The Pattern

by JT Kalnay

  “Saw or had? And now he’s a ‘very good friend’? I thought you only dated him a few times?”

  “Not my type. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be good friends,” Stacey answered.

  “And he’s the best you ever saw?” Craig asked again. Now he looked less jealous and more hurt.

  “At networking,” Stacey added.

  “Uh hum,” Craig replied.

  “Come on Craig. It was a long time ago. Before I met you. While you were still living your graduate assistant rock star lifestyle,” Stacey said.

  “Sure. That’s what you always say,” Craig said.

  “Because it’s true.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Anyway Craig. You can spend the rest of the day worrying about what Rakesh and I might or might not have done years ago in college, before I met you, and while you were doing God knows what with God knows who, or you can spend the rest of the day thinking about what you and I are most certainly going to do tonight,” Stacey said. “Take your pick.”

  Craig made a face like he was weighing a difficult choice.

  “B,” he chose.

  “I thought so,” Stacey answered.

  Chapter

  June 24, 1994

  Spokane, Washington

  Craig walked briskly across the concrete tarmac. Jean watched him as he crossed in front of two parked jet fighters and a tied down cargo plane.

  “Jean! Good to see you. How are you?” Craig asked, offering his hand.

  “Fine. Good to see you. Any problems getting in?” she answered, taking his hand.

  “No the guy with the rubber gloves wasn’t nearly as rough as last time.”

  “Craig!”

  “No. No problems at all. But I don’t think Houdini could sneak in here,” Craig said.

  “That’s the way we and the Air Force like it. There’s all kinds of folks would like to get in here. From crazies to ex-wives to terrorists and what not,” Jean answered.

  “So the new code is going up in a B-52?”

  “Yep. We’ve made some upgrades to part of the sensor suite, and they’re going to do hundreds of hours of precision flying to map the new radar components. I could tell you all about it, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “No thanks. The Marauder whacks my ass enough.”

  “You aren’t still playing that thing are you?” Jean asked.

  “Sure. I set up a standalone machine. But it still beats me every time. I’m getting better though. What about you?”

  “I've lost interest in it since I learned how to kill it anytime I want.” Behind them, an enormous B-52 was towed out of a hangar and onto the apron of the taxiway to the main runway where it began winding up its engines. The noise immediately made them turn their heads.

  "What? You can beat it? For real?"

  "For real," Jean said.

  "Cool."

  "In one way it's cool, but now I have no-one to spend all those long lonely nights with," Jean said.

  "Please," Craig answered. The B-52 grew even louder.

  “I’ve never been up in a Buff,” Craig said. “This ought to be cool.”

  “Sorry cowboy. I know we always make you ride, but if you went inside that particular bird, we really would have to kill you.”

  Craig looked at the plane, and then back at Jean. “So then why’d you make me come up here if you knew I wasn’t going to fly?”

  “Just wanted to see you,” Jean answered.

  Craig looked annoyed, but then relented.

  “Whatever. You’re the client. Now you say you can kill the Marauder anytime?”

  “Anytime and every time.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Bull true. It’s easy. I’ll show you later if we have time.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No. You’ll only believe me if you see it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You won’t like the answer. Besides, it was Dr. Brady, the woman about whom I am not allowed to talk, that helped me figure it out.”

  “I told you. I love Stacey. But if you really want me to meet this woman, what’s her name? Dr. Watson? Then I will meet the genius woman and she can let me in on your secret.”

  “It’s in the viruses. Something about the difference between lytic and lysogenic viruses. I only understood about one percent of it but when I started playing the game with my newfound knowledge of virology I beat the crap out of it.”

  “Cool. So when do I meet Dr. Einstein?”

  “It’s Brady. Not Watson, not Einstein, Brady. And she’s very nice. She’s a little fragile right now, so be nice. We’re all having dinner later.”

  “Pre-arranged?” Craig said.

  “I knew that once I told you she knew how to beat it, you’d want to meet her. You are a very transparent young man.” The engines on the B-52 reached another level and Craig and Jean walked away from the plane and into the shelter of the hanger from which it had emerged.

  “So did you take the Marauder off your machines at work?” Jean asked.

  “I think so.”

  “What do you mean ‘you think so’?”

  “We did everything that should have removed it from our machines. As thorough a cleaning as I’ve ever seen. But if it’s as hideous a virus as you say, then who knows. I set up a quarantine machine that is completely stand alone, and we play on that.”

  “Craig that’s not good enough,” Jean said.

  “We also bought all new servers and work stations and literally threw out all the old stuff.”

  “That’ll do,” Jean said.

  “Cool.”

  “So did you hear what it did in L.A.?”

  “What?”

  “I heard it somehow got into the LAX air traffic control center computer and set all the runway and taxi lights to go wrong at the worst time. They had to re-install the whole system twice.”

  “Is that for real or just some new urban legend? Probably somebody screwed up and found a simple scapegoat.”

  “Just telling you what I heard from usually reliable sources,” Jean said.

  “And at Kennedy, they think it set the lights wrong in the fog and led a plane into a fence.”

  “Shit,” Craig said. His mind flew back to the email from Rakesh warning him about the virus.

  Craig and Jean looked out at the B-52 that had paused on the taxiway. It was literally abuzz with activity. Technicians and ground crew swarmed like remora around the plane, busy with last minute tasks.

  “When does this thing go up?” Craig asked.

  Jean looked at her watch. “About ten more minutes,” Jean answered.

  “And he’s going to fly patterns over the airfield so they can calibrate the new instruments?” Craig asked.

  “Right. They want to program some sensors. They’re going to fly it by hand for half an hour or so and then kick in your new auto-pilot software for half an hour and then land it. Later on they’ll do longer flights, but for today an hour’s worth of telemetry will let them tune it up for subsequent flights.”

  “Sounds pretty routine,” Craig said.

  “Sure. Sure. Over six hundred million dollars of new software and sensors and you say routine,” Jean said.

  #

  “How long have they been up?” Craig asked.

  “Twenty five minutes,” Jean answered.

  Over their radios the two could hear the strictly business air force pilot chatter and the equally all business ground controllers. “Going to autopilot software now. Tracking north then going around,” the pilot said.

  “Here we go,” Craig said.

  Overhead the B-52 rolled dramatically to its left.

  “Seems to want to go a little left,” they overheard the pilot say.

  “A little left?” Craig asked. “Do B-52s roll that far?” Craig asked.

  “I’ve never seen one do that,” Jean answered with a touch of concern.

  “What’s he doing now?” Craig asked. The plane rolled further to the lef
t.

  “Showing off is my bet,” Jean said, the disapproval ringing clearly in her voice.

  “Disengaging software,” they overhead the pilot say.

  The two watched as the B-52 rolled further and further to the left. The plane’s right wing was almost pointing straight up.

  “Holy Shit! I definitely did not know that a B-52 could do that,” Craig said.

  “And I didn’t know that it was supposed to,” Jean said. Craig noted the severe disapproval in her voice.

  “Off software,” the pilot said. “I’ll take her up a thousand, straighten her out and try that again,” the pilot said.

  Jean and Craig watched as the pilot headed out, gently turned and headed back towards the field. “Could the software have made it turn like that?” Jean asked.

  “Yes, but I didn’t know a B-52 could maneuver like that. The software has special components to avoid microbursts, funnel clouds, other airplanes, and so on. It’ll handle instantaneous response situations. But that turn. That was a little scary.”

  “Maybe it needs a little tweaking?” Jean asked.

  “Maybe,” Craig ruminated.

  “Re-engaging software. Tracking south and going around,” the pilot said.

  “Let’s see if it tries that fancy turn again,” Craig said.

  The left wing dipped. The aging bird rolled. The left wing edged further and further down.

  “Holy Shit!” Craig said. He took a step towards the field, Jean strode beside him. The plane went to forty five degrees of roll, sixty degrees, ninety degrees. It looked like it was going to try an air show barrel roll before it finally started back. Craig clapped his hands to cheer. “It must have dropped two thousand feet doing that stunt,” Craig said.

  “I’ve never seen or heard of a B-52 doing that before,” Jean said. Worry replaced concern in her voice.

  “Software still engaged,” they heard from the pilot as the plane roared and rumbled overhead.

  “There he goes again,” Craig shouted. He spread his arms out like a little kid playing jet fighter in the back yard. The B-52 rolled left and dropped another thousand feet.

  “Okay. That’s enough. Pull it up,” Jean said to the airplane.

  “Disengaging,” they heard from the pilot.

  “What?” Craig asked. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s not supposed to fly that low,” Jean said. “It drives the locals crazy, and it’s dangerous.”

  “But the software is programmed to control even low level maneuvers. Microbursts and funnels and other planes happen the most near the ground during takeoff and landing. I’ve definitely got it coded for low level maneuvers.” Craig pointed as the B-52, only hundreds of feet from the ground continued a steep, now spiraling left turn.

  “Software won’t disengage,” they heard the pilot grunt.

  “Oh my GOD!” Jean shouted.

  Craig’s eyes practically burst from their sockets. He took a slow step towards the tarmac. Jean grabbed him and held him back to keep him from getting any closer.

  The B-52 plowed into the ground at nearly three hundred miles per hour. The left wing hit first. The fuel in the wing tanks ignited instantly and exploded into a massive fireball before the rest of the plane augured in. The blast threw Craig and Jean onto the gritty tarmac.

  “Holy shit!” Craig said.

  “Are you alright?” Jean asked.

  “Holy shit. Holy shit,” Craig repeated.

  Jean looked him over, then examined herself. Aside from a small scrape on his forehead, and a small cut on her hand where she had hit the pavement, they were alright.

  “Yeah. You’re alright. Help me up,” Jean said.

  They brushed tiny stones and shards of sand from their raspberried palms.

  “Come on,” Jean said, moving towards the hangar, Craig’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grasp. “I’ve got work to do.”

  June 24, 1994

  Fairchild Air Force Base

  Spokane, Washington

  Assembled From Wire News Reports

  A United States Air Force B-52 strategic bomber crashed without warning at 2:43 p.m. today. The Air Force confirms that the pilot, co-pilot and eight crew members were killed instantly. The plane was on what Air Force officials described as a “routine training run” and was reportedly not carrying any nuclear materials at the time of the crash. Witnesses report that the plane had just come out of a low level turn to the left when it started banking sharply to the left and quickly lost altitude, finally impacting without recovering from the turn.

  Chapter

  June 25, 1994

  San Francisco, California

  Stacey ran into Craig’s arms and held him so tightly he could barely breath. He felt his back adjust as she hugged him as tight as she could, as tight as she ever had. Craig couldn’t remember such a display of emotion before. As she held him, he felt her trembling deep within.

  “Thank God you’re safe,” Stacey finally said.

  “It was unbelievable. Is unbelievable,” Craig said. “One second it was there and the next second it was a ball of flame and then smoke and then nothing. It’s like it never existed.”

  Stacey hugged him even more tightly. She held on like she would never release him. Craig gently stroked her hair and touched her cheek.

  “It’s okay honey. Everything is going to be okay. Shhhh.”

  “Oh Craig, I was so scared. I heard it on the radio, then they actually had footage on CNN. Someone was taping it with their home camera. And I know you always go up on the first flight. I was sure you were ….”

  “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “Lately, I’ve had the feeling that something bad is going to happen to you. And then this.”

  “Shhh. Nothing is going to happen me.”

  “I was so sure you were, were…..”

  “I’m here. It’s okay.”

  “To see that plane crash on the television. And they ran it forwards, and backwards, in slow motion and I was sure you were on it, you’re always on the test flight.”

  “It’s okay. It’s over,” Craig said, still holding her.

  #

  Craig stopped the car in their driveway, scurried around to Stacey’s side and held her door, a formality in which he rarely engaged. She took his hand and leaned on him as they walked to the door.

  “Okay, we’re home now. And everything’s going to be okay,” Craig said.

  Stopping short of the door, Stacey gripped his hand tightly and stared at him, nearly staring through him. “Craig. There’s something I need you to do right now,” Stacey said.

  “Anything,” Craig answered.

  “I need you to get rid of that damn game.”

  “What?”

  “You said you’d do anything. That’s what I want.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think it’s after you.”

  “That’s irrational.”

  “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. But right now it’s not. For two hours today I thought you were dead. How could you not call me for so long? I found out from Stan that you were okay. What were you thinking? So maybe I’m a little irrational. But it’s what I want. I want you to get rid of that game.”

  “Okay. We can erase it from my machine right now. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The two young lovers walked hand-in-hand to Craig’s home computer desk.

  “Power it up and wipe it,” Stacey said. “Do it quick. Do it now.”

  “Okay. Okay. But it’s just a game. I don’t know why it scares you so much.”

  “It just does. It kills you every day. And then today you almost got killed for real. Just get rid of it.”

  Craig’s fingers moved resolutely across the keyboard, then hovered above the ENTER key. After a few moments he pressed the enter key, cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck and sat back in his chair. “Done,” he announced.

  “Now reformat the hard drive and re-install the operating system and our
applications from the original disks.”

  “Stacey. The game is gone. Don’t you think this is a little extreme?”

  She stood completely still, directly behind him and did not answer.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. But there’s some stuff I need to back up first,” Craig said.

  “No. No backup. Just get rid of it,” Stacey said.

  Craig turned around in his chair to face her squarely. “Now wait a second Stace. What’s this all about? What aren’t you telling me?” Craig asked.

  Stacey continued to stand immobile. “And throw out your backup floppies while you’re at it. In fact, I’d prefer if you threw out the whole damn machine,” Stacey said.

  Craig stood up and took her hands. He searched her face, tried to probe her eyes. “Stacey, tell me what is going on. Please.”

  She shifted from one foot to the other, then back again. She wrinkled her mouth. She gently pushed him backwards into his chair, then sat in his lap. She touched his cheek and looked straight into his eyes.

  “That game has to go. Completely. I heard some bad things about it. And after today, I think it’s after you. I heard that one guy’s machine somehow took over his car, by the car phone and the cruise control computer or something and it caused him to wreck and it killed him. It happened right after one of those new computer tune-ups. And when I was in London, and they started having network problems, I’m sure it was our stuff that was the cause. They put a network sniffer on their system and isolated the box. Then they did a re-install of just the operating system and everything was okay. But when they loaded our software back on, specifically the wind shear modules, it started having connectivity errors again,” Stacey said.

  “So how does that add up to the program being after me?” Craig asked. “They could have had a virus anywhere on their network and it just migrated when they started the application.”

  “Maybe. But I doubt it. I asked Rakesh to look at it and he agreed that it was probably our stuff.”

  “Rakesh?” Craig asked.

  “Yeah. He was available and offered to help.”

  “Were you going to tell me about using Rakesh?” Craig asked.

  “I didn’t use him. He offered to help. And no, I wasn’t going to tell you about having him help.”