The Pattern

by JT Kalnay

  “Did you just say a virus causes cancer?” Craig asked. Dr. Jane Brady folded her hands in front of her and took on a decidedly professorial air.

  “Viruses are involved in at least one form of cancer. There are a lot of forms of cancer. The particular form that I am studying is caused by a virus. What happens is this virus travels into a cell, lurks around for a while, and comes out with some of that cell’s DNA. In most cases, what comes out is junk DNA and the virus isn’t mutated in any significant manner. But the virus I’m studying, every once in a while comes out with a very interesting piece of DNA. The virus comes out with DNA that allows an enzyme to be constitutively active but it rarely brings out the piece that regulates the original cell. So now this virus is able to form tumor cells that can also migrate around the body and which are for all intents and purposes unsupervised, and that aren’t subject to white cell attack because they appear identical to the original cell.”

  “So because it isn’t regulated it replicates or grows wildly or something like that?” Craig asked.

  “No. That’s a common misconception about cancer. Many think cancer is all about cells growing wildly out of control. This kind of cancer doesn’t do that. It simply allows these cells to move freely throughout the body and to form a tumor at other sites. We call that metastasis. Once the cells have metastasized, they can infect other cells and cause those cells to spend a certain percent of their time doing work for the cancer instead of doing their regular job. If you get enough cells around the body doing something other than what they’re supposed to be doing, then the body has a problem, and that problem is called cancer,” Dr. Brady said.

  “So how is this related to my paper?” Craig asked.

  “You modeled a mutating virus that is similar to how my cells mutate. What I propose is giving you some of my data, having you plug it into one of your earlier models and see if we can get any interesting correlations. The bunny-huggers, excuse me, animal rights activists, are all over the NIH to fund more computer based research and less in vivo research. So if we can demonstrate interesting results on computers I think we can build a case for more in vivo studies. Research dollars are hard to come by. And this virus is a terrible problem. Anything you can do to help would really be appreciated,” Dr. Brady said.

  Craig felt Jane’s passion for her work in her words. And in some way he sensed a feeling of loss that he couldn’t quite place. But the feeling that was just beyond his grasp and floated away too quickly for it to completely form.

  “Stacey is what most would call a bunny hugger,” Craig said.

  “Stacey?”

  “My girlfriend. One hundred percent bunny hugger,” Craig said.

  “Does she know anybody who’s died from cancer?” Jane asked.

  “No.”

  “Typical. That’s why she’s still an animal rights activist. As soon as you see a loved one wasting away from this thing and you find out that the doctors who were researching a drug that might have saved them were murdered by animal rights activists, or had their labs bombed, or had their animals ‘liberated’ and couldn’t complete their FDA tests for approval, people stop being animal rights activists in a hurry,” Jane said with a taste of venom in her voice. She stared intently at Craig.

  “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” Craig said. He returned the stare.

  “Yes. I do,” Jane replied. Although her voice sounded far away she returned the stare, refusing to blink or look away.

  “Come on you two. Let’s eat!” Jean said eagerly. “Craig you’re not the only one who’s hungry around here.” And the tension was broken.

  “I think I can resurrect some code from that paper. Let me see if I can find it. If I can, then I’d be glad to help in any way I can,” Craig offered.

  Chapter

  June 28th, 1994

  Seattle, Washington

  A low early morning fog hung just inches above the runways at Seattle Tacoma airport. Jean and Craig sat with a hundred impatient travelers waiting for the flight to San Francisco.

  “So you can’t take off until the fog lifts in San Fran?” Jean asked.

  “That’s what they told me. They said I’ll be here at least two more hours, so I just went ahead and rescheduled for the 8 p.m. flight,” Craig said.

  “Well, since you’ve got all day, I’ve got an idea,” Jean said.

  “What?” Craig asked.

  “Let’s go back to my place, get Marvelous Marv and go out on the boat for a while,” Jean said.

  “Who’s Marvelous Marv?” Craig asked.

  “My Newf. You’ll love him.”

  “Cool,” Craig answered.

  “So what did you think about Jane?” Jean asked.

  “She’s pretty smart,” Craig said.

  “And good looking too?” Jean asked.

  “Not bad.”

  #

  The inky blue-green water lapped gently against the white sides of Jean’s 28 foot Boston Whaler. The fog hung low and Craig was sure they were the only boat out in the soup. Marvelous Marv, Jean’s five year old Newfoundland Retriever was poised on the bow like some type of Viking ship bow-piece.

  “Go ahead. Throw it,” Jean said to Craig.

  “You sure?” Craig asked. I can’t see anything. He’ll never find it.”

  “I’m sure. Throw it,” Jean commanded. Craig wound up and tossed the mangled old tennis ball he was holding. It sailed over the bow and splashed thirty yards away, practically disappearing in the fog. Marvelous Marv strained at an imaginary leash.

  “FETCH!” Jean commanded.

  Marv instantly sprang from the bow, arcing out and up then falling and landing in a big dog’s belly flop. His 200 pounds leaving the bow made the 28 foot boat lurch. The powerful swimmer covered the distance between bow and ball in no time at all.

  “He’s got it,” Craig said. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Marv swims better than most lifeguards,” Jean said.

  “Cool.”

  “That type of retriever, the Newfoundland, got its name from where it was bred. They go in the water around Newfoundland and Labrador and haul out fishermen. There’s some rescue stories about those dogs that you wouldn’t believe unless you’ve seen one swim. And that’s big water up there. Not like this little lake, or even Puget Sound. Big, icy water,” Jean said. She drifted off in thought for a moment.

  “Sounds pretty intimidating. Have you been there?” Craig asked.

  “Yeah. When I was younger. I went up there with my Mom and Dad before they moved to Florida.” She drifted off in thought again.

  “What?” Craig asked.

  “What what?” Jean answered.

  “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

  “Done what?” Jean asked.

  “Zoned out on me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So what gives?” Craig asked. “Why the zonage?” The boat rocked ever so gently, shifting slowly back and forth in the muffling fog.

  “I was pregnant,” Jean said.

  “What?”

  “When I went up there with my Mom and Dad in ’69. They didn’t know. I was only two months, but I knew. I’d gone for a test and everything. Which was a big deal back in ’69. There were no home pregnancy tests or anything back then. A rabbit actually died you know,” Jean said.

  Craig sat still and listened. The boat creaked and gently rocked.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jean started. She shook her head slowly, then stopped. “Come on Marv,” she shouted and the enormous black dog scrambled over the transom into the back well of the whaler.

  “Good name. That dog is really amazing,” Craig said.

  Marv shook himself dry, spraying water everywhere.

  “I lost the baby,” Jean said softly. Her brow furrowed.

  “How?” Craig asked.

  “I don’t know. Probably the cold water. We went in one day right after we got there, and it was so cold. I mean your lips
turned blue in about thirty seconds. But we were all a little crazy that summer. The war, the riots, it was different. Anyway, later that day we were pulling weeds in my grandma’s garden and I felt something tug inside. The next day I got my period. No more baby,” Jean said.

  Marv came over and put a paw on Jean’s lap. She rubbed his head then wrestled the tennis ball with him.

  “I’m sorry,” Craig said.

  “It was probably for the best,” Jean said. “The guy wasn’t going to marry me or anything. I didn’t even love him. He never knew.”

  “Did you see him again?” Craig asked.

  “Oh yeah. One hundred and sixty two times a year for the next six seasons I saw him,” Jean said.

  “A ballplayer?” Craig asked.

  “An amazin’ Met,” Jean said.

  Craig rolled his eyes and whistled softly.

  “Jean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think you would have been a great mom.”

  "You might not in a minute."

  "Why?"

  "Craig. I'm going to tell you something. And it's going to hurt."

  Craig waited.

  "It's about the Marauder."

  "Okay."

  "I got the results of all the security checking from your company this morning."

  "And?"

  "And you're infected. Everywhere. We might have to ground our entire fleet, and wipe your software. And we're likely going to cancel our contract with you."

  "Jean?"

  "Wait. It gets worse."

  "Worse?"

  "Yeah worse. We're pretty sure we got infected from your house."

  Craig sat transfixed in the fog. The Boston Whaler rocked gently back and forth.

  "Are you sure?"

  "99.9% sure."

  "But I tossed my machine. Threw out all my floppies. There’s no way.”

  “Craig, the proof is incontrovertible. It came from your house. I wanted to tell you at the airport but I couldn't do it. I was going to come down to Frisco in a few days and break it to you then. But then your flight got grounded, and there's the fog, and I just figured I'd tell you now. I'm sorry."

  "You have nothing to be sorry about."

  “Still…”

  “Will you do one thing for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let me tell Stan myself.”

  Jean simply nodded her approval.

  Chapter

  June 29th, 1994

  San Francisco, California

  Craig knocked softly at the president’s door. His head hung slightly between his shoulders. Stacey stood beside him.

  “Stan. I have proof,” Craig said quietly.

  “Proof of what?” Stan asked.

  “Remember what we talked about? That our systems might be infected?”

  Stan said nothing. He nodded his lead a little to indicate that Craig should continue his confession.

  “They are infected. It was a video game. An adventure game that a lot of people play. I played it here, and at home. It was the entry point for a virus,” Craig said.

  Stan remained silent. He raised an eyebrow and visibly inhaled and exhaled. His eyes narrowed an almost imperceptible amount.

  “It gets worse. I think the virus may be in our auto pilot distribution. I think we need to shut down all our computers at the same time, disconnect all our network lines and phone lines, in fact power down the whole building, battery driven systems and all. When we come back up we should re-install operating systems from read-only disks or CDs on all new hardware. We should re-enter, by hand, from listings, our programs. It’s the only way we can be sure we’re quit of this thing,” Craig said.

  “Can’t we back up from our daily or weekly tapes?” Stan asked.

  “No. We’re not sure of the infection date so we wouldn’t know how far back to go.”

  Stan nodded in understanding.

  “When should we do this?” Stan asked evenly.

  “As soon as possible. Today,” Craig said.

  “And what about our software in the field?” Stan asked.

  “We need to recall it and recommend that every company that has our software go through the same flush and quarantine. They should re-install everything they own from the day before they got our software,” Craig said. “We need to coordinate it so that all of our clients do the same thing at the same time we do. And if we could pull it off, find a way to simultaneously and contemporaneously shut down all the Marauder game servers on the Internet while we’re at it.”

  Stan took another deep breath. He slowly placed his hands palm down on his glass desktop. He looked like a man counting backwards from one hundred.

  “Are you sure about this?” Stan asked.

  “Not a hundred percent sure. But sure enough,” Craig said. “Stan we make software for airplanes. We can’t take a chance and risk another crash.”

  “Another?”

  “Another.”

  A long moment passed between them before Stan finally spoke.

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before,” Stan said evenly. He moved his hands back to his lap. There were small damp spots on his desk where his hands had been. He looked at Stacey.

  “What’s your role in all this?” Stan asked.

  “I noticed some problems when I was in London,” Stacey said.

  “Any in Washington?” Stan asked.

  “No.”

  “Have any of our clients reported anything unusual? Asked any strange questions?” Stan asked.

  “No.”

  “Fine. Craig start working on a plan for this, what did you call it, quarantine and flush? Get it written up so everyone understands what’s going to happen. They don’t need to know why. And make sure Hayes gets a copy. Explain it to him in person. Everything. Stacey set up a meeting for everyone relevant in an hour. I’ve got to call our lawyers.”

  Craig and Stacey stood up to leave.

  “Stacey? Hang on a second would you?” Stan asked.

  Craig and Stacey looked at each other for a second, unsure of what to do.

  “Move!” Stan snapped at Craig. A red splotch was spreading up the side of Stan’s neck and a vein was pulsing on his forehead. Craig hustled out of the room, unwilling to witness a heart attack.

  “Stacey. Is it real? Are we infected and spreading something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you think of any other way to solve this problem?”

  “Just one.”

  “What’s that?” Stan asked.

  “Find the guy who wrote the program and get him to fix it.”

  “Just have him fix it?” Stan asked. There was a tone of incredulity in his voice.

  “Well. Maybe have a very large and very angry person ask him to fix it. Or have one of our lawyers with a large and angry check in his hand ask him to fix it,” Stacey said.

  “Carrot and stick?” Stan said.

  “Exactly.” She stood up to go.

  “Stacey? If you were in my position, what would you do with your boyfriend?”

  “That’s not fair. You know we’re together.”

  “But if you weren’t?” Stan asked.

  “But we are,” Stacey said.

  “But if you WEREN’T?” Stan said firmly. “And you were ME. AND TWENTY THREE YEARS of work building a company and FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS in company stock was moments from being worthless. And thousands and thousands of airplanes carrying hundreds of thousands of people every day were in danger because some game crazy programming prima dona fucked up? What would YOU do? I’m interested?” Stan asked.

  Stacey walked closer to his desk. She leaned forward and put her palms on the glass desk top. She locked him with a cold stare.

  “I’d cut his nuts off and shove them down his fucking throat,” she said. “But if you try that, you’ll have to go through me.”

  Stan stared back. His whole face was red. Little bits of spittle clung to his lower lip and lay in a small froth on the glass deskt
op. He held her gaze one moment longer then finally looked away.

  “Interesting management approach,” Stan said.

  #

  “What did he want?” Craig asked Stacey.

  “Nothing important,” Stacey lied. She tried to hide a deep breath.

  “I thought he took it pretty well,” Craig said.

  Stacey did a double take and started at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

  “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Craig he was ready to kill you.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. His whole life is this company. It’s all he has. His wife left him. His kids hate him. He’s a fat pig with bad hygiene. This company is all he has. And you’ve fucked it up for him. Instead of retiring a multi-millionaire sugar daddy and fucking rental bimbos in a cabana on a beach for the rest of his life he’ll have shit! Because of YOU. Don’t you get it?”

  “Are you taking his side?” Craig asked. His lower lip started to tremble.

  “No. No,” Stacey said. She moved closer to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. She looked him straight in the eyes. “I love you. No matter what you do or who you are or anything. I love you,” Stacey said.

  Craig hugged her. He fought back the burning in his eyes and swallowed hard.

  “I really fucked up,” Craig said.

  “Big time,” she answered.

  Chapter

  June 29th, 1994

  San Francisco, California

  Stacey came through the front door of their house and crossed the living room in long athletic strides. When she came even with the study she saw Craig seated at the computer.

  “What are you doing?” Stacey asked.

  “Reading code. Line by line.”

  “Trying to find the hole?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “I’m going to call in sick for a couple of days. Let Stan cool off, and see if I can figure out how this Marauder code breaks things. If I can figure it out, then I can keep my job,” Craig said. “Maybe after we get back from the wedding everything will cool off.”

  “How do you figure that?” Stacey said.