There was a tap on his shoulder.
Grant turned to see the figure of Anders looming behind him. ``
What's up, boss?''
The fact that Anders had tapped his shoulder instead of simply
yelling his name across the room should have been the first clue
that something was wrong, but Grant had been so busy sorting the
various communications he'd received that he hadn't really been
paying attention. Since his visit with VonCannon the day before,
he'd managed to get his backlog down to a mere dozen missed
calls, but the e-mail would take quite a bit more sorting and he
still needed to follow up with the people who'd called him with
more leads. No story he'd ever written had been this hot.
Anders' voice was completely serious as the editor stated, ``
Legal needs to have a word with you.'' the man liked to pretend
he was serious when he gave one of his trademark lectures, but
there was always a tone in his voice, a certain way of speaking,
that let Grant and other clued-in employees know they weren't
actually in trouble. Now that tone was missing.
``What about?'' the reporter managed in response.
``I don't know, but I don't imagine it's good. Give Blake the
heads-up if you can find him.''
``Thanks.'' Grant managed, getting out of his desk. Anders had
already departed in a somewhat awkward silence. This continued to
bode poorly for him. What could Legal possibly want? Blake had
already came by to say he had their blessing as far as protecting
sources went. He made his way to the elevator and endured a
seemingly interminable wait until they opened on the top floor.
Anders' office was here, for all the time the man spent in it.
Blake's was as well, but it was uncharacteristically empty at the
moment. Other managers, the owners - the people who basically ran
the paper made their offices here on the top floor. And, of
course, the department which sheltered the rest of them from
libel lawsuits and worse, Legal.
The door was opened and a woman who wore a seemingly permanent
look of annoyance stood outside it. ``Mr. Wynn?'' she asked as he
approached.
``Yes, Anders told me to-''
``Come in please Mr. Wynn.'' this wasn't spoken unkindly - in
fact, it would be accurate to say that the statement had carried
no emotion at all. It was simply a formality, of course, Grant
didn't really have much of a choice.
He brushed past her and she closed the door. ``On your left,
please.''
The sign on the door proclaimed this to be the office of ``
Loretta Giles, Gazette Legal Head''. Grant frowned. It was bad
enough, he thought to himself, that he was getting called in by
the legal department; he didn't especially look forward to being
called in by the head of said legal team.
Loretta opened the door and ushered him inside uncaringly. As
soon as he had sat down she took her own seat at her desk across
from him.
``I assume you know why you are here.'' she said, already having
opened a folder and looking through it rather than looking at
him. He was reminded powerfully of having been called to the
Principal's office as a youth.
``My source at Vervicom.'' he replied. ``Blake informed me
yesterday that-''
``You are mistaken.'' she looked up from the folder then, gazing
over him critically but dispassionately, as though to judge
whether he was intelligent enough to understand what she was
about to tell him. ``This involves your source only indirectly.''
with this, she passed the folder over to him. ``We were served
with these papers today.''
He looked down at the papers even though he knew he was unlikely
to understand them. He got as far as ``Notice to Cease and Desist''
before they were taken back.
``I don't expect you to read through them.'' she said, raising
the question of why she'd passed the folder to him to begin with.
``Simply to understand this is not what we expected. Their cease
and desist order is based, they claim, on our having proprietary
technology from Vervicom.''
``I'm not sure I understand.'' Grant confessed, despite the look
he knew he'd see on Loretta's face indicating complete lack of
surprise. ``I wrote that story based on an interview I had with a
person, I'm not sure why Vervicom thinks I got it from one of
their computers.''
``I'll summarize for you.'' the lawyer replied in a tone Grant
suspected meant she was dumbing it down. ``Vervicom's legal team
suspects that you have a copy of this virus, despite their public
relations claim that no such thing exists. They also believe that
your 'source' is entirely a fiction to cover up for this fact.''
she paused. ``I'm sure I do not have to tell you that listening
to whistleblowers is one thing, and industrial espionage quite
another?''
``I spoke to an actual human being, in person and over the phone.''
he replied.
``Do you have a copy of the virus?'' Loretta said, apparently
ignoring his statement.
``No.'' he said, matter-of-factly.
She sighed. ``I should have phrased myself more exactly. Do you
now or have you ever possessed a copy - or the original - of any
proprietary information from Vervicom?'' Her tone indicated that
while she was used to being this formal in court or while writing
documents, she did not appreciate having to do so in client
interviews.
``Yes.''
Loretta immediately wrote something down. ``How did you obtain
this virus.'' Her questions were more like statements.
``Through my source.''
He thought he saw her relax, almost imperceptibly. ``And did this
exchange take place before or after you wrote your story?''
``After.'' There was a definite relaxation of posture at this
point.
She sat back up, exhaled heavily. ``Mr. Wynn, I apologize if I
seem overly dispassionate or rude about this. It is my job to
keep this paper out of legal trouble and, to be perfectly blunt,
when you skirt the rules as closely as you have in this instance
it makes my job far more difficult. However, the fact that you
did not get the information yourself, do not now have said
proprietary information, and did not use it for the basis of your
story as Vervicom alleges will lend weight to our side.''
He was especially glad she didn't seem interested in how he'd
disposed of the CD. He didn't look forward to having to explain
to her how he gave it to a third party for what could only be
described, even in the best possible light, as utterly insane
reasons.
``You may go now, Mr. Wynn. I may need to recall you later should
we receive more complaints of this nature.'' her tone indicated
she did not want this to happen and it was up to him to prevent
it. He got up and opened his mouth to apologize only to see that
she'd already turned her attention to her computer and was now
ignoring him completely. Fair enough, he decided as he left. If
someone went around as he was trying to get interviews and got in
his way, he'd probably be far less polite than Ms. Giles had
been.
Blake was back in his office when Grant went by. The man worked
insane hours and seemed to constantly be doing something; in this
instance he was typing at his computer at a furious pace. Grant
paused to say something and then reconsidered, but before he
could continue down the hall, his boss spoke up.
``Something I can help you with, Grant?''
``Just got back from Legal.'' he managed.
``Ah.'' that got the man off his computer. ``This the whole
'handling of proprietary information' thing?''
``Yeah. She seemed to think I'm a hacker, and made up my source
to boot.''
He shrugged. ``I know you went out there and talked to people,
but it's her job to look for the loose parts of everything so
that it can't be used against us.''
``Lawyers.'' Grant said. It seemed appropriate.
``I know she seems stand-offish, but she's actually a nice enough
person.'' his boss said. ``She's in my reading group.''
``I'll make sure I don't say anything offensive about her in
earshot, then.'' Grant replied wryly.
``That's the most I think I could ask for.'' Blake replied,
turning back to his computer.
Grant smiled. If Blake could try to reassure him about the
lawyer's good disposition, then things were probably all right.
He headed back down the hallway.
``Did you actually put a virus on my computer?!'' Anders had just
stepped off the elevator that Grant was hoping to get on.
``Can I catch a break here?'' Grant pleaded with mock sincerity. ``
I did just get chewed out by Legal.''
Anders waved dismissively. ``Loretta's a teddy bear,'' he said,
choosing the least accurate metaphor possible, ``The real people
you're going to have to answer to is the technical support
department.''
``I took the computer off the network,'' he reminded his boss. ``
That has to be worth something.''
``I suspect,'' Anders said, ``That's about the only thing
preventing them from forming a mob - complete with pitchforks and
torches - and tearing you limb from limb. And if you hadn't done
that, I'd be right there with them.''
``Gotcha.'' Grant replied. ``Try to mitigate my own stupidity
from now on. Understood.''
``Go home, Grant.'' Anders said simply.
Normally, Anders' lectures and attempts to get under the skin of
his subordinates had no effect on Grant, but for some reason this
last statement got to him. ``Am I fired or something?'' he said
suddenly. ``Because you keep sending me out of here before I can
do any work, so I can't help but think you don't need me around
here anymore.''
Anders laughed. ``You wrote the front-page blockbuster, Grant,
I'm not firing you. I'm telling you to go home because there's
nothing you can do here today. The tech support guys took your
computer away for disassembly, and they don't want you logging
into your account until they can go over it.''
``Oh, is that it?'' he was absurdly relieved. ``I should wreck
the machinery more often.''
``Next one's coming out of your paycheck.''
``Deal.'' Grant said. This time when the elevator opened, he was
on it.
He turned his cellphone on when he left the building to see that
a few more messages were awaiting him. Fortunately, they were
unlikely to be death threats: Rose and VonCannon had called him.
He knew he should save the best for later and get the
unpleasantness of speaking to the insane professor out of the way
first, but he really didn't feel like waiting to talk to Rosetta.
He dialed her number.
``Sandys Hardware Recycling.''
``Hey there Rose,'' he said simply. ``I get another day off
because of my gross incompetence.''
He heard her laugh. ``Really? Break something?''
``I may have infected my computer.''
``If they're going to give you paid vacation, you should wreck
their machinery more often.'' she said. He frowned as he heard
his own thoughts echoed. Coincidence, he wondered, or was
something else going on? He mentally cursed VonCannon for
planting the idea in his mind. He should have called the doctor
first.
``How would you like to spend our day?'' he managed.
``Sorry to add to your disappointment,'' she said, some sympathy
in her voice - she'd apparently heard his strain. ``But I really
can't join you until after work. I've been a bit lenient lately
with my schedule and we're really starting to get backlogged.''
``Ah,'' he said, ``that's probably my fault.''
``Yes, it is.'' she said. ``But that's okay, it was worth it.''
her voice was smiling and he knew he was doing the same thing.
Talking to her had that effect on him.
``Is that a date?'' he asked.
``It better be!'' she replied. ``You're not just going to get me
in the sack once and forget about me!''
``Fair enough. I'll stop by at six?''
``Make it 6:30'' she said. ``I'm seriously swamped. I'm writing
up an agreement here to share some of the things that come in
with a third party. He's not a company or anything, but
apparently he's got some really esoteric uses for electronics,
and others he simply can't use at all and are lying around his
warehouse doing nobody any good, so I figure it's win-win. Really
strange how I met the guy, too, I'll tell you about it at dinner.''
He hesitated in his reply. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask the
question that came to mind, but he found himself doing so. ``
Who's this?''
He heard her sigh exasperatedly. ``Not willing to wait, huh? So
typical.'' her voice was teasing. ``Okay, fine. Remember the day
after I gave you my card, and you - you know - didn't stop by?''
``I seem to recall taking you out to dinner to make it up to you.''
he admitted, still suspecting he knew where this was going.
``Well I might owe you a dinner, then'' she admitted. ``Turns out
everyone's GPS was messed up that day. They dropped off their
recycling at some old professor's warehouse. He came to me, said
he could use some of the parts, and gave me a laundry list of
other parts he was looking for.''
``VonCannon?'' Grant asked, knowing the answer already.
``That's the name! You probably met him the day the GPS messed
up. Anyway,'' she continued, unaware of how this additional layer
of happenstance had hit him, ``now there's to be a more formal
agreement, contracts and everything, because he's got a bunch of
stuff he doesn't use and I've got a bunch of stuff he could.''
``I've got to make a few calls.'' Grant managed.
``Okay, it wasn't the most fascinating of stories,'' Rosetta
allowed, ``But you did ask.''
``That I did.''
``I'll let you go,'' she said, again sensing his stress. ``Talk
to you later tonight?''
``You bet.'' that he said in a bit more upbeat tone. The idea of
seeing her did cheer him up.
``Okay, see ya then.'' she hung up.
He was at his car now. Part of him wanted to just go home. Hell,
most of him wanted to go home. The sane parts of his mind were
practically screaming at him to drive back to his house, go into
the bedroom, and hide in his bed until things made sense again.
He sighed. It wasn't an option. He dialed VonCannon.
``I realize you are a busy man,'' the man said immediately upon
picking up with no preamble whatsoever. ``But I would appreciate
if you would respond to your calls in a more timely manner.''
Grant didn't bother asking how the professor knew it'd been him.
No doubt the madman had constructed an elaborate reality-breaking
device that deduced a source phone number from the gravitational
disturbance of the electrons such a call induced, perhaps
especially if such a device made no sense. ``Sorry, my legal
department is giving me a hard time about my handling of
proprietary information.'' he said bluntly.
If VonCannon took the hint, he didn't react to it at all. ``I
need you to come to my warehouse immediately, Mr. Wynn. I have
something of vital importance to show you.''
``It can't be described over the phone?'' he tried lamely.
``What am I telling you now!?'' Malachai seemed to get more
unstable every time Grant heard from him. ``The telephone is not
a secure method of communication, and that goes doubly for
cellular phones - I would expect a man in your position to know
that. The future is listening, Mr. Wynn, and if it does not like
what it hears, it could change your future for the worse! Now get
down to my warehouse!''
The line went dead and Grant took a few moments to simply stare
at the phone. He didn't know what was worse, that the old man
believed the future was eavesdropping on their phone calls, or
that such a thing might actually be possible.
Reluctantly, he got in his car and started down the now-familiar
route to VonCannon's warehouse. He tried to keep his thoughts on
his date with Rosetta later that date, but his attention was
repeatedly distracted by the equally familiar dread he had at
dealing with the professor.
The ride didn't take nearly long enough. He stopped in the
warehouse parking lot and saw the only other car he ever saw
there, the one he assumed belonged to VonCannon even though the
man had on at least than one occasion referred to taking the bus.
Sighing, he left the car, made his way to the warehouse, and
opened the door.
He didn't think he'd ever seen it this bright. Malachai had
apparently turned on every light in the place. The man scurried
from the door where he'd met Grant - after hurriedly verifying
his identity by staring expectantly at him - back to his
workstation.
``I can't be too careful.'' VonCannon said. ``I know they've got
the phone systems, I can show you.'' he gestured hurriedly at
Grant, who was apparently walking too slow despite the latter's
desire to get there quickly so he wouldn't run into any
unexpected Machines.
``What's this?'' the reporter managed, looking at the screen
VonCannon had been working on the other day. Digits on it
proclaimed:
457f 464c 0101 0001 0000 0000 0000 0000 .ELF??.?........
0002 0003 0001 0000 8c00 0804 0304 0000 ?.?.?....?????..
6854 2065 6143 656b 6920 2073 2061 694c The Cake is a li
``It's... some kind of recipe?''
``Don't be absurd.'' VonCannon replied testily. ``That cake thing
is probably just data used elsewhere in the program. No, the
important part is the first for characters.''
``Ah, the elf. Of course, I should have known the elves were
behind this.''
VonCannon nearly exploded. ``Your life is at stake! I'd mention
that mine is too, if I thought you cared about that. Will you
please pay attention!''
``Sorry.'' he managed. The ex-professor seemed unable to see the
utter insanity of the situation. Perhaps he was too close to it,
Grant thought ruefully.
``Hmph.'' was the grudging reply. ``As I was about to point out,
those first four characters mark it as an executable sequence on
some operating systems. Here is the interesting part!'' he
scrolled down. ``I have found characters elsewhere in the data
that indicate this same information to other operating systems.
In fact, I have found markers for every operating system!''
``That's interesting,'' Grant said, more out of politeness than
any understanding of what had just been pointed out to him.
``Do you know how many operating systems exist?'' VonCannon asked
skeptically.
Grant shrugged. ``Macs... Windows... Vervicom's got their own,
there's Linux too, that's what, four?''
``Hundreds!'' Malachai interjected loudly. ``Perhaps thousands! I
have seen startup codes in this virus for every single one! What
does that tell you?''
``It can run anywhere.'' Grant replied simply. Straightforward
answers seemed to be the correct approach.
``Exactly!'' The exasperation the professor had been exuding
before was beginning to be replaced with the manic attitude of
the car ride. ``I have yet to isolate much of its code for this
very reason, it is incredibly convoluted - self modifying,
naturally. But what parts I have managed to find are chilling, to
say the least. There is code in here to recognize and record
signals made by the phone service.''
``So that's why I had to come down here.''
``It was no simple paranoia!''[(0x1E40) The part of code in question does, in fact, serve to increase exactly this paranoia.]
VonCannon declared triumphantly. ``We are being listened to!''
Grant sighed inwardly but was careful not to let it show.
Instead, he asked the question that'd been on his mind this whole
time. ``Is it over, then? Have you looked at it enough to know
whether it's done its part, and I can go back to living my life?''
VonCannon laughed harshly. ``Yes, it would be nice to live our
own lives again, wouldn't it? Take solace from the fact that
you're not destined to build the damn thing.'' He paused, still
looking over the code. ``To answer your question, no, I have no
idea whether it is over. In fact, I am beginning to worry that
the virus has spread beyond Vervicom.''
Grant wanted to walk out right then, and leave all this behind
him before the doctor could plant more seeds of doubt in his
mind. It was too late, though. He pressed on. ``What to you mean?''
``I'm talking about the late Dr. Caster's work.'' VonCannon said.
``From his message, I am almost certain he replicated my work
with the Immobile machine. If he did, he did so from those
blueprints he discovered long ago, and those blueprints were
almost certainly left by that virus. The machine may be carrying
the code. I need it.''
``The code?'' the reporter asked uncertainly. Hadn't he just done
that?
``The machine!'' Malachai replied. ``I need to examine it to see
how it differs from the actual device. There will be vital clues
as to why my colleague met his end. I was not meant to speak to
him, and I suspect I was not meant to have his machine.''
``If you're not supposed to have it, won't something stop you
from -''
``That is why I'm asking you!'' VonCannon snapped. ``If you have
the machine, you can get it to me. Whatever your purpose is, it
appears to be necessary, because you've been kept alive this far,
haven't you? Me, I may be expendable.''
``I thought you were destined to build it.''
``Doctor Caster no doubt thought the same thing.'' Malachai's
voice was grave. ``Bring me the machine. Doctor Caster's personal
computer would also be of great value, I must know how far he got
in replicating my work.''
``What about the virus?'' Grant asked, gesturing to the monitor
and its inscrutable output. ``I'm helping you out because you
said you could tell if all this had ended.''
VonCannon rolled his eyes. ``Of course I will be analyzing the
virus. I am as eager for answers as you. That is why I am sending
you to do these things. We must have all the information
available to us that we possibly can!'' he proclaimed. ``There
are designs being set against us by foes we cannot see and cannot
even fathom.''
What the hell, Grant thought finally. I've got the day off. I'll
humor the man. ``Fine. I'll get your machine.''
``Good.'' VonCannon replied, having already turned back to his
work. ``I assume you can show yourself out.''
He was right. Grant did so, and quickly.
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