Fatal Exception Page 6

  “Watch out for Zook, man.”

  “That guy?”

  “Yeah. He's a little . . . off.”

  “How so?”

  Justin looked around for eavesdroppers before continuing.

  “Alright, check it. First of all, the dude says he's half Native American. Come on — the dude is whiter than I am. I think it's just an excuse to smoke weed all the time without feeling like a loser — says it's religious or something.”

  “Yeah, big deal. Austin is full of stoners.”

  “True — but not middle-aged stoners who started their own software companies only to have their fortunes stolen by a Russian mail-order bride.”

  “No shit?”

  “The way I heard it, he flew over to a former Soviet republic on business and came back three days later engaged to this hot little number from a tiny bombed-out village. Got married, then before the ink was even dry on the marriage certificate, she started humping everything with a penis and at least one testicle. Somebody said she even got into making sex tapes — weird shit with German Shepherds, barnyard animals — even a midget!”

  Phin was both stunned and completely enthralled.

  “So naturally when Zook found it, he went totally ballistic. I'm talking ape shit insane. Didn't lay a hand on her, but went on a thermonuclear yelling tirade. Threw her out of the house, canceled all her credit cards, just totally cut the whore off.”

  “Sounds perfectly reasonable, given the circumstances,” Phin conceded.

  “But it doesn't end there — she shows up the next day with a fat lip, a black eye, three ‘witnesses’ and one sheriff's deputy.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Took him to court, got everything. The house, the cars, everything. All he ended up with was six months in the county lockup for domestic violence.”

  Phin took a deep breath. This was a lot to take in at 7:55 in the morning on a Monday.

  “So now Zook works here, and he doesn't give a fuck about much of anything. Moral of the story is — he's got nothing left to lose. Don't get on Zook's bad side.”

  “Or his ex-wife's.”

  Justin laughed. “Good call. I knew I liked you for a reason — you'll do just fine around here. Give me a shout when you go to lunch.”

  Phin walked over to Zook's desk. It was a whole cubicle, rather than just one of the half-cubicles allotted for the techs, and it was completely covered in papers. Not stacked, but scattered haphazardly. If a man's desk is a reflection of his mind, then Zook's cranium was holding back a minefield of chaos and empty Cheetos bags.

  “Hey new guy,” Zook said. “Sit down for a minute.”

  Phin did so.

  “I've been listenin' to your calls. You do good work — a little long sometimes, but good. Anyway, Isaac — the manager, in case you forgot — he wants me to pick a few guys for training on some new product, and I thought it might be good for ya.”

  “Sounds good to me. What do I need to do?”

  “We're meeting to announce the product in 10 minutes. Down on the first floor in the big conference room.”

  “Thanks, Steve!”

  Phin started off toward the conference room, but Zook's gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Hey new guy!”

  He turned around, half expecting some sort of macho guy movie pep talk or at least a verbal high five. Instead, what he got from Zook was, “I ain'tcher momma — go get yer stuff and take it with ya.”

  * * *

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  * * *

  THE VIDEO AT THE START of the presentation was a slap-dash affair. It was little more than a voice-over set to some new-age hippie music, laid over some standard stock footage of smiling people of all races, colors, and creeds talking on the telephone, using computers, or eating lunch.

  “For years, the name ‘Storm Computer Corporation’ has been synonymous with quality home and business computer products. Now it is time to evolve into something more. What you are about to see has been in development for over two years, and represents the synergy of many different fields of research, including computing, networking, and advanced robotics.

  “Imagine a future where you don't need a computer to use the Internet, where the Internet is as big a part of your life as TV, the microwave, or running water. Where you don't even have to get off the couch — the Internet comes to you.

  “The future is now.”

  The video stopped as a corporate stooge walked to the front of the room and pulled a sheet off of what had resembled a podium.

  “Ladies and gentlemen — the SpidR!”

  It was perhaps the most bizarre piece of technology Phinnaeus had ever seen. The SpidR looked, as the name would imply, like a spider. About five feet tall, it resembled a 17-inch computer monitor with eight powerful-looking robotic legs jutting out of the sides.

  “SpidR stands for Storm Personal Interconnected Digital Robot. SpidR — stand up!”

  Slowly the SpidR stood up, eliciting gasps from the crowd of about a hundred and fifty. A few of the more squeamish attendants started inching toward the doors.

  Just then, Elliot Storm burst through the double-doors and took to the stage, dressed to the nines and already carrying a wireless microphone.

  “Sorry I'm late — did you all get a chance to meet Reggie?”

  The crowd did an excellent job of concealing their collective confusion from the president of the company.

  “Oh, that's what I nicknamed the SpidR prototype. They're really a lot like the family dog — only with a connection to the entire planet. Reggie, come here!”

  The SpidR climbed off the table with eerie fluidity and grace, and crossed the floor. Phinnaeus figured that it had to weigh at least a hundred pounds, but the only noise it made was the tick-tick-tick of its pointed steel legs on the tile floor as it stepped.

  “SpidR, stop.” As he gave the commands to the robot, Elliot sounded like he was talking to a dog, or to particularly slow child.

  “SpidR, look up the weather for tomorrow.”

  With a slight realignment of its body, the SpidR extended a telescopic “neck” into the air and displayed a screen full of weather statistics.

  “Here you go, Elliot. Partly cloudy with a high of 85.” The mechanical thing spoke in a surprisingly affable and appealing male voice.

  The crowd applauded, but Elliot's demonstration wasn't over with just yet. He paced around the room slowly, with the SpidR constantly staying a step behind.

  “Now SpidR, check my e-mail. Audio only.”

  With no delay, the SpidR responded with, “No new messages, Mr. Storm.”

  Another round of applause, but Elliot simply held up his hand and smiled. Obviously he'd saved the best for last.

  “SpidR — call Mom.”

  “Dialing . . . ”

  After a few seconds, a grey haired old woman appeared on the SpidR's video display.

  “Oh, hi son!”

  “Hi Mom! Can't talk now, in the middle of a presentation! Call you later!”

  (Incidentally, this was the first time Elliot Storm had spoken with his mother in over two months, and the longest conversation he'd had with her in a year.)

  The crowd erupted into a standing ovation — Phinnaeus included, and Elliot returned to the front of the room while the SpidR crouched down in a corner to “sleep” as instructed.

  “Spider, go to sleep,” Elliot ordered, prompting the robot to walk into a corner and retract its legs, making it a three-foot column of nearly solid metal.

  “What you have just witnessed here is a piece of history. The SpidR is more than just a computer or an Internet machine. This is a complete personal digital assistant, ready to carry mankind into the twenty-first century just the way the automobile carried us into the twentieth.”

  Phinnaeus looked at the sleeping SpidR and had a sudden feeling of dread — he was going to have to support the damn things!

  “Holy shit,” Phin muttered.

&nbs
p; Elliot whirled around and pointed at Phin. “Holy shit is right! Internet, communications, personal planning, and time management, all in one package. It understands what you say and is completely self-sufficient!”

  “Now - I know what you're thinking — isn't this going to be a little expensive for the average consumer? And the answer is: You bet it is. For right now, anyway. This is just a prototype — we don't expect to have the final version of the SpidR ready for a full public deployment for at least another three years. The SpidR is the full revolution — but what I'm going to show you next is the opening skirmish.”

  Phin breathed a sigh of relief. Providing tech support for a completely inert machine that didn't walk or talk — that was bad enough. Having to help Grandma Redneck figure out why her eight-legged killer arachnoid bot won't stop stepping on her cocker spaniel — that would just be a whole new type of hell.

  Another corporate stooge rolled out a card covered with a white sheet. Elliot launched back into the presentation.

  “I give you — the Argos!”

  Pulling the sheet like a magician, Elliot revealed a rather tasteful computer-like appliance with a 15-inch screen. It was only about four inches thick, but it appeared to have a flip-down keyboard and a wireless pointing device attached to the side.

  “This may look like just a computer, but the Argos is an Internet appliance with a distinct advantage over all the rest — the Storm Network.

  Phinnaeus had spent the last few days at work reading stories about the company's recent acquisitions. Apparently, Storm was snatching up unused portions of existing fiber optic networks — so-called “dark fiber” — but nobody knew why. Now Phin had his answer — the dark fiber would be the backbone of this Storm Network.

  “No Internet providers. You just plug into the phone line and you're online. Advanced switching technology, adaptive and pseudo-precognitive connections, and scheduled downloads during off-peak hours mean that the Argos won't tie up the phone line during the day. Oh, and did I mention that there is no monthly fee? You buy the Argos and you get the Argos with no strings attached.

  “The Argos will be the must-have tech purchase for everyone in America this Christmas — and we plan to meet the demand head-on. Through contracts in Southeast Asia, we have been producing the Argos in secret for the past eight months. We plan to announce it to the public this afternoon.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is an exciting time to be in this business. Thank every one of you for coming today.”

  Another standing ovation.

  Great, just one more thing that'll make people call me for support, Phin thought. As he filed out of the massive conference room, Phin spotted Elliot talking to a decrepit old man in a wheelchair.

  Now, Phin may have been mistaken, but if asked, he'd swear that the old man was petting the SpidR as it slept.

  Chapter 12

  In the Field

  THE STEADY, OBNOXIOUS RAZZING of a digital alarm clock sounded for two minutes before Phinnaeus was roused from his sleep. He slapped wildly at the clock, his sleep-addled brain hoping to hit the Snooze button by chance. The corner of one finger connected with the corner of the button, the buzzing stopped, and Phin slipped back under sleep's veil.

  Phinnaeus's apartment was small, but adequate. A single bedroom, a single bathroom, a single kitchen, and a spacious but sparsely decorated living room. This was the first place Phin had lived in completely on his own — previously, he'd been living with Holly, and Phin ended up in this place after that relationship went tits-up.

  The furniture in the apartment was largely made up of family hand-me-downs (or, as some would call them, “heirlooms”). The couch had once belonged to an uncle, the flimsy, dangerous-looking glass coffee and end tables had belonged to an aunt, and the bedroom furniture was the same traditionally styled oak fittings Phin was given when he was in the seventh grade.

  The kitchen was spotless, mainly because Phin never cooked. A thin layer of dust rested on all the flat surfaces of the appliances. The fridge was empty except the remains of a six-pack of beer, a twelve-pack of soda, and a one-pack of ketchup.

  The tiny bathroom was purely utilitarian — a molded plastic shower with a plain white vinyl shower curtain that never quite lost its factory stench, a sink, a toilet, a small cabinet, a single grey bath mat, and a towel rack containing a single bath towel and a single hand towel. The one near-indulgence was a mega roll of Brendy Ultra-Soft. A girl had once told Phin that women take notice when a guy has good toilet paper, and Phin had taken the advice to heart.

  The Snooze on the alarm clock kicked in, and Phin reluctantly awoke, crawled out of bed and stumbled into the shower.

  Like the rest of the bathroom, Phin's shower was all business. Bar of soap, bottle of shampoo. No funny creams, no poofy loofa thing, no moisturizer or conditioner or exotic foot-scraping stone or C-Cal protein pack. Soap + shampoo + water = shower.

  After drying off, Phin put on a pair of jeans, some sneakers, and an over-starched company polo shirt. This was unusual since the call center was more of a T-shirt-and-jeans environment, but today was an unusual day.

  Phin headed to the office at the usual time, but rather than report to the call center, he was going out with an on-site technician to observe the installation and setup of the Storm Network and the Argos in a few specially selected pilot households across Austin.

  As Phin parked around the back of the office complex, he saw a door marked “Field Operations,” and knew he was in the right place. As is the case with many companies, the on-site service department was named “Field Operations,” or just “Field Ops.” This largely had to do with the male-centric world of technology — everybody with his own truck and a walkie-talkie wants to imagine he's a goddamn tank commander or a Navy SEAL. Thus the reason why a technician or repairman is never just “out in the city” or “at someone's house,” he is instead “in the field.”

  The tech waiting outside for Phin was no different. Standing about a head taller than Phin, he had three days' worth of beard on his face, an already sweaty brow shielded by a baseball cap — company issued, of course — and a wide, unfiltered cigarette stinking between his lips.

  “You my rider?” he asked Phin without bothering to remove the smoke from his mouth. “Mike Barton. Field Ops.”

  “Nice to meet you. Phinnaeus Webb — call me Phin.”

  “Okay Phil! Let's get going!”

  Phin rolled his eyes and climbed into the van.

  * * *

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  HAVING GROWN UP IN THE suburbs just north of Austin, Phin knew his way around at least the major roadways. All you really needed were I-35, 183, and MoPac, at least as far as Phin's world went. Everywhere in town was only 15 minutes away from anywhere else. Much of the development had taken place in the north part of Austin in recent years, for many reasons — not least of which was Phin's new employer. The economic power of Storm Computer Corporation did not go unnoticed, even with the city planners. New highways were already slated for construction, and zoning changes allowed for more high capacity multi-family dwellings in the surrounding area.

  For all the time he had spent in Austin, though, Phinnaeus had managed to avoid the southern part of town. He'd always assumed that it was a poor student area — and for the most part, he was right. The hippies (both young and old) had long since staked their claim on every part of the city south of 1st Street, with their Frisbee golf, their “Keep Austin Weird” stickers, and their dedicated bicycle suicide lanes.

  The first house Phin and Mike (Field Ops) visited was in South Austin, and was owned by one such aging hippie. The job was simple — make some changes to the PBX box on the outside of the house to tie it into the citywide fiber optic network, unpack the Argos, place it where the customer wanted it, plug it in, and leave. Simple.

  It was not exactly simple, as Phin discovered. For starters, the house was completely coated in a thick layer of cat hair
, and stank of ammonia — the after-product of cat urine left for far too long.

  “Okay, you handle the inside part, I'll take care of the PBX,” Mike blurted out upon entering the residence, leaving Phin to hold his nose and fend for himself in the feline wonderland.

  Phin did his best to provide the best service he could, given the circumstances. He asked the owner how she'd become part of the pilot program for the Argos, but she simply muttered something about Agent Orange having been the work of extraterrestrials, and then wandered off.

  For the remainder of the “field operation,” the woman stayed in the back of the house, but the cats got completely territorial, as they weren't used to any human contact other than their neurotic master.

  As a result, through the entire process of opening the box, removing the Argos, and plugging it in, Phinnaeus had to fend off near-constant cat attacks from all angles. Of course, he didn't want to hurt any of them, but one particularly vicious kitten did manage to “accidentally” get trapped in the Argos box at one point.

  “Okay ma'am! You're all set! Give us a call if you have any questions!”

  Phinnaeus couldn't believe he'd just said that. He knew she'd be calling tech support later — everyone who got one of these new machines would be calling tech support, he was sure of it — but one of the first rules of working tech support is that you don't invite people to call you. They know you're there if they need you — they don't need an invitation.

  Outside, Phinnaeus found Mike asleep in the driver's seat of his van.

  “Hey, thanks for your help in there. I thought I was just supposed to be observing today.”

  “Whoa.” Mike jumped at the sound of the slamming door as Phin got into the passenger side. “Yeah, uh, I had some stuff to do out here.”

  “Right. Tell you what — next time, I'll stay in the van, and you can deal with the crazy cat lady.”

  “Whatever you say, Phil.”

  * * *

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