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
Showing posts with label late. Show all posts
Showing posts with label late. Show all posts
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Day 21 (Alarm)
10 Alarm
Ring.
Maybe I dreamed it, Grant thought.
Ring.
Maybe I'm still-
``Hello?''
The most interesting thing, he slowly decided as his conscious
mind swam up from its previous state of sleep, about the person
who had answered his phone was that it was not, in fact, him.
``No, this is the right number.''
He peeked an eye open to see Rosetta sitting up, holding his
cellphone and looking bemused.
``Okay, I'll tell him.''
He blinked, slowly from the surrounding evidence putting together
what must have occurred. There was Rosetta, for one, naked,
sitting up in his bed and chatting with some unknown person.
There was him, also naked, waking up. From this he could only
conclude they had spent the night together in a very adult way
indeed. He had the memories to back this up, of course, but part
of his mind kept rejecting them. He literally could not believe
that he should be so lucky. Not just the night of intimacy, that
was merely the latest thing to not make any sense, but the entire
fact that Rose, his Rose, the love of his life who had, he
thought, vanished forever when they'd split for their separate
colleges long ago, was with him now.
It was then that he gave into the idea of the Machine totally. He
didn't care anymore. If it had brought her back to him, he didn't
care about anything else.
Rosetta hung up the phone. ``Somebody who would only identify
himself by the initials of P.B. says he has what you asked him
for. He sounded a little paranoid to me.'' she smiled. ``If I
didn't know you worked at a newspaper, I'd be pretty sure you
were buying drugs.''
``Maybe I am.'' he said, his voice a little muffled. ``It's a
great idea after all, I could pass it off as undercover work. And
afterwards, I can do a story about detox centers.''
She reached over and smacked his butt swiftly.
``Ow!'' He said. ``What was that for?''
``I'd been wanting to do that for a while now.'' she confessed. ``
And you gave me an excuse.''
He sat up to prevent such things from happening again when he
wasn't prepared. ``Morning.'' was his only reply.
``Good morning!'' she said cheerily. ``And if you thought I was
being mean just then, keep in mind that I initially felt the urge
to act like you'd gotten me drunk or tricked me into this.'' She
nodded soberly, smiling. ``But really, this kind of thing is
behavior I want to encourage. So I'll settle for the occasional
ass-smacking.''
``That's very generous of you.'' he allowed.
``I thought so.'' She laid back down leisurely atop the covers,
and Grant found himself momentarily speechless as he appreciated
this. ``I'm a giving sort of person.''
He made a noise of vague agreement.
``I suppose it ties in with the whole recycling thing.'' she
continued talking as though oblivious to his attention. ``I like
making things better, you know?''
``Yes.'' He was proud of his coherency.
``Though right now I'm just kinda lying here showing off, just
seeing how long you'll let me talk before-''
The answer, as it turned out, was 'not very'.
Some time later, as they were resting in each other's arms, it
occurred to him that it was, in fact, a weekday morning. Not an
early weekday morning, either, as they'd taken their time. In his
current state of mind, he couldn't get too worried about it. He
normally worked late anyway, and he'd once gone an entire week
without contacting the home office to let them know what he was
working on. Granted, for at least part of that time he'd been out
of the state, but still. Rosetta was self-employed, and so
unlikely to berate herself for her tardiness. He could probably
get away with lingering for a bit.
She rolled over, adding ``You're up to 64.''
He glanced over to see that she'd turned on his cellphone. ``It's
mostly hate mail.'' he warned her.
``I guessed that part.'' She made a face that was half a frown
and half wry amusement. ``Apparently someone's decided to put
every swear word he knows into a text message and send it to you
repeatedly.''
``His dime.'' Grant replied uncaringly. Since - at least on his
plan - receiving a text message was free but sending them cost
money, he was guessing he'd get another angry message from the
sender when the man's phone bill came due. He was in far too good
a mood for this to bother him.
``You've got to have at least 20 megabytes of swear words here.''
she said, impressed. ``I don't think any negative publicity I've
ever seen has generated that much.''
He would have turned over had he not remembered the reaction he'd
received the last time he'd done so. ``Only 20 Meg?'' he replied,
trying to sound somewhat disappointed. ``The paper's had much
worse than that. Lawsuits, for one.''
She shrugged. ``The papers are all legalese, hardly any swear
words in those.''
``I'm assuming this is the standard to which you hold all
writing?''
``Of course!'' she said. ``Also how I judge movies.''
``You should work for the paper. The reviews section would be a
lot livelier.''
``Unprintable, though.''
``Maybe the online version of the paper.''
``You know-'' she said, and now she'd turned to face him. ``
that's something I need to confess. I've been a Gazette
subscriber since I got back to this city.''
He shrugged. ``That's not a bad thing, you know. It'd be a more
dramatic confession if you'd subscribed to a competitor.''
``That's not what I'm confessing! No, I feel bad because all this
time, you were writing for that paper! And I never even glanced
at the bylines.''
He laughed. ``I'll be honest, the only reason I look at them is
to know which of my co-workers got the scoop. Other papers I
don't even bother.''
``That's a relief. Oooh, you're at 65!'' she said, glancing at
the phone.
``It didn't ring.''
``Oh, I turned all that off earlier this morning... for some
reason.''
``Oh yes, that.''
There was a pause while they both considered this and came to the
reluctant conclusion that they were a bit too tired to justify
the phone continuing to be shut off. With a wistful sigh, Rose
handed it to Grant, who looked through the call logs and spent
some time deleting extra swear words.
The calls that mattered: Patrick, Morgan (who, Grant suspected,
was a proxy for Anders), VonCannon, and a message Rose had
apparently typed out and saved to the phone while he hadn't paid
attention. It was very sweet. He picked up the phone and called
the paper.
``Gazette front desk, Morgan speaking.'' While Grant had been
waiting for the secretary to pick up, Rose was already out of bed
and getting dressed. It was a final reminder that the work day
was actually going to begin now.
``Hey Morgan, this is Grant. Did Anders have you call me?''
``I'm afraid not.'' Morgan was businesslike as usual. ``You
received a package from a source who did not want to identify
himself. I thought it prudent to contact you and see if you were
expecting such a thing. I can contact the bomb squad if you were
not.''
Grant thought. ``A contact of mine said he had something I'd been
waiting for. Is it about CD sized?''
There was a pause in which Grant knew Morgan was mentally coming
up with a reference for CD sizes and comparing his mystery
package to it. ``Yes.'' came the final response.
``That would be it, then.'' Then, after thinking about it. ``
Please don't call the bomb squad.''
``I'll set it aside for you.'' and with that, the connection was
gone.
Rosetta was fully dressed at this point, and looking at him
impatiently. ``Unless you plan to drive naked - and you can, I
actually think that'd be kinda funny - you should probably get
dressed. You are my ride, after all.''
Grant took a few moments to wonder if that was a double entendre
of some sort, then came to the conclusion that, no, the work day
had indeed finally begun.
Dressing didn't take long, and he smiled again when Rose took his
arm in hers as he walked out of the house and to his car. They
didn't speak much during the ride but he couldn't help but feel
it was a happy silence, the sort you have when you've made
yourself too exhausted to speak. Judging from the faint grin
still on Rosetta's face, she felt the same way.
He dropped her off at her workplace with a ``I'll see you later,
I'm hoping?''
``You'd damn well better!'' she said, poking him in the chest as
she had before. It'd only been a week ago, he thought
lightheadedly. The week before last he'd been simply doing his
job, interviewing teacup owners, completely unaware that the
woman of his dreams was, in fact, almost literally down the
block.
With that, he reluctantly drove away from her and into work.
It didn't take him long - his radio informed him that it was
11:15am, which made it a little too early for the lunch rush to
begin in earnest. It wasn't the latest he'd ever come in, he
reflected. Not by far.
Morgan looked up as he entered the building.
``Ah, Mr. Wynn, I have your package.'' he stated simply, handing
over a CD wrapped in newspaper. Grant felt mixed feelings upon
discovering it was a copy of the Gazette. He carried it back to
his desk.
His work area was a largely open one - he had a desk across from
Stephen, but no cubicle walls and definitely nothing so upscale
as an office. Thus, when he was spotted entering the room, he was
greeted with enthusiastic applause that quickly engulfed the
entire floor.
Anders was beside him. ``There, see? Wasn't that story a lot more
worthwhile than 'Outage Annoys People'. See what happens if
you're patient rather than rushing in?''
``You did not give me the Caster story knowing that it would lead
to this.'' Grant pointed out. Anders liked to act as though he
were all-knowing.
``Didn't I, though?'' the editor replied. ``Didn't I?''
Anders was replaced with Blake William, who seemed to be
shouldering all the stress that Anders should have been feeling. ``
I talked to our lawyers.'' he said to Grant without preamble. ``
They're willing to back you up on this should you prove unwilling
to reveal your sources. Vervicom has already filed a lawsuit and
will no doubt attempt to issue a subpoena against them.''
``That's... good news?'' he replied.
``Good news that you have the legal team's backing, but I assure
you had they proved intransigent I would have insisted upon it.
This newspaper, despite what some critics may think of it, is an
institution of journalism and as such, we do not reveal our
sources.'' Grant got the impression that Blake had said that
particular phrase a number of times already. ``The lawsuit from
Vervicom is not good news. Technically in the right though we may
be, they have the money and power to drag on the process and
bleed us dry.''
``I see.'' Grant said, not seeing.
``I'll keep you apprised.'' Blake's apparent function was to run
the paper and spread bad news that the recipients could do
nothing about. It having been fulfilled, he quickly moved off to
put out another fire.
After a number of other congratulations from co-workers he knew
and a number that he didn't, he finally managed to get to his
desk. There was even a note on it from Sara in Classifieds,
telling him that for scoops like his, she didn't mind working
late. It was the highest possible praise.
Finally, it was just him and the CD. At least, he was hoping it
was Patrick's CD. He tried to convince himself that at worst it'd
be a recording of swear words, rather unsuccessfully. He kept
remembering Morgan calmly offering to call the bomb disposal
squad. Grant made a note to himself to talk to Anders or Blake
about bringing Morgan on full time. He was, by far, the best of
the bunch - and they'd seen more than enough of the bunch to
know.
Making up his mind, he ripped the paper wrapping off to reveal
that it was, indeed, a mere Compact Disc. Somewhat relieved, he
was about to put it in his computer when he realized what was
probably on it. He'd had Patrick get him a copy of a computer
virus, one which if the crazed professor was right was
manipulating events for its own benefit. It'd probably be best
not to infect the Gazette with it.
He reached around to the back of the machine and unplugged its
network cable. There. The paper could stand to lose one machine.
He put the CD in, and opened the file labeled 'README'.
Grant tentatively breathed a sigh of relief. None of the things
Patrick had mentioned had yet taken place, though he'd probably
keep his computer off the network to be sure. He ejected the CD
and put it back in its jewel case. Now, he thought, he needed to
get it to VonCannon.
He thought about this for a few moments. He was of two minds
regarding this - he'd managed to get a copy of the virus he'd
been seeking forever. This was evidence, and this was a follow-up
story. Part of him wanted to treat it exactly like that, forget
the crazy old man and go on building his career now that his luck
appeared to finally be turning around. Another part of him kept
remembering what VonCannon had said upon his departure. If Grant
didn't settle this now, every time he saw a coincidence, even if
that's exactly what it was, he'd wonder. He'd never be able to go
about his life in peace.
Sighing, he got back up from his desk, carrying the disk with
him. On his way out, he managed to corner Anders.
``Hey boss,'' the reporter said. ``I took my computer off the
network. Probably a good idea to keep it off.''
Anders shrugged. ``And if someone needs to use the internet at
that desk?''
Grant knew his editor didn't actually care about the answer, but
gave one anyway. ``Then they'll get a far more close-up view of
the Vervicom Virus than they'd like.''
His boss seemed genuinely impressed, which was a rarity. ``You
have a copy?''
Grant held up the CD.
``And you've infected our computers?'' that voice was more usual
of the editor.
Grant shrugged in reply. ``Probably not, but we shouldn't take
chances.'' He rounded the corner and headed out before Anders
could give him one of his trademark lectures.
He felt absurdly good as he drove downtown. He probably shouldn't
- he was on his way to see Malachai, and each time he'd gone to
that warehouse he'd left thankful to have survived the encounter.
He may have infected his entire office with a difficult to find
and impossible to isolate virus. His boss was probably sharpening
up the words of a beratement at this very moment. And yet,
Rosetta loved him. That thought alone was enough to banish the
foreboding that wanted to come forward. He was practically
humming as he drove.
That good mood lasted even to the warehouse itself, a testament
to how strong it was. The foreboding interior of the building -
most of the pools of light had been extinguished since the last
time he'd been here - dampened it somewhat.
VonCannon had opened the door and, after looking around quickly
to ensure that Grant hadn't been followed, allowed the reporter
inside. Now they were standing at the professor's workstation as
the CD was loaded on a spare computer dedicated to just this
task.
Malachai threw a switch that turned on a heretofore unactivated
circuit. Floodlamps like those which illuminated his desk came on
all over the warehouse, all focused on one object not that far
from where they were standing. Grant had never been able to make
it out most of its features in the gloom.
``It occurs to me,'' VonCannon said without looking away from his
monitor, ``That you hadn't actually seen the time machine.''
``I thought that was the furnace for the building.'' he said
honestly.
That got the professor's attention. He looked blankly at Grant
and then toward the Machine. ``Hmph. There is a resemblance, I
suppose. Still, I'm not sure what you were expecting. Lots of
clocks, or something? Actual time machines don't work that way.''
VonCannon turned his attention back to the monitor, having
actually spoken the words ``actual time machines'' with a
straight face.
Still, Grant allowed, if he was willing to accept the idea of
insane machines from the future controlling his destiny, Time
Travel was a necessary part.
Malachai turned around and frowned, apparently irritated to find
that Grant was still there. ``Well? If all you're going to do is
question the quality of my creations, then you can get going.''
He stared angrily at the reporter. ``This isn't going to be
decrypted instantly, you know.''
``Sorry.'' Grant managed. The good thing about VonCannon's random
sporadic anger was that it was vanished a moment later; the
professor was already back at the sacrificial computer, looking
over the virus. Grant took ``you can get going'' as his cue to
leave.
It was somewhat sad, he thought as he closed the main door behind
him, that this had been his least upsetting visit to the man yet.
Previous - Next
Ring.
Maybe I dreamed it, Grant thought.
Ring.
Maybe I'm still-
``Hello?''
The most interesting thing, he slowly decided as his conscious
mind swam up from its previous state of sleep, about the person
who had answered his phone was that it was not, in fact, him.
``No, this is the right number.''
He peeked an eye open to see Rosetta sitting up, holding his
cellphone and looking bemused.
``Okay, I'll tell him.''
He blinked, slowly from the surrounding evidence putting together
what must have occurred. There was Rosetta, for one, naked,
sitting up in his bed and chatting with some unknown person.
There was him, also naked, waking up. From this he could only
conclude they had spent the night together in a very adult way
indeed. He had the memories to back this up, of course, but part
of his mind kept rejecting them. He literally could not believe
that he should be so lucky. Not just the night of intimacy, that
was merely the latest thing to not make any sense, but the entire
fact that Rose, his Rose, the love of his life who had, he
thought, vanished forever when they'd split for their separate
colleges long ago, was with him now.
It was then that he gave into the idea of the Machine totally. He
didn't care anymore. If it had brought her back to him, he didn't
care about anything else.
Rosetta hung up the phone. ``Somebody who would only identify
himself by the initials of P.B. says he has what you asked him
for. He sounded a little paranoid to me.'' she smiled. ``If I
didn't know you worked at a newspaper, I'd be pretty sure you
were buying drugs.''
``Maybe I am.'' he said, his voice a little muffled. ``It's a
great idea after all, I could pass it off as undercover work. And
afterwards, I can do a story about detox centers.''
She reached over and smacked his butt swiftly.
``Ow!'' He said. ``What was that for?''
``I'd been wanting to do that for a while now.'' she confessed. ``
And you gave me an excuse.''
He sat up to prevent such things from happening again when he
wasn't prepared. ``Morning.'' was his only reply.
``Good morning!'' she said cheerily. ``And if you thought I was
being mean just then, keep in mind that I initially felt the urge
to act like you'd gotten me drunk or tricked me into this.'' She
nodded soberly, smiling. ``But really, this kind of thing is
behavior I want to encourage. So I'll settle for the occasional
ass-smacking.''
``That's very generous of you.'' he allowed.
``I thought so.'' She laid back down leisurely atop the covers,
and Grant found himself momentarily speechless as he appreciated
this. ``I'm a giving sort of person.''
He made a noise of vague agreement.
``I suppose it ties in with the whole recycling thing.'' she
continued talking as though oblivious to his attention. ``I like
making things better, you know?''
``Yes.'' He was proud of his coherency.
``Though right now I'm just kinda lying here showing off, just
seeing how long you'll let me talk before-''
The answer, as it turned out, was 'not very'.
Some time later, as they were resting in each other's arms, it
occurred to him that it was, in fact, a weekday morning. Not an
early weekday morning, either, as they'd taken their time. In his
current state of mind, he couldn't get too worried about it. He
normally worked late anyway, and he'd once gone an entire week
without contacting the home office to let them know what he was
working on. Granted, for at least part of that time he'd been out
of the state, but still. Rosetta was self-employed, and so
unlikely to berate herself for her tardiness. He could probably
get away with lingering for a bit.
She rolled over, adding ``You're up to 64.''
He glanced over to see that she'd turned on his cellphone. ``It's
mostly hate mail.'' he warned her.
``I guessed that part.'' She made a face that was half a frown
and half wry amusement. ``Apparently someone's decided to put
every swear word he knows into a text message and send it to you
repeatedly.''
``His dime.'' Grant replied uncaringly. Since - at least on his
plan - receiving a text message was free but sending them cost
money, he was guessing he'd get another angry message from the
sender when the man's phone bill came due. He was in far too good
a mood for this to bother him.
``You've got to have at least 20 megabytes of swear words here.''
she said, impressed. ``I don't think any negative publicity I've
ever seen has generated that much.''
He would have turned over had he not remembered the reaction he'd
received the last time he'd done so. ``Only 20 Meg?'' he replied,
trying to sound somewhat disappointed. ``The paper's had much
worse than that. Lawsuits, for one.''
She shrugged. ``The papers are all legalese, hardly any swear
words in those.''
``I'm assuming this is the standard to which you hold all
writing?''
``Of course!'' she said. ``Also how I judge movies.''
``You should work for the paper. The reviews section would be a
lot livelier.''
``Unprintable, though.''
``Maybe the online version of the paper.''
``You know-'' she said, and now she'd turned to face him. ``
that's something I need to confess. I've been a Gazette
subscriber since I got back to this city.''
He shrugged. ``That's not a bad thing, you know. It'd be a more
dramatic confession if you'd subscribed to a competitor.''
``That's not what I'm confessing! No, I feel bad because all this
time, you were writing for that paper! And I never even glanced
at the bylines.''
He laughed. ``I'll be honest, the only reason I look at them is
to know which of my co-workers got the scoop. Other papers I
don't even bother.''
``That's a relief. Oooh, you're at 65!'' she said, glancing at
the phone.
``It didn't ring.''
``Oh, I turned all that off earlier this morning... for some
reason.''
``Oh yes, that.''
There was a pause while they both considered this and came to the
reluctant conclusion that they were a bit too tired to justify
the phone continuing to be shut off. With a wistful sigh, Rose
handed it to Grant, who looked through the call logs and spent
some time deleting extra swear words.
The calls that mattered: Patrick, Morgan (who, Grant suspected,
was a proxy for Anders), VonCannon, and a message Rose had
apparently typed out and saved to the phone while he hadn't paid
attention. It was very sweet. He picked up the phone and called
the paper.
``Gazette front desk, Morgan speaking.'' While Grant had been
waiting for the secretary to pick up, Rose was already out of bed
and getting dressed. It was a final reminder that the work day
was actually going to begin now.
``Hey Morgan, this is Grant. Did Anders have you call me?''
``I'm afraid not.'' Morgan was businesslike as usual. ``You
received a package from a source who did not want to identify
himself. I thought it prudent to contact you and see if you were
expecting such a thing. I can contact the bomb squad if you were
not.''
Grant thought. ``A contact of mine said he had something I'd been
waiting for. Is it about CD sized?''
There was a pause in which Grant knew Morgan was mentally coming
up with a reference for CD sizes and comparing his mystery
package to it. ``Yes.'' came the final response.
``That would be it, then.'' Then, after thinking about it. ``
Please don't call the bomb squad.''
``I'll set it aside for you.'' and with that, the connection was
gone.
Rosetta was fully dressed at this point, and looking at him
impatiently. ``Unless you plan to drive naked - and you can, I
actually think that'd be kinda funny - you should probably get
dressed. You are my ride, after all.''
Grant took a few moments to wonder if that was a double entendre
of some sort, then came to the conclusion that, no, the work day
had indeed finally begun.
Dressing didn't take long, and he smiled again when Rose took his
arm in hers as he walked out of the house and to his car. They
didn't speak much during the ride but he couldn't help but feel
it was a happy silence, the sort you have when you've made
yourself too exhausted to speak. Judging from the faint grin
still on Rosetta's face, she felt the same way.
He dropped her off at her workplace with a ``I'll see you later,
I'm hoping?''
``You'd damn well better!'' she said, poking him in the chest as
she had before. It'd only been a week ago, he thought
lightheadedly. The week before last he'd been simply doing his
job, interviewing teacup owners, completely unaware that the
woman of his dreams was, in fact, almost literally down the
block.
With that, he reluctantly drove away from her and into work.
It didn't take him long - his radio informed him that it was
11:15am, which made it a little too early for the lunch rush to
begin in earnest. It wasn't the latest he'd ever come in, he
reflected. Not by far.
Morgan looked up as he entered the building.
``Ah, Mr. Wynn, I have your package.'' he stated simply, handing
over a CD wrapped in newspaper. Grant felt mixed feelings upon
discovering it was a copy of the Gazette. He carried it back to
his desk.
His work area was a largely open one - he had a desk across from
Stephen, but no cubicle walls and definitely nothing so upscale
as an office. Thus, when he was spotted entering the room, he was
greeted with enthusiastic applause that quickly engulfed the
entire floor.
Anders was beside him. ``There, see? Wasn't that story a lot more
worthwhile than 'Outage Annoys People'. See what happens if
you're patient rather than rushing in?''
``You did not give me the Caster story knowing that it would lead
to this.'' Grant pointed out. Anders liked to act as though he
were all-knowing.
``Didn't I, though?'' the editor replied. ``Didn't I?''
Anders was replaced with Blake William, who seemed to be
shouldering all the stress that Anders should have been feeling. ``
I talked to our lawyers.'' he said to Grant without preamble. ``
They're willing to back you up on this should you prove unwilling
to reveal your sources. Vervicom has already filed a lawsuit and
will no doubt attempt to issue a subpoena against them.''
``That's... good news?'' he replied.
``Good news that you have the legal team's backing, but I assure
you had they proved intransigent I would have insisted upon it.
This newspaper, despite what some critics may think of it, is an
institution of journalism and as such, we do not reveal our
sources.'' Grant got the impression that Blake had said that
particular phrase a number of times already. ``The lawsuit from
Vervicom is not good news. Technically in the right though we may
be, they have the money and power to drag on the process and
bleed us dry.''
``I see.'' Grant said, not seeing.
``I'll keep you apprised.'' Blake's apparent function was to run
the paper and spread bad news that the recipients could do
nothing about. It having been fulfilled, he quickly moved off to
put out another fire.
After a number of other congratulations from co-workers he knew
and a number that he didn't, he finally managed to get to his
desk. There was even a note on it from Sara in Classifieds,
telling him that for scoops like his, she didn't mind working
late. It was the highest possible praise.
Finally, it was just him and the CD. At least, he was hoping it
was Patrick's CD. He tried to convince himself that at worst it'd
be a recording of swear words, rather unsuccessfully. He kept
remembering Morgan calmly offering to call the bomb disposal
squad. Grant made a note to himself to talk to Anders or Blake
about bringing Morgan on full time. He was, by far, the best of
the bunch - and they'd seen more than enough of the bunch to
know.
Making up his mind, he ripped the paper wrapping off to reveal
that it was, indeed, a mere Compact Disc. Somewhat relieved, he
was about to put it in his computer when he realized what was
probably on it. He'd had Patrick get him a copy of a computer
virus, one which if the crazed professor was right was
manipulating events for its own benefit. It'd probably be best
not to infect the Gazette with it.
He reached around to the back of the machine and unplugged its
network cable. There. The paper could stand to lose one machine.
He put the CD in, and opened the file labeled 'README'.
Grant,
Here's the data you requested. It was surprisingly easy to find!
If I didn't know my habit of anthropomorphizing things as well as
I do, I'd say it almost wanted to be found. There should only be
two files on this disc, this one (named README.txt) and the virus
(636F696E6369.bin). If you see more, something's gone wrong, and
I recommend you burn this CD in a literal sense, and probably the
computer it touched.
The virus itself should be harmless as long as you don't try to
do something crazy like run it or open it in anything. Still, if
you notice anything weird going on (processes running on your
computer that weren't before, something popping up on its own
when you put this CD in, etc) then follow the aforementioned
protocol. Try to keep your computer off the network.
Hope this gets you the answers you need.
--
P.B.
Grant tentatively breathed a sigh of relief. None of the things
Patrick had mentioned had yet taken place, though he'd probably
keep his computer off the network to be sure. He ejected the CD
and put it back in its jewel case. Now, he thought, he needed to
get it to VonCannon.
He thought about this for a few moments. He was of two minds
regarding this - he'd managed to get a copy of the virus he'd
been seeking forever. This was evidence, and this was a follow-up
story. Part of him wanted to treat it exactly like that, forget
the crazy old man and go on building his career now that his luck
appeared to finally be turning around. Another part of him kept
remembering what VonCannon had said upon his departure. If Grant
didn't settle this now, every time he saw a coincidence, even if
that's exactly what it was, he'd wonder. He'd never be able to go
about his life in peace.
Sighing, he got back up from his desk, carrying the disk with
him. On his way out, he managed to corner Anders.
``Hey boss,'' the reporter said. ``I took my computer off the
network. Probably a good idea to keep it off.''
Anders shrugged. ``And if someone needs to use the internet at
that desk?''
Grant knew his editor didn't actually care about the answer, but
gave one anyway. ``Then they'll get a far more close-up view of
the Vervicom Virus than they'd like.''
His boss seemed genuinely impressed, which was a rarity. ``You
have a copy?''
Grant held up the CD.
``And you've infected our computers?'' that voice was more usual
of the editor.
Grant shrugged in reply. ``Probably not, but we shouldn't take
chances.'' He rounded the corner and headed out before Anders
could give him one of his trademark lectures.
He felt absurdly good as he drove downtown. He probably shouldn't
- he was on his way to see Malachai, and each time he'd gone to
that warehouse he'd left thankful to have survived the encounter.
He may have infected his entire office with a difficult to find
and impossible to isolate virus. His boss was probably sharpening
up the words of a beratement at this very moment. And yet,
Rosetta loved him. That thought alone was enough to banish the
foreboding that wanted to come forward. He was practically
humming as he drove.
That good mood lasted even to the warehouse itself, a testament
to how strong it was. The foreboding interior of the building -
most of the pools of light had been extinguished since the last
time he'd been here - dampened it somewhat.
VonCannon had opened the door and, after looking around quickly
to ensure that Grant hadn't been followed, allowed the reporter
inside. Now they were standing at the professor's workstation as
the CD was loaded on a spare computer dedicated to just this
task.
Malachai threw a switch that turned on a heretofore unactivated
circuit. Floodlamps like those which illuminated his desk came on
all over the warehouse, all focused on one object not that far
from where they were standing. Grant had never been able to make
it out most of its features in the gloom.
``It occurs to me,'' VonCannon said without looking away from his
monitor, ``That you hadn't actually seen the time machine.''
``I thought that was the furnace for the building.'' he said
honestly.
That got the professor's attention. He looked blankly at Grant
and then toward the Machine. ``Hmph. There is a resemblance, I
suppose. Still, I'm not sure what you were expecting. Lots of
clocks, or something? Actual time machines don't work that way.''
VonCannon turned his attention back to the monitor, having
actually spoken the words ``actual time machines'' with a
straight face.
Still, Grant allowed, if he was willing to accept the idea of
insane machines from the future controlling his destiny, Time
Travel was a necessary part.
Malachai turned around and frowned, apparently irritated to find
that Grant was still there. ``Well? If all you're going to do is
question the quality of my creations, then you can get going.''
He stared angrily at the reporter. ``This isn't going to be
decrypted instantly, you know.''
``Sorry.'' Grant managed. The good thing about VonCannon's random
sporadic anger was that it was vanished a moment later; the
professor was already back at the sacrificial computer, looking
over the virus. Grant took ``you can get going'' as his cue to
leave.
It was somewhat sad, he thought as he closed the main door behind
him, that this had been his least upsetting visit to the man yet.
Previous - Next
Monday, November 19, 2007
Days 17-18 (Deus Ex)
``VERVICOM VIRUS'' RAMPANT
Eight years ago, an error in the software safeguards at the Mason
Nuclear Power plant resulted in an accident. This accident caused
several cases of radiation poisoning, and the aftereffects are
still being felt today.
Six years ago, the supertanker Henry David ran aground, spilling
a million gallons of oil over the previously pristine beach of
Waldport, Washington.
Earlier this week, the Mason Nuclear Power Plant's safety systems
again failed, this time by shutting down power to the entire
city, resulting in many injuries and even deaths.
The common factor in all these incidents is Vervicom Software.
They were the creators of both the Mason safeguards and the GPS
system which steered the ill-fated tanker off course. Victims of
the power plant accident have received generous settlements, all
lawsuits relating to the Henry David are closed, and the software
giant is said to be in talks with the city regarding restitution
for its most current accident. While Vervicom has painted a
picture of 'trying to set things right' in these settlements, has
it really learned anything?
One employee says no. An anonymous source inside the company
reports that the fault lies in a virus that has lain dormant in
Vervicom's computers over the past decade. ``[It] is slippery and
vanishes when you try to lock it down. But I wouldn’t be
surprised if it’s the root of all the strange things that have
gone on in this company.” While the source could not locate
copies of the virus in archives of older code, it did become
apparent that ``Some of the code that’s misbehaving right now
[is] still broken in the same way.”
Officials at Vervicom Software declined to comment.
8 Deus Ex
There had been one moment, about ten minutes long, where Grant's
phone had stopped ringing. That had been a good ten minutes.
He tried, as a general rule, to keep his work life and his
private life separate. His card only had the paper's number on
it, but when he was dealing with a source he'd often put his cell
on there as well. In this case, it was coming back to haunt him.
His cellphone was currently turned off and hidden in his desk
drawer so he wouldn't be tempted to pick it up and look at the
horrid number of voice mail messages piling up. His desk phone
was the one that kept ringing. He had to take those calls, too.
Morgan - the new Morgan - had quit when the deluge hit. She was
replaced by the temp agency - in an hour - by the old Morgan. The
old Morgan was ruthlessly efficient at preventing Vervicom
employees or others with their retirements invested in Vervicom
stock from getting through to Grant, and he was thankful, but
this left a number of others he had to call.
The story had taken him the remainder of the week to finish, with
research and vetting and some additional interviews with Patrick.
Anders had wanted to save it for the Sunday edition, and Grant
had been fine with it. He'd written unflattering stories before
and the worst he'd end up with was usually an e-mail inbox of
irate letters. At the moment all his e-mail was going through a
series of filters to pick out death threats.
This was the second time in two weeks he'd come in in the
morning. Unlike the last time, nobody was poking fun at him.
Instead, they were congratulating him. He'd been with the Gazette
his entire post-college career, but it hadn't been until this
story broke and all the havoc came with it that he'd gotten a
sense of respect. It was, he'd realized, the first bit of real
journalism he'd done.
Naturally, this meant he was catching hell from it.
The first people to contact him had been Vervicom's lawyers. They
were very stern, and Grant forwarded them to Anders quickly.
Hearing the editor loudly berate them on how seriously the paper
treated the anonymity of its sources, he almost felt sorry for
them.
He'd gotten some calls of support, and more than a few calls he
wanted to return at some point when his phone was free. Most
Vervicom employees hated him for ruining their pension (shares in
VRVC were down 3 and 3/8 on the news) but a few had phoned in
saying they'd seen evidence of the virus, too. The majority of
the rest of his calls were from people dissatisfied with
Vervicom's more consumer-oriented software and who thought this
was somehow related.
His phone rang again and he was about to pick it up when Anders
came over to his desk and unplugged it. ``That's it!'' the editor
proclaimed. ``You've done enough damage for the day.''
``As annoying as most of these calls are,'' Grant said, not
without some measure of relief, ``A few of them are genuine new
sources. I should probably hear what they have to say.''
``That's Morgan's job.'' he paused. ``It's Morgan again, yes?''
``The last person was also Morgan.'' Grant added unhelpfully.
``Anyway, it's his job to screen calls and he was getting a
little upset that you wouldn't let him do it.'' Anders said.
Grant couldn't tell if the man was kidding.
``So if I'm not talking to sources, what am I doing?''
``You're going home.'' Anders emphasized this part. ``Believe me,
I know how reckless and foolhardy you can be when you've got a
story, so the best thing you can do right now is go home, get
some rest, and not let fame go to your head.''
``But I-''
``Go home!'' Anders reiterated. ``If you're here in five minutes
I'm sending you home with a pink slip!''
Grant knew that his editor was probably not going to fire the man
responsible for the latest front-page exclusive, but he wasn't
willing to take the chance. After all, Anders had not earned his
reputation as a lunatic for nothing.
On his way out, he glanced at his phone to see 42 unanswered
messages. He sighed - at least it was fewer than awaited his
inbox.
``Mr. Wynn!'' A sharp voice intruded as he walked to his car.
Grant frowned and turned cautiously toward its originator. He'd
never really had to think about personal security before, and he
was finding that it was probably something he should have looked
into sooner rather than later.
Malachai VonCannon was walking toward him urgently. Part of him
relaxed while another part of his mind tensed up. Good, it wasn't
some lunatic. Bad, it was this particular lunatic.
``I need to see your car.'' he said pointedly, looking around
erratically. He would stare directly at Grant for a few moments,
then check his surroundings to ensure he hadn't been followed.
The reporter would ordinarily have found such paranoia to be
overrated, but in his current situation it seemed entirely
justified.
``I'm walking to it now.'' Grant replied uncertainly. Why did the
inventor need to see his car?
Malachai didn't elaborate as he shuffled along behind. The
reporter found himself wondering how crazy the crazy old man
actually was.
The moment Grant pulled out his keys, VonCannon had darted out in
front of him and was peering through the glass. ``Ha! I knew it
would be the case! I knew it!''
Wynn wasn't sure he wanted to ask, but did nonetheless. ``Knew
what?''
``Drive me back to my warehouse, I've got quite a bit to show
you.''
Grant looked at the man askance. ``Now hold on just a second
there. I need to know how and why you're here. It is not typical
to wait outside someone's place of work, it's the kind of thing
someone with a grudge and a tire iron would do.''
``Hmph.'' was the impatient reply. ``I'm here because I've got a
better story than the one you printed yesterday. Oh, I read it,
it got me thinking. How I got here is simple, I took the bus. And
as to why I'm waiting out here, perhaps I wouldn't need to if
you'd answer your damn phone!''
There was a moment of silence. Grant broke it by saying, in a
level voice, ``Fair enough.''
``Now, are you going to drive me back to my warehouse, or are you
going to force an old man to wait in the heat for the return bus?''
Grant sighed and unlocked the doors. ``Hop in.''
VonCannon had seemed a recalcitrant, taciturn man those few times
that Grant had possessed the ill-fortune to speak with him. What
the reporter was in the process of learning as he drove was that
this was only because Malachai hadn't had a topic until now.
``Did they tell you about my time machine?'' he asked. Grant
risked a look away from the road to see that the ex-professor
looked almost giddy.
``They?''
VonCannon waved the question aside. ``The people you talked to
about me. Or about the Disappointment Machine, it's not
important. Do you know about the time machine?''
``Someone at the university mentioned you built something along
those lines.'' he replied guardedly. It wouldn't be wise to point
out that such a thing was impossible.
``Of course, a real time machine is impossible.'' Malachai
pointed out. ``At least in the sense of a time-traveling car or
phone booth or something like that. What I did - and this is
ongoing, understand - is open a wormhole and anchor it in time.
It's a tiny wormhole, only information can travel through, and
I've been spending decades deciphering what it means. Now, thanks
to your story, I know!''
``What does this have to do with my car?'' Grant asked. ``I'm
guessing you wanted the ride, but you seemed intent on looking it
over first.''
``It has nothing to do with your car,'' Malachai insisted
disdainfully, ``and everything to do with your GPS. You remember
the first time we met, yes?''
Grant just nodded. None of his meetings so far with the professor
had gone well. This sentiment included the current one.
``You arrived at my warehouse hoping to go, instead, to Sandys
recycling. You were not the first that day to do so and you were
not the last. Since I saw your story, I did an informal poll
among those who came by that day - at least, those whose phone
numbers I could locate. Guess who manufactures the software for
their GPS systems?''
``Verv-'' Grant started.
``Vervicom!'' VonCannon shouted ecstatically. Grant risked
another look and saw that, indeed, the man was grinning from ear
to ear.
If Malachai noticed the attention, he did not respond, instead
continuing on about his discovery. ``That's just the tip of the
iceberg, though. All those people who stopped by my place of
business, they're just the ones that didn't know that my
warehouse was not their intended destination! What about the more
street-savvy, those who rely on the GPS for navigation but know
the city well enough to know when the directions don't make any
sense?'' Grant suspected if he glanced over right now, he'd see
the man rubbing his hands together like a modern-day mad
scientist. ``Ah, but I checked on them, too! Vervicom has a
number of forums, official and less so, and there are some of
them broken down by region. I checked this region on the day in
question, and I find no fewer than a dozen people who began their
mistaken trek to my workplace only to retreat when they realized
their mistake! And every single one, as you might imagine from
their posting, possessed a Vervicom GPS.''
Grant was personally glad that they were nearing the destination.
``Is that really such a surprise?'' he asked. ``I mean, I'd be
more suspicious if it was just my GPS and not a whole bunch of
people.''
VonCannon shook his head. ``You've got to look at the pattern! Do
you know all the things that Vervicom software runs?''
``No.'' was the reply. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
``Their safeguard routines are industry standard. Power plants,
GPS, and most relevant to this conversation, automatic navigation
systems in general.''
``I'm not sure I follow.'' They had reached the warehouse. Grant
was already out of the car and Malachai followed almost
immediately after, babbling as he went.
``Automatic navigation! Not full-fledged autonomy, of course, but
driver-assisted! The city contracted out the safety protocols for
its buses when it requisitioned them. A local company won the
bid.''
``The anti-lock brakes?'' Wynn almost stopped walking. ``Vervicom
killed Dr. Caster?''
VonCannon opened the door to his warehouse and ushered Grant
impatiently inside. ``No, of course not. Their software did it.''
he turned a few switches near the door and the various pools of
light flickered on. ``So, see the pattern. Dr. Caster is killed
by a Vervicom glitch. Then you are directed to me by another
glitch in the same company's software. You, the person capable of
exposing this problem!'' The professor was walking more quickly
now, more comfortable in his own domain.
``You're talking as though someone's doing this on purpose.''
Grant pointed out. ``My source tells me it's just a virus,
there's not a person controlling it.''
``Ha!'' Malachai's laugh was as pointed as his speech. ``Not a
person indeed! Your friend is very observant. I would like a copy
of this virus, if I am correct it is the vehicle through which
all these things are happening.''
``It's just coincidence.'' Grant insisted.
``It was no coincidence that we met!'' The professor's own
insistence was more forceful by far. ``In fact, I am beginning to
disbelieve in coincidence altogether. Come, see this machine.''
They'd arrived at a pool of light closer to the back of the
warehouse. Grant could see the desk area the professor used as a
workstation. In the distance, though its light was off, he knew
the Disappointment Machine lurked.
He wasn't thrilled with this table, either. On it was a segmented
metal ring, about a foot in diameter. It writhed in complete
silence, performing some task Grant couldn't identify.
``This is my Oroboros.'' VonCannon proclaimed. ``I'm not sure
what to name it. Part of me likes to call it the Perpetual Motion
Machine, but that's not technically true. It is very efficient
but it will not run forever. I'll probably simply call it the
Recycling Machine.''
``What, exactly, is it doing?'' Grant asked. Every time it seemed
the professor had a thread of conversation, he would do something
like this and change directions completely.
VonCannon pointed at a bump in the metal that Grant had
originally assumed was a design flaw. ``This opening is where
material goes to be recycled. The machine uses it to build more
of itself, which it then devours.''
Grant could see it now; the bump was a mechanical mouth, it was
moving slowly, crushing in almost total silence the metal of the
machine's ``tail''.
Malachai had already motioned him over to the desk area. A
whiteboard covered in mathematical notation and other less
intelligible drawings was testament to the work done recently. ``
All these things I've built over the years, they work on
principles nobody else seems to understand. I build a time
machine that doesn't travel through time, an immobile machine
that ceases to exist the moment you perfect it, a disappointment
machine that can't fail to be built, and a machine which is
constantly reinventing itself. They seem unrelated... until you
came along.
``Knowing what I know now,'' the ex-professor continued, ``
knowing that things were arranged this way, I thought of the
machines differently. What if, instead of being mere experiments
of mine, they were prerequisites to something bigger? Something
which takes from all of them? Something which reaches through
time, and arranges things so it was built? How would the effects
of such a machine look to observers, hmmm?''
Grant wasn't sure he liked the manic gleam in VonCannon's eyes.
He tried to stay firm in his conviction that the coincidences
he'd endured were in fact just coincidence. ``I met Rosetta
Sandys, `` he said evenly, ``because of that power outage. And
now you're suggesting that some machine from the future arranged
that? No. I don't buy it.''
Malachai calmed down and seemed his old thoughtful self
momentarily. ``I told you, didn't I, that the night Dr. Caster
died, he called me to apologize?''
``I seem to recall that.'' Grant said warily.
``You know, then, that we had an argument some years past? Do you
know the subject?''
Grant shook his head. He didn't want to be convinced. He wanted
to get out of this warehouse, go see Rosetta, and pretend the
world was a normal place where some force from the future wasn't
lining up happy horrible little coincidences.
``Doctor Caster accused me of colluding with industry during my
time at the university.'' VonCannon revealed. ``Given he was
accused of the same thing, he was understandably sensitive about
such transgressions. They were baseless accusations, and I said
so. It was the last we'd spoke until I got his message. The
reason he gave me, at the time of our argument, was that he'd
discovered blueprints for the Immobile machine in the Vervicom
system.''
Grant was about to open his mouth to object when Malachai
interrupted him.
``Look at the pattern! First, my time machine's unpredictable
nature forces Dr. Caster to fire me, thus separating us. Then, he
discovers blueprints that cannot have been on that system,
separating us again! When he finally implements them and sees
that I am right, he is stopped again from coming to me! And you
would put this all down as coincidence? It doesn't matter that
this Vervicom Virus of yours, the one that vanishes when its work
is done, has been orchestrating all these seemingly unrelated
events? This is not evidence to you?''
``But why?'' Grant replied, his voice a great deal harsher than
he'd meant to. ``Why go through all this trouble? Why bring me
here, why murder Dr. Caster?''
``To ensure it is built!'' VonCannon replied. ``Before you wrote
that story, I had my suspicions, but now I know. The Coincidence
Machine must be built. It is altering history through this virus
in order to become created. It kept Caster away from me for
reasons of its own, probably because the man had a good head for
management but wasn't technical enough to keep up, may he rest in
peace. And finally, the machine brought you to me. So I would
know. So I would begin my research.''
A stony silence sat between them.
``It's insane.'' Grant insisted quietly. ``I don't want to
believe this.''
``It's real.''
``So now what?'' Grant said suddenly. ``Now that the machine's
got what it wanted, what happens now?''
Malachai shrugged. ``You wrote a story exposing Vervicom. The
machine can't use the software giant for its ends anymore, from
which we can conclude it is finished. I imagine we go about our
lives. I build the machine so it stops interfering with
everything, you go become a famous journalist. We put this behind
us.''
``A man is dead.'' Wynn reminded him.
``Who's to say you wouldn't have died instead, hm? We don't know
what the world was like before this thing got started. Maybe
Vervicom doesn't exist in the unaltered timeline, maybe there's
no such thing as Mason Power in the real world. We live now. That
is what is important.'' VonCannon paused. ``There is only one
more task I need you to do. Get me a copy of that virus. Once I
have it, I can create software that will find it no matter where
it lies. More importantly, I can disassemble it, find out what it
was doing and what it is yet to do, and thus verify we are done
with it.''
``If I get you this virus, it's over?''
``I guarantee nothing.'' Malachai spoke with his usual candor. ``
But if you do not get me the virus, you will never know. Whenever
any coincidence, serendipity, or fluke of chance effects you, you
will ask yourself - it is a genuine coincidence, or are you still
running on the treadmill your new fate has set for you?''
``Fine.'' Grant said, his nerves shot. With that, he turned from
the building and left.
Previous - Next
Days 17-18 (Printing)
Twenty minutes later, he'd hastily printed out listings for all
the nearby theaters he knew how to get to, and was outside
Rosetta's workplace, still in his car. As he was glancing through
them for a suitable show, the passenger door opened.
``The Fifth Stop.'' Rose said simply, buckling herself in.
Grant blinked, then looked back down at his listings hurriedly.
There was no movie by that name. Right as he was about to open
his mouth to suggest he'd have to look up more listings, Rosetta
spoke up again.
``Don't worry about it,'' she was smiling. ``I just made that up.''
Grant blinked again.
Rose ignored him, continuing on. ``In my mind, it's a movie that
takes place on a bus, and there's four parts. Each part focuses
on someone who gets on and then off on the next stop. And then on
the fifth stop something dramatic happens, like they're actually
the same person with multiple personalities or something.''
``Shouldn't there be five parts?'' Grant found himself, as usual,
trying to keep up. ``One for each stop?''
``No, there's five stops but four spots in between the stops, you
see.'' She ticked them off on her fingers. ``First to second,
second to third, third to fourth, and fourth to fifth.''
``You're insane.'' he said.
She shrugged. ``You haven't kicked me out of the car yet.''
``I don't plan to, either'' Grant replied, smiling. He looked
back down at his listings and picked a movie at random.
Previous - Next
the nearby theaters he knew how to get to, and was outside
Rosetta's workplace, still in his car. As he was glancing through
them for a suitable show, the passenger door opened.
``The Fifth Stop.'' Rose said simply, buckling herself in.
Grant blinked, then looked back down at his listings hurriedly.
There was no movie by that name. Right as he was about to open
his mouth to suggest he'd have to look up more listings, Rosetta
spoke up again.
``Don't worry about it,'' she was smiling. ``I just made that up.''
Grant blinked again.
Rose ignored him, continuing on. ``In my mind, it's a movie that
takes place on a bus, and there's four parts. Each part focuses
on someone who gets on and then off on the next stop. And then on
the fifth stop something dramatic happens, like they're actually
the same person with multiple personalities or something.''
``Shouldn't there be five parts?'' Grant found himself, as usual,
trying to keep up. ``One for each stop?''
``No, there's five stops but four spots in between the stops, you
see.'' She ticked them off on her fingers. ``First to second,
second to third, third to fourth, and fourth to fifth.''
``You're insane.'' he said.
She shrugged. ``You haven't kicked me out of the car yet.''
``I don't plan to, either'' Grant replied, smiling. He looked
back down at his listings and picked a movie at random.
Previous - Next
Friday, November 16, 2007
Days 11-16 (Printing)
7 Printing
It wasn't Grant's best work. After days of interviews - some,
admittedly, more bizarre than others - he'd found his painstaking
notes and research reduced, as usual, to under 100 words. But it
had been printed and he had a new lead to follow up on.
For once, he was in the office early in the morning. Stephan had
been trying not to stare at him all day, and failing. Anders
acted like he was having a heart attack, and then berated people
for not calling an ambulance. It wasn't like Grant to be in
early, and the entirety of his co-workers seemed to make it their
mission to remind him. He didn't care, though, primarily because
he had a lead. A very, very interesting lead.
He'd spent several hours on the phone, doing some research. He'd
called Patrick back the instant he'd arrived at the office and
finished fending off people's jokes.
Patrick hadn't wanted to talk - the number Grant had from his
caller ID had been the programmer's cell number, and he'd had the
cell at work. All he'd been willing to say was ``Look into Henry
David. I'll call you back.''
Henry David. The first thing to spring into the reporter's mind
was Thoreau, but he couldn't possibly see what a 19th century
author had to do with his story. Nevertheless, he kept looking.
It was in an article on Henry David Thoreau that he found what he
was seeking, in a very roundabout way. The writer had been one of
the first environmentalists, thus - as the article pointed out -
lending a poignant irony to the supertanker disaster of years
before....
Grant felt the near irresistible urge to smack himself in the
forehead. He'd just been talking about this with Rose the night
before, he'd covered the story for the Gazette. The supertanker
Henry David had, six years prior, run aground and spilled an
enormous amount of oil. While it hadn't been on the scale of
disasters such as the Exxon Valdez, it had still been notable.
Rosetta remembered it, after all, and he was sure that her life
wasn't the only one that it'd had an impact on. Hell, it'd
started his career.
Why was Patrick telling him to look into it? He pulled up his own
story on the incident:
Grant frowned. GPS? He glanced through the rest of his story, but
at the time he'd written it the more likely suspect had been
Captain Tesser himself. Everyone at the time, himself included,
seemed to think that blaming the instruments was nothing more
than a convenient excuse. The GPS never came up again in his
writing.
He hated to admit it, but he was going to have to rely on better
reporters than himself. He turned back to the Internet and looked
for news stories following up. It was difficult going - the
company that owned the tanker was tied up in litigation with the
town they'd ruined, and those stories were drowning out any
retrospectives he might hope to find on the incident.
By early afternoon, he was about to give up. He'd glanced over
page after page of search results in legalese. Court filings,
stories about Supreme Court rulings, appeals court denials,
punitive damages being changed, etc. Finally, in a fit of
desperation, he clicked on one of the stories about the legal
process.
The world headquarters of Vervicom Software was the one in this
city. Grant had no idea that it had been around that long and had
that far a reach. He frowned - as a journalist, it was his job to
know such things. He checked the date on the article to see that
it had been written two years ago. Six years after the incident,
two years after lawsuits had been filed, and whatever glitches
the company had incorporated into their GPS software remained.
Grant himself could attest to that. Still, there hadn't been any
oil spills or incidents he could find that resulted from the
problems since then, so it was entirely possible the company had
hushed it up and moved on with business.
Un-hushing things like this was what Grant had become a
journalist to do. He smiled to himself. Anders had given him that
story as a way to punish him, and it was rapidly turning into
quite the expose. He glanced at the clock and frowned at the
phone; Patrick hadn't called him back yet. If Wynn was going to
put together a story on Vervicom's oversights, it was going to
have to be done with more information than just that, however. A
power outage and flaky GPS did not a conspiracy make, and Pat had
implied that there was a lot more going on.
Grant was at a crossroads, and he found himself uneasily
considering his options. He could sit back, continue researching
other incidents that involved the software giant, and hope that
he got a call from Patrick or struck gold some other way, or he
could call the reluctant informant himself and see if he couldn't
squeeze him for information.
The phone rang. Grant looked at it, frowning. There'd been quite
a bit of odd serendipity in his life of late. If Pat was calling
right as the reporter was considering calling him, it'd be that
much stranger. He picked up the phone.
``Hello?'' he asked.
``I was thinking a movie tonight.'' the voice said cheerily. It
wasn't Pat.
``Movie?'' he said blankly.
``I promise you, I will not force you to go to a chick flick with
me.'' Rosetta! Her voice sounded tinny and he mentally cursed the
poor audio quality of his desk phone. ``Just don't pick some
explosion movie or something.''
``When have I ever taken you to an action movie?'' he replied.
``Tonight, maybe. Though I'd prefer something a little more
cerebral.''
``How's 6pm sound? Can I pick you up after work tonight?'' he had
rapidly gotten back into the back-and-forth a conversation with
Rosetta required just to keep up.
``Yes, you can. And you will!'' she said, and hung up. She hadn't
even said what movie she'd like to see. He made a mental note to
check out the listings before leaving for the day.
A moment later, a petite college student with extremely dark hair
and annoyed look on her face appeared in front of his desk. ``I
hope she wrote down the number, because next time someone calls
asking for you, I'm just going to tell them I'm not information
and hang up.'' she said bluntly.
``Okay.'' Grant said in the spirit of cooperation. His business
card listed simply the Gazette's number, there had never been a
problem routing calls through the secretary before. This must be
the new one.
``You got a call while you were on the other line.'' she put a
sticky note with mashed handwriting on his desk.
``Thanks, um....''
``Morgan.'' she replied, walking off.
Had the temp agency gotten rid of their current secretary and
replaced him with someone who had an identical name but different
gender? Yes, apparently they had. Grant had to admit, that was a
new trick. They'd kept things surprising. He glanced down at the
message.
Patrick! At least he hadn't called while Grant was thinking of
calling him. He dialed the phone.
``Sorry about earlier today.'' was the answer immediately upon
picking up.
``No problem'' Grant replied noncommittally. He wasn't sure he'd
gotten the correct number, but there had been one memorable
occasion where he'd been the recipient of some very important
information by dialing the wrong number.
``It's safe to talk now.'' Pat said. ``I'm glad you called back,
Grant. Sorry I was so cryptic earlier.''
``I took the hint, eventually. Your company made GPS software for
the Henry David.''
``A bunch of other things, too. The power outage was our fault,
indirectly.''
Grant nodded, even though he knew Pat couldn't see him. He tended
to gesture while talking too - other people witnessing him do
this often thought he was talking to them. Thankfully, not many
people were left. He'd been the subject of enough ridicule for
the day. ``I think I heard something along those lines - it was a
known problem, right? There were negotiations to get it fixed
that broke down?''
``The negotiations were on track, I think.'' Pat said. ``
Management stuff, mostly, but I help with e-mail support and I
can tell you that maybe a month before that outage happened,
messages just started vanishing left and right.''
``So you've got in-house e-mail, too?''
``That's the thing, it's commercial off-the-shelf stuff.''
Patrick was starting to get excited - Grant could tell this story
was, in fact, going somewhere, despite his initial impressions. ``
Something was interfering with it.''
``Interfering?'' that did sound interesting. ``So someone's
compromised Vervicom's system?''
``That's what I thought, too. As far as I can tell, though, they
haven't. I shut down the network one night for a good hour,
looked at some of our code that's misbehaving right now, and it's
still broken in the same way.''
``Wait, so this... thing that's happening, it's still going on?''
Grant was writing things down as fast as they were spoken.
Pat hesitated. ``I... I mean, I know I'm doing the right thing
here, making sure people know about this, but I don't want to go
into too much detail on what we're going right now, you know? I
looked it up. Whistleblower laws protect me from telling about
the old stuff, but I'm under NDA for this new stuff. I can't
afford a lawyer to split the difference. I'm kinda hoping I won't
need one at all.''
``This can be kept as confidential as you want. I can go anywhere
from using your full name - which I'm assuming is completely out
of the question - to simply referring to an anonymous source
within the company.'' He'd given people anonymity many times in
his short career, though it hadn't often been really necessary.
He heard Patrick breath a sigh of relief. ``Good. I can get away
with getting an occasional call at work from you because you
wrote about Caster, but if you call too much they'll probably
pick up on what's going on.''
``You were telling me about the power outage.'' Grant reminded
gently. There was always a fine line when it came to informants -
push too much and they got scared away, push too little and they
vanished.
``Right, sorry.'' Pat seemed more at ease with this topic anyway.
``The point is, since the power outage happened, we haven't lost
anything. Every mail's gone through just fine, the team in charge
of patching up the power plant is going strong now, management
approval and funding's well, the whole deal is coming up roses.''
Grant tried to follow the programmer's logic. ``So everything
went south long enough for the power to go out, and no more?''
``Exactly.''
``But you were just saying that your systems haven't been hacked.''
Patrick paused. ``I don't think they have, at least not in the
way you'd normally think. There's not a person actually logged
into our system, controlling what's going on. I'd know if that
were the case, I've got isolated sniffers on all our routers. No,
I think we're dealing with a virus here.''
Grant had no clue what this technical jargon meant, but wrote it
down anyway. He tried to bring his computer knowledge to bear. ``
But a virus, that's essentially a hacker's tool, right? It's used
to gain control of the system.''
``Normally, yes, but like I said, I can keep a watch on traffic
coming and going. I haven't seen anything that looks like someone
attempting remote control. I have seen bits of code go out,
identical. This same code was in our mail system a few weeks ago.''
``The virus.'' Grant identified.
``Bingo.'' Patrick said. ``I've gone through some of the
archives, but it's damn hard to find the thing. It tends to clean
up after itself when it's done whatever it's doing. I can't find
a trace of it in the mail system now, but I know it's lurking out
there somewhere. Like I said, I'll see bits on the stuff I'm
working on now.''
``So...'' Grant was trying to put all of this together. ``You
think it's been around a lot longer than the last month or so.''
``Bingo. We've got teams of people repairing the Mason power
software, but do you know why? Because years ago there was a huge
accident caused by our code.''
Grant felt a chill go down his spine. ``About eight years ago?
People sick from radiation poisoning?''
``Of course you remember, you probably covered it.'' Pat kept
talking, unaware of the effect he was having. ``It was a big deal
then but you don't hear much about it now. That was a bug in our
software, and the plant had been contracting out to us for years
to repair it.''
Grant looked over his notes. ``The power plant accident back
then, the outage now, the tanker... you think they had the same
cause''
``Exactly. I can't prove it - that virus is slippery and vanishes
when you try to lock it down. But I wouldn't be surprised if it's
the root of all the strange things that have gone on in this
company.''
``This is quite a bit of information you've given me here.''
Grant replied after looking over everything. ``I'm going to need
to do some research of my own, of course, but this is definitely
something I can work with.''
``Okay. You can call me at this number after work hours.'' Pat
still seemed somewhat furtive, no doubt still worried over
getting sued and/or fired. ``I'll let you know if I find anything
on my end.''
With that, Patrick hung up. Grant glanced around the newsroom to
find most everyone gone, then looked at the clock. He'd have to
rush to get the listings and make it over to Rose. He glanced
down at the notes he'd taken. If Patrick was for real, it would
be a hell of a story. He was certainly in luck lately! He could
only hope that it would hold.
Previous - Next
OUTAGE COMES WITH A COST
...lastly, Dr. James Caster, 41, a native of Columbus, passed
away as a result of injuries sustained in a collision with a
municipal bus. The doctor was a Senior Research Consultant at
Vervicom Software, where he had spent the past decade. The doctor
was no stranger to unlikely circumstances, as it was a software
glitch which guaranteed him employment at the software giant.
Prior to employment there, he oversaw the department of
engineering at the State College for several years. He is
survived by his brother.
It wasn't Grant's best work. After days of interviews - some,
admittedly, more bizarre than others - he'd found his painstaking
notes and research reduced, as usual, to under 100 words. But it
had been printed and he had a new lead to follow up on.
For once, he was in the office early in the morning. Stephan had
been trying not to stare at him all day, and failing. Anders
acted like he was having a heart attack, and then berated people
for not calling an ambulance. It wasn't like Grant to be in
early, and the entirety of his co-workers seemed to make it their
mission to remind him. He didn't care, though, primarily because
he had a lead. A very, very interesting lead.
He'd spent several hours on the phone, doing some research. He'd
called Patrick back the instant he'd arrived at the office and
finished fending off people's jokes.
Patrick hadn't wanted to talk - the number Grant had from his
caller ID had been the programmer's cell number, and he'd had the
cell at work. All he'd been willing to say was ``Look into Henry
David. I'll call you back.''
Henry David. The first thing to spring into the reporter's mind
was Thoreau, but he couldn't possibly see what a 19th century
author had to do with his story. Nevertheless, he kept looking.
It was in an article on Henry David Thoreau that he found what he
was seeking, in a very roundabout way. The writer had been one of
the first environmentalists, thus - as the article pointed out -
lending a poignant irony to the supertanker disaster of years
before....
Grant felt the near irresistible urge to smack himself in the
forehead. He'd just been talking about this with Rose the night
before, he'd covered the story for the Gazette. The supertanker
Henry David had, six years prior, run aground and spilled an
enormous amount of oil. While it hadn't been on the scale of
disasters such as the Exxon Valdez, it had still been notable.
Rosetta remembered it, after all, and he was sure that her life
wasn't the only one that it'd had an impact on. Hell, it'd
started his career.
Why was Patrick telling him to look into it? He pulled up his own
story on the incident:
At 11:35pm, the Henry David supertanker ran aground in southwest
Washington, spilling an estimated million gallons of crude oil
onto the shore. While the numbers don't seem as shocking as other
oil spills, locals have seen scenery, tourism, and their very way
of life threatened by the now-deadly waters....
....Captain Dennis Tesser insisted on the competence of himself
and his crew. ``Our only mistake was believing what the
instruments told us. Corporate bought a new GPS system for all
our ships, and when it said we were on course we had no reason to
doubt it.''
Grant frowned. GPS? He glanced through the rest of his story, but
at the time he'd written it the more likely suspect had been
Captain Tesser himself. Everyone at the time, himself included,
seemed to think that blaming the instruments was nothing more
than a convenient excuse. The GPS never came up again in his
writing.
He hated to admit it, but he was going to have to rely on better
reporters than himself. He turned back to the Internet and looked
for news stories following up. It was difficult going - the
company that owned the tanker was tied up in litigation with the
town they'd ruined, and those stories were drowning out any
retrospectives he might hope to find on the incident.
By early afternoon, he was about to give up. He'd glanced over
page after page of search results in legalese. Court filings,
stories about Supreme Court rulings, appeals court denials,
punitive damages being changed, etc. Finally, in a fit of
desperation, he clicked on one of the stories about the legal
process.
The town of Waldport initially seemed to have a sympathetic case:
Here was a city of only a few thousand people, most of which
relied on fishing and tourist trade for their livelihoods. The
oil spill - to this day not entirely cleaned up - ruined much of
that. Yet the goodwill toward them took a heavy blow when the
town revealed an enormous list of people it intended to sue.
Haskell Oil topped the list as would be expected, but such
mutually exclusive choices as Captain Tesser and Vervicom
Software, makers of the GPS that he blamed for the accident, did
little to help their credibility....
The world headquarters of Vervicom Software was the one in this
city. Grant had no idea that it had been around that long and had
that far a reach. He frowned - as a journalist, it was his job to
know such things. He checked the date on the article to see that
it had been written two years ago. Six years after the incident,
two years after lawsuits had been filed, and whatever glitches
the company had incorporated into their GPS software remained.
Grant himself could attest to that. Still, there hadn't been any
oil spills or incidents he could find that resulted from the
problems since then, so it was entirely possible the company had
hushed it up and moved on with business.
Un-hushing things like this was what Grant had become a
journalist to do. He smiled to himself. Anders had given him that
story as a way to punish him, and it was rapidly turning into
quite the expose. He glanced at the clock and frowned at the
phone; Patrick hadn't called him back yet. If Wynn was going to
put together a story on Vervicom's oversights, it was going to
have to be done with more information than just that, however. A
power outage and flaky GPS did not a conspiracy make, and Pat had
implied that there was a lot more going on.
Grant was at a crossroads, and he found himself uneasily
considering his options. He could sit back, continue researching
other incidents that involved the software giant, and hope that
he got a call from Patrick or struck gold some other way, or he
could call the reluctant informant himself and see if he couldn't
squeeze him for information.
The phone rang. Grant looked at it, frowning. There'd been quite
a bit of odd serendipity in his life of late. If Pat was calling
right as the reporter was considering calling him, it'd be that
much stranger. He picked up the phone.
``Hello?'' he asked.
``I was thinking a movie tonight.'' the voice said cheerily. It
wasn't Pat.
``Movie?'' he said blankly.
``I promise you, I will not force you to go to a chick flick with
me.'' Rosetta! Her voice sounded tinny and he mentally cursed the
poor audio quality of his desk phone. ``Just don't pick some
explosion movie or something.''
``When have I ever taken you to an action movie?'' he replied.
``Tonight, maybe. Though I'd prefer something a little more
cerebral.''
``How's 6pm sound? Can I pick you up after work tonight?'' he had
rapidly gotten back into the back-and-forth a conversation with
Rosetta required just to keep up.
``Yes, you can. And you will!'' she said, and hung up. She hadn't
even said what movie she'd like to see. He made a mental note to
check out the listings before leaving for the day.
A moment later, a petite college student with extremely dark hair
and annoyed look on her face appeared in front of his desk. ``I
hope she wrote down the number, because next time someone calls
asking for you, I'm just going to tell them I'm not information
and hang up.'' she said bluntly.
``Okay.'' Grant said in the spirit of cooperation. His business
card listed simply the Gazette's number, there had never been a
problem routing calls through the secretary before. This must be
the new one.
``You got a call while you were on the other line.'' she put a
sticky note with mashed handwriting on his desk.
``Thanks, um....''
``Morgan.'' she replied, walking off.
Had the temp agency gotten rid of their current secretary and
replaced him with someone who had an identical name but different
gender? Yes, apparently they had. Grant had to admit, that was a
new trick. They'd kept things surprising. He glanced down at the
message.
Patrick! At least he hadn't called while Grant was thinking of
calling him. He dialed the phone.
``Sorry about earlier today.'' was the answer immediately upon
picking up.
``No problem'' Grant replied noncommittally. He wasn't sure he'd
gotten the correct number, but there had been one memorable
occasion where he'd been the recipient of some very important
information by dialing the wrong number.
``It's safe to talk now.'' Pat said. ``I'm glad you called back,
Grant. Sorry I was so cryptic earlier.''
``I took the hint, eventually. Your company made GPS software for
the Henry David.''
``A bunch of other things, too. The power outage was our fault,
indirectly.''
Grant nodded, even though he knew Pat couldn't see him. He tended
to gesture while talking too - other people witnessing him do
this often thought he was talking to them. Thankfully, not many
people were left. He'd been the subject of enough ridicule for
the day. ``I think I heard something along those lines - it was a
known problem, right? There were negotiations to get it fixed
that broke down?''
``The negotiations were on track, I think.'' Pat said. ``
Management stuff, mostly, but I help with e-mail support and I
can tell you that maybe a month before that outage happened,
messages just started vanishing left and right.''
``So you've got in-house e-mail, too?''
``That's the thing, it's commercial off-the-shelf stuff.''
Patrick was starting to get excited - Grant could tell this story
was, in fact, going somewhere, despite his initial impressions. ``
Something was interfering with it.''
``Interfering?'' that did sound interesting. ``So someone's
compromised Vervicom's system?''
``That's what I thought, too. As far as I can tell, though, they
haven't. I shut down the network one night for a good hour,
looked at some of our code that's misbehaving right now, and it's
still broken in the same way.''
``Wait, so this... thing that's happening, it's still going on?''
Grant was writing things down as fast as they were spoken.
Pat hesitated. ``I... I mean, I know I'm doing the right thing
here, making sure people know about this, but I don't want to go
into too much detail on what we're going right now, you know? I
looked it up. Whistleblower laws protect me from telling about
the old stuff, but I'm under NDA for this new stuff. I can't
afford a lawyer to split the difference. I'm kinda hoping I won't
need one at all.''
``This can be kept as confidential as you want. I can go anywhere
from using your full name - which I'm assuming is completely out
of the question - to simply referring to an anonymous source
within the company.'' He'd given people anonymity many times in
his short career, though it hadn't often been really necessary.
He heard Patrick breath a sigh of relief. ``Good. I can get away
with getting an occasional call at work from you because you
wrote about Caster, but if you call too much they'll probably
pick up on what's going on.''
``You were telling me about the power outage.'' Grant reminded
gently. There was always a fine line when it came to informants -
push too much and they got scared away, push too little and they
vanished.
``Right, sorry.'' Pat seemed more at ease with this topic anyway.
``The point is, since the power outage happened, we haven't lost
anything. Every mail's gone through just fine, the team in charge
of patching up the power plant is going strong now, management
approval and funding's well, the whole deal is coming up roses.''
Grant tried to follow the programmer's logic. ``So everything
went south long enough for the power to go out, and no more?''
``Exactly.''
``But you were just saying that your systems haven't been hacked.''
Patrick paused. ``I don't think they have, at least not in the
way you'd normally think. There's not a person actually logged
into our system, controlling what's going on. I'd know if that
were the case, I've got isolated sniffers on all our routers. No,
I think we're dealing with a virus here.''
Grant had no clue what this technical jargon meant, but wrote it
down anyway. He tried to bring his computer knowledge to bear. ``
But a virus, that's essentially a hacker's tool, right? It's used
to gain control of the system.''
``Normally, yes, but like I said, I can keep a watch on traffic
coming and going. I haven't seen anything that looks like someone
attempting remote control. I have seen bits of code go out,
identical. This same code was in our mail system a few weeks ago.''
``The virus.'' Grant identified.
``Bingo.'' Patrick said. ``I've gone through some of the
archives, but it's damn hard to find the thing. It tends to clean
up after itself when it's done whatever it's doing. I can't find
a trace of it in the mail system now, but I know it's lurking out
there somewhere. Like I said, I'll see bits on the stuff I'm
working on now.''
``So...'' Grant was trying to put all of this together. ``You
think it's been around a lot longer than the last month or so.''
``Bingo. We've got teams of people repairing the Mason power
software, but do you know why? Because years ago there was a huge
accident caused by our code.''
Grant felt a chill go down his spine. ``About eight years ago?
People sick from radiation poisoning?''
``Of course you remember, you probably covered it.'' Pat kept
talking, unaware of the effect he was having. ``It was a big deal
then but you don't hear much about it now. That was a bug in our
software, and the plant had been contracting out to us for years
to repair it.''
Grant looked over his notes. ``The power plant accident back
then, the outage now, the tanker... you think they had the same
cause''
``Exactly. I can't prove it - that virus is slippery and vanishes
when you try to lock it down. But I wouldn't be surprised if it's
the root of all the strange things that have gone on in this
company.''
``This is quite a bit of information you've given me here.''
Grant replied after looking over everything. ``I'm going to need
to do some research of my own, of course, but this is definitely
something I can work with.''
``Okay. You can call me at this number after work hours.'' Pat
still seemed somewhat furtive, no doubt still worried over
getting sued and/or fired. ``I'll let you know if I find anything
on my end.''
With that, Patrick hung up. Grant glanced around the newsroom to
find most everyone gone, then looked at the clock. He'd have to
rush to get the listings and make it over to Rose. He glanced
down at the notes he'd taken. If Patrick was for real, it would
be a hell of a story. He was certainly in luck lately! He could
only hope that it would hold.
Previous - Next
Days 11-16 (Love)
6 Love
``I'll have mine well done, please'' Grant said.
``Me too.'' Rosetta added hurriedly.
The waiter nodded and left with their order, and Rose looked over
at Grant.
``I hate having my steaks cooked that much, and you know it. You
should have asked her.''
``I'm not a fan of eating charcoal either.'' Grant pointed out. ``
Though really, it's my fault for bringing up an E. Coli outbreak
over dinner.''
``I did ask you how your day was.'' Rosetta admitted. ``So I am
partially to blame.'' She smiled. ``When we spoke on the phone,
you assured me that the most exciting thing you dealt with was
teacups. Now I'm wondering if I should have brought a hazmat
suit.''
``Isn't that taking safe sex a bit too far?'' Wynn found himself
saying it before he could think. Rose nearly choked on her water.
``I'm kidding!'' he clarified immediately. ``It's been a decade,
I don't expect to pick our relationship up where it left off.
Frankly, I'm happy you asked me out.''
Rosetta had recovered her composure. ``I always made you ask me
out back then. I kinda felt guilty about it. Wanted to make it up
to you by forcing you to take me out.''
``And pay for it.'' he added.
She nodded. ``It wouldn't be a proper date if I didn't get you to
pay for it.''
He smiled, internally relieved that his faux pas had been passed
over. Of course, if he knew Rose at all, she'd remind him of it
later. Probably when she was convincing him to pay, which he'd
already decided he was going to do anyway.
``So, you own a recycling plant now?'' he said a bit later, after
the silence had gone on a bit.
She nodded, her mouth too full of bread to answer. After eating
it hastily, she added ``For about two years now.''
``Why just computer parts? I mean, most recycling plants are
paper, plastic, that kind of thing.'' A definite upside to his
career choice, as he had discovered in college, was that he was
never at a loss for something to talk about on dates. Interview
techniques worked wonderfully and usually convinced the other
party that he was a good listener, to boot.
She'd taken a sip of water. ``There's a speech I usually give to
investors, about how there's more technological gadgets with
shorter lifespans now than ever before, and the circuits are full
of all these heavy metals that can leach into the ground. Right
when they start dozing off, that's when I point out that these
heavy metals are things like gold and silver and platinum. Wakes
'em right up!'' She laughed. ``One of the things I learned in the
pursuit of my MBA was that niche businesses can be very
successful if they can cater to the right customers, and like I
said, there's more disposable electronics than ever. Plus, I am a
big fan of the whole planet-saving thing.''
``I'm going to be honest with you now.'' Grant began soberly. ``
Because something tells me you're still the kind of person who
appreciates it that way.'' He paused.
``Go ahead.'' she appeared attentive, but was still smiling as
though anticipating a joke.
``I never really thought of you as the environmentalist type.''
he admitted.
Rosetta appeared thoughtful for a moment. ``That was honesty,
wasn't it? Well, I'll admit, I wasn't really. I mean, sure, I
recycled when I remembered to but I didn't really dedicate myself
to it. Two things changed my mind.
``First,'' she continued, ``remember that big tanker wreck about
five or six years ago?''
He nodded. ``Six. My very first story for the Gazette was on the
construction of that kind of tanker, part of a whole series we
did surrounding the incident.''
[(0x0004) Early runs needed to instill in Rosetta a sense of environmentalism in order for work on prerequisite Machines to proceed.]
``That's what cemented it for me. I was already thinking niche
markets, like I said, and here - I thought - here's a place where
I can actually make a difference. I actually could help save the
planet, you know? I mean, I couldn't prevent the next wreck but I
could damn well make sure that kind of mess got properly cleaned
up!'' She smiled, somewhat embarrassed at the force of her reply.
``I can't claim that's what got me into journalism,'' Grant
confessed, ``I mean, you knew me from back when I did the school
paper. But it gave my career a heck of a boost.''
``Disasters will do that.'' Rosetta replied, glaring.
Grant looked uneasy. ``Sorry. If it makes you feel any better,
it's all teacups today.''
Rosetta looked thoughtful, but said nothing for a while. Finally,
she spoke up quietly. ``The second reason - and if you tell me
you reported on this, I swear I will walk out right now - is my
father.'' She took a breath and held it momentarily before
continuing. ``You remember, he worked at the power plant?''
``Mason power, right?'' Grant replied softly, carefully avoiding
saying more than he had to in case whatever he added was the
wrong thing. The Mason Nuclear Power plant had been, for the most
part, a safe and reliable source of power. If you discounted the
outage earlier in the week, of course, and there was the
incident-
``About eight years ago,'' Rosetta spoke as though he hadn't said
anything, ``There was an accident. I'm not sure what went wrong,
some kind of safety that was supposed to be there wasn't, and my
dad was hurt.''
Grant had, in fact, reported on that for the college newspaper.
There hadn't been a list of the injured, however, so he hadn't
known Rose's father had been among them
[(0x0002) Early runs experimented with improving Dr. Caster's
performance in the academic and/or industrial realm by pairing
him with Rosetta Sandys. This proved to be more of a distraction
than a help and ended up revealing the professor's inability to
work with anyone other than himself. It has been preserved,
however, due to its more beneficial side effects in other runs.].
The plant had been shut down for nearly a year after that, but
eventually came back online.
``That was halfway through my undergrad.'' she said. ``I was out
on the east coast when I got the news. I wanted to come home, but
he wouldn't let me, he insisted I stay at school. That's the
first thing that got me started.''
``And that's why you're here now.'' Grant spoke up very quietly
indeed, hoping he wasn't prodding where he shouldn't.
Rosetta merely nodded. ``At first, it looked like he was just
hurt, but radiation... it can take a while. I couldn't very well
be a fancy big-city bigshot while my dad was back home dying.''
She paused, looking down at her place setting. ``I'm sorry if I
was short with you on Sunday when you brought it up.''
Grant was saved from having to reply by the timely arrival of
their food. They ate in silence.
Later that night as he dropped her back off at her recycling
center (``It's where my car is, after all'' she'd said), she
turned to him. He was surprised to see that her confidence seemed
gone, her smile and casual manner vanished. Her face was serious,
her eyes distraught.
``Would you...'' she began, then stopped. She seemed to need time
to gather her composure. She exhaled. ``I'm sorry.'' she began, ``
Ever since I saw you again, I've been kinda railroading you into
following along with me. For all I know you're not even
interested, you're just humoring-''
Grant kissed her.
``Or not.'' she continued. ``I could be mistaken in that.''
``Would you like another date?'' he said. It was the only thing
he could think to say; he definitely wanted to see her again,
after all, and he certainly wasn't capable of subtlety at this
point.
``I would.'' she replied. Her smile had returned, she seemed
enormously relieved.
Grant's phone rang.
``Sorry.'' he said.
``Don't you know you're supposed to turn your phone off when
you're on a date?'' she replied, her playful attitude having
returned fully.
He glanced at the phone and frowned. Patrick Brooks - probably
the same man he'd interviewed the day before - was calling him
for some reason. He pressed the cellphone's ``off'' button.
``What if it's work?'' Rose said in a tone that indicated she
knew full well it was, in fact, work-related.
``Not important.'' he replied sincerely. He leaned in close to
her then and kissed her, this time far more slowly. It was some
amount of time until either of them spoke.
Rosetta was the first to break the silence. ``All things
considered, this was not my worst date ever.''
Grant laughed. ``That bad, huh? I'll be a better talker next
time, I swear.''
``And I'll stop ruining the mood'' she promised. ``Just so long
as there will be a next time, I'll be happy.''
``Same here.''
This time Rose leaned toward him, but before her lips met his,
she stopped. ``I do have to go at some point, you know.'' she
said, her face inches from his.
``Same here'' he replied again. Neither of them made any move
away.
Finally, Rose darted in with a quick kiss, added ``Night!'' and
had bounded out of the car before Grant could even react.
It was late, but Grant was not even remotely tired. His fears
that he'd completely ruined his chances with Rosetta over dinner
had been laid to rest, and it looked like another date was almost
certain. He was in good spirits as he drove home. So good, in
fact, that he decided to check his voicemail at a stoplight.
Normally an interviewee calling him meant a hassle at best, but
he didn't care. Nothing could bring his mood down at this point.
``Hey, Mr. Wynn? This is Patrick, you interviewed me yesterday
about Dr. Caster? I um... well I don't know if this is even
related but I thought I'd mention it.... I did some checking into
the whole payroll story I told you yesterday, and I can't find
the glitch. I mean, our system was buggy and stayed that way, and
now it's gone like the problem was never there to begin with. And
this.... well the payroll story isn't the only story I could tell
you. Vervicom's had a ton of incidents over the years that have
just vanished afterwards, like nothing. Like I said, I don't know
if any of this is something you can use, or if it's even
something your interested in, but if it is, give me a call.''
Grant had believed he was almost certainly dooming himself with
the optimistic thought that nothing could bring down his mood,
but this newest tidbit was almost better. He couldn't help but to
glance at his GPS - manufactured and designed by Vervicom - and
remember its bugginess the previous day. He made a mental note to
call Patrick Brooks back as soon as he possibly could.
First, though, home. And sleep.
Previous - Next
``I'll have mine well done, please'' Grant said.
``Me too.'' Rosetta added hurriedly.
The waiter nodded and left with their order, and Rose looked over
at Grant.
``I hate having my steaks cooked that much, and you know it. You
should have asked her.''
``I'm not a fan of eating charcoal either.'' Grant pointed out. ``
Though really, it's my fault for bringing up an E. Coli outbreak
over dinner.''
``I did ask you how your day was.'' Rosetta admitted. ``So I am
partially to blame.'' She smiled. ``When we spoke on the phone,
you assured me that the most exciting thing you dealt with was
teacups. Now I'm wondering if I should have brought a hazmat
suit.''
``Isn't that taking safe sex a bit too far?'' Wynn found himself
saying it before he could think. Rose nearly choked on her water.
``I'm kidding!'' he clarified immediately. ``It's been a decade,
I don't expect to pick our relationship up where it left off.
Frankly, I'm happy you asked me out.''
Rosetta had recovered her composure. ``I always made you ask me
out back then. I kinda felt guilty about it. Wanted to make it up
to you by forcing you to take me out.''
``And pay for it.'' he added.
She nodded. ``It wouldn't be a proper date if I didn't get you to
pay for it.''
He smiled, internally relieved that his faux pas had been passed
over. Of course, if he knew Rose at all, she'd remind him of it
later. Probably when she was convincing him to pay, which he'd
already decided he was going to do anyway.
``So, you own a recycling plant now?'' he said a bit later, after
the silence had gone on a bit.
She nodded, her mouth too full of bread to answer. After eating
it hastily, she added ``For about two years now.''
``Why just computer parts? I mean, most recycling plants are
paper, plastic, that kind of thing.'' A definite upside to his
career choice, as he had discovered in college, was that he was
never at a loss for something to talk about on dates. Interview
techniques worked wonderfully and usually convinced the other
party that he was a good listener, to boot.
She'd taken a sip of water. ``There's a speech I usually give to
investors, about how there's more technological gadgets with
shorter lifespans now than ever before, and the circuits are full
of all these heavy metals that can leach into the ground. Right
when they start dozing off, that's when I point out that these
heavy metals are things like gold and silver and platinum. Wakes
'em right up!'' She laughed. ``One of the things I learned in the
pursuit of my MBA was that niche businesses can be very
successful if they can cater to the right customers, and like I
said, there's more disposable electronics than ever. Plus, I am a
big fan of the whole planet-saving thing.''
``I'm going to be honest with you now.'' Grant began soberly. ``
Because something tells me you're still the kind of person who
appreciates it that way.'' He paused.
``Go ahead.'' she appeared attentive, but was still smiling as
though anticipating a joke.
``I never really thought of you as the environmentalist type.''
he admitted.
Rosetta appeared thoughtful for a moment. ``That was honesty,
wasn't it? Well, I'll admit, I wasn't really. I mean, sure, I
recycled when I remembered to but I didn't really dedicate myself
to it. Two things changed my mind.
``First,'' she continued, ``remember that big tanker wreck about
five or six years ago?''
He nodded. ``Six. My very first story for the Gazette was on the
construction of that kind of tanker, part of a whole series we
did surrounding the incident.''
[(0x0004) Early runs needed to instill in Rosetta a sense of environmentalism in order for work on prerequisite Machines to proceed.]
``That's what cemented it for me. I was already thinking niche
markets, like I said, and here - I thought - here's a place where
I can actually make a difference. I actually could help save the
planet, you know? I mean, I couldn't prevent the next wreck but I
could damn well make sure that kind of mess got properly cleaned
up!'' She smiled, somewhat embarrassed at the force of her reply.
``I can't claim that's what got me into journalism,'' Grant
confessed, ``I mean, you knew me from back when I did the school
paper. But it gave my career a heck of a boost.''
``Disasters will do that.'' Rosetta replied, glaring.
Grant looked uneasy. ``Sorry. If it makes you feel any better,
it's all teacups today.''
Rosetta looked thoughtful, but said nothing for a while. Finally,
she spoke up quietly. ``The second reason - and if you tell me
you reported on this, I swear I will walk out right now - is my
father.'' She took a breath and held it momentarily before
continuing. ``You remember, he worked at the power plant?''
``Mason power, right?'' Grant replied softly, carefully avoiding
saying more than he had to in case whatever he added was the
wrong thing. The Mason Nuclear Power plant had been, for the most
part, a safe and reliable source of power. If you discounted the
outage earlier in the week, of course, and there was the
incident-
``About eight years ago,'' Rosetta spoke as though he hadn't said
anything, ``There was an accident. I'm not sure what went wrong,
some kind of safety that was supposed to be there wasn't, and my
dad was hurt.''
Grant had, in fact, reported on that for the college newspaper.
There hadn't been a list of the injured, however, so he hadn't
known Rose's father had been among them
[(0x0002) Early runs experimented with improving Dr. Caster's
performance in the academic and/or industrial realm by pairing
him with Rosetta Sandys. This proved to be more of a distraction
than a help and ended up revealing the professor's inability to
work with anyone other than himself. It has been preserved,
however, due to its more beneficial side effects in other runs.].
The plant had been shut down for nearly a year after that, but
eventually came back online.
``That was halfway through my undergrad.'' she said. ``I was out
on the east coast when I got the news. I wanted to come home, but
he wouldn't let me, he insisted I stay at school. That's the
first thing that got me started.''
``And that's why you're here now.'' Grant spoke up very quietly
indeed, hoping he wasn't prodding where he shouldn't.
Rosetta merely nodded. ``At first, it looked like he was just
hurt, but radiation... it can take a while. I couldn't very well
be a fancy big-city bigshot while my dad was back home dying.''
She paused, looking down at her place setting. ``I'm sorry if I
was short with you on Sunday when you brought it up.''
Grant was saved from having to reply by the timely arrival of
their food. They ate in silence.
Later that night as he dropped her back off at her recycling
center (``It's where my car is, after all'' she'd said), she
turned to him. He was surprised to see that her confidence seemed
gone, her smile and casual manner vanished. Her face was serious,
her eyes distraught.
``Would you...'' she began, then stopped. She seemed to need time
to gather her composure. She exhaled. ``I'm sorry.'' she began, ``
Ever since I saw you again, I've been kinda railroading you into
following along with me. For all I know you're not even
interested, you're just humoring-''
Grant kissed her.
``Or not.'' she continued. ``I could be mistaken in that.''
``Would you like another date?'' he said. It was the only thing
he could think to say; he definitely wanted to see her again,
after all, and he certainly wasn't capable of subtlety at this
point.
``I would.'' she replied. Her smile had returned, she seemed
enormously relieved.
Grant's phone rang.
``Sorry.'' he said.
``Don't you know you're supposed to turn your phone off when
you're on a date?'' she replied, her playful attitude having
returned fully.
He glanced at the phone and frowned. Patrick Brooks - probably
the same man he'd interviewed the day before - was calling him
for some reason. He pressed the cellphone's ``off'' button.
``What if it's work?'' Rose said in a tone that indicated she
knew full well it was, in fact, work-related.
``Not important.'' he replied sincerely. He leaned in close to
her then and kissed her, this time far more slowly. It was some
amount of time until either of them spoke.
Rosetta was the first to break the silence. ``All things
considered, this was not my worst date ever.''
Grant laughed. ``That bad, huh? I'll be a better talker next
time, I swear.''
``And I'll stop ruining the mood'' she promised. ``Just so long
as there will be a next time, I'll be happy.''
``Same here.''
This time Rose leaned toward him, but before her lips met his,
she stopped. ``I do have to go at some point, you know.'' she
said, her face inches from his.
``Same here'' he replied again. Neither of them made any move
away.
Finally, Rose darted in with a quick kiss, added ``Night!'' and
had bounded out of the car before Grant could even react.
It was late, but Grant was not even remotely tired. His fears
that he'd completely ruined his chances with Rosetta over dinner
had been laid to rest, and it looked like another date was almost
certain. He was in good spirits as he drove home. So good, in
fact, that he decided to check his voicemail at a stoplight.
Normally an interviewee calling him meant a hassle at best, but
he didn't care. Nothing could bring his mood down at this point.
``Hey, Mr. Wynn? This is Patrick, you interviewed me yesterday
about Dr. Caster? I um... well I don't know if this is even
related but I thought I'd mention it.... I did some checking into
the whole payroll story I told you yesterday, and I can't find
the glitch. I mean, our system was buggy and stayed that way, and
now it's gone like the problem was never there to begin with. And
this.... well the payroll story isn't the only story I could tell
you. Vervicom's had a ton of incidents over the years that have
just vanished afterwards, like nothing. Like I said, I don't know
if any of this is something you can use, or if it's even
something your interested in, but if it is, give me a call.''
Grant had believed he was almost certainly dooming himself with
the optimistic thought that nothing could bring down his mood,
but this newest tidbit was almost better. He couldn't help but to
glance at his GPS - manufactured and designed by Vervicom - and
remember its bugginess the previous day. He made a mental note to
call Patrick Brooks back as soon as he possibly could.
First, though, home. And sleep.
Previous - Next
Days 11-16 (Disappointment)
For once, he wasn't disappointed. The drive was relatively short,
the traffic at this hour had nearly evaporated, and the day
continued to be bright and clear. Grant wondered if everything
seemed so suddenly alive merely in comparison to the
Disappointment Machine. The damn thing had seemed like a
near-death experience, even in retrospect.
He'd been to this particular hospital before, though not as a
patient, and so when he went to the front desk and showed his
press credentials to the person working there, he already knew
he'd be directed to their public affairs office. In this, he was
also not disappointed - the tired but friendly worker looked over
his papers and pointed him towards room 128.
The nameplate by 128 declared it to be the domain of Ellen
MacKenzie, MBA, Chief of Public Affairs. Grant smiled; when you
job was to go around the city talking to as many different people
as you possibly could, it was nice every now and then to speak to
someone you were at least vaguely familiar with. Ellen had been
his contact here at the hospital since he'd started his job. He
knocked on the door.
It was opened promptly by a woman speaking in hurried tones into
a wireless headset. ``Yes, Dr. Forshee, I assure you, if we see
any more cases we'll get the information about the distributors
to you.'' She glanced up, saw Grant, and waved him into the
office as she retreated back to her desk. ``Thanks again.'' she
added perfunctorily.
Grant sat across from her and looked over her books, out the
window, anywhere to indicate he wasn't listening in on her
conversation. She took her headset off and pressed a button on
the cellphone she had at her hip.
``If you're doing a story about this outbreak,'' she began
seriously, ``you're going to have to come back later. I'm going
to have to get a good night's sleep before I issue any press
releases. If I'm lucky, the USDA will beat me to it.''
``Sounds serious.'' he said noncommittally. This wouldn't have
been the first time he'd gone to interview someone and gotten a
completely different story instead.
Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. ``So this is the first you've
heard of it, good.'' The downside to interviewing someone who was
familiar with you was that they learned to recognize the
statements you used when you had no idea what was going on. ``
There's been a few cases of E. Coli, we suspect there's going to
have to be a recall, and hopefully we won't see anymore and
they're isolated incidents and Dr. Forshee can handle it.'' She
interrupted Grant before he could say anything, ``And yes, if
it's more major I'll keep you in the loop.''
``Thanks.'' was the only reply he could think of. Ellen's mind
worked a mile a minute - from what little he'd seen, it had to -
and it was difficult sometimes for him to keep up. His mind was
always trying to fit things into a story, which was handy when he
was actually working on a story, but not so when he was trying to
simply listen.
``So.'' she said, having regained some measure of composure, ``
What does bring you to my office, then?''
``Ah,'' he replied. He needed to work on his attention span, he
reflected. He got sidetracked too easily. ``I'm doing a story on
people injured during the outage. Your hospital admitted a man
named Dr. James Caster two days ago.''
Ellen nodded and began typing on her computer. ``The name rings a
bell. There were two, maybe three fatalities due to that outage,
I think they were all vehicle related.'' She smiled as the
machine fetched Caster's records. ``Yes, there he is. Severe
trauma from the accident, blood loss, swelling in the brain-''
Grant knew she was purposefully keeping the jargon out of her
summary, and mentally thanked her for it. ``He died early the
next morning.''
``I've been reading the police report,'' among other things, he
added silently, ``and it says he refused treatment?''
MacKenzie had already been paging through the files while Grant
talked. She frowned at the screen. ``He did. All that damage, and
he was still conscious when we got him here. I do remember him
now, one of the on-duty doctors filled me in the next morning.
Caster wanted to see his lawyer, didn't want to be operated on or
anything until the man arrived.''
``His lawyer?'' Grant's notepad and pen had seemingly appeared
out of nowhere as he started writing. ``Did he say why?''
Ellen had paused, thinking about how best to phrase her next
statements. ``If you want the honest truth, Grant? And this is
off-record: I think he knew he wasn't going to make it. He was
probably getting his will set.''
Grant had obligingly stopped writing. ``Do you know if he did?''
She shrugged. ``I have no idea. Once the lawyer left, he gave his
consent to operate and we did what he could. We didn't ask.''
Grant stood up, ``Thanks Ellen, that's all I need.'' He shook her
hand, as he had every time he'd been here, and left. Behind him,
he could hear her start dialing another set of numbers and
speaking into her headset. There had been a time, when he'd first
started this job, when he'd though about asking her on a date.
They had, after all, gotten along fairly well, and he wouldn't,
by a long shot, be the first journalist to transition from
business to the casual. Then he'd realized the kind of hours she
put in at the hospital and the fact that she literally had no
free time. He couldn't compete with her schedule then, he
reflected as he walked away, hearing her voice dwindle, and he
definitely couldn't now. Besides, he had a date tonight.
Previous - Next
the traffic at this hour had nearly evaporated, and the day
continued to be bright and clear. Grant wondered if everything
seemed so suddenly alive merely in comparison to the
Disappointment Machine. The damn thing had seemed like a
near-death experience, even in retrospect.
He'd been to this particular hospital before, though not as a
patient, and so when he went to the front desk and showed his
press credentials to the person working there, he already knew
he'd be directed to their public affairs office. In this, he was
also not disappointed - the tired but friendly worker looked over
his papers and pointed him towards room 128.
The nameplate by 128 declared it to be the domain of Ellen
MacKenzie, MBA, Chief of Public Affairs. Grant smiled; when you
job was to go around the city talking to as many different people
as you possibly could, it was nice every now and then to speak to
someone you were at least vaguely familiar with. Ellen had been
his contact here at the hospital since he'd started his job. He
knocked on the door.
It was opened promptly by a woman speaking in hurried tones into
a wireless headset. ``Yes, Dr. Forshee, I assure you, if we see
any more cases we'll get the information about the distributors
to you.'' She glanced up, saw Grant, and waved him into the
office as she retreated back to her desk. ``Thanks again.'' she
added perfunctorily.
Grant sat across from her and looked over her books, out the
window, anywhere to indicate he wasn't listening in on her
conversation. She took her headset off and pressed a button on
the cellphone she had at her hip.
``If you're doing a story about this outbreak,'' she began
seriously, ``you're going to have to come back later. I'm going
to have to get a good night's sleep before I issue any press
releases. If I'm lucky, the USDA will beat me to it.''
``Sounds serious.'' he said noncommittally. This wouldn't have
been the first time he'd gone to interview someone and gotten a
completely different story instead.
Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. ``So this is the first you've
heard of it, good.'' The downside to interviewing someone who was
familiar with you was that they learned to recognize the
statements you used when you had no idea what was going on. ``
There's been a few cases of E. Coli, we suspect there's going to
have to be a recall, and hopefully we won't see anymore and
they're isolated incidents and Dr. Forshee can handle it.'' She
interrupted Grant before he could say anything, ``And yes, if
it's more major I'll keep you in the loop.''
``Thanks.'' was the only reply he could think of. Ellen's mind
worked a mile a minute - from what little he'd seen, it had to -
and it was difficult sometimes for him to keep up. His mind was
always trying to fit things into a story, which was handy when he
was actually working on a story, but not so when he was trying to
simply listen.
``So.'' she said, having regained some measure of composure, ``
What does bring you to my office, then?''
``Ah,'' he replied. He needed to work on his attention span, he
reflected. He got sidetracked too easily. ``I'm doing a story on
people injured during the outage. Your hospital admitted a man
named Dr. James Caster two days ago.''
Ellen nodded and began typing on her computer. ``The name rings a
bell. There were two, maybe three fatalities due to that outage,
I think they were all vehicle related.'' She smiled as the
machine fetched Caster's records. ``Yes, there he is. Severe
trauma from the accident, blood loss, swelling in the brain-''
Grant knew she was purposefully keeping the jargon out of her
summary, and mentally thanked her for it. ``He died early the
next morning.''
``I've been reading the police report,'' among other things, he
added silently, ``and it says he refused treatment?''
MacKenzie had already been paging through the files while Grant
talked. She frowned at the screen. ``He did. All that damage, and
he was still conscious when we got him here. I do remember him
now, one of the on-duty doctors filled me in the next morning.
Caster wanted to see his lawyer, didn't want to be operated on or
anything until the man arrived.''
``His lawyer?'' Grant's notepad and pen had seemingly appeared
out of nowhere as he started writing. ``Did he say why?''
Ellen had paused, thinking about how best to phrase her next
statements. ``If you want the honest truth, Grant? And this is
off-record: I think he knew he wasn't going to make it. He was
probably getting his will set.''
Grant had obligingly stopped writing. ``Do you know if he did?''
She shrugged. ``I have no idea. Once the lawyer left, he gave his
consent to operate and we did what he could. We didn't ask.''
Grant stood up, ``Thanks Ellen, that's all I need.'' He shook her
hand, as he had every time he'd been here, and left. Behind him,
he could hear her start dialing another set of numbers and
speaking into her headset. There had been a time, when he'd first
started this job, when he'd though about asking her on a date.
They had, after all, gotten along fairly well, and he wouldn't,
by a long shot, be the first journalist to transition from
business to the casual. Then he'd realized the kind of hours she
put in at the hospital and the fact that she literally had no
free time. He couldn't compete with her schedule then, he
reflected as he walked away, hearing her voice dwindle, and he
definitely couldn't now. Besides, he had a date tonight.
Previous - Next
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