. . .

Digital cuneiform

Characters constantly shifted on his screen. Always moving, disappearing, reforming, changing. His headache worsened. Staring at it as it processed did that to him, but what else was he supposed to do late at night in his cubicle?

"el/kalala."

Odd. There was what seemed to be a spot of stability among the chaos. Impossible, of course. Nothing could remain the same throughout the contortions the data was being put through. Still, it was a good place to rest his eyes on until it changed.

"el/kalala."

Now if it made sense, he could assume that it was the work of someone inside the system, either invading it from outside or performing some bizarre practical joke from within. Probably Rachel. She'd gotten him one too many times for his comfort. He waited for it to change.

"el/kalala."

What was currently being processed, anyhow? Statistics on women who die in childbirth? A complete analysis of whether bald man die younger than ones who keep their hair? A memo about the decision to raise the rates on '98 Ikuras due to their unfortunate habit of bursting into flames when collided with? This job was really getting to him. He'd thought that computing is computing is computing, but dealing with life insurance brought it all home to you. Those guys had it figured out, down to a science. They knew. They could tell you to the decimal place how likely you are to die within the next five years. Very cold. Once more, he wondered how this had become his profession. Once more, he wondered how he could escape his profession.

"el/kalala."

It wasn't changing, though. It was supposed to be changing. It couldn't not be changing.

"el/kalala."

All right. His curiosity was piqued. What _was_ actually being processed? Something big, whatever it was. He wasn't actually supposed to do this, but there is a time and a place to follow the rules, and that time and place are when other people are around. He snuck in a back door he had planted for just such an occasion, dropped down into the os, flipped a few permissions, and checked the filename. Interesting. "Lifespans". Probably a new way of estimating their length, knowing his company.

"el/kalala."

Looks like an alphabetical listing, being encoded and played with by the core unit. If he could persuade it that his terminal should be displayed to in clear... that did it. His screen filled again with shifting names, numbers, this time making sense. A best-guess approximation of when everyone will die. New facts changing the numbers constantly. New names coming in and being lost.

Now where had that stable spot been? Down a bit. Probably... there.

Noonan, Henry. 10/10/01, 9:59pm.

Well, then. He wouldn't have to put up with the job for much longer.