Checks Traced to Demons' Ages
Washington, DC—Washington Post
The Social Security Administration confirmed Friday that the recent disbursement of millions of dollars in erroneous checks was caused by a programming error. The error was triggered by the Administration's recent attempt to add North Carolina's Hellraised citizens to the Social Security roster.
"It's their ages," said Assistant Director Jeffrey Hall. "Those fields were only designed to be three digits wide, and when we started adding people a thousand years old and older, the resulting glitch overwrote another part of the program. The checks were just a mild symptom. After they went out, we had a total system meltdown, and it may be weeks before we're back online. In the meantime, let me reiterate: Do not cash those checks!"
The Administration's addition of the Hellraised to Social Security databanks came after the recent Supreme Court decision in Hildecar vs. the United States established that immortals must still pay Social Security taxes, even though they will not benefit from the system. "We're going to proceed," said Hall, "but, quite frankly, we're just going to make up ages on these guys. It may not be strictly legal, but we can't afford to rewrite all our software."
Asked for comment, a spokesman for North Carolina's Demonic Citizens Against FICA (DECAF), a group fighting for legislation to overturn the Hildecar decision, said, "This just bolsters our position. Not only are the government's actions unfair, they are pulling money from the pockets of all taxpayers to implement this. Yet I'm sure we will still get the blame somehow. We're damned if we do, and damned if we don't. Of course, that's always been true."
There were times, Rhea thought, when closing a business deal was a lot like staring at your date over the last slice of pizza: both of you want it, but neither of you wants to make the first move, and in the meantime, the pizza is getting cold. She and Roberts were eyeing each other that way now and Rhea was a little surprised. Everything she'd seen of Roberts so far had been direct and to the point, even the leading questions. Now there was something he wasn't willing to say.
"Look," she said, "we can stay here all evening and watch the stars come out. You're good company and I'd probably enjoy it. On the other hand, we could decide we've got a basis to deal, and I'd enjoy that even more."
"I've always loved the stars," Roberts said. "I could pick out each constellation for you and point to all the planets, but you're right, that's not what I'm here for." He turned from the window, and walked back to the couch. "Okay," he said, "TRITEL gets up to fifty percent of your satellite launch capacity for your first five years."
Rhea considered. It sounded like a lot to ask, but if things worked as planned, they'd be making so many trips that it wouldn't matter. "Done," she said.
"Stock options when you go public."
Again not a critical point. Rhea didn't care who had Celestial stock, as long as she kept fifty-one percent. And going public wasn't on her short list. It could be a very long time before that happened. "Done."
"And TRITEL gets constant reports."
Now that was starting to get a little sticky. She didn't think it was what Roberts had been hedging around, but it was like the camel's nose under the tent. Reports implied some sort of ongoing evaluation, and reports on demand suggested the possibility of an instant negative evaluation—justify your life and give three examples. On the other hand, she could hardly take the kind of money she was asking for and not provide some sort of accounting. She hesitated a second, then, "Periodic reports," she said.
Roberts nodded, "That's acceptable, if we can have someone on site."
"No," Rhea said. "Absolutely not. I do my own hiring and firing, and I don't need any help from TRITEL."
Roberts shifted a little on the couch and looked away momentarily. I'm getting close, Rhea thought.
"You're talking a lot of money for us not to have input," he said.
"Look," Rhea said, "you work for a high-tech outfit. You know that on any particular day, the odds are any given project looks like it's in the dumper. I'm not going to have a bunch of outsiders trying to micromanage me. I'm not going to be managed at all. You'll have input and I'll be glad to address TRITEL's concerns, but I'm not opening my company up, and I won't answer to TRITEL except to the extent that you can cut off my funding whenever you feel like it—period."
Roberts frowned. "Okay, maybe I can split the issue," he said. "You don't want to open up the development process. I can understand that, maybe the board can too. But we've got to have someone here during the testing to see if the result is going to meet our needs." Roberts was staring very hard at his shoes. "Especially during the flight testing."
That was it. He wanted to go. Wanted it so bad he could taste it. That's what all the pussyfooting was about. And more importantly, that was why he was going to come through for her. She smiled. "I don't think that will be a problem, Mr. Roberts. When we reach flight-testing stage, I think Celestial would be glad to accommodate an observer of TRITEL's choice—no," she paused a minute to bait the hook, "I know your record, and I trust your judgment. Make that an observer of your choice, personally." That ought to get him. Still she would have to examine all new hires with a microscope from now on to weed out the TRITEL plants.
Roberts looked at her sharply, then grinned. "Ms. Samuels, I have to pitch it to the board, but I think we may be able to do business."
Rhea got up and walked over to her desk. She wrote briefly on a Post-It note and offered it to Roberts. "This is my private line, my home phone, and e-mail. If you need any information, call. In the meantime, I'll have my lawyers draw up a contract along the lines we discussed. If TRITEL decides to back us, we should be able to hammer out the fine points quickly."
Roberts stood and took the note. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his wallet. It looked lonely there among all the green. "I can't give you a commitment, Ms. Samuels. Not here and not now—" He paused and smiled. It was a good smile. "—but I don't think you'll be disappointed."
He offered his hand, and Rhea took it. "And you won't regret it," she said positively.
Roberts looked thoughtful. "No," he said, "I don't believe I will."
Rhea escorted Roberts out to the parking lot. The building was empty. Even Jack had gone home, and the first stars were starting to appear in the evening sky.
"There's Orion," Roberts said, pointing up, "and Venus over near the horizon. I used to think that if I could name them all, somehow that would, I don't know, bind them to me, and I would get to go." He started to walk towards his car, then turned and looked back at Rhea. "And maybe I was right," he added. "Your prototype ship," he said, "what's it called?"
"She's named Morningstar Rising," Rhea said.
"Not bad." He smiled. "Not bad at all. I think it will take someone with a bit of poetry in her soul to give us back space."
Rhea watched as he got in his late-model Mercedes and shut the door. It closed with the solid thunk that came from two hundred years of Germans being very good at whatever they decided to do. Sometimes too good, she reflected—she'd known a lot of Germans. The engine caught at the first touch of the starter, and Roberts left the lot without looking back.
Rhea waited until he made the turn onto Cornwallis Road. Then she kicked off her shoes and threw them back through the open front doors. She padded across the parking lot and stood in the grass overlooking the small pond. The creek chuckled and somewhere an owl let fly a tentative hoot. Rhea waggled her toes and finally took the time to look around. She smiled to herself and stared up at the rising moon. It had been a long day. But not a bad one.