. . . 48 Hours and Counting . . .

Like so many before him on stake-out duty, Ray found himself nodding off when the moment finally came. He had had little sleep for the last three days, and it was catching up with him. His eyes closed, then opened, blinking, then closed again. Half-aware, he watched as another user logged on, Turtledove, this time. Then another, Vader was the handle. Vader logged off and Turtledove struck up a conversation with Whiskeydick, who seemed to have no life other than to chat-up anyone on this popular board.

After Whiskeydick and Turtledove got into an argument and broke it off when someone called Snowflake came onto the scene. It was a new user: ‘noob’ said the status line, rudely. Ray looked at the screen with one, half-open eye. His arms were crossed over his chest and he had sagged down into his chair. He wondered vaguely as he dozed if he was indistinguishable from the homeless crowd in the carrels.

Earlier a librarian volunteer had come around and asked if she could help him. That meant, he knew, she didn’t really want him back here in the side rooms, which were reversible, but normally kept locked. Leaning forward to hide his notebook computer, he had leered at her and told her he was doing just fine. Fortunately, she was the timid type. She had nodded, blinking rapidly, and hurried away. He had not been disturbed again, but he felt sure that he was under casual scrutiny now and then. Falling asleep on the job put him in the exactly the category he wanted to be in.

But it wasn’t finding Justin any faster. Using that thought and a deep breath to wake himself up, he touched the mouse. He clicked on Snowflake and brought up a window of more detailed information on the user. He watched as Snowflake performed several scanning commands of his or her own. Snowflake was reading mail, and since this was a new user, that meant Snowflake was reading the mail of others. Ray sat up, fiddled with the mouse further. The mail messages flashed up. Snowflake skipped directly to Santa’s mail and read it.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” muttered Ray, sitting up. Could this be the one?

Snowflake read the message Ray had sent hours ago to Santa. Two other patrons logged on, Foobar and Budha. Ray ignored them, watching Snowflake intently. All thought of sleep was gone now. His heart pounded as he watched the screen.

Budha moved to open a back-channel with Snowflake. Ray sucked in his breath. He glided the mouse up to the SNOOP button and he clicked on it.

Budha: I’m here.

Snowflake: Someone else is, too.

Budha was silent for perhaps ten seconds.

Snowflake: You still there?

Budha: How do you know?

Snowflake: I know. Someone’s made me on this system.

Budha: What’s the deal with the kid?

Snowflake fell silent.

Budha: hello?

Snowflake: fat fucking idiot

Budha: screw you too, man

Snowflake: Keep your typing neutral

Budha: You’re getting paranoid. I don’t think anyone is listening.

Snowflake: All right. We have to talk.

Budha: We ARE talking, man.

Snowflake: About your little software surprise.

Budha: Oh, that. I don’t think they’ve figured out about the eggs it’s been laying yet.

Snowflake: At least not publicly.

Budha: When do WE go public and save the net?

Snowflake: Maybe never. Things have gotten too hot.

Budha: Never? But the countdown is half-gone.

Snowflake: Don’t you think I know that?

Budha: It’s changing so much. The progression out on the open net... it isn’t the way I thought it would be.

Snowflake: Are you saying that you can’t stop it?

Budha: Maybe yes, maybe no. Depends on how far it’s mutated. The longer we go the worse it is.

Snowflake: All right then, put it out on the net here and there, anonymously if you want.

Budha: With no profit, then? Mission aborted, huh?

Snowflake: Right. Mission Aborted.

Budha: But if it’s too hot, I don’t want them somehow tracing me back.

Snowflake: Then do nothing, it’s the safest course for both of us.

Budha: But what about the net?

Snowflake: Let the whole thing burn. Nobody will trace anything after that.

The two of them broke the channel after that. Ray hurried to sat the log file of their conversation on his disk. Then he sat back in shock, rubbing his chin. There were so many unanswered questions. Budha logged off. Ray realized he was about to lose them both, not knowing what else to do, he jumped forward in his chair and clicked on Snowflake. He requested a private connection. He did it with his heart in his mouth, knowing that he had just revealed himself and his Foghorn handle.

Perhaps two minutes passed. Ray’s heart pounded. He watched Snowflake carefully, but the other didn’t log off. He knew that at some other computer somewhere, a blinking request was on the screen, like a phone that just kept on ringing and ringing. Finally, the request was accepted.

Snowflake: Who’s there?

Foghorn: Another user who’s too hooked on chatting to stop just ‘cause the big net is down.

Snowflake: Bullshit. Who’s there?

Ray paused, unsure how to proceed. At first, he thought he should pose as a student and try to chat-up Snowflake. Maybe he could garner a hint as to the other’s true identity. But now, he didn’t think that would work, Snowflake was too wary.

Snowflake: Scared, Vance?

Ray compressed his lips. This was challenge now, and he knew it. Snowflake felt invunerable, and was showing off. That was a clue in itself. He decided to take on a more aggressive stance. He would take on the personna of a hacker, a snoop to be sure, but not Dr. Ray Vance. The net was like a masquerade party where everyone’s costume was as perfect. The only thing that could give away a person’s true identity was in what was said.

Foghorn: I’ve been watching you for awhile, fellow hacker. Snowflake/Santa/elf-boy, whatever your handle of the day is, I like your predatory style.

Again, Snowflake fell silent. Ray would have crossed his fingers, but he dared not take them from the keyboard. He decided to prod further. Ray tried to think like Jake, to sound like him. It had only been ten years ago, and he had been Jake. Funny, how quickly time changed someone. He went on the attack.

Foghorn: Come on, Snowman! Are you scared? Do you think you’re the only one who ever talked big on the net?I know all about you already.

Snowflake: What do you think you know?

Foghorn: You’re male, for one thing. Too willing for a confrontation. Not playful enough for a female.

Snowflake: Your attempts have been commendable, but think I must go now.

Foghorn: Scared, Santa?

There was another pause.

Snowflake: Yes. And you should be too, Vance. Remember that ugliness, like beauty, is also in the eyes of the beholder.

The connection was broken. Snowflake had logged off. Ray sat back in deep thought. Now that he had played out his only firm lead, he felt near despair. Surely, Santa would never log onto this bulletin board again.

He didn’t even notice when the lights were flicked off and on again, signaling to all the patrons that the library was closing. It wasn’t until a single, light finger tapped his shoulder that he noticed the timid librarian. She snatched back her finger and furrowed her brow. She looked at him with the eyes of a postman who has found a big dog on the wrong side of its master’s fence.

“You’ll have to leave now, sir,” she said.

Ray nodded, gathered up his equipment, and walked out into the fading light of day with a stream of sleepy, homeless men.