“These won’t open any doors because I can’t activate the mag stripes or the RFID,” Felix said. “But it’ll look like the real thing, so at least you’ll be able to walk around without getting stopped.”
“Okay. Thanks, Felix.” Digby took the badge from him and clipped it to his lanyard.
“You guys go on without me from here. This is it.” Felix held my card out to me. “What do you think?”
This was his unsubtle way of asking me if I thought Digby was up to it. I tried to decide. Perses was a serious step up from the last place we broke into. Every time the computer tapes rubbed against each other in my backpack and clacked, I thought we would be busted for sure.
But then again, this was going more smoothly than any of our stupid shenanigans had ever gone.
“Test run, right?” I said, and then I gave Felix the least enthusiastic thumbs-up in the history of thumbs.
* * *
• • •
With our fake IDs, our big bag of party supplies, and the sheet cake, we really did look like the interns we claimed to be. The one guard we passed waved us through when we said, “We’re setting up at Dr. Fong’s.”
Once we got to the restricted floor where Dr. Fong’s clean room labs were, Digby found the conference room and hid our party gear with the cleaning supplies under the minibar’s sink. We got back down to the lobby and exited the building without anyone looking at us twice.
After a few minutes of walking, Digby said, “We’re getting close to the data center. Are you ready?”
“Are you ready?” I said.
“Are you kidding?” Digby said. “I’ve been waiting nine years for this. I am so ready.”
“Then maybe do up your fly before we go,” I said.
As he zipped up, he said, “Made you look.”
“I didn’t even know they made Thomas the Tank Engine boxers for grown-ups,” I said.
“Sure. I think I can, I think I can,” Digby said. “Grown-ups need inspirational stuff too.”
“Sure they do,” I said. “Except it was The Little Engine That Could who said, ‘I think I can. I think I can.’”
“Isn’t The Little Engine That Could the one where if you believe, a magic train would appear on a secret platform?” Digby said.
“If you believe? Secret platform? What?” I said. “Wait. Are you talking about the Hogwarts Express?”
“And now that we’re talking trains, who the hell is Casey Jones?” he said.
“The driver of yet another train,” I said. “That dude died, by the way.”
“God, trains are tragic,” he said.
“How are you confused about the Hogwarts Express?” I said. When Digby still looked blank, I said, “Hogwarts Express? It takes Harry Potter and his classmates to Hogwarts?” He still looked blank. “Their magic school?” I said. “Wait. Have you never read Harry Potter?”
“Oh, sure, sure, a page or two here and there,” Digby said.
“That’s not really how books work. But it does explain the word salad rattling around in your brain,” I said. “I can’t believe you’ve never read Harry Potter.”
“I was robbed of my childhood. What do you want from me?” Digby said. And then he turned and saw my face. “Of course I read Harry Potter. I was just winding you up. Relax, Princeton.” When I still didn’t say anything, he said, “Oh, God, are you going to cry? Of course I had a childhood—”
“No, it’s not that.” I pointed at a sign on the building in front of us. SERVER ROOM, it said. “We’re here.”
But it wasn’t actually a room. It was instead an enormous blue metal-sided warehouse. Windowless and built atop a rise from the road, it looked more like a monument or art installation than a working office building.
As he and I walked up to the door, Digby said, “So, high school paper, right?”
“What?” I said. “Didn’t we say lost interns?”
“No. Interns in there but school paper in here, remember?” When I looked confused, Digby said, “That way it makes more sense that we’re hanging around asking pointless questions.”
“Oh, my God,” I said. “Maybe we’re rushing this . . .”
Digby felt me wavering and suddenly quickened his pace up to the door. He walked in before I could talk him out of it.
Well, I thought to myself, you did worry that he was overthinking things . . .
I caught up with Digby right as he got to a lone desk tucked into a corner. Across from the desk was a glass wall, behind which stretched racks and racks of servers. We stood there on our own. After a while, Digby called out, “Hello?”
There was no sign of the owner of the desk, so I started looking around. Unlike the beautifully ordered glass-and-steel high-tech facility of film, TV, and my imagination, this place was filled with mismatched drives of varying decrepitude connected by expansive clumps of multicolored wire spaghetti. Everything looked old and overloaded.
Finally, we spotted one guy rolling up and down one of the aisles on a wheeled office chair with a laptop balanced on his lap. I thought it was weird he was wearing his coat before I realized that the air-conditioning fans in the server room blew much colder air than was comfortable. The tech got out of his seat and started walking toward us.
I felt Digby nudge me and I saw him put his finger on an envelope sitting on the table. It was one of several pieces of mail addressed to Milton Wright.
“Milton?” Digby said.
“Are you the interns HR sent?” Milton said. Before either of us could answer, Milton said, “Where’s your camera?” Digby and I both took out our phones. Milton harrumphed and said, “Yep. That’s about what I expected.” And then he sighed. “Aren’t you going to take the pictures?”
“Of course. Sure,” Digby said. “Um . . . ?”
“Well? Are you or aren’t you here to take my photo for the retirement announcement?” Milton said.
“Oh, yeah, we are,” Digby said. “Where do you want us to do it?” We all looked at the cluttered hobbit hole Milton had built around his desk. There were shelves of collectibles and still-boxed action figures and the walls were papered over with posters and what looked like schematics for a spaceship.
I felt Digby nudge me again and this time, he flicked his eyes to direct my attention to a box sitting on Milton’s table, flaps wide open and almost full of data tapes.
“Not here at my desk?” Milton said.
I knew we had to get him away from the box for us to make the switch, so I said, “Not enough . . .” I picked up a figurine I realized was of Milton himself dressed as a Jedi. “. . . gravitas?” The alarm on his phone sounded.
“Oops. Wait here. I’ll go get the last one.” Milton paused. “The last one.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe it.” After another second, Milton pointed at the open glass doors between us and the humming server racks. “Just in case . . . don’t let these doors close, okay? I know I’m not supposed to keep it open, but after those poor bastards in Thailand—”
“Doors locked, halon fire suppression deployed, a bunch of techs suffocated? I saw the episode on 60 Minutes,” Digby said. “But isn’t halon banned now?”
“Our system’s been grandfathered in,” Milton said. “That’s how old this place is.” And then Milton walked back through the doors and disappeared into the maze of whirring drives.
“What is going on?” I said. “Did he just leave us with all this sitting out?” I pointed at the box of tapes.
“Never question a freebie, Princeton. Let’s get going.” Digby walked toward me and started to unpack the tapes from my backpack.
“What if the real interns show up to take his picture?” I said.
“Princeton.” Digby paused and let the sound of the throbbing hum of the servers fill the silence. “No one is coming to take this dude’s picture.”
&nbs
p; He spun me around and dove into my bag again.
“Digby, no, wait. Stop.” I pointed at the contents of the box Milton was filling. “These aren’t the same data tapes Felix gave us to switch out.”
Instead of the yellow lightning bolt of the Perses logo, the boxed data tapes on the desk had a red logo of clasped hands.
“Damn it,” Digby said.
SIXTEEN
“Should we—” I was going to say “call it and try again another day” but Digby took off and started hunting around the shelves and cupboards.
And then I heard him curse softly and when he turned back around, he was holding up two of the red-logoed data tapes.
I breathed out some of the tension.
“How many do we need?” he said.
I emptied the box and counted out twenty-five super tapes. Digby turned back to the cupboard to retrieve the new tapes while I gathered up the tapes Milton had already put in the box. I guess I’d underestimated how quickly Digby would be working, because when I turned back around to cross the room to him, he was already standing right there behind me. We collided.
We were both speechless after our armloads of tapes clattered down onto the floor into a commingled pile of exactly identical tapes. And, of course, that’s exactly when we heard Milton’s footsteps approaching.
“You get rid of him. I’ll put these back away,” I said. “We can’t go through with this today—”
Digby said, “No, no. Get rid of him. I’ll figure this out—”
“Figure this out? Just put it away.” I gave Digby the thumbs-down. “Mission abort—”
Digby said, “No, I can—”
“Abort. Abort,” I said. It was so annoying that he was just ignoring me.
Digby had just started kicking the tapes under the desk when the tech walked back around the corner carrying the last data tape.
“What was that?” Milton said. “I heard crashing.”
“Oh, uh . . . he tried to cop a feel just now and I knocked some stuff off your desk when I hit him,” I said.
“Not my stapler, I hope.” Milton picked up his pace and was now almost within sight of the desk and the box we’d emptied. “That’s an original Swingline number four. From when they were made on Long Island.”
Digby was still trying to push some of the scattered tapes under the desk without tipping off Milton, so I said, “The stapler didn’t fall down. Don’t worry.” I stepped forward to block his view of the box and said, “You know, I just had the best idea for a picture.”
“Yes?” Milton said.
I played it extra casual as I eased the last tape from Milton’s hand, passed it to Digby, and steered Milton back into the stacks of servers. “Let’s get a picture of you in your natural environment,” I said. “With the servers.”
“Oh, that is a good idea,” he said.
I said, “It should only take a minute.” But then I looked back and saw Digby staring at a data tape and then bringing it up to his nose to sniff it along all its edges. “Or maybe a few minutes while I find the good light.”
I took my time finding a spot tucked away from sight and made a fuss about positioning Milton to get an interesting picture. When I finally settled on a spot, he cleared his throat and said, “My name is Milton Wright. I’ve worked at Perses Analytics since I graduated from college. I built this data storage facility. I love my job. I don’t want to retire.” And then he snapped out of his trance and in a more conversational voice, said, “I just feel like I had to say that aloud.”
I found myself brought close to tears by the obvious pride Milton took in having built the place. “Are they forcing you to retire?” I asked. “You don’t look old enough to retire.”
“Oh, I’m retirement age, all right,” he said. “But I don’t have any sun damage or expression lines because I’ve been inside and alone for thirty years.”
“So, you’ve been . . .” I pointed down at the floor because I didn’t know how to say “in this same place for thirty years?” without sounding like I was questioning the basis of his entire existence.
Milton did a combination shrug and look-at-this-place gesture with his hands. He did look sad but more than anything, he looked cast adrift by the impending loss of his legions of servers. I’d initially thought I’d have a hard time buying Digby time to switch the tapes but that worry faded when I saw the way Milton flared to life when I asked for a tour.
* * *
• • •
Forever and a thousand facts I didn’t need to know about coolants and fire suppression later, I looked up and saw Digby standing at the end of the server room’s main aisle watching me trying to sound fascinated while Milton explained why the building had double-depth walls.
When Digby and I made eye contact, he pointed at my backpack slung over his shoulder, and gave me a thumbs-up. “Uh . . . sorry to interrupt,” Digby said. “But we should get back.”
We all walked back to Milton’s desk, where—thank God—he closed up and sealed the carton of tapes with packing tape without verifying its contents.
“I didn’t mean to come off bitter back there,” Milton said. “I’ve been lucky. Lifer jobs like mine don’t exist anymore. It’s a good time to quit, actually.” He finished packing and patted the box. “I’m glad I’m not going to have to work on tearing this place down.”
“Tearing this place down?” I said. “They’re tearing down this facility?”
“Yep. They’re moving to cloud backup. They think the cloud is safer. Can you believe it?” Milton said. “After all the hacks, how can the cloud be safer than tape backup?” He patted the box again.
“Right,” Digby said. “Tape’s the safest.”
“I tried to tell them it’s crazy not to have both tape and the cloud but . . .” Milton threw up his hands. “So this is the very last round of tape backups Perses will do.” He sighed. “Like I said, I helped build this place. I’m glad I don’t have to stick around and watch it get ripped up.”
I could hear Digby start to breathe faster. “That was the last round of tape backups?” he said.
“End of an era, all right,” Milton said.
“I guess it’s a good thing we came when we did.” Digby seemed overwhelmed. He took a step back and when he bumped into a cupboard with my backpack, the tapes inside clacked together loudly enough that Milton noticed.
I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but to deflect Milton’s attention from Digby, I said, “Actually, Milton, they’re throwing a party for you today in Dr. Fong’s lab. Nanorobotics lab.”
Milton and Digby both said, “They are?”
“I hope I’m not spoiling things, but nobody said it was a surprise party,” I said.
“Nanorobotics?” Milton tapped the box. “That’s the department I just backed up.”
I made an expression like, Aha, and said, “Probably why they decided to have it up there.”
“Wow,” Milton said. “That is seriously great.”
I immediately moved on to wondering if I’d just set Milton up for more disappointment when I saw his Jedi figurine and was struck with another idea. “Milton, can I take this?” I held up the little plastic Jedi. “Temporary loan.”
* * *
• • •
Digby didn’t even wait for the door to shut fully before he whooped and did a little victory dance.
“I take it you got what you needed?” I said.
All I got in response was a few triumphant pelvic thrusts.
“Okay, that’s nice you’re happy,” I said. “But we’ve still got the crumbs on our chins, so can we at least walk away from the cookie jar before we celebrate?”
“Speaking of cookies . . .” Digby said.
I handed him one of the granola bars I carried around for his sudden onset hunger emergencies. “What happened to your game
face? We’re only halfway there.”
“You heard him, Princeton. The last day. We got it out on the last day,” Digby said. “I feel it. Fate is on my side today.” He pulled out his phone. “I better text Felix.”
* * *
• • •
Digby and I returned to the nanorobotics lab and set up the conference room for what was now going to be Milton’s retirement party. I started to understand what Digby meant about feeling like fate was on our side that day when someone from the lab poked their head around the door to ask who we were and we both automatically said, “Interns from HR.” Everything felt in sync.
While Digby loaded the Star Wars DVD into the machine, I opened the cake box and squished down Milton’s Jedi figurine where I’d iced TEAM FONG. I piped in his name so the cake instead read, MAY THE FORCE BE WITH MILTON.
Felix walked into the conference room, read the cake, and said, “Who the heck is Milton?”
“Whoa. You got here fast,” I said. “And you’re very sweaty.”
“Milton’s the guy in charge of data storage. Princeton made a friend,” Digby said. “Good old Princeton. Always the good girl. Even when she’s doing bad things.”
“Well? Are we done here?” Felix looked around the conference room. “Because we need to get going. Let’s go let’s go let’s go.”
The sweating, the motormouth, the uncharacteristic rudeness. “I see the red eye has kicked in,” I said.
“Coffee? You gave him coffee?” Digby said. “Princeton, we don’t get extra points for increasing the difficulty.”
“Felix, are you all right?” I said.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” Felix said. “But I do feel like my heart’s going to explode. It’s not going to explode, is it?”
“It’s not going to explode. You should just maybe have a sip of water or something,” I said. “Now what? You guys never actually told me what happens next.”
“I told my dad I was coming up to borrow a laptop to do some homework,” Felix said. “Digby will start the movie and there’ll be a stampede into the conference room when people hear the fanfare. No one will notice when I go into the lab’s stockroom for a computer and come out with a tape reader too. Then we make copies of his mom’s files.”
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