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.* * \ /\
.* O . . .. ..O .. 375 09 Jun 2001 ) ( ')
.* O O* o o o o o o o ( / )
* ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)|
* O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "Back to the Geek Future *
* O Part III" *
*. o |\ _,,,---,,_ *
* /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ *
* |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Pavement *
* '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o
*. .......................................*
'Anada is cat-friendly..o*`
"Hey, Pavement, wake up, man!"
"Huh, whatthafuckizgoinon? ohshitgottawakeup..." I slur, pissed off
to be awake.
I yawn and struggle out of bed. My hair looks like the den of a
beaver who dropped some acid before he built it.
"How's it goin', Marcus?"
"Good, man. So, yo, is we gonna head up to NeonSoft Headquarters and
convice Mattson of the error of his ways, or what? I ain't got all day; my
MUD game's waiting for me in 1991."
"Yeah, of course. But, like I told you, we can't just waltz in and
talk to The Blade. NeonSoft has the place secured more than, uh, well, it's
highly secured."
"Might as well go peep it out at least."
"Definitely. Let's go, VV."
"Yo, don't be callin' me no VV, it's VIDEO VINDICATOR."
"Yeah, no problem, VV."
Marcus gives me a cold stare, and we both hop in the Delorean.
After driving around Trenton for 20 minutes or so, we realize we have
no idea where we're going. We stop at a NeonShell station and ask the
tobacco-chewing, wrinkled old man behind the counter if he knows where
NeonSoft headquarters is. He gives us directions, then grunts.
"You folks ain't from around from these parts, I reckon?"
We nod.
"You sure picked the right time to drop into Trenton. NeonSoft is
holdin' one of them famous confessin' conferences on this very day.
Customers been tellin' me all mornin' that the Vice-president of NeonSoft,
Zachary Killka himself, is gonna be in attendance."
"Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly is a 'confessing
conference'?" I ask.
The old man rolls his eyes.
"Hoo boy, you folks REALLY ain't from these parts; a confessin'
conference is just like them confessions they have in the Catholic Church,
only a feller prays and confesses his sins to an employee of NeonSoft, and
a group of other fellers too, of course. Hell, I'd be there myself, but you
know, got a station to maintain and all."
We thank him and walk out of the gas station.
"Hey, ain't you gonna buy nothin'?!" The old man yells out the
window of the station. "My time is valuable, you can't just..."
Marcus and I drive in silence for about 15 minutes. The sky opens
and rain starts to bombard the Delorean. I roll up the windows and turn on
the winshield wipers. The Video Vindicator lights a cigarette. I
follow suit.
"Man, that's some sick shit." Marcus says, suddenly.
"What is?"
"Don't you see, man? NeonSoft claims to be this god-fearing
corporation, but what they're really trying to do is take the place of
religion. Slowly wean the masses away from the god NeonSoft allegedley
worships to their own Commerce God."
"Well, I don't know about that. I think Mattson truly buys into the
whole Christian thing."
"Ah, bullshit, that's just a smokescreen. They just want the public
to think NeonSoft is some sort of benovelent company out to heal the
world. I bet you The Blade hasn't changed a bit since the old days."
The debate ends as we pull into the parking structure across the
street from NeonSoft World Headquarters. The teenaged parking attendant
asks us if we're here for the conference.
"Uh, yeah. Came all the way from Hawaii to be here."
"Can't blame you, sir. This is gonna be the biggest and best one
ever. I tried so hard to get Bill to take my shift, but that bastard, oh,
forgive me Lord Jesus for my foul language. Anyway, pull on ahead. The
conference is almost about to start."
I park the Delorean on the third floor of the parking structure.
Marcus and I cross the street and approach NeonSoft. The huge, ultramodern
steel complex is srawled at least 3 miles in every direction. We enter the
building and are greeted from behind a desk by a plump woman wearing a gold
cross around her neck.
"Hi! My name is Kristie! Welcome to NeonSoft World Headquarters!"
she chirps perkily. "You gentlemen must be here for the Prayer and
Confessing Conference."
"Yeah, we're really excited about it," Marcus lies.
"Me too!" she beams. "Zachary Killka is scheduled to appear! He's
going to confess his sins along with the rest us. Even the greatest,
kindest businessmen in the world sin! Can you believe it? That's what
I love about working at NeonSoft; The most brillant men in history run
it, but they always take time to remind us they're no different from
the rest of us. God bless all of 'em. Anyway, just take the elevator
over there to the 7th floor. Then follow the signs to auditorium 14.
You can't miss it."
We thank the receptionist, and make our way to auditorium 14, which
turns out to be quite a misnomer, as it is nearly the size of a football
stadium. There are giant flatscreen monitors all around the auditorium,
projecting different angles of the stage in the center. The Video
Vindicator and I find some seats in the upper rows, along with tens of
thousands of other visitors. We make idle small talk, until the auditorium/
stadium dims. A lone spotlight shines on the stage, and a gentlemen in a
suit walks out.
"Ladies and gentlemen, valued customers and employees alike, I'd like
to welcome you to the 9th Annual Prayer and Confessing Conference, here at
beautiful NeonSoft World Headquarters!"
A giant cheer goes up among the crowd. Marcus and I clap along with
the rest.
"Thank you, thank you. This year, we are honored and humbled by the
presence of our very own Vice-President, Mr. Zachary Killka."
The crown explodes into applause, and it takes the announcer several
minutes to restore silence in the stadium.
"Well, I won't keep you folks waiting any longer! Here he is, the
beloved, the one and only, Mr. Zachary Killka!"
The audience breaks its former world record for applause when the
Vice-President strolls onto the stage.
I look at the monitor closest to me. Zachary Killka is a tuxedo-
clad, 30-something man with platinum blonde hair and blue eyes. He's
flashing his teeth in a gigantic smile, waving at the audience. He basks in
the glory of the applause for a couple of minutes, says something to a
security guard next to him, taps the microphone, and begins to speak:
"Silence, please."
The crowd instantly complies.
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you, Mr. Chambers, for
that eloquent and beautiful introduction."
Mr. Chambers beams in silent pride at the compliment. Killka
continues:
"Today is a very special day. I thought after what I heard about
last year's conference, it couldn't be topped. Bill, uh, what's his name?"
One of Killka's armed guards, trying and failing to be discrete,
whispers in his ear. Killka quickly looks up and continues his speech:
"Yes, Bill Gates, Head Programmer here at this wonderful company we
call NeonSoft, was last year's featured confessor. My personal secretary
had to take a leave of absence immediately following, just to ruminate on
the powerful moments at last year's conference. 'Well' I said to myself.
'Mr. Gates is a fine individual, can't say he's the snappiest dresser,
but --'"
The crowd roars with laughter.
"Fine individual, one of NeonSoft's best. 'But,' I said to myself,
'I can't let him have all the fun.' So, this year, I'm pleased to be your
featured confessor."
The sound barrier is broken as the audience gives Zachary Killka a
standing ovation for the next 10 minutes. Finally, all is quiet once
more, and Killka begins to speak again.
"What I'm about to confess to you good folks is something I'm not
proud of. No sir, I'm incredibly ashamed. But I believe with all my heart
that God forgives all if we ask Him to; I hope you'll follow my example and
make the same choice to ask for forgiveness. But, first, let me ask you a
question, ladies and gentlemen. Is there anyone out there who can tell me
what the 'computer underground' was?
Mystified stares all around the auditorium. Finally, one soul raises
a timid hand. A cameraman rushes to where he's seated. The young man's
face is broadcast to every monitor in the stadium.
"Yes, young man, what do you think the 'computer underground'is?"
Killka asks.
"Um, uh." the young man stutters, surprised at hearing his voice on
the auditorium's public address system.
The monitors show the young man to be sweating profusely.
"C'mon, don't be bashful, son."
"Uh, isn't that, uh, what they used to call the internet?" he says
nervously.
"Why, thank you for that marvelous guess. I'll tell you folks what
the 'computer underground' is. You see, before NeonSoft copyrighted and
made safe the internet for good, law-abiding citizens, there were computer
systems known as BBSes. They were all text, so they had none of the modern
features you know and love on the internet. No NeonFlash, NeonJava, etc.
Some of you older folks out there might remember when you did all your
shopping outside. Sounds barbaric today, I know. Those ancient systems
weren't NeonCommerce-equipped. They existed only for users to play Satanic
role-playing games, post messages to their fellow criminals, trade pirated
software, and read text files on immoral and illegal topics. The BBSes were
the grounds of hackers, phreakers, anarchists, and atheists; the same people
we recognize and prosecute as criminals today, but were then known as the
'computer underground.' Forgive me, I need a moment.
Killka takes a silk hankerchief out of his breast pocket, dabs his
eyes, and continues.
"This is the hardest thing I've ever had to say, but I believe in
being absolutely forthright with all the valuable employees and customers of
NeonSoft. I -- I, I once logged onto one of these criminal systems, and God
help me, I enjoyed myself.
A hushed silence in the auditorium. I hear the floodlights humming.
No one, myself included, was expecting this.
Killka goes into prayer and has the entire audience weeping with joy.
He asks the audience to confess their own sins in front of at least one
NeonSoft employee. The Video Vindicator and I fabricate some sins, and
confess them.
Twelve excruciatingly boring hours later, the conference is over, the
audience thanked by Zachary Killka for making THIS conference the best
meeting ever, and the crowd dispersed. In the hallway, I look at Marcus,
disappointed.
"Man, we just wasted an entire day on this crap. This is getting us
nowhere. The Blade is somewhere in this building, but no Prayer and
Confessing Conference is going to help us find him."
"You're right, yo." Marcus replies.
"But I've got a hunch."
"Whadda you mean?"
"You'll see."
Dejected, we head further down the hall and towards the exit. We
were halted by a noise coming from a few feet away.
There he is. Zachary Killka from the meeting, his smile still
frozen on his face, was walking with a mob of reporters in front,
supplicants behind, asking him to answer questions and pray over them.
Killka is giving "Bless, you my child" and "Well, sir, I conduct my
business here at NeonSoft under the Good Lord's command; I'm but a poor
shepherd" responses to everything asked of him.
Soon, Marcus and I find ourselves face to face with Killka.
"Hello, my child." he says mechanically, and continues to walk.
"Excuse me, Mr. Killka! " I yell.
He turns around, annoyed.
"Yes, my son?"
"I was wondering if we could speak privately for a moment."
Zachary Killka looks amazed that such an insult has been suggested,
as does everyone else within earshot. Suddenly, he surprises me.
"This is highly irregular... but after that uplifting meeting, I'm
ready to do just about anything! Charlie, be sure you get lots of snaps of
me conferring with this young man!"
"Yes, sir!"
Killka walks the 20 feet or so to where myself and the Video
Vindicator are standing.
"What can I do for you, young man?" Killka asks, the saccharine grin
still plastered on his face.
I look him in the eyes.
"I don't know, you tell me, Zack."
"Young man, I ask that you show respect to your elders, please refer
to me as --"
"Your Neon Knights handle, ZANDAR ZAN?"
There is an almost imperceptible change in Killka's eyes, but the
smile doesn't falter. He turns and looks at the reporters and admiring
public.
"Excuse me, but this young man and I need some privacy. We'll be in
Board Room 427. I'll be happy to answer any questions and pray over
whomever needs it as soon as we're finished."
Zachary, Marcus and myself duck into Board Room 427, a few feet down
the hall. Killka calmly shuts the door, grabs me by the neck with both
hands, and hurls me across the room. I hit the wall, and land in a heap,
too pained too move.
Marcus puts Killka in a half-nelson, punches him a few times, and
yells, "What the fuck you doin' to my friend?!"
Killka, still in the half-nelson, strains his neck around and spits
in the Video Vindicator's face.
"I don't know how you know that handle, but you boys are in some BIG
trouble. I wouldn't wanna be you right about now." Zandar Zan laughs.
I rub the bump on my head, struggle to my feet, and approach Zandar
Zan.
"Oh, WE"RE the ones in trouble?" I ask. "What do you think your
adoring public is going to think when they discover the vice-president
of NeonSoft was a member of the Neon Knights?"
"You wouldn't dare."
Marcus laughs and tightens his grip on Zandar Zan. "Muthafucka, you
ain't seen shit yet."
"Well," Killka says, "No one would believe you anyway. I'll give you
boys one chance to get the hell out of here before I call security. And I
might call them anyway, so I'd hurry."
"Yes, the public WILL believe us. You wanna know who's writing this
text file?"
"Who?"
"ME."
"Oh, shit. Uh, well look, can't we make some sort of deal? I'm a
billionaire you know. Anything you want. How's 50 million dollars
sound? Sounds enticing, doesn't it? You and your family would never
have to work again. You'd be --"
I slug Zandar Zan as hard as I can in the stomach.
"Oof! fuck! Ugh, look, just tell me what the hell it is you want."
"We want you to help us find The Blade. I KNOW you know him; he was
in the Neon Knights with you."
"Yeah, I knew him back in the day. I don't know where he is now,
though. Probably in hiding and I can't say I blame him, 'cause if NeonSoft
ever found him, he'd be dead faster than you can say Ascii Express. He's a
major threat to public safety with his anarchist ways."
"Bullshit. He's in this building right now."
"What?!" Killka exclaims increduously. "That's insanity. We need
to get you some help, son. Let me go, and NeonSoft will pay for your stay
in the hospital, no strings --"
I punch him in the stomach again.
"Bullshit" I say. "Franklin J. Mattson IS The Blade."
"That's crazy."
"Don't fuck around with me, Zandar. You and I both know it's the
truth. I met Mattson when he was The Blade. Did he ever mention anything
to you about a time-traveler visiting him in 1986?"
"You!"
"That's right. So are you gonna help us find The Blade, or should I
have Marcus beat the shit out of you?"
"Alright, fine! I'll help you. Just have this ruffian unhand me."
"Let him go, VV."
"You sure, Pavement?"
"Yeah."
Marcus carefully releases Zandar Zan, his eyes trained on him the
whole time. Killka adjusts his bowtie and coughs.
"Look, kid" says Killka. "The Blade isn't an easy man to reach. I
have to wait several days for an appointment with him, and I'm second in
command of NeonSoft."
"Well, why don't we just pay him a visit in his living quarters?"
"No, we can't do that! He's given me specific instructions to
never --"
Marcus glares at Zandar and cracks his knuckles.
"Okay, fine!" he huffs. "We'll go. But don't blame me for what
happens to us."
"I'm glad you've come to your senses, Zandar."
"Yeah, don't mention it."
The three of us take the elevator to the 42nd floor. We walk down a
dark hall for what seems like forever, until finally, we reach a
non-descript door. There's a bronze plaque on the door, emblazoned
with "Personal Living Quarters of CEO Franklin J. Mattson III. No visitors
allowed."
Zandar timidly knocks on the door. It opens a crack and a short girl
with black hair peeps her head out.
"Mr. Killka! What are you doing here?! You know the rules, Mr.
Mattson doesn't want any visitors, ever!"
"I know, Carrie. This is an emergency; I have to see him
immediately. Don't worry."
"Sir, I can't allow it! There's --"
"Need I remind you that I'm your superior in this company? And as
your superior, I'm ordering you to allow myself and my, um, associates
access to Mr. Mattson's living quarters."
Carrie reluctantly opens the door, and as soon as we're through the
doorway, barrels out and down the hall.
Inside, rather then seeing The Blade as expected, we find outselves
in another long hallway. As we're walking, I ask Zandar Zan if he's ever
been here before.
"No. But I'll tell you, I'm probably going to lose my job over
this."
"You've made millions homeless while at your job, so please forgive
me if I don't feel sorry for you."
"Yeah, whatever, kid. I may lose my job, but you - oh, you, well,
you're going to be dead. Thanks for making things a lot easier, now we
don't have to hunt you down."
"Shut the fuck up and lead me to The Blade."
Finally, we reach a second door.
"Well, this is it. This should be Mr. Mattson's bedroom. I'll see
you later -- oh, wait, no, maybe I'll see you in hell later, 'cause you sure
won't leave Mr. Mattson's room alive."
The Video Vindicator grabs Zandar Zan by the scalp, cracks him in the
face a few times, turns him around, and kicks him in the ass. "Get outta
here, muthafucka."
Zachary Killka careens down the hallway, never to be seen again.
"Well, this is it VV. Whatever foulness The Blade keeps in this room
could kill us. I don't think I'm ready to die, but I have to do this."
"Yeah, me too. This is the only valiant thing I done in my life.
Finally, somethin' to make my mama proud."
We glance at each other.
"Here we go!" I scream, and kick open the door.
What I see is something we never expected. It's not some booby-
trapped chamber, not a stuffy office with a bed in it. It's a giant-size
replica of The Blade's bedroom at his mom's house in 1986.
I hear an SOD record playing:
"I wish I had some goddamn milk
My Cheerios just ain't the same
I wish I had some goddamn milk
Too bad the milkman never came!"
The same Twisted Sister bandana is tacked to the wall, only, instead
of being 1 square foot as in 1986, it's 20 square feet. There is an
inverted cross scrawled on the wall in permanent marker. Several cases of
New Coke are stacked against the wall. How the hell does The Blade get New
Coke in 2001?
In the center of it all sits The Blade. Sixteen years after I last
met him, his weight has balooned; he must be 600 pounds, at least. His back
is turned to us, and he's busily tapping away at an Apple ][E, oblivious to
the fact that two strangers just kicked down his door and are standing 50
feet away.
I look at Video Vindicator. The Video Vindicator looks at me.
"Frankie!" I shout at the top of my lungs.
Slowly, The Blade turns his head. A straw is wedged up one of his
nostrils, and cocaine is falling in clumps from his face. His pupils are so
dilated that I can't see any trace of white in his eyes. He licks his lips
slowly and confindently, laughs and says:
"Well, if it isn't my good friend, the time-traveling Pavement. And
who's your friend you've brought with you?"
"The Video Vindicator, muthafucka" says Marcus.
"Never heard of you, guy."
"Oh, you will."
"I'm sure you're right. So, what have you come for, friend? Won't
you take a seat?" he asks, with an evil grin on his face.
Ignoring his request, I launch into a brutal criticism of The Blade.
"Frankie, do you realize you're one of the cruelest men in history?
I hope you're happy as the richest man in the world, because you've
impoverished millions, made the middle class disappear, and virtually
destroyed free speech for all practical purposes. I'm giving you one
choice -- change the way you do things, drastically or die."
The Blade and I look at each other, mute for several seconds. He
breaks the silence.
"Pavement, the public ASKED for regulations on internet speech. They
ASKED for the ability to shop online. They ASKED to use credit cards for
everything. If I've made money by giving the people what they want, how
can you fault me? You say I've broken lives without remorse -- I say it's
a dog eat dog world and survival of the fittest."
"Frankie, did you ever read Spiderman?"
"Yeah, The Neon Knights and I used to read it all the time. What's
your point?"
"Does the quote 'with great power comes great responsibility' sound
familiar?"
The Blade pulls out a cell phone, and dials two digits.
"Hello, security, there's a psycho in my room, get up here NOW!"
He presses the "off" button.
"You're beyond salvation, Frankie."
"I know it, but I'm richer than you, so I don't care."
The Blade giggles, amused at his own decadence.
I walk to the other side of a room. There is a giant computer
humming.
"What's this do Frankie?"
"Nothing, now stay away from it!"
There is a sign taped to the machine:
MAIN SERVER FOR THE INTERNET
ANYTHING THAT HAPPENS ON THIS COMPUTER WILL AFFECT THE INTERNET PERMANENTLY
"How the fuck did that sign get there?!" Frankie squeals.
"'Cause I wrote the text file that way."
"Son of a bitch! Motherfucking goddamit piece of..."
I start to type commands to the computer:
neon.soft% id
uid=0(root) gid=0(root)
I laugh at my good fortune and type one final command:
neon.soft% rmdir -f theentireinternet
Frankie begins to weep.
"My company... everything I worked so hard for... you, you -- you're
going to just leave the internet deleted like that forever, with nothing on
it? You villian, how dare you..."
"Don't worry, Frankie, I'll put something on the internet. Mind if I
use your Apple ][E?"
The Blade nods and continues to cry his eyes out.
I connect the Apple ][E to the server and type:
10 PRINT "Go outside and do something!"
20 GOTO 10
30 END
RUN
"How's that?" I ask with a triumphant grin on my face.
"You -- oh my God, I'm going to kill you, you son of a --"
Security bursts through the door. Rather than give The Blade the
satisfacation of seeing us killed, The Video Vindicator and I jump through
the window, 42 stories up. Our bodies badly cut by broken glass, Marcus and
I plummet. I see the ground quickly approaching, only a few feet away now.
I close my eyes and prepare for death. I love you, Mom.
It's now two days later. I guess Christianity wasn't a lie, because
as I apply the finishing touches to this t-file, I'm sitting in the 4th
circle of Hell. It's not easy to type with chains on my hands and my soul
on fire. Even worse, Satan's network runs on a beta version of Windows NT.
I paid the ultimate price, but the BBS world was saved. I ask only
that you respect my sacrifice -- log onto a Bulletin Board System today.
Afterword
---------
The Blade, The Video Vindicator and Zandar Zan were all real people.
They were active in the BBS world from the mid-'80s to the early '90s.
I encourage everyone to search for their files on the internet, as they had
a massive influence on the t-files of today.
A few aspects of the characters' personalities I took from the
t-files they wrote:
1. The Blade was from New Jersey, liked Heavy Metal, and was a wannabe
Satan Worshipper.
2. The Video Vindicator liked industrial music.
Other than the above, the characters were entirely ficitious.
I envisioned the 'Back to the Geek Future' series as a quickie short
story. Then, I wrote the first part and realized I had to make another to
complete it. My testosterone got the best of me, so after I shotgunned a
six-pack of Miller Lite, wacked off and went to a monster truck show (gotta
give props to Truckosaurus - that thing is so cool), I sat down and wrote
the second part, which I planned to be the last. The testosterone caused me
to throw in all sorts of macho, action-movie cliches. I was just pulling
everything out of my ass as I wrote it. I was really disgusted at the way
it turned out, but by the end, I realized I had to force myself to pen yet
another installment to finish the damn thing. Son of bitch! I was so
angry; it wasn't supposed to be this long at all. I loathed every moment of
writing this last part, but I did it anyway. Looking back, I hate the
entire damn series. The ending is really stupid and anti-climatic, too.
Most of the technological aspects of this file (such as the entire internet
being stored in one directory on a single server) are complete bullshit, but
it's just a text file. Anyway, that's life. Audi 5000.
..................................................................
/\_/\ *
( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada375 by Pavement o
> ^ < o
********************************************************************
