by JT Kalnay
While it loaded, he unfolded the listing he’d been looking at before the crash. His paper clips and highlighters were still where he’d left them. Craig opened two code-editing windows on his workstation. In a third window he connected to APSOFT’s computer network. The computer presented him with a login prompt.
LOGIN: CRAIGW
PASSWORD: *******
YOU HAVE ATTEMPTED TO AUTHORIZE A PRIVATE SYSTEM
YOU HAVE NO PRIVILEGES TO ACCESS THIS SYSTEM
“Shit,” Craig said. “That didn’t take long.” He sat back in his chair for a minute. Suddenly his fingers started moving over the keyboard. He connected to the network again.
LOGIN: STACEYH
PASSWORD: *********
YOU HAVE ACCESSED A PRIVATE COMPUTER SYSTEM.
UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS OF OR USE OF THIS SYSTEM,INCLUDING MISUSE OF THE DATA HEREIN, MODIFICATION OF THE DATA HEREIN, OR
USE OF THE SYSTEM FOR ILLEGAL PUPOSES
IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.
VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF LOCAL, STATE AND FEDERAL LAWS.
“Okay. I’m in,” Craig said. Apparently dead people get privileges while ex-employees don’t.” He bent toward the terminal and started working.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
RE: Bustin my ass
OKAY. SO I’M WORKING. I’LL CALL YOU WHEN I HAVE SOMETHING. CW.
“Alright. That’s that. So now let’s get down to business,” Craig said to himself.
Chapter
July 14, 1994
San Francisco, California
The sun was still high in the infinite California sky when Craig walked into the old bar where he’d met Tim.
“Little early for you ain’t it?” the barkeep asked.
“A little,” Craig responded listlessly.
“Knocked off early?” he asked.
“Fired,” Craig answered.
“Oh. Well then, this one’s on me.”
“Can I have the phone please?” Craig asked.
“Triple cheese? Triple sausage?” the barkeep asked.
“No,” Craig answered. “Going to have them deliver something lighter. There’s a mountain I’m planning on climbing. And I'll be carrying a heavy load.”
He sat down, took a sip, hunched over the beer and started scanning another page of the listing he’d brought with him.
#
“Tim! Look who’s here. The prodigal programmer returns,” the barkeep said.
“Hi Craig. I was so sorry to hear about Stacey,” Tim said. “Jean told me. I’m so sorry.”
Craig took a big hit on his beer.
“You want the last piece of this?” Craig asked.
“Salad? No way dude.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Besides, I’m stuffed. I hogged down a whole bag of Tostitos and a jar of hot salsa this afternoon.”
“Doing what?” Craig asked.
“Oh I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with a program I wrote. Some of my users are complaining.”
“Yeah. I know what that’s like. I did four liters of Diet Coke and a box of low fat Fig Newtons this afternoon trying to find a virus in this source code,” Craig said, pointing to the grease-stained listing.
“Sounds like we’re both knee deep in code,” Tim said.
“Yep,” Craig said. He took another bite of his salad.
“So are you going to see Jean anytime soon?” Tim asked.
“No. But I’ll be calling her tonight to update her on the Marauder mystery.”
“The what?” Tim asked.
“The Marauder mystery,” Craig answered.
The barkeep raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Tim.
“I think I told you that I bought the source code for this Marauder game. Well, I think, no I’m sure I got it mixed up with my work software and messed it all up. I’m trying to help Jean figure out what to do.”
“Why does Jean care?” Tim asked.
“Because it got into some things at AirCom,” Craig said.
“Is it serious?” Tim asked.
“Yeah it’s serious. You could say it’s deadly serious. Hey, didn’t Jean say you were really good at Marauder? Maybe you can help me figure it out?”
The barkeep turned away from the pair.
“Well. I’m pretty busy right now. But maybe in a couple of days,” Tim said.
“Cool,” Craig said.
“Yeah. Call me in a few days. Here’s my number.”
“Alright. Well I’ve got to get back to this code.”
“Say hi to Jean for me,” Tim said.
“Can do,” Craig replied as he left the bar.
#
“So what do you make of that?” the barkeep asked Tim.
“Could be nothing. Could be trouble.”
“You gonna help him?”
“I don’t think I have any choice,” Tim said. He took a long pull from his beer and sat the mug down heavily.
Chapter
July 15, 1994
San Francisco, California
Craig cradled the gray phone between his sweaty shoulder and his greasy hair. As his nose neared his armpit, he instinctively cringed at his own odor.
“Maybe I should take a shower this week,” he said to himself as he dialed the phone.
“Anthony? It’s Craig.”
“Hi Craig. I was so sorry to hear about Stacey.”
“Thank you. That’s kind of you,” Craig said mechanically.
“You must be sick of people saying that?” Anthony asked.
“You know what? I am. Just once I want someone to say how pissed off they are. How it’s not fair…”Craig trailed off.
“It’s not fair,” Anthony said. “She was a vibrant, intelligent, beautiful girl with the whole world in front of her and some pilot fucks up landing his plane and now she’s dead. It’s not fair. It sucks. Especially since our software can land a plane ten times better than any pilot. He was probably drunk. You think our software would have ignored wind shear warnings and tried an approach less than two minutes after a ninety degree wind shift at the runway’s edge? No way Jose. You’re damned right I’m pissed. At the pilot, at everything.”
“Thanks,” Craig said.
Anthony was quiet on his end of the phone. Craig thought he heard a sniffle.
“Anthony?”
“Yeah?”
“I need something from you,” Craig said.
“You ask, I give,” Anthony said.
“Don’t say yes so fast. Wait until you hear what I want.”
“What is it?” Anthony asked.
“I need the network flow logs for last week and the week before and for the same two weeks last year,” Craig said.
“Craig. If you still worked here no problem. But I could lose my job. There’s a lot of that going on around here these days,” Anthony said.
“I really need them,” Craig said.
“Why?”
“I know what’s going on with all these plane wrecks this year. There’s something in the autopilot software I wrote. It's coming from our stuff,” Craig said. "Remember we tried to purge and re-install everywhere. That’s what it was all about it. But it didn't work. It came after us, after me, and now Stacey's dead."
“Craig? Are you alright? I mean you haven’t lost it have you? You’re not getting ready to go up in a bell tower are you?”
“Anthony I’m fine. Maybe I’m a little obsessed right now. But I have every right to be don’t I?”
“Yeah you do. If you’re sure about this, you should tell Stan.”
“I did. Why do you think he fired me?”
“Jesus,” Anthony said. There was a short pause. “He can’t be trying to cover this up can he?”
“That’s my bet. Why? Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”
“Sort of. There was a big shutdown and collection of old software. We’re freezing development, going back to our o
ld versions. But Stan said it was just because our clients weren’t ready for anything new yet.”
“And you believed him?” Craig asked.
“I had no reason not to,” Anthony answered.
“I should have told you,” Craig muttered.
“Told me what?” Anthony said.
“Remember a couple of months ago when you noticed that weird network flow in and out of my workstation?”
“Yeah.”
“Well it happened again, twice, from my house. The difference was I wasn’t logged in to work so you guys didn’t notice. I should have told you.”
“It might mean something. It might not. It’s one thing to know you’ve got a virus, it’s another to get rid of it.”
“That’s what she said,” Craig said.
“Stacey?”
“No. Someone you don’t know. One of Jean’s friends in Seattle. A cell biologist. She was doing something on viruses.”
“Craig?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want me to pack up Stacey’s stuff and send it to you?”
“No. I’ll come in and get it. It’ll give me a chance to say good-bye.”
“Where are you going?”
“Who knows. Anywhere else. And there is a mountain I have to climb.”
“Okay. Well I can do it if you really want it.”
“Thanks man.”
“Oh Craig?”
“Yeah.”
“Be sure to go through her disks carefully. Very carefully,” Anthony said slyly.
“Got it,” Craig answered.
“And Craig? Why don’t you let me help on this?”
“Because if it’s what I think it is, then it’s my fault, and I killed her, and you don’t want to know me.”
“Try me,” Anthony said.
Chapter
July 15, 1994
San Francisco, California
“Hi Rufus. I’ve come to get Stacey’s things,” Craig said.
“I was hurt when I found out. Hurt for her and hurt for you and hurt for the both of you,” Rufus the guard said.
“Thank you,” Craig said.
“So it hurts me even more to tell you that you can’t have her things.”
“Why not?”
“You ain’t kin. You weren’t married. We can only give Miss Horner’s things over to kin,” Rufus said.
“Her family told me to get her things together and send them,” Craig protested.
“Sorry sir. I don’t know anything about that. All I know is what Mr. Maxwell told me.”
“Will you call Mr. Maxwell please?” Craig asked.
“Yessir I will.”
#
Stan kept Craig waiting forty-five minutes before he finally appeared in the lobby.
“I can’t let you in,” Stan said.
“Yeah you can,” Craig said. He stared at the round executive.
“You were never married. I can only give her things to family,” Stan said.
“Her family told me to get her things and send them. I am acting as an agent of her family. You have to let me in.”
Stan ground his teeth together. “No way.”
“I thought you might be like that. Here’s a fax from their family lawyer. Call him,” Craig answered.
Stan shifted his bulk from side to side as he read the faxed letter.
“Fine. Rufus? Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t steal anything,” Stan spat.
Rufus went down the hall to Stacey’s office. Nothing had been touched. Craig picked up a picture from her desk. In the picture, Craig and Stacey had been caught in a hug at the beach. In another, they stood together atop Ptarmigan Peak, brilliant sunshine and dazzling white snow all round, the picture snapped at arm’s length.
“I’ll leave you be for a minute. Get you a box,” Rufus said.
Craig sat down in her chair. His eyes itched and misted. He leaned his head forward and caught his head in his hands.
#
“Here’s your box. I found it in QA,” Rufus said.
“Thanks,” Craig said.
“We all miss her. And I know no-one misses her more than you. But…”
“But what Rufus?”
“Everything happens for a reason,” Rufus said.
“Come on,” Craig started. Rufus held up hand to stop him.
“Everything happens for a reason Mr. Walsh. God don’t take a fine person like Miss Stacey without a reason. And it ain’t for you and me to figure out His ways. All I’m telling you is you got to be ready for when He shows you his purpose.”
“Thanks Rufus.”
“And make no mistake. She was a fine woman. So don’t you be doing nothing to dishonor her memory.”
Craig looked at him. Rufus looked back.
“I won’t,” Craig said. He packed the last of her things in the box. “I think that’s it,” Craig said.
“No sir,” Rufus answered. “You missed that disk in that drive over there that Mr. Anthony said was Stacey’s personal disk. So that goes too.”
Craig stepped across the office and unloaded the drive. There was a brand new floppy in the drive, unlabelled. Craig popped it out and dropped it in his pocket. Rufus winked.
“Now I think you’ve got everything,” Rufus said. It’s best if you be going now before Mr. Maxwell comes back round,” Rufus said.
Craig and the old guard walked toward the front of the building. Just as they arrived back in the lobby, Stan cut them off.
“I’ll need a receipt for all that,” Stan said.
“I’ll give you a receipt,” Craig said angrily. He took an aggressive step towards Stan. Rufus stepped between them.
“That’s enough of that sir,” Rufus said sternly to Craig. The older man towered over Craig. Craig backed off.
“You should have let him try Rufus. I’d have shown him a thing or two,” Stan said.
Rufus didn’t answer.
Craig continued to glare at Stan as he walked toward the front door.
“It’s your fault she’s dead you know!” Stan shouted after him. “Yours and nobody else’s. You let that god damned thing in here.”
Craig turned back to face him. The box shook in his hands. His face turned angry red as his teeth clinched tight together.
“You could have stopped it too Stan. I told you how and I told you when. But you didn’t. Your stock options were worth more than her life, all their lives. You don’t think I saw how much you sold right after I told you? At least I wanted to stop it. At least I tried. What did you do? You went to Aruba and hid your cash.”
“It’s your fault and don’t think I can’t prove it,” Stan said slowly and evenly, his voice drawing down to a confrontational whisper.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Craig said.
“You were five for twenty three. Remember? Now you’re seven for twenty five. I did some more research and it turns out you may be more responsible than you think.”
“You’re a bastard,” Craig said.
“And that’s not all. I’ve got the network logs of some very interesting activity from your machine and the late Miss Horner’s machine,” Stan said.
“It doesn’t prove anything,” Craig said weakly.
“It shows enough. So I don’t want to hear any stories about this or see you in the papers or on television. You’ll be the one who goes down, and you’ll take her with you. You’ll go down for murder. A couple of hundred cases at least. The Chinese will probably try to extradite you for international terrorism. And wouldn’t that be just beautiful. American terrorists attacking China and Japan. So if I were you I’d just kind of disappear.”
Stan walked closer to where Craig was rooted to the floor. Stan reached out and pushed open the door.
“You killed her. So get out of my building you villain,” Stan said.
Craig turned and shuffled out.
Chapter
July 15, 1994
San Francisco, California
“Gimme a J.
D. and leave the bottle,” Craig said.
Frank the barkeep looked him up and down then poured a shot. He kept the bottle.
“Leave it I said.”
The barkeep didn’t pass it over.
“Look Frank. I’m gonna get shitfaced somewhere. You want it to be here or out in some alley? Or maybe at home where I’ve got my twelve gauge?” Craig said.
Frank passed over the bottle. Craig took a hit straight from the bottle then sat down heavily at the bar. He lay his head down on the bar and started to sob. Frank moved to the end of the bar and pulled out the phone. He dialed quietly.
“Tim? I think you better get down here. Yeah. Your programmer buddy’s carrying around a box of girl stuff, getting drunk, and talking crazy.” The barkeep listened for a minute. “Thanks Tim. I’ll watch him till you get here.”
#
“You want a hit?” Craig asked.
“No thanks,” Tim Ford answered.
“Well I don’t mind if I do myself then,” Craig slurred.
Tim looked at the barkeep. Frank just shrugged his shoulders.
“So what’s this all about?” Tim asked.
“I killed her,” Craig said.
“No you didn’t. The plane crashed. You weren't flying it,” Tim answered.
“I may as well have been. My software made the plane crash,” Craig said.
“No it did not. Wind shear did. You had nothing to do with it,” Tim said.
“You’re wrong. The software in the plane was bad. It got infected from my autopilot code. It’s my fault,” Craig cried.
“Do you know this or do you think this?” Tim asked.
“I know it,” Craig slurred.
“How?”
“Because of the network logs. Every time there’s a crash there’s been a weird network flow out of APSoft or my home computer. It started right after I bought that damn source code. Somehow it screwed up everything. I got it mixed up with my work code. Now she’s dead and it’s my fault,” Craig said.
