The Programmer

The Programmer

By

MP

March 19, 2006

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         The ambulance weaved through the evening rush-hour traffic on its way to the emergency room.
         “BP one-seventy over one-ten. Pulse one-ten,” The medic called out his patient's vital statistics over the radio to the waiting doctors. “Pupils dilated and unresponsive. ETA four minutes."
         The medics rolled Richard Alexander through the sliding glass emergency room doors at 5:17. His wife, Sarah, dashed through the same doors twenty-six minutes later.
         “Where’s my husband?” She pleaded with the receptionist, panting. “Richard Alexander. He was brought here a few minutes ago by ambulance.”
         “Let me find out,” The receptionist, a frail woman with pools of blue for eyes said calmly. She tapped on the computer keyboard in front of her. “He's undergoing tests. Sally? Can you take Mrs. Alexander back to seven?”

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         “What are you saying?” Sarah dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “That he may never wake up?”
         “Right now it's a waiting game,” Dr. Bill Vanjee let his clipboard rest on his lap. “Your husband is young, athletic, and otherwise in perfect health. I think that he will wake up. However, we will have to wait to see what lasting effects remain from the stroke. There’s a significant chance that there will be some loss of function due to the injury.”
         “So could he be paralyzed?”
         “Yes. That's a possibility,” Dr. Vanjee sighed. “Unfortunately, Richard had several of what we call mini-strokes. It was like a chain reaction. One small stroke caused another one, and so on. Quite rare. The residual effects could lie on the spectrum anywhere from no noticeable change in function on one end, to the polar opposite end, which includes the potential that he could die from the damage.”
         Sarah was quiet for a moment, her breathing shallow and quick. “When will we know something?”
         “The first twenty-four hours are the most critical. We have him on medications to lower his blood pressure and begin the healing process in his brain. We could see some improvement in twelve to eighteen hours.”
         Dr. Vanjee tapped his pen on his clipboard and sighed again.
         “Mrs. Alexander,” He began slowly. “I know this is a sensitive time, but the hospital requires that I ask this.” God I hate this part. “In case things don't go as we hope they will, do you know if your husband ever considered organ donation?”

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         Richard sat at the bay window watching squirrels munching on the ear of corn that Sarah had set out for them after she had brought his lunch. Richard liked his ham sandwich but he didn't like the bread crust, which lay in a pile on his plate. A housefly made several sweeping passes over the tray attached to Richard’s wheelchair before deciding that it was safe to land and sample the leftovers.
         “No, doctor,” Sarah held the phone with her shoulder as she poured a fresh glass of orange juice for Richard. “I haven't noticed any big changes. But sometimes he gets a look like he wants to say something. Then it just goes away and he goes back to staring.”
         “Well, keep up the physical therapy,” Dr Vanjee scribbled in Richard's thick file on the other end of the phone. “That will keep his legs from getting stiff. There is still the possibility that he could have significant improvement.” A very slight possibility. “And keep talking to him like you expect him to answer. Don't let him begin to believe that he's become just a thing. If he wants to talk, his brain may find a way to make that happen.”
         “Thank you doctor,” Sarah smiled wanly as she watched Richard from the kitchen. “I'll keep it up.”
         Richard watched the squirrels with a look of confusion and bewilderment on his face; a look that asked “What are those things? What are they doing?” The same look had been there every day for two months while he ate his lunch at the bay window.

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         “Thank you, Tom,” Sarah smiled as Tom Snow carried the last box past her and set it next to the others.
         “That's all of it,” Tom said.
         They stood for a moment looking at the boxes that represented twelve years of Richard's life. They contained the computer programming books and nick knacks that he had gathered while working at the Southern Life and Health Insurance Company.
         Richard had wedged his foot into the door at SLHIC (they pronounced it slick) just after he had graduated from college. He was reluctantly hired on as a help desk troubleshooter and had impressed his bosses with his knowledge and ingenuity. He jumped at the chance to move into their programming unit a few years later and had quickly worked his way through the ranks to become the vice president over technology solutions at slick. Jim Knowles, the CTO, was three months from retirement and had tapped Richard as his replacement.
         Then Richard had his stroke while playing racquetball with Tom.
         “So, how's he doing?” Tom asked, glancing toward the den where Richard sat watching the squirrels and eating his sandwich.
         “The same,” Sarah sighed and picked up a foam M&M from one of Richard's boxes. “But he did seem like he wanted to use the computer the other day.”
         “Really?”
         “Yeah,” She smiled weakly. “I was pushing him back to get ready for bed. When we went by the computer he looked over at it and then reached toward it. I was so excited. I thought he would be able to type out what he wanted instead of talking.”
         “What'd he do?”
         “Nothing,” She tossed the M&M back into the box. “He just sat and stared at the screen until the screen saver came on. Then he just watched the toasters flying around the same way he watches the squirrels.”
         “I'm sorry,” Tom sighed. “What does the doc say?”
         “The same there too. No promises either way. He could get better or he could stay like this.” Sarah watched Richard for a few moments. “I want Richard back, Tom.”
         “I know,” Tom put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. God, what if I had called the medics sooner? Would he be like this if I had called as soon as he hit the floor instead of just standing there gawking for Lord knows how long?
         “I mean, he's right there. But he's not. You know what I mean?”
         “Yeah, but I think he's still in there somewhere,” Tom leaned against the wall and glanced back at the boxes. “I miss him too, Sarah.”

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         “Okay Rich, it's bedtime,” Sarah wheeled Richard toward the bedroom. His head lolled from one side to the other as she turned corners. He's really tired tonight.
         As they passed the boxes of Richard's things, his eyes locked onto them. Sarah slowed and then stopped as Richard stared over his shoulder.
         “Do you recognize those things?” She turned him around to face the boxes and he stared into them. Suddenly he reached out with a grunt and a gurgle. Oh my God. “What is it? What do you want?” Sarah lurched at the boxes and grabbed what she thought he was reaching for – the M&M.
         “Is this what you want?” She rubbed it against his hand but he kept reaching toward the box on the end.
         Sarah dropped the M&M and grabbed the book on the top, “Programming in the Key of C#”, and held it up. “Is this what you want?”
         Richard reached for the book and gurgled. He took the book and hugged it against his chest like a paper teddy bear. He declined to allow Sarah to open it or take it from him, and even insisted on falling asleep with it clamped firmly against his chest.
         For the next few days the book stayed either on Richard’s lap or on a table within his reach. He would often hold it and stare at the cover; sometimes as long as an hour.
         On the following Wednesday, Richard ventured to open the book and began flipping the pages.
         “So, you decided to read it, did you?” Sarah asked, placing his lunch on the wheelchair tray in front of him. Richard made no response. She watched him thumb through the pages, stopping periodically and fingering a section of code.
         “You’d better eat your lunch before it gets cold,” Sarah said slyly. Yeah, your ham and turkey sandwich will get cold. Laugh, Richard. That’s funny. Just a chuckle. Anything.

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         Sarah was settled into her comfy chair listening to the rain falling through the trees and murmuring in the downspouts. She was deeply entranced by the new book she was reading, The Da Vinci Code, when Richard held his book out in front of him. He held it for a few moments and then he released it.
         The book hit the floor with a solid snap, the cover hitting the freshly waxed hardwood floor flat on.
         Sarah jumped, tearing the page she had been preparing to turn, and sat bolt upright.
         “My God, Richard,” Her heart thudded in her chest. “You about gave me a heart attack.”
         Richard stared ahead, his arm still outstretched, and began to gurgle, quietly at first, but gaining urgency with each passing moment.
         “What is it?” Sarah asked.
         Richard’s hand began to open and close, as if he was trying to grab something out of the air.
         “I hope we’re not going to start that,” Sarah got up and picked up his book from the floor. “Children throw their things on the floor and then want them back. Not adults, Richard.” She put the book in his hand and he turned it over. Richard looked at the cover, dropped it with a grunt, and reached out again, his fingers grasping in the air.
         Maybe he wants a different book. Sarah got another programming book from one of his boxes and placed it in Richard’s hand. He looked at the cover, smiled dimly, and began thumbing through it.
         “Had enough of the other one, huh?”

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         “Dig in,” Tom said as he came through the door with a plate full of freshly grilled hamburgers.
         He put the plate on the counter with the rest of the cookout fare and looked over his shoulder at Richard, who was typing away at his computer in the corner of the den.
         “How long has he been doing that?” Tom asked, taking a drink from his can of beer.
         “About three weeks,” Sarah glanced at Richard and went back to assembling a burger for him. “At first it was gibberish. But the last couple of days he’s been writing code.”
         “Really?” Tom dropped a bun on his plate.
         “He read through several of his programming books after you brought them from the office,” Sarah said. “Then one night he reached for the computer again. I pushed him up to it and he went to typing.”
         “I think that’s everything,” Peggy squeezed the ketchup bottle onto the already crowded counter.
         “Peggy, can you get me a replacement out of the fridge?” Tom dropped his empty can into the recycle bag.
         “Sure, hon.”
         “Do you know if any of the code works?” Tom asked, glancing back at Richard.
         “Some of it does. Most of it is gibberish code. Syntactically it’s correct, but it doesn’t do anything.”
         “Should I move him over here with us?” Tom asked.
         “No,” Sarah finished Richard’s plate. “I’ll just put it next to him. He’ll eat it when he gets ready.” Sarah smiled. “You know, it’s a little like the old days.”
         “How so?” Peggy dropped a burger onto her plate.
         “Well, he used to sit for hours in front of his computer programming and would ignore me completely. Whenever I’d ask him something, he’d just grunt at me.” Sarah picked up a glass of water for Richard and headed his way. “So, it makes it a little easier sometimes to imagine that he’s just ignoring me and it’s the good ole’ days again.”

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         “Tom?” Sarah’s concern came through the phone loud and clear.
         “What is it, Sarah?”
         “You need to come over and see what Rich has done.”
         “What do you mean?” Tom sat forward at his desk, concerned that Richard had hurt himself again.
         “Just come by after work,” Sarah said insistently. “Can you?”
         “Sure, I can come by.”

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         “Richard wrote this?” Tom asked as he watched the shapes on the computer screen flash and twist.
         “From scratch,” Sarah smiled. “Isn’t it something?”
         “Well, yeah,” Tom sat down in front of the computer and stared at the screen. “It’s a game. Right?”
         “Yes,” Sarah smiled and looked over her shoulder at Richard, who was carefully tearing the crust off of his dinner while the squirrels chased each other outside. “And it’s pretty fun to boot.”
         “How do you play?”

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         Tom had been playing Richard’s game for over an hour when the phone rang. Sarah was finishing the dishes in the kitchen and picked up the handset.
         “Hello?” Sarah answered.
         “Sarah, Tom isn’t still over there, is he?”
         “Uh, yes,” Sarah covered the receiver with one hand and leaned into the den. “Tom,” Sarah called out. “It’s Peggy. She wants you to come home for dinner.”
         Tom glanced at his watch. Holy cow. He strode over and took the phone from Sarah.
         “Sorry, Peg. I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’ll explain when I get there.” Tom hung up the phone and looked over to Richard, who had long since finished his dinner and was dozing away.
         “You know, Sarah,” Tom said. “You were right. It’s amazing.”
         “Yes, it is.”
         “Has he said anything or typed any messages to you?” Tom asked.
         “None. He’s spent all of his time coding that game.” Sarah sat down in one of the dining room chairs. “He covered every little detail in it, though. You know?”
         “I noticed,” Tom looked at his watch again. “I have to go, Sarah. But I want to talk some more about this. Can I come by tomorrow evening after work?”
         “Sure,” Sarah smiled.
         “How about if I get Peg to bring something and we can have a pot luck together?”
         “Yeah, that sounds great,” Sarah frowned. “I would enjoy the conversation.”
         “I know.”

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         “So, like I was saying,” Tom sipped his water and sat back. “The software rep said that they could handle everything – packaging, distribution, marketing – the whole works.”
         “And they’d send me a royalty check every month?” Sarah sat with her arms crossed, watching Richard eat.
         “Yep,” Tom smiled. “He seems to think it’d be a big hit. Especially with the younger crowd.”
         “So would we have to give up the rights over it or anything?”
         “No. You would sign a contract that would give them exclusive rights to market and distribute the game under their logo for two years. After that, it’s all over and you get everything back,” Tom smiled and raised his glass toward Sarah. “Plus the money you’ve made.”
         “Okay,” Sarah smiled. “Sign me up.”

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         “Half a million copies, Richard,” Sarah smiled widely and watched Richard turning the royalty statement over in his hand. She had considered letting him look at the check, but he had recently developed the urge to eat paper, so she had opted for letting him look at the statement instead.
         “Can you believe that in the last three months half a million people have bought your game, Rich?” And they paid good money for it too. And that money will be very good for us. I was beginning to wonder how we were going to make it after your disability ran out.

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         “Sarah,” Tom’s voice had a tone of concern.
         “Yes?”
         “We have a major problem. Can I come by after work?”
         “Um, sure,” Sarah could hear his concern but was afraid to ask for details. She knew from his tone that he would have insisted on waiting until they were face to face before he told her anything about what was going on anyway.

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         “Tell me what’s going on,” Sarah pleaded as she shut the door behind Tom.
         “It’s Richard’s code,” He looked around and located Richard. He was sitting in his usual place at the bay window, although there were no squirrels playing in the cold afternoon rain for him to watch.
         “What’s wrong with it?”
         “They think there’s some kind of worm planted in it,” Tom whispered.
         “What!”
         “A web site published a study on it that states that they suspect that it’s a Trojan horse.”
         Sarah stared at Tom in disbelief. “What do you mean ‘they suspect?’”
         “Well, that’s the thing. Richard’s code is very complex and is very tight. There’s no white space whatsoever in the source. Since it all seemed to work perfectly, no one ever went through it to figure out exactly what it did before they packaged it for marketing.” Tom sighed and crossed his arms. “This web site took the executable and reverse engineered it into a pseudo language that they could read. But the problem is, they’ve found that for every twenty lines of code, only one is ever executed.”
         “What does that mean, Tom?”
         “It means that Richard put in a huge amount of code that doesn’t do anything. He may have a decision stream with twenty different possibilities laid out but only one is ever actually run. In traditional virus detection that usually signals that someone is trying to hide a worm or virus in the tangle of useless code. It’s used to keep people from being able to decipher what’s going on until it’s too late.”
         “And they think that Rich hid a virus in his game?” Sarah looked over at Richard. “Why would he do something like that?”
         “Why would he write a computer game at all?” Tom sighed. “Maybe something about the stroke turned him toward programming something harmful. I don’t know, but when word of this gets out, people are going to come after him. And that includes the police.”
         “Oh my God, Tom,” Sarah collapsed against the wall. “What do I do?”
         “Well, right now we aren’t sure that there’s even a virus. They’re still reading through the code to see if they can make heads or tails of it. But there are millions of lines of code; most of which seem to be dead ends. Once they figure out something for sure, I’ll let you know.” Tom looked into her eyes as they began to fill with tears.

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         Sarah grabbed the phone halfway through the first ring.
         “Hello?”
         “Sarah,” Tom’s voice was strained. “They just called. They found a date trigger.”
         “Oh, God. When is it set for?”
         There was silence for a few moments before Tom replied. “Midnight tonight.”
         “Oh, Tom, are they sure?”
         “About the trigger? Yes. But they still don’t know what it will do.”
         “Can I set our computer’s date forward and see?” Sarah looked across the room to their computer and felt a wave of dread come over her.
         “I tried that,” Tom sighed. “He’s got some kind of internal clock that keys from something else. I don’t know how, but it always knows what the real time is.”
         “So we just wait?”
         “Yes.”

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         Midnight came and went with Sarah and Tom watching the computer screen anxiously. Peggy had fallen asleep on the couch and Richard was sleeping soundly in his bed. Nothing seemed to be happening.
         “Check the files,” Sarah said over Tom’s shoulder. “See if it’s deleting anything.”
         “Nope. Everything’s still there,” Tom sat back and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Maybe it was all part of his game.”
         “What do you mean?”
         “Maybe Richard coded it that way to give everyone a big scare,” Tom smiled. “Maybe he wanted programmers to head off on a wild goose chase. Maybe he got a kick out of thinking about what they’d have to go through to decipher what he had written.”
         “I don’t know, Tom,” Sarah sat down in her comfy chair. “I have the feeling that something’s up.”

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         Tom and Peggy left just after three in the morning. They had decided that nothing obvious was going to happen.
         “We’ll just have to see what they find out after they read through all of those lines of code,” Tom said as he headed out the front door.

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         “Ready for lunch?” Sarah asked as she sat Richard’s plate down on his tray.
         A moment later the computer beeped in the corner. Richard looked over his shoulder at the computer and smiled.
         “I guess I was so tired I forgot to turn it off last night,” Sarah smiled weakly and walked over to it. She stared at the screen for a moment. “Richard?” She looked over her shoulder at Richard and back to the screen. Richard was smiling widely now and began to gurgle at her.
         On their computer screen and on computer screens across the world, the words “I LOVE YOU SARAH” were printing randomly in various colors, filling up the screen in a kaleidoscope of colors and fonts. People had stopped working in office buildings and in their home offices as their screens filled with the pronouncement. Cell phones were ringing with their caller ID flashing “I LOVE YOU SARAH”. Stock ticker scrolling banners dispensed with stock prices in favor of Richard’s message. News tickers stopped ticking the news and echoed the sentiment. Weathermen could only describe the weather as the pronouncement of love flashed behind them.
         “Richard?” Sarah stared for a moment and then it struck her. She looked at Richard in disbelief. “Today's our anniversary.”

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