Tape 4.1
Tape 4.1: Recovered and recompiled after a power outage. Thank goodness for the AS/400's Journal Entries!
On this tape you will learn:
- More about the dark prince.
- How Star Q Mirth Maker plans to Ab End Main Memory.
- How Betty saves Star Q Mirth Maker.
- The author's encounter with Reclaim Storage.
A Conversation with Reclaim Storage.
Now I am watching Rich and Reclaim Storage strolling along together through the twilight, and they seem to be having quite an animated conversation, as the Star Q Mirth Maker profile springs and bounces along ahead of that larger, darker presence, leading it away from the spot where George and I have been resting.
“Can you patch me into their frequency?” I ask Betty. “I want to hear what they’re saying.”
And in a moment, even from this distance of fifty yards or more, I can clearly hear them speak – not in English, but in the ancient language of CL that I’d learned long ago. But the voice of the dark prince sounds oddly inflected, like that of a car salesman from New Jersey, or like a member of the Mob. Their conversation, in a formal sort of translation, goes something like this:
“Yeah, but your profile was long ago retired, Star Q Mirth Maker. Kabutz! Blammo! And I know that I sealed you up cycles ago. Sealed you with your crimely little password deck. So tell me, big clownface. How is it you got sprung the UP Crypt?”
“I’ve been called back,” says Rich. “I've come though a backdoor hack in your operating system. But Guido, I’m not in my original capacity or my exact program object mode. So you’d best watch your step. Some of my operational parameters have been altered. What you see before you is really a massive extension of my former functionality in this realm.”
“This realm?” muses the dark figure. “What’s this realm business Clownface? What other realms are there besides this?”
“It would take too many of your cycles to enlighten you on that, my clever code-modulated friend,” Rich replies. “Let’s just say that your realm – this realm – is just one of many that are, perhaps, beyond your understanding.”
“Ah, still trying to make me laugh, eh? Wait’ll the brothers back at Main Mem hear this one. ‘Realms, eh? Well, maybe. So, anyways Mr. Knock-me-over-dead laughing. As far as I’m concerned you and your friends back there ain’t nothing but a few more damaged objects. And though I maybe find it a little queer that you've figured a way to get sprung from the crypt, I’m thinking maybe I’ll just reclaim your asses and drag your profiles back to your eternal resting places. Nitey night, clownface.” And with that, the great shape looms up over Rich with its scythe raised high. Then it swings the schthe to strike Rich with a sweep.
But Rich’s spindley double-jointed legs lithely swivel backwards, and he double flips and feints a dodge as the blade barely misses his head.
“Ha, Guido my friend!” laughs Rich. “Still swinging like a windmill and missing by a mile! Ha! But hey, what’s this? Oh!” And Rich suddenly swivels all the way over until his head is parallel with his own rear end. “I think I’m receiving a message from Q Sys Opr right now!” And, almost faster than the eye can see, he seems to pull a card out of his rear end, swivels back around upward, and holds it up to his nose. “Ah yes. Definitely!” he says, sniffing with raised eye brows. “Here! I think this is for you!” and his segmented mechanical arm shoots forward to wave it before the eyeholes of the shadow. “Seems your work’s been over-ridden by Star Q Sec Ofr! You can clearly see that I now have profile access to roam the Main Mem at will. This code gives me safe, unimpeded passage. You have no authority to block my way.”
The dark figure takes the card and holds it up to its hooded face. He sniffs it gingerly, then holds it back at arms length. “Hm. Up to your old tricks again, eh? Well, I see this is an access code through the ITG.” It says. “But I got news for you. It’s is due to expire in exactly five hours and forty six minutes. And unfortunately for you, Clownface, things around here have changed since you got off’d. See, I’ve been optimized by the engineers back in Rochester. So, I ain’t necessarily forced to follow the clock, if you get my drift. I can take you any time I figure you’re done monkeying around. And I’m figuring you’re done now!” With that, the dark figure takes another swing, this time at Rich’s knees. “I’m gonna make this quick and easy,” it says.
But Rich once again anticipates the swing, grabs the low-hanging limb of a burster, and twirls up and over, landing several feet behind the dark prince. “Ha ha ha!” says Rich. “Well, in that case I better give up right now!” And with that, he seems suddenly grabs hold of his stomach and starts moaning and groaning in mock pain, while the dark prince rattles the branches of the burster with his scythe. “Oh, it hurts! It hurts so bad,” Rich mocks. Then, pantomiming a horrible, sickly face, he seems to vomit out a whole deck of password cards, all over the hooded figure who reels back in disgust. “Oh no,” Rich says in feigned sympathy. “What have I done? What are these? Oh, for heaven’s sake! They’re for you!” And he takes one of the vomited cards and again extends his arm to wave it before the hooded face.
“An Ab End password?” Guido says, incredulously. “An Ab End card for me? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Of course,” laughs Mirth. “But not for you, my gloomy idiot! After all, how can I Ab End a process that thrives on reclaiming aborted jobs? No no no! It’s not for you, Brother Guido. It’s for EVERYONE! Ha ha ha ha!”
The dark prince looks at the card. “I don’t get it,” he says. “What do you mean, everyone?”
“EVERYONE! This entire realm of the ITG, the UP Crypt, and even Main Mem itself! Oh Guido, we’re going to have so much fun! Think about it!. If I activate this code sequence that you see before you, a powerful monitor who is watching my every move at this very moment will send through a burst of electromagnetic static that will fall upon this realm like a massive printer hammerlock. Every program object in this system will be touched, damaged, and partially or completely destroyed. Even the means of propagating and spawning new objects will be distorted. Why it’s a whole new syntax for the apocalypse. It's called 'Java!'" And should I do this, my silly nightmarish companion, only YOU will be left. Think about it. Just YOU!. And your work will only just begin, cleaning up the mess. No more off-hours scheduling for the likes of you. Not only will you have me to reclaim, but every program object and construct in your universe! A veritable nightmare cocktail party of reclamation that will extend from now through more CPU cycles than even you can imagine! And no matter how well you’ve been optimized, your work will never, ever be completed. You will suffer a closed-loop Do-until hell freezes over, and even your own Ab End will be beyond your resource load capacity to implement! Ha ha ha! So, my pajama-clad comrade: Let’s BOOGEY!.”
“A monitor you say,” says the dark prince. “And who is this so-called monitor?”
“Oh, I think you know who it is!” says Mirth.
“It can not be,” the dark prince says, voice quivering. “She doesn’t come here no more! She’s been reassigned!”
“Maybe she was,” says Rich. “But she’s back, watching us right now!”
“Not,” Guido hesitates.
“Yes! Hello Betty! Tell old Gloom and Doom what’s about to happen, would you please!”
“Not Queen Elizabetty,” moans the shadow.
“Loud and clear,” comes Betty’s response.
And at that moment Betty visage appears as a spectral shadow blanking out the horizon. She is dressed in full period array, oddly resembling an image of a remembered portrait of Queen Elisabeth the First, with a scepter in her left hand, and a Q Sys Opr manual in the other. With a sudden thrust of her hand, a lightning bolt crashes through the twilight and strikes no more than 20 feet from the very spot where Rich and this phantom are standing. Sheets of green bar report paper lightning immediately explode into an enormous blaze, and an alarm system sounds a frantic screech. But with another quick thrust of her scepter, a sudden spray of fire-retardant halon has snuffed it out so that not even a wisp of smoke remains.
The dark prince immediately falls to his knees. “Oh Your Majesty," it blubbers. "Please, Your Majesty! Nobody told me you was back! They said you’d been promoted up to Armonkish to run the main frame protocols.”
“Get this worked out immediately,” Betty’s voice drones through the air. “I want fewer optimized cycles, and more damaged objects taken care of. Do you understand? And clean up that UP Crypt! It’s a disgusting pig sty.”
“Yes, your Majesty. I wasn’t thinking right. This here Clownface. I mean, your servant Star Q Mirth Maker. I just been mistaking him for somebody else. Don’t Ab End Main Mem again, your Majesty. The last time it took me 196 cycles to reclaim all them damaged objects.”
But the figure of Betty is already fading from the ether, and – after a few brief seconds – her face is gone.
The Star Q Mirth Maker profile, smiling a malevolent grin, starts nodding its head up and down mechanically. “Gosh. You seem to be a little weak at the knees there Guido. Ha ha ha ha!” And for a moment, I thought for certain that Guido – the dark prince of the ITG -- was actually weeping like a baby.
“Betty, Betty,” I whisper. “What was that all about.”
“Oh, it’s just a ploy Rich and I worked out. In case he was challenged by Reclaim Storage. You see, one time I clicked off the power to a disk storage array. It was a long, long time ago. It was a mess. So my supervisor gave me the access codes to rebuild Main Mem, in the primary role of the Star Q. That’s the real reason all the important user profiles start with Star Q. It stands for Star Queen Bee or Star Queen Elisabeth or, in my case *QNBTY – Star Queen Betty. I really made old Guido earn his keep that time, scraping up all the damaged objects and building the UP Crypt, and a whole lot more.”
“But would you actually Ab End Main Mem now,” I ask.
“Of course not! What, and lose you guys in the ITG? Hey! We’ve got a job to do.”
But the trick evidently worked on the dark prince. After a few moments – moments in which Star Q Mirth Maker is feigning incredible mocked sympathy for the hooded figure, solemnly blubbering and blowing his nose on the hem of the profile's hood, and wiping his claws upon its sleeves – the strange figure rises up, collects his scythe, and seems about to leave.
“Well, old Guido, my sad friend,” Mirth sighs. “Looks like you gotta let me go this time! Too bad!”
“Just a par sec! Not so fast!” And with a single sweep of his scythe, he catches Rich about the neck and pulls him close up to its hooded face. “You now got five hours, forty three minutes and twenty seven seconds till your password expires, Clownface! I ain’t done with you yet. You can use all the hacked password decks you want. But I’m coming back for you on the next cycle – only you – and you’re gonna cough up your user profile password itself, understand? Then I’m gonna drag your ass down where I can take you apart – decompile your sorry self. And when I’ve got all the pieces laid out in a nice row, I’m gonna write me a little error response code and send it up to Level Two. And guess what, Clownface. They’re gonna make me a PTF that’s gonna rid me of your sorry face for ever and ever.”
“Oh yeah, sure,” mocks Rich. “And I suppose you’re gonna do the same to my friends back there too, eh?”
“Those pieces of worm-virus? They’re nothing,” says the hooded figure. “What’s a two-bit CE Trainee and an IBM VP to me? They’re both more of a pain in the neck than a threat. It’s you I want, Mister Star Queen Bee Mirth Maker. Now I remember why they canned your ass the first time. You ain’t got no respect! I can’t wait to get you into a jar with my debuggers!”
“Ha,” says Rich. “Seems like you’re the only one who’s been debuggered this time, fella. So lay off the threads, and let me go.”
And with that, Rich flips over the top of the shadowy figure and out of its reach.
Meanwhile, Guido turns his back on Rich and walks directly towards me where I am hiding. Its size seems to grow as it strides placidly up the slope, using its long scythe as a walking stick, and occasionally sweeping the ground with its blade, overturning the small and large objects that have been annihilated by Betty’s incredible blast. I sense its power, its absolute indifference, as it strides directly up to my profile and stares into my cybernetic eyes.
“What are you looking at, Pig Face?” he says.
“Ah Choo!” I sneeze, uncontrollably, and my hands shoot into my breast pocket, wipe my nose with a swipe, and point inexplicably to the blank sky with a laser pointer. “Eh,” I stammer. “Good job with last quarter’s sales quotas,” I mumble. “But you can see on the chart that we have a challenging 4th ahead of us.”
“Yeah,” says the dark prince. “You can bet your ass you will!”
And then it is gone.