Moira didn’t understand much of that, but she was game. “Bang paths?”
“Yeah. Site names separated by bangs.” He pointed to an exclamation point between two names. “That’s a bang.” He studied the list for an instant and pointed at one sequence. “Here he’s going from a U.S. site belonging to a Danish industrial concern to the Los Lobos League for Love and Understanding, the sex researchers. So that part of the path is bang!llulu.”
Jerry groaned. “I wonder how long he searched to come up with that one?”
Moira glared at him for the distraction.
“Anyway,” Danny went on hastily, “I don’t recognize all these site names but from the looks of it this message traveled a couple of times around the planet. Here’s a site in Ukraine. That one’s in the science city just outside of Tokyo. This one is the Coke machine at Rochester Institute of Technology-they put the Coke machine on the Internet so the computer science majors could find out if there were any sodas in the machine without having to walk all the way to it.”
“Personally I always preferred the one at Carnegie-Mellon,” Jerry said.
“It’s the original and it’s got a graphical user interface.”
Moira wasn’t about to let the conversation wander off into a comparison of computerized vending machines. “Well, can you trace him or not?”
Jerry rubbed his chin. “That’s hard. See, the path shown on a message isn’t completely reliable. You can fake some of it. It’s going to be hard to figure out where he’s connecting to the net, much less where he is in our world.”
“Maybe not,” Danny said. “If we can rig up a little perl script and plant it on all these sites we may be able to trace him back to where he’s really connecting.”
Moira’s face lit up. “Can you do that?”
“Well, we’re going to have to get into a pile of computers, including that Coke machine, but . . .” His eyes focused on something far away. “Let me think about this and see what I can come up with. But we should be able to do it.”
“And then?” Jerry asked.
“Then,” said Moira grimly, “we go to his rescue whether he wants it or not.”
Nine: A Bracelet, Some Chickens, and a Pretty Maid All In a Row
Don’t think of it as a distraction. Look at it as an income opportunity.
The Consultants’ Handbook
Wiz was hard at it again the next morning when Malkin stuck her head into his workroom.
“Someone at the door wants to see you.”
The interruption made Wiz lose his place, but by now he was so used to it he just sighed and followed Malkin downstairs. There was a dumpy, middle-aged townswoman snivelling on the doorstep. From her posture and sniffling Wiz figured she was either very upset about something or she was suffering from a really bad allergy. As soon as Wiz appeared she grabbed one of his hands in both of hers.
“O Great Wizard, you see before you a poor woman in great affliction.” Whatever it was, it wasn’t a problem with her lungs, Wiz thought. Her voice rattled the windowpanes. “Oh, the tragedy,” she wailed. “Oh me! Oh me! O Wizard, I beg of you, save me.”
“Save yourself and put a stopper in it,” Widder Hackett snarled in Wiz’s ear. “That woman’s voice can peel paint and she’s got the brains of a titmouse besides.”
Wiz had noticed the first and was willing to take the ghost’s word for the second. But by this time they were over the threshold and into the hall. Clearly the only way to get rid of their guest now was to hear her out.
“Uh yes, Mrs. ummm . . . ?”
“Grimmen,” the woman proclaimed, without lowering her voice. “Mrs.
Grimmen. I stand before you a vessel of woe, a pitiful shell, a-“
“Yes, but what happened?”
Mrs. Grimmen, her concentration broken, glared at him. “That’s what I’m telling you, Wizard. My gold bracelet has been stolen.”
“Your bracelet?”
“You heard me. You ain’t deaf are you? Oh woe! Oh sorrow! Oh . . .”
“Fertilizer!” snapped Widder Hackett-or something very close to that, at any event.