Spyware

Nog laughed aloud, a croaking sound that the world rarely heard. He immediately felt a rush of arousal. Nog had long since tired of porn. He had been raised on it, but it had little effect on him these days. He had made million of dollars and he liked women, but they didn’t like Nog. Worse, he was too chicken to hunt for the ones who might hold their noses and cash his checks. He had finally found a fixer, someone who had fed him the women he wanted but didn’t have the guts to go find for himself. They would come to the door and knock discreetly. Usually, they be shocked at his wreck of an apartment and the grim realities of Nog himself. But they didn’t run screaming. They must have been briefed, Nog thought, by his benefactor.

Nog paid for these women himself, while his friend did what he didn’t have the guts to do, he arranged for their delivery. What his benefactor wanted in return was something quite different.

Why the secrecy? he typed.

I want no record of this conversation, not now.

Nog nodded to the screen. Okay, smart enough. Good move, using a student’s dead account. From now on, I’ll just use your handle: Santa.

Fine. Santa it is.

So what do you want tonight, Santa?

Status report.

Right on schedule and target. How about you?

Good. Everything is prepared. We won’t speak again unless we must.

Alright, but send me another lucky lady tonight.

There was a pause.

I think we should wait on that. This is the moment we’ve worked toward. I would prefer you stay on station and handle anything that comes up.

Nog sighed disappointedly. He didn’t really care about this special software job. He was in it for the women. But he didn’t want his source to dry up for him, so he decided to go along.

Agreed. Bye.

Bye. 8-)

And that was it. Nog touched a key to break the connection. He then went through several files to eradicate the text of the conversation as best he could. Not all traces could be eliminated, but it should all look innocent enough, if someone were to check up on it.

He began the final process to finish the night’s work. Nearly half an hour later, the main monitor flared into life again. “Download initiated. Upload Complete,” the computer said in a soft, feminine voice. The computer made the words sound almost human. Nog started the next step by activating an icon on the screen of his notebook with the tiny wireless mouse. He patted his notebook affectionately. It was smaller and less powerful than the others, but he was fond of it because he could take it with him on his quarterly trips to Japan. He felt it was the most loyal of his machines.

“This sure beats taking graduate classes,” Nog said aloud to himself and his humming computers. He chuckled, thinking about all the time he had wasted in school.

Nog had graduated from U. C. Davis with a degree in computer science, but had never finished his masters. He had made his first million-and his second and his third-writing hit video games. After that he found he had little time left for school.

As his electronic minions continued to work, Nog considered the rumpled sleeping bag on the couch that served as his bed. He rubbed his burning eyes and blinked. It had been a long time since he had last slept. What was it now, two days? Two days and this was the third night. He was exhausted, but everything was working as planned now, everything was moving ahead.

Nog patted his laptop absently. He was ugly and he knew it. People shunned him, but his machines never did. The acne that cratered his face, the belly that overflowed his pants, the thick lenses that covered his eyes and the odd V-shaped chip that was missing at the tip of his tongue, none of these things had ever bothered his computers.

Deciding it was time to rest, he set his notebook’s alarm clock software to awaken him when the transfers were complete. He rose with a grunt, aimed his backside at the couch and collapsed onto it. His notebook soon went into sleep-mode, causing images of a flapping pterodactyl to bounce around the screen in an endless, mindless fashion. Nog fell asleep thinking of flying pterodactyls. An exhausted smile played on his lips. Soon, people would regret shunning him.

… 82 Hours and Counting…

Classes had begun for Ray, and he was indeed burning.