The Secret Lives of Emails.docx (12 page)

“Do you think they are expelling carbon waste?” he asked, seemingly suddenly interested.

“Of course they are,” Brittany said angrily. “Everyone is to some degree, aren’t they?”

“Oh yes,” he said, subdued again. “That is the problem, isn’t it? We are always expelling carbon and creating a dangerous world for our fellow animals. Such a shame really. If only everyone would buy my books and attend my lectures, then we could all understand. Children, do you want to buy some carbon offsets today?”

“What’s that?” Emal asked.

“They are wonderful things to help us save the planet. Since we all emit carbon dioxide, which is the environment killer, carbon offsets allow us to quite literally offset that waste and balance our emissions. It will quite literally save the planet. You must buy some. I sell them, you see.”

He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named was now pacing with excitement on top of his high tower.

Clearly, this is what he wants to talk about
, Emal thought.

“I have the honor to travel around the world giving talks on this global warming threat to the uneducated. I then sell the carbon offsets to eliminate the guilt these people have in their lives for the cars they drive, the plane rides they take, and the fuel they burn. After my expenses to maintain my fleet of planes and homes, we use those carbon offsets people purchased to help save the environment. Exciting stuff, isn’t it?”

“But what are they?” Emal asked again, quite confused by all this. “People buy carbon offsets from you; you pay yourself money for managing them, and then what? What does that do for the environment?”

“My poor boy, you don’t understand, do you? The offsets do just what they say. They offset the carbon you burn and save the environment.”

“But
how
? What does a carbon offset do?”

“Well, nothing. I mean . . . well, sometimes we plant trees and stuff to offset the carbons, and . . . and . . . we give lectures on saving the environment,” He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named said, confused himself now, for he didn’t understand what this skirted little man didn’t understand.

“HEY!” Brittany yelled out. “Who gives a shit? Don’t you realize we are talking about the end of the Internet as we know it? These people are just slowing up traffic today, but I can guarantee you that they want to do a lot more. They are worse than the mob. They’ll start doing shake downs, but they’ll be protected. If they get away with this, they will start building toll roads and dictating who can go where. They will be able to give premium access to people who pay the big money, and all the little guys will have the scraps. The Internet is under threat. It is being taken over!”

“Don’t shout, please. This is a place of peace.” He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named sat back into his thinking position. “Do you think these people would want some carbon offsets?”

“No, Gore damn it. I don’t think they care one bit about your damn carbon offsets. They want to take over the Internet! What don’t you understand?”

Brittany was getting bright red, and now she was pacing at the bottom of the steps. She looked on the verge of running up those steps and punching the Creator in the face. He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named produced a small pad of paper and a pen, writing something with a flourish on the pad. He slowly folded it into an airplane shape, ignoring all the cursing coming from Brittany. He stood up and threw the paper airplane down towards Brittany and Emal.

“Here. Take this prescription and call me in the morning. I’ve got to run and find an engineer who can build me a small jet plane. I’m very excited about it.”

With that, he disappeared behind some curtains on his high throne. Brittany’s curses followed him as he went. Emal caught the paper plane as it floated down to them. He unfolded it and was surprised to find that it really was a prescription.

The prescription read “unlimited carbon offsets,” and it was signed “He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named.”

Time to run

~

Brittany continued to pace at the bottom of the stairs and hurl insults at the now empty throne. When she decided He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named really wasn’t going to come back and listen to her yell, she turned to the only other person in the great room.

“DO YOU REALIZE WHAT IS HAPPENING? I’m telling you, this is only the beginning. They will keep building these barriers, choking off the Internet from everything but approved traffic. They want to become gatekeepers of something they have no right to own,” Brittany yelled at Emal.

“Okay!” Emal yelled back, stuffing the prescription in his pocket and throwing up his hands in defense, or surrender, whichever Brittany might be willing to accept. “I believe you, and I’m on your side, but what can we do? If He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named is the creator of this place and he doesn’t care, who are we going to get that will help us fight these mystery people of yours?”

“Just let me think,” she said and sat in an angry huff on the steps.

Emal sat down beside her; she wrinkled her nose at him, and he scooted away.
I’ve seen these brick walls myself,
Emal thought.
One of them, particularly close up. I can agree with Brittany they don’t belong in the Internet. Barriers go against everything the Internet stands for. I’ve only been here a day or two, but this place seems like a paradise. You can do whatever you want or be whoever you want. Sure, there are some seedy areas, and trolls, but isn’t that the price you pay? Now someone wants to control the tubes, putting up roadblocks in order to tell people where they can go and what they can do. Everyone should be able to get here, and once here, do whatever butters their toast.

There was a noise of claws on the floor and Emal felt a familiar wetness on his face.

Apollo, the packet sniffing dog, had appeared suddenly and was slobbering Emal with wet kisses.

“Hey, buddy,” Emal cried out as he roughly pet Apollo’s great mane. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey yourself,” Apollo said as he spun in circles and slammed himself into Emal, looking for some pets. “I’m just playing. I got my sniffing done. I got my ball. I’ve got nothing but time. Well, I think I have nothing but time. I don’t really tell time very well. But hey, it’s been so long since I saw you. Throw it!” he said excitedly as he spit a ball out at Emal’s feet.

Emal grabbed the ball and threw it across the room with Apollo right behind. Emal glanced over at Brittany, expecting Apollo’s presence to have brightened her mood as it did his. Emal was surprised to see that she was now standing rigid, with an expression that suggested doom was approaching.
Guess she doesn’t like dogs
,
Emal thought.

“You know that dog?” Brittany asked, watching the creature play.

“Sure, that’s Apollo. He helped me out before when I was in rough shape. He’s a fun guy,” Emal said, waving in the dog’s direction as he ran after the ball.

“Did he sniff you?” Brittany yelled, grabbing Emal by both shoulders and shaking him. “Did he sniff you?”

“Well, yeah. But he said he does that to everybody. Said he was a package sniffer.”

“PACKET sniffer, you idiot.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about this before,” Brittany said turning in circles as though looking for some type of threat.

“That’s not exactly something that comes up organically in conversation. Oh, by the way, I had my package sniffed by a dog while you were away,” Emal said in a poor imitation of a conversation.

“PACKET! You idiot. You’re going to get us both killed,” Brittany said as she now began to pace back and forth very quickly. “Dog! Dog!” Brittany called. Apollo came bounding back over, dropping the ball near her feet.

“Did you . . . already turn . . . in your data . . . today?” Brittany asked as slow as she could in her panicked state. She seemed to think Apollo would only understand her if she spoke very slowly.

“Of course, buddy,” Apollo said with a drooling grin and a glance at the ball. “How else would I have gotten my ball, silly goose? Throw it! Oh, please! Throw it!”

Brittany made no move to grab the ball, so Emal grabbed and threw it into the distance; Apollo tore off after it again.

“We can’t stay here anymore,” Brittany said as she began running in wide circles that were leading her nowhere.

“Why? What’s the big deal?”

“Do you remember when I said people are trying to kill us?”

“Well, of course. That’s not something you easily forget now, is it?”

“With you, I don’t know. Those people trying to kill us use packet sniffers like Apollo to track data on the Internet. To track us! If you’ve been sniffed, then you’ve been marked. Which means there are private investigators out right now searching for you. Searching to capture and or kill you! And now I’m associated with you! I knew I should have left this stupid story when I had the chance.”

“Oh my Gore! Why didn’t you say anything? We need to get out of here,” Emal yelled while starting to run in circles himself.

Apollo bounded up with the ball in his mouth, but his tail was slightly tucked as he realized something was not right with these two humans.

“Did I do something bad, guys? Awww . . . I didn’t mean to do anything bad,” Apollo mumbled around the ball in his mouth, with his head drooping in shame.

“It’s okay,” Emal said. He stopped panicking long enough to give him some reassuring pats on the head. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. You were just doing your job. It might be helpful if you could show us a back way out of here though.”

“No problem, buddy,” Apollo said, bounding off again. Just that quickly, his shame had been forgotten. He joyfully called back to them, “Follow me.”

Brittany was cursing again, this time at Emal for not telling her about Apollo.

“Well, next time someone sniffs me, I’ll be sure to take notes and give you all the details.”

Golden fur flying, the dog led them out a back entrance of the great building and through a row of hedges. Rabbits scattered, diving into bushes and climbing trees to get out of the path as Apollo led them across the lawn. The group ended up running in a big circle once when their leader gave chase to a particularly good looking rabbit.

“Sorry,” he yelled as he straightened back out and crashed through another hedge. The manicured lawn came to an end, and Apollo jerked his head in the direction of a narrow path that led into the thick woods. “There’s another way out through there. Good luck.”

Emal grabbed the ball one last time and threw it back toward the lawn. Apollo pursued after it happily as Emal and Brittany ran onto the forest path.

“Who are we running from?” Emal called out to Brittany as she ran ahead of him.

“The FCC.”

“The FCC?”

“Frankly curiously clueless.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I am new here in case you forgot.”

“No, idiot. That’s what they’re called. It’s their job to monitor the Internet.”

“Oh, so shouldn’t they be the ones we need to talk to?”

“You would think so, but no. They are frankly, curiously clueless. Most of them used to work for the fat cats, and they seem confused about who they work for now.”

“What do cats have to do with any of this?”

“Everything. Now keep moving,” Brittany said.

They crashed through the brush, and Emal’s face got fresh cuts from whipping branches that Brittany didn’t bother to hold for a split second longer. The pair came to the very edge of the old server farm, reaching a wall that disappeared up into clouds. A few feet off the path a mostly rotted wooden door was visible. Brittany tore at it, sending chunks of rotten wood flying. They went through a narrow hallway for a dozen feet before opening another door that led back to the tubes. This was an older path with cobblestone floors, little lighting, and no traffic. Emal and Brittany walked to the opposite wall and bent over, catching their breath.

“What are we going to do?” Emal gasped.

“We have to go to The Pirate Bay,” Brittany said through clenched teeth. “Before you even ask, it’s my home in a loose sense. It’s our last haven. There used to be more places—Port Royal, Tortuga, Barataria Bay—but they were raided years ago.”

“Did the FCC raid these other havens?”

“Ha! The FCC couldn’t raid an old folk’s home without hurting themselves. No, unmarked militia executed raids on all those havens in the same week. We have rumors about who sent them but no one knows. They destroyed the entire infrastructure of the server farms we had set up and erased anyone they found. They walled the havens off from the rest of the Internet, leaving any people still in the servers to die slow, agonizing deaths of boredom. They were dark days. We created The Pirate Bay as our final sanctuary.”

“Well, how will going there help us?”

“Back at The Pirate Bay we can get a new scent, one that hasn’t been tagged by packet sniffers. Also, you need a shower.”

“I wouldn’t mind some food either,” Emal said.

“Forget about food. We need to rally the resistance. If He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named isn’t going to help us, we’ll get this revolution started without him. It’s time to take the fight to the fat cats for control of the tubes. I only hope it isn’t too late.”