an investigation, Paul was found out. It wasn’t just the cupid stuff either. Paul’s boss discovered that everyone with the same initials as Paul were not paying for their e-mail accounts; that all elderly users were actually being paid by the company each time they sent an e-mail; that the local cat home was entirely run from anonymous company donations, and that although Paul could have increased his salary by any amount he chose, all he’d taken for himself was software and unlimited e-mail accounts.
It was a shit job anyway, Paul reasons. And when he’s eighty, he’ll be more proud of what he did for Rebecca and Dan than of some stupid job. But all this has unsettled him. He was stimulated by what he did. The customers were his friends. In this new, empty world, he has no friends, not real ones.
He rubs his eyes and stares into the screen. His community is right here, in this box, talking on the Pavement chat room, or posting on alt.hackers.malicious. Paul hasn’t had real sex for six years. He has a girlfriend, but he’s never met her. She wants to meet, but Paul hasn’t got time. His project needs a lot more work.
His new project is his only passion. It’s a virus, of course, planned for release exactly twenty-three days after the Millennium. That’s the random element; it can’t be on 1 January 2000, because he doesn’t want to be upstaged by that stupid bug. He wants the world to settle down and get back to normal before MoneyBaby (the name of his virus) hits. Of course, there’s nothing evil about Paul’s virus, his hero being the infamous
rtm:
Robert Tappan Morris, the inventor of the first computer virus, or
worm
, as people called it then. Paul’s virus is good. Well, it’ll make some teenagers rich anyway. Paul’s virus will infect banks and give them such a fever they won’t even realise that they’re giving out money to seemingly random suburban teenagers. Paul didn’t want to make the teenagers totally random, preferring to choose those who seemed interesting or needy or clever. They have to be clever, because the sooner they tell someone what’s happened, the less damage the virus will be able to do.
Take Freddy in Arizona, still mourning the death of Kurt Cobain. He wouldn’t tell anyone if he received a million dollar windfall. He’d spend it on CDs, slushies and bomb-making equipment. Kim in China would spend it on travel, and Jane in Bath might spend it on that creative writing course she always wanted to take. Zak in Iceland might stop his plans to poison everyone at his school, and Cherry in Buffalo will be able to fund her heroin habit without starring in teen porn films. Paul’s totally into the idea of the great teen conspiracy, and how long the mass secret will exist.
For some reason though, Paul’s project is not exciting him today. He’s lost his context, his reason to rebel. He’s lost the job he hated, and that sucks. It’s like the idea of having a girlfriend. Being attached gives you something to fight against. What Paul really needs is another job to get fired from, and then another and then another. Because without it, he may as well slit his wrists.
He sends off for a few application forms. They arrive. And the one he likes best is the one with the section asking about his greatest fear.
Part Two
Chapter One
‘Where the hell are we?’
‘What the fuck are we doing here?’
‘Who brought us here?’
‘Can you remember anything?’
‘Is this some kind of island?’
‘This is totally fucked up.’
‘Please tell me I’m dreaming.’
‘I still feel sleepy.’
Anne stays silent, the voices distorting in her ears. Sunlight falls on her face and hair, making her feel hot and dirty. This is some kind of island, that’s pretty obvious. There is salt in the air, a small breeze, and sea all around. She counts five other people. They look kind of familiar. No one knows how they all got here. They’re freaking out, although they seem as dazed as
It was a shit job anyway, Paul reasons. And when he’s eighty, he’ll be more proud of what he did for Rebecca and Dan than of some stupid job. But all this has unsettled him. He was stimulated by what he did. The customers were his friends. In this new, empty world, he has no friends, not real ones.
He rubs his eyes and stares into the screen. His community is right here, in this box, talking on the Pavement chat room, or posting on alt.hackers.malicious. Paul hasn’t had real sex for six years. He has a girlfriend, but he’s never met her. She wants to meet, but Paul hasn’t got time. His project needs a lot more work.
His new project is his only passion. It’s a virus, of course, planned for release exactly twenty-three days after the Millennium. That’s the random element; it can’t be on 1 January 2000, because he doesn’t want to be upstaged by that stupid bug. He wants the world to settle down and get back to normal before MoneyBaby (the name of his virus) hits. Of course, there’s nothing evil about Paul’s virus, his hero being the infamous
rtm:
Robert Tappan Morris, the inventor of the first computer virus, or
worm
, as people called it then. Paul’s virus is good. Well, it’ll make some teenagers rich anyway. Paul’s virus will infect banks and give them such a fever they won’t even realise that they’re giving out money to seemingly random suburban teenagers. Paul didn’t want to make the teenagers totally random, preferring to choose those who seemed interesting or needy or clever. They have to be clever, because the sooner they tell someone what’s happened, the less damage the virus will be able to do.
Take Freddy in Arizona, still mourning the death of Kurt Cobain. He wouldn’t tell anyone if he received a million dollar windfall. He’d spend it on CDs, slushies and bomb-making equipment. Kim in China would spend it on travel, and Jane in Bath might spend it on that creative writing course she always wanted to take. Zak in Iceland might stop his plans to poison everyone at his school, and Cherry in Buffalo will be able to fund her heroin habit without starring in teen porn films. Paul’s totally into the idea of the great teen conspiracy, and how long the mass secret will exist.
For some reason though, Paul’s project is not exciting him today. He’s lost his context, his reason to rebel. He’s lost the job he hated, and that sucks. It’s like the idea of having a girlfriend. Being attached gives you something to fight against. What Paul really needs is another job to get fired from, and then another and then another. Because without it, he may as well slit his wrists.
He sends off for a few application forms. They arrive. And the one he likes best is the one with the section asking about his greatest fear.
Part Two
Chapter One
‘Where the hell are we?’
‘What the fuck are we doing here?’
‘Who brought us here?’
‘Can you remember anything?’
‘Is this some kind of island?’
‘This is totally fucked up.’
‘Please tell me I’m dreaming.’
‘I still feel sleepy.’
Anne stays silent, the voices distorting in her ears. Sunlight falls on her face and hair, making her feel hot and dirty. This is some kind of island, that’s pretty obvious. There is salt in the air, a small breeze, and sea all around. She counts five other people. They look kind of familiar. No one knows how they all got here. They’re freaking out, although they seem as dazed as
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