Chapter 1
I can do this! People do it all the time. I simply have to go up there and give a detailed presentation on this software I wrote, to about two hundred people. People like all my co-workers, my company’s clients, the chief of staff and the freaking mayor! No big deal. No pressure at all. Why did I choose to be a computer programmer again? Oh yes, because it allows me long hours of deep uninterrupted work with my computer. That’s how I like it, just me and my computer. Someone should have warned me that if my work exceeded expectations, I could have some public speaking to do. Of all the people, why me? Why Sapphire Adams? Someone shoot me please. Or better yet give me one of those PIT (Peace Initiation Treatment) injections; I hear it makes you calm. A little uncoordinated, slow and zombie-like, but at least you’re calm.
“Hey relax, you’ll be fine,” Natasha gives me an optimistic smile, but it fails to reach her eyes, “just focus on the subject matter, pretend you’re explaining it to me. OK?”
My throat is too dry to say anything. I just give her a weak smile and take a sip of the bottled water they provided. She is such a loyal friend, but she has no idea how I feel inside. For everyone else, public speaking is just an uncomfortable situation that they push through with a smile and a few butterflies in the stomach. For me it’s as if the masked murderer who just slaughtered my entire family, including my dog, is chasing me down the street after I just fell three times and broke my leg. It’s more than discomfort. It’s terror!
“Just think girl, you could get a promotion after this!” She had the nerve to sound excited.
“Yea, just what I need, an opportunity to do more public speaking;” I sulk.
I’m usually not this sour and pessimistic but social situations always bring out the worst in me. They call it social anxiety disorder; an excessive and unreasonable fear of social situations. My therapist said that my fear is irrational and I need to deal with it by changing my thought patterns. It’s so easy for everyone to say, but have they ever had a panic attack over the mere notion of attending a high-school dance? My method is simple; stay away from unfamiliar people and situations. A few friends, family and my regular routine, that’s all I need. It worked out perfectly, until now.
“So girl,” it’s really nice of Natasha to try to interrupt my thoughts, I guess she could see that I’m spiraling, “imagine they picked you out of everyone else. How cool is that. You must be really good.” She nudges me.
“I guess so.” I say with a shrug.
I won't let myself celebrate until this presentation mess is over with. Still, it’s an honor to be chosen to share a stage with some of the leading minds in security technology. The company I work for, MUST Inc., organized this conference to showcase the headway we’ve made in security software but that is not all we do. MUST Inc. stands for Multi Utility Software Technologies. We provide software mostly to utility companies and we offer a wide range of products and services. Our customers usually come from the energy and environmental departments, but we also handle waste management, infrastructural and telecommunication service companies.
My job mainly involves the security services we provide to these companies, which is why I was chosen to present today. A while back I worked on a solo project developing a piece of software that could protect our clients from cyber attacks. My team leader thought it would be a fitting reward to have me give a presentation of my work to all these people. I would have preferred a raise.
“Oh I bet Rafferty is the happiest man alive since your recent success,” she chuckles. This is the only enjoyment I’ve had since I received the formal letter that I was selected to be a guest speaker at this conference.
The look on Rafferty’s face when he found out I was chosen. Priceless! I never had the chance to observe a shetani turn red up close before. He was of course furious that he didn't get the recognition himself, being my supervisor. He even complained to our team lead about it.
Here he is now, a few tables down, throwing daggers in my direction with his eyes. Natasha and I laugh. It helps to calm me a little. I glance at the programme booklet for the event and every ounce of tranquility leaves my body. After only two more speakers I would be next. I feel sick.
“Hey, you’re shaking, are you OK? Have some water.” She holds my hand.
“Bathroom.” It’s all I could muster. My knees are wobbly and my heart is racing. She must have noticed my clumsy attempt at standing and decided to accompany me. It’s a good thing she is so observant, because she also notices the expression on my face that says I need to throw up.
“Sorry but this is an emergency!” She announces, pushing a middle aged woman out of the bathroom stall she was about to enter. She guides me in so I could spew this morning’s breakfast and yesterday’s dinner into the toilet bowl.
“Safi, you need to get a hold of yourself. Do you want me to tell them you’re unable to present because you’re sick?”
“No!” I respond between coughs and vomit sessions.
“The only thing worse than giving the presentation, is not giving the presentation. How would people look at me after all the hype surrounding the software I created? Don’t forget about Rafferty, I can’t give him the satisfaction of watching me fail.”
“OK, just relax and pretend I am the audience. Explain your software to me. It will be fine.”
“Piece of cake!” At least I still had my sarcasm.
I really need to get it together. Maybe I would try it. Pretend Natasha is the audience. I know the speech I prepared by heart anyway. I just have to breathe and relax. I will just go up there, rattle off my presentation and scurry off the stage. The only way out of this is accepting the inevitable.
I get up from the filthy bathroom floor and stare at my reflection. I am a mess. I wash the vomit off my face, gargle some water and tidy up my unruly thick, black, hair. Natasha helps me clean drops of vomit off my shirt with a paper towel. I reapply some lip gloss, pop an extra anxiety pill and set off to accept my fate. It could be worse after all. They could have asked for a question and answer session. I am so lucky, they didn’t. I head outside feeling a bit relieved.
“Miss Adams, great news, the question and answer session afterward, is not included in your forty-five minutes. You have all that time to give your presentation. We just need you backstage to provide your power point. Everyone is so excit-” I cut him off.
“What! No one said anything about a Q&A, where did this come from?” He is a bit confused.
He wore black pants, an immaculate white shirt and a charming smile. Someone calls him so he scampers away on some other pressing matter. I am beyond panicked. If my skin tone wasn’t so dark I would be green by now. Once again it is Natasha who saves me.
“Hey, listen, listen. Just breathe! In and out, that’s right. You can do this!” she smiles at me.
“I can do this!” I repeat, trying to convince myself.
I gather my notes and the flash-drive containing my power point and head backstage. “I can do this!” I repeat again.
I don’t hear much of the host’s introduction of me. My mind keeps envisioning all the scenarios of me making a total fool of myself. From mispronouncing my words to visibly sweaty armpits, I think I cover them all. The sound my name jerks me out of my pessimism.
“…our bright young star, Sapphire Adams!” The audience applauds as tremulous legs take me up the steps toward the stage. The host greets me warmly and shakes my hands. I take my position behind the podium and manage a convincing grin while quivering, moist hands organize my speaking notes. I planned a thought provoking introductory statement to gain their attention.
“What is a hacker?” My voice cracks and no one seems to hear me so I begin again. “What is a hacker? In the security world, a hacker means multiple things. What comes to your mind? Computer criminal? A wayward deadbeat with a dash of brilliance?” The audience laughs; there is hope for me yet. “To me it simply means someone who understands computer systems and c
an defeat their security controls. The only way to get around the problems of the hackers is to think like them. Hackers are creative geniuses so we must be creative in the design of our security systems as well. The recent breaches in our security system software prove that we are lagging behind in terms of innovative ideas. What does the software I developed do? Basically it thinks just like hackers trying to penetrate the system, and mimics the way they attempt to manipulate the code. In short I use their own methods against them. So how exactly do I do this? Now this is where I get technical…”
I can’t believe it. My presentation actually isn’t half bad. There are times during the speech where I totally forget about my anxiety. The audience looks engaged and some are even nodding. I look at Natasha who is beaming with pride; she confirms my assumption. My presentation is a success. I go on to talk about how I could even capture the hackers with the same software I developed. Now it’s time for questions.
“Does anyone have any questions?” The audience doesn’t respond. My guardian angel definitely has my back today. I exhale with a smile. “Well then, thank you very mu-”
“I have a question! How does the firm propose to deal with the legal issue of taking credit for computer coding information from these hackers? If they are creative geniuses as you claim, do they get acknowledgment for their work?”
The room goes deathly still and silent. Oh where did this unbearable man come from?
“Umm… well the hackers have no right breaking the la-”
“But just because a practice is legal, does not give surety that it is right. Up to a few years ago, slavery was legal in Kuzimu, was it right?”
Someone shut him up please, he is ruining everything. The task seems to be left to me.
“Downloading computer code doesn’t constitute stealing under the National Stolen Property Act.” I shoot back. That should quiet the bald-headed reprobate.
“It does if you assume physical control over the source code and deprive the developer of its use.” His voice is distinct and sharp, his demeanor calm and confident. “What are the ethical implications of using another person’s coding as a part of your own?”
“I think the end in this case, would justify the means. This is a matter of our security!” I am vehement at this point.
“Exactly whose security? The people of Kuzimu or the people you work for?” He says.
Why the hell haven’t they apprehended this misfit? I have never heard a shetani speak like this before. Or was he? It’s hard to tell the texture of someone’s hair if they’re bald. He could easily be a very light-skinned mungu, since we come in every shade. His skin has a shiny glow to it. It seems like he’s defending these hackers. Whose side is he on?
“Thank you very much for your questions sir,” I am out of rebuttals. He knows it. Everyone knows it. The miserable wretch curves his lips into a smile.
“My name is Adrian.” He stares directly at me with his impossibly piercing eyes.
Who cares what the miscreant’s name is. I certainly don’t. I just want him to shut up. The fact that no one has done so already means that he is someone important. He’s probably one of our clients. I decide not to press him. I don’t want to lose my job along with my pride.
I actually never thought there would be consequences to using a hackers’ software against them. As obnoxious as he is, this Adrian fella has a point. I’m stumped.
There is an awkward silence on the room as everyone waits for my response. I can’t focus on what to say next because my eyes search the crowd for people’s reaction. Some of my co-workers look at me with an uneasy expression; Natasha looks at me and nods her head as if to provide encouragement and Rafferty looks like he’s is having the time of his life. I can’t meet his gaze or anyone else's.
I dart off the stage without another word. It is the only thing I could do. I thought of so many scenarios where I made a fool of myself, but that one was unfathomable. Everyone must think me to be a despicable coward who goes around stealing software. I need to escape this nightmare. I search for the exit and find one not too far away. Through my blurry, tear filled eyes, I recognize someone standing in front of the exit. Rafferty.
This is just what I need. Of course he would come to gloat.
“Hey what’s wrong? Are you crying? You poor thing.” He can’t keep up his pretense of caring about me any longer. Rafferty breaks out in a fit of howling laughter. “I knew you would fumble eventually. You almost had me there. What a wonderful presentation, Sapphire. This should be a lesson to you mungus who like to put yourself in places where you have no business.” He continues laughing.
He was always a cruel bastard but now he is being condescending and racist. I can’t take it anymore.
“Get out of my way Rafferty!” My tone is laced with anger but he can’t be bothered; I have never seen him this happy. It’s as if he just won the lottery. He moves aside lazily, still chuckling like he is at a comedy festival. This is the worst day of my life.
I was so foolish to think I could do this!
The Rejected - Episode 1 of 9 (Urban Fantasy Dystopian Serial) Page 2
