"Must be nice to work for someone who lets you sit on your ass all day." The computer spoke with a throaty rattle that made it sound like it had smoked for thirty years.
Chris grumbled. A half-eaten Snickers bar sat on his desk. He took a bite and chased it with a swig of warm Mountain Dew.
"You're gonna rot your teeth with all that sugar," the computer said.
Chris leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "God damn it," he whispered softly to himself.
The system had been talking like this all morning, and it had long ago gotten beyond the point of pissing him off. The problem, of course, was that it shouldn't be making any noise at all beyond playing the newest Space Boys CD he had slipped into the rack earlier this morning.
"I'm screwed, man. Totally screwed."
"Virus still kicking your butt?" replied Kevin Johnson from the cubicle across the hall.
He nodded. "I'm dead meat."
"Sometimes you get the code, sometimes the code gets you."
Chris had been in the office late last night, using company resources to partake in his favorite personal pastime: crashing other computers, frying security codes, and piddling around with new ideas on encryption techniques--activities most decidedly against the rules.
Now he was paying the price.
Whatever virus he had picked up was multifaceted. It used the onboard speakers to communicate, and its microphone to listen. When Chris disconnected his mini-cam, the virus created a network link to access the company's security video system, thereby keeping an eye on Chris as he worked on the problem.
What he was supposed to be doing was developing content structure and database linkages for the company's Internet site so the world's great Web-washed could buy refrigerators and freezers directly online and so the company could sell their addresses to a gaggle of deep-pocketed spammers. Given his extracurricular activities, only two things were saving his job right now. First, the programmers around him thought his hacking was cool. And second, his boss wouldn't know a computer program from a virtual copy of War and Peace.
"Hey," a familiar voice came from behind him. Chris grimaced, and wheeled around to face Bob Kelley, his boss.
"Yeah?" he said.
Bob gave a porcelain smile. He wore a green golf shirt and a pair of gray Dockers--his way of fitting in with the gang, Chris figured. Bob had always been a shirt-and-tie man before heading the Web Development group, and seemed out of place without them.
EveryAcc Corporation, Inc. sold household appliances, of course. And Bob had recently sold 250,000 clothes dryers to the military by pitching them as centrifugal-drive heating units. The general in charge was so impressed that he bought a ten-year supply, and as his reward Bob got to lead the new EveryAcc IT department. Par for the course, Chris figured. Putting a man with no computer or network experience into Bob's spot was by no means the dumbest thing the company had ever done.
"I need your IDP by the end of the week, okay?" Bob said.
"Uh, yeah, great," Chris replied, vaguely remembering that IDP was managerspeak for Individual Development Plan.
"Complete with training you've taken for the last three years and your ideas on future assignments, right?" Bob said.
"I've only been out of school for two years, boss."
"You've got a point," Bob said, raising a blond eyebrow but not missing a beat. "But I still need it finished, okay?"
A hollow pit grew in Chris's stomach. "Sure. End of the week."
With that, Bob disappeared to do whatever his palmtop said to do next.
"The guy's a certified jerk, isn't he?" the computer said.
Chris ignored the comment. His screen glowed with gray brilliance as he rubbed his fingertips together. Piles of reference books cluttered his desk, and the soft cloth walls of his cubicle reflected a faint beige tint.
"You gonna do something?" the computer said. "Or are you just gonna sit on your butt all day?"
)
