by Tony Teora
"Well I am glad to see you are happy that you had a lovemarriage"
"Happy? Hell yeah. Who wouldn’t" The Aussie smiled to himself took another puff from his cigarette.
Robert finished his drink and turned back to Jimmy and Lisa. "I’m gonna go up front with Mom. Stay out of trouble guys."
Robert thought about Susan and the things that had changed in the last five years. He closed his eyes and went to sleep rather than speak to Logan or anyone else.
Chapter 4: Psychedelic Narita
Date: A few years back, in 2015 …
Place: Earth
Location: Paris
"A raccoon tangled with a 26,000 volt line today. The results blacked out Narita Airport, 1,400 homes and, of course, one raccoon."
– Narita Airport News- Japan
Soon after the JiJi Legion for Peace bombed the Statue of Liberty with a hijacked 747, the US Defense Department put in a policy that all US transcontinental airliners had to use MicroIntel’s Assisted Security System software. The measures put into place after the World Trade Center’s meltdown were deemed ineffective against maniacs turning planes into missiles. MicroIntel Assisted Security Software came at the right time but the marketing became hell after a disgruntled employee named Judd shortened the name to "MI-ASS". Judd worked for ChipTucker, Director of Marketing for MicroIntel. Judd rushed Chip into signing the memo approving the name as the director hurried from the office, running late for a flight to Paris. Chip, who tried to hide the fact that he was gay, soon realized the mistake but it was too late. Making the best of a bad situation, Chip invented themarketing campaign slogan: "Using MI-ASS will save your ASS."
Gill heard about the campaign in Europe at a dinner meeting with AirBusLockeedMartin (ABLM). Gill knew Chip was gay,but didn’t care. Chip was the best marketing guy money could buy. Chipalways came out with a winning ad campaign, but this particular campaign concerned Gill.
Gill had Gerard Blutoire his trusted President of MicroIntel European Operations by his side. Across the table sat the ABLM General Manager, Plutz Berger. The restaurant, "Chez Antoine", was owned by a New York wiseguy named Tony who now went by "Antoine" for reasons Tony could never really explain. Tony was a friend of Gerard, and he had set them up in a private dining room. Gill needed government approval in Europe. Governments were a problem, but problems had solutions and John Plutz could fix things; Plutz had contacts with most airlines in Europe.
"So Gill, how will MI-ASS help ABLM?" asked Plutz.
Gill wiped his face with a white napkin. "Excuse me Plutz??"
"My ass, goddamn it!! What kind of fucking name is that for software?" Plutz demanded.
"It’s not a great name but it’s getting a lot of publicity …ah…that’s how the acronym worked out," Gill answered.
Gerard buttered his bread and looked over to Gill and then at Plutz. He knew Plutz was pissed. They were in marketing hell because of the name. Everyone was making jokes. One commercial used a double of Ex-President Schmidt, the first Jew to become President. He was also the first Jew to get impeached for sleeping with the Defense Secretary’s wife on Air Force One. The non-profit organization, "Friendly United Catholic Kingdom" (known by some as FUCK), created the Schmidt ad. FUCK had Schmidt’s double say: "We used MI-ASS on Air Force One. It can save your ass. T take it from me, even if you’re President, if you don’t have safe sex, you can kiss your ass goodbye.."
President Schmidt was suing the organization. The New York Postheadlined the story:
President suing FUCK for slander---What the FUCK is going on?
The terrible jokes continued.
Plutz continued: "Well, at least the technical guys say it’s a great piece of software, but they have one concern."
"What’s that? " asked Gill.
Gill knew the product was the most tested piece of software in history. It would fly all new commercial airplanes, and if there were signs of a plane flying off-course, or had a terrorist onboard, its controls could be overridden from the ground. The pilots only had to monitor the software. A twelve-year-old could learn it in two hours -- one if he played Nintendo.
John eyed Gill. "What do we do if a terrorist gets control from the ground? That would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it? "
Gill and Gerard both knew this was the biggest concern. MicroIntel had spent millions to calm that fear. The MI-ASS system used the toughest encryption in the US. The software was semi-intelligent. One would need to reprogram it to crash rather than land. Even the ground controllers couldn’t send the plane into a crash pattern. This had been tested and verified hundreds of times. Gill still did not like the question.
"John, we’ve gone over this a million times. The chances are almost nil; there is a higher chance for a plane to get hit by a meteorite."
Plutz shook his head. "Gill, I want some type of insurance policy. If the software ever gets hacked, ever,I want your word, signedin blood that you will give us the source code. I want MicroIntel to pay for any and all terrorist damages, litigation, everything -- including any work to repair the software."
Gill looked over toward Plutz. "That could lose us billions in an accident."
"Yeah, but the chances are the same as getting hit by a meteorite," said Plutz.
Gill fell silent. He pulled out a calculator, hit buttons, scratched his head, and guzzled Perrier like an on-the-wagon alcoholic.
"OK, you have a deal."
Deals were important to Gill.
Readers should note that MI-ASS did a great job of stopping planes from becoming missiles and this $2.5 billion dollar software package foiled the plans of many mad terrorists. As the world tried to move ahead, some new terrorists discovered that $5 worth of condoms, filled with $20 worth biological terror spores worked better than the $2.5 billion software. These folks swallowed the poison filled condoms and then while on board planes ordered lots of prune juice. Once these men had extracted the condoms, they spread the powder in planes, causing all kinds of havoc. The airlines initially banned prune juice. People were then required to take stomach and butt scans prior to plane entry. An anti-terror research group concluded that terrorists had these similarities: they ate lots of chocolate and cookies, their brains were washed cleaner than a neutron bleached medical mask, and they were trained by people who were really, really angry at the world.
But that was then. We now move forward in time to where Susan and penguins float on clouds.
Robert walked up to his seat next to Susan. He sat down, buckled up, and reached over to touch her hand. He loved Susan and hoped he could find a way to make her happy. Susan sacrificed a lot for Robert and Robert knew it. Susan wanted more romance; Robert knew it and bought a bestseller on romance called, "Woman are from Venus and Men are from New Jersey." He studied it as if it were an important science project.
Susan was, of course, an important project.
Robert ordered a glass of wine from the same pretty stewardess. He received it in a safe, soft plastic cup. No more real glasses, knives, or forks on planes. These were classified as weapons. Robert enjoyed the Italian Chianti and settled back for a nap.
About two hours passed as Robert and Susan slept.
Near the end of Robert’s nap a movie screen finished showing Harrison Ford in "Air Force II." After the credits the screen went black, and a voice spoke from the intercom:
"Good evening passengers of ANA flight 647. This is a pre-recorded broadcast. You are now in a landing pattern for Narita Tokyo…pattern for Narita Tokyo… you are now in a …Tokyo …Tokyo …Tokyo."
The screen hummed like an old television channel shutting off. Then came a screen of white noise and random radio stations. Robert woke hearing only a garbled message. He looked up.
The LCD movie in front changed to a bright blue screen that said:
"A fatal exception 0E has occurred at 0028:C0013 F7A in VXD VMM(01)+0012F7A. The current application will be terminated. MicroIntelCode will reboot."
Robert squinted
to read the message.
The screen flashed and started a reboot. While waiting, people started to talk about the blue screen. One smart looking engineering student said to his girlfriend that this was normal. His PC always got that screen. "After a reboot, everything is always fine," he said smartly. (He had lied; a few times he had to spend hours and even days fixing the problem.)
A MicroIntel screen came up on the screens of the onboard engineers. This flashed back to a blue screen error.
"A fatal exception has occurred on JAL flight 647. The current flight control will be terminated. Remote control will be activated."
The screen turned florescent red and pulsated to music. Robert recognized the music. It was a rock group he loved "The Doors". The song hummed:
" Come on baby light my fire, come on baby light my fire…try to set the night on fire…yeeeeaaaah…!! "
As the music grew louder the screen flashed in fluorescents, first purple, then orange and then florescent green. The light in the cabin dimmed to a light red hue. The music volume increased. People began to get agitated.
Susan awoke and stared at the screen. "Are we at a disco? What’s going on?"
The speaker normally used for takeoffs and landings crackled. The music’s volume went down. A screen popped up showing the view below and in front of the plane. There lay the ocean. Ahead were scattered clouds. A voice spoke from the intercom:
"You are running a plane with AD-2100 software. You are also running MI-ASS for remote control. MI-ASS will save your ass." The Doors volume rose.
"Come on baby light my fire… Try to set the night on fire…."
The plane angled down 45% degrees, and shot toward the water. The LCD screen showed the ocean approaching. People gripped armrests.
The intercom cracked again, "Hi, my name is Buffalo, I hacked MI-ASS… kiss your ass goodbye!"
A woman started to scream. Ocean waves seemed to splash the LCD screen. An old man in front said to his son, "See, I told you that computers weren’t user friendly." Then the plane jerked into a steep climb. A food tray rolled to the back cabin and crashed against a bathroom door. A Japanese man smoking inside thought the plane had crashed. He thanked God he had survived despite the many bad deeds he had done. The LCD screen showed a roller coaster climbing to the top of the tracks. It looked like the DisneyAOLTurner amusement ride Runaway Coaster 7, Fireworks for the Family. Two pilots walked out of the cabin to the passenger section. The captain spoke to the passengers. "We apologize for the inconvenience and have radio contacted Narita Airport. They are trying to regain control of the aircraft."
A tall man in front stood and screamed. "What the hell are you guys doing? Inconvenience?! Can’t you just fly the goddamn plane straight?"
The plane kept climbing. The roller coaster reached its peak. Teenagers knew the ride well. At the top the coaster would drop, the ride would be fast and furious, and then at the end the coaster would smash into an ammunition dump, and explode into fireworks. Two young children, unaware of this scenario, sat near the LCD waiting for the coaster to reach the top. They coaxed the coaster, yelling, "Go coaster, go." Their embarrassed mother scolded them.
The pilot’s technician faced the angry passenger, and meekly answered. "No, we can’t get manual control. Computers run the whole thing and the computer just crashed. Someone hacked the system. It’s supposed to be impossible."
Susan pushed Robert. "I need to use the ladies room." Robert looked over. "What? It’s dangerous, you might bump your head. This plane might crash."
Susan pushed, "I don’t care, my stomach hurts from the dog pills, and if it wasn’t for you and MicroIntel, we wouldn’t be in this mess. If I die, I’ll die like Elvis -- in the toilet." Susan started to cry and got up.
Robert did not stop Susan. It didn’t matter. As the excited kids knew all too well, Runway Train-7 was about to turn into a Christmas tree.
Robert closed his eyes. He knew he had one chance. He quickly opened up his JAL web browser, and did what he knew never to do—override the MicroIntel software with his personal Crypto-code on the insecure Internet channel. Not a good idea Robert, if someone is watching the link and they know it’s me, now they’ve got my Crypto Code. But if I don’t we’re dead. Pretty easy choice,thought Robert.
A few key keystrokes and Robert was in the main database. He logged into the MI-ASS channel via WebLink and deleted the hacker process. Once deleted the plane jerked up and the Runaway train stopped on the screen. The kids in front looked disappointed. One child complained, "Ah Mom---I want Runaway Train, I want Runaway Train for Christmas!" The mother slapped the child. He cried but no one noticed.
Others were already crying.
Susan had safely made it to the toilet. She felt at home in the toilet. There remained a smell of tobacco from the last passenger and the fire alarm buzzed from the illicit smoke, but Susan did not care. For the first time in her life, she buckled herself onto the toilet for safety. She took 2 Valiums. She heard a humming sound from the water sensor behind the seat.
From an intercom the captain spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the inconvenience, but Narita airport now has regained control of the aircraft. For security purposes and for your safety, all seatbelts have been locked to protect against terrorists. We will be landing in the next 10 minutes. Please remain calm."
The plane smoothly turned left and leveled. Inside the toilet Susan thanked God for not killing her. The hum in the toilet increased intensity. Water under her seat started a light spray. Susan went to unbuckle and get out. The water spray was increasing; it was hitting her buttocks.
The toilet seatbelt wouldn’t unlock.
Outside in the hallway Robert heard a loud flushing sound. He thought he heard Susan scream. Inside the toilet Susan had been douched with five gallons of sprayed water. The water sensor seemed OK now, but the sound picked up again. Susan guessed accurately that another five gallons were on their way. She was already completely soaked. Susan did the only thing she could. She cried and waited for the plane to land.
Chapter 5: Spooks
Date: February 10, 2021
Place: Earth, Eagle Air Force Base
Location: Colorado Springs, Colorado
"Do not touch anything unnecessarily. Beware of pretty girls in dance halls and parks who may be spies, as well as bicycles, revolvers, uniforms, arms, dead horses, and men lying on roads -- they are not there accidentally."
- Soviet infantry manual, issued in the 1930's
EMMETT: Oh, uh will you hold my wallet while I take the test, please? There is a thousand dollars in there… or maybe there isn't. Know what I mean?
TEST MONITOR: Are you saying I can take this money if I help you pass the test? EMMETT: What do you think?
-Spies Like Us Movie (1985)
Joey Milano wanted an exciting job, not the same nine-to-five shit his father Nick Milano had done. Joey had no urge to machine parts for industrial gas turbine engines for twenty-five years at Boeing. His father had made enough to buy a three-bedroom home in rural Illinois, and there was always food on the table. Nick had a saying that stuck with Joey. With a leftover Italian accent Nick Milano would say:
"My son, get as much a schooling as ya can, and getta a good honest job—do something good! A white-collar job, like a doctor or an accountant—in Italia all I knew waz hard work in the factory. That’s a why I’m a doin’ it till I die. It’s hard, but it’s honest. But my son, in America you can make somethin’ of yerself. Capeesh?"
Joey’s father paid for the education at the University of Maryland. At graduation Nick Milano blew a fuse when he discovered Joey’s plan to join the National Security Agency.
"Son, what are they a putting in the water at school? Are you outta yo mind? Haven’t you watched any WebTV or read any books at school? Get a real job and not one nosin’ in other people’s business."
Joey had gotten the full course from the NSA recruiter. At the time he thought he knew better than his father did.<
br />
"Dad, I want to do something for my country. I think I can do something really big at the NSA. There are a lot of bad folks out there and I want to stop them."
His father’s reply was only now hitting home. "Son, if yo wanna stop all bad folks you can start by quitting the NSA. Mark my word son, no good will a come from snoopin’ around people’s private lives. Talk to ‘em about US constitution and see how long they’ll keep ya. Darn, spent all that good money to let some school fill your head with dog poop."
Joey and his father seldom talked anymore, but this call had to be made. He was going to have to cancel a long awaited vacation. The phone was ringing. Oh Mom, please answer the phone! I really don’t need Dad’s attitude today.
Ring…Ring…Ring…
"Milano residence, Nick speakin’."
Joey hesitated.
"Hello…hello?" Nick continued.
"Hi Dad, it’s Joey."
"Hey, hozza my spookson doin’?"
"Dad, I’m not in the mood for this crap. Please stop saying stupid shit. Is mom home?"
"Your mama went to da store. I ain’t good enough to talk to? Well, you haven’t been home in over a year and you’re not in the mood? Been too busy tapping people’s phones, eh son?" "Dad, you know I can’t talk about my work. Now please listen. I cancelled my trip home."
"Really, Joey. Why? Your mama and I miss you. What’s goin’ on?" There was real concern in Nick’s voice.
"Dad, trust me. I can’t talk about it. But something came up."
"Well, whatever it is, ya know better than I, son, that your phone is tapped, right? All a you spooks gave up your freedom a long time ago. Did ya find anyone at work that talks about the US Constitution who still has a his job? Did ya son? Son??!"
