"So is Gallowglass all right, or is that too formal?" "Gallowglass is great, Mr. Fletcher." "Call me Step."

"Hey, Step." "Mind if I ask, how old are you?" "Twenty-two." "And if you're just a common ordinary programmer, how come Ray Keene tells you stuff that he doesn't tell Dicky?" "Oh, I suppose because he's known me longer. I used to hang around his house and I learned programming on his Commodore Pet when I was, like, sixteen."

It dawned on Step: In all his interviews and meetings, no one had ever mentio ned the existence of this wunderkind, and no one had ever told him who it was who actually coded the original soft ware that had earned Ray Keene a Mercedes and a power office.

"You wrote Scribe 64, didn't you?"

Gallowglass smiled shyly. "Every line of it," he said.

"And I'll bet you're the one who keeps doing the upgrades."

"I'm working on a sixty-character screen right now," he said. "I have to use a sort of virtual screen memory and background character mapping, but it's going pretty well. I have this idea of using character memory as the virtual screen memory, since that means that I'm not actually using up RAM for the mapping."

"I don't know enough about 64 architecture yet to know what you're talking about," said Step. "But I hope I'm not too nosy if I ask you, since you are the person who actually created Scribe 64, how come you aren't vice-president of something?"

"Ray takes care of me," said Gallowglass. "I kind of make more money than God. And I'm not exactly management material."

"I'd be interested to know how much God makes, someday," said Step.

"And someday maybe I'll tell you." Gallowglass grinned. "What about you? Got any kids?"

"Three, with a fourth on the way."

"How old are they?"

"Stephen's almost eight, Robert is nearly five, Elizabeth is two, and the new one is negative five months now."

"I'll tell you, I really get along great with kids," said Gallowglass. "If you want me to tend the kids for you sometime, let me know."

"Yeah, right. A programmer who makes more money than God, and I'm going to call him up to babysit for me."

"I mean it, I really like kids, and I get kind of lonely sometimes."

"You don't live with your folks?"

"Dad hates me," said Gallowglass. "I live by myself."

"Hates you? Come on."

"No, I mean it, he says it wheneve r I go home. I walk in the door, he says, 'Damn but I hate you, do you have to keep coming back here?' Mom's OK though. Hey, we're just a good old southern family."

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to pry or anything," said Step.

Gallowglass laughed. "I haven't seen a grown man blush in a long time," he said.

This poor kid, thought Step. A sweet, brilliant, nice kid, and not only does his dad hate him, not only did his mom blow smoke in his face as a baby, but also he's getting seriously ripped off by the very people that he trusts most in all the world. None of my business, I know, but this kid ought to at least know that something else is possible. "Let me tell you something," said Step. "The difference between royalties and bonuses is that a royalty is yours by right, by law, even after you leave the company, while a bonus is a gift and if Ray ever feels like not giving it to you, then that's just too bad for you."

Gallowglass looked at him steadily through those bottle-bottom lenses.

"I just thought you ought to know that," said Step. "In case you ever want to write another piece of software. Maybe on the next one, they'll mention your name somewhere in the manual. It's something we programmers don't get much of-credit for what we do."

"You had your name on Hacker Snack," observed Gallowglass.

"I turned down two software publishers because they wouldn't write that into the contract," said Step.

"That's why you folks here at Eight Bits knew my name. But until this very moment, no one here ever mentioned your name. In fact, I kind of got the impression that Ray wrote Scribe 64 himself."

"You did?" asked Gallowglass.

"Not that he ever said so," said Step.

"Ray can't program a computer to print his name on the screen," said Gallowglass.

"Yeah, well, I didn't know that," said Step. "He never told me.

Hey, not his fault if I got the wrong impression. The main thing is that I think it's important for programmers to get credit for what we do. Like an author getting his name on his own book."

"You weren't the first to get your name above the title, you know," said Gallowglass. "Doug Duncan got his name on Russian Front even before you."

"Yeah," said Step. "I already had my contract signed before Russian Front came out, but he was the first to get his game out that way. "

"I met him at CES last year," said Gallowglass.

"Yeah?"

"I did him like I did you-told him it was a great game but then I laid into one of the flaws in the game."

"Oh, is this something you do to everybody?" asked Step.

"Sure."

"Where'd you learn that technique, from How to Win Friends and Influence People?"

Gallowglass giggled. "I just like to see how people react to it. You took it just fine. In fact, best ever. You actually listened to a kid with glasses and a pocket protector and you didn't know me from shit on the sidewalk."

"What did Duncan do?"

"Well, let's just say that Doug Duncan is the kind of guy who never, ever forgives anybody who dares to suggest that anything he ever did was somewhat less than perfect. He actually got me kicked off a panel at a conference six months later. Said he'd leave and not do his thing there if I was given a microphone at the conference.

He never forgives and he never forgets."

"Maybe that would have taught you not to criticize strangers."

"Hey, it's my flaming-asshole test, and Duncan leaves a trail of ashes wherever he goes."

Step had to laugh. He liked this kid. Maybe a lot. Though if Dicky had overheard their conversation about royalties and credit for programmers, both of them would probably be in trouble. "Hey, uh, how soundproof is this office?" asked Step.

"How the hell should I know?" asked Gallowglass. "But with all these games on, who do you think can hear us?"

Step thought, but did not say, that the games in the room made them talk louder, while the noise they made wouldn't interfere half as much with someone outside the room who wanted to listen in.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" yelled Gallowglass.

It was Dicky, and for a moment Step felt that rush of guilt that comes when you've just been caught. Dicky had been listening.

"So there you are," said Dicky. "I've been looking all over for you.'

"Me?" said Step.

"I wondered if you wanted to go for lunch with me."

"He can't," said Gallowglass immediately. "He's going to lunch with me, so I can get him up to speed on the new features in Scribe 64."

"And I have to get him up to speed on everything else," said Dicky, looking a bit stern.

"Hey, leave me out of this," said Step. "This is my first day I'll go wherever I'm told."

But Dicky and Gallowglass gazed at each other for a few long moments more, until at last Dicky said,

"Come see me after lunch."

"Sure," said Step. "But you're my supervisor, Mr. Northanger, so my schedule is yours to command."

"Call me Dicky," said Dicky.

"Not Richard?" asked Step.

"Is there something wrong with Dicky?" asked Dicky.

"No," said Step. "I just thought-"

"Dicky is not a nickname for Richard," said Dicky. "It's the name I was christened with."

"I'm sorry," said Step.

"And meeting with you after lunch is what I prefer." Dicky closed the door behind him.

"Man, you're a champion suck-up," said Gallowglass.

Step turned on him. "What are you trying to do, get my supervisor permanently pissed off at me on my first day on the job?"