AevumSaeclu

1

I'll spare you the BS. I don't know how AevumSaeclu works. I just program it.

Anyone who's ever written a single line of Python before can tell you that the tech world's biggest secret is that you don't have to know how the product works. You just need to know how to tell the computer to do what you want it to. Now, don't get me wrong- the smartest thing you could probably do is learn the product. Know the mechanics of it. Its guts. What the doohickeys and whatsits and flashing do-jangles do. The chemical formula of the weird blue liquid in the generator. The physical laws the whole damn machine does or doesn't obey. That way, your job- the programmer's job- is easier. You can write real elegant code. Code that takes in account systems malfunctions or reactor meltdowns. It's probably the reason com sci programs at most universities require some intro physics or chemistry courses. It's smart.

Problem is, I never claimed to be smart.

I hadn't intended to be a software developer. I had an English degree. Coding was a hobby. And then, somehow in the three years after college, things reversed.

So there I was.

It was 10:04 pm. I was sitting at my cubicle, drenched in blue computer light. I compiled the same stupid program over and over again- half wondering if the exception I kept getting was because I had misplaced a bracket somewhere in the main class, half wondering why the hell Dan wouldn't text me back. I mean, Jesus Christ. My old college roommate is engaged already, and she has literally made a necklace out of her finance's displaced teeth (good thing the man just graduated law school- dental implants are expensive). I just want someone to watch 90s-era Star Trek with. Dan is chubby and wears vintage TMNT merchandise. We should be a natural fit.

My friends say it's because men these days don't date. It's not the 1980s. You have to trick them into a relationship. I happen to be the worst liar I know. I'm probably going to be single forever.

My phone went off at 10:14. My boss.

"Have you lost whatever damn sense you had, Carrie?" Seth is a cool guy. He wears Hawaiian shirts and listens to the Grateful Dead. He also hates "corporate America," and never ceases to get on my case if I decide to work late. "Reynold wants to lock up."

Reynold is my least favorite janitor. Fuck that guy.

"Yeah, uh," I set my face into my hands. "I've almost figured out the bug in the generator-user interface relay system- I've narrowed it down to two methods in main and-"

"Carrie," Seth sighed. "I don't give a shit."

"You know," I hoped my voice didn't sound as tired as I felt, "I can always lock up for Reynold."

"You cannot lock up for Reynold." I could hear Seth's palm hitting his forehead. "You don't have the proper security clearance to lock up. You know that already."

"Reynold's a fucking janitor and I'm coding the damn-"

"Do you know the kind of hoops he had to jump through to land that positon?" Seth was irritated. The guy is basically pot personified. I had really done it now. "The government takes security for these types of projects extremely seriously-"

"I didn't mean to disrespect Reynold," I fibbed. FUCK REYNOLD AND HIS FUCKING MOP. "I just figure if I could get clearances to program the actual AevumSaeclu- I should have the clearances to lock up the building-"

"Have you heard of Chelsea Manning?" Seth grumbled.

"I don't see how that's-"

"She had clearances to program a lot of things. Should Chelsea Manning have had the clearances to lock up her building?"

"Again I-"

"Go home," Seth said. "You need sleep, or your code will suffer tomorrow."

"Can I just do one more run through with the prototype? I'll be on the commute home by 10:30."

"Carrie-"

"You know, my kind of work ethic would be lauded in Silicon Valley-" This sounded like a threat, but I knew damn well I wasn't ever going to be qualified enough for Silicon Valley. The guy whose job I filled, Rob, was plenty qualified though. Right now he works at a million-dollar startup which, according to its Wikipedia page, "matches nail technicians to your cat." It's called PetPedi.

Yeah, I don't know either. Uber has barely penetrated our town.

"Silicon Valley is for narcissistic yuppies, you're too good for that." Seth said, but maybe he had some lingering trauma from Rob's loss, because then he added this: "Look, I'm really not supposed to, but why don't you take a scanner home with you tonight. Mess around with it if you want. Just get out of the office so Reynold can get off of my back."

"You're serious?" I bubbled with workaholic effervescence. "I'll be so careful and it'll be back in the lab tomorrow, you won't even notice it was ever gone-"

I was interrupted by the slam of a mop against my desktop.

"I've got kids at home, Jessica," Reynold waved his key-ring at me. "So get your flat, Barbie ass out of my kingdom."

***