by JT Kalnay
“Okay. Anyway. We do the vaccine. And then we do gene therapy,” Craig said. He stopped and looked up, then down. Tim looked perplexed as well.
“Exactly how in hell do you do gene therapy on a computer?” they asked together.
“That’s not all,” Jean said. “Remember what your code is like. You’ve got sophisticated neural network algorithms in the APSoft code. There’s no way you’re ever going to remove every virus from the face of the planet. You’re always going to have a Typhoid Mary computer somewhere that wanders around and comes in contact with everything and starts the whole cycle again.”
“So you’re saying that no matter what we do we’ll never kill all the virus?” Craig asked. His shoulders slumped.
“That’s right,” Jane said.
Craig slumped even farther back in his chair, totally defeated. The slight glimmer of hope slipping away. His mouth hung open. His foot started to tap in an autistic rhythm under the table.
“So what’s the point then?” Craig mumbled.
“The same point as giving kids MMR shots or Polio shots. Even though some kids still get sick, the overwhelming majority do not,” Jane said.
“Craig you’ve got to try,” Jean said. “You can do this. And you have to. Do you think Fleming got all depressed when he realized penicillin wouldn’t cure everything? How do you think he felt when the first person died form an allergy to penicillin? How do you think Salk felt every time someone got polio from his vaccine?”
“Okay. I get it,” he said. His foot tapping slowed, then stopped.
“So let’s get busy,” Tim said.
“Step one: model the immune system and figure out how to release some anti-bodies. Step two: model a vaccine and launch it. Step three; gene therapy on APSoft software,” Tim said. “Whatever gene therapy is.”
“There’s one more step,” Jane said.
“What’s that?” Craig moaned.
“Step three can’t be just for APSoft software. It’s got to be for any software that has similar genetic markers. What’s to stop the virus from landing on some other complex control software with embedded neural nets and do the same thing to it that it did to APSoft code?” Jane asked.
“Software doesn’t have genetic markers,” Tim said.
“Well then we’ll just have to invent them won’t we?” Jane said.
Chapter
August 20th, 1994
San Francisco, California
“Craig I think we’re ready to launch the antibodies,” Tim Ford said.
ode?I think so too. It’s a miracle of object oriented analysis, design and coding if I do say so myself. If someone asked me how long it would take to model the immune system I would have said decades,” Craig said.
“It’s all those objects we were able to find and reuse,” Tim said.
“Yeah. Jane got us those cell-modeling objects from UW, and the DNA objects, and what not. And you were able to extend those Marauder objects with categories and I dug up my code for the neural nets and put them in objects too. It seems like all we’ve been doing for the past two weeks is figuring out different ways to connect them and test them,” Craig said.
“Right. It’s a whole new way of programming isn’t it? I mean, you read about it in the trade rags, but until you do it you don’t believe it.”
“It is. We’re more like circuit designers now. We find the software integrated circuit we need, plug it in, wire it up and scope our circuit,” Craig said.
“There may be hope for you in hardware yet,” Tim said.
Craig pushed away from his desk and looked up at the ceiling. He rolled his neck and heard it pop. “Tim? Do you think this OO stuff will ever catch on? I mean really gain widespread acceptance?”
“Never,” Tim answered.
“Me neither. It just doesn’t seem useable by mere mortals does it?”
“Exactly.”
“Anyway. Should we get Jane and Jean to come down and brainstorm?” Craig asked.
“Good idea. Let’s do it,” Tim said.
“Let’s wait until they’re here to launch this thing,” Craig said.
“You like her don’t you?” Tim asked.
“Jean? Of course. We’re friends. We’ll probably always be friends.”
Tim looked at Craig with a face that Craig was growing to know and dislike. “No idiot. I mean Jane. You know I mean Jane. You like Jane. You’ve probably spent an hour on the phone with her every day this month,” Tim said.
“I think she’s smart. And it's obvious she's attractive. But come on. It’s only been seven weeks. I still think about Stacey all the time. I see her on the couch you’re sitting on. She’s not there right now. But I see her all the time. I feel her beside me when I sleep. I sense her near me, running in step when I’m out trying to jog. I’m still in love with her,” Craig said. His eyes drifted out the window. He breathed a deep sigh.
“Craig?”
“Yeah? His voice sounded very far away.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t like Jane,” Tim said.
Craig’s eyes remained fixed out the window.
“Stacey will always be with you. She better be. You loved her. But she’s gone. I’m not saying you should get involved or anything. If it’s right, you’ll know when it’s right. But you can at least acknowledge that she’s a woman. It wouldn’t be cheating on Stacey. And it wouldn’t be…”
Craig cut him off. “It’s August 20th. The crash was July 2nd. Stacey died July 5th. And I’m still in love with her,” Craig stammered. He got to his feet and headed for the door. “I’m going out,” he said as he passed through the door. And then he was gone. Tim thought he'd never seen him quite so pissed off.
#
Tim watched from the window as Craig loped off. He could see how Craig still limped from the sprained ankle and overcompensated for the cast on his wrist. He shook his head once then went for the phone. “Jean? It’s Tim. Why don’t you and Jane come down here? We’ve got the antibodies done and want you to look them over, you know, brainstorm, blue sky, all that new age stuff,” Tim said. He listened for a minute.
“Yes of course. That’ll be the highlight of your visit,” Tim said. A lascivious grin spread across his face.
“He’s out. We kind of had a fight,” Tim said. He twirled the phone cord in his fingers as he listened.
“No he hasn’t really changed. I think it’s this house, this town. He sees her everywhere. He can’t let her go. He doesn’t want to let her go. Sometimes I hear him in the kitchen and he’s having a conversation with her. I don’t know what to do except to keep letting time go by and keep letting him know I’m here for him,” Tim said. He twirled the cord some more.
“He might. Why don’t you bring it up when you’re down here? And Jean? There’s something else. I think he likes Jane. He doesn’t want to. But he does. And it’s killing him. He feels like he’s betraying Stacey if he likes Jane,” Tim said. He looked out the window as Jean talked.
“I don’t know. I just thought I’d tell you,” Tim said. “Okay. Bye. See you in a couple days.”
Tim went back to the computer. He started a test module. The objects he was testing were connected to form an antibody cell that could recognize any version of Marauder code running or hidden on any type of computer known to man. His eyes narrowed to slits as he concentrated.
An hour later the front door banged upon. Craig panted in, sweat running from every part of his body. “I’m going to get a shower,” he called out without looking into the office.
Tim concentrated harder and harder on the test data. On the screen, hundreds of little dots were flowing past but not touching a larger dot that was labeled with a large scarlet M. Tim vaguely heard the shower start then stop some time later. Finally he pressed a key and said, “Now.”
The larger dot started to move and instantly a little dot ran into, but didn’t stick. Then another, and another ran into it. But they still didn’t stick. Finally a single dot stuck. Then an
other. Then a trickle. The trickle turned to a tide, and little dots started to stick to all parts of the scarlet M. In two minutes it was almost completely covered with little dots, and no longer distinguishable as an M.
“That looks pretty good,” Craig said.
Tim’s eyes never left the screen. The little dots began to drop away. First a few, then in clumps. After three more minutes all the little dots from the coagulated mass were gone. They left behind no trace of the scarlet M, and no mass. The flow of little dots finally stopped.
“One hundred percent destroyed,” Tim said under his breath. “Holy shit.”
“They ate that sucker,” Craig said.
“I almost heard ‘em belch,” Tim said.
“That was a pretty good test run. Which one of our programs did you run it against?” Craig asked.
Tim didn’t answer. He typed a few commands and showed Craig his network browser. Craig looked in.
“What program was that again?” Craig asked.
“Right now there’s some undergrad named Harry Turner at UCSB who has no idea why Marauder just reformatted his hard drive,” Tim said. He let out a mean little chuckle.
“I thought we were going to wait for Jean and Jane?” Craig asked.
“It was a special version of the antibody that could only live for one hour,” Tim said. There was a hint of justification in his tone. “I went through five different routers in three different countries before I went into UCSB. They can’t trace it. And it worked,” he added.
Craig narrowed his eyes and tried to be mad. But he couldn’t. He held up his casted hand for a high five, thought about it and then raised his good hand instead. Tim smacked it firmly.
“Oh. About before? I’m sorry,” Craig said.
“Me too,” Tim answered.
“Well, since we’ve made up, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yes?” Tim replied.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Helping me. You’re working as hard at this as I am. Maybe harder. And you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Because you’re my friend,” Tim answered.
“I’ve thought about that Tim. But before the wreck we weren’t really that close. I mean we’d hang out at the bar and you’d scam me out of beers, but we weren’t really friends. More like acquaintances.”
“Because it’s interesting,” Tim said.
“Interesting? Is that enough to basically drop everything and spend the last month coding your ass off? Because it’s interesting?
“That’s the best reason there is.”
Chapter
August 24th, 1994
San Francisco, California
“Everything sounds good to me,” Jean said.
“Me too,” Jane said. “You guys have done an amazing amount of work.”
Craig smiled and shuffled shyly from foot to foot.
“Thank you,” Tim said. “We couldn’t have even started without your ideas.”
“I say we launch this thing, figuratively,” Jean said.
“Let’s do it,” Craig said. He sat down at the workstation in his office. His fingers found the home row and he started typing. His left hand moved quickly while his right still lagged in the cast.
“Is that what stinks?” Jane asked pointing at the cast. She went into the bedroom and returned with her classic black doctor’s bag.
“Let me see that,” she said.
“Do you know what you’re doing? I thought you were a virologist?” Craig asked.
“MD/PhD program at Case Western Reserve University,” Jane answered. She skillfully removed the cast, walked it to the door and threw it out. Craig wiggled his fingers and scratched. Returning to the key board his fingers once again found the home row.
“I’ll rebandage that after you wash it and dry it out,” Jane said.
Craig nodded and returned to the keyboard. His right index finger raised up over the enter key…
“Wait!” Jane said.
“What now?” Craig asked. His fingers came off the keyboard again.
“Just wait,” she said. She raced out of the office and in a minute returned with four beers. “There’s no champagne, so this’ll have to do,” Jane said. She passed around the beers.
“The Marauder is dead. Long live the JTJC-antibody,” Jane said. She raised her beer to the middle of the group in a toast.
Jean raised her beer to the toast. Tim waited a second then raised his. Craig stared vacantly at his beer, like he had been kicked in the stomach.
“Come on Craig,” Tim said.
“I can’t,” Craig answered.
“Yes you can Craig,” Jean replied. “You can. You have to. You know what you did was wrong and now you’re taking concrete steps to fix it. You’ve done more than anybody else would have in your position. You didn’t quit. You didn’t get drunk. Well, just that one time. You didn’t try to forget. And now it’s time to move on. It’s been long enough,” Jean said.
“It can’t be. I still feel like it’s my fault. And this can’t bring her back. I still love her.”
Jane Brady stepped closer to him, and lowered the toast. She could practically fell the heat radiating from his crimson cheeks. She could almost feel the weight of the tears that threatened to spill out of his eyes.
“You’re right Craig. Nothing’s going to bring her back. It was awful. But it is over. When you press that enter key, it’s over. Sure there’s still the vaccine and the gene therapy to do. But it’s over. And you’re no longer the guy who wrecked the planes, you’re the guy who stopped the next one from wrecking. This could have happened to anyone. But who else would have figured it out. You’ve been a victim of circumstance, maybe a circumstance of your own creation, but a victim of circumstance never the less. You’ve been a victim long enough. Now raise your beer, toast with your friends and press the damn button,” Jane said.
Craig scrunched his mouth to one side, then to the other. Jane Brady put her beer back up in a toast and Jean and Tim quickly followed.
“To the thousands we save,” Jane toasted.
“Here here,” Tim said.
“Amen to that,” Jean said.
All three of them looked at Craig. He looked each of them in the eye.
“To my friends,” Craig said. He tilted his head back and drained the beer in one long pull. He crushed the can in his hand and hit the enter key with its crumpled remains.
“Now let’s get a pizza and about a dozen more of these,” Craig said.
Chapter
August 25th, 1994
San Francisco, California
“Craig? Craig? Wake up. There’s something happening on your computer.”
Craig rolled over in bed. He opened his eyes and saw a freshly scrubbed Dr. Jane Brady standing in the doorway. He tried to remember the night before, was certain he’d behaved poorly but couldn’t remember just how poorly. She stepped lightly into the room and rested her hand on his shoulder. Dehydrated from his drinking binge Craig tried to wet his dry mouth.
“Did it snow?” Craig asked.
Jane’s eyes showed her confusion. “No. Why?” she asked.
“Because if it snowed then maybe I could track down and shoot the bear that shit in my mouth,” Craig said.
“Nice. You pray with that mouth?” Jane asked.
“Not often,” Craig said. He swung his feet onto the floor. “I’ll be there in a minute. Why don’t you get Tim too.”
“He’s ah… Well, ah… He and Jean are…”
“Say no more. You probably heard everything from the couch in the office. You should have slept in my room,” Craig said, partly wondering whether she had. His memory of last night was still very murky.
“You made that offer last night a few times,” Jane said. “Same answer this morning as last night. Thanks, but no thanks,” Jane said.
“Okay give me a minute. I’ve got to take a leak,” Craig said.
/> “I imagine so Mr. three quarters of a pizza and a twelve pack. Are you properly and thoroughly hung over?” Jane asked.
“Only my hairdresser knows for sure,” Craig said. He lurched out of the bedroom on stiff legs. Jane sipped her coffee and tracked his butt as he stumbled by.
#
“You’re right. There’s something happening on the computer,” Craig said. He took a hit from a two liter bottle of Diet Coke then belched. A few pizza chunks came up and he grimaced over the acidy backwash.
“That’s disgusting,” Jane said.
“You drink coffee right? I take my caffeine in the form of soda,” Craig said.
“I meant the air puke,” Jane said dryly.
“That one wasn’t all air. It was a little chunky.”
“Gross,” Jane said.
“Oh. Excuse me. I’ve gotten used to living alone,” Craig said meekly.
“That bullshit might work on some bimbo but not me. You probably belched ten times a day when Stacey was around,” Jane said.
Craig said nothing. He started looking at the screen. His fingers pointed at some numbers and then traced a line. He hit the print screen button and his laser printer whirred up.
“I’m not going to pretend that she was never here,” Jane said. “And I’m done tiptoeing around her every second. You wanted me to come down here and I’m here. Me. She’s always going to be a part of you. I know what you’re going through. Maybe someday we’ll be able to help each other,” Jane said.
Craig looked at her. Probed her eyes with his own bloodshot eyes. Just as he seemed about to speak, a sheet of paper fed from the laser printer. He reached for it and the moment was gone. He looked over the printout then punched some numbers up on his desktop calculator. He jumped up and made a touchdown signal with both arms.
“YES!” he cried. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“Good?” Jane asked.
Craig rushed over to her and thrust the paper at her.
“See here? This is a breakdown of all the known IP addresses in the entire world. Tim’s figured out how to spoof any address so we can go anywhere, or get to anywhere. See here? This is a running total of how many addresses the antibodies have visited. It’s almost fifty percent. In twelve hours. Fifty frickin’ percent. That’s very good,” Craig said.