Thursday, 21 April 2011

SAOS: Chapter Eight: Hacking, or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Windows

Nics left the wing feather stuck into the back of the vase of faded silk carnations that someone had decided would make the ladies room look a bit less depressing. It hadn't worked.

      The only vending machine that she could find was down the end of a very long and very dark corridor, lined with offices. It didn't sell chocolate, instead it appeared to sell hot cheeseburgers, spaghetti bolognaise, and very small bottles of beer. She wandered down many corridors, all of which seemed alike until she found herself back in the ER waiting room. There, in the corner a little old lady had set up a table on which was displayed a few packets of crisps and some chocolate.

      Chas sat staring at the table, practically drooling. His right arm was encased in plaster from the elbow to the fingertips.

      "Finally. Can we go home now?"

      "What did the x-ray say?"

      "Broken bone in my hand. Whole arm needs to be kept still. And the plaster doesn't half itch!"

      "You sure we can go?" she asked.

      "Yeah," he said, unusually subdued. "Please?"

      They took a taxi home, mainly because it was very late. The taxi driver was a man of Middle Eastern descent who played loud Arabic music and had a plastic air freshener in the shape of a banana hanging from his rear view mirror. The taxi's horn had been modified to play themes from "the Sound of Music".

      Just before getting into the taxi, Nics thought she heard the sound of dog nails on the concrete path. But it was only two women in unfeasibly high heels chattering at each other very loudly about what someone had said to someone else.

      Nics pushed open the front door and dislodged a small mountain of "sorry we missed you" cards that had been shoved through the letterbox. The house was dark and silent, Spud still wasn't back.

      She put the kettle on, poured boiling water on a herbal tea bag. She yawned loudly.

      "You go off to bed babes," said Chas. "I'm not tired yet, so I'm going to go play on Spud's computer for a bit."

      "But doesn't he not like people doing that?" mumbled Nics.

      "Spud?" called Chas. "Spud? If you don't want me to use your computer, then let me know now!"

      Silence. Nics yawned again.

      "You are evil, Chas. Have fun, I'm off to bed."

      And off she shuffled, both hands clutching her mug of tea.

      Spud's room was, not to put too fine a point on it, a complete and utter disaster. The bed in the corner was a nest of duvet, pillows and sheets, while clothes, papers and books littered the floor, covering it to a depth of several inches. The moulds on the dirty coffee cups were about to invent the wheel, and the strange fungi on the dinner plates were planning a war of extermination against the coffee cups.

      Chas crunched over all of this, not particularly caring where his feet landed in the mess. It took a while to find Spud's computer though, buried as it was beneath a pair of underpants and a torn Black Sabbath t-shirt.

      Chas excavated the computer with the aid of a rolled up magazine. No way was he going to risk touching Spud’s underpants. He hit the button, and the machine whirred to life, monitor flickering on with a hollow boing sound.

      They keyboard was buried under thirteen empty mars bar wrappers and a sock with a hole in the toe. Chas dumped it all onto the floor, where it mingled with the rest of the chaos.

      The operating system booted up with a satisfied sigh. A user login and password prompt appeared on screen.

      Chas scratched his head. He hadn't expected it to be password protected.

      As a name he typed in "Spud". For the password he chose in succession: beer, pizza, Budweiser, Top Gear, Ferrari, Formula1, Superman, coffee, fried egg, mango chutney, password, hippopotamus, playboy, ducks, socks, vertigo, tarantula, killer, Malloy, brain, woodpecker, chipmunk, hamster, waterfall, Porsche, car and motorbike.

      No joy, the password prompt just kept coming back. He looked around the room, looking for inspiration amidst the junk. It was then that he spotted the scanner. It had the squashed remains of a black banana sticking out of it.

      He reached over to open the lid, and knocked the keyboard into his lap. A yellow post-it note was stuck to the bottom. On it was three words, "Brian" and "secret agent".

      Chas typed them into the prompt and was rewarded with the desktop appearing. He was in.

      He nearly jumped out of his skin as a woman's voice came from the speakers in tones of silk and seduction.

      "Oh, Brian" it sighed. "I just love it when you turn me on."

      The wallpaper was a picture of a blonde with unfeasibly large breasts pouting at the camera in her underwear. Chas sniggered.

      He fired up the Internet browser and was off for a surf. Every time a popup window appeared with a "yes" or "ok" button that was pressed, the computer sighed in satisfaction. The error message was a petulant ouch, which amused Chas no end.

      "You sad, pathetic twonk," he said to the not present Spud.

      The popups and ads were coming thick and fast this evening, he realised. Every time he loaded a new page, three and four new windows would open, all irritatingly large and flashing.

      It took him a few minutes of furious window killing to realise that the ads weren't the usual "download free porn now!!" or "earn $$$ in your spare time" ads. There wasn't even any of the ubiquitous "shock the monkey and win!" banners.

      Instead, each and every one of the damn things was saying something like "Lockets wanted -  excellent prices!" or "Visit our online showroom! We buy and sell. Antique jewellery a speciality!"

      It got to the point where Chas's search request for the latest football results got hijacked into a  news article all about antique silver lockets that for some reason seemed to be fetching extremely silly prices when they were auctioned off in places like Sotheby's and Christie's.

      "Alright," he told the computer. "I get the sodding hint."

      And he went downstairs and got the locket out of Nics' bag.

      The computer purred in satisfaction.     

      He had just sat down with the locket in front of the computer again when he heard the familiar sound of a key turning in the front door lock.

      "Oh shit!"

      He frantically started killing popup windows, cursing at the amount of them. But they just kept on coming. He heard footsteps down the hall, and the creak of the kitchen door opening. And there were still more popups, getting more and more frantic in their messages. He ignored them, kept trying to close the Internet browser programme down. Until eventually in frustration he turned the whole computer off in exactly the way you're not supposed to - by hitting the off switch.

      He chucked a random t-shirt over the monitor, grabbed the locket and was out of Spud's room before Spud had got halfway up the stairs. Chas dove into the room he shared with Nics, and peeked out as Spud shuffled past, clutching a large mug that steamed slightly.

      Chas cursed to himself, he'd left the light on in Spud's room. But Spud was oblivious, he just opened the door and walked in. He'd lost the gerbil glued to his chin, but had acquired a long thin stick that he carried over one shoulder like a spear.

      Chas heard a muffled thunk, as if someone had just fallen face first onto the floor. The light stayed on, but the only other sound coming from Spud's room was a quiet but distinct snoring.

      He grinned. It looked like he'd gotten away with it. He put the locket onto his bedside table, and slipped into bed and dreams, in that order.

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