The God Organ

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  A couple of days after overhearing the conversation between the NanoTech engineers and lawyers, she had decided to contact Cole for the first time since she had ended their relationship. He had been a pill of unrelenting jealousy and resentment when she’d obtained a job and he had failed time after time.

  That morning, Monica had pressed the small icon bearing Cole’s name on her comm card, hoping that he hadn’t blocked her communications or changed his contact information. She waited on the line, holding her breath.

  “Hello?” Cole’s voice. He sounded tired.

  “Hey, Cole. It’s Monica.”

  “I know.”

  She paced around the small living room of her apartment. “Of course. How’s it going?”

  “Fine. Just fine. Why are you calling?”

  “I just wanted to see how things were going. We haven’t talked in a while.”

  Cole hesitated a moment. “I didn’t want to talk.”

  “I was hoping that had changed by now.”

  Cole remained silent on the other end.

  “How’s—how’s work?” She knew it was a risky question, but found she sincerely did hope he had a positive answer.

  “Same old shit,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. No bites yet?”

  “No, I mean work sucks right now. But if you’re talking about new jobs, I did get something.”

  “Great.” Monica’s pitch rose slightly. “What are you doing?”

  “In about a month, I’ll be working at Sunco Systems as a temporary scripter. Part of the president’s whole America’s Future thing. It could lead to a permanent position.”

  She heard the skepticism in his voice, but held on to the glimmer of hope she had for him. “I’m sure it will. You’re definitely good enough for one.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  They were both quiet for some time, until Cole spoke up. “Do you think you’d want to meet up sometime? I don’t know, grab dinner or something, just to catch up.”

  Monica still had not forgiven Cole’s resentment for her or her job, but hearing the sound of his voice relit feelings for him that she had tucked away and forgotten. “Actually, that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

  “Great.” Cole sounded genuinely happy.

  “Listen. I have another quick question for you.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  Monica looked out into the street. A man in a thick parka was spreading salt around the stoop of a neighboring apartment building as snowflakes drifted toward the cold pavement. “Remember that comm card hacking you did back at IIT?”

  “Yeah. You think that’s why I’ve had a hard time finding a job? Got blackballed or something?”

  “I’m not sure.” Monica shuffled back from the window and lay back on her plush couch. “But I was wondering if you could send me that code.”

  “It was all wiped. I’ve got some pseudocode that outlines the design of the program, but no actual script.”

  “That’d be a start, if you could.”

  “What do you want with it?”

  “Just something for fun.”

  “Just for fun? I don’t believe that for a second.” Cole paused. “This is all you wanted from me, isn’t it? You don’t really want to talk.”

  Monica became flustered. “No, no—”

  “You don’t actually even give a shit about me. Never really did. If you didn’t need my script, I never would’ve heard from you. Damn it, Monica.”

  “No, Cole, I promise—” It was too late. The silence from the other end was enough to tell her that Cole had disconnected the call. She tried to call back but he didn’t answer. She wrote and sent a message, but didn’t expect a response.

  She felt a twinge of guilt for trying to use Cole that way. Despite the setback, she was determined to use the idea inspired by his delinquent activities. She remembered some of the basics he’d taught her when he’d scripted the hack. Besides, it would give her a chance to exercise coding muscles that had atrophied with neglect.

  When she did get a working script together, she would need to avoid IT security at LyfeGen. It wouldn’t take long for them to lock down all the work-related data on their company’s comm cards from her program. Too many attempts on employee comm cards would surely trigger an investigation and possible legal repercussions.

  Her data grab needed to work the first time. She wanted to bring whatever information and unprotected trade secrets she could gather to NanoTech execs, so why not target LyfeGen execs? When she read that Preston Carter would be the new CEO replacing Joel Cobb, she made her decision.

  Getting close enough to Carter to have her comm card access his using near-field communications would be another challenge.

  She rushed from work at the end of the day. After a short bus ride, she exited in front of the emerald façade of the LyfeGen building. For a second, she stood on the busy street as people in suits and expensive coats brushed past her. The crowd prodded and shoved her until she stood by one of the small islands in the sidewalk containing a short tree. A couple of stubborn brown leaves drifted from its branches when she backed into it.

  For refuge, she dodged into a coffee house with a view of LyfeGen’s main entrance. She bought herself a hot tea from the automated server to bide her time at a table near the front of the shop. Cars picked up their riders in an unceasing line driving up from the building’s underground parking garage and throngs of employees poured from the building. She had underestimated the sheer magnitude of the LyfeGen workforce.

  Without a reliable way to find Carter, Monica refocused her efforts on her script. She toiled away until 3 a.m., fell asleep, trudged through the next workday, and repeated her new routine.

  After several days of coding, she left the apartment to test her program in the brisk evening. She followed a middle-aged woman walking a cocker spaniel. Monica froze when the spaniel turned and barked madly. But the dog’s focus was on a scattered flock of pigeons. The birds took to the air as the woman scolded the dog.

  There were only a few other people on the street, walking with steaming bags of fast food or groceries, all marching stolidly past Monica and the woman with the dog. Monica slowly picked up her pace to find the optimum distance at which she could activate her program.

  Just a couple of feet away, she fell in step with the woman when the small indicator flashed. She activated the data transfer and tracked the stream of incoming data.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Focused on her comm card, Monica almost ran into the woman. “Sorry?”

  The woman’s lips were pursed. “Why are you following me so closely? Can’t you respect a person’s space? I mean, Jesus, there’s almost no one else on the sidewalk.”

  “Oh, sorry, sorry.” Monica turned around abruptly and headed back to her apartment.

  The data transfer speeds of the near-field communications chips on comm cards were slow. Finding and stalking Carter when he was alone could result in worse consequences than a lecture on respecting someone’s public space. She needed an excuse to get close to Carter for an extended period of time.

  She rented a car from AutoCenter on a Sunday night and put in Carter’s address. The fact that his address was still publicly listed proved he was still in transition to his new public role leading LyfeGen.

  When she got to the lines of houses in Lincoln Park, she directed the car to park down the block from Carter’s address. The vehicle sat under the naked branches of an oak tree that shook in the blustering wind.

  The LED light that shone down from the streetlamps was subdued in this neighborhood, unlike the stark white lights lining the downtown streets. These lights were more reminiscent of outdated incandescent bulbs, offering a warmer, friendlier glow. Monica settled into her seat and unwrapped a beef-and-cheese sandwich.

  When a light went on in the red-brick-faced house she was parked in front of, she ducked down. Muffled voices spoke outside the car and she waited for them to pass, hop
ing she had chosen a sufficiently dark part of the street. If that failed, maybe the window tinting would be enough to obscure her.

  Through the night, she struggled to keep her eyes open. Sleep overtook her in fitful episodes as she drooped uncomfortably in the front seat. Monica awoke to the sound of a car door slamming at 6 a.m. in front of Carter’s house.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen who had entered the car. She cursed at herself for closing her eyes and followed the silver Infinity as it purred past her. She had trouble keeping up with the car since she found herself constantly reentering her destination to each corner of the street where she saw the vehicle going. She wished she could disable the automatic drive on the rental, but AutoCenter’s exorbitant fee for doing so dissuaded her.

  Finally, the car stopped in front of Corner Street Bakery, on a quaint street lined with small businesses and restaurants. She directed her car to park and watched as a man exited the other vehicle. The man had dark hair—a deep brown bordering on black—but he didn’t turn to face Monica. She waited several minutes and the man returned to the silver car. He was close enough for her to recognize his slightly rounded cheeks and his prominent chin. She followed Carter until his car dropped him off at LyfeGen.

  She repeated her observations for the next couple of days, following Carter to Corner Street Bakery and then on to LyfeGen. And, each day, she went in to work with heavy bags tugging at her eyelids and a mind swirling in anticipation and exhaustion.

  ***

  Now finally sure of Carter’s morning routine, she anticipated his arrival at Corner Street. Her heart raced and she let her latte cool untouched. Accompanying the tea, a sausage bagel sat on her plate with a single bite missing. She could hardly muster an appetite as anticipation swelled inside her.

  Carter walked into the store shortly after six in the morning. He wore a checkered scarf wrapped tightly about his neck and over his black pea coat. Monica watched as he walked to the front counter to get in line.

  She followed, fumbling with her comm card. She managed to set up the program and run it while she stood behind him. The line moved forward slowly. As the data transferred, her comm card reported no errors. The numbers showing gigabytes of data sent to her card rose.

  A loud crash of ceramic and glass startled her. Two employees behind the registers rushed to clean up a mess of freshly broken cups and plates.

  “Not a good morning.” Carter turned around to Monica. He half-heartedly smiled.

  “No, no.” Monica shook her head. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she gulped.

  “The auto coffee sellers on the street never break a dish. But it’s a small price to pay for some real human interaction. It’s why I come here every day. How about you?”

  “First time here.” Monica’s left hand was plunged into her pocket, grasping the comm card.

  “Thought so. I usually recognize most of the people around here in the morning.” He appeared perplexed for a moment. “Although, to be honest, I think this might be the longest conversation I’ve ever had with someone who isn’t making my coffee.”

  Monica forced a laugh. A drip of nervous perspiration wound down her back. She wanted to turn off the program before it spent too long extracting data from Carter’s comm card. She worried that a network security program might notice the intrusion and locate the source.

  Fortunately, one of the servers called Carter forward to take his order and Monica slipped the card out of her pocket. A small green circle notified her that the transfer had reached completion and she turned off the program.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” The server smiled.

  “Uh, sorry. I—I changed my mind,” Monica said.

  She hurried back to her seat and grabbed her latte and bagel, then rushed back to her car. When she was safe in the driver’s seat, she scanned through the newly acquired documents. She transferred the data to a blank pay-per-use tracker comm card she had bought at the 7-Eleven a couple of blocks down. Then she wiped her own card clean of all the data she had copied from Carter’s.

  After returning the rental car, she called in sick.

  Monica sprinted up the stairs to her single-bedroom apartment and flung herself across the couch in her living room. After she opened the dummy comm card with the data, she spent a few minutes transferring files tagged with “Sustain,” “protocols,” and “artificial organ” keywords. As an afterthought, she also sifted through his correspondence. She stored all of this data on an external drive for the projection computer that lay on her coffee table.

  Her heart thumped wildly with the thrill of her success as she began transferring the files to a data drive, folder by folder. She didn’t want to unintentionally transfer any kind of security software to the drive that might compromise the data. As she went through programs and files, a sudden warning projected out of the comm card that throttled her enthusiasm. It was a simple, but dire, message: “A copy of this secured comm card has been found. Authorities notified and data will be locked.”

  Carter did indeed have security software installed, as outdated and unexpected as it was. It consisted of a simple program able to copy itself onto other comm cards or computers when an unsecured data transfer had occurred. If Carter’s identification data had been unauthorized and transferred with the file, it would delve into the network, connecting with Carter’s original comm card and confirming the existence of a pirated duplicate card.

  All the effort and money she had spent on this moment had been wasted, spoiled by the simple security protocol. The data drive contained only a fraction of the information she had taken from Carter.

  She lay back on the couch, breathing heavily. Her comm card rang. It lit up a furious red.

  Before answering, she racked her mind for answers. She had eliminated all the data from her comm card. The tracker card was not GPS-enabled and she had not needed to sign a contract to purchase it. What had she done wrong?

  Chapter 13

  Hannah Boyd

  November 7, 2063

  “Three more deaths. Three more and we stand idly by, letting this self-inflicted plague fester in the sinners. Shall we remain voiceless?

  “No, it is our duty to spread the Lord’s word. It is our responsibility to tell others, to help others save themselves. I am but one of God’s many servants, as all of you are. Together, we can spread His word. We shall not accept the unnatural abominations.

  “So, as Moses struck down the false idols of gold, it is incumbent upon us to strike down the false idols man has constructed from his own flesh and blood. It was in God’s image we were created, and in His image we were perfect. But now, man plays his own god.”

  Hannah bobbed her head in agreement along with others in the pews around her. Father Cooney reached out, imploring the parishioners.

  Her mind, though, wandered elsewhere. She had spent another lonely week trekking between work and home. While she surfed Usverse, obsessing over pictures and videos on others’ profiles throughout the social network, a sickening cloud of depression had threatened to burst over her. She had thought about calling the woman she had met at church a couple of weeks before, but couldn’t muster the will to try.

  The risk of rejection would be too great.

  “Let us go in peace to love and to serve the Lord.” Father Cooney’s command woke Hannah from her daydreaming.

  The Recessional Hymn resonated in the cathedral. Hannah swallowed hard. A feeling of queasiness turned her stomach over. The feeling reminded her of watching a boy approach her at a school dance. The lights would be low as the music shifted to a slower, swaying rhythm. Boys and girls would pair up and Hannah would wait nervously, hoping she wouldn’t be left to stand by the wall. When she walked across the church basement floor toward the chattering old ladies behind the makeshift coffee bar, she hoped she wouldn’t be left alone today.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” the coffee lady said. “Decaf or regular?”

  “Regular, please.” Hannah looked down at the table.
She took the cup. “Thanks.”

  She spied a table of couples, as usual, animatedly talking and laughing. Again, she sat at an empty one. She sipped her coffee and thumbed through her comm card. Minutes dragged on, and she felt on the verge of tears.

  No one ever came to dance with her. She would always stand by the wall.

  “Howdy, Bug.” A cheery voice rang out beside her. “How are you doing today?”

  Hannah smiled. She rubbed at the corners of her eyes and sniffled. “Oh, all right. How about you?”

  The woman she had met before sat down, a gaudy magenta hat atop her brown curls. “Just dandy. I love listening to Father Cooney during his morning services. It really puts a fire in my step, gives me purpose.”

  Hannah’s smile quivered. “He’s a really good speaker.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? And, you know, he’s absolutely correct about this god organ business.” The woman’s brown curls bounced as she talked. She twirled a strand of hair with a finger. “You know what else I realized, though?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I gave you my contact info, but I never officially introduced myself.” She held out her perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Charlotte Larson.”

  “Hannah Boyd. Nice to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you as well, Bug.”

  “But I already knew your name.” Her words sounded like a timid grade-schooler’s. She hated that.

  Charlotte’s thick red lips parted to reveal her perfectly white teeth in a smile. The tiny wrinkles by her eyes spread as her cheeks rose. “Oh, and how is that?”

  “My contacts are kind of limited, so it wasn’t hard to find the one I didn’t know.” Hannah blushed.

  Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “Why didn’t you give me a call?”

  “Figured you’d be busy.”

  “Oh, I’ve always got the time for some shopping, like I promised you. But it would be nice to get out and do something else, too. You know, I always find it inspiring to be amongst those younger than myself.”