Charles Stross - Halting State

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You enjoy facials about as much as you enjoy visits to the dentist. One of these years, when you’re really rich, you plan to set aside a week and turn yourself over to a dental surgeon who will put you under general anaesthetic, yank out all your pearlies, and install ceramic-andtitanium memory-metal implants socketed into your jawbones. Once you get over the hang-over you’ll be able to say good-bye to fillings, secure in the knowledge that you’re going to go to your coffin wearing an enigmatic diamond smile. And won’t that fuck with the archaeologists’ heads?

Unfortunately, there’s no such easy cure for facials, but you’ve acquired various coping strategies over the past four years in DBA: a ristretto and a trip to the bathroom first, so you’re awake and comfortable; a copy of the agenda and a full battery charge on your old-fashioned folio, so you can scribble notes on it and do what-if modelling on the fly; and a chunk of time allocated ahead of schedule so you know what the hell you’re meant to be talking about.

But sometimes they call the meeting at short notice, and there’s no agenda on the server, and your folio’s fuel tank is half-empty. So then you have to tough it out, like having a cavity drilled out without local anaesthetic. It’s all part of being constructive .

The sudden-death summons to an agenda-less face-to-face meeting about the Tiger Investments account does, it must be admitted, suggest something interesting is afoot. Chris handles their business, and while you haven’t had anything to do with it before, you sort of knew what it was about. TI is an angel specializing in high-tech start-ups, your typical Web 3.1415 outfits, and TI contracted DBA—in the person of Chris Morgan, full partner (and Director of Risk Management)—to produce full pre-IPO investment reports on their clients. Now one of them appears to have gone spectacularly pear-shaped.

“I got a call from TI yesterday evening,” Chris explains. He’s got that post-augmented crash look, as if he’s been burning bandwidth all night. He’s in his midfifties, with heavy black eyebrows and a perpetual worried expression behind his thick-rimmed glasses, as if he’s certain he’s forgotten something important. “Their latest clients have had a catastrophic intrusion. More to the point, their lead programmer is missing, and they’re screaming about an inside job. I don’t have the full picture yet, but it appears someone called in the police, and I understand the local force are escalating it to SOCA. TI have mostly cashed out, and obviously they’ll be under suspicion of ramping. Our direct liability is capped at five million, but the implication that we missed something is clearly there.” He pushes his specs up his nose. (He may be one of the last generation who grew up with PCs with glass tubes, but he’s kept abreast of the times: those high-resolution Armani displays conceal lasik-enhanced eyeballs.)

Brendan clears his throat. “What’s the plan?” he asks mildly.

“You’re the plan: all of you.” He grins quickly. You glance around the table, seeing surprised faces: Faye, Mohammed, Fred, Brendan. The only person who’s nodding is Margaret, an indicator that speaks volumes. “We’re going up there tonight on the sleeper train. Jessica’s booking rooms and a secure conference suite for us in the West End Malmaison. I expect we’ll be there for about a week, so pack your bags accordingly. I’ve taken the liberty of clearing your schedules as this is now our number one priority.” He looks directly at you, and you raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Elaine, you’re off the Croatia job. Any questions?”

Mohammed, diffidently: “It’s Friday…”

“I know.” Chris looks as if he’s bitten a lemon. “But the police are already in attendance. We can’t barge in and expect anyone to give us the time of day right now. Monday is another matter, so we’re going up there tonight. You’ve got Saturday to decompress, and Sunday we’ll hold a planning session so that when we go in mob-handed on Monday morning, we’ve got some idea what we’re doing.” He pauses. “By the way, you’re all free to go home after this meeting. You’ll be needing time to make appropriate arrangements.”

“What are we going up there for?” you ask. “I mean, what can’t we do from down here?”

“She’s right,” Mohammed agrees. He glances at you nervously.

“I don’t see why you need me, ” Brendan adds waspishly. “Scotland’s got a different legal system. I’m not qualified to practice up there.”

“Hayek Associates are incorporated in London, under English law,” says Faye. “Isn’t that right?” She looks unnaturally pleased with herself.

“That’s right,” says Chris. To Mohammed, with a shy grin: “There’s no escape!”

You can’t help yourself: “But I still don’t see why we need to be there in person.”

Chris screws up his face and opens his mouth, but Margaret gets there first. “If I may?” she asks.

Chris nods.

“This doesn’t happen very often.” Margaret’s lips are as thin as a black line on a balance sheet. “I know what you’re thinking, Elaine. Usually we don’t need direct access. The trouble is, usually we’re looking for inconsistencies in the audit trail.” She glances at Chris to back her up. He nods thoughtfully. “Normally we have a good idea whether the data we’re being supplied with is sane: We’re looking for someone siphoning assets out through the backdoor, but we’re pretty sure the building exists in the first place.”

Chris nods again. “But I’m told this breach took place in, in a game .” He glances at Margaret. “I’m still trying to work out the implications,” he admits. You shiver, as it becomes apparent: Chris and Margaret don’t have a clue what they’re doing! They’re trying to work it out from first principles. Which means this really is something unusual. “We don’t know whether there even is an audit trail. Or what an imaginary bank robbery in a virtual space means to our client. That’s what we’re going up there to establish.”

“So why are you dragging Faye and Brendan along?” you ask.

Margaret snorts. “To figure out whether we were sold a bill of goods by Hayek’s board. Chris doesn’t want to lose the TI account. Or Lloyds,” she adds pointedly.

Oh. “You think they’re going to be unfriendly?”

“I’m certain of it,” Chris says gloomily. “If this goes wrong, we could be looking at a catastrophic loss of goodwill, not to mention the Avixa account.” Avixa is a really big contract that’s too damn similar to TI for comfort. “So the plan is, we turn up unannounced on Monday.” He nods at Brendan. “Gene is drawing up an application for an Anton Pillar order”—he still uses the old term for a court search order—“and a freezing injunction behind it, which we’ll be serving on our arrival, I hope. Mohammed, you’re familiar with HA’s business structure and accounting procedures; we’re going to go over them with a nit comb. Margaret, Fred, and Faye will tackle business work flow, managerial competence, and anything else that springs to mind. Brendan, you’re there to serve the orders and liaise with our Scottish counsel if necessary. Keep our toe in the door. Elaine, Margaret tells me you’ve got some background in gaming. The asset loss took place inside a game supervised by Hayek Associates. I want you to go in and audit the bank inside the game. Can you do that?”

Your mind goes blank. It’s like one of those horrible nightmares, turning up late at school to sit an exam in a subject you haven’t been studying for and finding you’re the only person wearing clothes because everyone else is naked—“You want me to what ?”