'Blimey, you lot are so bloody naive!'
Stunned silence. A cough.
'What did you say young lady?' Natalie looked round the sea of scraggly beards and bushy eyebrows. A surreal gathering of mad scientists. She wondered what the collective noun should be: Nucleus? Petri Dish? She suppressed the giggle that was welling up, but there was no need; she had already won the disapproval of the room. Serving girls weren't supposed to have opinions, but her conversation with the journalist outside had boosted her confidence. He seemed to think she had something worthwhile to say. Perhaps people would listen here as well, since they were already openly debating the matter. Not if she kept using strong language though. Some of them looked genuinely shocked. 'I just coughed,' she suggested, 'I'm not very well.'
'No no, my dear, please allow us the benefit of your experience.' The man who had spoken was smiling. He steepled his fingers over the table and mocked her with raised eyebrows. Cracked skin and long grey hair, like Gandalf the wizard. There were a couple of sniggers. She felt her face growing hot.
'Are you sure about this, Gerald?' Another man, with the appearance of a kindly old country gent. 'The girl looks half terrified.' Natalie frowned.
'Yes, just let her go.' A chorus of muttering voices, muffled by facial hair.
'Please, gentlemen. Let the young lady speak.' This was a much younger man in a sharp charcoal business suit. The others quietened down. He was clearly the leader of the group. He smiled at Natalie and she realised that he was the one who had set her off in the first place. Nobody will notice, indeed.
'You all think you're going to save the world,' said Natalie, 'but all I see is Big Brother. It's all so 1984.'
'Oh? You have read Orwell?' the one called Gerald said, surprised. Charcoal Man chuckled derisively.
'Yeah,' Natalie said. 'I can read, thank you.' She folded her arms and glared at them.
'Now look here, I didn't mean - ' Gerald began, raising a shaking finger in protest. Natalie watched him with a mixture of distaste and astonishment. This old man was clearly not used to the poisonous looks that teenage girls have perfected over the centuries. She should have walked away, gone back to her table and brewed up some more coffee like a good girl, but it had been a long weekend and she found herself unable to ignore their prejudice.
'Course you didn't mean anything,' she snapped, rolling her eyes. 'You think 'cause I am only sixteen I can't see where this stuff is heading?'
'And where, pray, is it "heading"?' Air-quotes. That put Charcoal Man firmly at the top of Natalie's blacklist. His colleagues abandoned their animated discussion about the merits and demerits of inter-nodal packet tracing - whatever that was - and all leaned forwards eagerly. Natalie had the floor.
'You think your wonderful internet will only bring pleasure and newfound productivity to the world, like a new Utopia, a wonderful dream. Like nothing can possibly go wrong.'
'You do not agree?' Gerald again.
'No. I think it's dangerous to link everything together. Plus, people won't understand what's going on.'
'That will probably be true, at first.' Charcoal Man nodded, chiming in at last. 'These machines are primarily designed for business use, complex mathematics, that sort of thing. But as the technology progresses, who knows? They are already far more powerful than we imagined thirty years ago.'
'I just don't see the point, is all.'
'You have heard of electronic mail?' Natalie heard the stifled laughter around the table, but was too focused on Charcoal Man's condescending grin to care.
'Well yeah, but-'
'You do not think people will like being able to instantly talk to anyone, anywhere in the world?'
'Not really.'
'Ever use the telephone?' More giggles. Natalie rolled her eyes. They were being so childish.
'Only when I have to,' she said. 'I like letters. I like having secrets that only I know.'
'In the Universities we have found that students are spending more and more time talking to their Professors and each other over electronic mail. In the workplace it is becoming invaluable. In the military - ow!' He was interrupted by Gerald appearing to suffer a seizure, which he covered up with a fit of coughing.
'Sorry Gerald, confidential, I know,' Barnaby said, rubbing his shin and wincing.
'Quite right. Need to know only, old fellow,' said Gerald. Natalie suspected that he had enjoyed dishing out that swift kick under the table. He looked particularly pleased with himself.
'I just think this fancy "world-wide" network you people want to build won't just be used to share information, but to gather it,' she said.
'But my dear, of course,' said Gerald, taking over while Barnaby was preoccupied, scowling to himself.
'It will become the true foundation of all knowledge.'
'A comprehensive repository for the ages.'
'Just imagine!' They were all weighing in now, becoming more excited by the second.
'Oh, I'm imagining alright. And I am not your 'dear'. People will be fooled into believing they can share their secrets with friends and family while you all sit back and study them.'
'There is nothing wrong with -'
'With what? Studying people like ants in an antfarm? Testing your theory about the whole of society becoming a sentient gestalt?'
'Well, it's only a theory,' Gerald said.
'But what if it's true? What if you're right?'
'Then the human race will progress beyond the petty distractions of war and money and become more comfortable with it's place in the universe!'
'Do you guys ever listen to yourselves?' asked Natalie, laughing now, 'and you think I'm naive!'
'I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean.'
'Even worse,' she continued, 'have you thought about what could happen if your wonderful technology got into the wrong hands?'
'Ah, now then,' said Gerald, 'there is an International Accord, you see, which is under discussion designed to prevent just that.' Natalie was not convinced.
'And what if the people discussing this Accord are the wrong hands?' She marched over to Charcoal Man - Bernard's chair and stood over him, hands on hips. 'Have you thought of that?' she added, wondering whether scalding-coffee-in-the-face was a sackable offence. He glared back at her. 'What if you are the wrong hands?'
'Now see here, this is going too far,' Bernard retorted, angry now. 'I was not aware that we took our lessons in morality from a mere serving wench, am I right, gentlemen?' He looked around his companions, who were suddenly fiercely interested in the patterns made by biscuit crumbs on the cheap tablecloth.
'But you can't just-' Natalie protested.
'Young lady,' Gerald said softly, like a grandfather telling his granddaughter there are no monsters under her bed, 'there are no conspiracies here.' Natalie snorted with exasperation and was drawing breath to launch into another attack, but was interrupted by a gentle, lady-like cough behind her.
'Excuse me, gentlemen - may I interrupt?' Everyone became suddenly, uncomfortably silent. The newcomer was tall and smartly dressed. She looked down her nose at Natalie through stylish horn-rimmed spectacles and smiled.