--Chapter Five
In The
Motherboard, several ints were contently enjoying their break. Some were
eating, most were talking, and others enjoyed a game of virtual billiards.
Paula, owner of the joint, was trying to fix the reception on the television at
the bar, thinking of how much easier this would be if the computer had a cable
modem. Besides the reception, think of the channels she could be
getting. Right now, the only channel that even broadcast to her bar was Channel
56-KCOM.
When she did get
reception, however, Paula found that the station was airing an emergency news
bulletin.
“Quiet down,
everybody,” she yelled to the crowd, “I want to hear this!”
Gradually,
people quieted down, and when they overheard what the reporter was saying, they
quickly crowded around the bar, trying to see for themselves what was
happening.
The reporter’s
message was very plainly spoken: “We bring you a report right now of an emergency
situation in the Minesweeper department of the Compaq. Apparently the work of
long-known Rogue Int, Fatal Error, the game has not only frozen while in
operation, but some very strange things have been sighted as well.
“Take, for
instance, that Arrow, pet mouse of the monitor, seems to be stuck on top of the
smiley face on the game board. And moments ago, reports came in of an int-like
creature, quite possibly Fatal Error himself, walking on the board and
squeezing between the cracks to some unknown location… Authorities say that if
anybody sees Fatal Error, they are to consider him unarmed, but dangerous, and
to contact Sergeant McAfee immediately. Here is Fatal’s file photo.”
A picture of
Gus’s “blown-up” face showed on the television, eyes in Xs and everything.
“Sorry, we
appear to be having some technical difficulty with retrieving the picture,
which may or may not be yet another example of Fatal’s work.” He paused and
said, “We now go live to a press conference where the sergeant is said to have
the latest information, and will hopefully answer some of our questions.”
The screen
changes to show the press conference, where McAfee is already answering
reporters. And since there’s really only one station in the entire PC, you can
imagine he is rather fed up with answering the same one over and over again.
McAfee: Okay,
does anybody have any questions at this time?
Interviewer: (jumping
up and down) Ooh, Sergeant McAfee, pick me! Pick me! I have a
question!
McAfee: (sigh)
Seeing as you’re the only one here, I’ll start with you.
Interviewer: How
sure are we that Fatal Error is behind this?
McAfee: We’re
confident it’s him. Even the Human seems to know it by now.
Interviewer: How
do you know that?
McAfee: Because
he has opened up Microsoft Word, wherein he is writing what we think is a
fan-fiction article about Fatal’s exploits and how dumb my soldiers and I are
not to be able to catch him. Okay, does anybody else have a question?
Interviewer:
Ooh! I do! Pick me again!
McAfee: (under
his breath) God, this is pointless. (aloud) What is it?
Interviewer: So,
would you agree with the Human’s statements that you are indeed “dumb?”
McAfee: (grimacing)
No further questions, please. Any and all other information will be handled in
the briefing, with only the other reporters present.
Interviewer: But
there are no other reporters.
McAfee: Exactly.
Now, pardon me, but I must be getting to work.
--
Angus and Brenda
looked about them in amazement at the Monitor world. Arrow had been a good
mouse to let the ints ride on his back on the way up there.
“Wow,” said
Brenda, “It’s so spacious! Nothing like the crowded streets back home.”
“Shh!” said
Angus suddenly, causing Arrow to stop in this tracks, “I think I hear something
up ahead.”
Indeed there was
a noise coming from behind a set of wires. And because there was an echo in the
monitor cavity, the three could make out the sound of an int’s voice, often
followed by the cheering of a mob. Angus and Brenda strained their ears to hear
what was being said.
“Today we embark
on a great mission of destruction,” said the int-voice, “and you’re just the
bombs for the job.”
A cheer went up.
“No longer will
you suffer the agony of not having to explode! No longer will you be safe from
harm! No longer will you sit quietly in your spaces living in peace!”
The crowd
cheered again.
“Who are those
people?” asked Brenda.
Angus shrugged
and answered, “I don’t know, but they’re all crazy.”
“Let’s go in for
a closer look.”
At this
suggestion by Brenda, the three cautiously moved in the direction of the sound.
When they were close enough to see the speaker and the crowd, and while they
crouched and hid behind a large clump of wiring, Arrow immediately recognized
the speaker. The mouse lightly tapped his foot on the floor, with Angus
listening.
“What’s he
saying?” said Brenda in a whisper, not wanting to get caught.
“He says that
the speaker is the int that kidnapped him. You know, the guy in the trench
coat.”
“Oh my
goodness!” said Brenda in surprise, accidentally not heeding the need to keep
quiet. “Oops,” she said, covering her mouth.
But it was too
late. In a second, Fatal Error was standing over them, ninety-nine
angry-looking land mines standing behind him.
--Chapter Six
Four-star
General Herman Flag rounded up his troops for battle. They were the few, the
proud, the members of the Expert Game Board Flag Squadron. Their job? To stand
their ground and de-mine the entire board under the direction of Arrow the
mouse’s “right-click” foot, thus pleasing the great Lord Gus Yellow, who smiled
down on them so long as they did their job correctly. It was General Herman’s
job to see to it that all of his squadron’s flags were in order for the day.
By now, the
general was becoming impatient with the lack of commands coming from Arrow the
mouse. But he and his flags could not do anything about it, nor could they see
the current state of the game board. This is because all flags have to stay
behind the board in hiding until they are called on one by one. Still, the
general knew his duty was to stay and await command, and so he did this, using
the extra time allotted him to do a thorough check of his troops. He walked among
the ranks, shouting such things as, “You there! Stand up straighter!” and “Hey,
you! Raise that fabric, mister!”
Then the general
came across one particularly red-faced flag. It hiccupped at the same moment
Herman approached it.
“State your
name, private.”
“Name’s
Bottleneck, sir,” came the reply, with a stench that almost caused the two
flags next to him to lose their color and faint.
“Private
Bottleneck!” the general yelled, “Do you know what squadron of flags you’re
in?”
The drunken flag
considered this question a second and said, “No, but I bet it’s a good one,
right?”
“This is the
Expert Game Board Flag Squadron! Here we do not tolerate drunkards!”
“Well, maybe I
should just leave and go to a squadron that does.” Thinking this was good
logic, Bottleneck gave General Herman an ear-to-ear—er, that is to say, a
corner-to-corner grin.
The general was
furious at this remark. He screwed up his face, evidently trying to turn it red
with anger, but because it was already red, well, this was a pointless task.
“TAKE THIS FLAG
AWAY AND PUT HIM ON THE BEGINNER BOARD!”
The nearby flags
followed this order immediately and carried Bottleneck off. Bottleneck yelled
“Thank you!” back at the general, but Herman was no longer paying attention.
Instead, the
general turned to the troops carrying the flag off and said, “Bring me back a
worthy flag from the Beginner Squadron to take his place.”
--
Back in the
inthole, another military leader had his share of problems. Sergeant McAfee
escaped from the press conference to go and meet up with his chief intelligence
officials at the CIA (Central Intel Agency) to decide what steps to take
against Fatal Error.
He walked
straight through the agency’s corridors to the switchboard room, where her
highness Queen Pentium III and several others had been waiting for him.
The “several
others” included representatives from every department of the inthole that was
currently active. Bob Letterman was head of the Microsoft Word department.
Clyde Eightspace was head of Minesweeper. And George Palladian was head of
Windows.
“Greetings, Your
Majesty, gentlemen,” said the sergeant as he sat down, “I see everybody’s here
except the sanitation department. Should we wait for Mr. DeFrag to show up?”
George Palladian
fielded this question. “We are currently searching for him. He will come, I
assume, as soon as he gets the call. In the mean time, I move that we start the
session without him.”
The queen sighed
and said, “Very well, although I don’t like facing Fatal Error without the
sanitation department’s help. And Angus DeFrag is the best int I know of when
it comes to cleaning and repairing a damaged system.”
“I assure you,
Your Highness,” said McAfee, “we will brief Mr. DeFrag thoroughly in due time.
Right now, I agree it is important that we get started. First, Mr. Letterman,
what’s the latest news about the Human’s activities?”
“He’s still
writing that fanfiction article, sir. He’s on chapter seven.”
McAfee was
astonished. “How can he be on chapter seven? We’re not even on chapter
seven yet!”
The queen
interrupted, “But does he appear to be ready to save and quit, or even restart
the computer?”
Palladian
answered, “To be honest, your highness, we really have no way of knowing that.
What I can tell you is that he hasn’t done it yet, and it has been a long while
since the Minesweeper incident first happened.”
“Long enough for
the Human to write seven chapters,” said McAfee.
“He’s pretty
good with a keyboard, the Human is, to be operating Word without the aid of his
mouse,” said Eightspace, thinking aloud.
Letterman
shrugged. “It’s not that hard; all he really has to do is press the right
buttons on the board in the right order, and he’s got a document.”
“Say,” said
Queen Pentium, getting an idea, “is there a set of buttons he could press that
would possibly correct the error on the screen?”
McAfee answered
her, “Quite possibly, yes. He could command us to run Scandisk or Defrag, and
that might do the trick. The problem is that even if we did that, Fatal Error
himself would still be running free. And besides, there’s no way to tell the
Human to run those programs.”
Eightspace had
something to say here. “We might not be able to tell him to open a
program, but maybe we could get him to close it. Mr. Palladian, would it be
possible to run a message across the monitor screen that reads ‘This program
has performed an illegal function and must be shut down?’ Then at least we
could get this Minesweeper thing done with, and concentrate on Fatal Error later.”
Letterman
agreed. The “illegal function” ploy had worked for his own program several
times before.”
McAfee and
Palladian both nodded to the idea, and all four of the ints looked at Queen
Pentium to get the final “okay.” She looked back at them and said, “Alright,
then. Let’s get going.”
--
Two ints walk
along the Inter-hardware highway cable from the computer to the monitor. Int A
is carrying a sign flung over his back that reads “This program has performed
an illegal function, etc.” Int B is now eating another sandwich.
Int A: Say,
Joey.
Int B: (munching)
Yeah, what?
Int A: Do you
ever wonder if the Human even knows we ints exist?
Int B: That’s a
silly question. Everybody knows it was one of the Human’s own kind that created
us in the first place.
Int A: Yeah, but
y’know, I’ve been thinking about that. And I think to myself, did he create us
only so we can do his will, or did he mean for us to be free and think for
ourselves now and then?
Int B: I dunno.
But he gives us a whole lot of orders, so I’d think the answer would be closer
to the first idea than the second.
Int A: Now, see,
that’s interesting. Because while the Human gives us orders, did he not also
give us the power to govern ourselves to an extent?
Int B: (finishing
the sandwich) I suppose. So what’s your point?
Int A: Well, if
we were to find a balance and unity between the free will and the fate, perhaps
we would discover a perfect harmony of life. And from there, we might find the
meaning of life.
Int B: (licking
his fingers) Wow, man. That’s deep.
The two ints stopped where they were on the
silicon roadway for a few seconds to contemplate this. Then, they started
again, carrying that all-important message up to the monitor screen.
--Chapter Seven
Fatal Error
marched at the head of his army, boldly making his way down the inter-hardware
highway cable that led to the computer. Bored of the silence, he decided to
make a marching tune. It went something like this:
Fatal: I don’t
know what I’ve been told!
Land Mines (in
unison): I don’t know what I’ve been told!
Fatal: But we’re
gonna win a war today!
Land Mines: Hey,
that doesn’t rhyme!
Fatal stopped
his song and replaced it with a simpler “Left, left, left right left.” At the
same time, he tried to think of words that rhyme with “told.” Let’s see,
there’s “bold” and “sold” and “cold” and “mold…” not to mention “old…”
The land mine
next to Fatal tried to help him out.
“Um, sir, maybe
I can think of a marching tune,” it said. Then it sang, “I don’t know why I’ve
been orange!”
Fatal closed his
eyes, slapped his forehead, and yelled “HALT!” so loudly that his cigarette
fell from his mouth. Turning to the mine, he began to lose his temper.
“ORANGE? There is
no word that rhymes with orange! And even if there were, that song doesn’t make
any sense! Are you stupid or something?”
The bomb started
to whimper, then sob. In a few seconds, it broke down completely. Another land
mine patted it on the back and looked at Fatal scornfully.
“Now look what
you’ve done. You made Bubba cry.”
Fatal couldn’t
believe this. Really, he was beginning to question just how well he had planned
this attack in the first place. He tried to regain his complacency as he lit
another cigarette.
“Alright,” said
Fatal, “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Bubba. But from now on, you only talk when I
tell you to talk, and obey my orders! This is a strong army for strong land
mines, and I don’t like sissies. Remember, all I’m trying to do is help
everyone here out. You don’t want to go back to the Minesweeper board, do you?”
All of the mines
shook their heads.
“Good.”
Satisfied, Fatal was about to push forward when he heard two voices coming from
the other direction. It was a pair of ints, and they were moving toward the
monitor.
One was saying,
“Hey, Joey, do you think there’s something going on in the computer that we
don’t know about?”
“What do you
mean?” asked the other voice.
“I mean, why do
we have to carry this sign up to the monitor? I think the queen might be trying
to hide something from us, Joey.”
“Like what?”
“Like this guy
Fatal Error. Why, I heard that Error guy’s a real basket case. Legend has it
he’s an int, but he doesn’t like ints at all.”
“Oh, yeah. I
heard about that… he went insane when everybody he asked out to the prom turned
him down flat.”
“And then there
was that girl who ditched him. I still remember her last words to him: ‘Geez,
everything about you is byte-sized, isn’t it?’”
The two ints
started laughing hysterically. But as they looked straight ahead of them,
suddenly the joke wasn’t so funny anymore. Ninety-nine land mines were frowning
and blocking their way. In front, one mine was in the midst of patting a
sobbing int in a trench coat on the back.
“Look what you
did,” said the mine, who the rest of us know as Bubba, “You made Fatal Error
cry.”
Fatal raised his
head from his hands, pointed at the ints, and said in a weak, un-Fatal-like
voice, “Charge!”
Ints A and B
looked at each other with widened eyes, simultaneously said “Uh oh,” dropped
the sign, and ran as fast as they could back down the cable. The ninety-nine
bombs, who had all been briefed on the battle plan, hurried after them. But
their leader, Fatal Error, stayed behind. He took a moment to stop his crying,
and then he turned back to march up to the monitor. His bombs would take care
of the computer, but in order to detonate them, remember, there must be a
person to step on a land mine on the minesweeper board.
Again, Fatal
Error exercised that habit of his which we fanfiction authors find very
convenient for getting into characters’ thoughts: he started talking to
himself.
“Alright,
everything is going according to plan… or close enough, anyway. All I have to
do is go back to the Minesweeper board and step on the square in the top left
corner—that’s the square where I met that bomb earlier. But now the land mine
isn’t under the tile; he’s in the computer! And when I blow up the computer,
there’ll be nobody left to run it but me! Any survivors will become my slaves.
Not even the Human can stop me now!”
Oh, is that a
challenge, Mr. Error?
“What? Who’s
saying that?”
Do you really
think I’m going to let you win?
“Who ARE you?
What’s going on?”
For your
information, Fatal, this is a literary technique known as divine intervention.
All I’m saying is, do you really think you can beat the author of this story?
“Ha! Nobody can
beat me! Nobody, ya hear?”
Okay, Fatal,
have it your way. But when I end this story by chapter 10, don’t come
complaining to me that I didn’t warn you.
With that said,
Fatal went on his way, unaware that the undoing of his plot had already begun.
--
Angus DeFrag and
Brenda Presario were in high spirits, happy to see that such nice people—if one
could call them people—had set them free.
“Thank you so
much,” said Angus, when he had gotten the gag off his mouth.
The flag in
front of him did its best to bow politely, though it soon found that it was
stuck standing up straight, no matter how hard it tried to bend.
“Well, I’m glad
I could help you two out,” the flag said, “here in the Beginner Flag Squadron,
we don’t get too many visitors. The Human usually plays on the Expert level. He
rarely wins, but one has to give him credit for trying, heh heh.”
Brenda looked
about her. There were ten flags, including the one talking to them now, all
looking at them with a fixed gaze of curiosity. Then she realized something.
“Hey, wait a
minute, where’s Arrow?” she asked.
“Pardon?” said
the flag.
“You know, Arrow
the mouse. He was taken prisoner the same time we were. Where is he?”
“Oh, yes, the
mouse,” the flag remembered, “He didn’t belong here, so we sent him to a better
place.” The flag looked up to indicate the sky.
“WHAT?” the ints
both shouted.
“He’s back on
the monitor screen above us, running around and clicking as usual.”
The ints sighed
with relief.
Then Angus
thought to himself for a minute, and then asked, “Oh no, he’s not playing
Minesweeper, is he?”
“I don’t know,”
said the flag.
“Listen, Mr.
Flag—“
“Name’s
Bottleneck. I used to be on the Expert Squadron, but I pretended to be drunk to
get away from their squadron leader, General Herman.” Bottleneck shuddered.
“That guy gives me the creeps.”
“Mr. Bottleneck,
we can’t let the Human play Minesweeper. If he steps on even one land mine, the
entire inthole will explode! Fatal Error has been up to some bad tricks, and we
have to stop him.”
Bottleneck was
confused. “You have to stop Fatal Error, or do you have to stop the Human, or
do you have to stop Arrow?”
“All three,”
Angus answered.
Bottleneck and
the nine other flags huddled together and spoke in an inaudible whisper. When
they came out of the huddle, Bottleneck seemed resolved.
“Okay, we think
we know how to do it, but we would need some help from an intelligence official
in the computer, or the inthole, as you call it.”
Angus was
excited at this statement. “Okay, I think I can set up a line of communication.
Do you have a message center somewhere in the monitor?”
“Sure. It’s
upstairs, second door to the right. Or, in int terms, take the green wire up to
the second chip to the right.”
“Thanks,” said
Angus, “and Brenda, I want you to stay here for now. Don’t worry, I’ll be back
soon enough.”
Angus ran up the
green monitor wire as the flags and the int stayed behind, below.
Brenda looked on
hopefully. “Good luck, Angus,” she said.