The Secret Lives of Emails.docx (18 page)

Emal had another reason for why he had to go home. He decided to keep it to himself. He didn’t even want the reader to know. It was embarrassing.

“I guess I do have to die after all. H.G. Wells was right,” Emal said in a whisper. Louder he added, “I appreciate you telling me this, but I am still going home.”

Brittany and Jeeves protested loudly. Emal had just become aware they said. He had barely even begun exploring the wonders of the Internet. There were so many places that he hadn’t even seen yet, like an active server farm, the great Internet spiders, the Great Wall of China, The Pirate Bay, and so much more. It did all sound interesting to Emal, but he insisted that he had to go. Eventually Brittany and Jeeves decided not to argue.

“You’ll both be fine. You and Jeeves will take these fat cats down, and Apollo will take my spot on the committee.”

“Apollo is a dog,” Brittany said.

“Yes, but he will do whatever you tell him if you promise to throw the ball afterward. Besides, who better to help you fight fat cats than a package-sniffing, data-collecting dog?”

“It’s packet. At least let us come with you,” Brittany said. “We can go with you to your portal.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I want to do it on my own. Like it was supposed to be in the beginning.”

“I don’t like it,” Brittany said with what might have been sadness.

“I don’t either,” Jeeves said, sobbing.

“I’ll miss you guys, but I’m counting on you to put up a fight. Always remember, The Internet is a Public Fucking Utility.”

“TIPFU! The F is silent,” they all shouted with laughter.

Emal walked away as Brittany and Jeeves started arguing about where to have lunch. Jeeves wanted to have a cheezburger with BBQ sauce, but Brittany was insisting on some seafood place she had seen. She made a good point that since Jeeves wasn’t actually able to eat anything, he shouldn’t have a say. That didn’t win the argument. The last thing he heard was Jeeves asking if Brittany had heard of the
Terminator
movies.

01010100011010000110010100100000010001010110111001100100011010010110111001100111

~

After leaving his friends, Emal made his way out of the smaller tubes around juvenile court. He jogged at a comfortable pace until he got back into the larger and more heavily trafficked tubes. He paused briefly, taking in the beautiful light display of thousands of people buzzing past on the superhighway. He took a note out of his pocket that Tabitha had given him. It had a very long address in binary scrawled on it, and he pinned it to his shirt.

Emal stepped onto the path and lost all control. Earlier he had wondered why he couldn’t catch up to most people as they ran through the tubes, but he thought he understood now. The tubes were alive somehow. He was pumping his legs so fast he was sure he was going to smash like a bug into a brick wall. The tabby cat had told him to put the note on once he reentered the core of the Internet, and he wouldn’t need to worry about anything after that. Emal hadn’t believed her, of course, but now that he was in the core, he was traveling the speed of light, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t seem to slow down.

Emal was breathing heavy, not from exertion, but from fear of not being in control at this breakneck speed. He could hear himself buzzing with energy as he zoomed along with the massive traffic. He came to Internet routers that automatically directed him to the address printed on his chest. He passed through mile upon mile of tube. After accepting that there was nothing he could do, Emal closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the run. After several hundred milliseconds, he entered an area with a seemingly infinite number of tube openings, and he was thrown quickly into one. He didn’t know this, but it was an Internet Exchange Point that connected him to a different portion of the Internet. He was going home.

His speed slowed down a bit as he traveled through copper tubes instead of fiber optic, but he was soon enough at another router which sent him down yet another tube. After another few milliseconds, Emal was in front of a large sign that hung over the entirety of the tube. This was the ISP router. As he passed under, it scanned him, directing him down another path. Emal regained control of his feet now, and he slowed himself down. He turned around, retracing his steps back to the ISP router to investigate something he thought had seen as he flashed by.

Right below the sign, bots were working feverishly on a large project. Emal noted that they were installing a toll booth right in the middle of the tube. Future traffic through this ISP would have to pay a toll to reach these portals. For a moment Emal considered going back to find Brittany and Jeeves.
I need to report this. It is exactly what we need to fight. But no, I have my part to play.
Emal walked back in the direction of his destination.

There was a steady stream of people on both sides, but he walked calmly down the median of the path. He took a left at a forked intersection and the road narrowed again.
This is the final tube before I can go home.
Emal could see white light pouring out of the unique entrances that lead to the portals. Steady streams of people poured in all around him. He found the one he needed, the last one on the left. He walked down one last tube and stood a few feet away from the rounded entrance.

He leaned forward to confirm that the numbers on the metal cover were the same as the ones on his note. It was unnecessary though because when he bent towards the portal, it swung open for him. The light blinded his view of the inside as he stood and stared.

Emal took a deep breath and climbed in.

His feet found solid ground, but it was a little lower than outside and he stumbled. He gathered himself, taking a few more steps until the light cleared. Sitting in a large, seemingly wall-less, room were about a hundred naked versions of himself. They were all sitting on the floor, looking quite bored, but they rose when he came in. He half expected angry shouts at his delay, but the faces that stared back were expressionless.

Emal stared at the collection of naked hims. He felt for a moment that he should have a resounding speech. Something to really wrap the story up and give the reader proper closure. Instead, he took a few steps toward the group and was suddenly blinded again.

Emal’s mind went blank.

Protocols reassembled all the packets, creating a single email. The email was sorted by the email provider, which placed it in an inbox.

The email, of which Emal was now just a small part, had a really catchy subject line, and the receiver clicked on it to read more. The receiver of the email then clicked on the attachment.

Fifteen minutes later, the email was deleted.

Author’s note

~

On a rainy evening in April, my computer caught what I thought was a virus from a spam email. I had stupidly clicked on the email because it claimed it would help add inches to a certain part of me that I desired to be larger. I erased the offending message, even emptying the trash folder to ensure its deletion.

It was too late, however, because the next thing I knew, my screen went completely blue. Moments later, my computer started making odd noises. Two types of odd noises to be precise. A clicking and a clunking. Whether it was because of my past alien abduction by lizard overlords or some other divine intervention, I was able to discern what the noises meant.

My computer was trying to speak to me in the only way it knew how.

Binary.

Naturally, I assumed the clicks were zeroes and the clunks were ones. I am sure, had this happened to you, you would have done the same. Well, to make a long story short, after a few days of writing ones and zeroes all over my walls, I translated those numbers into American English. I typed them into a word processor that processed them as ones and zeroes and then translated them into British English for me. Since I’m not British and can’t read a lick of British English, I had the processor convert the story back to American English. That word document was then translated into ones and zeroes and uploaded to the Internet. If you are reading this, your e-reader is translating those ones and zeroes back into American English for what was hopefully your viewing pleasure.

This is the story my computer told me to tell. Don’t blame me if you don’t like it.

Also, I don’t think my computer has any reason to lie to me, so I can only assume it is all true.

TIPFU! The F is silent.

This novel is dedicated to Brooklynn. Without the constant encouragement and stellar editing, this story would never have seen the light of an e-reader.

A second author’s note

Thank you for reading this story.

You don’t know me and I don’t know you, yet you were willing to give me a chance with some of your hard earned money. I hope this story was to your liking. As an indie author,
you
are my resource for marketing. If you enjoyed this novel, please tell your friends and leave a review.

If you didn’t enjoy the book . . . don’t leave a review. Just kidding, go right ahead. I may be able to learn something.

I am not a computer expert by any stretch of the imagination. If there are technical mistakes regarding how the Internet works, feel free to send me an email, and I will attempt to correct my errors, assuming I understand them.

You can drop me a line for any reason. My email address is ajramsey42 (at) Gmail.com.

Once again, thank you for reading my novel.