Spilling Guts

Part 123 - Rubber Duckie Chorus

Louis had never seen Grant do his work on a large scale. He'd always assumed Grant deciphered tiny lines of code like a second language, editing as he went. A quiet thing done hunched over a screen. He didn't realize that Grant, Head of Comp Tech, Queen of the Hive, would attack a whiteboard with a dry erase marker like it was Julius Caesar on the Ides of March.

Grant had the code from the Neckbrace's Sleeper System uploaded on the whiteboard while being filtered through a program that made breaking down the code easier. He explained what the code was meant to do as he scribbled and told Cetz which parts of the code to highlight via the tablet. Thanks to Grant's program, dozens of lines had been automatically translated in little boxes in the right margin of the screen and Grant was able to say what it was in one beat so he could move on to the rest.

Grant had been going through lines of command one by one for the last fifteen minutes, only stopping to take conservative sips from a giant slushie that turned his tongue purple and lips green.

"How many lines of code are in the Sleeper System?" Louis whispered to Cetz.

Cetz barely moved the stylus off the tablet. "About half a million."

"How many has he done so far?"

"A little over five hundred. He'll probably need another slushie at the 2k point."

"Whoa." Louis was glad he had showered and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He would not be able to pay attention while still in yesterday's funeral clothes.

According to Cetz, their job was to be Rubber Duckies. To listen and be an audience to a one-man-show reading a code script. Louis would take being a Rubber Ducky to being at his desk alone.

Grant also had opinions on certain ways the code was written. And re-written.

"Well this part is redundant," he would mutter, as if picking gum off his shoe. "This part just negated the whole five lines above it, which is stupid."

"How does it negate?" asked Cetz. It was the Rubber Ducky's job to ask for clarification, no matter how trivial. A necessary process, slowing Grant down so he wouldn't burn out.

"The value of the-"

Cetz coughed. "In dumb mortal terms, please. We are not your bees."

"Takes away the beginning command," said Grant. "My uncle has thirty year old overalls with less patches than this."

The metaphors did make it entertaining for Louis. But which part will tell us how to fix Will?

Louis looked up to see Rachel and Hayman quietly enter the lab and join the audience. They both looked hesitantly hopeful.

"News?" asked Louis in a hushed voice.

Hayman scribbled on his clipboard. "It's likely that physical trauma to Will's brain caused the Devil's Neckbrace's programming to take root. A delayed reaction."

"Brain trauma?" asked Louis. "When?"

"The explosion in California," said Rachel. "I bet if we were to look at the previous victims of the Neckbrace, the ones that had it worse also suffered some sort of head injury."

Louis would have to do a second edition of his paper on the Devil's Neckbrace. At least it was something he could share with Mrs. Watts. Perhaps it would help her identify more victims. A tiny spec of good in the pile of crap that he had dug up.

He needed a positive thought because he wasn't as useful as Cetz in being a Rubber Ducky.

"And what does that part repeat?" prompted Cetz.