It all seemed so
ordinary – the muted lights of his office, the silver-framed picture of
his sons running on the beach, the computer waiting patiently on his
desk – same as always. He had sat in front of a computer like this all
his life, developing software, doing what he was born to do.
Nothing would be the
same after today.
Ray Brown knew it
was finally time to confront PeaceMaker. The computer virus was lurking
in the Atlas operating system – software he had led the way in
developing. Spreading throughout the Internet and around the world,
PeaceMaker had eluded discovery for nearly a decade, but today he would
destroy the beast.
Ray stood in the dim
glow of his computer, trying to anticipate PeaceMaker’s defenses. He
stepped up to his desk and gently lifted the picture of his sons.
Would he see them again? Brian was a beautiful boy of eight with sandy
hair and a toothy grin. Could have played the Beaver in that old TV
show. David, eleven, possessed his mother’s good looks and his father’s
passion for software. Maybe that software thing will work out better
for him than it had for me.
Reluctantly, he put
the picture back in its place on the desk. Time was running out,
enemies were closing in. He had isolated the beast from the net, dug
into the bowels of its code, and finally found the termination command.
If I can kill this one, I can go back on-line and kill all of them.
Clean the net for good.
Still, he
hesitated. He didn’t want this; being a hero wasn’t in his plans. Ray
Brown a hero … right. He knew a lot of people who would laugh at that.
Dammit, stop
stalling. It’s too late to lose your nerve.
Sliding his husky
frame into a chair, he called out to the enemy, “PeaceMaker, eliminate
all control points to Atlas and delete your code. Domain Command 5-173.”
The computer display
turned dark red, and the image of a harsh young man emerged. The thin
layering of skin over bone failed to disguise a cold-blooded, emaciated
face. Short bristles of brown hair and dead eyes completed the
nightmare. This was the thing named PeaceMaker.
The eyes reached
something deep within Ray, triggering an ancient impulse to flee. Get
control of yourself. It’s only software… isn’t it?
PeaceMaker’s cold
voice pierced Ray’s self-assurances. “Please enter the authorization
sequence, Raymond Brown.”
What authorization
sequence?
The virus was
waiting … patient … unfathomable. Think, man – you can fool it. He
decided to gamble.
“Override the
authorization sequence.”
The dead eyes seemed
to probe his soul, searching for a weakness.
“Repeat, enter the
authorization sequence,” PeaceMaker said.
He began to sweat.
“I feel pretty stupid,” he said, trying to sound apologetic. “I
misplaced the slip of paper with the authorization sequence. Please use
the default sequence.”
Ray was surprised to
see the image smile at him, as if it had suddenly discovered an old
friend. Its face appeared much friendlier, and the eyes seemed to
sparkle with new life.
“No problem, Ray,”
said the voice, now soft and helpful. “Anyone could misplace a little
slip of paper. Not to worry. Please connect me to the network, and I
will get the proper authorization sequence for you.”
Shit! He had
activated the virus’s self-defense system. If he connected it to the
network, it would immediately send a warning to its masters. That
would be my death, Ray thought. PeaceMaker would never reveal the
authorization sequence unless he changed the rules. There was only one
person the virus would obey.
Ray fixed his eyes
on the now gentle image. “I am Dianne Morgan, not Ray Brown. Tell me the
authorization sequence.”
A flash of red, and
the original, cruel image returned. “You are not Dianne Morgan. Your
appearance and voice correspond with Raymond Brown.”
“The visual and
voice data were entered incorrectly. I am Dianne Morgan. Exchange the
Raymond Brown and Dianne Morgan information.”
PeaceMaker adopted
the soft appearance once again. “I can get the authorization sequence
over the net, Ray. Please allow me to connect.”
Stalemate. Cut off
from the net and facing an intruder, he feared the virus would
self-destruct if it did not receive the authorization sequence soon.
That’s the way I would have designed it. Sacrifice one copy of the
virus, but don’t allow anyone to figure out the authorization sequence
and wipe them all out.
He decided to play a
long shot. By gaining access to the virus debugger code, he might be
able to take control.
“I am Dianne Morgan.
You are defective – display your debugger so I can repair you.”
Appearing reasonable
once again, PeaceMaker said, “Hmm … perhaps the data was interchanged
and you are Dianne Morgan. Forgive me, Dianne, but my code
insists on a simple test.”
PeaceMaker’s image
on the screen was overlaid with ten different social security numbers.
Ray could still see the friendly image behind the numbers, and the voice
seemed to be embarrassed.
“This is silly. I’m
mortified to mention it. Just touch Dianne Morgan’s social security
number, if it is on this list. When you choose the right number, I’ll
tell you the authorization sequence.”
If Ray didn’t get it
right, he knew the virus would terminate itself. But maybe it didn’t
matter. If he guessed wrong, he could always find out Dianne’s social
security number, get another computer, and hack away at the virus to
reach this point again.
Taking a breath, Ray
reached out and touched a number at random. The moment his fingertip
made contact with the computer display, a surge of electricity blasted
through his body and threw him back against the wall. As he collapsed to
the floor, his body shook with agony – a murderous discharge of energy
had seared every nerve, every fiber. He looked up to see smoke rising
from the burned-out wreck of his computer. Suicide attack, he realized
too late.
