too many things here. There’s something from my Hide It! pack that I didn’t put there: a folded-up piece of paper. I feel prickly as I consider that someone else has been here and found my things. Then I open the piece of paper. It’s a PopCo With Compliments slip, with the following letters written on it.
XYCGKNCJYCJZSDSPPAGHDFTCRIVXU
To an unaccustomed eye, perhaps this would seem like a barcode or maybe even a really crazy reference code from some official letter. It is, of course, a code, but neither of those sorts. This is a cipher that someone wants me to break.
I’m almost the last in line at the cafeteria. Dan waited for me by the entrance, so it’s me and him again, standing just in front of the two people from lunch – the dark-haired guy and the girl with the feather earrings – as if coming to the cafeteria is such a small subroutine in the videogame version of our lives that it has been programmed to happen in only one way.
‘Ah, it’s the vegetarians,’ the woman says from behind her hatch. She glances beyond me and Dan to the couple behind us. ‘Many vegetarians,’ she says, laughing to herself. ‘Here you go.’ Four plates appear, each with a pile of red sludge.
This time we’ve got it wrong, not that we had any choice. The meat-eaters are getting Steak au Poivre.
‘Oh well,’ Dan says, shrugging. ‘There’s a load of cheese boards on the tables.’
‘I think I might actually become a vegetarian anyway,’ I say,randomly. Even though I love Steak au Poivre, my stomach can’t handle anything very complicated at the moment. The red sludge may actually turn out to be something hot and comforting, perhaps with lentils, which would suit me right now.
The coded note crackles in my pocket as I walk across to the dining area. Esther’s there, waving. ‘Saved you both seats,’ she says. This is the only free table left anyway. In fact, it’s the only table in the room that isn’t full and won’t become full, which gives me a thrilling sense of unpopularity, of being an un-clique. Glancing across the room, I can see Carmen and Chi-Chi sitting with some of the K people. They’re all wearing T-shirts featuring nonsensical English expressions from Japan. ‘ Cream Pain’. ‘Oops! Hair’. ‘Bullying Peter’. ‘Moon Hazard: Space ’. Stuff like that. As far as I understand it, there used to be a little website devoted to this stuff and then PopCo bought it. They haven’t amalgamated it with K or anything; they’re just keeping it going as it is, but with the extra marketing push only PopCo can give. The K crowd always seem to be laughing (when they’re not going bonkers, of course). I never understand why. Surely life isn’t that hilarious?
The guy and the girl from the queue sit down at the other end of the table and grab the bottle of red wine before we get the chance. This time, though, as soon as they’ve tipped more than half of it into their glasses, a new bottle appears from somewhere.
‘Cool,’ Dan says, grabbing it. ‘Wine, ladies?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
‘No. Don’t drink,’ says Esther. She has a plate of red stuff too.
‘Ah, the vegetarian trick backfired on you, too,’ Dan says.
‘What?’ she says back, confused. She thinks for a second. ‘Oh, I see. No, I am an actual vegetarian. Well, a vegan, actually.’
I’m watching Dan. He didn’t send the note. It’s not there in his face. Oh, fuck it, I’m not going to panic about this. I don’t even know what it says yet. It won’t take me long to work out, though. It looked quite Vigenère-ish to me. Ten-minute job, maybe a bit more, although there isn’t much text to go on. With anything Vigenère-ish, it helps to have as much enciphered text as possible, as you can see patterns in it more easily. The Vigenère method of cryptography was thought to be unbreakable for over 300 years but once you know how to unravel it, it is surprisingly easy, and very fulfilling to break.
It
XYCGKNCJYCJZSDSPPAGHDFTCRIVXU
To an unaccustomed eye, perhaps this would seem like a barcode or maybe even a really crazy reference code from some official letter. It is, of course, a code, but neither of those sorts. This is a cipher that someone wants me to break.
I’m almost the last in line at the cafeteria. Dan waited for me by the entrance, so it’s me and him again, standing just in front of the two people from lunch – the dark-haired guy and the girl with the feather earrings – as if coming to the cafeteria is such a small subroutine in the videogame version of our lives that it has been programmed to happen in only one way.
‘Ah, it’s the vegetarians,’ the woman says from behind her hatch. She glances beyond me and Dan to the couple behind us. ‘Many vegetarians,’ she says, laughing to herself. ‘Here you go.’ Four plates appear, each with a pile of red sludge.
This time we’ve got it wrong, not that we had any choice. The meat-eaters are getting Steak au Poivre.
‘Oh well,’ Dan says, shrugging. ‘There’s a load of cheese boards on the tables.’
‘I think I might actually become a vegetarian anyway,’ I say,randomly. Even though I love Steak au Poivre, my stomach can’t handle anything very complicated at the moment. The red sludge may actually turn out to be something hot and comforting, perhaps with lentils, which would suit me right now.
The coded note crackles in my pocket as I walk across to the dining area. Esther’s there, waving. ‘Saved you both seats,’ she says. This is the only free table left anyway. In fact, it’s the only table in the room that isn’t full and won’t become full, which gives me a thrilling sense of unpopularity, of being an un-clique. Glancing across the room, I can see Carmen and Chi-Chi sitting with some of the K people. They’re all wearing T-shirts featuring nonsensical English expressions from Japan. ‘ Cream Pain’. ‘Oops! Hair’. ‘Bullying Peter’. ‘Moon Hazard: Space ’. Stuff like that. As far as I understand it, there used to be a little website devoted to this stuff and then PopCo bought it. They haven’t amalgamated it with K or anything; they’re just keeping it going as it is, but with the extra marketing push only PopCo can give. The K crowd always seem to be laughing (when they’re not going bonkers, of course). I never understand why. Surely life isn’t that hilarious?
The guy and the girl from the queue sit down at the other end of the table and grab the bottle of red wine before we get the chance. This time, though, as soon as they’ve tipped more than half of it into their glasses, a new bottle appears from somewhere.
‘Cool,’ Dan says, grabbing it. ‘Wine, ladies?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
‘No. Don’t drink,’ says Esther. She has a plate of red stuff too.
‘Ah, the vegetarian trick backfired on you, too,’ Dan says.
‘What?’ she says back, confused. She thinks for a second. ‘Oh, I see. No, I am an actual vegetarian. Well, a vegan, actually.’
I’m watching Dan. He didn’t send the note. It’s not there in his face. Oh, fuck it, I’m not going to panic about this. I don’t even know what it says yet. It won’t take me long to work out, though. It looked quite Vigenère-ish to me. Ten-minute job, maybe a bit more, although there isn’t much text to go on. With anything Vigenère-ish, it helps to have as much enciphered text as possible, as you can see patterns in it more easily. The Vigenère method of cryptography was thought to be unbreakable for over 300 years but once you know how to unravel it, it is surprisingly easy, and very fulfilling to break.
It
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