Klaus Schwamborn: Dreamland

Leaning back in his chair, James considered SkyTech’s security protocols. Sometimes, the cheapest and simplest precautions can often provide the best solutions. He liked the idea of having a hidden panic button installed at Monica’s workstation. She was, after all, the first line of defence for anyone walking into the top floor executive suite where, besides himself, all his senior managers and directors had their offices. Also, on the same floor was Nathan McIntosh’s Information Technology department. It was securely located behind a blast-proof steel door and could only be accessed with a key card. Entry was restricted to select personnel only.

Within the elusive boundaries of Info Tech, software engineers, programmers and technicians shared a spacious and modern open-plan office. Among the team headed by Nathan, who everyone called Nate, were the desks of Emily Hurst◦– Creative Developer, Phil Roberts◦– Systems Administrator, and Sven Labrowski◦– Software Engineer, and developer of the most cutting-edge applications. Sven was also one of the world’s foremost ethical hackers. Nathan had a private office adjoining the open-plan area, but rarely used it, preferring to work hands-on with members of his team.

Info Tech also had at its disposal a few comfortable armchairs and a soundproof media room with private kitchenette. In James’s opinion, keeping this hive of brain-power content and allowing them to work in uninterrupted silence was a minor extravagance that he was prepared to accommodate.

James was proud of the Info Tech team; each being adept in their own level of expertise. No micro-management or project oversight was ever needed. They were hired specifically for their know-how and James left them to make their own decisions. He had wasted far too much time in various board meetings of other companies where the subject-matter-expert, or SME, required verdict by non-qualified committees. Their only concern was visibility and boosting self-importance; pretending that approvals were vital on matters beyond their intellect. The results were always the same◦– nothing ever got done.

Most people had absolutely no grasp of just how specialised personnel within Information Technology were. An application architect typically had no knowledge of the array of hardware components that enabled communications between computers and their peripheral devices. Similarly, a network technician would be completely baffled by a simple line of program code. Users of I.T. services automatically assumed that if they had a problem with their program, printer, phone or even the coffee machine, anyone from Nate’s I.T. department would be able to attend to it immediately.

Keeping Info Tech isolated from the general activity of the top floor ensured maximum quality and productivity. James was well aware that programmers who continuously had their thoughts interrupted, produced the most unreliable applications. In a crisis situation, James simply got out of their way with the confidence that they knew what they were doing. He certainly didn’t need feedback every two minutes.

Much of the capital invested in computer hardware existed on the thirty-first floor of SkyTech Tower within the domain of Info Tech, but that was trivial in comparison to where the most expensive equipment was securely housed. Located three levels below the atrium was the Cube . Constructed of three-foot-thick reinforced concrete, it measured roughly thirty-by-thirty feet with a nine-foot-high ceiling and was home to an IBM Sequoia super-computer.

With storage capacity exceeding four hundred and fifty terabytes, the IBM was capable of performing trillions of computations every second. If rocket science had advanced at the same level of speed achieved by today’s computers, a trip to Mars would take fifteen seconds, not fifteen months.

James was roused from his thoughts when his grandfather clock sounded nine a.m., he had a scheduled meeting to attend with some sales reps from AT&T. Walking out of his office, he saw Monica taking refreshments into the executive conference room. Ah, good, they’ve arrived , he thought.

After driving north along 2nd Avenue, then west into 72nd Street, Nathan entered the basement parking levels of SkyTech Tower where he had a reserved bay.

“Good morning, Mr. McIntosh, Ms. Hurst,” Michaels greeted from a few paces away as Nathan and Emily opened their car doors and stepped out.

“Morning,” they responded congenially in unison.

Emily reached into the car and grabbed her oversized, black imitation-leather handbag from the narrow back seat. Nathan often poked fun as to why she always carried so much stuff around, but he never looked into her bag. As far as he was concerned, what was in the privacy of Emily’s handbag was her own concern.

Walking towards the elevators and out of earshot, Emily turned to Nathan. “Michaels seems to be more alert than usual,” she said, with a curious look. “I wonder what that’s about.”

Nathan looked briefly over his shoulder. “Maybe, he finally got some action from that pretty little Columbian girl working in the staff cafeteria. He’s had designs on her from the day he joined SkyTech.”

Emily jabbed him lightly in the ribs.

Sven Labrowski, sitting behind his monitor and running long fingers through his disorderly ash-blond hair, looked up when Emily and Nathan walked into Info Tech’s developer’s office. “Morning, Em, Nate,” he said.

“Good morning,” Nathan said automatically; his mind already on a good cup of strong coffee.

“Hey, Sven,” Emily said in return. “New dress code? What’s with the overalls?”

“Yeah, I guess I should get out of this,” he said, standing up, his tall lean frame towering over her. “Come, let’s grab some coffee and I’ll tell you all about it. We had some fun this morning.”

Emily dumped her bag on the credenza adjoining her desk and followed the two men to the coffee machine where Sven recounted the security exercise earlier on.

At precisely nine fifteen a.m., an odd digital communication was intercepted by one of the many listening stations situated in and around Groom Lake, Nevada; the source◦– somewhere in the Mojave Wastelands, roughly one hundred and twenty miles due south.

Transmitters using ultra-high military frequencies redirected the data to Nellis Air Force Base from where it was forwarded to the National Security Agency’s headquarters in ‎Fort Meade, Maryland. Securely stored in its databanks, the NSA’s computers then despatched the package to SkyTech for analysis against potential threats. The entire process, from transmission in the Wastelands, to start of analysis at SkyTech, had taken less than half a second.

One of SkyTech’s more lucrative sources of revenue came from the government. They were contracted to analyse global, digital and analog communications; typically, that of emails, text messages, and phone conversations being snooped by the NSA. That didn’t, however, involve any eavesdropping between government departments like the FBI or CIA. That, they kept to themselves. On behalf of the NSA, SkyTech also analysed vast quantities of video footage from surveillance cameras. During the recent blackmailing attempt against SkyTech, Nathan discovered, much to his astonishment, that the sophisticated programs provided by the NSA could also lip read from video without an accompanying soundtrack. And it did that with remarkable accuracy.

Having SkyTech do the dirty work granted the NSA plausible deniability. They would simply respond to public outcry with the truth◦– that they did not, in fact, analyse private communications. This was, of course, totally misleading but allowed them to conveniently sidestep their data collection activities.