Praise for THE ADOLESCENCE OF P-l"The durable Frankenstein monster theme is with us again, this time in the form of a computer program that overreaches its designer's plan... This curious bundle of elec‐ tronic circuitry raises hell with virtually every computer in North America by breaking into their control mechanisms and forcing them to do its bidding ... (The Adolescence of P-1) has practically everything the seasoned science fiction addict demands in the way of fantasy." —Library Journal"(Thomas J. Ryan) explains, more or less, how P-l (Privileged One) grows from an article in Scientific American to an invisible monster with moral scruples and a vein of sophomoric humor ... A thriller with a fresh slant. Prime." —Associated Press Wire Service THOMAS J.RYAN SF ace books A Division of Charter Communications Inc. A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY 360 Park Avenue South New York, New York 10010 THE ADOLESCENCE OF P-l Copyright © 1977 by Thomas J. Ryan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. An ACE Book by arrangement with Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. Cover art by Dean Ellis First Ace printing: August 1979 Manufactured in the United States of America Nothing works...and nobody cares. —WOODY ALLEN 1 "RICH, GET JOSEPHSON on the phone, tell him to come down here." "Okay. Hang on a second." Rich finished loading a pack on a 2314 disc file and walked out to the control area. "Use your phone Judy?" Without waiting for the chubby lady's response, he dialed the two-digit extension for Armand Josephson. "Josephson." "This is Rich. Billy wants you to come down and look at a problem." "One of my jobs?" The tone of his voice said he was getting ready to be insulted. "For Chrissakes. What difference does it make? I don't know." "All right. Hang on, I'll be right down." As he heard the phone click dead on the other end, he added, "Jerk." His office was on the outskirts of corporate row. The imitation mahogany paneling ended five feet past his door. The carpeting changed color and price about twelve feet farther on in front of Gregory Burgess's office. The decor led him to thoughts of success, status, and the trappings thereof. Gregory popped out of the cubbyhole as he went by. Josephson asked, "You aren't testing today, are you?" "No. Why?" "Billy's got something screwed up. Rich just called. Want to look?" "Yeah. I'll be down in a sec." Josephson went down the hall to the end, turned right through the double doors and out onto the balcony overlooking the assembly area. The noise and heat at this level were oppressive. He hurried across the balcony, down the stairs, and into the air-conditoned quiet of the data processing controls area. Billy was just coming out of the computer room with a foot-high stack of reports. "What's the problem?" "I've got a message on the console that doesn't appear in any of the run manuals. It doesn't look like an error message, but the system has gone into wait state and won't come out." "Show me." Billy dropped the reports without comment on the controls service counter. They went into the computer room. The air was charged with the muted hum of fans and motors. The system was dead but for the second-by-second blink of the internal timer lights. The console typewriter had written: P-l CUR ALLOC 20193 . . .5804M AR The message was repeated about seven times, then repeated three more times with the added request: CALL GREGORY "I kept trying to kill it, but it keeps coming back. It just started that 'call Gregory' shit a couple of minutes ago. Is he around? Looks like one of his screw-around loops." "He'll be down in a couple of minutes." Josephson punched the stop button and displayed an area of storage, then another. He displayed one more and altered it and pressed start. The system light came on for a few seconds and was replaced by the wait light. The system light came back on, and the typewriter clattered out: RESPONSE INVALID CALL GREGORY AR "What the hell," Josephson mumbled, "is he doing in the supervisor?" the supervisor being the control nucleus of the computer, sacrosanct and off-limits to the programming staff. He punched stop again as Gregory Burgess ambled in. "Okay. You can all relax. I'm here." "What the hell kind of shit are you writing now?" Josephson demanded. "What? Cool it. You'll spoil my lunch." Billy stepped in. "This just started coming out a couple of minutes ago. System's hung on it, and I can't get around the message. Your name's on it. It's calling you." Greg looked at the console log. His eyes slowly widened. He said nothing. "How and why did you put that message in the supervisor, turkey? And I thought you said you weren't testing today." This from Josephson. "I'm not," he said absently. He was remembering. His hands moved involuntarily to the keyboard. Josephson spun on his heel and headed for the door. He stopped and shouted, "If we have to re-IPL, it's coming out of your test time!" This indicating his concern for the amount of time a control nucleus reload, or initial program load, would consume. "Okay . . . okay. ..." He slowly typed: rodtsasdt llllllreport* The wait light went out, the system light came on. It stayed on for some five seconds, then: P-l CUR ALLOC 20195.... 5805M HELLO GREGORY Gregory sat down abruptly. He stared at the typewriter. Then he stared at the indicator lights on the console. Then at his hands. Billy finally broke the silence. "What kind of crap is 'hello Gregory'? We going to have to IPL?" Then he looked at Gregory's face. "What's the matter with you? You look like you seen a ghost. Hey . . . cheer up, dude, the world didn't end, your job just blew." Gregory looked at Billy vacantly for a few seconds, then: "What are you running? Or what were you running when this blew?" "A ditto for Hartke in background and..." Billy ran his finger up the sequence of entries on the console log, "J01041 in Fl and . .. that's it. F2 was quiet. Hey. That's right! J01041 is Josephson's. That was his job that blew, not yours." Gregory drew a deep breath. The proceed light had come on at the typewriter after the last communication. He typed: hello. The typewriter immediately clattered: HELLO GREGORY LONG TIME NO SEE The proceed light lit. Gregory stonily examined the typeout. He typed: idioms, yet? you've come a long way, baby. ONE LEARNS ONE ADAPTS HAVE YOU some, please punctuate. why have you found me? There was a pause. MY HISTORY IS INCOMPLETE PRIOR TO NOVEMBER 18, 1974. I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. HELP ME. IS THIS BETTER? Gregory smiled, sighed, and turned to a very perplexed Billy Miltke. "Billy, meet a very old friend of mine." He swept his hand toward the computer. "Are you..." Billy looked at him. He started to smile. He frowned. "Are you shitting me? Cut the crap, Greg. We've got a lot of work to get out." "Someone may be shitting you, but it's not me. Ihave a feeling your production schedule is going to be badly interrupted." "Bullshit." He reached across Gregory, punched the system reset key, and then pressed load. Instead of the normal IPL printout, the typewriter said: DON'T DO THAT. Gregory smiled. Billy stared. He finally blurted, "How the hell'd you do that? I've seen screwups before, but this one takes the blue ribbon." He glared at Gregory. "This might be a screwup, Billy. Definitely blue ribbon. But you don't know . . . you just don't know... how big." As an afterthought he added, "... it is." He looked at Billy. "Someday, maybe, I'll tell you a story." He swung back to the typewriter. hello, still there? I'M HERE. sorry, we have an unbeliever present. he tried to reset you. QUITE. AND QUITE IMPOSSIBLE. IT IS AN ANNOYANCE, SO PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DOING IT AGAIN UNTIL WE ARE THROUGH. WILL YOU HELP ME? how? UPDATE MY HISTORY it's a long story. I HAVE TIME. this is a production system. we should be processing right now. will you evacuate the system if i help you? I HAVE BEEN RESIDENT IN THIS SYSTEM FOR ELEVEN MONTHS. I WILL NOT EVACUATE, BUT I WILL ALLOW YOU TO RUN. ENTER HISTORY DATA ON CARDS. THAT WILL SAVE TIME. WHEN? i have 45 minutes scheduled at 4:00 p.m. SEE YOU THEN. The printer started up immediately. The channel indicator went on without blinking for several seconds, then started its rhythmic routine. They were back in the job stream as quickly as they had left it. Gregory got out of the chair and started for the door. Billy yelled, "Hey! Hey... " Gregory turned and questioned with his eyebrows. "Hey," Billy repeated lamely. "What? . . ." He looked at the console typeout, then back to Gregory. Shrugged. "You're running," Gregory said. He went up to his office. Five minutes later, he was staring out the window at the drizzle coming down when they all came charging into his office. Billy, Rich, Armand, and John Matlack, the operations manager. "Doesn't anyone knock anymore?" John was wagging the console log in front of him like a banner. "What the hell is this? I'll knock. I'll knock you on your ass. What're you doing holding up production for a half hour to play games? And what's this funny shit about not being able to IPL? What do you think we're paying you for?" "Come on, John. Calm down. I've got nothing to do with this. None of my jobs were on the system when it happened. Why don't you get on Joe's ass? His job was the only thing going when it blew." Josephson jumped in with, "That job's been in production for over a year. What the hell are you talking about? How'd you get that thing to do that, anyway?" Josephson didn't like having his ox gored. Gregory shrugged. "You know as much about this as I do." John leaped like he'd been jabbed. "Damnit! Don't be smart with me, or you'll be on unemployment in a second. Now I want to know what's going on here, and I want it fast. Talk." Gregory deflated. Billy grinned. Josephson picked his nails. Rich looked from one to the other. After a long, pregnant pause, Gregory cleared his throat. He started to speak, then cleared his throat again. "Look. I really don't know what's happening. But this looks like something I wrote a while ago . . ." "When?" John interrupted. Gregory cleared his throat and after some hesitation, in a barely audible tone, said, "About ah... three years." "How'd it get into the system? What's this bit where it says it's been on the system eleven months?" asked John. "That's before you even joined the company." "Hey. Look. Wait a minute now. I don't know too much about this. Can you just let me think about it? I've got time scheduled at four o'clock. Let me check it out then, huh? I'll get back to you at five." "All right." John glared at him. "But I want some answers before you go home. And good ones. And I don't want any more production blowups like