Avogadro Corp

by William Hertling

  Jake nodded and went to respond, but Rebecca held up a hand to indicate she still wanted to speak. He’d been sure the idea would be shot down, but this looked like Rebecca was about to approve the plan.

  “We’ve been relatively fortunate the ODC thefts have thus far been limited to non-sensitive search data,” she said, anticipating Jake’s input, “but we must migrate our email and document servers to offshore data centers within a few months or risk capacity outages. It’s not acceptable to allow confidential emails and documents to be stolen by pirates.” She cleared her throat. “I want you to proceed with your proposal. I want this to be structured so we pay iRobot for security, and have them own and control the hardware. I don’t want Avogadro Corporation to own weaponized robots. Am I clear?”

  Soon after, Jake left the virtual conference room stunned. What had he done? Within a few weeks, the ODCs would have their own automated self-defense capability, like something out of the movie Terminator. Somehow he was responsible—and way outside his comfort zone.

  Chapter 6

  “David, it’s Mike. Listen, I’m flying to Madison this morning. I got a message from my mom that my father had a heart attack. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll call when I know.”

  David put the mobile phone down, suddenly numb. Distressed by the content of the message, he worried even more about the way Mike sounded, emotional fear surfacing in shaky, halting speech. The contrast with Mike’s usual easygoing manner was enough to make his own throat tight.

  He didn’t remember Mike talking about his dad much, other than a few comments after his trips home, but David assumed he was healthy. He felt lingering guilt because he’d seen Mike’s incoming call on his mobile at home, but in the rush to get ready for work, he didn’t answer. Only now in the office did he listen to the message, and he regretted not answering earlier. He called Mike back, but it went to voicemail without ringing. Mike must be in the air, en route to Wisconsin.

  Still shaken, he wondered what to do. He phoned Christine to let her know the bad news. She was equally shocked, getting out “I’m sorry” a few times before she had to go.

  He sat behind his desk for a while, doing nothing at all. When had he and Mike gotten so old that they had family with health issues? He did the math, surprised to realize his own parents were going on sixty.

  A knock startled him.

  Melanie stuck her head in. “Team stand-up. Mike’s not here. You want to lead, or should I?”

  He nodded and stood. “I’m coming.”

  By the time the morning meeting ended, David had inherited a fiasco with the Test department. When he finished that emergency, he had sixty emails to deal with. Not till midmorning did he have a moment to himself. Standing at the espresso machine, he felt lonely. Coffee was a shared experience between the two of them. Mike would sometimes drag him on a trip halfway across town chasing down an elusive bean. He realized with a start Mike had always been there. Other than company holidays, Mike had never taken vacations or even sick days.

  Then it hit him. With Mike gone, he had no help to remove his modification to ELOPe. He was on his own. Trembling, he rushed back to his office and paced the floor in front of the window, pondering his options. The coffee sat forgotten, fear-generated adrenaline giving him more stimulation than he needed.

  Could he remove the ELOPe override module by himself? Under ideal conditions, server changes deployed during rolling downtimes. They’d take five percent of the computers offline at a time, apply the updates and test them, then do the next group until all the servers were done. He’d been lucky a rolling downtime had been scheduled the night he released the override.

  David sat down at his desk, and pulled up the operations calendar. Kuso! No deployment opportunities before the holiday closure next week. He couldn’t deploy until after the New Year. He slammed his fist down on the table and Tux the Penguin wobbled with the sudden movement.

  He stood and returned to pacing. He could request an exception to get a one-off maintenance window scheduled, but that required paperwork, submitting the changes ahead of time, and altogether far too much attention. He sat back down. He checked the door to see if anyone had observed his nervous antics, but it was firmly closed.

  If he didn’t wait for a rolling downtime or request a maintenance slot, that left him with a live-patch. During the procedure, the server stayed up while the code change was made in the background, the entire operation taking only a few seconds. It was usually used for minor changes that wouldn’t affect the way applications ran, like changing the styling of a page or embedded images. Anything more complicated was risky and reserved for emergencies. More than one outage had been due to a live-patch gone wrong. Changing ELOPe’s code, tightly integrated into the mail servers, was definitely not a small change. A botched patch would attract even more attention, including a formal investigation.

  Should he attempt the patch on his own or wait for the next maintenance window? Mike not only had far more experience, he also had the authorization to perform live-patches. He convinced himself the safer, lower-risk option would be to postpone until a deployment window became available or Mike returned. He took a cautious sip of his coffee and leaned back. It could wait. After all, whatever ELOPe was doing didn’t seem to be causing any serious problems.

  John Anderson had worked halfway through the queue when he came upon yet another request from Gary Mitchell’s department. With relief he noted Gary Mitchell was using the online app for submitting procurement reqs rather than sending emails, but he was shocked at the volume coming from Gary’s group. Three reallocation requests to take servers out of the normal pipeline of delivery and direct them to the ELOPe program, whatever that was. Several new orders for bulk purchases of high performance servers. Gary’s division must be expecting massive increases in load.

  And now this latest req for software contractors to work over the upcoming holiday break, which didn’t make sense to John. He was surrounded by thousands of programmers, and yet Gary wanted dozens of outsiders. He gritted his teeth. With less than a week until the company closed for Christmas, he’d have a heck of a time getting a contract of this complexity done. Forget about submitting it for bid by multiple contractors. He reviewed the list of approved software subcontractors, and awarded the request directly to Nonstop InfoSystems, one of the better vendors.

  From: John Anderson (Procurement)

  To: Beth Richards (Nonstop InfoSystems)

  Subject: Software contractors needed over holiday

  Body:

  Hi Beth,

  We have a critical project that needs additional resources over the holiday shutdown here. We need engineers to address server performance issues. We’re looking for the following skill sets:

  - server administration (16 headcount)

  - database administration and performance tuning (16 headcount)

  - software performance tuning (16 headcount)

  - general software engineering (16 headcount)

  We need experts in high performance, high scalability systems, who can put in 12-hour days over the holiday. According to the requestor, we need six people onsite, and the remainder can work remotely. Can you please email me a bid ASAP?

  On acceptance, I’ll forward the details of the work to be done.

  Thanks, John

  Gary’s recent purchases were unusual, but they paled in comparison to this morning’s iRobot procurement request from the Offshore Data Center department. Tagged critical, urgent, and confidential, John had been so puzzled he called Bill Larry, an old college buddy, to get the inside scoop. Bill confirmed Avogadro was indeed arming the ODCs! John shook his head in disbelief at the notion of robots with weapons at an Avogadro data center. Even hours later, he could still hardly believe they were going forward with the idea.

  Shortly after he finished the paperwork with iRobot, he stopped in alarm at the specter of an empty mug. Had he already finished his allotted four cups? He looked longingly at th
e cup, but had just decided against another when Maggie Reynolds knocked on the open door of his office. “You busy?”

  Maggie was technically in Finance, not Procurement, but they’d worked together so much in the six months since she’d started that John felt closer to her than to most of the people on his own team. She was funny and smart, and he wished he could think of an excuse to ask her out, but the timing never seemed right. “Sure, come in.”

  “I’m concerned about the way this last batch of purchases are being funded out of Gary Mitchell’s group,” she said, getting right to the point as she sat down.

  John watched her earrings dangle as she spoke. Her hair looked different. Had she gotten a haircut? Was he allowed to comment on her hair? He could never keep track of the latest HR rules. Maggie went on. “Gary submitted a purchase order over his budget limit, and I kicked the order back to him. Then his assistant sent me this email, asking me to divide the purchase among several different budgets. Shouldn’t the whole thing have to come from one? It sounds suspicious.” She wedged a tablet in front of his face to show him the email.

  From: Bryce Cooper (Gary Mitchell’s Executive Assistant)

  To: Maggie Reynolds (Procurement Finance)

  Subject: re: updated billing code for reallocation exception

  Body:

  Maggie,

  Gary asked to split this across the following billing codes:

  9004-2345-01: $999,999.99

  9002-3200-16: $999,999.99

  9009-5387-60: $999,999.99

  9009-6102-11: $999,999.99

  9015-2387-19: $999,999.99

  9036-1181-43: $109,022.23

  Thanks,

  Bryce

  John waved his hand at the tablet. “Nah, don’t worry. I’m up to my armpits in requests from Gary’s department. We’re weeks from the end of the fiscal year. Departments have leftover money, and anything they don’t spend evaporates. So come December, they start ordering servers they might need for the next year, new monitors for the employees, make urgent contracts with vendors, anything really, to use the dollars before they disappear. And if they need to make big purchases, like Gary buying these servers, he’s got to pool money from different budgets. Everyone will be gone during the Christmas holiday, so there’s a rush of purchases these last few days.”

  “But the policy rewards gross financial mismanagement!” Maggie exclaimed.

  She arched her neck in frustration as she spoke, looking a little like Chewbacca from Star Wars. John wasn’t sure what it said about him, but he found the motion both endearing and sexy.

  “If the money rolled over from one year to the next, we would reward saving,” Maggie went on, growing more strident. “This approach causes irresponsible spending.”

  “I know, I know,” he said, trying to placate her. “Quarterly budgeting is contrary to every shred of common sense, but it’s business as usual. Everyone plays the budget game.” He had to change the subject somehow before she grew more angry. He looked down at his coffee cup, thumped his fingers on the table and gulped. “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

  Maggie glanced at the tablet with a sigh, and turned it off. “Sure, how about now?” she answered.

  Coffee at work wasn’t quite what John had in mind, but it was better than nothing. He picked up his mug and they made their way together to the cafeteria.

  Mike boarded his flight at 5:30a.m. and found himself in his seat, remembering nothing of his trip to the airport. When had he last seen his father? A year ago, during the Christmas break. No, he realized with a pang of guilt. He’d been dating someone and went to Mexico with her for the holidays. Two years, then. He pictured his dad’s face from his last visit, clearly healthy. Why, his mother had sent photos of an all-day hike in August. He was still active.

  Hours later, anguishing over his father’s health and weighed down with guilt for not visiting sooner, he arrived at Madison Airport a few minutes before noon. Snow flurries descended as the plane taxied to the terminal. Mike phoned his mother as he waited to disembark, but the call went right to voicemail. He tried not to get aggravated as he craned his head over the crowd. Why couldn’t she keep her mobile phone on?

  He needed to build a smartphone app for monitoring the condition of someone checked into a hospital. He gritted his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t turn off the flow of ideas, even when what mattered was his father. He glanced again at the email.

  From: JoAnn Williams

  To: Mike Williams

  Subject: your father

  Body:

  Mike, your father had a heart attack this morning. He’s in the critical care ward at Meriter Hospital. I’m at the hospital with him. Sorry to send this by email, but cell phones don’t work here, and there’s a computer in the room. I know you check your mail constantly.

  Please fly out on the next plane you can get and meet us at the hospital. Hurry!

  Meriter was one of the larger hospitals in Madison. Mike picked up a rental car at the airport and swore at himself as he heavy-footed the throttle and sent the wheels spinning. The snowfall had grown heavier, and by the time he parked, two inches had accumulated.

  Turning his coat collar up, Mike made his way to the visitors’ entrance. He gave his father’s name at the reception desk as he rubbed his chilled hands together. He hadn’t been thinking. He was dressed for Portland, not the twenty-degree temperatures of Madison.

  The white-haired receptionist shook her head and asked Mike to repeat the name. He told her again, spelling it out, and waited, bouncing on his heels with anxiety as she searched.

  “Sorry, son. There’s no record your father is here.”

  “Impossible. My mother said he checked in yesterday. He had a heart attack.”

  “The computer doesn’t show a thing.”

  “Did he check out? Or maybe he’s under my mother’s name?”

  The receptionist searched again, but shook her head. “I’m real sorry. Could they be at another hospital?”

  Mike re-read the email from his mother, which stated Meriter Hospital. He supposed she could have made a mistake, being worried herself. He jumped as the phone buzzed in his hand.

  A new email from his mother, telling him to come to his parents’ home in Boscobel, a two-hour drive. Mike peered out through the glass doors. Maybe two hours in good weather, but more like three or four in what was now a serious snowstorm.

  He thanked the receptionist and walked away to a corner of the lobby. Sitting on a bench next to a towering potted plant, Mike called his parents’ house phone, only to hear the buzzing tone he knew indicated downed landlines. He cursed the phone company. Outages were a frequent occurrence for his parents’ rural town during heavy snows, and the only reason he’d been able to convince his mother to get cells for herself and his father. He tried both of these, but was bounced to voicemail once more.

  He sat on the bench and replied to his mother’s email. The receptionist smiled with sympathy, and he wanly returned the gesture and avoided looking at the counter again. He waited ten minutes for a response, phone clamped in a sweaty death grip. His mother never answered. The Internet must be out, too. If so, how had she sent the last email?

  At last, Mike trudged to the car, and steeled himself for the treacherous drive to Boscobel. He couldn’t imagine what the hell had inspired his mother to tell him to fly into Madison. He played out different options, wondering again if she’d gotten the hospital wrong. If they’d been somewhere else, and his father had already been released, it was conceivable they could be home now. But why would his parents have gone all the way to Madison unless the heart attack was serious? He turned on his blinker and merged onto the highway.

  Mike started the drive wrung out with concern over his father and physically tired from the early morning flight. He wrestled the car for four grueling hours, with no tire chains in a snowstorm so bad he was surprised they didn’t shut down the roads. When he arrived at his parents’ driveway, he released his trem
bling hands from the steering wheel and closed his eyes for a minute.

  He opened the car door and stepped out, his brown leather shoes descending into a foot of snow that fell into the gap between his shoe and sock and immediately melted. He ignored the wetness and walked up the almost invisible path. The house was already decorated with Christmas lights, and smoke rose from the chimney. He rang the doorbell.

  His mother answered a few seconds later, her eyes widening as her mouth opened in shock. What was he doing there a week early, and in a blizzard of all things, and come in, of course! His mother’s words tumbled over each other.

  He found himself standing in his parents’ living room, the Christmas tree already up and a fire blazing in the background. His mother wore one of her flowered dresses, covered with a kitchen apron, just as she always did. His dad appeared wearing a wool sweater, and engulfed Mike in a rough hug. Mike was so relieved his father was okay that he started crying.

  “What’s going on?” his mother asked. “You aren’t supposed to be here until next week. Why the tears?”

  “Dad, you’re alive!”

  “You’re crying because your father is alive?” His mother raised one eyebrow.

  Mike pulled out his phone. “Mom, I got this email from you saying Dad had a heart attack. It said to fly out right away. I’ve been traveling since five a.m.”

  “I haven’t sent no such thing. My God, son, how worried you must have been.” She hugged him tight and urged him further into the room.