Ali Ttaik-al-Rep:
LayersEnglish Translation Copyright (C) Nebulus, 1996"... The latest experiments of our company were very promising. Please allow me to conclude this press conference, and welcome everybody to the other room for a little demo."Apparently the process had been running in the room for hours. With perfect timing the final phase was adjusted to the end of the press conference. The head of the experiment was wearing his embarrassingly natural, but unnaturally white lab coat. His lanky, rigorous figure reminded the audience of vintage professors, inducing not completely pleasant associations. "Ladies & Gentlemen, in a few moments..." He was interrupted by a soft sizzling, making him oblivious about the people around. In the sampler tube a dose of slightly steaming, translucent, ivy green liquid appeared. "What you're watching is the first dose produced using this new technology. All that left to be done are packaging and sale. We all know that what we've seen so far is nothing else than $%^#@@@%$##...,wF eE
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Damn! What the hell is going on?!
process aborted I was sitting in front of my favorite workstation. Although I hadn't been using it for a long time, I sort of fell for it due to its high reliability. Beyond the fact that it's a necessity in my everyday research work, the computer opened a brand new word for me, After hours I usually stay a little longer to take care of my e-mails (which itself is one helluva job!), then begin writing. I never mentioned it to my colleagues, of course, but I like writing; earlier mostly for the drawer, but nowadays, having found similarly "infected" people on the Net, I tend to publish my stuff. Obviously not under my name though... who likes the co-workers making lousy jokes along the hallway? A good friend of mine gave me an account for this particular purpose. He told me it wasn't such big a deal; he himself had half a dozen names (accounts) on the Net.
"So, what should be your 'alternate' name?" Now, as I'm in the middle of my writing session (that means I'm currently under the "Exorcist" identity) the machine suddenly betrays me. Outrageous! Thank my unconditional trust towards this bitch I hadn't saved a word: I was planning to do so after I had finished proofreading. My friend told me earlier that in a complex system like this autosave is implemented, but I'm still nervous. I'm worried about my writing! I'm worried about it, and it's absolutely normal. Who can reproduce the whole stuff word by word? Not me for sure! Especially now that I'm about to lose my mind. Anyway, I'm trying to handle the situation as much as possible. Initially I seemed to be going through. I got the user interface back, the menu popped up. I'm ready to re-establish the connection to the "club" where I write, but this effort remains unsuccessful. Instead, a message appears in a fancy window, in a much less fancy style: * * * log out please!!! * * *Who the heck is this? I'm trying to search through my brain quickly to find out who is potentially capable to display such a message. (One of the sysadmins? Or, what's even worse, a hacker? Although I doubt that the latter would ever bother sending all kinds of messages around.) It took me a few seconds to clarify all this in myself, and to figure out who's sitting in the computer center today. One of the new guys I guess. Anyway, it's pretty much like his style. I should contact him! While I was meditating, a new message arrived: * * * log OUT, bastard!!! * * *... and the system was closing down again. I'm hitting the keys rapidly. (Unless it's really necessary, I usually try to avoid the mousy as much as possible.) I'm punching !c desperately, yet unable to reach this sicko. Of course the phone didn't cross my mind earlier! I'm trying to call the Center, but the line is busy. Using a trick received from a friend, I first dial a special number of the institute's phone exchange, then punch in 99 for info request, followed by the extension of the Center. A soft and pleasant contralto ("who" is also a machine, by the way) informs me among others that a call that was originated from the given extension one hour, forty-one minutes and twenty seconds ago is still in progress, asking me to stand by. Her pleasant style was entirely opposite to the most recent message: * * * dear exorcist, have you ever visited us? * * * * * * in order to avoid you I the future, * * * * * * herein I'm deleting everything. * * * * * * no one miss your garbage * * *And indeed, I can see it destroying all data on my _own local_ machine, leaving myself totally helpless. It made me so upset that...
... I woke up. I'm just sitting here, blinking stupidly in the darkness.
It's three fifteen in the morning, my alarmclock just rolled over to its
other side. My first idea is to go back to sleep, but I lost my mood
pretty much. I'm not totally awake either, my brain is still thrashing
trying to find out what I should actually do in a case like this. It
hardly reaches my mind that in fact I neither have a workstation, nor
job in a research institute, nor such a hobby as writing essays.
Anyway, it's pretty annoying that one is kicked out from the Net even in
his dreams! I'm wondering why I had to dream _this_.
As I was thinking, time passed by. Now it's about half past three, the
first class (Probability Theory, I guess) starts at eight; time to
sleep! I'm getting sleepy again, so I close my eyes... and the solution
suddenly strikes into my mind! Usually the machines are hooked up to the
network with a BNC connector. Therefore with an easy 90 degree twist at
the back of the computer the connection can be killed immediately.
I calm down. Next time I have this dream I'll know how to escape. But
for now I'd rather like to see a "beach, sunshine, you name it" movie...
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