MF1.0 - 02 - Meeting

A knock made Stef’s hands slip on the keyboard, she swore and started again. So close, she was so close.

There was another knock.

Her nostrils flared but her eyes remained glued to the screen in front of her. In this moment, there was nothing more important. The firewalls were closing in around her, blocking further access to the system, trying to keep her from reaching her goal.

There was a third knock.

She swore again, this time in binary, she found the steady stream of repeated digits - she found that it focussed her - it didn’t relax her frustration, but it allowed her to direct it.

Her computer gave a soft beep. She stared at the screen for a moment, stood and threw the keyboard across the room. It didn’t matter, there were eight more in her wardrobe.

She sighed, rolled down her crumpled sleeves - the light purple dark in comparison to her monitor-bleached skin. A deep breath steadied her, then she stomped to the front door of her unit.

‘Mr Jenkins,’ she started as she groped at the keys. ‘I put the rent in your…’ she cut herself off as she stared through the peephole. The man outside wasn’t her landlord, nor anyone she recognised. The man on the other side of the door stared down at a silver pocket watch.

Anger forgotten, she silently opened the door.

‘Two minutes and thirty-two seconds, Spyder, you only had twenty-eight seconds left.’ The man was tall, and looked more like a rich playboy than a…talent scout. ‘My name is Dorian. Are you ready?’

His appearance matched those of the rumours - sketchy details as they were. She didn’t waste time asking unnecessary questions - there was no question who he was, so no time to waste.

She was tempted to follow him as she was - but the feel of carpet under her bare feet curbed that impulse. Instead, she simply turned and ran from him.

Back in her bedroom, she tore off her crumpled pyjamas, leaving them in a pile on the floor - they would keep the other dirty laundry company while she was gone. When she returned - and she had every intention of retuning victorious, for whatever value of victory there was to be had - she could worry about mundane things like laundry then.

Luck smiled on her for once as she pulled clothes from the wardrobe - the first two things matched. As she pulled the shirt over her head, she noticed Dorian’s reflection in the mirror. ‘You didn’t actually say yes,’ he said, ‘some run away because they aren’t interested.’

‘Didn’t want to waste time when the answer was obvious,’ she replied as she ran her fingers through her short hair - it was quicker, and almost as reliable as a comb.

Looks weren’t a prerequisite of this job - only talent matters. Looks were transitory, talent she had, in arrogantly large quantities.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She slid her laptop into its case and emptied a full drawer into a black bag. As she turned, she saw Dorian looking at the failed breach on her computer.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘That’s not a…’ she said, ready to defend herself.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Indication of your talents?’ He shook his head. ‘I do not have so little faith in you Spyder - if I did, I would have crossed you off the list. The car is waiting.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">The car was an anonymous dark blue town car, a silent chauffer held the door open for her, then gently closed it after Dorian.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">A plain brown folder was passed to her. She opened it and began to sift through the pages, when she came to a sheet of code, she froze.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘That’s what you’ll be working with.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She stared at it and murmured calculations as she did. ‘So I guess that part of the rumour was true.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘There isn’t as much false information in the rumours as you may believe.’ She grunted in response, unable to take her eyes off the code. ‘I’m the one who feeds and maintains them.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Why?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘It’s the most effective means of doing what we wish to achieve. By having the information out in the open, so to speak, we can separate out those not worth our time from those who might be valuable. Those with talent rarely need to boast about it.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She nodded. ‘One piece of information that isn’t among the rumour is the goal.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Could it be that the journey is the goal?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘No.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Then you aren’t a fool.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘The goal is always the most important thing. Ends justifying the means is another issue.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘This is all completely legal.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She looked up for a moment. ‘One year, five months, seventeen days.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘That being?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘How long since I’ve made money in a strictly legal way. Not that I need it.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Dorian stared at her for a moment. ‘Couldn’t you get used to chauffeured rides?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘I have no need for frivolities,’ was her curt answer.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘If you do what he needs of you, he will give you whatever you wish.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘If that happens, then I’ll have gotten out of it what I wanted - a challenge. Correct me on whatever bits of disinformation you’ve put into the rumours, but to work with a completely new code within a completely new system on an…experimental mainframe, yeah, that’s enough to make me happy for months.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Most want a chance at the money.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Money is just numbers. Meaningless in the data stream. What is it, a million? That’s seven numbers. Seven characters, that’s not even a drop, I know a lot of words that are longer.’ She looked out the tinted window. ’Money doesn’t really have an impact on the data stream.’ She stared questioningly at him. ‘Are you in it for the money?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘I’m doing it for the story.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Her paranoia rose. ‘I don’t want my real name in it.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Dorian smiled. ‘Not a report. Not a news story. Not a tell-all book. Nothing so…tabloid. Literally for the story. So many lives these days are pedestrian, carbon-copies and attempts at copies, emulation and cliché, the want to be a picture in a magazine…it sickens me.’ He stared at her. ‘It is a rare chance to be a part of something truly worthwhile. That is what I get out of this.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘…then sell it for a million bucks to some publisher?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Perhaps, it has worked for me before. Even if I change the names, the places and the story a little, the truth will remain, and that’s the important thing. In any case, some people find more truth in fiction than they do in reality.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">They finally broke free of the traffic congestion, and continued in silence. The tinting of the windows was strange, and made it hard for Stef to keep a track of where they were going. As an afterthought, a slide of her thumb turned on her wireless connection, so at least she could trace their route later on.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">When they pulled into the gates of a mansion, she couldn’t help but be impressed. ‘I don’t even want to think about the rates for this place.’ The property was massive, and the house was three levels.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘The others are on the second floor,’ he said as they stepped out the car. He handed her a large manilla envelope. ‘This is all you need to know.’ He looked up at the boarded windows. ‘Don’t go up onto the third floor.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She gave him a deadpan look. ‘Why, is there a rose in a glass case?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Dorian shook his head. ‘House rule. Besides, there are things up there that would burn your virgin eyes.’ She didn’t bother to blush, it was true. ‘He mostly stays up there, don’t expect to meet him.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Isn’t this important to him?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Only the success, failure is meaningless. His thoughts on this are worthy of Edison.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Prefer Tesla myself. At least he wasn’t evil.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">A smile crossed Dorian’s lips. ‘Yes, he was fascinating. I…wrote a thesis on him,’ he clarified as she looked at him.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘I’m assuming I have to stay here?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Room and all meals are provided. And by meals, I mean an open smorgasbord of appropriate snacks and foods. Should one of you people actually decide to eat at a regular hour or subsist on something servicing the other food groups, we have several chefs on staff.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She grinned. ‘Don’t get mad, it’s how we operate. We’re special.’ To this, Dorian smiled. ‘Who else is here?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,CenturyGothic,Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Some have been asked not be named - the others will likely introduce themselves.’