last night and told them to prep his suite for at least a week’s stay.”
“He bringing Daniela?”
“No, she and the kids are staying home, he said. The littlest one’s graduating from kindergarten today.”
“They grow up so fast,” Dev said, smiling a little at the image of tiny redheaded Jackie in a mortarboard. “Make sure that Uncle Dev sends her something nice. She’s big on rocking horses, isn’t she?”
“Yes. It’s all right, though. Frank took care of that for you yesterday.” Frank was his PA.
“Okay,” Dev said. “What else? Any significant overnight press for the rollout?”
“Here are the press clippings from the last twelve hours,” Milla said, opening the bottommost file and pushing it across to him. It was full of laser-printed sheets from Web pages and Xeroxes from newspapers. Dev scanned through them quickly while Milla drank a little of her tea. “Nice articles in Asahi Shimbun and the South China Morning Post,” she said. “Mainichi Daily News, too.”
Dev turned over some pages, peered at one. “The New Straits Times article looks a little skeptical . . .”
“But not overtly negative.” Milla bit into one of the croissants, took another sip of tea. “A lot of them—the Mumbai Senachar, Khaleej Times—just reprinted our own canned stuff.”
“Yeah, well,” Dev said, paging through the rest of the printouts, “not all of them. And I tell you, if I see the phrase ‘former hacker wunderkind’ again today, I’m going to barf.”
Milla picked up one printout, glanced down it. “This one says ‘erstwhile’ . . .”
Dev gave her a dry look. Milla shrugged. “Once upon a time,” she said, “ ‘hacker’ just meant somebody who hacked away at a program until it worked.”
“Doesn’t mean that anymore,” Dev muttered. “And I never like the implications when they use it. Well, never mind.” He glanced over the files. “How are the markets?”
“Asia and Europe are buoyant,” Milla said. “The Dow finished up last night. We topped out at nine ninety.”
“Psychological barrier there,” Dev said, closing the last file and pushing it back. “I really want to see us break a thousand during the launch. What are the odds?”
“Better ask Mr. Margoulies about that,” said Milla. “I wouldn’t venture an opinion.”
“But you’d bet.”
Milla flashed a grin at him, got up, and picked up the files. “Everybody here bets,” she said. “And tries not to get caught. Should I incriminate myself?”
Dev laughed and got up too. “Not on my behalf. What about on-campus business? Any problems last night?”
“Nothing unexpected. Security’s noted that there’ve been a few more attempts than usual to get into the campus after shutdown. They’re putting it down to a combination of people getting excited about the rollout, and post exam excitement.”
Dev chuckled softly. Omnitopia shared the city of Tempe with the biggest campus of Arizona State University, and graduation day was only a few days after Throw the Switch day. Understandably, the seniors were starting to get frisky. “Kids looking for somewhere to get plastered in private,” he said.
Milla nodded, her expression suggesting that she was above that kind of thing, though her senior year wouldn’t have been that far behind her—she was one of Omnitopia’s youngest executive hires, a masters’ degree holder at nineteen. “Okay,” Dev said. “Everything seems to be running as expected for the moment. Thanks, Milla. Tell the staff over at ops that I’ll be along in about half an hour.”
“Yes, Mr. Logan. Good morning.”
Milla headed for the door, closed it behind her. Dev stood there for a moment looking toward the courtyard windows, and the slowly growing light of dawn beyond them. Then he turned and headed back toward the bedroom side of the suite.
When he looked in the door, he found that Mirabel was lying on her back with her arms crossed over her eyes. “What time is it?” said the muffled voice from under the arms.
“Just after six.”
“It’s not fair,” Mirabel said. “You didn’t get to bed until three.”
“I’ll sleep in October.”
It was a traditional answer in their household to anyone who complained about short sleeping hours. Mirabel snorted at him, unfolded her arms. “October never comes. Or never the right one.”
“It’s not going to come in the next three days, that’s for sure.” Dev sat down on the bed beside her. “What’s your schedule like today?”
She stretched, plopped her head back against the pillow. “Oh,