Chapter 25 Eye Pi
Tyke sat in front of a blossoming bank of computer monitors in an unfinished 18x24 industrial-looking room. He read something on the screen then snickered in a condescending tone at the ignorance of the average guy who posted on his forum. He had no experience thinking like an average guy. Tyke was his screen name when he’d halted half the NYC transportation systems to impress a cheerleader when he was fifteen. He still had never dated a cheerleader in his mid-twenties, but he had spent time in a federal penitentiary, and was then recruited to create computer security devices clever enough to fool people like himself.
In his free time he ran a public Internet forum – IF – where geek-speak was the currency with which respect was bought and sold. It was the place where Tyke was the richest man in the world. The place where tech-heads of all shapes and colors posted questions about technology ranging from the Apollo Program era to the nanotechnology boom that Tyke predicted would destroy the world before anyone had much of a chance to enjoy it. His theory was that the moment that people could fit a nuclear powered device into a box of crackers – people would no longer trust snacks. Since snack foods were necessary for the sustenance of all of those who understood technology, there would be a mass starvation of nerds. Then the nanos would battle the regular people for the dominance of the planet. But a planet without ding dongs would be hard to fight for, so Tyke favored the nanos in the final confrontation, unless Patrick Stewart happened to still be alive.
Tyke’s fingers rattled across the keyboard typing a snotty response to a question about the proposed resolution of the new HD3 chip shipping to DILA projector makers in the fall. “Questions about resolution are about as interesting to me as what my shrink says to my problems with authority, but. . .” then he went on to answer the technical question in mind-numbing detail. Tyke conservatively estimated that he typed 120 words per minute, but he distrusted measuring devices and would only estimate.
The phone rang – his ponytail flipped in counter motion.
“Tyke’s Crib.” He said into the receiver.
Legacy was on the other end. “Stanley?”
“You bitch, don’t you ever call me that, my momma calls me that and that’s all. You’re trying to piss me off, you must want something.” Tyke liked to consider himself a badass in the mold of Samuel L. Jackson over the phone.
“You’re the only guy I know who can handle this.” Legacy replied.
“I’m the only guy who can handle most things – my skill set pisses off impossible.” He shifted his frame in his ergonomically designed mesh-backed chair.
“Is that why you’re sitting at home in a faded NAB t-shirt, answering questions about projector settings in the middle of the day?”
“You posted that question? You dog, you know I hate questions about optics.”
“And you can’t lay off of them because you’re fascinated with your own weakness.” Legacy liked that about him, “Look, I need something done fast.”
Legacy and Tyke had worked together at the NSA for a short stint. They had a kind of kindred bond because everyone treated them as a unique commodity. They’d played chess at lunch for almost a year, until Tyke lost a game and vowed never to talk to Legacy again. It was a part of their relationship that always seemed to crop up right about this time in the conversation.
“How did you beat me?” Tyke demanded.
“That was ten years ago, are you still thinking about that?” Legacy of course knew that he still was.
“Tell me, just tell me if you cheated and I’ll do anything you want.” Tyke jacked into his headset and paced in front of the screens. Legacy made him wait for the answer.
“I cheated.” He finally said.
Tyke danced around the room like he’d just won the lottery. On a side note, he had won two separate grand prize lottery drawings and no one had ever been able to prove fraud. “I knew it. How did you do it?”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.” Legacy could practically feel the blood draining from Tyke’s face. He knew that years of his free time would be reliving the terms of the agreement they’d just struck. Tyke returned to the conversation in a grudging tone.
“I can figure it out, now that I know.”
“That’s strange because I was working under the impression that you’d assumed that I was cheating over the last ten years, and you still hadn’t figured it out.” Legacy twisted the knife deeper, as Tyke contorted in silent pain. “I need to know how to get every TV channel in the country playing on my TV. What do I need?”
“You’re going to have to go old school, band 2 broadcast satellite with a rack set of decoders – and you still wouldn’t be able to get HBO. Why? What are you thinking?”
Legacy wasn’t ready to spell out everything – there was only one person who needed to know what was in his head.