CHAPTER 2: Paradise Lost

Bob was on his way to the laboratory when it hit him. "Spam," he cursed under his breath. He had forgotten his briefcase at his apartment. Inside were the code sequences he had worked out with Dale and Otto the night before. This morning's experiment would depend on those equations. Quickly he turned around and started to retrace his path on his zip-board.

The Supercomputer was already running at full capacity. He had almost forgotten what life here was like. It was much more fast-paced, and he often longed for the slower, quieter life he had left behind in Mainframe. That wasn't all he craved, though. He had left behind something much more precious in Mainframe, and even though it still beat in his chest, with each passing second it felt as if it had been ripped out.

As he soared though the air, he gazed out over the entire system. The landscape seemed to extend for as far as he could see. Ahead of him was the residential sector where most of the Guardians based in the Supercomputer lived. To his immediate left a few miles away was the Guardian Academy. The entire campus occupied a sector by itself. The four main towers formed a quadrangle, inside of which were the main lecture halls and laboratories. Directly behind him was Central Command, its large towering structure rising high into the sky. The sky was its usual dark purple, and the Energy Sea glowed its habitual orange.

He entered the airspace of the residential district and landed at the designated zone. From here he stepped into a teleportation unit, a cubicle slightly larger than a public telephone booth, and entered the address number of his apartment. Instantly he was transported to his place of residence.

Bob looked around his house, trying to find his briefcase. He impatiently asked Glitch for the time and doubled his efforts after seeing that it was after 0900. He was already late. He banged his shin against the living room coffee table in his rush to find his missing case. He tried to ignore the pain and finally found it sitting in a chair in the kitchen.

He grabbed it quickly, returned to the teleporter unit in his house, and beamed himself back to the residential sector's departure zone.

Returning to the Supercomputer had not been Bob's idea, but it seemed like the best move given the circumstances. The day of Kevin's departure from Mainframe had pretty much sealed it. Dot had been avoiding him ever since the Guardian response team returned to the Supercomputer with Megabyte in a suspension chamber. Numerous times he tried to get her to talk to him, but she isolated herself constantly. She was rarely seen at the diner anymore, locking herself up in the Principal Office. Finally, on the second Kevin was leaving, Bob cornered her on her way to the War Room. He recalled their conversation with perfect clarity because it was the last conversation they had.

"You can't just keep avoiding this, Dot. We need to talk," he said.

"No, we don't," she said icily. "Look, we both know this is going nowhere. So why don't we both just forget about this and move on?"

"Dot, you're not making any sense. How can we 'just move on' without talking about what happened?"

"What happened was my fault," Dot said. "I'm willing to take responsibility for my actions, and that includes setting up some parameters for us."

"Parameters? What kind of parameters?"

"We're just friends, Bob," she said, her voice clear and unwavering. "Friends and nothing more."

Bob just stood there in silence for a nano, and let her words sink in. "Just friends?" he asked.

"That's right. Can you do that for me?"

His answer was immediate. "No. No, I can't. You and I both know that this whole thing is just your way of punishing yourself for what happened. You feel more for me than just friendship, and you know it."

Dot suddenly became enraged. "Where do you get off telling me what I'm feeling?" she shouted.

"Because I know you, Dot," he answered back in equal volume. "You walk around with the weight of the Net on your back and a chip on your shoulder the size of Mainframe. You're the mighty Commander Dot Matrix, fearless leader. But you are afraid of something, Dot. You're afraid to be happy. I know because you can't seem to make up your mind about where we stand."

"There is no 'we' or 'us.' There's only you and me. Separate. Understand? If you can't understand that then maybe you should go."

For the longest time they just stood there, staring at each other, looking for some sign of change in the other. Both knew each other well, and realized that there would be no compromise. It could only end one way.

"Why are you doing this, Dot? For once, why can't you just let go and let yourself be happy?" Bob's voice had lost its edge. Dot was glad. Having him yelling angrily seemed unnatural.

"I can see that we're not going to get anywhere," she said. "I've made my decision. Either you respect my choice, or we can just keep avoiding each other. So what's it going to be?"

There were another few moments of silence. Then Bob said, "Turbo's contacted me about a position in the Supercomputer. It involves testing some of my theories about reprogramming viruses." Dot continued to listen, showing no emotion. "It would require turning over the official Guardian position over to Matrix, so I could go live in the Supercomputer."

"Have you given him a decision yet?" she asked.

"Not yet. I have until the end of next cycle to give him an answer."

Dot nodded. "Then I think you should take him up on it," she said.

Silence again.

"Okay," Bob said at last. "I'll inform Turbo later today."

That was it. Nothing else was said between them for the remainder of Bob's time in Mainframe. Kevin had returned to his world, and life went on as normally as possible in Mainframe. He honestly hoped to see Sawyer again one day, but realized that possibility was incredibly small. Time moved much quicker in cyberspace than it did in the users' universe. He had heard Kevin discuss the possibility of overcoming that difficulty with Professor Matrix, but hadn't heard if they had made any headway in that area.

AndrAIa, Matrix, and Enzo had helped him pack his belongings. The little sprite was more than saddened by Bob's leaving. He was absolutely depressed. He begged Bob to stay, pleaded, and appealed to him in every way.

Still, Bob continued with his decision.

"But Dot will come around, Bob," Enzo said one second. "She's still upset over the whole Megabyte ordeal."

"I have to leave, Enzo," Bob told him. "I think she might feel better if I go."

"That's eight-bit!" he shouted. "You two are perfect for each other. If you'd stop being so basic you'd see that."

"It's not me, Enzo," said Bob. "Dot needs space. Particularly, the kind that doesn't have me in it."

"But you're in love with her. You can't just leave."

Bob paused from his packing and regarded the young sprite with soft eyes. "I do love your sister, Enzo. But she might not love me, and that's why I have to go. As long as I'm here she can't make up her mind about what she really wants."

Enzo clenched his fists and stared at him angrily. "You promised you would never leave her again," Enzo said. "What about that?"

Just when Bob thought his core-com couldn't sink any lower, it did. No, he hadn't forgotten, but Enzo's cutting tone made his stomach turn to ice, and he felt sick.

"I remember, Enzo," he said quietly. "I haven't forgotten that."

Apparently realizing what he had just done, Enzo sank into a bout of crying. He just stood there in the middle of Bob's apartment with his head tilted toward the floor, his baseball cap obscuring his face. A few stray tears landed on the carpet, and Bob knelt in front of the little boy.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way, Enzo," Bob said.

Enzo ran his hand under his nose and dried his tears as he looked Bob in the face.

"What am I supposed to do, Bob?" asked Enzo, still sobbing. "You... you've been like a dad to me ever since I was 00. You're my hero."

Bob pulled Enzo to him in a tender hug. The little boy hugged his neck tightly, as if he were afraid to let him go.

"Enzo, I want you to know that I have always thought of you as a son, and that I'm very proud of you."

Another set of tears leaked from Enzo's eyes. "I love you, Bob," Enzo said.

"I love you too, Enzo."

It had been a hard transition. Everyone in Mainframe seemed to take his departure hard. Their hero, who had been with them for five hours, who had defended them time and again against countless threats, was leaving, perhaps for good. There was a lot of gossip over the whole thing. One theory about his reasons for leaving was because he was still sore over being rejected by Dot at the wedding. Another popular belief was that the Commander had a new lover in another system, and Bob was leaving out of jealousy. Only a few people knew his real reasons, and were quite fine with keeping the information to themselves. The rest of the populous could believe whatever they wanted to believe. It was none of their business.

So Bob left Mainframe, leaving Matrix in charge. Good-byes were brief but heartfelt. Everyone felt a sense of loss. Dot had not been there when the portal formed on the portal generator atop the Principal Office. Turbo had come to personally escort his new Director of Viral Research to his post. With one last wave Bob turned and entered the portal, his family bidding him a fond farewell.

So now here he was, almost a minute later, running late on possibly the most important second of his career. As he accelerated to the zip-board's maximum velocity, the air whipping across his face, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. If this experiment worked, his theories on viral reprogramming could finally be proven.

Central was buzzing with activity. As Bob marched hurriedly across the main lobby, he noticed a definite air about the place. He noticed people glancing at him momentarily, then looking away again. His reputation for radical thinking was legendary in the Supercomputer. Hexadecimal's transformation had proven that viruses could be reprogrammed. The fact that she sacrificed herself to save the entire Net validated Bob's claims that reprogramming viruses could be accomplished.

Turbo had taken the whole thing under serious consideration for the first time after Daemon. He brought it before the Guardian Council and started an official investigation into the practical applications of viral reprogramming. They decided that further research needed to be conducted, and that Bob should lead an experiment to validate his claims further.

Today was his shining moment. So far they had been unsuccessful at duplicating the conditions of Hexadecimal's metamorphosis. These new code sequences promised to change all that. Bob was confident in his team. It would work; he knew it would.

After catching a turbolift to Section Q, he finally arrived at his department. He entered the laboratory and was greeted by Dale Watts and Otto Maddox, his only coworkers. Dale was a programming specialist. He was about five feet, eleven inches tall with a pleasantly doughy face, orange hair, magenta skin, and he wore the regular duty uniform of the Guardians. Otto was as tall as Bob. He had a reptilian physiology, with green scales over his body, three digits on each hand, and yellow eyes. He walked upright but had the ability to modify the structure of his legs to mimic a kangaroo. Despite his ferocious appearance, Otto was one of the gentlest sprites Bob ever met. He was a medical officer and wore the white uniform indicative of his station.

"You're late," said Dale. "What happened, forget your briefcase?"

"Yeah," said Bob as he sat the silver briefcase on a nearby computer table. "I was on my way here when I'd left it. I'm not too late am I?"

"Not really," replied Otto, his voice deep and monotone. "There were some problems in the detention center this morning so we've had to wait."

"What kind of problems?" asked Bob.

"Your boy Megabyte tried to escape," Dale said.

"What?" Bob exclaimed. "He was today's subject?"

"'Was' being the operative word," explained Dale. "They managed to stop him before he even got out of the cryo-tube."

"What happened?" Bob asked.

"They were transporting him here when an overload occurred in the life support system," said Otto. "They made an emergency run back to the detention center to reconnect the tube to the central power net before his neural functions became critical. Apparently he managed to overload the life support on purpose and tried to break out when they reconnected him to the center's power grid."

"He got an energy boost, didn't he?" asked Bob.

"He did," Otto continued. "It wasn't much, but it gave him enough power to infect the tube and unlock the containment field. Luckily, the fail-safes you installed on the tube locked him out and gave him a sizeable electrical shock. He's a vegetable again, but somehow I don't think this will be his last attempt."

"It won't be," Bob said with finality. "He'll keep trying. I'll just have to keep thinking one step ahead of him. Were all the personnel in contact with him scanned?"

Dale said, "I went down there personally and used the new neural-somatic scanner on all of them. Megabyte evidently didn't even have a chance to use his shape-shifting abilities."

"Good," he said. "Have detention send us updates on his medical status every two milliseconds. I want to make sure he's not going to pull something else."

"I don't get it, Bob," said Dale. "I know how you feel about deletion, but if this virus is as dangerous as you say he is, why not just do it to be on the safe side."

"Megabyte is part of the original experiment I conducted in Mainframe. He's important to our research here. If I can turn him, we can turn any virus."

A computerized chime rang from one of the consoles in the lab. Otto stepped over and inspected the alarm. "The new subject is here," he said. "His name is Sasser. They're bringing him up in a containment unit now."

"Alright, then," Bob said. "Let's get ready to rock and roll."

The lab was similar in design to a medical bay. It had a metal examination table with several control stations positioned around it. It could also function as a rudimentary chemistry lab; a table in the corner was set up with an elaborate chemistry apparatus complete with Bunsen burners and beakers and flasks filled with various substances. Opposite the entrance, across the room, was a large metal door which served to accommodate the extra bulk of a Virus Containment Unit.

The blast door opened, and a team of four heavily armed Guardians escorted the virus named Sasser into the lab. The VCU was basically a metal slab with restraints attached by an arm to a remote controlled, anti-gravity propulsion system. The virus was confined in a straightjacket manner, his arms hugging his chest and his legs bound together at the ankles. A face mask covered his mouth, and only his angry, pupil-less eyes could be seen. They were inky black. If he didn't know any better, Bob would say Sasser didn't have any eyes at all.

The VCU came to a halt in the middle of the room and the blast door closed.

"So what's this guy's story?" asked Bob.

Otto began to read Sasser's file where he had accessed it from the terminal. "Sasser. Inmate Number 2313974. Arrested on charges of hacking into secure Net systems, infection, and deletion. Threat level: Class 5."

"You fellas sure can pick 'em," said Dale. "We specifically asked for Class 3s or lower."

"This guy's been on the deletion roster for a minute. You want him or not?" asked one of the guards roughly.

Dale turned to Bob. Bob nodded and walked over to the control station closest to the table.

"Put him on the examination table please," said Bob.

The four guards complied, uncoupling Sasser from the VCU. They shuffled him over to the table where they restrained him again.

"What's with him?" asked Dale. "I thought he'd be resisting or something."

"We had to trank him on the way over here," said one of the guards. She was female from her voice, her helmet hiding her face. "He's still stunned from the shock."

Bob listened with a minimal amount of interest. He was busy loading the new code sequences into the splicer.

"So what exactly do you people do here?" asked the female guard.

"We're testing some new theories on viral reprogramming," Bob said. "We're attempting to repress the sections of their code responsible for aggressive behavior."

"And how exactly would you do that?" she asked.

Bob continued to explain as he worked. "We're going to give Sasser an icon with specially designed PID codes. The codes contain a virus scan which will alter the rudimentary functions of his programming. We're trying to target the specific codes that make a virus predatory and violent and replace them with codes that will give him a sense of morality and conscience."

"So you're essentially trying to turn him into a sprite," reasoned the guard.

"That's right," Bob said, looking up from his console.

"Have you ever been successful?" she asked.

"Only once," he said. "A virus in the system I was assigned to became a sprite after a drop in her energy levels. I'm hoping to duplicate the same conditions here in the lab." The console beeped. "The codes are loaded up. We're ready to begin."

Dale and Otto took their stations. Dale opened a container holding the icon. He walked over to the table and placed it on the virus's chest. It locked on to his body, and Dale stepped back.

"Icon is in place," Dale said.

Otto monitored the interface of new PID code with the virus. "The new code seems to be integrating smoothly. Energy readings are stable."

"Okay," Bob said. "I'm about to download the new code sequences into his icon." He entered a few new commands into the terminal, and a laser input device lowered itself from the ceiling above the table. He targeted the icon and pressed the activation button. A beam of yellow light hit the icon, transmitting the vital codes into the virus.

"New codes are being accepted," said Otto. "Energy levels are still within normal limits."

The beam cut off and retracted away.

"Alright. So far so good," said Bob. "Begin phase two."

Slowly, Otto began to lower Sasser's energy levels. This was the tricky part. They had to be extremely careful not to reduce the energy level so low as to kill him. As the indicator dropped, the pauses between beeps of the core-com monitor began to grow. Because he had transfinite power limits they would have to take him down extremely low in order to get the virus scan to detect the viral code. The pauses between beeps became longer and longer until finally an alarm went off.

"The scan is active," said Dale. "The new codes are isolating the targeted data structures."

The icon was glowing with white light and spinning rapidly.

"It's working," Bob said. "The code is being replaced."

Abruptly, the icon stopped and Sasser became suffused with white light.

A few moments later, Dale and Otto were scanning Sasser with medical scanners to make sure everything had worked.

"His vitals are strong and stable," said Otto.

"I'm showing no viral code in his body at all," reported Dale. "The new codes have integrated themselves into his data structure."

Slowly, Sasser opened his eyes. Instead of the black orbs that had been there before there were now two eyes with pink irises surrounded by white.

"Bob," Dale said with amazement. "It worked. You did it."

The words echoed in Bob's mind. For the first time in a minute he smiled to himself, a hopeful, gratified smile.

Danny Fletcher entered Martin MacDonald's luxurious office. Located on the top floor of OmniCron Corporation's Los Angeles headquarters, the philanthropist CEO had an amazing view of the city atop the ninety-story building.

MacDonald was a middle-aged man with hollow cheeks and pointed noise. His dirty blonde hair was curly near the bangs and distended in the back. He looked up from his computer as Fletcher approached.

"Well, do we have anything yet?" asked MacDonald.

"Yes, sir," replied the lab coat clad technician. "We've just made a scan of the Sasser virus we released a few minutes ago. It indicated a modification in its core programming."

"What kind of change?"

"It almost isn't the same program any more. Most of the original codes have been replaced with new ones. It's been rendered completely harmless."

"Then it seems the Guardians have succeeded in their little experiment," MacDonald said. "Where was the virus's location?"

"The Pentagon mainframe."

"Hmm," hummed MacDonald. "It seems we may need to move our timetable up slightly. Is Pythias ready?"

"He's reached the limit of our computer's capacity to evolve him. At this point he's just as capable as Daemon, but since he's been denied a function, he really doesn't know what he is."

MacDonald lapsed into deep contemplation for the next few seconds. Then he turned back to Fletcher and stood up from his chair.

"I think it's time we let our newest creation out of the mainframe for a while, just to see how he performs. Have the device ready for me. I'll see to it personally."

Fletcher immediately turned and walked out of the office. MacDonald walked over to the minibar across from his desk and filled a glass with a little brandy. He sipped the brown liquid and swallowed, feeling the hot alcohol run down his throat and into his stomach.

The Guardians are getting smarter, he thought. He took another sip of brandy and tried to order his thoughts. Pythias was still only a child compared to Daemon. He certainly couldn't let him loose over the Net yet, but he did need training of some kind if he was ever going to prove his worth. MacDonald emptied his glass, set it back down, and left his office. He turned left down the adjoining hallway and came to an elevator. He pressed his thumb to the print scanner on the right of the door and it opened immediately. He stepped inside and entered a five digit code onto a number pad on the left and moved his face in front of the retina scanner recessed just above the keypad. The doors closed, and he felt the lift begin its decent.

OmniCron Corporation started in 1996 as a small software development company and quickly grew into one of the largest software distributors in the world thanks to the guidance of its founder and CEO, Martin MacDonald. Recently, it released an operating system that rivaled Windows in both operability and security. Their product was deemed so reliable that the Defense Department offered them a billion dollar contract for an exclusive operating system. All this and more had propelled OmniCron straight to the top.

Little did the public know that not only was OmniCron a producer of the world's most secure software, but it was also producer of the world's most notorious viruses.

The elevator came to a halt and opened into the secret laboratory beneath OmniCron. MacDonald stepped into the hallway and walked to the other end where there was another metal door with a keycard reader. He inserted a plastic card into the reader from the breast pocket and the door slid to the side with the hiss of vacuum.

The other side was a large room the size of a high school gymnasium. It was filled with towering mainframes connected to a central tower that rose eight feet high. The tower was the central hub for the computer. It was the first successful bio-computer, using a combination of cloned neurons and DNA chains to mimic the functions of a human brain. This gave it the processing capacity to perform, on average, a quintillion floating point operations per second. It was necessary for the operation of the interface used by the scientists to effectively interact with the computer.

"The interface is ready, Mr. MacDonald," said Fletcher as he escorted MacDonald to the right side of the room.

The interface was a chair much like a dentist's chair. There was a retractable arm over the headrest where the mountable headgear was attached. It came over the subject's head and interfaced directly with the person's brain activity.

"We're all ready for you, sir," said one of the technicians.

MacDonald shed his tweed jacket and sat in the chair. The headset was placed over his cranium, the eyepieces covering his eyes.

"Scanning subject for download into VR."