Terminal Compromise Part 49

"Scott Mason," he said without thinking.

"Mr. Mason? This is Captain Kirk." The voice was serious, but did not resonate as did the distinctive voice that belonged to William Shatner. Scott laughed into the phone.

"Live long and prosper." Mason replied in an emotionless voice.

"I need to talk to you," the voice came right back.

"So talk." Scott was used to anonymous callers so he kept the rhythm of the conversation going.

"You have it all wrong. Hackers aren't the ones." The voice was earnest.

"What are you talking about?" Scott asked innocuously.

"Your articles keep saying that hackers cause all the trouble on computers. You're wrong."

"Says who?" Scott decided to play along.

"Says me. You obviously don't know about the Code."

"What code?" This was getting nowhere fast.

"Listen, I know your phone is tapped, so I only have another few seconds. Do you want to talk?"

"Tapped? What is this all about?" The annoyance was clear in Scott's voice.

"You keep blaming everything on hackers. You're wrong."

"Prove it." Scott gave this phone call another 10 seconds.

"I've been inside the NASA computers."

That got Scott to wake up from the droll papers on his desk.

"Are you telling me you wrote the message . . .?" Scott could not contain his incredulity.

"G.o.d, no." Captain Kirk was firm. "Do you have a modem? At home?"

"Yeah, so what." Scott gave the caller only another 5 seconds.

"What's the number?"

"Is this love or hate?" Time's up thought Scott.

"News."

"What?"

"News. Do I talk to you or the National Expos<130>? I figured you might be a safer bet." The voice who called himself Captain Kirk gave away nothing but the compet.i.tive threat was effective.

"No contest. If it's real. What have you got?" Scott paid atten- tion.

"What's the number?" the voice demanded. "Your modem."

"Ok! 914-555-2190." Scott gave his home modem number.

"Be on at midnight." The line went dead.

Scott briefly mentioned the matter to his editor, Doug, who in turn gave him a very hard time about it. "I thought you said virus hacker connection was a big ho-hum. As I recall, you said they weren't s.e.xy enough? What happened?"

"Eating crow can be considered a delicacy if the main course is phenomonal."

"I see," laughed Doug. Creative way out, he thought.

"He said he'd been plowing around NASA computers," Scott argued.

"Listen, ask your buddy Ben how many crackpots admit to crimes just for the attention. It's c.r.a.p." Doug was too jaded, thought Scott.

"No, no, it's legit," Scott said defensively. "Sounds like a hacker conspiracy to me."

"Legit? Legit?" Doug laughed out loud. "Your last column just about called for all computer junkies to be castrated and drawn and quartered before they are hung at the stake. And now you think an anonymous caller who claims to be a hacker, is for real? C'mon, Scott. You can't have it both ways. Sometimes your conspiracies are bit far fetched . . ."

"And when we hit, it sells papers." Scott reminded his boss that it was still a business.

Nonetheless, Doug made a point that hit home with Scott. Could he both malign computer nerds as sub-human and then expect to derive a decent story from one of them? There was an inconsist- ency there. Even so, some pretty despicable characters have turned state's evidence and made decent witnesses against their former cohorts. Had Captain Kirk really been where no man had been before?

"You don't care if I dig a little?" Scott backed off and played the humble reporter.

"It's your life." That was Doug's way of saying, "I told you there was a story here. Run!"

"No problem, chief." Scott snapped to mock attention and left his editor's desk before Doug changed his mind.

Midnight Scarsdale, New York

Scott went into his study to watch Nightline after grabbing a cold beer and turned on the light over his computer. His study could by all standards be declared a disaster area, which his ex- wife Maggie often did. In addition to the formal desk, 3 folding tables were piled high with newspapers, loose clippings, books, scattered notes, folders, magazines, and crumpled up paper b.a.l.l.s on the floor. The maid had refused to clean the room for 6 months since he blamed her for disposing of important notes that he had filed on the floor. They were back on good terms, he had apologized, but his study was a no-man's, or no maid's land.

Scott battled to clear a place for his beer as his computer booted up. Since he primarily used his computer for writing, it wasn't terribly powerful by today's standards. A mere 386SX running at 20 megahertz and comparatively low resolution VGA color graphics. It was all he needed. He had a modem in it to connect to the paper's computer. This way he could leave the office early, write his articles or columns at home and still have them in by deadline. He also owned a GRiD 386 laptop com- puter for when he traveled, but it was buried beneath a mound of discarded magazines on one of the built-in floor to ceiling shelves that ringed the room.

Scott wondered if Kirk would really call. He had seemed paranoid when he called this afternoon. Phones tapped? Where did he ever get that idea? Preposterous. Why wouldn't his phone at home be tapped if the ones at work were? We'll see.

Scott turned the old 9" color television on the corner of the desk to Nightline. Enough to occupy him even if Kirk didn't call.

He set the ComPro communications program to Auto-Answer. If Kirk, or anyone else did call him, the program would automatical- ly answer the phone and his computer would alert him that someone else's computer had called his computer.

He noticed the clock chime midnight as Nightline went overtime to further discuss the new Soviet Union. Fascinating, he thought.

I grow up in the 60's and 70's when we give serious concern to blowing up the world and today our allies of a half century ago, turned Cold War enemy, are talking about joining NATO.

At 12:02, Scott Mason's computer beeped at him. The beeping startled him.