Doug Larsen - A Portrait of My Grandfather

I had the teleconferencing monitor on “record,” and it responded to my head and eye cues to show whatever I was looking at.

Klemhauser started the meeting by talking about budget cuts. “These cuts are necessary,” he said, “because we’re channeling a lot of money into our new advertising project. This is the first time we’ve attempted this kind of subliminal advertising, and it takes a lot of research to perfect it. We also have to monitor it extensively, to see if it’s having the effect we want, and we’re channeling a large proportion of the money into a legal and P.R. defense fund in case we’re ever discovered.”

“What will our official story be, if that ever happens?” Hawkey asked.

Klemhauser glanced at Gunderson, who answered. “Our position is that software packets similar to this one are used in virtually every virtual reality game. It merely is used to enhance the savoir-faire of specific characters. It’s an embellishment that shows our commitment to making the best virtual reality games in the world, and any charge that it is youth-oriented advertising is preposterous raving from radical fringe groups—the same fringe element that objects so stridently when smokers exercise their right to enjoy a legal product that’s never been proven to be harmful.”

They all nodded, satisfied. Van Ives had a slight grin. “That’s very good,” he said. Gunderson glanced at him expressionlessly.

“What is the awareness of our project?” Klemhauser asked.

“Zero,” Gunderson said flatly. “Nobody knows. And the code is so buried in the games that nobody could find it, even if they could break into the game’s underpinnings.”

“What about the software team that developed it?” Van Ives asked.

Hawkey leaned forward. “Each member of the team has been promoted beyond their experience and educational levels. Personnel reports that they are all living lifestyles in accordance with their inflated salaries. Simply put, if they lost their present jobs, they’d never get anything else that’s close. They’d be ruined financially.”

Everyone else nodded and made approving noises. Klemhauser said, “Any other security concerns?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Van Ives said, “There was that potential leak at Advanced Game-Tek.” He looked keenly at Hawkey.

Gunderson spoke up before Hawkey could answer. “That’s been taken care of,” he said flatly.

“No comebacks?” Van Ives persisted.

Gunderson shook his head with finally, while Hawkey looked uncomfortable. I quickly targeted Hawkey and hit my “implement” button. He jumped visibly with shock and surprise as the picture of Grampa in his coffin was flashed before his eyes for a fraction of a second. Everyone looked at him.

“Are you OK?” Klemhauser asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” Hawkey looked visibly shaken.

“Well, I’m glad there are no loose ends on that issue,” Van Ives said. I targeted him, and hit the “implement” button again. He opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again. “I—uh—I wish it hadn’t been necessary.”

“None of us wanted it to happen,” Klemhauser snapped. “But we all agreed that it was necessary. Let’s move on, shall we?”

They hastily moved to other subjects, everyone seeming considerably subdued. I waited for ten minutes or so, and then hit Hawkey again with Grampa’s picture. This time, someone else was talking, and nobody noticed as he jolted again.

Another ten minutes, and the meeting began to wind down. I rigged the system to give all of them a flash of the picture just as they turned off their helmets, so they wouldn’t be able to tell that they each got it at the same time.

They ended the meeting, but I stayed connected in case one of them got back on. None of them did. I wondered what was going through their minds, but had no way to tell yet. It had all been very exciting, but kind of unsatisfying at the end. I activated the automatic monitoring program, and turned off my helmet.

A picture of my Grampa in a casket had done some pretty impressive things to these corporate bigshots. But it was a fairly static image. It seemed to me that I could do a lot better than that if I really gave it some thought.

I spent a lot of time, a lot of research, and a lot of thought on the new dream I wanted to give those guys. It took days, working on it during school, thinking about it during class, getting rebuked by all of my teachers, developing it before school, after school, and late into the night. In the meantime, I kept using the picture of Grampa in his casket until I had something better to jolt them with. And when I finally finished, I was kinda proud of it. I wondered if anyone else in junior high would be able to do something like it.

I was walking with my best friend in a beautiful meadow. We were having a great time, laughing and joking and enjoying each others’ company. All of a sudden, a huge hole appeared in the earth , and he fell into it! I stared in disbelief as he screamed in fear, grabbing a branch that kept him from falling into the infinite depths. “Help me, help me!” he cried, and I felt incredible urgency and fear for my friend, my best buddy, my pal.

All of a sudden, I looked at him, and it wasn’t my best friend—it was Al Melfred instead! But I felt the same urgency about saving him, because I felt about him like I felt about my best friend! But then the branch broke, and he fell and fell and fell, and he screamed and screamed and screamed, and all I could see was his face as he fell to his death!

I stared down the hole, not able to believe the horror of what I’d Just seen. All of a sudden, a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind. Yikes! It almost scared me to death! I whirled around, and there was Al Melfred staring at me with the face of death. “You did this to me,” he said.

I peeled the virtual reality helmet off my head, and wiped my forehead. I’d designed this, I had known what it would do, and it still scared me to death. It made me feel awful. This oughta do quite a number on those jerks.

Over the course of the next few days, I planted the nightmare in all four of them several times when they were using e-mail. Hawkey seemed to be my weakest link, so I hit him with it most often. And a few days after I started it, I came home from school and saw that I’d shaken something loose:

HAWKEY: WHAT’S THE STATUS OF THE PROBLEM YOU ADDRESSED LAST MONTH?

GUNDERSON: COMPLETE.

VAN IVES: ANY FOLLOWUP? ANY REPERCUSSIONS?

GUNDERSON: NONE.

HAWKEY: IT’S BEEN BOTHERING ME LATELY.

VAN IVES: ME TOO.

GUNDERSON: RELAX. THERE’S NO PROBLEM HERE. NOBODY SUSPECTS A THING.

HAWKEY: ARE YOU SURE?

GUNDERSON: WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?

VAN IVES: I’M CONCERNED ABOUT SOMEBODY FINDING OUT ABOUT IT.

GUNDERSON: I CHECKED INTO THE CORONER’S REPORT. IT’S OFFICIALLY LISTED AS A FATAL HEART ATTACK. THE KILLER SOFTWARE ERASED ITSELF AFTER RUNNING. THERE’S NO TRAIL. KLEMHAUSER IS PLEASED. FORGET ABOUT IT.

I made a copy of that exchange, like I’d done for all of them. They were in my computer, and hard copies were stuffed into the hole in the tree that only me and Grampa knew about. I knew what they were talking about, but I wanted to have solid proof that would stand up in court. Or maybe for my own peace of mind. When I killed whoever was responsible, I wanted to be sure of it before I did it.

Oh my God there’s a man with a ski mask jumping out of the shrubs and he’s got a gun and no don’t shoot and the sound of the gunshot ruptured my eardrums and the blast caught me in the chest and I was on the ground and everything went dark!