~ The Familiar's Tale ~

by

A. C. Warrilow

“Ramsk Shire Council Helpdesk,” answered the rich and very thick Indian accent. “This is Frank speaking.”

Eric frowned. “Frank?”

“Hello, yes, this is Frank, how may I be of assistance to you tonight?”

“You don’t sound like a Frank, is that your real name?” Eric asked curiously.

There was a brief pause. “Yes, indeed, could I please have your employee number?”

“This is Mayor de Vries, I need access to a--”

“Apologies, sir, but for security reasons I do require your employee number before we proceed.”

“I don’t have my ID card with me. Wouldn’t it be one or something if I’m the Mayor?”

“Employees are listed in chronological order of their commencement date in council. I’m sorry, sir, I need to verify this before I can assist you tonight.”

Eric clicked his fingers at Bertie then pointed upwards towards the kitchen. “ID card from the table.”

Bertie dragged his feet upstairs. “Click your fingers at me...” he grumbled.

Moments later, Eric had his card. “five-eight-six-zero-two.”

“Thank you, sir, and your verbal confirmation code?”

“N-c-c-one-seven-zero-one-capital D.” Eric winked at Bertie, cupping the mouthpiece of the phone. “Registration of the Starship Enterprise, next gen naturally!”

Bertie stared back at him blankly. “Naturally.”

“Yes, Mayor de Vries, that’s fine, how can I help you tonight?”

“I’m trying to access a webpage, but the content filtering is denying me access.”

“Yes, sir, I can see that, looks like you’re trying to access a restricted site, it says here inappropriate content and pornogr--”

“Yes, I know what your filter says, but I’m conducting some research and I need you to allow me access.”

“I see, sir, you realise I have to make a record of this?”

“That’s fine.”

“And you are accessing this website for work purposes at four a.m. sir?”

Eric, feeling his ear getting warmer, swapped the phone to the other side of his head. “Look, mate, just open the bloody page and stop with the--”

“Procedure dictates that an I.T. request is to be logged before I can open the page, sir, it’s for our statistics.”

Eric glared into the phone. “What’s the point of having a help desk phone number when all you want me to do is log an I.T. request remotely? Don’t you have fingers?”

“Excuse me?”

“Aren’t you able to type a request?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the standard operating guidelines require the user to log the request.”

“Open the page, Frank!” Eric yelled.

“This is highly irregular...” Frank protested.

“Frank, Frank, stop talking,” Eric interrupted. “I am the Mayor and therefore your boss. Talk to me on Monday, if you still have a job. Oh, and just so you know what it feels like, I’ll have that in writing, thanks.”

“You don’t have the authority--” gasped the technician indignantly.

“Actually, I’m not sure if I do or not, but I’m going to count to three and I guess we’ll both find out on Monday.”

“But you need to log a request, this is not negotiable, sir.”

“One,” Eric spoke softly.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but I am not permitted to do this.”

“Two.”

“I will not be intimidated,” the pitch of Frank’s voice rose and his words sped up. He was trying to beat the countdown. “This is harassment. I will not be treated like this, new workplace reforms...”

“Three... right, fine.”

The screen before Eric and Bertie burst into life... the text appeared headed by a title. ‘The secrets of Malcontender and Indice’.

“Thank you, Frank.” As Eric was about to hang up the phone, the computer suddenly started emitting a series of urgent bleeps and the screen started to flicker.

“What have you done?” Frank’s voice yelled back down the phone at him.

Eric noticed the router lights starting to flash like crazy. “What’s the matter?”

“You’ve just bypassed the security systems and let a Thunderhead in.”

“In English, Frank.”

“A virus, a Trojan virus, the worst possible sort. It wipes all the information from the computer, it’s heading towards your computer but is spreading havoc throughout the network, leaching into subsystems, propagating and mutating, adapting past all our firewalls and binary force fields.”

“How long have I got and what the hell is a binary force field?” The lights around Eric and Bertie started to flicker.

“It’s spreading across the whole network like wildfire, and it could take minutes, if that.”

“What’s the source of the attack?”

There was a pause, and a clatter of keys. “The tracking filters are detecting it around Sub Rosa... somewhere near the Tainted Well.”

“What does this mean?”

A warning klaxon began to sound somewhere near Frank, briefly drowning out the sound of his voice. “...been compromised infected, files deleted, software scrambled.”

“Only Council’s systems?”

“No, all computers, anything connected to the Ramsk network.”

“Why, why did this happen?” Eric yelled. The sweat of a guilty man, in a situation spiralling out of control, was now dripping down his back and his heart rate increased by the second.

“The page you accessed... someone doesn’t want anyone reading it.”

“Can it be stopped, Frank?”

“The Thunderhead needs to be isolated from the network, then given an antivirus patch... but there isn’t time, the whole island’s electronic network will be destroyed. Banking, share markets, infrastructure systems, telecommunication, everything.”

Eric looked around the room urgently, searching for inspiration. “What if you pull the plug, Frank?”

“This is all your fault! We didn’t follow procedures, you forced me to break protocol and you didn’t log an I.T request. They will fire me.”

“If you pull the plug on all the electrics on Ramsk will that prevent the attack?”

“Oh, Sheba, help me!” Frank pleaded.

“Frank!” Eric yelled. “What will happen if we turn off everything?”

There was a pause from the end of the phone as the question sunk in. “That will work, it will give our technicians time to--

“Okay, contact the power company, give me two minutes then pull the plug on everything--all the electricity in Ramsk. Don’t let the virus spread, then get your experts in to remove the Thunderhead.” Eric quickly highlighted all the letters on the computer screen and pressed print. “Bertie, put some paper in the printer quickly.”

“What’s going on?” the cat demanded.

“Someone at The Tainted Well doesn’t want us seeing this page.”

The printer started to hum as the paper trays aligned themselves. The lights above them flickered again.

Eric glanced at his watch. “Come on!” He slammed his fist down on the printer. “Come on!”