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"Flight 237 to Dallas-" Greg's head snaps up. "- has a mechanical problem with the landing gear, and we are currently calling the technicians. I apologize for the inconvenience, we will notify you when we have more information."

The mass of passengers lower their heads in anger, frustration or depression, except for one. Greg's ragged brown hair is evident above the crowd of passengers, largely due to his gigantic smile. He would otherwise barely stand out: A tan colored button up shirt, black crease-in-the-middle pants, and a fairly prominent picture ID badge. Clearly an office monkey, he shouldn't stand out from the other business men waiting in the San Francisco terminal. However, while they usually keep to themselves, heads buried in laptops or reports, Greg is... spreading out.

The seats next to him and about 5 feet of the hallway were covered in piles of colored tiles. Each of them sported 4 different colored sides, apparently meant to match each other. Greg was arranging them in very specific 4x4 groups of 16 tiles a piece, then marking down random notes on a series of sheets of paper.

"Don't nudge it." came the reply when Dran stepped close. Greg finished a couple more markings on one of his sheets of paper and looked up.

"Infinium 2 puzzle. Solve it first and you get 2.5 million pounds, which by the time I solve it will be about $5,000,000, considering how fast the dollar is dropping. So, let me guess: Philosophy major? No, gotta be business."

"I can hardly stop you. It is a free airport, last time I checked." Greg replied, gesturing to the seat that Dran was now draping himself over.

Greg picked up a tile from a nearby stack and handed it over. "Notice how each of the pieces has 4 different colored edges? The point of the puzzle is to place all 256 pieces in a square with each colored edge matching another edge of the same color. 7 different colors, 4 sides a piece, 256 pieces. Binary expansion and all that. I am grouping them in blocks of 16, sort of making a meta-puzzle. Each of these..." Greg stops himself mid sentence when he realizes that he is getting carried away, and gestures for the return of the tile.

Greg leans back and puts down the tile, signifying a change of pace in the conversation. "So, you have to be be a Sophomore, right? I believe you have to pick by Junior year, unless things have changed. Ah, the college days, when mom and dad pay for beer and your only worry is if your pants have enough holes." Greg pulls up a suspiciously smirky grin as he nods to Dran's pants. "Back in my day, we had to pick our majors before we went to college, and we were damn proud of it! Not only that, we had to walk 20 miles barefoot through the snow to get to the nearest T1 line, and even then we had to use ZIP drives for storage!" The grin only gets wider, leading even the most gullible observer to believe that this may not be entirely true.

"So, law and biochemistry? Two independent interests, or are you planning on suing the drug companies? It is a good plan, but I hear in the corporate world they don't let you wear trendy shirts." With Greg's animated interest, it is almost east to forget that he completely ignored Dran's second question.

"No real reason to be angry. I mean, honestly, who would want to go to Texas?" Greg gets a nasty stare from one of the passengers seated behind him. "It's a business trip, so it isn't as if I have a huge motional investment in arriving on time. Also, it lets me work on my puzzle longer. I always enjoy the opportunity to mess around on the company's dime."

Greg lets out a long sigh. The smile slowly vanishes from his face as he prepares to answer Dran's question. "It always comes back to work, doesn't it? You cannot have an identity based on your personality anymore, it all depends on your source of income. If you must know, I build mind control lasers to put on satellites for the government. I am flying to Area 53 to demonstrate a new version of the broad area control laser (BACL)." Greg picks up and pats his briefcase for illustrative purposes. "It should be able to disrupt the neurons of about 250 people gathered in a 100 square meter area, such as protesters or rioters. Pretty boring honestly."

Greg laughs heartily, then leans across the aisle and gently punches Dran in the arm. "Damn, son, they sure make 'em gullible these days." A huge grin reappears across his face. "I assure you, there is no such thing as mind control lasers. Although if there were, you could stop them with tin foil hats." A quick wink accompanies the smile.

"Really, I am just a cubicle farmer pumping out-" Greg is interrupted by a short siren sound. Yellow light beacons, previously unnoticed, begin to spill light over the crowded terminal. A loud voice blares from the loudspeakers.

"This is not a drill. For your safety, please quickly and calmly evacuate the terminal. Emergency response is on the way. This is not a drill..." The message repeated itself.

"Crap!" Greg swore, "Could you help me grab this stuff?" He frantically starts sweeping the tiles into clumps as the other passengers start to panic.

Greg grabbed his travel bag and threw it on the floor. He struggled with the zipper, which resisted his hurried efforts. Finally it was open. The bag was largely empty: It contained a couple of pairs of clothes, two cheesy fantasy novels, and a bag of trail mix. "Quick, in here." Greg started to grab handfuls of tiles and stuff them in.

As Greg grabs another handful, a large passenger running through the aisle trips on the bag, dumping clothes, tiles, and nuts everywhere. He collapses on Greg, slamming his head into the armrest as he falls. "Mother Fu- Get off me!" Greg yells. He struggles under the weight of the collapsed passenger, and it becomes apparent that he lacks the strength to shrug the large man off by himself.

"Jeeze, you didn't have to hurt him." Greg braced himself against the chair as he struggled to his feet. He walked past Dran to check on the fallen passenger. "He is out cold. This could be a problem."

Scanning the terminal, it was evident that everyone had left by now. The few still in earshot were running as fast as they could, and looked like they would be little help. As Dran threw the last of the tiles in the bag, Greg commented, "This could be a problem. We need to get out of here fast, and I don't know if we can lift this guy. Do you know the fireman's carry?"

"Don't be stupid. You won't make it out like that." Greg slung his bag over his shoulder and walked over to Dran. "Put your arms out like this."

Greg stuck his right arm out straight out, and made a fist. He made a right angle with his left arm, firmly gripping his right at the elbow. "You do the same thing, then we grab each other's arms. Forms a chair. Then we drape his arms behind our neck, distributes the weight evenly." Greg glanced outside, and saw smoke billowing against the glass. "Put him on the chair, we can pick him up when we have the carry worked out."