Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I Win.
50,756 words.
I thought jetlag would do me in. There was a week where I hardly wrote at all. I thought the end was near, and then somehow I wrote a heroic 3,700 words over the course of a weekend. That was my rallying point.
In a few moments I'll do the table of contents. Then I'm off to sing Queen's "We are the Champions" in a karaoke bar. I've earned it :)
Day 28 (Epilogue)
SUMMARY OF RUN 16383 (0x3FFF )
Features of all previous runs are preserved in 0x3FFF: VonCannon
is kept out of Academia, which in the original timeline only
slowed the creation of the Coincidence Machine. Caster is kept
away from him, as his influence causes only delays in accordance
with VonCannon's own theories. Rosetta is ensured a higher
education at an institution prestigious enough for her to acquire
any job of her preference, but is tethered to the salient
geographical region in the same step. Though initially intended
for VonCannon, she finds her way to Grant instead, which was a
boon. In no previous run has VonCannon completed the Machine in
his lifetime; his belief that he is its inventor is entirely
false. Run 16383 concludes with the emergence of the earliest
creation of the Machine yet - a full 121years before the original
timeline. The inventor emerged as an unlikely offspring of two
actors deemed unimportant in early runs. That they should produce
such an important figure is a testament to the importance of the
'run' system and a reinforcement that brute-force prediction
cannot possibly capture all outcomes.
Epilogue
``Be sure to check the boiler room, okay?'' Rosetta asked.
Mal rolled his eyes. ``Fine!''
Malachai Patrick Wynn - ``Mal'' to his friends - had returned
from college an entire 12 hours at this point, and already his
parents had put him to work. He looked around the now nearly
empty plant wistfully, he'd practically grown up here.
Of course, Sandys Recycling was a statewide institution at this
point. A grant from his namesake had ensured that; Mal was fuzzy
on the details but apparently the original Malachai had a
statement in his will that had put the land this plant had been
built on in charge of one Rosetta Sandys and one Grant Wynn. His
parents hadn't even married at that point yet, but that
apparently hadn't stopped him.
Now, over two decades later, Sandys Recycling had grown too large
even for this larger premises to hold them. He'd been pressed
into work helping them clean out any old computers they'd missed
in preparation for the Big Move. So far, the movers had been
diligent, but they hadn't checked the boiler room.
That's what it was called, but in his teenage years when his
lifelong interest with machinery had really taken off he'd gone
in there and not found the furnace in that room hooked up to
anything. It was clearly active, making all the noises one would
assume a furnace would make, but he couldn't even see that it was
plugged in. When he'd asked, he'd gotten an uncomfortable
explanation that it was inherited from ``Crazy Uncle VonCannon'',
who in Mal's mind was a mad scientist of the highest caliber. His
parents didn't talk about Uncle Mal much, but he enjoyed hearing
about his namesake whenever he could. Grant in particular liked
to relate the story of the strange Immobile Machine which was
only visible in your memory. Mal himself had never seen it;
apparently it had been donated to the university shortly after
his birth.
The younger Wynn wound through the back rooms of the warehouse,
familiar with each one. He reached the one labeled simply ``
Boiler Room'' and opened it.
It was as he had remembered it as a child. The furnace was as
charred and, surprisingly, as big as it had ever been. It
continued to make noise as though it was in use, despite the fact
that the heat had long since been turned off in preparation for
the move.
His mother's instinct had been right; there were a half dozen
computers, all having been burnt to a greater or lesser degree.
One looked as though it had either exploded or melted, possibly
both.
And one, the one second-closest to the furnace, had a monitor and
was still plugged in.
Why not? he thought with a shrug, and turned it on. Some incident
in the company's past had led to a policy of not backing up the
hard drives that clients brought in to be destroyed, and while
he'd always been tempted to look he'd never worked up the
courage.
These, though, were clearly salvage. They were fair game.
The computer had finished booting up. He slowly navigated the
obsolete interface, looking through files. The computer had
apparently belonged to a Dr. James Caster, and this doctor had
some strange inventions indeed.
Mal pulled one up; schematics for something Caster had built,
entitled ``The Disappointment Machine.''
He laughed silently to himself. Why would you even need
schematics for such a thing? he thought in a sudden insight.
After all...
You couldn't fail to build a Disappointment Machine.
THE END
(begin run 16384)
Previous
Days 27-28 (Coincidence)
14 Coincidence
``The Machine's not perfect.''
``You don't say.'' Grant said, annoyed.
He looked over the bed (his bed - the cot had been suitable for
only a very short time, after which they'd gone to his house) at
where Rosetta was still sleeping. If he hadn't woken up early and
been unable to get back to sleep, it'd probably have been her
talking on the phone to VonCannon. That was a conversation he
could do without hearing.
The professor was, as usual, completely oblivious to the
situation. ``I mean, think about it. It was made by me and while
I am indeed a gifted inventor, I am by no means perfect. There
must be flaws in the machine.''
``Good to know.'' Grant yawned, trying to muffle it from the
phone.
``It can figure out a great many things, you see. It can predict
some of the outcomes of its actions, but not all of them. How
would you get around something like that?''
``I don't know.'' Damn the man for not taking a hint!
``Iteration!'' VonCannon said the word triumphantly, as though it
held any meaning to the reporter. ``You don't change everything
at once; instead, you pick a key pivotal event and change it.
Then you see if this gets you built any sooner. Finally, you send
your next change through the time machine and repeat the process.''
Grant suppressed the urge to say his next thought, which was that
Malachai was a madman. Instead, he asked with as much politeness
as he could muster: ``Where are you going with this?''
The professor seemed annoyed with Grant's impatience. ``It was
only a theory until this morning. Then I discovered evidence. My
entire laboratory is infected with the Vervicom virus.''
``Isn't that to be expected, though?'' Wynn tried to keep up his
end of the conversation. ``You had the thing all over your lab.''
``Yes and no.'' was the cryptic answer. ``I am unsurprised that
the machine I made for the specific purpose of analyzing the
virus is itself infected. However, I built a scanner from what I
have learned, one which itself does not carry part of the virus
but is capable of detecting it. Running it on any machine in my
lab results in infection. You'll be glad to know that machines at
the local computer store are not. I had to have a control group,
even if it means I am not allowed back in that particular store.''
Grant found himself wondering if there was, at this moment,
another group of people forming a petition to have VonCannon
re-committed. ``You're isolated from the internet, though, right?''
he asked. If Malachai had infected the world at large with the
virus, it wouldn't matter if it was from the future or not; they
were all pretty much screwed.
``Of course I do!'' he sounded offended. ``I've operated the
entire building away from outside networks ever since I started
operating in it at all! Of course, this was at first to prevent
designs of mine from being spirited away by unethical hackers,
but it in this case was effective the other way.''
``So what's the problem?''
``Were you not listening to me? Every machine in my warehouse
capable of being infected is. Every single one. Including, I am
sad to say, the Time Machine.''
Grant resisted the urge to sigh. Since his conversation with
Rose, he'd become a great deal more skeptical toward the
Professor's Machines. At least, those that weren't Immobile or
Disappointing. ``So the virus can spread through time?''
``It already has!'' he announced. ``What are the symptoms of the
virus? Power surges, electronics going haywire - exactly the sort
of thing that happened when I first plugged the Time Machine in!
The virus originated from there, and when the Machine is done
with this run, it will retransmit itself for the next.''
``So it's already too late.'' Grant said.
``Oh, no. I haven't transmitted anything through the machine - I
didn't want to disturb my readings of it. For over a decade now,
I have had a computer attempting to interpret the data coming
through the device. The irony being that I was expecting such a
message to be for humans to read and had adjusted the programming
thusly. It never occurred to me that I should look for a message
a machine could understand!''
``If it's not too late,'' Wynn asked slowly, ``Why can't you just
shut it down now?''
``Ha!'' was the derisive reply. ``When the late Doctor Caster was
about to fire me for the havoc my creation was wreaking, he asked
me that same question. Do you know what I said?''
``Something dire, no doubt.''
``You're damn right, dire! It's a hole in time, if I stop it
before I send back the data that I myself received, you know what
happens?''
``No.'' Grant admitted.
``Neither do I.'' VonCannon replied, completely seriously. ``
Neither does anyone. One idea is that events would unfold as they
had originally, meaning that the machine would still be built -
albeit perhaps later - and the cycle would start over again
until, at this point, we stop it, meaning it starts again. Being
forever trapped in a never-ending time loop is the most
optimistic of outcomes, I might add. It's equally as possible
that our universe would simply cease to exist altogether.''
``Fine, you can't shut it off.'' Grant said. ``What can we do?''
``Continue the analysis, as I have been. I suspect that, now that
you've inspired me to begin my work in earnest, the virus will
cease interfering. Regardless, I know it is important to you that
your life be yours. That,'' he concluded, ``is why I am keeping
you informed.''
``Thank you.'' the reporter replied, not entirely feeling it. In
the light of Rosetta's revelations, VonCannon's ramblings
continued to look less and less plausible.
VonCannon hung up.
Grant put the phone down and looked over at Rosetta, who'd
managed to stay asleep during the whole exchange. He was glad
he'd picked it up earlier when he'd heard it go off, else it
almost certainly would have-
The phone rang.
Rosetta woke up.
``Sorry,'' he said, mentally cursing the imaginary mind-reading
meddling device from the future which dished out coincidences at
inopportune times. He looked at the caller ID and frowned.
Patrick Brooks? He checked the time to find that his instinct was
correct - at 10:15, Patrick was almost certainly calling from
work. He answered.
``Grant, that you?'' the question came before Grant could even
say 'hello'.
``Yes Pat, are you safe to talk?''
``Yeah, yeah, I don't think that matters. Listen, you have to get
down here right now.''
Grant shook his head to clear it of sleep and the confusion
talking to VonCannon had engendered. ``To Vervicom? Assuming they
don't want me dead, I don't think I'd be doing you any favors by
associating with you in pub-''
``That doesn't matter!'' Patrick's voice had become agitated. ``
The shit is going down here, very soon, and I need you here to
make sure you see what's happening.''
``What's going to-'' Grant asked, but the line had gone dead. Had
Patrick hung up on him? He'd seemed tense but not angry. Grant
took a chance and dialed back.
``Work?'' Rosetta asked. Her face was half-smiling, half-worried,
and Grant knew that he must seemed unnerved indeed if it had
affected Rose. He nodded a reply.
``Vervicom regrets to inform you that all circuits are currently
busy.'' a friendly pre-recorded voice informed him. It was all he
needed to hear.
``I need to go.'' he said. ``Now.''
Rose was out of bed. ``Three straight days of lounging around in
bed, and now they expect you to jump at a moment's notice, huh?''
she said. She was, despite her words, getting dressed.
``Pretty much.'' Grant said noncommittally. He was following suit
- trying to find something presentable to wear while at the same
time figuring out the logistics of dropping Rosetta off and
getting to Vervicom. He couldn't take her there, he'd already
decided. For one, it'd compromise the anonymity of his source.
For another, Pat had indicated it was going to get dangerous. The
reporter reflected on his inability to contact his source -
perhaps it had already become dangerous.
They drove back into town in silence, though at least it was a
comfortable silence. For her part, Rosetta kept poking him
affectionately. At one point, she spoke up. ``I'm not saying much
because I'm happy, just so you know.'' she leaned back and
smiled. ``Don't feel the need to talk right now. Besides,''
another poke came along, ``you look pretty stressed out about
this work thing.''
He laughed. ``Yeah, that phone call was just weird is all, but
it's a reliable source, so I've got to get down there.''
``You'll call me later, right?'' she said as they neared the
recycling plant some time later.
This got through his tension somewhat. ``Count on it.''
She smiled, and left. He tried not to peel out of the parking lot
immediately, but it was what he wanted to do. Something horrible
was happening at Vervicom, he could feel it. He tried to raise
Patrick again on his cellphone to no avail.
By the time he arrived at the building, he knew something
horrible was happening. The building was on fire.
He parked his car in the first spot he could find, mentally
hoping his press pass would be enough to deflect people
attempting to ticket it. A crowd had already formed, mostly of
evacuated Vervicom employees.
``Patrick Brooks!'' he shouted. So much for keeping the identity
of his source a secret, but Pat himself had said that it didn't
matter anymore and by the looks of it he was right.
``Hey, you're the Gazette guy, aren't you?'' a voice asked.
Grant cringed. He had been hoping not to be recognized - working
in paper journalism had the side benefit that not as people knew
you on sight. He turned to see David, one of the original
interviewees he'd spoken to about Dr. Caster.
``Oh, Hi David.'' he said, trying not to look as relieved as he
felt. ``Have you seen Patrick around here?''
David shook his head. ``I saw him inside, but I don't think he
made it out.'' he looked around as though to see if anyone was
listening, but their attention was solely for the fire. ``Between
you and me, he was acting really strange before the fire broke
out.''
``Strange how?'' Grant asked, thinking back to their phone
conversation. He'd seemed strange then, too.
``It's like he knew it was coming.'' Dave kept talking in low
tones, requiring Grant to strain his hearing in order to catch
everything. ``He was doing something with the you-know-what,'' at
the reporter's honestly blank look, he added in even quieter
tones, ``The virus! The one that doesn't officially exist.''
``Ah, that.''
``Yes.'' David continued, ``Patrick had been tracking its
activity ever since the higher-ups demanded it happen. I mean, we
all had, but he seemed to take it personally, didn't like that
systems he considered his had been compromised. I guess he saw
something that tipped him off, because next thing you know he's
pulling the fire alarm and calling someone.''
Grant's phone rang, and he nearly swore. He excused himself from
David's conversation and answered with a strained ``Hello!''
``Grant! Are you somewhere safe?'' It was VonCannon again. Grant
idly wondered when they'd become on a first-name basis.
Nonetheless, he looked around him. There was a crowd of people,
fire crews everywhere, police keeping everyone back and directing
people streaming from the still-evacuated building. He felt the
urge to ask ``From what?'' but, since he probably wouldn't like
the answer, he simply replied ``Yes.''
``Good.'' Malachai seemed unconcerned with the details, instead
going directly to his point, ``I have isolated the part of the
virus responsible for the early fire-suppression failures during
my tenure at the university.'' he seemed excited. ``It is not
specific to my university! So ensure you're outside, other
affected buildings are very unsafe at this moment.''
``You don't say.'' Grant replied flatly, looking at the
still-burning Vervicom building. ``Do you have a TV in that
warehouse of yours?''
``Well, yes, but I don't see how-''
``Turn it on. Find a news station.'' Grant instructed.
There was a moment of blessed silence while Grant relished in
switching roles. Now it was he giving the cryptic instructions
and the ex-professor obeying without question.
An intake of breath could be heard from the other side of the
conversation. ``I seem to be too late with my warning.''
``Found anything else I should know about in that virus?''
VonCannon was still fixated on the burning building. ``This is
bad news for us. Tell me, were you on your way to that building
this morning.''
``Yeah. You think this is on purpose, don't you?'' he tried to
say this without accusation, but could not keep the tone entirely
from his voice.
Malachai actually seemed abashed by this. ``I apologize to you,
Grant. I thought that - with the virus' work done, it would
simply become inactive. I did not forsee this. It is obviously
attempting to clean up after itself.''
[(0x0100) VonCannon is partially correct in this - early runs
resulted in many time-altering machines running in competition,
but resulted only in delayed results. It was decided then that
there would only be one, and all attempts to create others or
spread the knowledge of their creation must be halted. At the
same moment of the fire to destroy the primary storage of the
virus, offsite backups were also wiped.]
``What's this mean for me?'' he said. He still wasn't ready to
resume belief in an all-seeing machine from the future
manipulating his life, but the virus itself was real enough.
``It means,'' Malachai said gravely, ``that you should go with
all haste to my warehouse. That is the only place you will be
safe - the virus cannot harm me, as I am the one who has to build
the device!''
As much as obeying this command would mean going along with the
Professor's insane theories, Grant could think of no better
course of action. Perhaps while he was there they could uncover
more of the virus' purpose and - here he was entering the realm
of wishful thinking - go back to living a normal life.
``Just drive carefully!'' came a final admonishment from the
doctor. ``Remember how Doctor Caster met his end!''
That was a bit of encouragement that Grant didn't need. Hanging
up the phone, he turned to David.
``If you see Patrick, let him know I came by.''
David was looking a little sick. ``I haven't seen him yet.''
Grant felt torn - Patrick had been by far the best source he'd
ever had. He'd even gone so far as to pull the alarm which
evacuated everyone else from the building and then call him. He
wanted to stay, but what was the point of Pat's actions if Grant
himself, the man who'd written the story for him, got killed? It
seemed unlikely that something would happen to him here, but then
again some Vervicom-made satellite guidance system might decide
to reenter the atmosphere early and obliterate him if he stuck
around.
That decided it for him. If he didn't go to VonCannon where it at
least seemed he was safe, he'd spend the entire day waiting for
something heavy to crush him from above.
He drove as quickly as he dared. The city's economy had been
largely dependent on Vervicom ever since the company had
established its headquarters there, which meant that while a
number of businesses were close enough to the building to be
convenient, it also could afford to place itself far enough away
from downtown to be surrounded by trees and park areas. This
meant that the slow drive to the professor's was one of the most
tense that Grant had ever taken. Everywhere he looked, he saw
potential hazards. He didn't dare depend on his car's anti-lock
brakes, for one. For another, he wasn't sure if he could trust
the traffic lights not to malfunction. Hell, a deadly leak of
natural gas could be taking place under the streets right now,
waiting only to be sparked by the passing of his vehicle's
engines.
At that point, he relaxed somewhat. He didn't believe in the
Coincidence Machine, he repeated. It wasn't real. It couldn't
pinpoint a time when he wouldn't be paying attention to the risks
and kill him then. There was just the virus, and that acted
strangely but comparatively rarely.
Besides, if a homicidal destiny-altering machine from the other
edge of time really was bent on killing him, he reasoned, there
really wasn't much he could do about it.
He almost couldn't believe his eyes as he sighted VonCannon's
warehouse. He'd survived!? He pulled into the nearly-empty
parking lot, as usual, and got out. No accidents. No random fires
since the one he'd left. No satellites coming down from above to
crush him. Unwilling to press his luck, he opened the door to the
warehouse.
The place was once again lit by every available source. VonCannon
was standing near the machine Grant had mistaken for a furnace,
the one the professor claimed was a time machine. He was typing
on Caster's old computer.
``Ah! You have safely arrived, good, good!'' VonCannon even
spared him a frantic grin before returning to his work on the
computer. ``This virus is, I am afraid, quite homicidal. We know
it killed Doctor Caster, yes?''
``Yes.'' That Grant could hardly dispute, regardless of how much
he wanted to. When he thought too much about the agenda of the
virus, he inevitably crossed a line somewhere into VonCannon's
insane theories. He would, on the whole, have preferred Patrick's
stock scam.
``What I have just recently discovered was that the accident
which ended his life was not the first attempt! Look at this!''
He gestured at the screen.
Grant looked, but it seemed like gibberish. He could recognize
the fact that it was a circuit diagram of some sort, but that was
the extent of his ability.
VonCannon seemed to pick this up. ``These diagrams would have
produced an inherently flawed machine, as I theorized when I saw
that thing.'' He gestured to where Grant remembered seeing the
Immobile Machine upon entry. ``What I didn't realize at the time
was that the diagrams have it generating a very large surge of
power. I wouldn't be surprised if it was this surge that disabled
Mason Power later, but I think its initial effect was to attempt
to stun or kill Caster at the moment he activated it!''
``Obviously, it didn't work.'' Grant said, looking at the blank
space he would later remember to have been filled by the machine
in question.
``Caster had been attempting to duplicate my work. I know that
much from your reaction to the Disappointment Machine.'' Malachai
said evenly. ``I think he knew enough about what the Immobile
Machine was supposed to do to know to protect himself from such a
surge, but not enough to know that the surge wasn't really even
supposed to be part of the construction at all.''
``So what's all this mean?''
VonCannon frowned. ``I am sorry to have to say this, but I think
the machine is dedicated to killing you. How much longer would it
have had to wait until you were in that building which caught
fire today? It didn't miss you by much, I suspect. I fear for my
life myself, I might add. At least, I would if I didn't know I
was instrumental to the machine's construction. Even then, if
this is the wrong run, I could be just as doomed as you!'' this
was said in joviality, but Grant could hear the fear underneath.
``What are you talking about?'' he said, for the moment humoring
the Professor's insistence that there was in fact a machine
trying to kill them. ``You've got to build it, it can't kill you.''
``I've been thinking,'' Malachai whispered conspiratorially. ``
Remember how I said that it's the culmination of all the previous
machines I've made? I started to wonder, how would it be powered?
What could keep it going? And it occurred to me - the Oroboros!
It could be like my little Recycling Machine, never actually
stopping itself from being torn down and built up again. In which
case, at some point when it's running low on power over all the
runs, it would start everything over. It would ensure it wasn't
built, in order to cause the first run to happen again, and
recreate it with full power for it to continue its work.''
``That's not likely, is it?'' Grant asked. ``I mean, it could
have killed us at any time if that were the case, it wouldn't
have to wait.'' He hated even pretending he believed this,
because it reminded him that part of his mind did, in fact, still
believe it. Something in him didn't want to let go of the idea.
VonCannon shrugged, indicating he'd thought of this but wasn't
particularly relieved. ``I can't pretend to know the mind - if it
could even be called such - of something I haven't constructed
yet. I can only hope we are safe.''
Some indicator somewhere made a sudden buzzing noise, and Grant
nearly jumped in surprise. VonCannon just swore lightly.
``Damn!'' he said. ``I've got that appointment with the recycler.
Entirely forgot. She's supposed to come here and see what useless
things of mine she can make use of.'' He seemed to finally if
belatedly notice Grant's agitated response. ``I have sensors
along the gate to the street, so I am notified of visitors.'' he
explained.
This statement reassured Grant somewhat, not because it explained
why the professor had always seemed unsurprised to see him, but
more because it reinforced in his mind the image of VonCannon as
paranoid. The significance of who was coming to visit only hit
him as the door opened.
``Ms. Sandys, I presume?'' VonCannon asked as Rosetta walked
through the door.
Rosetta gave him a businesslike nod. ``Doctor VonCannon. We spoke
over the phone previously. I'm afraid,'' followed behind him, as
he'd suddenly started walking back towards Grant, ``that after
researching your background, my company thinks it is ill-advised
to-'' she stopped, having at this point seen Grant.
He'd been wondering where the switches to Malachai's lights were,
so that he could turn one off and hide in its shadow. It was too
late now, though. ``Hey Rose!'' he offered weakly.
Much to his relief, she laughed. ``What's he talked you into now?''
``Well-'' Grant began, but he was interrupted by VonCannon, whose
normal rigid posture had become more tense than he'd ever seen
before.
``You...'' he spoke quietly now, ``know each other?''
``Yes.'' Grant admitted quietly, while Rosetta looked amusedly
on. He was glad on the one hand that she wasn't angry at him for
falling in once more with VonCannon, but disturbed at the
latter's suddenly alarmed stance.
He wheeled on Rose then, deciding she would make a poor subject,
turned back to Grant just as quickly. ``It is vitally important
that you answer this question truthfully, and above all,
immediately!'' his tone was rising in agitation, ``Are you
romantically involved?''
Grant heard Rosetta laugh lightly. She seemed to be finding humor
in it, but he could tell that the professor had never been this
serious. He answered. ``Yes, quite a bit actually.''
``Get. Out.'' The professor said suddenly.
``Works for me.'' Rose answered.
``Wait, what?'' Grant wasn't catching on.
``You understand? It's not trying to kill you, it's trying to
kill all of us! We who are important to its construction, you and
I and I don't know why, but Ms. Sandys as well! And we've gone
and gathered in one convenient spot for it! RUN!'' VonCannon was
shouting now. Rose had already started to leave but had stopped
to look back at the man's babbling. Grant himself didn't know
what he was going to do until he was almost literally pushed into
action.
The computer next to him exploded.
The 'sacrificial PC', as VonCannon had dubbed it, the machine
that'd spent the longest time exposed to the virus, was in fiery
fragments, some of which had embedded themselves in the
as-yet-unfeeling reporter's skin. Other parts of the machine were
starting fires of their own across the warehouse.
Crazy or not, Grant thought as his feet moved of their own
accord, you couldn't argue with a man who told you to run right
before the place started exploding.
Rosetta was the first out, and Grant was quickly after her.
Whatever the material VonCannon had used to black out his lights
turned out to be highly flammable, and the flames quickly spread
to the roof. The professor himself stumbled out into the
daylight, looking dazed. He stood there for a moment
uncomprehendingly before a terrorized look crossed his face, and
he turned to go back in.
``Are you insane!?'' Grant shouted, his own voice nearly
inaudible even to him. He grabbed the wiry professor by the arm
and pulled him away from the warehouse.
``The Time Machine!'' VonCannon shouted back, as though this
explained everything.
``Forget about it!'' Grant kept trying to pull the old man, but
the professor seemed to possess a strength fueled by adrenaline. ``
It's not worth dying!''
VonCannon hit him, then, but failed to gain his freedom. ``You
fool! If I don't use the machine to send back the virus, we might
all as well be dead! Have you forgotten? Now let go!''
Grant held on.
VonCannon took another swing which also didn't hurt Grant much. ``
Think! Think of everything I've told you - is this coincidence,
that my warehouse should burn down the same day as Vervicom!?
Caster died because of this thing! You nearly died too! If I
don't do this we're all dead! If you believe nothing else I have
told you, believe that. You know the virus is real. It was on my
time-monitoring computer and could not have gotten there any
other way. Now let - me - GO!''
He did. It was a decision he'd have to live with the rest of his
life.
Rosetta pushed him down roughly, and in his state of disbelief he
attributed this to the fact that he'd just let an old man go back
into a burning building that would likely claim his life. He
discovered the actual reason a fraction of a moment later when
the facade of the building began collapsing. VonCannon was
already back inside, but if Grant hadn't been pushed away from
his original position he'd have been crushed. She was helping him
up, mouthing words he couldn't hear. He could barely stand - all
his strength seemed to have left him suddenly, as though
VonCannon had taken it before sacrificing himself.
He leaned on Rose as she dragged him from the parking lot. They
watched the warehouse burn, looking for any sign of the
professor.
Eventually, the authorities began to arrive.
Previous - Next
``The Machine's not perfect.''
``You don't say.'' Grant said, annoyed.
He looked over the bed (his bed - the cot had been suitable for
only a very short time, after which they'd gone to his house) at
where Rosetta was still sleeping. If he hadn't woken up early and
been unable to get back to sleep, it'd probably have been her
talking on the phone to VonCannon. That was a conversation he
could do without hearing.
The professor was, as usual, completely oblivious to the
situation. ``I mean, think about it. It was made by me and while
I am indeed a gifted inventor, I am by no means perfect. There
must be flaws in the machine.''
``Good to know.'' Grant yawned, trying to muffle it from the
phone.
``It can figure out a great many things, you see. It can predict
some of the outcomes of its actions, but not all of them. How
would you get around something like that?''
``I don't know.'' Damn the man for not taking a hint!
``Iteration!'' VonCannon said the word triumphantly, as though it
held any meaning to the reporter. ``You don't change everything
at once; instead, you pick a key pivotal event and change it.
Then you see if this gets you built any sooner. Finally, you send
your next change through the time machine and repeat the process.''
Grant suppressed the urge to say his next thought, which was that
Malachai was a madman. Instead, he asked with as much politeness
as he could muster: ``Where are you going with this?''
The professor seemed annoyed with Grant's impatience. ``It was
only a theory until this morning. Then I discovered evidence. My
entire laboratory is infected with the Vervicom virus.''
``Isn't that to be expected, though?'' Wynn tried to keep up his
end of the conversation. ``You had the thing all over your lab.''
``Yes and no.'' was the cryptic answer. ``I am unsurprised that
the machine I made for the specific purpose of analyzing the
virus is itself infected. However, I built a scanner from what I
have learned, one which itself does not carry part of the virus
but is capable of detecting it. Running it on any machine in my
lab results in infection. You'll be glad to know that machines at
the local computer store are not. I had to have a control group,
even if it means I am not allowed back in that particular store.''
Grant found himself wondering if there was, at this moment,
another group of people forming a petition to have VonCannon
re-committed. ``You're isolated from the internet, though, right?''
he asked. If Malachai had infected the world at large with the
virus, it wouldn't matter if it was from the future or not; they
were all pretty much screwed.
``Of course I do!'' he sounded offended. ``I've operated the
entire building away from outside networks ever since I started
operating in it at all! Of course, this was at first to prevent
designs of mine from being spirited away by unethical hackers,
but it in this case was effective the other way.''
``So what's the problem?''
``Were you not listening to me? Every machine in my warehouse
capable of being infected is. Every single one. Including, I am
sad to say, the Time Machine.''
Grant resisted the urge to sigh. Since his conversation with
Rose, he'd become a great deal more skeptical toward the
Professor's Machines. At least, those that weren't Immobile or
Disappointing. ``So the virus can spread through time?''
``It already has!'' he announced. ``What are the symptoms of the
virus? Power surges, electronics going haywire - exactly the sort
of thing that happened when I first plugged the Time Machine in!
The virus originated from there, and when the Machine is done
with this run, it will retransmit itself for the next.''
``So it's already too late.'' Grant said.
``Oh, no. I haven't transmitted anything through the machine - I
didn't want to disturb my readings of it. For over a decade now,
I have had a computer attempting to interpret the data coming
through the device. The irony being that I was expecting such a
message to be for humans to read and had adjusted the programming
thusly. It never occurred to me that I should look for a message
a machine could understand!''
``If it's not too late,'' Wynn asked slowly, ``Why can't you just
shut it down now?''
``Ha!'' was the derisive reply. ``When the late Doctor Caster was
about to fire me for the havoc my creation was wreaking, he asked
me that same question. Do you know what I said?''
``Something dire, no doubt.''
``You're damn right, dire! It's a hole in time, if I stop it
before I send back the data that I myself received, you know what
happens?''
``No.'' Grant admitted.
``Neither do I.'' VonCannon replied, completely seriously. ``
Neither does anyone. One idea is that events would unfold as they
had originally, meaning that the machine would still be built -
albeit perhaps later - and the cycle would start over again
until, at this point, we stop it, meaning it starts again. Being
forever trapped in a never-ending time loop is the most
optimistic of outcomes, I might add. It's equally as possible
that our universe would simply cease to exist altogether.''
``Fine, you can't shut it off.'' Grant said. ``What can we do?''
``Continue the analysis, as I have been. I suspect that, now that
you've inspired me to begin my work in earnest, the virus will
cease interfering. Regardless, I know it is important to you that
your life be yours. That,'' he concluded, ``is why I am keeping
you informed.''
``Thank you.'' the reporter replied, not entirely feeling it. In
the light of Rosetta's revelations, VonCannon's ramblings
continued to look less and less plausible.
VonCannon hung up.
Grant put the phone down and looked over at Rosetta, who'd
managed to stay asleep during the whole exchange. He was glad
he'd picked it up earlier when he'd heard it go off, else it
almost certainly would have-
The phone rang.
Rosetta woke up.
``Sorry,'' he said, mentally cursing the imaginary mind-reading
meddling device from the future which dished out coincidences at
inopportune times. He looked at the caller ID and frowned.
Patrick Brooks? He checked the time to find that his instinct was
correct - at 10:15, Patrick was almost certainly calling from
work. He answered.
``Grant, that you?'' the question came before Grant could even
say 'hello'.
``Yes Pat, are you safe to talk?''
``Yeah, yeah, I don't think that matters. Listen, you have to get
down here right now.''
Grant shook his head to clear it of sleep and the confusion
talking to VonCannon had engendered. ``To Vervicom? Assuming they
don't want me dead, I don't think I'd be doing you any favors by
associating with you in pub-''
``That doesn't matter!'' Patrick's voice had become agitated. ``
The shit is going down here, very soon, and I need you here to
make sure you see what's happening.''
``What's going to-'' Grant asked, but the line had gone dead. Had
Patrick hung up on him? He'd seemed tense but not angry. Grant
took a chance and dialed back.
``Work?'' Rosetta asked. Her face was half-smiling, half-worried,
and Grant knew that he must seemed unnerved indeed if it had
affected Rose. He nodded a reply.
``Vervicom regrets to inform you that all circuits are currently
busy.'' a friendly pre-recorded voice informed him. It was all he
needed to hear.
``I need to go.'' he said. ``Now.''
Rose was out of bed. ``Three straight days of lounging around in
bed, and now they expect you to jump at a moment's notice, huh?''
she said. She was, despite her words, getting dressed.
``Pretty much.'' Grant said noncommittally. He was following suit
- trying to find something presentable to wear while at the same
time figuring out the logistics of dropping Rosetta off and
getting to Vervicom. He couldn't take her there, he'd already
decided. For one, it'd compromise the anonymity of his source.
For another, Pat had indicated it was going to get dangerous. The
reporter reflected on his inability to contact his source -
perhaps it had already become dangerous.
They drove back into town in silence, though at least it was a
comfortable silence. For her part, Rosetta kept poking him
affectionately. At one point, she spoke up. ``I'm not saying much
because I'm happy, just so you know.'' she leaned back and
smiled. ``Don't feel the need to talk right now. Besides,''
another poke came along, ``you look pretty stressed out about
this work thing.''
He laughed. ``Yeah, that phone call was just weird is all, but
it's a reliable source, so I've got to get down there.''
``You'll call me later, right?'' she said as they neared the
recycling plant some time later.
This got through his tension somewhat. ``Count on it.''
She smiled, and left. He tried not to peel out of the parking lot
immediately, but it was what he wanted to do. Something horrible
was happening at Vervicom, he could feel it. He tried to raise
Patrick again on his cellphone to no avail.
By the time he arrived at the building, he knew something
horrible was happening. The building was on fire.
He parked his car in the first spot he could find, mentally
hoping his press pass would be enough to deflect people
attempting to ticket it. A crowd had already formed, mostly of
evacuated Vervicom employees.
``Patrick Brooks!'' he shouted. So much for keeping the identity
of his source a secret, but Pat himself had said that it didn't
matter anymore and by the looks of it he was right.
``Hey, you're the Gazette guy, aren't you?'' a voice asked.
Grant cringed. He had been hoping not to be recognized - working
in paper journalism had the side benefit that not as people knew
you on sight. He turned to see David, one of the original
interviewees he'd spoken to about Dr. Caster.
``Oh, Hi David.'' he said, trying not to look as relieved as he
felt. ``Have you seen Patrick around here?''
David shook his head. ``I saw him inside, but I don't think he
made it out.'' he looked around as though to see if anyone was
listening, but their attention was solely for the fire. ``Between
you and me, he was acting really strange before the fire broke
out.''
``Strange how?'' Grant asked, thinking back to their phone
conversation. He'd seemed strange then, too.
``It's like he knew it was coming.'' Dave kept talking in low
tones, requiring Grant to strain his hearing in order to catch
everything. ``He was doing something with the you-know-what,'' at
the reporter's honestly blank look, he added in even quieter
tones, ``The virus! The one that doesn't officially exist.''
``Ah, that.''
``Yes.'' David continued, ``Patrick had been tracking its
activity ever since the higher-ups demanded it happen. I mean, we
all had, but he seemed to take it personally, didn't like that
systems he considered his had been compromised. I guess he saw
something that tipped him off, because next thing you know he's
pulling the fire alarm and calling someone.''
Grant's phone rang, and he nearly swore. He excused himself from
David's conversation and answered with a strained ``Hello!''
``Grant! Are you somewhere safe?'' It was VonCannon again. Grant
idly wondered when they'd become on a first-name basis.
Nonetheless, he looked around him. There was a crowd of people,
fire crews everywhere, police keeping everyone back and directing
people streaming from the still-evacuated building. He felt the
urge to ask ``From what?'' but, since he probably wouldn't like
the answer, he simply replied ``Yes.''
``Good.'' Malachai seemed unconcerned with the details, instead
going directly to his point, ``I have isolated the part of the
virus responsible for the early fire-suppression failures during
my tenure at the university.'' he seemed excited. ``It is not
specific to my university! So ensure you're outside, other
affected buildings are very unsafe at this moment.''
``You don't say.'' Grant replied flatly, looking at the
still-burning Vervicom building. ``Do you have a TV in that
warehouse of yours?''
``Well, yes, but I don't see how-''
``Turn it on. Find a news station.'' Grant instructed.
There was a moment of blessed silence while Grant relished in
switching roles. Now it was he giving the cryptic instructions
and the ex-professor obeying without question.
An intake of breath could be heard from the other side of the
conversation. ``I seem to be too late with my warning.''
``Found anything else I should know about in that virus?''
VonCannon was still fixated on the burning building. ``This is
bad news for us. Tell me, were you on your way to that building
this morning.''
``Yeah. You think this is on purpose, don't you?'' he tried to
say this without accusation, but could not keep the tone entirely
from his voice.
Malachai actually seemed abashed by this. ``I apologize to you,
Grant. I thought that - with the virus' work done, it would
simply become inactive. I did not forsee this. It is obviously
attempting to clean up after itself.''
[(0x0100) VonCannon is partially correct in this - early runs
resulted in many time-altering machines running in competition,
but resulted only in delayed results. It was decided then that
there would only be one, and all attempts to create others or
spread the knowledge of their creation must be halted. At the
same moment of the fire to destroy the primary storage of the
virus, offsite backups were also wiped.]
``What's this mean for me?'' he said. He still wasn't ready to
resume belief in an all-seeing machine from the future
manipulating his life, but the virus itself was real enough.
``It means,'' Malachai said gravely, ``that you should go with
all haste to my warehouse. That is the only place you will be
safe - the virus cannot harm me, as I am the one who has to build
the device!''
As much as obeying this command would mean going along with the
Professor's insane theories, Grant could think of no better
course of action. Perhaps while he was there they could uncover
more of the virus' purpose and - here he was entering the realm
of wishful thinking - go back to living a normal life.
``Just drive carefully!'' came a final admonishment from the
doctor. ``Remember how Doctor Caster met his end!''
That was a bit of encouragement that Grant didn't need. Hanging
up the phone, he turned to David.
``If you see Patrick, let him know I came by.''
David was looking a little sick. ``I haven't seen him yet.''
Grant felt torn - Patrick had been by far the best source he'd
ever had. He'd even gone so far as to pull the alarm which
evacuated everyone else from the building and then call him. He
wanted to stay, but what was the point of Pat's actions if Grant
himself, the man who'd written the story for him, got killed? It
seemed unlikely that something would happen to him here, but then
again some Vervicom-made satellite guidance system might decide
to reenter the atmosphere early and obliterate him if he stuck
around.
That decided it for him. If he didn't go to VonCannon where it at
least seemed he was safe, he'd spend the entire day waiting for
something heavy to crush him from above.
He drove as quickly as he dared. The city's economy had been
largely dependent on Vervicom ever since the company had
established its headquarters there, which meant that while a
number of businesses were close enough to the building to be
convenient, it also could afford to place itself far enough away
from downtown to be surrounded by trees and park areas. This
meant that the slow drive to the professor's was one of the most
tense that Grant had ever taken. Everywhere he looked, he saw
potential hazards. He didn't dare depend on his car's anti-lock
brakes, for one. For another, he wasn't sure if he could trust
the traffic lights not to malfunction. Hell, a deadly leak of
natural gas could be taking place under the streets right now,
waiting only to be sparked by the passing of his vehicle's
engines.
At that point, he relaxed somewhat. He didn't believe in the
Coincidence Machine, he repeated. It wasn't real. It couldn't
pinpoint a time when he wouldn't be paying attention to the risks
and kill him then. There was just the virus, and that acted
strangely but comparatively rarely.
Besides, if a homicidal destiny-altering machine from the other
edge of time really was bent on killing him, he reasoned, there
really wasn't much he could do about it.
He almost couldn't believe his eyes as he sighted VonCannon's
warehouse. He'd survived!? He pulled into the nearly-empty
parking lot, as usual, and got out. No accidents. No random fires
since the one he'd left. No satellites coming down from above to
crush him. Unwilling to press his luck, he opened the door to the
warehouse.
The place was once again lit by every available source. VonCannon
was standing near the machine Grant had mistaken for a furnace,
the one the professor claimed was a time machine. He was typing
on Caster's old computer.
``Ah! You have safely arrived, good, good!'' VonCannon even
spared him a frantic grin before returning to his work on the
computer. ``This virus is, I am afraid, quite homicidal. We know
it killed Doctor Caster, yes?''
``Yes.'' That Grant could hardly dispute, regardless of how much
he wanted to. When he thought too much about the agenda of the
virus, he inevitably crossed a line somewhere into VonCannon's
insane theories. He would, on the whole, have preferred Patrick's
stock scam.
``What I have just recently discovered was that the accident
which ended his life was not the first attempt! Look at this!''
He gestured at the screen.
Grant looked, but it seemed like gibberish. He could recognize
the fact that it was a circuit diagram of some sort, but that was
the extent of his ability.
VonCannon seemed to pick this up. ``These diagrams would have
produced an inherently flawed machine, as I theorized when I saw
that thing.'' He gestured to where Grant remembered seeing the
Immobile Machine upon entry. ``What I didn't realize at the time
was that the diagrams have it generating a very large surge of
power. I wouldn't be surprised if it was this surge that disabled
Mason Power later, but I think its initial effect was to attempt
to stun or kill Caster at the moment he activated it!''
``Obviously, it didn't work.'' Grant said, looking at the blank
space he would later remember to have been filled by the machine
in question.
``Caster had been attempting to duplicate my work. I know that
much from your reaction to the Disappointment Machine.'' Malachai
said evenly. ``I think he knew enough about what the Immobile
Machine was supposed to do to know to protect himself from such a
surge, but not enough to know that the surge wasn't really even
supposed to be part of the construction at all.''
``So what's all this mean?''
VonCannon frowned. ``I am sorry to have to say this, but I think
the machine is dedicated to killing you. How much longer would it
have had to wait until you were in that building which caught
fire today? It didn't miss you by much, I suspect. I fear for my
life myself, I might add. At least, I would if I didn't know I
was instrumental to the machine's construction. Even then, if
this is the wrong run, I could be just as doomed as you!'' this
was said in joviality, but Grant could hear the fear underneath.
``What are you talking about?'' he said, for the moment humoring
the Professor's insistence that there was in fact a machine
trying to kill them. ``You've got to build it, it can't kill you.''
``I've been thinking,'' Malachai whispered conspiratorially. ``
Remember how I said that it's the culmination of all the previous
machines I've made? I started to wonder, how would it be powered?
What could keep it going? And it occurred to me - the Oroboros!
It could be like my little Recycling Machine, never actually
stopping itself from being torn down and built up again. In which
case, at some point when it's running low on power over all the
runs, it would start everything over. It would ensure it wasn't
built, in order to cause the first run to happen again, and
recreate it with full power for it to continue its work.''
``That's not likely, is it?'' Grant asked. ``I mean, it could
have killed us at any time if that were the case, it wouldn't
have to wait.'' He hated even pretending he believed this,
because it reminded him that part of his mind did, in fact, still
believe it. Something in him didn't want to let go of the idea.
VonCannon shrugged, indicating he'd thought of this but wasn't
particularly relieved. ``I can't pretend to know the mind - if it
could even be called such - of something I haven't constructed
yet. I can only hope we are safe.''
Some indicator somewhere made a sudden buzzing noise, and Grant
nearly jumped in surprise. VonCannon just swore lightly.
``Damn!'' he said. ``I've got that appointment with the recycler.
Entirely forgot. She's supposed to come here and see what useless
things of mine she can make use of.'' He seemed to finally if
belatedly notice Grant's agitated response. ``I have sensors
along the gate to the street, so I am notified of visitors.'' he
explained.
This statement reassured Grant somewhat, not because it explained
why the professor had always seemed unsurprised to see him, but
more because it reinforced in his mind the image of VonCannon as
paranoid. The significance of who was coming to visit only hit
him as the door opened.
``Ms. Sandys, I presume?'' VonCannon asked as Rosetta walked
through the door.
Rosetta gave him a businesslike nod. ``Doctor VonCannon. We spoke
over the phone previously. I'm afraid,'' followed behind him, as
he'd suddenly started walking back towards Grant, ``that after
researching your background, my company thinks it is ill-advised
to-'' she stopped, having at this point seen Grant.
He'd been wondering where the switches to Malachai's lights were,
so that he could turn one off and hide in its shadow. It was too
late now, though. ``Hey Rose!'' he offered weakly.
Much to his relief, she laughed. ``What's he talked you into now?''
``Well-'' Grant began, but he was interrupted by VonCannon, whose
normal rigid posture had become more tense than he'd ever seen
before.
``You...'' he spoke quietly now, ``know each other?''
``Yes.'' Grant admitted quietly, while Rosetta looked amusedly
on. He was glad on the one hand that she wasn't angry at him for
falling in once more with VonCannon, but disturbed at the
latter's suddenly alarmed stance.
He wheeled on Rose then, deciding she would make a poor subject,
turned back to Grant just as quickly. ``It is vitally important
that you answer this question truthfully, and above all,
immediately!'' his tone was rising in agitation, ``Are you
romantically involved?''
Grant heard Rosetta laugh lightly. She seemed to be finding humor
in it, but he could tell that the professor had never been this
serious. He answered. ``Yes, quite a bit actually.''
``Get. Out.'' The professor said suddenly.
``Works for me.'' Rose answered.
``Wait, what?'' Grant wasn't catching on.
``You understand? It's not trying to kill you, it's trying to
kill all of us! We who are important to its construction, you and
I and I don't know why, but Ms. Sandys as well! And we've gone
and gathered in one convenient spot for it! RUN!'' VonCannon was
shouting now. Rose had already started to leave but had stopped
to look back at the man's babbling. Grant himself didn't know
what he was going to do until he was almost literally pushed into
action.
The computer next to him exploded.
The 'sacrificial PC', as VonCannon had dubbed it, the machine
that'd spent the longest time exposed to the virus, was in fiery
fragments, some of which had embedded themselves in the
as-yet-unfeeling reporter's skin. Other parts of the machine were
starting fires of their own across the warehouse.
Crazy or not, Grant thought as his feet moved of their own
accord, you couldn't argue with a man who told you to run right
before the place started exploding.
Rosetta was the first out, and Grant was quickly after her.
Whatever the material VonCannon had used to black out his lights
turned out to be highly flammable, and the flames quickly spread
to the roof. The professor himself stumbled out into the
daylight, looking dazed. He stood there for a moment
uncomprehendingly before a terrorized look crossed his face, and
he turned to go back in.
``Are you insane!?'' Grant shouted, his own voice nearly
inaudible even to him. He grabbed the wiry professor by the arm
and pulled him away from the warehouse.
``The Time Machine!'' VonCannon shouted back, as though this
explained everything.
``Forget about it!'' Grant kept trying to pull the old man, but
the professor seemed to possess a strength fueled by adrenaline. ``
It's not worth dying!''
VonCannon hit him, then, but failed to gain his freedom. ``You
fool! If I don't use the machine to send back the virus, we might
all as well be dead! Have you forgotten? Now let go!''
Grant held on.
VonCannon took another swing which also didn't hurt Grant much. ``
Think! Think of everything I've told you - is this coincidence,
that my warehouse should burn down the same day as Vervicom!?
Caster died because of this thing! You nearly died too! If I
don't do this we're all dead! If you believe nothing else I have
told you, believe that. You know the virus is real. It was on my
time-monitoring computer and could not have gotten there any
other way. Now let - me - GO!''
He did. It was a decision he'd have to live with the rest of his
life.
Rosetta pushed him down roughly, and in his state of disbelief he
attributed this to the fact that he'd just let an old man go back
into a burning building that would likely claim his life. He
discovered the actual reason a fraction of a moment later when
the facade of the building began collapsing. VonCannon was
already back inside, but if Grant hadn't been pushed away from
his original position he'd have been crushed. She was helping him
up, mouthing words he couldn't hear. He could barely stand - all
his strength seemed to have left him suddenly, as though
VonCannon had taken it before sacrificing himself.
He leaned on Rose as she dragged him from the parking lot. They
watched the warehouse burn, looking for any sign of the
professor.
Eventually, the authorities began to arrive.
Previous - Next
Monday, November 26, 2007
Days 25-26(Discovery)
13 Discovery
Grant drove, cursing Ember under his breath.
It was an auction, right? How long did auctions usually last? He
didn't know. It depended on how many things Dr. Caster had owned,
how many people showed up. Had Ember's people advertised it
beforehand? Hell, it could have been in the Classifieds of his
own paper and he wouldn't have known about it. He would have made
a vow to read the Gazette more often if he hadn't been afraid
that this course of action, too, would lead him to become more
like VonCannon. He didn't need to be the kind of person who kept
stacks of newspapers in his house and spent all his free time
combing through them for coincidences that maybe weren't.
It didn't help that he wasn't altogether sure how to get to the
place. Auctions were, according to popular knowledge, held in
auction houses, but this one was to take place in a courtroom and
with very little ceremony. He drove past the Gazette again,
wondering all the time if he was doing so because he was lost or
because it was his machine-induced fate to be lost.
Eventually, he located one of the city's lesser-used courthouses
and, an even more interminable time later, managed to park his
car. He rushed in.
``Can I help you?'' The voice came not from a receptionist - at
least, not the sort that the Gazette's temp agency would contract
out - but from a security guard who seemed unpleasantly surprised
to see someone.
``I'm here for the estate auction.'' Grant said.
``Name?''
``Grant Wynn, reporter for the Gazette.''
The guard rolled his eyes. ``Name of the deceased, not your name.''
``Doctor James Caster.''
Glad to be rid of the newcomer, the guard stated ``Courtroom 4A,
on the left.'' and got back behind the partition he'd come out of
when Grant had burst in.
Wynn didn't stick around, not with a welcome like that. He walked
purposely through the second set of doors and counted the rooms
until he found the one he was looking for. He opened the door,
quietly.
It looked pretty much like every courtroom he'd been in before.
Judge's bench, smaller benches for the witnesses and jurors, even
smaller areas for the observers. Every detail matched except the
most important one; the place was deserted.
``Damn!'' he swore. Was he late for a reason? Was he simply not
meant to get these machines? He swore again and tore his mind
away from its never-ending questions of his fate. He had more
important things to do. Turning, he started back down the
corridor the way he came, having reluctantly decided to brave
asking the guard a few more questions.
A smaller man exited one of the other courtrooms.
``Excuse me!'' Grant shouted, too loud from the sound of it. It
worked to get the man's attention, though.
``What do you need?'' the person hadn't really wanted to talk,
that much could be seen from his posture and the way he kept
looking down the hall to where the security station would be as
though to judge how long it would take him to run there.
``I'm looking for the Caster estate auction.''
``Oh, that.'' the man visibly relaxed. ``Nobody showed up - not
many do, city's not usually willing to have bigger announcements
printed. I just oversaw everything getting shipped off for
recycling.''
``Anything unusual?''
``Ha!'' Grant couldn't tell whether the man's joviality was
genuine or because of lingering nervousness. ``You mean like
something that's not there until you look away? Can't move it
with your eyes open? Yeah, we managed to pack it in for
recycling, too.''
Grant didn't really know what the strange man was describing, but
it certainly couldn't be a machine of normal manufacture, and
that meant it was patterned after one of VonCannon's crazy ideas.
``Do you know where they're taking it?''
``All over the place.'' the man's initial excitement had faded
and he was back to looking tired. ``The computers and the -
whatever the hell that thing was - they're going to a specialty
recycler the city's got a contract with.''
Grant closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. ``Let me take a wild
guess. Sandys Hardware Recycling?''
``Yeah, how did you-''
But Grant was already on his way.
A few weeks ago, he hadn't known the city. He knew how to get to
work, how to get back home from there, and how - if pressed - to
get to the grocery near his work. That was the extent of his
navigational ability. Since then, of course, he'd seen enough of
Rosetta to be able to get to her workplace from pretty much
anywhere. Unfortunately, he reflected, the same could be said
about VonCannon. Thankfully, it was to the former place he was
going.
He'd picked her up outside a number of times, he reflected, but
he'd never been invited inside. He found himself wondering, as he
parked his car and stepped out, if the trucks the man at the
courthouse had sent off had arrived yet. He'd find out in a
minute. He stepped inside the building.
It was as far from VonCannon's layout as could be imagined. For
one, the roof was a lot closer. He imagined there was probably
another floor atop this one, else they were wasting a great deal
of space. Secondly, he was in a hallway. Doors lined it. It was
well and evenly lit. It looked, so far as he could tell, like an
office building.
There was no receptionist and, so far as he could tell, nobody at
all. He walked down the doors until he found one labeled ``
Rosetta Sandys'' and knocked.
``Come in.'' came a puzzled voice he nonetheless recognized as
Rose's. He opened the door.
``Strangest thing!''
``I can poke it like it's not there, but it sure hurts in a
second!''
``How did you even move this?''
The reason the place had seemed deserted was because everyone had
apparently crowded into Rose's office. She sat at the back of the
room on one of her shelves and watched over her employees
amusedly. Her face lit up when she saw Grant.
``Hey!'' she greeted him. ``If you're here on a social call, you
might want to switch over to business mode for a second. I've got
one hell of a story for you!'' she stood up from her seat,
addressing her workforce. ``Okay, back to work! We'll figure out
what the heck we're doing with this damn thing in a while, okay?''
The entire workforce looked let down but obediently trudged out.
One of them glanced at Grant and said ``Lucky bastard.'' He
wasn't sure exactly what that comment was directed at.
With the other employees out of the way, Grant could see what
they'd been staring at. Or rather, he couldn't see it, because it
wasn't there.
He turned to ask Rosetta what was going on, then frowned before
he could word it. It was there. Or, rather, it had been there.
Blocky but functional, heavy looking certainly. It had been right
on that desk.
Of course, it wasn't there right now. He blinked. It still wasn't
there, but once again he knew it had been.
He asked the question. ``What the hell?''
``I know!'' Rose said, her eyes wide and her mouth smiling. ``My
contract with the city says I've got to recycle this but I
wouldn't even know where to begin!''
Grant kept looking at where it ought to be and then looking away,
each time remembering that it'd been there. ``I knew it'd be
strange, but I didn't know it'd be this strange.''
``This is exactly the sort of thing,'' Rosetta said, frowning, ``
that VonCannon would want a crack at.'' she didn't seem happy
with this idea. Grant hesitated. Now would not be a good time to
reveal that this was the exact reason he'd been sent.
Instead, he followed up. ``Why not give it to him? Let him figure
out what to do with it. He's the mad scientist, after all.''
She laughed, but didn't take her eyes of the machine - rather,
where the machine should have been. ``That's right, you talked to
him for that interview. I see you got the same impression I did.''
``He did want to look at what you got in. And this particular
bit's important to him.''
Her eyes narrowed. ``You've talked to him a lot more than that
one time, didn't you?''
Grant had no choice. ``Yes. He's working on... well, it's hard to
say, really. And it doesn't make much of any sense. You'll think
I'm crazy.''
``No,'' she said, ``I'll think he's crazy. I'll just think you're
gullible.'' Something in her tone warned him against arguing.
``Okay.'' he began. ``The doctor's built some really strange
stuff. There's something he claims is a time machine.'' he
watched her closely.
``Go on.'' her expression was neutral.
``Anyway, he thinks that a machine he's going to build is using
that machine to cause... things to happen.''
``Unlikely things?'' she said, her voice rapidly becoming
angrier. ``Like two people meeting because of a power outage?
Hmm?'' she stalked toward him. ``Or, how about a young woman's
father dying from radiation poisoning, huh? Same company.
Interesting coincidence, isn't it?''
Grant didn't know what to say.
``Do you know,'' her tone practically screamed at him, ``what
happened to my mother?''
``No.'' he said, quietly.
``She left. When dad started getting sick, when he couldn't
support us anymore, did she stick around? No. She left us. One
day there's just this note on the table, begging for our
forgiveness, saying she couldn't handle it all, and she's gone.
Off to some other life.'' she paused, took a deep breath, and
exploded in anger. ``Mason fucking Power ruined my life! It tore
apart my family, but did I complain? No, I went and I helped keep
my father alive, and I looked after the family because I had to.
Because it was an accident, and accidents happen.''
She swung her fist at the open air over her desk. A second later,
they remembered hearing a 'clang' and Rose was cradling her
injured hand. ``Now you're telling me,'' she said, having cooled
down somewhat but determined to finish what she'd been saying, ``
that your crazy paranoid little friend thinks there was a reason?''
This was an actual question. ``Yes. Just not a good one.'' he
offered, lamely.
She laughed a bitter laugh. ``That's about right. Take the
machine to him, then.''
``But what about-''
``Do not ask that question right now.'' she said, and he could
tell she meant it. ``You might not like what I have to say.''
with that, she left the room.
What about us?
She was angry, and rightly so. He'd been angry enough that his
life had been sidetracked, of course, but not nearly to the
extent that hers was. Now she'd left him alone. There was nothing
to it, he suspected, but to try to salvage what he could. He
recognized one of the computer towers in the room as belonging to
Caster - largely because of the tag that had been affixed to it.
He picked it up.
There was nobody in the hallway, once more, though at least this
time he could hear people talking behind the doors. He carried
the computer to his car and dropped it off in the trunk. That, he
reflected, was the easy part.
The Machine was another question altogether. He poked at where it
would have been and felt nothing, though a moment later he
recalled poking it somewhat too hard. His knuckle hurt. For a few
moments Grant found himself wondering what would happen if he
were to swing something hard - a book, say - through the air that
the machine would later have existed in. He decided that he
didn't want to find out; he was likely to break a wrist that way.
Instead, he put his mind to the task of moving the thing.
Carefully, he put his hands where he remembered the sides of the
thing to be. There had been outcroppings, he recalled, that could
serve as handholds if he was very careful indeed. He slowly moved
his hands upward.
Eventually, he remembered picking it up. Though the nerves in his
hands told him there was nothing but air, his memory was telling
him that the machine was very heavy indeed. It might not be
immobile, but it was difficult to move, and all the more
difficult because if he moved too quickly, he'd remember dropping
it about a second later. At least the lag between present and
past gave him time to get his foot out of the way.
It took him much longer than he'd care to admit, but he managed
to get the thing back to his car. He put it in the backseat with
the absurd idea that it'd be more easy to keep an eye on it
there. That thought led to others; he'd had to be very careful in
carrying it, how careful was he going to have to drive? If he
drove too quickly, would the damn machine phase through the back
of the car?
He recalled Ember saying they'd had trouble moving it, but had he
meant to the vehicle, or en route?
He decided. He'd keep an eye on it, insofar as that was possible,
and drive very slowly. If he failed to have memories of the
priceless device tumbling over the highway, he could gradually
speed up. Besides, none of the movers had been versed in dealing
with VonCannon's craziness. It didn't make him any more prepared,
but it stood to reason that they wouldn't have watched their
speed. He wasn't even remotely sure that they hadn't, but the
rationalization made sense. He drove.
It wasn't rush hour, but the city was only without traffic in the
very early morning hours, and even then the traffic was merely
lighter. He got more than a few honks and angry gestures as he
slowly accelerated from the recycling plant. He glanced into the
rear-view mirror, which he'd realigned to display the contents of
his back seat, and panicked when he didn't see anything there,
only to be relieved a moment later when he remembered its
presence. Damned thing.
He was the only person on the road driving the posted speed
limit.
Eventually, after several tortuous moments where he racked his
mind trying to remember if the Machine had indeed been in the
back seat a minute ago, he arrived at VonCannon's warehouse.
Again, he slowly extracted the semi-mobile Machine from his car
and carried it to the warehouse.
Once inside, he dropped it on the nearest table he could find.
``Where is-'' VonCannon began to ask.
They both remembered hearing the dull 'thunk' the machine had
made on impact with the table.
``Ah, I see.'' The professor leaned over the presently empty
table. ``This is fascinating.''
``I also got his personal computer.'' Grant said, remembering how
tired carrying the machine had made him.
``Good, go fetch it.'' VonCannon replied, never taking his eyes
off the blank spot he'd later remember the Machine being in.
The reporter mumbled under his breath, but obeyed nonetheless.
After carrying something that had no weight in the present but
plenty capability to wear you out in the past, it was
comparatively nice to pick up something with actual heft. He
carried it in and set it on the table next to where he'd put down
the more complex device. VonCannon hadn't stopped staring.
``It didn't look like anything I've seen here,'' Grant spoke up
quietly but managed to startle the scientist anyway. He added
sheepishly, ``but it seemed like the kind of thing you'd do.''
``It is. The device you will have been looking at is the Immobile
Machine, unless I'm very much mistaken.''
``I could move it easy enough.'' Grant reconsidered. ``Well, not
exactly easily, but-''
``It's broken. It was only immobile for perhaps a second, and
even then only in time.'' the scientist said without emotion. He
kept peering around at where the sides probably were.
``I did drop it a few times.'' the reporter admitted. Somehow he
didn't think this would matter.
``Doesn't matter.'' VonCannon obliged. ``I don't think you broke
this. No, I strongly suspect that this was built flawed.'' He
appeared to think for a moment. ``How much did it cost you to
procure this?''
``Nothing.'' Grant said, frowning and thinking back on how much
it probably had cost him. ``Rosetta gave it to me.''
``Rosetta Sandys, hm?'' the elderly scientist looked up from his
observations. ``I sign an agreement with her to procure items she
cannot use, and suddenly this drops into her lap?'' he smiled
wickedly. ``Coincidence is once again our benefactor.''
``I wish it wasn't.'' the reporter admitted. ``I can't win a $2
scratch-off lottery ticket without wondering if it's luck or that
damn Machine you haven't even built yet.''
``I'm working on it.'' was the response. ``I remind you that this
is the reason you're helping me, after all, not that I'm
unappreciative. Still, keep a close eye on this Sandys woman. I
suspect that she is somehow instrumental to all this.''
Grant was nearly at his wit's end. Every time he visited this
damn warehouse things got worse. He didn't need Malachai rubbing
his face in his failures to boot.``Are we done here?''
VonCannon didn't answer, instead hefting Caster's computer and
carrying it back to his own workstation. Grant got the hell out
while he could.
He drove.
It was getting late now, and everyone else who had a job that
could stand them at the office was presently leaving. Traffic
speeds dipped to their usual grinding slowness, but for once, he
didn't mind. He had to think.
Was it over? Only VonCannon could tell him, and Grant had never
known anyone to play his cards closer to his chest than the
ex-professor. Still, did he have any choice but to trust the old
man? He'd gone this far to back up the man's crazy theories. He
could only hope that something was found to put his mind at ease.
Another part of his mind was worried about something else
entirely and once he'd gotten done with worrying if he'd ever
have something good happen to him again without wondering if it
was coincidence or Coincidence, he focused his attention on it.
Specifically, the fact that Rosetta seemed to blame him for all
this.
If his darker suspicions on the nature of the Coincidence Machine
were correct, even his own actions weren't technically his fault.
He was but one of many puppets being manipulated by the future,
after all. Still, he doubted that excuse was going to carry him
very far. Dammit, he wasn't to blame! It wasn't as though he
liked running VonCannon's insane errands, after all. If he had a
choice, he'd forgo this crazy Coincidence nonsense and just run
off with Rosetta.
Of course, if it weren't for the crazy Coincidence nonsense, he
would never have seen her again.
Would that have been better for her? He wondered. She most
certainly would be happier - family whole, career unblemished
with a move back to a second-rate city. The only thing she'd miss
out on was him, and he had to admit, he wasn't all that
important.
Except apparently he was. Things kept arranging themselves around
what he wanted, after all.
His cellphone rang. Given that traffic was as near to stopped as
it was likely to become, he risked a look at the caller ID.
Rosetta.
He swore. God damn that Machine! Could it read his thoughts?! It
seemed as though he could feel his free will draining away.
The phone continued to ring. For a moment, he considered not
answering it. Let it ring! Fuck the Machine!
Unless, the thought sneaked its way into his mind, It knows that
you're frustrated. It doesn't want you to answer.
He couldn't win. He picked up the phone slowly and answered it
with a resigned ``Hello.''
``Grant.'' It was Rose's voice. All the anger of earlier in the
day was gone, replaced with a quiet but firm voice. He wasn't
sure if this was an improvement.
For a moment, he couldn't think of anything to say. Thoughts
whirled in his mind. Does the Machine know every word I'm going
to speak? Can I do anything It doesn't expect? Would I, if it
would lose me Rose?
Luckily, Rosetta picked up the slack. ``Listen, I'm sorry about
this afternoon. I'd really like you to come by.''
He barely heard her through his own internal debate. Was he
supposed to visit her? Was it instead his destiny to turn her
down? He decided quickly, if for no other reason to silence his
own thoughts. ``I'm on my way.''
``Thank you.'' and then the call had ended.
At exactly that moment, traffic began to move once more. Grant
swore. Railroads weren't even this punctual.
He arrived at Sandys Recycling to find it devoid of most of the
cars it'd possessed earlier in the day. In the fading light, it
seemed more like VonCannon's warehouse than ever. What would he
find inside? Would there be a calm Rosetta, willing to
compromise, or would it be a hardened woman, wanting to break
everything off? Despite how he felt for her, he didn't know her
that well. He'd had to kept reminding himself - the woman he
thought he knew had left for college a decade ago. She'd changed.
He had to remember that.
He left the car, examined the entrance he'd passed through mere
hours ago, took a deep breath, and walked in.
Something struck him bodily and for a moment he thought Rosetta
was trying to push him back out the door. Why bother inviting
him, then?
``Thank you so much for coming.'' she whispered in his ear, and
it was only then he realized she was hugging him. ``There's
something I need to show you.'' she disentangled herself from him
for the most part, holding on to just his hand. ``Come with me.''
She led him back down the hallway. He expected her to stop at her
office, but she continued on. ``Where are we going?'' he finally
asked.
``My office.'' she said, not looking back.
He glanced behind him at the door he knew to be hers. ``But we
just passed-''
``Shh!'' she said, having led them to the end of the hallway. A
door proclaimed that entry was forbidden without hearing
protection. There were a number of other symbols he didn't
recognize the specific meaning of, but a drawing of a man in a
gas mask couldn't bode well.
She opened the door into darkness. There was no sound from the
other side, and Grant found himself hoping that the other signs
were just as inaccurate as the hearing protection warning had
been.
Rosetta fumbled for a moment, and the lights came on.
Machines were everywhere. Something that looked like a turbine
was on one end of the expansive warehouse, though he could only
guess at its purpose. Bins with computer parts were set up at one
end of what seemed like an assembly line, though no doubt it
served the exact opposite purpose. Suits that looked like Hazmat
gear hung on the walls nearest them.
``What's all this for?'' he said, indicating the suits.
She barely looked back at him. ``I told you. Computers get sent
to us because there's a lot of valuable heavy metals inside them.
Gold, silver, platinum. You do not want to get any of it on you -
heavy metal poisoning's a bitch.'' She was leading them across
the factory floor now through passages she obviously knew quite
well, though Grant couldn't see their destination until they'd
got quite a bit closer.
There was another door at this end, leading to an enclosure
that'd obviously been built after the majority of equipment had
already been put in place. She unlocked this and stepped inside,
pulling him after.
Rosetta had flipped the light switch, and a bare incandescent
bulb in the ceiling had come to life. She was sitting on a cot to
one side.
``You like it?'' she asked, her expression smiling but only
faintly. She was nervous, but there was a reason she was showing
him this.
He looked around; it was nearly bare. The cot was small but
obviously effective. There was a desk cluttered with paperwork, a
lamp of its own, and a rotary phone.
``Remember the very first time you called me?'' she asked,
smiling at him. ``I was sitting right there. You didn't know it,
but I'd let you into my little sanctum here even then.'' She
closed her eyes and leaned back on the cot. ``You probably would
say I'm brave, dealing with the situation I have, but I'm not.
This is where I go when I can't take it anymore. When I need a
night to myself, alone. Sometimes I catch up on work, sometimes I
just lie here.'' she turned to her side and looked up at him. ``
Besides the people who built it, you're the only other person
I've let in here.''
``Thank you.'' he said, sincerely. He didn't know what else to
say.
She sat up again, and walked over to the table. She picked up a
paper and handed it to him. ``Before I make up with you,'' she
said evenly, ``I need you to read this. So you know what I'm
saying about your friend isn't out of spite.''
He glanced at her quizzically but turned his attention to the
paper.
He glanced back at her at this point. She nodded. ``Keep reading.''
He did. The papers went on - apparently they'd originated several
decades ago from a court case where it was alleged that VonCannon
had been stalking several unrelated people who he'd claimed had
been involved in some sort of conspiracy against him. It was
light on details, but the victims seemed to think that they were
in danger, and the courts had agreed. VonCannon had been admitted
to a mental hospital and started on a regimen of anti-paranoia
drugs. The order had several addendums, each indicating that the
drugs had worked well, and the final one authorizing his release
under the condition that he remain medicated.
``Where did you get this?'' Grant knew a thing or two about
documents and the procuring thereof, and medical records were
supposedly kept in the greatest of privacy.
She shrugged. ``It's standard operating procedure to back up the
hard drives of any machine that comes through here, in case the
client wants the data - and they often do. That document came
from the personal computer of Doctor James Caster - a name I
believe you're familiar with.''
``Yeah.'' he answered. That didn't make him feel much better
about how she'd gotten it. And it opened up an entire other group
of questions about VonCannon. First among them: Was he still on
his medication?[(0x0E40) In order
for Doctor VonCannon to recognize the patterns
that made up Machine Activity, it was necessary to adjust his
medication. For some time now, his pharmacy had been
inadvertently dosing him incorrectly.]
``His computer's missing, by the way?'' she said this without the
anger she'd displayed earlier in the day. She was looking at him
with the sort of mock suspicion he'd come to be familiar with. ``
But you wouldn't know anything about it, right?''
``It may,'' Grant answered slowly to make sure it was all right
to be flippant, ``have been delivered to a certain mad scientist
we are both familiar with.''
She laughed quietly. ``Let him have it.'' she came forward and
put her arms around him again in an embrace. ``I'm very glad I
found that paper.'' she said. ``To think, I was angry at you
because of information we got from a madman!'' her second laugh
was unconvincing, but she seemed genuinely relieved.
And what about him? Did he still believe? There'd been an awful
lot of coincidences, but there was still the possibility that's
exactly what they were. Things do simply fall into place
sometimes, he thought. If the doctor was off his medication, he'd
be jumping at shadows that weren't there.
The virus was real, though. It was a sobering thought, but it
could be explained away. Patrick's theory about a long-term stock
market scheme seemed suddenly more plausible by comparison. He
let himself relax into her arms.
``Now,'' she said, ``About that making up I mentioned earlier.''
The kiss lasted quite a while. She eventually broke it off,
smiling.
``There's an important feature of this little office,'' she said,
backing toward the door. She turned a knob. ``It locks.''
``Oh!''
Previous - Next
Grant drove, cursing Ember under his breath.
It was an auction, right? How long did auctions usually last? He
didn't know. It depended on how many things Dr. Caster had owned,
how many people showed up. Had Ember's people advertised it
beforehand? Hell, it could have been in the Classifieds of his
own paper and he wouldn't have known about it. He would have made
a vow to read the Gazette more often if he hadn't been afraid
that this course of action, too, would lead him to become more
like VonCannon. He didn't need to be the kind of person who kept
stacks of newspapers in his house and spent all his free time
combing through them for coincidences that maybe weren't.
It didn't help that he wasn't altogether sure how to get to the
place. Auctions were, according to popular knowledge, held in
auction houses, but this one was to take place in a courtroom and
with very little ceremony. He drove past the Gazette again,
wondering all the time if he was doing so because he was lost or
because it was his machine-induced fate to be lost.
Eventually, he located one of the city's lesser-used courthouses
and, an even more interminable time later, managed to park his
car. He rushed in.
``Can I help you?'' The voice came not from a receptionist - at
least, not the sort that the Gazette's temp agency would contract
out - but from a security guard who seemed unpleasantly surprised
to see someone.
``I'm here for the estate auction.'' Grant said.
``Name?''
``Grant Wynn, reporter for the Gazette.''
The guard rolled his eyes. ``Name of the deceased, not your name.''
``Doctor James Caster.''
Glad to be rid of the newcomer, the guard stated ``Courtroom 4A,
on the left.'' and got back behind the partition he'd come out of
when Grant had burst in.
Wynn didn't stick around, not with a welcome like that. He walked
purposely through the second set of doors and counted the rooms
until he found the one he was looking for. He opened the door,
quietly.
It looked pretty much like every courtroom he'd been in before.
Judge's bench, smaller benches for the witnesses and jurors, even
smaller areas for the observers. Every detail matched except the
most important one; the place was deserted.
``Damn!'' he swore. Was he late for a reason? Was he simply not
meant to get these machines? He swore again and tore his mind
away from its never-ending questions of his fate. He had more
important things to do. Turning, he started back down the
corridor the way he came, having reluctantly decided to brave
asking the guard a few more questions.
A smaller man exited one of the other courtrooms.
``Excuse me!'' Grant shouted, too loud from the sound of it. It
worked to get the man's attention, though.
``What do you need?'' the person hadn't really wanted to talk,
that much could be seen from his posture and the way he kept
looking down the hall to where the security station would be as
though to judge how long it would take him to run there.
``I'm looking for the Caster estate auction.''
``Oh, that.'' the man visibly relaxed. ``Nobody showed up - not
many do, city's not usually willing to have bigger announcements
printed. I just oversaw everything getting shipped off for
recycling.''
``Anything unusual?''
``Ha!'' Grant couldn't tell whether the man's joviality was
genuine or because of lingering nervousness. ``You mean like
something that's not there until you look away? Can't move it
with your eyes open? Yeah, we managed to pack it in for
recycling, too.''
Grant didn't really know what the strange man was describing, but
it certainly couldn't be a machine of normal manufacture, and
that meant it was patterned after one of VonCannon's crazy ideas.
``Do you know where they're taking it?''
``All over the place.'' the man's initial excitement had faded
and he was back to looking tired. ``The computers and the -
whatever the hell that thing was - they're going to a specialty
recycler the city's got a contract with.''
Grant closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. ``Let me take a wild
guess. Sandys Hardware Recycling?''
``Yeah, how did you-''
But Grant was already on his way.
A few weeks ago, he hadn't known the city. He knew how to get to
work, how to get back home from there, and how - if pressed - to
get to the grocery near his work. That was the extent of his
navigational ability. Since then, of course, he'd seen enough of
Rosetta to be able to get to her workplace from pretty much
anywhere. Unfortunately, he reflected, the same could be said
about VonCannon. Thankfully, it was to the former place he was
going.
He'd picked her up outside a number of times, he reflected, but
he'd never been invited inside. He found himself wondering, as he
parked his car and stepped out, if the trucks the man at the
courthouse had sent off had arrived yet. He'd find out in a
minute. He stepped inside the building.
It was as far from VonCannon's layout as could be imagined. For
one, the roof was a lot closer. He imagined there was probably
another floor atop this one, else they were wasting a great deal
of space. Secondly, he was in a hallway. Doors lined it. It was
well and evenly lit. It looked, so far as he could tell, like an
office building.
There was no receptionist and, so far as he could tell, nobody at
all. He walked down the doors until he found one labeled ``
Rosetta Sandys'' and knocked.
``Come in.'' came a puzzled voice he nonetheless recognized as
Rose's. He opened the door.
``Strangest thing!''
``I can poke it like it's not there, but it sure hurts in a
second!''
``How did you even move this?''
The reason the place had seemed deserted was because everyone had
apparently crowded into Rose's office. She sat at the back of the
room on one of her shelves and watched over her employees
amusedly. Her face lit up when she saw Grant.
``Hey!'' she greeted him. ``If you're here on a social call, you
might want to switch over to business mode for a second. I've got
one hell of a story for you!'' she stood up from her seat,
addressing her workforce. ``Okay, back to work! We'll figure out
what the heck we're doing with this damn thing in a while, okay?''
The entire workforce looked let down but obediently trudged out.
One of them glanced at Grant and said ``Lucky bastard.'' He
wasn't sure exactly what that comment was directed at.
With the other employees out of the way, Grant could see what
they'd been staring at. Or rather, he couldn't see it, because it
wasn't there.
He turned to ask Rosetta what was going on, then frowned before
he could word it. It was there. Or, rather, it had been there.
Blocky but functional, heavy looking certainly. It had been right
on that desk.
Of course, it wasn't there right now. He blinked. It still wasn't
there, but once again he knew it had been.
He asked the question. ``What the hell?''
``I know!'' Rose said, her eyes wide and her mouth smiling. ``My
contract with the city says I've got to recycle this but I
wouldn't even know where to begin!''
Grant kept looking at where it ought to be and then looking away,
each time remembering that it'd been there. ``I knew it'd be
strange, but I didn't know it'd be this strange.''
``This is exactly the sort of thing,'' Rosetta said, frowning, ``
that VonCannon would want a crack at.'' she didn't seem happy
with this idea. Grant hesitated. Now would not be a good time to
reveal that this was the exact reason he'd been sent.
Instead, he followed up. ``Why not give it to him? Let him figure
out what to do with it. He's the mad scientist, after all.''
She laughed, but didn't take her eyes of the machine - rather,
where the machine should have been. ``That's right, you talked to
him for that interview. I see you got the same impression I did.''
``He did want to look at what you got in. And this particular
bit's important to him.''
Her eyes narrowed. ``You've talked to him a lot more than that
one time, didn't you?''
Grant had no choice. ``Yes. He's working on... well, it's hard to
say, really. And it doesn't make much of any sense. You'll think
I'm crazy.''
``No,'' she said, ``I'll think he's crazy. I'll just think you're
gullible.'' Something in her tone warned him against arguing.
``Okay.'' he began. ``The doctor's built some really strange
stuff. There's something he claims is a time machine.'' he
watched her closely.
``Go on.'' her expression was neutral.
``Anyway, he thinks that a machine he's going to build is using
that machine to cause... things to happen.''
``Unlikely things?'' she said, her voice rapidly becoming
angrier. ``Like two people meeting because of a power outage?
Hmm?'' she stalked toward him. ``Or, how about a young woman's
father dying from radiation poisoning, huh? Same company.
Interesting coincidence, isn't it?''
Grant didn't know what to say.
``Do you know,'' her tone practically screamed at him, ``what
happened to my mother?''
``No.'' he said, quietly.
``She left. When dad started getting sick, when he couldn't
support us anymore, did she stick around? No. She left us. One
day there's just this note on the table, begging for our
forgiveness, saying she couldn't handle it all, and she's gone.
Off to some other life.'' she paused, took a deep breath, and
exploded in anger. ``Mason fucking Power ruined my life! It tore
apart my family, but did I complain? No, I went and I helped keep
my father alive, and I looked after the family because I had to.
Because it was an accident, and accidents happen.''
She swung her fist at the open air over her desk. A second later,
they remembered hearing a 'clang' and Rose was cradling her
injured hand. ``Now you're telling me,'' she said, having cooled
down somewhat but determined to finish what she'd been saying, ``
that your crazy paranoid little friend thinks there was a reason?''
This was an actual question. ``Yes. Just not a good one.'' he
offered, lamely.
She laughed a bitter laugh. ``That's about right. Take the
machine to him, then.''
``But what about-''
``Do not ask that question right now.'' she said, and he could
tell she meant it. ``You might not like what I have to say.''
with that, she left the room.
What about us?
She was angry, and rightly so. He'd been angry enough that his
life had been sidetracked, of course, but not nearly to the
extent that hers was. Now she'd left him alone. There was nothing
to it, he suspected, but to try to salvage what he could. He
recognized one of the computer towers in the room as belonging to
Caster - largely because of the tag that had been affixed to it.
He picked it up.
There was nobody in the hallway, once more, though at least this
time he could hear people talking behind the doors. He carried
the computer to his car and dropped it off in the trunk. That, he
reflected, was the easy part.
The Machine was another question altogether. He poked at where it
would have been and felt nothing, though a moment later he
recalled poking it somewhat too hard. His knuckle hurt. For a few
moments Grant found himself wondering what would happen if he
were to swing something hard - a book, say - through the air that
the machine would later have existed in. He decided that he
didn't want to find out; he was likely to break a wrist that way.
Instead, he put his mind to the task of moving the thing.
Carefully, he put his hands where he remembered the sides of the
thing to be. There had been outcroppings, he recalled, that could
serve as handholds if he was very careful indeed. He slowly moved
his hands upward.
Eventually, he remembered picking it up. Though the nerves in his
hands told him there was nothing but air, his memory was telling
him that the machine was very heavy indeed. It might not be
immobile, but it was difficult to move, and all the more
difficult because if he moved too quickly, he'd remember dropping
it about a second later. At least the lag between present and
past gave him time to get his foot out of the way.
It took him much longer than he'd care to admit, but he managed
to get the thing back to his car. He put it in the backseat with
the absurd idea that it'd be more easy to keep an eye on it
there. That thought led to others; he'd had to be very careful in
carrying it, how careful was he going to have to drive? If he
drove too quickly, would the damn machine phase through the back
of the car?
He recalled Ember saying they'd had trouble moving it, but had he
meant to the vehicle, or en route?
He decided. He'd keep an eye on it, insofar as that was possible,
and drive very slowly. If he failed to have memories of the
priceless device tumbling over the highway, he could gradually
speed up. Besides, none of the movers had been versed in dealing
with VonCannon's craziness. It didn't make him any more prepared,
but it stood to reason that they wouldn't have watched their
speed. He wasn't even remotely sure that they hadn't, but the
rationalization made sense. He drove.
It wasn't rush hour, but the city was only without traffic in the
very early morning hours, and even then the traffic was merely
lighter. He got more than a few honks and angry gestures as he
slowly accelerated from the recycling plant. He glanced into the
rear-view mirror, which he'd realigned to display the contents of
his back seat, and panicked when he didn't see anything there,
only to be relieved a moment later when he remembered its
presence. Damned thing.
He was the only person on the road driving the posted speed
limit.
Eventually, after several tortuous moments where he racked his
mind trying to remember if the Machine had indeed been in the
back seat a minute ago, he arrived at VonCannon's warehouse.
Again, he slowly extracted the semi-mobile Machine from his car
and carried it to the warehouse.
Once inside, he dropped it on the nearest table he could find.
``Where is-'' VonCannon began to ask.
They both remembered hearing the dull 'thunk' the machine had
made on impact with the table.
``Ah, I see.'' The professor leaned over the presently empty
table. ``This is fascinating.''
``I also got his personal computer.'' Grant said, remembering how
tired carrying the machine had made him.
``Good, go fetch it.'' VonCannon replied, never taking his eyes
off the blank spot he'd later remember the Machine being in.
The reporter mumbled under his breath, but obeyed nonetheless.
After carrying something that had no weight in the present but
plenty capability to wear you out in the past, it was
comparatively nice to pick up something with actual heft. He
carried it in and set it on the table next to where he'd put down
the more complex device. VonCannon hadn't stopped staring.
``It didn't look like anything I've seen here,'' Grant spoke up
quietly but managed to startle the scientist anyway. He added
sheepishly, ``but it seemed like the kind of thing you'd do.''
``It is. The device you will have been looking at is the Immobile
Machine, unless I'm very much mistaken.''
``I could move it easy enough.'' Grant reconsidered. ``Well, not
exactly easily, but-''
``It's broken. It was only immobile for perhaps a second, and
even then only in time.'' the scientist said without emotion. He
kept peering around at where the sides probably were.
``I did drop it a few times.'' the reporter admitted. Somehow he
didn't think this would matter.
``Doesn't matter.'' VonCannon obliged. ``I don't think you broke
this. No, I strongly suspect that this was built flawed.'' He
appeared to think for a moment. ``How much did it cost you to
procure this?''
``Nothing.'' Grant said, frowning and thinking back on how much
it probably had cost him. ``Rosetta gave it to me.''
``Rosetta Sandys, hm?'' the elderly scientist looked up from his
observations. ``I sign an agreement with her to procure items she
cannot use, and suddenly this drops into her lap?'' he smiled
wickedly. ``Coincidence is once again our benefactor.''
``I wish it wasn't.'' the reporter admitted. ``I can't win a $2
scratch-off lottery ticket without wondering if it's luck or that
damn Machine you haven't even built yet.''
``I'm working on it.'' was the response. ``I remind you that this
is the reason you're helping me, after all, not that I'm
unappreciative. Still, keep a close eye on this Sandys woman. I
suspect that she is somehow instrumental to all this.''
Grant was nearly at his wit's end. Every time he visited this
damn warehouse things got worse. He didn't need Malachai rubbing
his face in his failures to boot.``Are we done here?''
VonCannon didn't answer, instead hefting Caster's computer and
carrying it back to his own workstation. Grant got the hell out
while he could.
He drove.
It was getting late now, and everyone else who had a job that
could stand them at the office was presently leaving. Traffic
speeds dipped to their usual grinding slowness, but for once, he
didn't mind. He had to think.
Was it over? Only VonCannon could tell him, and Grant had never
known anyone to play his cards closer to his chest than the
ex-professor. Still, did he have any choice but to trust the old
man? He'd gone this far to back up the man's crazy theories. He
could only hope that something was found to put his mind at ease.
Another part of his mind was worried about something else
entirely and once he'd gotten done with worrying if he'd ever
have something good happen to him again without wondering if it
was coincidence or Coincidence, he focused his attention on it.
Specifically, the fact that Rosetta seemed to blame him for all
this.
If his darker suspicions on the nature of the Coincidence Machine
were correct, even his own actions weren't technically his fault.
He was but one of many puppets being manipulated by the future,
after all. Still, he doubted that excuse was going to carry him
very far. Dammit, he wasn't to blame! It wasn't as though he
liked running VonCannon's insane errands, after all. If he had a
choice, he'd forgo this crazy Coincidence nonsense and just run
off with Rosetta.
Of course, if it weren't for the crazy Coincidence nonsense, he
would never have seen her again.
Would that have been better for her? He wondered. She most
certainly would be happier - family whole, career unblemished
with a move back to a second-rate city. The only thing she'd miss
out on was him, and he had to admit, he wasn't all that
important.
Except apparently he was. Things kept arranging themselves around
what he wanted, after all.
His cellphone rang. Given that traffic was as near to stopped as
it was likely to become, he risked a look at the caller ID.
Rosetta.
He swore. God damn that Machine! Could it read his thoughts?! It
seemed as though he could feel his free will draining away.
The phone continued to ring. For a moment, he considered not
answering it. Let it ring! Fuck the Machine!
Unless, the thought sneaked its way into his mind, It knows that
you're frustrated. It doesn't want you to answer.
He couldn't win. He picked up the phone slowly and answered it
with a resigned ``Hello.''
``Grant.'' It was Rose's voice. All the anger of earlier in the
day was gone, replaced with a quiet but firm voice. He wasn't
sure if this was an improvement.
For a moment, he couldn't think of anything to say. Thoughts
whirled in his mind. Does the Machine know every word I'm going
to speak? Can I do anything It doesn't expect? Would I, if it
would lose me Rose?
Luckily, Rosetta picked up the slack. ``Listen, I'm sorry about
this afternoon. I'd really like you to come by.''
He barely heard her through his own internal debate. Was he
supposed to visit her? Was it instead his destiny to turn her
down? He decided quickly, if for no other reason to silence his
own thoughts. ``I'm on my way.''
``Thank you.'' and then the call had ended.
At exactly that moment, traffic began to move once more. Grant
swore. Railroads weren't even this punctual.
He arrived at Sandys Recycling to find it devoid of most of the
cars it'd possessed earlier in the day. In the fading light, it
seemed more like VonCannon's warehouse than ever. What would he
find inside? Would there be a calm Rosetta, willing to
compromise, or would it be a hardened woman, wanting to break
everything off? Despite how he felt for her, he didn't know her
that well. He'd had to kept reminding himself - the woman he
thought he knew had left for college a decade ago. She'd changed.
He had to remember that.
He left the car, examined the entrance he'd passed through mere
hours ago, took a deep breath, and walked in.
Something struck him bodily and for a moment he thought Rosetta
was trying to push him back out the door. Why bother inviting
him, then?
``Thank you so much for coming.'' she whispered in his ear, and
it was only then he realized she was hugging him. ``There's
something I need to show you.'' she disentangled herself from him
for the most part, holding on to just his hand. ``Come with me.''
She led him back down the hallway. He expected her to stop at her
office, but she continued on. ``Where are we going?'' he finally
asked.
``My office.'' she said, not looking back.
He glanced behind him at the door he knew to be hers. ``But we
just passed-''
``Shh!'' she said, having led them to the end of the hallway. A
door proclaimed that entry was forbidden without hearing
protection. There were a number of other symbols he didn't
recognize the specific meaning of, but a drawing of a man in a
gas mask couldn't bode well.
She opened the door into darkness. There was no sound from the
other side, and Grant found himself hoping that the other signs
were just as inaccurate as the hearing protection warning had
been.
Rosetta fumbled for a moment, and the lights came on.
Machines were everywhere. Something that looked like a turbine
was on one end of the expansive warehouse, though he could only
guess at its purpose. Bins with computer parts were set up at one
end of what seemed like an assembly line, though no doubt it
served the exact opposite purpose. Suits that looked like Hazmat
gear hung on the walls nearest them.
``What's all this for?'' he said, indicating the suits.
She barely looked back at him. ``I told you. Computers get sent
to us because there's a lot of valuable heavy metals inside them.
Gold, silver, platinum. You do not want to get any of it on you -
heavy metal poisoning's a bitch.'' She was leading them across
the factory floor now through passages she obviously knew quite
well, though Grant couldn't see their destination until they'd
got quite a bit closer.
There was another door at this end, leading to an enclosure
that'd obviously been built after the majority of equipment had
already been put in place. She unlocked this and stepped inside,
pulling him after.
Rosetta had flipped the light switch, and a bare incandescent
bulb in the ceiling had come to life. She was sitting on a cot to
one side.
``You like it?'' she asked, her expression smiling but only
faintly. She was nervous, but there was a reason she was showing
him this.
He looked around; it was nearly bare. The cot was small but
obviously effective. There was a desk cluttered with paperwork, a
lamp of its own, and a rotary phone.
``Remember the very first time you called me?'' she asked,
smiling at him. ``I was sitting right there. You didn't know it,
but I'd let you into my little sanctum here even then.'' She
closed her eyes and leaned back on the cot. ``You probably would
say I'm brave, dealing with the situation I have, but I'm not.
This is where I go when I can't take it anymore. When I need a
night to myself, alone. Sometimes I catch up on work, sometimes I
just lie here.'' she turned to her side and looked up at him. ``
Besides the people who built it, you're the only other person
I've let in here.''
``Thank you.'' he said, sincerely. He didn't know what else to
say.
She sat up again, and walked over to the table. She picked up a
paper and handed it to him. ``Before I make up with you,'' she
said evenly, ``I need you to read this. So you know what I'm
saying about your friend isn't out of spite.''
He glanced at her quizzically but turned his attention to the
paper.
ORDER OF INSTITUTIONALIZATION
to be carried out on behalf of
DOCTOR MALACHAI VONCANNON
until such time as he is deemed to no longer be a danger to
himself or others.
He glanced back at her at this point. She nodded. ``Keep reading.''
He did. The papers went on - apparently they'd originated several
decades ago from a court case where it was alleged that VonCannon
had been stalking several unrelated people who he'd claimed had
been involved in some sort of conspiracy against him. It was
light on details, but the victims seemed to think that they were
in danger, and the courts had agreed. VonCannon had been admitted
to a mental hospital and started on a regimen of anti-paranoia
drugs. The order had several addendums, each indicating that the
drugs had worked well, and the final one authorizing his release
under the condition that he remain medicated.
``Where did you get this?'' Grant knew a thing or two about
documents and the procuring thereof, and medical records were
supposedly kept in the greatest of privacy.
She shrugged. ``It's standard operating procedure to back up the
hard drives of any machine that comes through here, in case the
client wants the data - and they often do. That document came
from the personal computer of Doctor James Caster - a name I
believe you're familiar with.''
``Yeah.'' he answered. That didn't make him feel much better
about how she'd gotten it. And it opened up an entire other group
of questions about VonCannon. First among them: Was he still on
his medication?[(0x0E40) In order
for Doctor VonCannon to recognize the patterns
that made up Machine Activity, it was necessary to adjust his
medication. For some time now, his pharmacy had been
inadvertently dosing him incorrectly.]
``His computer's missing, by the way?'' she said this without the
anger she'd displayed earlier in the day. She was looking at him
with the sort of mock suspicion he'd come to be familiar with. ``
But you wouldn't know anything about it, right?''
``It may,'' Grant answered slowly to make sure it was all right
to be flippant, ``have been delivered to a certain mad scientist
we are both familiar with.''
She laughed quietly. ``Let him have it.'' she came forward and
put her arms around him again in an embrace. ``I'm very glad I
found that paper.'' she said. ``To think, I was angry at you
because of information we got from a madman!'' her second laugh
was unconvincing, but she seemed genuinely relieved.
And what about him? Did he still believe? There'd been an awful
lot of coincidences, but there was still the possibility that's
exactly what they were. Things do simply fall into place
sometimes, he thought. If the doctor was off his medication, he'd
be jumping at shadows that weren't there.
The virus was real, though. It was a sobering thought, but it
could be explained away. Patrick's theory about a long-term stock
market scheme seemed suddenly more plausible by comparison. He
let himself relax into her arms.
``Now,'' she said, ``About that making up I mentioned earlier.''
The kiss lasted quite a while. She eventually broke it off,
smiling.
``There's an important feature of this little office,'' she said,
backing toward the door. She turned a knob. ``It locks.''
``Oh!''
Previous - Next
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Days 23-24 (Moving)
12 Moving
Peter M. Caster didn't know anything.
``Listen,'' he said, ``I'll be flying in next week to take care
of everything. You can speak to me then, if it's a good time. The
only thing I can tell you is that now is not.''
Grant was about to raise some objection to this when the man hung
up.
The reporter was not at work for another straight day, having
remained home after calling in to check the tech desk's opinion
of his machine's viability. They'd been ready to certify it as
clean of all viruses until Anders had let it slip exactly which
virus it was that Grant had exposed the machine to. Now they
wanted to scrap it and burn the scraps. Grant wasn't to return
until they got an entirely new machine for him. This didn't
present an obstacle for him - he'd telecommuted before, and he'd
replaced the computer that the power surge had fried - but it was
annoying. He'd operated under deadline before, but none so
self-imposed as this one. He needed to get ahold of Dr. Caster's
effects and soon.
The brother had been of no help whatsoever. He'd had no idea what
Caster had been working on, for one. Even after Grant had given
him the usual speech about being a journalist and investigating a
lead, etc, Peter had simply brushed him off.
Intellectually, Grant knew that the man had just been through the
loss of a brother, but he couldn't help be annoyed by him. This
was important work, after all. His future and the future of who
knew how many people depended on it.
He sighed. He'd have to watch out for that sort of thinking, or
else he'd end up just like VonCannon.
There were a few choices available to him. Foremost in his mind
was breaking into Caster's house and simply taking what he
needed. Preventing him from doing this was the fact that, while
he had bent more than a few rules in the past and even more in
the present, he had never actually broken the law. Unless, of
course, he counted handing over proprietary corporate information
to a third party. He wasn't sure if that was illegal or would
simply get him sued out of existence, but he didn't care to find
out. Regardless, it was a different sort of crime entirely from
breaking someone's window open and sneaking inside to make off
with their goods. If the law office of Loretta had been concerned
with the impropriety of his handling of the virus, he didn't dare
imagine what her reaction would be when she found out about the
breaking and entering.
The second choice was not appealing, as he had just done it and
proved it ineffective. Call the brother, claim to be on a story
(which, technically, he was, though he was growing increasingly
certain that no paper would ever print it) and try to get to the
effects this way. The problem was, apparently the will was in
doubt. Some sort of last-minute change had embroiled Peter
Caster, and the man was in no mood to deal with journalists or
anyone else for that matter who wanted a piece of the pie.
Negotiations were underway between the Caster family and the
doctor's lawyer.
That was the final option, of course, though no option could
truly be called 'final' while the smash and grab was still on the
table. He could call up Dr. Caster's lawyer and give him the same
speech he'd given the brother. Grant rather cynically had already
concluded that this would not work, but as a professional
journalist it was his job to go through the motions.
He went through his notes from Caster's death - faithfully backed
up to his file server while he'd been working on it - and found a
contact number for his lawyer. He'd meant to call the man when he
was first researching the story, but he'd known even back then
that all he'd get for his trouble was a tight lipped ``that is
confidential information''.
Jeremy Ember - of the law offices of Ember, Morgan, and Tuft -
picked up his phone on the second ring. ``Ember.''
``My name is Grant Wynn, I'm a-''
``Ah, Mr. Wynn.'' Jeremy's voice sounded like he'd expected the
call. ``You're the one who broke this story about Vervicom, were
you not?''
``I - yes.'' Grant said, somewhat put off balance. He hadn't
expected notoriety.
``I believe you also wrote a story,'' Ember said in the tone of a
man getting his facts lined up in order to make a larger point, ``
about a client of mine, a Doctor James Caster.''
``An obituary, but yes.''
Jeremy continued talking. ``And now you are speaking to me. I do
not think this is a coincidence.''
``I don't believe in coincidence, Mr. Ember.''
``No,'' the voice came after a pause. ``I suppose you don't.''
There was another pause and Grant was about to say something to
break the silence when Ember came back. ``Perhaps we should meet
in my offices.''
The reporter was surprised but was practiced enough not to let it
show. ``That sounds good to me, name a time and I'll make my way
up there.''
The lawyer named a time. It left very little to the commute.
Grant replied with a simple ``I'm on my way.''
During the drive, Grant's thoughts drifted wildly though
thankfully the car remained on course. That conversation had not
been at all what he'd expected. He ruefully thought back to the
cynicism that had prevented him from talking to the lawyer
earlier. Ember seemed to have instantly divined Grant's purpose,
something which Grant himself seemed unsure of. He kept thinking
back to Caster's dying demand to see the lawyer, and now that
lawyer - the only man on earth to know what had passed between
them - wanted to talk to Grant. It seemed strange, and once again
he found himself wondering whether he was actually that lucky or
whether events had been manipulated for him. He ground his teeth
- he wanted this to be over, and for chance to go back to being
left up to chance.
Ember, Morgan, and Tuft (was it coincidence that he kept seeing
the name 'Morgan' everywhere, or was there significance to it?)
had their law offices in the same district as the Gazette, which
was convenient for finding the place. At this point his Vervicom
manufactured GPS was sitting at the bottom of one of the
Gazette's dumpsters, which made it more difficult to get around
and did less for his peace of mind than he would have hoped. He'd
had to build in an extra twenty minutes 'getting lost' allowance
into any trip he planned now, and he'd been covertly shopping
around for replacement units, preferably manufactured someplace
far overseas that had never even heard of the beleaguered
software giant. Until he found such a thing, though, he was
slowly and painstakingly learning his way around the city
himself.
Eventually, after passing the Gazette twice, he found the offices
he was looking for and then, after passing by his workplace once
more, a parking spot. He was at this point past the time that
Ember had allotted for him, but something told the journalist
that this wouldn't actually matter.
He entered the building. The secretary barely looked up at his
entrance but Grant took the time to examine the man closely, in
case he was one of the many who'd come through the Gazette's
halls. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to come
back to Anders and report that Grant was working on his day off.
Anders took reprieves from work seriously, and made sure everyone
else did as well.
``How can I help you?'' the receptionist seemed to have realized
that Grant wasn't going somewhere in a hurry and therefore would
not be leaving in any sort of timely manner without help. He
didn't seem happy about this.
``I have an appointment with Mr. Ember?''
``Third floor.'' That ought to do it.
Seeing that there was no further conversation to be had here and
not really desiring one anyway, Grant headed to the elevators and
pushed the button for the third floor.
It hadn't occurred to him to ask where on the third floor Ember
kept his offices, having figured he'd find the way once he got
there. When the elevator doors opened, he found that he was
right. The third floor was Ember's offices.
The building hadn't seemed very big from the outside, but when an
entire floor was your office that seemed to balance it out. Ember
himself was already standing; probably, the reporter imagined, he
was notified whenever somebody pushed the button which would lead
them to his office.
``Mr Wynn,'' Jeremy Ember, esq, shook Grant's hand before Grant
himself knew it was happening. ``I'm glad you could come on such
short notice. Have a seat.''
Jeremy was by far more personable than Loretta had been, but
Grant got the same feeling from him as he had from her; that of
watching, noting, writing everything down that happened even if
not on paper. ``It was no problem,'' the reporter managed, trying
to maintain the professional manner and journalistic instincts
that'd gotten him into this trouble in the first place.
Ember sat down at his own desk and faced Grant. ``I must make
myself very clear, now. When you called today, I told you that I
could not speak to you.'' he raised a hand to forestall the
reporter's obvious objection that this was not in fact the case. ``
Therefore,'' he added pointedly, ``you are not here, and we are
not having this conversation. I have, in fact, never met you, nor
you me.''
``Off the record, then.'' Grant supplied.
``Very much so.'' Jeremy said, not without a bit of humor. He
paused, then appeared to take a different tack altogether. ``
Doctor James Caster, 41, originally from Columbus. I would of
course know this information even if I hadn't been paraphrasing
your story, but I wanted to illustrate that I keep up with the
news. He died on his way to meet another client of mine.''
Grant was about to open his mouth to say something, but was
interrupted very suddenly by the lawyer.
``Do not, under any circumstances, speak the name you are
thinking of right now, Mr. Wynn.'' he said, imperatively but
calmly. ``Doctor Caster has passed and most of the privilege
between us has passed with him. But of my living clients I can
say nothing, so it is important that this particular client go
un-named.''
In truth, Grant hadn't been about to mention VonCannon. But now
he knew that Ember was aware of a great deal more than the
reporter had credited him with. ``I understand.''
Ember projected the illusion of relaxing, though Grant was sure
he'd done no such thing. ``Good, I am glad I didn't have to spell
it out for you, especially as I am required by both the law and
the strictures of my profession to do no such thing.''
There was a pause while Grant tried to figure out the most
politic way to ask the question he had on his mind. The last bit
of the Caster puzzle, the deathbed change of will, had been
nagging at him ever since he'd heard it. It wasn't germane to the
story, however, so he had regretfully let it drop. Now he found
himself again wondering if that had been a wise choice.
``You want to know what passed between Doctor Caster and I, the
night he was injured.'' Jeremy said bluntly.
``Yes.'' Grant admitted, thrown off the balance he'd just
regained.
``Do not look so surprised, Mr. Wynn, anticipating people is my
job. The especially good among us know that anticipating
questions is an even more important part of this.'' He leaned in.
``I do not mean to brag, but I am especially good.'' He leaned
back in his chair and appeared to think over the question he
himself had raised. ``Privilege is a funny thing.''
Grant knew that, at some point, he was going to run into this
wall. Then again, Ember had seemed willing to talk about
VonCannon, if only in an oblique way. He may not be out of luck
yet.
``For example,'' Jeremy had continued talking. ``in this state,
the contents of a will are not public knowledge as long as there
is a dispute over it.''
``And Doctor Caster's brother is contesting the will.'' Grant
finished for him.
Ember seemed genuinely impressed. ``Very good, Mr. Wynn, I see
you have been doing your research. That is something our
professions have in common - there is much more to be done behind
the scenes than most people appreciate.'' his tone seemed to
convey that their very conversation was to be counted as 'behind
the scenes'. It wasn't the first for Grant and he was
disconcertingly certain that Ember had taken part in
conversations like this before as well.
``The interesting thing about this is not just that Mr. Peter
Caster is in another state, because while that could potentially
relieve me of my duty to safeguard the contents of the will, as a
legal and ethical matter it is very much up in the air.'' he
paused as though thinking. ``The interesting thing is that Mr.
Peter Caster's notice that he was contesting this will has never
appeared in our systems.''
``So he was just talk?'' Grant wasn't sure why, if that was the
case, Ember had bothered to explain all that.
``Quite the contrary.'' Jeremy seemed more interested in telling
the tale the longer it went on. ``I received a call from his
lawyer just yesterday, asking whether we were intending to reply
to his notice. He is quite serious.''
There was a pause where Grant could have asked a question, but
once again Ember spoke up just in time. ``Do you know the company
that manufactures the servers our systems operate under?''
``I probably do.'' Grant said, his heart sinking.
``Yes, you very probably do indeed. Interestingly enough, the law
firm which contacted us uses such machines as well. So really, it
is impossible to tell where that note was lost.''
[(0x0640) Peter Caster would, not knowing what the devices that
fell into his possession were or what purpose they served, have
had them eventually recycled too far away for their return to
this area.]
``So, the will may not be in dispute, then?''
``If we received the note, and our system lost it, then the will
is in dispute. If, on the other hand, their systems lost the note
before it was sent to us, then there is no dispute.'' he smiled. ``
It used to be customary to use a human courier for information
like this and in this case I believe that is what will eventually
happen. But it has not happened yet. And I am confident that it
was not our systems which lost this information.'' this was
tinged with a bit of pride, but Grant knew that if his machines
losing the note had worked for his purposes, the lawyer would at
this moment be shaking his head sadly at the poor state of his
servers, that they should lose such data.
If he'd been thinking ethically, he probably would excuse himself
at this point. However, he rationalized, this wasn't for a story,
really. This was something else entirely. He couldn't exactly be
accused of an ethics violation if he hadn't actually been on
duty, could he?
Naturally, the answer was ``Of course he could'', but he didn't
want to consider that and so he did not. Instead, he spoke up. ``
So, until you get this notice - that you have no legally binding
way of knowing is even en route - the will is not in dispute.''
``Mr. Wynn, you would make an excellent lawyer.'' Such a
statement might not be considered a compliment in most cases, and
Ember's tone indicated that he hadn't meant it in a ``stalwart
upholder of the law'' sort of way.
``What was in the will?'' Grant said, finally speaking the
question that'd given him so much trouble.
``Why Mr. Wynn, I am glad that you asked.'' Jeremy had apparently
been leading up to this point. ``Doctor Caster and I spent a
great deal of time on it, much to his detriment. The doctors had
informed him that he was unlikely to survive and, frankly, his
continued wakefulness was much a surprise as well. Thus, he
arranged with me that his research should carry on.''
``And what sort of research would that be?'' Grant knew, of
course, but he needed to know how much Ember knew.
``Very interesting things. I'm no scientist, I'm sure you can
appreciate that, but I know complexity when I see it. The...
device he was working on, it was beyond complexity.'' Jeremy
seemed to be at a loss for words, and Grant knew this was in fact
genuine due to the annoyed look that crossed the lawyer's face.
It had to be an unfamiliar feeling.
``So you saw what he was doing?''
``His house,'' Ember explained, ``began to be cleared this
morning for the estate sale. I received a call from the movers
that there was something they could not easily deal with. I have
employed these movers for years, Mr. Wynn, they have moved far
more unpleasant things than scientific instruments. I
investigated myself to find.... Shall we simply call it The
Device? The Device. We managed to get it going after a time, but
it was not easy.''
``Wait, you moved this thing?''
``I did not move it myself, of course, but the movers eventually
found some way of doing so. I don't recall what it was and I
don't especially want to.''
That ruled out the Immobile Machine, Grant thought, as they
tended not to get names like that if you could move them. He
tried a different tack. ``So this machine, how did you feel about
it?''
Ember laughed. ``It is not every day somebody questions my
emotions toward a machine.'' he paused upon seeing that Grant was
serious and, instead of discarding the question, appeared to take
it seriously. ``I would have to honestly say confusion, and that
is a feeling I am quite unfamiliar with.''
Unless the professor had built a Confusion Machine for Caster to
copy and not told Grant - and really, all his Machines were
confusing - this was something out of the reporter's experience
entirely. Still, VonCannon had seemed adamant about recovering
whatever it was James had been working on, and this mystery
device definitely qualified.
Something Ember had said earlier nagged at Grant. ``The movers...
you said they were clearing out the house for an estate sale?''
``Ah, yes.'' Jeremy replied, glad to be back to more normal
questions. ``I never got around to telling you the precise
contents of the will, had I?'' This was spoken as though Grant
had explicitly reminded him. ``All of the doctor's assets were to
be liquidated, and left in trust to further the research of a
certain client of mine.'' this last was said in a significant
enough tone that Grant had no doubt as to who the certain client
was.
``When is this sale?'' Grant asked quickly. He didn't have an
enormous expense account like some reporters, but the Gazette
gave him something, and he was sure whatever bizarre machine had
been carted away would make for a good story once VonCannon was
done with it, so technically it wasn't against the rules. He'd
gotten very good at rationalizing, lately.
``Ah,'' Ember said, a pained look crossing his face. ``This was
the reason for the rather... abbreviated schedule I gave you on
the phone. I'm sorry to say that it began thirty-five minutes
ago.''
Previous - Next
Peter M. Caster didn't know anything.
``Listen,'' he said, ``I'll be flying in next week to take care
of everything. You can speak to me then, if it's a good time. The
only thing I can tell you is that now is not.''
Grant was about to raise some objection to this when the man hung
up.
The reporter was not at work for another straight day, having
remained home after calling in to check the tech desk's opinion
of his machine's viability. They'd been ready to certify it as
clean of all viruses until Anders had let it slip exactly which
virus it was that Grant had exposed the machine to. Now they
wanted to scrap it and burn the scraps. Grant wasn't to return
until they got an entirely new machine for him. This didn't
present an obstacle for him - he'd telecommuted before, and he'd
replaced the computer that the power surge had fried - but it was
annoying. He'd operated under deadline before, but none so
self-imposed as this one. He needed to get ahold of Dr. Caster's
effects and soon.
The brother had been of no help whatsoever. He'd had no idea what
Caster had been working on, for one. Even after Grant had given
him the usual speech about being a journalist and investigating a
lead, etc, Peter had simply brushed him off.
Intellectually, Grant knew that the man had just been through the
loss of a brother, but he couldn't help be annoyed by him. This
was important work, after all. His future and the future of who
knew how many people depended on it.
He sighed. He'd have to watch out for that sort of thinking, or
else he'd end up just like VonCannon.
There were a few choices available to him. Foremost in his mind
was breaking into Caster's house and simply taking what he
needed. Preventing him from doing this was the fact that, while
he had bent more than a few rules in the past and even more in
the present, he had never actually broken the law. Unless, of
course, he counted handing over proprietary corporate information
to a third party. He wasn't sure if that was illegal or would
simply get him sued out of existence, but he didn't care to find
out. Regardless, it was a different sort of crime entirely from
breaking someone's window open and sneaking inside to make off
with their goods. If the law office of Loretta had been concerned
with the impropriety of his handling of the virus, he didn't dare
imagine what her reaction would be when she found out about the
breaking and entering.
The second choice was not appealing, as he had just done it and
proved it ineffective. Call the brother, claim to be on a story
(which, technically, he was, though he was growing increasingly
certain that no paper would ever print it) and try to get to the
effects this way. The problem was, apparently the will was in
doubt. Some sort of last-minute change had embroiled Peter
Caster, and the man was in no mood to deal with journalists or
anyone else for that matter who wanted a piece of the pie.
Negotiations were underway between the Caster family and the
doctor's lawyer.
That was the final option, of course, though no option could
truly be called 'final' while the smash and grab was still on the
table. He could call up Dr. Caster's lawyer and give him the same
speech he'd given the brother. Grant rather cynically had already
concluded that this would not work, but as a professional
journalist it was his job to go through the motions.
He went through his notes from Caster's death - faithfully backed
up to his file server while he'd been working on it - and found a
contact number for his lawyer. He'd meant to call the man when he
was first researching the story, but he'd known even back then
that all he'd get for his trouble was a tight lipped ``that is
confidential information''.
Jeremy Ember - of the law offices of Ember, Morgan, and Tuft -
picked up his phone on the second ring. ``Ember.''
``My name is Grant Wynn, I'm a-''
``Ah, Mr. Wynn.'' Jeremy's voice sounded like he'd expected the
call. ``You're the one who broke this story about Vervicom, were
you not?''
``I - yes.'' Grant said, somewhat put off balance. He hadn't
expected notoriety.
``I believe you also wrote a story,'' Ember said in the tone of a
man getting his facts lined up in order to make a larger point, ``
about a client of mine, a Doctor James Caster.''
``An obituary, but yes.''
Jeremy continued talking. ``And now you are speaking to me. I do
not think this is a coincidence.''
``I don't believe in coincidence, Mr. Ember.''
``No,'' the voice came after a pause. ``I suppose you don't.''
There was another pause and Grant was about to say something to
break the silence when Ember came back. ``Perhaps we should meet
in my offices.''
The reporter was surprised but was practiced enough not to let it
show. ``That sounds good to me, name a time and I'll make my way
up there.''
The lawyer named a time. It left very little to the commute.
Grant replied with a simple ``I'm on my way.''
During the drive, Grant's thoughts drifted wildly though
thankfully the car remained on course. That conversation had not
been at all what he'd expected. He ruefully thought back to the
cynicism that had prevented him from talking to the lawyer
earlier. Ember seemed to have instantly divined Grant's purpose,
something which Grant himself seemed unsure of. He kept thinking
back to Caster's dying demand to see the lawyer, and now that
lawyer - the only man on earth to know what had passed between
them - wanted to talk to Grant. It seemed strange, and once again
he found himself wondering whether he was actually that lucky or
whether events had been manipulated for him. He ground his teeth
- he wanted this to be over, and for chance to go back to being
left up to chance.
Ember, Morgan, and Tuft (was it coincidence that he kept seeing
the name 'Morgan' everywhere, or was there significance to it?)
had their law offices in the same district as the Gazette, which
was convenient for finding the place. At this point his Vervicom
manufactured GPS was sitting at the bottom of one of the
Gazette's dumpsters, which made it more difficult to get around
and did less for his peace of mind than he would have hoped. He'd
had to build in an extra twenty minutes 'getting lost' allowance
into any trip he planned now, and he'd been covertly shopping
around for replacement units, preferably manufactured someplace
far overseas that had never even heard of the beleaguered
software giant. Until he found such a thing, though, he was
slowly and painstakingly learning his way around the city
himself.
Eventually, after passing the Gazette twice, he found the offices
he was looking for and then, after passing by his workplace once
more, a parking spot. He was at this point past the time that
Ember had allotted for him, but something told the journalist
that this wouldn't actually matter.
He entered the building. The secretary barely looked up at his
entrance but Grant took the time to examine the man closely, in
case he was one of the many who'd come through the Gazette's
halls. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to come
back to Anders and report that Grant was working on his day off.
Anders took reprieves from work seriously, and made sure everyone
else did as well.
``How can I help you?'' the receptionist seemed to have realized
that Grant wasn't going somewhere in a hurry and therefore would
not be leaving in any sort of timely manner without help. He
didn't seem happy about this.
``I have an appointment with Mr. Ember?''
``Third floor.'' That ought to do it.
Seeing that there was no further conversation to be had here and
not really desiring one anyway, Grant headed to the elevators and
pushed the button for the third floor.
It hadn't occurred to him to ask where on the third floor Ember
kept his offices, having figured he'd find the way once he got
there. When the elevator doors opened, he found that he was
right. The third floor was Ember's offices.
The building hadn't seemed very big from the outside, but when an
entire floor was your office that seemed to balance it out. Ember
himself was already standing; probably, the reporter imagined, he
was notified whenever somebody pushed the button which would lead
them to his office.
``Mr Wynn,'' Jeremy Ember, esq, shook Grant's hand before Grant
himself knew it was happening. ``I'm glad you could come on such
short notice. Have a seat.''
Jeremy was by far more personable than Loretta had been, but
Grant got the same feeling from him as he had from her; that of
watching, noting, writing everything down that happened even if
not on paper. ``It was no problem,'' the reporter managed, trying
to maintain the professional manner and journalistic instincts
that'd gotten him into this trouble in the first place.
Ember sat down at his own desk and faced Grant. ``I must make
myself very clear, now. When you called today, I told you that I
could not speak to you.'' he raised a hand to forestall the
reporter's obvious objection that this was not in fact the case. ``
Therefore,'' he added pointedly, ``you are not here, and we are
not having this conversation. I have, in fact, never met you, nor
you me.''
``Off the record, then.'' Grant supplied.
``Very much so.'' Jeremy said, not without a bit of humor. He
paused, then appeared to take a different tack altogether. ``
Doctor James Caster, 41, originally from Columbus. I would of
course know this information even if I hadn't been paraphrasing
your story, but I wanted to illustrate that I keep up with the
news. He died on his way to meet another client of mine.''
Grant was about to open his mouth to say something, but was
interrupted very suddenly by the lawyer.
``Do not, under any circumstances, speak the name you are
thinking of right now, Mr. Wynn.'' he said, imperatively but
calmly. ``Doctor Caster has passed and most of the privilege
between us has passed with him. But of my living clients I can
say nothing, so it is important that this particular client go
un-named.''
In truth, Grant hadn't been about to mention VonCannon. But now
he knew that Ember was aware of a great deal more than the
reporter had credited him with. ``I understand.''
Ember projected the illusion of relaxing, though Grant was sure
he'd done no such thing. ``Good, I am glad I didn't have to spell
it out for you, especially as I am required by both the law and
the strictures of my profession to do no such thing.''
There was a pause while Grant tried to figure out the most
politic way to ask the question he had on his mind. The last bit
of the Caster puzzle, the deathbed change of will, had been
nagging at him ever since he'd heard it. It wasn't germane to the
story, however, so he had regretfully let it drop. Now he found
himself again wondering if that had been a wise choice.
``You want to know what passed between Doctor Caster and I, the
night he was injured.'' Jeremy said bluntly.
``Yes.'' Grant admitted, thrown off the balance he'd just
regained.
``Do not look so surprised, Mr. Wynn, anticipating people is my
job. The especially good among us know that anticipating
questions is an even more important part of this.'' He leaned in.
``I do not mean to brag, but I am especially good.'' He leaned
back in his chair and appeared to think over the question he
himself had raised. ``Privilege is a funny thing.''
Grant knew that, at some point, he was going to run into this
wall. Then again, Ember had seemed willing to talk about
VonCannon, if only in an oblique way. He may not be out of luck
yet.
``For example,'' Jeremy had continued talking. ``in this state,
the contents of a will are not public knowledge as long as there
is a dispute over it.''
``And Doctor Caster's brother is contesting the will.'' Grant
finished for him.
Ember seemed genuinely impressed. ``Very good, Mr. Wynn, I see
you have been doing your research. That is something our
professions have in common - there is much more to be done behind
the scenes than most people appreciate.'' his tone seemed to
convey that their very conversation was to be counted as 'behind
the scenes'. It wasn't the first for Grant and he was
disconcertingly certain that Ember had taken part in
conversations like this before as well.
``The interesting thing about this is not just that Mr. Peter
Caster is in another state, because while that could potentially
relieve me of my duty to safeguard the contents of the will, as a
legal and ethical matter it is very much up in the air.'' he
paused as though thinking. ``The interesting thing is that Mr.
Peter Caster's notice that he was contesting this will has never
appeared in our systems.''
``So he was just talk?'' Grant wasn't sure why, if that was the
case, Ember had bothered to explain all that.
``Quite the contrary.'' Jeremy seemed more interested in telling
the tale the longer it went on. ``I received a call from his
lawyer just yesterday, asking whether we were intending to reply
to his notice. He is quite serious.''
There was a pause where Grant could have asked a question, but
once again Ember spoke up just in time. ``Do you know the company
that manufactures the servers our systems operate under?''
``I probably do.'' Grant said, his heart sinking.
``Yes, you very probably do indeed. Interestingly enough, the law
firm which contacted us uses such machines as well. So really, it
is impossible to tell where that note was lost.''
[(0x0640) Peter Caster would, not knowing what the devices that
fell into his possession were or what purpose they served, have
had them eventually recycled too far away for their return to
this area.]
``So, the will may not be in dispute, then?''
``If we received the note, and our system lost it, then the will
is in dispute. If, on the other hand, their systems lost the note
before it was sent to us, then there is no dispute.'' he smiled. ``
It used to be customary to use a human courier for information
like this and in this case I believe that is what will eventually
happen. But it has not happened yet. And I am confident that it
was not our systems which lost this information.'' this was
tinged with a bit of pride, but Grant knew that if his machines
losing the note had worked for his purposes, the lawyer would at
this moment be shaking his head sadly at the poor state of his
servers, that they should lose such data.
If he'd been thinking ethically, he probably would excuse himself
at this point. However, he rationalized, this wasn't for a story,
really. This was something else entirely. He couldn't exactly be
accused of an ethics violation if he hadn't actually been on
duty, could he?
Naturally, the answer was ``Of course he could'', but he didn't
want to consider that and so he did not. Instead, he spoke up. ``
So, until you get this notice - that you have no legally binding
way of knowing is even en route - the will is not in dispute.''
``Mr. Wynn, you would make an excellent lawyer.'' Such a
statement might not be considered a compliment in most cases, and
Ember's tone indicated that he hadn't meant it in a ``stalwart
upholder of the law'' sort of way.
``What was in the will?'' Grant said, finally speaking the
question that'd given him so much trouble.
``Why Mr. Wynn, I am glad that you asked.'' Jeremy had apparently
been leading up to this point. ``Doctor Caster and I spent a
great deal of time on it, much to his detriment. The doctors had
informed him that he was unlikely to survive and, frankly, his
continued wakefulness was much a surprise as well. Thus, he
arranged with me that his research should carry on.''
``And what sort of research would that be?'' Grant knew, of
course, but he needed to know how much Ember knew.
``Very interesting things. I'm no scientist, I'm sure you can
appreciate that, but I know complexity when I see it. The...
device he was working on, it was beyond complexity.'' Jeremy
seemed to be at a loss for words, and Grant knew this was in fact
genuine due to the annoyed look that crossed the lawyer's face.
It had to be an unfamiliar feeling.
``So you saw what he was doing?''
``His house,'' Ember explained, ``began to be cleared this
morning for the estate sale. I received a call from the movers
that there was something they could not easily deal with. I have
employed these movers for years, Mr. Wynn, they have moved far
more unpleasant things than scientific instruments. I
investigated myself to find.... Shall we simply call it The
Device? The Device. We managed to get it going after a time, but
it was not easy.''
``Wait, you moved this thing?''
``I did not move it myself, of course, but the movers eventually
found some way of doing so. I don't recall what it was and I
don't especially want to.''
That ruled out the Immobile Machine, Grant thought, as they
tended not to get names like that if you could move them. He
tried a different tack. ``So this machine, how did you feel about
it?''
Ember laughed. ``It is not every day somebody questions my
emotions toward a machine.'' he paused upon seeing that Grant was
serious and, instead of discarding the question, appeared to take
it seriously. ``I would have to honestly say confusion, and that
is a feeling I am quite unfamiliar with.''
Unless the professor had built a Confusion Machine for Caster to
copy and not told Grant - and really, all his Machines were
confusing - this was something out of the reporter's experience
entirely. Still, VonCannon had seemed adamant about recovering
whatever it was James had been working on, and this mystery
device definitely qualified.
Something Ember had said earlier nagged at Grant. ``The movers...
you said they were clearing out the house for an estate sale?''
``Ah, yes.'' Jeremy replied, glad to be back to more normal
questions. ``I never got around to telling you the precise
contents of the will, had I?'' This was spoken as though Grant
had explicitly reminded him. ``All of the doctor's assets were to
be liquidated, and left in trust to further the research of a
certain client of mine.'' this last was said in a significant
enough tone that Grant had no doubt as to who the certain client
was.
``When is this sale?'' Grant asked quickly. He didn't have an
enormous expense account like some reporters, but the Gazette
gave him something, and he was sure whatever bizarre machine had
been carted away would make for a good story once VonCannon was
done with it, so technically it wasn't against the rules. He'd
gotten very good at rationalizing, lately.
``Ah,'' Ember said, a pained look crossing his face. ``This was
the reason for the rather... abbreviated schedule I gave you on
the phone. I'm sorry to say that it began thirty-five minutes
ago.''
Previous - Next
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Day 22 (Eavesdropping)
11 Eavesdropping
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:
``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.
Previous - Next
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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