managed.”
MARTIN P. Daniels was in a better mood than usual. He counted the reasons as he
backed out of his driveway and soon began soaring thirty feet into the
skyway. Today was Friday. He had a nice weekend of golf and leisure
ahead of him. He’d had his coffee. And he finally had his new
ID. No more waiting at the door for security to make all the necessary
calls to let him in. That had been a pain in the backside the past couple
days since his old ID had been stolen.
He also had a
computer in his trunk, but that part he didn’t know about. The computer
had a Benson-Starr translator attached to it. The computer was also
running a program—a program Jerry G had finished writing the night before, much
later than he had planned.
ON the first of the three crowded ferries, the same program was running on the
computer in Jill’s briefcase.
AT the bus terminal, the same program was running on Jerry G’s computer. He
stood near each bus as it was loaded, then boarded the last one.
When he got off
at GoCom, he pretended to be taking a call and wandered around the raised
plaza, getting within fifteen feet of as many people as possible. Their
IDs should all be reprogrammed by now, but it couldn’t hurt to be careful.
He ended up at
the edge of the terrace and looked at the plaza below. The ferries had
arrived, and their passengers were streaming toward the front doors or
meandering in that general direction.
Jerry G
smiled. Chaos was about to ensue.
He jumped back
onto one of the busses just as it was about to return to the shore. The
driver eyed him curiously.
“Forgot one of my
files at home,” said Jerry with an embarrassed smile. “Idiot!” He
shook his head at his own stupidity.
The driver
shrugged and gunned the engine. The bus was out over the lake again.
Jerry G looked
back toward the massive island complex. His job was done. But
Jill’s had just started. He bit his lip and prayed she’d be all
right. Could you pray for a crime? Maybe if it was someone’s last
crime ever...
SHE was just one of a sea of humanity rolling toward the front doors. By the
time she was in the entryway the lines at the scanners were already backed up,
and security personnel were scrambling.
Jill
smiled. So far, so good.
MARTIN P. Daniels parked in his reserved spot near the elevator. He was fairly
early, as usual. He got on the elevator and descended one floor to the
entryway.
The moment he
stepped off the elevator, his semi-good mood evaporated. As early as it
was, the lines at the scanners were still fairly long and didn’t seem to be
moving at all. Security people were running around with all-too-serious
expressions on their faces.
“What’s the
deal?” Daniels asked the guy in line in front of him.
“Some kind of
trouble. They’re not letting anyone through at the moment.”
“So should we
ride down to another entrance?”
“I wouldn’t,”
said the guy. “That’s where the trouble is.”
“What trouble?”
“Sounds like
everyone’s IDs are scanning with the same name and profile—somebody named
Daniel, or something like that.”
Martin P. Daniels
groaned.
The lines got
longer and longer behind him. Everyone who had arrived after Daniels had
walked by his car—which meant their IDs contained his profile as well.
“OF course I’m seeing what’s happening!” the head of GoCom security barked into the
phone in his office. “We’ve suddenly got hundreds of Martin P. Danielses on the premises, and more arriving every
second...No, our computers aren’t the problem...No, the IDs can’t be the
problem either! How could this guy’s info get programmed onto hundreds of
ID cards overnight?...I have no idea! We’re working on it.”
The phone rang
again the instant he hung up. He didn’t answer this time.
His assistant
burst into his twentieth-story office with a tray of coffee, which he slurped
down
MARTIN P. Daniels was in a better mood than usual. He counted the reasons as he
backed out of his driveway and soon began soaring thirty feet into the
skyway. Today was Friday. He had a nice weekend of golf and leisure
ahead of him. He’d had his coffee. And he finally had his new
ID. No more waiting at the door for security to make all the necessary
calls to let him in. That had been a pain in the backside the past couple
days since his old ID had been stolen.
He also had a
computer in his trunk, but that part he didn’t know about. The computer
had a Benson-Starr translator attached to it. The computer was also
running a program—a program Jerry G had finished writing the night before, much
later than he had planned.
ON the first of the three crowded ferries, the same program was running on the
computer in Jill’s briefcase.
AT the bus terminal, the same program was running on Jerry G’s computer. He
stood near each bus as it was loaded, then boarded the last one.
When he got off
at GoCom, he pretended to be taking a call and wandered around the raised
plaza, getting within fifteen feet of as many people as possible. Their
IDs should all be reprogrammed by now, but it couldn’t hurt to be careful.
He ended up at
the edge of the terrace and looked at the plaza below. The ferries had
arrived, and their passengers were streaming toward the front doors or
meandering in that general direction.
Jerry G
smiled. Chaos was about to ensue.
He jumped back
onto one of the busses just as it was about to return to the shore. The
driver eyed him curiously.
“Forgot one of my
files at home,” said Jerry with an embarrassed smile. “Idiot!” He
shook his head at his own stupidity.
The driver
shrugged and gunned the engine. The bus was out over the lake again.
Jerry G looked
back toward the massive island complex. His job was done. But
Jill’s had just started. He bit his lip and prayed she’d be all
right. Could you pray for a crime? Maybe if it was someone’s last
crime ever...
SHE was just one of a sea of humanity rolling toward the front doors. By the
time she was in the entryway the lines at the scanners were already backed up,
and security personnel were scrambling.
Jill
smiled. So far, so good.
MARTIN P. Daniels parked in his reserved spot near the elevator. He was fairly
early, as usual. He got on the elevator and descended one floor to the
entryway.
The moment he
stepped off the elevator, his semi-good mood evaporated. As early as it
was, the lines at the scanners were still fairly long and didn’t seem to be
moving at all. Security people were running around with all-too-serious
expressions on their faces.
“What’s the
deal?” Daniels asked the guy in line in front of him.
“Some kind of
trouble. They’re not letting anyone through at the moment.”
“So should we
ride down to another entrance?”
“I wouldn’t,”
said the guy. “That’s where the trouble is.”
“What trouble?”
“Sounds like
everyone’s IDs are scanning with the same name and profile—somebody named
Daniel, or something like that.”
Martin P. Daniels
groaned.
The lines got
longer and longer behind him. Everyone who had arrived after Daniels had
walked by his car—which meant their IDs contained his profile as well.
“OF course I’m seeing what’s happening!” the head of GoCom security barked into the
phone in his office. “We’ve suddenly got hundreds of Martin P. Danielses on the premises, and more arriving every
second...No, our computers aren’t the problem...No, the IDs can’t be the
problem either! How could this guy’s info get programmed onto hundreds of
ID cards overnight?...I have no idea! We’re working on it.”
The phone rang
again the instant he hung up. He didn’t answer this time.
His assistant
burst into his twentieth-story office with a tray of coffee, which he slurped
down
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