Ring.
Maybe I dreamed it, Grant thought.
Ring.
Maybe I'm still-
``Hello?''
The most interesting thing, he slowly decided as his conscious
mind swam up from its previous state of sleep, about the person
who had answered his phone was that it was not, in fact, him.
``No, this is the right number.''
He peeked an eye open to see Rosetta sitting up, holding his
cellphone and looking bemused.
``Okay, I'll tell him.''
He blinked, slowly from the surrounding evidence putting together
what must have occurred. There was Rosetta, for one, naked,
sitting up in his bed and chatting with some unknown person.
There was him, also naked, waking up. From this he could only
conclude they had spent the night together in a very adult way
indeed. He had the memories to back this up, of course, but part
of his mind kept rejecting them. He literally could not believe
that he should be so lucky. Not just the night of intimacy, that
was merely the latest thing to not make any sense, but the entire
fact that Rose, his Rose, the love of his life who had, he
thought, vanished forever when they'd split for their separate
colleges long ago, was with him now.
It was then that he gave into the idea of the Machine totally. He
didn't care anymore. If it had brought her back to him, he didn't
care about anything else.
Rosetta hung up the phone. ``Somebody who would only identify
himself by the initials of P.B. says he has what you asked him
for. He sounded a little paranoid to me.'' she smiled. ``If I
didn't know you worked at a newspaper, I'd be pretty sure you
were buying drugs.''
``Maybe I am.'' he said, his voice a little muffled. ``It's a
great idea after all, I could pass it off as undercover work. And
afterwards, I can do a story about detox centers.''
She reached over and smacked his butt swiftly.
``Ow!'' He said. ``What was that for?''
``I'd been wanting to do that for a while now.'' she confessed. ``
And you gave me an excuse.''
He sat up to prevent such things from happening again when he
wasn't prepared. ``Morning.'' was his only reply.
``Good morning!'' she said cheerily. ``And if you thought I was
being mean just then, keep in mind that I initially felt the urge
to act like you'd gotten me drunk or tricked me into this.'' She
nodded soberly, smiling. ``But really, this kind of thing is
behavior I want to encourage. So I'll settle for the occasional
ass-smacking.''
``That's very generous of you.'' he allowed.
``I thought so.'' She laid back down leisurely atop the covers,
and Grant found himself momentarily speechless as he appreciated
this. ``I'm a giving sort of person.''
He made a noise of vague agreement.
``I suppose it ties in with the whole recycling thing.'' she
continued talking as though oblivious to his attention. ``I like
making things better, you know?''
``Yes.'' He was proud of his coherency.
``Though right now I'm just kinda lying here showing off, just
seeing how long you'll let me talk before-''
The answer, as it turned out, was 'not very'.
Some time later, as they were resting in each other's arms, it
occurred to him that it was, in fact, a weekday morning. Not an
early weekday morning, either, as they'd taken their time. In his
current state of mind, he couldn't get too worried about it. He
normally worked late anyway, and he'd once gone an entire week
without contacting the home office to let them know what he was
working on. Granted, for at least part of that time he'd been out
of the state, but still. Rosetta was self-employed, and so
unlikely to berate herself for her tardiness. He could probably
get away with lingering for a bit.
She rolled over, adding ``You're up to 64.''
He glanced over to see that she'd turned on his cellphone. ``It's
mostly hate mail.'' he warned her.
``I guessed that part.'' She made a face that was half a frown
and half wry amusement. ``Apparently someone's decided to put
every swear word he knows into a text message and send it to you
repeatedly.''
``His dime.'' Grant replied uncaringly. Since - at least on his
plan - receiving a text message was free but sending them cost
money, he was guessing he'd get another angry message from the
sender when the man's phone bill came due. He was in far too good
a mood for this to bother him.
``You've got to have at least 20 megabytes of swear words here.''
she said, impressed. ``I don't think any negative publicity I've
ever seen has generated that much.''
He would have turned over had he not remembered the reaction he'd
received the last time he'd done so. ``Only 20 Meg?'' he replied,
trying to sound somewhat disappointed. ``The paper's had much
worse than that. Lawsuits, for one.''
She shrugged. ``The papers are all legalese, hardly any swear
words in those.''
``I'm assuming this is the standard to which you hold all
writing?''
``Of course!'' she said. ``Also how I judge movies.''
``You should work for the paper. The reviews section would be a
lot livelier.''
``Unprintable, though.''
``Maybe the online version of the paper.''
``You know-'' she said, and now she'd turned to face him. ``
that's something I need to confess. I've been a Gazette
subscriber since I got back to this city.''
He shrugged. ``That's not a bad thing, you know. It'd be a more
dramatic confession if you'd subscribed to a competitor.''
``That's not what I'm confessing! No, I feel bad because all this
time, you were writing for that paper! And I never even glanced
at the bylines.''
He laughed. ``I'll be honest, the only reason I look at them is
to know which of my co-workers got the scoop. Other papers I
don't even bother.''
``That's a relief. Oooh, you're at 65!'' she said, glancing at
the phone.
``It didn't ring.''
``Oh, I turned all that off earlier this morning... for some
reason.''
``Oh yes, that.''
There was a pause while they both considered this and came to the
reluctant conclusion that they were a bit too tired to justify
the phone continuing to be shut off. With a wistful sigh, Rose
handed it to Grant, who looked through the call logs and spent
some time deleting extra swear words.
The calls that mattered: Patrick, Morgan (who, Grant suspected,
was a proxy for Anders), VonCannon, and a message Rose had
apparently typed out and saved to the phone while he hadn't paid
attention. It was very sweet. He picked up the phone and called
the paper.
``Gazette front desk, Morgan speaking.'' While Grant had been
waiting for the secretary to pick up, Rose was already out of bed
and getting dressed. It was a final reminder that the work day
was actually going to begin now.
``Hey Morgan, this is Grant. Did Anders have you call me?''
``I'm afraid not.'' Morgan was businesslike as usual. ``You
received a package from a source who did not want to identify
himself. I thought it prudent to contact you and see if you were
expecting such a thing. I can contact the bomb squad if you were
not.''
Grant thought. ``A contact of mine said he had something I'd been
waiting for. Is it about CD sized?''
There was a pause in which Grant knew Morgan was mentally coming
up with a reference for CD sizes and comparing his mystery
package to it. ``Yes.'' came the final response.
``That would be it, then.'' Then, after thinking about it. ``
Please don't call the bomb squad.''
``I'll set it aside for you.'' and with that, the connection was
gone.
Rosetta was fully dressed at this point, and looking at him
impatiently. ``Unless you plan to drive naked - and you can, I
actually think that'd be kinda funny - you should probably get
dressed. You are my ride, after all.''
Grant took a few moments to wonder if that was a double entendre
of some sort, then came to the conclusion that, no, the work day
had indeed finally begun.
Dressing didn't take long, and he smiled again when Rose took his
arm in hers as he walked out of the house and to his car. They
didn't speak much during the ride but he couldn't help but feel
it was a happy silence, the sort you have when you've made
yourself too exhausted to speak. Judging from the faint grin
still on Rosetta's face, she felt the same way.
He dropped her off at her workplace with a ``I'll see you later,
I'm hoping?''
``You'd damn well better!'' she said, poking him in the chest as
she had before. It'd only been a week ago, he thought
lightheadedly. The week before last he'd been simply doing his
job, interviewing teacup owners, completely unaware that the
woman of his dreams was, in fact, almost literally down the
block.
With that, he reluctantly drove away from her and into work.
It didn't take him long - his radio informed him that it was
11:15am, which made it a little too early for the lunch rush to
begin in earnest. It wasn't the latest he'd ever come in, he
reflected. Not by far.
Morgan looked up as he entered the building.
``Ah, Mr. Wynn, I have your package.'' he stated simply, handing
over a CD wrapped in newspaper. Grant felt mixed feelings upon
discovering it was a copy of the Gazette. He carried it back to
his desk.
His work area was a largely open one - he had a desk across from
Stephen, but no cubicle walls and definitely nothing so upscale
as an office. Thus, when he was spotted entering the room, he was
greeted with enthusiastic applause that quickly engulfed the
entire floor.
Anders was beside him. ``There, see? Wasn't that story a lot more
worthwhile than 'Outage Annoys People'. See what happens if
you're patient rather than rushing in?''
``You did not give me the Caster story knowing that it would lead
to this.'' Grant pointed out. Anders liked to act as though he
were all-knowing.
``Didn't I, though?'' the editor replied. ``Didn't I?''
Anders was replaced with Blake William, who seemed to be
shouldering all the stress that Anders should have been feeling. ``
I talked to our lawyers.'' he said to Grant without preamble. ``
They're willing to back you up on this should you prove unwilling
to reveal your sources. Vervicom has already filed a lawsuit and
will no doubt attempt to issue a subpoena against them.''
``That's... good news?'' he replied.
``Good news that you have the legal team's backing, but I assure
you had they proved intransigent I would have insisted upon it.
This newspaper, despite what some critics may think of it, is an
institution of journalism and as such, we do not reveal our
sources.'' Grant got the impression that Blake had said that
particular phrase a number of times already. ``The lawsuit from
Vervicom is not good news. Technically in the right though we may
be, they have the money and power to drag on the process and
bleed us dry.''
``I see.'' Grant said, not seeing.
``I'll keep you apprised.'' Blake's apparent function was to run
the paper and spread bad news that the recipients could do
nothing about. It having been fulfilled, he quickly moved off to
put out another fire.
After a number of other congratulations from co-workers he knew
and a number that he didn't, he finally managed to get to his
desk. There was even a note on it from Sara in Classifieds,
telling him that for scoops like his, she didn't mind working
late. It was the highest possible praise.
Finally, it was just him and the CD. At least, he was hoping it
was Patrick's CD. He tried to convince himself that at worst it'd
be a recording of swear words, rather unsuccessfully. He kept
remembering Morgan calmly offering to call the bomb disposal
squad. Grant made a note to himself to talk to Anders or Blake
about bringing Morgan on full time. He was, by far, the best of
the bunch - and they'd seen more than enough of the bunch to
know.
Making up his mind, he ripped the paper wrapping off to reveal
that it was, indeed, a mere Compact Disc. Somewhat relieved, he
was about to put it in his computer when he realized what was
probably on it. He'd had Patrick get him a copy of a computer
virus, one which if the crazed professor was right was
manipulating events for its own benefit. It'd probably be best
not to infect the Gazette with it.
He reached around to the back of the machine and unplugged its
network cable. There. The paper could stand to lose one machine.
He put the CD in, and opened the file labeled 'README'.
Grant,
Here's the data you requested. It was surprisingly easy to find!
If I didn't know my habit of anthropomorphizing things as well as
I do, I'd say it almost wanted to be found. There should only be
two files on this disc, this one (named README.txt) and the virus
(636F696E6369.bin). If you see more, something's gone wrong, and
I recommend you burn this CD in a literal sense, and probably the
computer it touched.
The virus itself should be harmless as long as you don't try to
do something crazy like run it or open it in anything. Still, if
you notice anything weird going on (processes running on your
computer that weren't before, something popping up on its own
when you put this CD in, etc) then follow the aforementioned
protocol. Try to keep your computer off the network.
Hope this gets you the answers you need.
--
P.B.
Grant tentatively breathed a sigh of relief. None of the things
Patrick had mentioned had yet taken place, though he'd probably
keep his computer off the network to be sure. He ejected the CD
and put it back in its jewel case. Now, he thought, he needed to
get it to VonCannon.
He thought about this for a few moments. He was of two minds
regarding this - he'd managed to get a copy of the virus he'd
been seeking forever. This was evidence, and this was a follow-up
story. Part of him wanted to treat it exactly like that, forget
the crazy old man and go on building his career now that his luck
appeared to finally be turning around. Another part of him kept
remembering what VonCannon had said upon his departure. If Grant
didn't settle this now, every time he saw a coincidence, even if
that's exactly what it was, he'd wonder. He'd never be able to go
about his life in peace.
Sighing, he got back up from his desk, carrying the disk with
him. On his way out, he managed to corner Anders.
``Hey boss,'' the reporter said. ``I took my computer off the
network. Probably a good idea to keep it off.''
Anders shrugged. ``And if someone needs to use the internet at
that desk?''
Grant knew his editor didn't actually care about the answer, but
gave one anyway. ``Then they'll get a far more close-up view of
the Vervicom Virus than they'd like.''
His boss seemed genuinely impressed, which was a rarity. ``You
have a copy?''
Grant held up the CD.
``And you've infected our computers?'' that voice was more usual
of the editor.
Grant shrugged in reply. ``Probably not, but we shouldn't take
chances.'' He rounded the corner and headed out before Anders
could give him one of his trademark lectures.
He felt absurdly good as he drove downtown. He probably shouldn't
- he was on his way to see Malachai, and each time he'd gone to
that warehouse he'd left thankful to have survived the encounter.
He may have infected his entire office with a difficult to find
and impossible to isolate virus. His boss was probably sharpening
up the words of a beratement at this very moment. And yet,
Rosetta loved him. That thought alone was enough to banish the
foreboding that wanted to come forward. He was practically
humming as he drove.
That good mood lasted even to the warehouse itself, a testament
to how strong it was. The foreboding interior of the building -
most of the pools of light had been extinguished since the last
time he'd been here - dampened it somewhat.
VonCannon had opened the door and, after looking around quickly
to ensure that Grant hadn't been followed, allowed the reporter
inside. Now they were standing at the professor's workstation as
the CD was loaded on a spare computer dedicated to just this
task.
Malachai threw a switch that turned on a heretofore unactivated
circuit. Floodlamps like those which illuminated his desk came on
all over the warehouse, all focused on one object not that far
from where they were standing. Grant had never been able to make
it out most of its features in the gloom.
``It occurs to me,'' VonCannon said without looking away from his
monitor, ``That you hadn't actually seen the time machine.''
``I thought that was the furnace for the building.'' he said
honestly.
That got the professor's attention. He looked blankly at Grant
and then toward the Machine. ``Hmph. There is a resemblance, I
suppose. Still, I'm not sure what you were expecting. Lots of
clocks, or something? Actual time machines don't work that way.''
VonCannon turned his attention back to the monitor, having
actually spoken the words ``actual time machines'' with a
straight face.
Still, Grant allowed, if he was willing to accept the idea of
insane machines from the future controlling his destiny, Time
Travel was a necessary part.
Malachai turned around and frowned, apparently irritated to find
that Grant was still there. ``Well? If all you're going to do is
question the quality of my creations, then you can get going.''
He stared angrily at the reporter. ``This isn't going to be
decrypted instantly, you know.''
``Sorry.'' Grant managed. The good thing about VonCannon's random
sporadic anger was that it was vanished a moment later; the
professor was already back at the sacrificial computer, looking
over the virus. Grant took ``you can get going'' as his cue to
leave.
It was somewhat sad, he thought as he closed the main door behind
him, that this had been his least upsetting visit to the man yet.
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