track.” A smile crossed her lips. “She would tell a joke that made whatever troubles I faced seem silly, unimportant. That person, my best friend and sister can never be replaced. The whole family, they were all as unique as snowflakes, or flowers. Each bringing beauty and wonder to the world. But like all things living, god does not permit them to exist forever. We must continue, but without the beauty that was Cassandra, Hugo and Federica in our lives. We must continue without their support, their love, and their humor.” She stopped. Tears streamed down as her shoulders shook silently. Uncle Tomaso rushed to the dais to give her a handkerchief, but she waved him away. She raised her head. “You must know what is left,” she spoke. “They have left behind another son, forced much too suddenly to become an adult. His life shattered for reasons that no one can explain or justify. He must pick up and find a new path each day, mourning and yet needing eventually to forget his loss and continue a life that is still being formed.”
It took Dorian a moment to comprehend who that person was. Tears poured down his cheeks, splashing unnoticed onto his suit pants.
Dorian sat on the bed, sheets and pillows unmade, red hair stuck out in all directions. His eyes, red and dull from crying, glanced at the clothes strewn around the room. He could feel a desultory breeze slink in the window, doing nothing to cut the heat. It felt like he was in a sick bed.
“You need to come out. It’s time,” Aunt Claudia said, opening the door into his cave..
“No, I just want to sleep.” He lay down, closing his eyes and pulling the sheets up to his chin.
“I’ve booked you a ticket back to Boston. Your flight leaves tomorrow evening.”
“But.”
“It was too much to leave you here rotting in an over-hot room with only old pictures to look at. You’ve got to pick yourself up. You didn’t have a choice about what happened. But it’s also in no way your fault. God has left you behind to continue in this world, and continue you must. No amount of sorrow, or remorse will bring them back. Your life going forward will show what kind of person you are. It will be the legacy that Hugo and Cassandra will be known by.”
“I don’t want to.” They should have just killed him. That would have been better.
“I’m in pain as well, you know. But don’t make it worse by falling in a pit. It’s bad enough that three people are gone. Don’t make it four.”
“I just can’t.” He pulled the sheets over his head.
“Get dressed, I’m taking you out to buy some clothes.”
Dorian woke up, feeling clear. No sweat beaded on his forehead after the temperatures had fallen during the night. The weather had changed.
He showered, toweled himself dry and put on the clothes Auntie had forced him to buy. He couldn’t sit around wallowing in unbearable pain anymore. Not that knowing he needed to act could stop the random stabs to his heart that would nearly drop him to the ground.
He had to find these people. He had to figure out what was going on and put a stop to it. It was the only thing that mattered.
The plan wasn’t the best, but it was a start. First, he’d hide himself in plain sight because they’d probably want to kill him. He would take advantage of the Corriere’s poor reporting; from here on he’d be officially studying at the University of Bologna. Basically, if no one knew where he was, how would they find him? If he expanded on the Corriere’s mistakes, and amplified them, maybe he could redirect the killers’ attention to the wrong place. Who would disbelieve the reporting of the most respected paper in Italy?
He found his laptop, and went online, the plan solidifying. Within minutes he’d created a Facebook profile that placed him at the University of Bologna. Next he found a few mailing lists. Carefully, he registered and planted a number of postings connecting him back to the Facebook profile and to his parents and the University. After researching classes online, he’d casually mention he’d attended them on the mailing lists. He uploaded a random photo of someone he found on Flickr, hoping the killers didn’t have an up to date picture yet. A few Photoshop tweaks later, the random person’s photo couldn’t be recognized. Dorian posted the new picture to his profile, complete with hair color a dark brown rather than reddish. That should do the trick. Of course it wouldn’t withstand a serious background check, or even some photo analysis, but at least it corroborated what the newspapers had published. Hopefully it would be enough.
He packed his bags and went downstairs, gulping down the eggs and espresso that Aunt Claudia put in front of him.
“What have we here?” she said.
“You were right. It’s time to get going. I have to get back to Boston, and back to finding the killers.”
“Oh god. That’s not what I meant. Yes, go back to Harvard. Get your education. But please don’t chase these dangerous people. That’s what the police are for. Leave it to them.”
“But Auntie, the police don’t believe me on what happened. How can I trust them to do anything right?”
“Oh dear. It’s a bad idea darling. Trust me. A really bad idea.”
“I can’t. You said it yourself. What I do now is my family’s legacy. I can’t slink off and hide away in college. It was you who said it Auntie.”
“I know, I know. But not what I meant at all.”
“No, maybe not. That changes nothing, does it? Please support me in this.”
“You know I will always support you. But you must be careful. Very careful.”
Dorian sighed. “Yes, that is true.”
Dorian trudged through the already falling leaves to his Calculus A class, his mind soggy with lack of sleep while unable to stop racing through the events that had swallowed his life. Only entering the section room, high up in the Science Center, did he realize he’d forgotten to do the homework. With a shrug, he leaned down as he squeezed into a combination chair-desk, flicking a leaf off the bottom of his pure white sneakers. Why didn’t they have enough left-handed desks in here? It was a serious pain. Not that he was likely to understand a word out of the section lead’s mouth, so maybe there was no point in him being here in the first place. Shouldn’t English skills be a requirement? His own Italianish English was much better than his section lead’s Balkan mumble.
As the class wore on, Dorian’s mind drifted to the killers. He needed to get to them before they figured out where he was. Right now he didn’t have a clue who they were. Nothing. Dorian looked around at twenty-odd bored students. Had the killers already found him? Was his future killer sitting there? What was the chance of that?
He scanned the backs of heads, the sides of faces, the listing bodies and closed eyes. No one gave him any notice whatsoever. Probably not any of these people. He’d have to keep his eyes open to see if anyone acted funny.
As he shuffled out, Dave, another student turned his way. “Do you want to work on the problem set. I’m free tonight? Be glad to team up.”
Dorian almost said yes. He knew he needed help, but it was too dangerous. “No. I’m busy. Thanks though.” He couldn’t afford to put himself at risk right now. Strike that, he probably couldn’t put himself at risk ever.
“No problem. See you next class.”
“Yeah.”
Pixes
Dorian was tired. Tired of being on edge. Tired of keeping the killing of his parents secret from everyone at Harvard and the Deep Noders. Tired of searching every goddamn night for clues on the internet. Hunting forums, web sites, breaking into this server and that, all to find the killers. Nothing. No hints came up anywhere. And worse, he didn’t know where to look next. The police in Milan had nothing, and there weren’t any other leads. Everything totally quiet. Sometimes he’d wake in the middle of the night, thinking the last few weeks had all been a dream. But the world didn’t look right. His classes were still mostly blurs.
But fuck it, tonight Dorian would relax. It was time to upload a movie, compete with his friends. Maybe he could flush out the killers by getting back in the saddle, but mostly, he needed to do something different ton
ight, something fun.
A few hours ago, he’d gotten ahold of a just released DVD Screener of Superheroes: Going Nuclear, instead of one of those shitty, jerky handheld jobs filmed in some back alley theater. So much easier to grab once the movie had been released. Somewhere across campus, his server farm was cranking away at the DVD, turning it into beautiful pixes, shorthand for a movie ripe for uploading to the servers. Good pixes meant good movie quality so when people downloaded the flick, it’d look good. Well, to call it his server farm was a bit generous since these were computers he’d hacked into and taken over.
The best part of the whole thing was taunting his anonymous friends. And he loved his nickname: Code. He’d picked it up three years ago when he produced amazing pixes off a Cam screener, the jerky movie theater kind. He’d managed to clean up the video and the audio so it looked almost as good as a DVD Screener using software, or code, that he’d written. So they called him Code. And his code had been the best ever since, and therefore he almost always had the best code and the best pixes.
Code: I am good to go, all you little people.
70mm: We’ll see what you come up with, without your personal server.
Code: Don’t be worrin’ ‘bout me. I am so all over it.
nil8: Wicked smooth, bitches. Sly fly by. Don’ spect much from y’all. My pixes like Texas.
70mm: Wut? Pixes as big as all Texas? Hahahahah
nil8: No, dumb ass. Smooth as Texas crude. Best image you’ve ever see.
Dorian laughed. These were his people. He’d created a new and better algorithm that week when he should have been doing a programming class. It would help him win. Today Code would win again. Didn’t matter that he didn’t have a server anymore. Now the movie would be encoded that much faster, and the pixes would be that much better.
Dorian looked at his watch. Another few hours, and the encoding would be done. Then time for the download.
He walked into the bathroom, and took a shower for the first time that day. The headlines for the reviews had been predictable: ‘A Blast’, ‘Explosive’, ‘Superheroes: Going Nuclear will blow you away’, and so on. Dorian thought he could have done better had he written the reviews himself, but for sure the movie was going to be a popular one. Except for that one review: ‘a whole lotta fuse for such a teeny boom.’ The water from the shower slid off his head, warming his whole body. He could feel the tension seep out of his shoulders, and roll down the drain. Now I can have some food.
Dorian’s computer burst out Bohemian Rhapsody quite suddenly a few hours later, filling the dorm room with Freddy Mercury. Dorian rolled off his bed, feet thumping onto the floor. He jogged over to the computer, cutting off the music with one stroke.
Code: Initiating download, suckas.
70mm: Shit.
Striptz: Ever fuckin’ time.
He opened a secure connection, and started the transfer. Slowly, bit by bit, his beautiful pixes of Superheroes: Going Nuclear were copied over the internet. Dorian couldn’t help but watch the progress on his screen, watching the arrow move to the right and the numbers go up and up even though he knew that just like waiting for water to boil, file transfers were not speeded up by the watching.
Transfer: Superheroes.Going.Nuclear.XVid.DVD-Screener.[DeepNode].avi
From: cpmsci306x.harvard.edu To: fosft.destinez-shipping.tw
345608322 bytes completed {================----------------}
He was going to win, beating everyone else in the Deep Noders group, both for being faster, and having better pixes.
His eyes had started blurring from staring, when suddenly, the windows on his screen disappeared, including the one watching the transfer.
“What the hell?” he said.
Code: Is my download still workin?
Ruutor: Just check. No. U screwed.
Code: They must have caught on. That’s what I get for borrowing servers. Booted me off. Shit.
Ruutor: Look like.
Gaffer: My download’s ready. Sit back and lose, Code.
70mm: Good to be king!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Code: I won pixes. Ruutor, check the pixes that are there from the download.
Ruutor: Doin’ now.
70mm: Don’ matter 1 bit. I’m first. I’ll win. You can’t finish. No complete download. Only way prove pixes, bud.
Code: Fuck off.
Ruutor: What’s there is good. Code’s got good pixes, but only half a movie.
Striptz: 70mm’s right, Code.
Code: About what?
Early Bird: You gotta bring whole movie. Not a part to win.
70mm: Rules rulz!
Code: Bastards.
Striptz: Code, is everthing alright? You seem a bit out of it.
Code: No Striptz. I’m fine.
USER Code LEAVES CHANNEL
Dorian banged his fist on the computer. He stood up and threw himself onto his bed. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. It figured that he’d start losing now.
Peer to Peer
A few days later, the panic had mostly subsided. Andrea strolled into the office around ten, not eight thirty. A few loose ends needed cleaning up, but overall the release was now someone else’s problem. Rather than jump back into the SAP upgrade, Andrea logged into the accounting system to investigate Beehive. She spent the morning sifting through the minutiae of the accounts, the money flows and the related data.
Suddenly Marco stood over her desk.
“They’ve found Superheroes on the peer to peer sites. It’s available for download from a DVD Screener,” Marco said, leaning over Andrea’s cube. “Thank god we opened the movie already. I’d hate to have it come out before the national release.”
“Shit.” She pounded a fist on her desk, upset.
“I know. What a bitch.”
The studio had been worried for some time about movies coming out on the P2P networks before general release in movie theaters. Andrea wasn’t looking forward to the day it happened, and the stress they’d all be put under.
Marco looked at her screen. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing. The SAP upgrade.”
“Yeah right. Tell me that’s not Beehive.”
She hung her head sheepishly, then looked up at him sidelong. “I need a little excitement in my life. I was curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.” He frowned. Then smiled. “As long as you get your work done, I don’t care. And don’t piss anybody off. Anyway, I’m taking the afternoon off.”
“I’ll find out who posted it.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
She adjusted her chair and focused her mind to bring back her hacker brain. It was a fairly rusty part of the brain, since she hadn’t really broken into any servers since college. Though she did still have a server running at her old university that no one had ever found.
She opened a tunnel to that server to hide her tracks while avoiding the Melbox Movies firewall. From there she connected to a movie related IRC channel, a sort of chat service. She knew that by connecting with those extra jumps between servers that it would be tricky to track her down to her employer, which would have naturally made anyone pirating movies nervous. And likewise, she didn’t think Melbox Movies would be that keen for her to be traipsing around in piracy chat rooms.
She typed in her favorite handle: Bunny.
USER Bunny ENTERS CHANNEL
Squelch: hey bunny. where you been?
Bunny: tending to my hutch
Squelch: should tell you, that don’t nobody stop the chief
Early bird: shut your face
Squelch: Scrw u
Early bird: u want the glory but don’t do nothing
Squelch: It’s out there. We got it 13 hours 25 minutes
Bunny: well, nice to drop in on a battle. wut you arguing? rip of superheroes? so who won? doesn’t sound like you, sq.
Early bird: 70mm got it in 13 hours, 1 minute.
Squelch: wuz second
Early
bird: cuz Code lost his node
Squelch: wouldda done it anyway
Early bird: with your limp ass encoding. anybody watches that shit and gives up movies for life. too terrible, the pixes like…
Bunny: going now. too much to do. c u later.
Early bird: snow with a faint hint of picture. and your pixes. oh god the pixes. sub-normal no doubt
Squelch: bye bunny
Early bird: bye b!
USER Bunny EXITS CHANNEL
Andrea closed the IRC channel, her heart pounding. They are bragging. I had no idea. And they remember me.
She ran a program to break into CommuniGator’s servers. CommuniGater was a service that tracked the distribution of movies on the P2P networks. She had to hack in because the CEO of Melbox refused to pay for CommuniGator’s reports, claiming the company was promoting the trafficking in stolen movies.
At the CommuniGator reports console she queried Superheroes: Going Nuclear. The extent of the damage became instantly clear: thousands of copies had made it onto all the networks: BitTorrent, eDonkey, Kademlia, the usenet news groups, and some emerging networks she’d never heard of.
It made her wonder: how fast could she get a movie out there? Starting from a console over in the production wing, she could probably generate one with fantastic pixes in about two hours.
Would she ever do that, even though those guys really pissed her off? She hoped not. But, well, that’s probably exactly what she’d do if Melbox tried to fuck her over. Ha ha, she was powerful! For now…
IRC
The IRC application popped open a secure chat message onto his screen. That meant it was someone who didn’t want the conversation electronically overheard, just like a bank website.
ReeperG: I know who you are. Your sister screamed like a little bitch, and now you will too. You are scum and you know it.
Code: who are u? what do you want?
ReeperG: Stay away from your servers you little punk. You don’t, you die.
Code: But I don’t be doin’ anything.
ReeperG: I don’t have to spell it out for you. You know what you’re up to and I do too.
The connection ended.
“What the fuck was that?” Dorian splurted. That wasn’t what he had in mind. He’d thought some evidence would appear, not that they’d come right after him. Ok, but at least the guy was finding him electronically. That was something to be happy about. And if he’d really wanted him dead, why would he get in touch first?
“Would you pipe down, please?” his roommate said, not even turning from his desk.
“Sorry.” Dorian turned briefly to look over at his roommate’s back. Did he see anything? Ok, this was definitely what he’d been waiting for. With a few clicks he started up a program called Tracer, which he’d written to catch any incoming communication, including chats like this. With it, he could figure out exactly which machine had sent the chat, and thereby know exactly who was contacting him.
Tracer was one of dozens of little programs he used routinely to track and protect himself online. Next Dorian looked at all the other little pieces of evidence a message like this would leave behind, like the key IP addresses in