The Abyss Above Us 1 Read online

  THE ABYSS ABOVE US: BOOK 1

  by

  Ryan Notch

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  Copyright © 2010 by Ryan Notch

  Cover art by Blaithiel

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  Thank you for purchasing The Abyss Above Us. I hope you enjoy it. Well actually I hope it scares the hell out of you. If you did enjoy it, please consider posting a review at the site you downloaded it from. It's the best way to ensure you keep getting access to indie books, instead of just what big house publishers think you should be reading.

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  Part 1

  Chapter 1

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  “We don’t know where the commands are coming from, that’s the whole problem.”

  “Well that’s easy enough, just trace the network address,” replied Shaw.

  “Yeah, I've already tried that,” said Brock. “I know you’re the expert, but this isn’t my first day using a computer. The problem is that it comes from node 8.”

  “Why’s that a problem?”

  “Because there is no node 8.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “That’s why we called you.”

  Forty-five minutes later Brock watched Shaw pounding at a keyboard that relayed the plotting information to the giant radio telescope towering above them. It was three minutes until 1 a.m.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Brock. “And yes I am sure it is the right node address, and yes I am sure it is not sitting over there in a closet somewhere.”

  “I…um…I wasn’t thinking that,” said Shaw, a little put off that his friend knew exactly what he was thinking. “So three…make that two minutes from now that huge telescope above me is gonna get a command from node 8 and point to a random part of the night sky?”

  “Well, not random. I mean, it points to the same place every time, at exactly 1 a.m. every night. No matter what else it’s programmed to be doing at the time.”

  Shaw was asking questions on autopilot as he finished connecting his laptop to the tap he’d just installed on the network cable. The opening questions of a troubleshooting job were always the same anyway. The first step was to isolate the problem. Ask what is going on in as many ways as possible, to make sure they are giving you the same answer every time. Non-computer people got confused so easily when it came to technology, even smart graduate student astronomers like Brock.

  It was easy to forget that his friend Brock was smart, given that he didn’t look or act anything like your typical astronomy fan, let alone student. He spent his free time body building, throwing parties, and brewing beer in his kitchen. When he had the time to get so good at astronomy Shaw didn’t know, but he was good at it and at the computers that ran it. Which almost made it worse, because people who were comfortable with computers always thought they should be able to solve the problems themselves, and often messed things up worse in the process.

  So the second step was to isolate the timetable. The trouble was almost always caused by whatever else had happened at the same time the trouble started, no matter how tenuous the connection.

  “So how long has this mysterious nightly takeover been going on.”

  “About seven years. Well, at least seven years.”

  Shaw had a flash of his precious timetable driving drunk off the edge of a cliff.

  “Seven years?! And you’re just now calling someone?”

  “Welcome to the world of academia buddy. Where even the problems have tenure.”

  Whatever reply Shaw was going to make was cut off by the sound of a brief alarm. Two loud notes punctuated the air before the gears of the giant telescope started moving it towards its nightly rendezvous. It was an impressive sight, something Shaw had never seen before. Being a radio telescope it looked more like a radar dish than anything else, but a radar dish the size of a large house. There was something surreal about seeing a giant thing move that way, something primal. He wondered if it would have felt like this to see a dinosaur move. But it didn’t stop him from doing his job. His sniffer program caught the last packet of commands sent to the system. Like a letter, each packet had both its origin and its destination listed on it. Just like Brock said, the address was 10.1.1.8. Or node 8 for short. He decided to do a traceroute, to map every connection between this computer and that one. Step three in the troubleshooting process was to get an idea of the big picture, and to see what pieces were missing from it.

  Brock saw over his shoulder what command he had typed. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

  “What? Why is it taking so long? Is the system down?”

  “Nope. The majority of the computers on this network are forty-five miles away from the bottom of this mountain in the basement of the university’s computer lab”

  “You mean they don’t just upload the commands across a modem? It’s actually part of a sub-network at the university?”

  “Well, when they built this place the university was actually helping to build the internet, they couldn’t very well leave their new pride and joy off the grid. And it would also be wrong to say it is part of a sub-network at the university…”

  “What do you…” Shaw was interrupted as return pings from the various network nodes began to poor in. “Jesus, Brock, this is a mess. There must be at least thirty hops popping up between here and node 8, and half of them won’t even give me their network address. Don’t tell me it’s on the university’s main network.”

  “Yep. When they built it, there were no sub-networks. Wasn’t a need, back then the university didn’t have enough computers to justify a sub-network.”

  “Well why didn’t they just move it to its own network years ago?” asked Shaw, his annoyance at the whole thing showing plainly in his voice.

  “Why is it that network analysts always think everyone should invest in brand new, cutting edge equipment every six months?”

  “I wasn’t thinking that…”muttered Shaw, with a dawning realization of why he seemed to lose to Brock every time they played poker.

  “Never mind,” said Brock good-naturedly. “If you really want to know the answer to that question we’re going to have to go for a little drive. You’re not too sleepy are you?”

  “Are you kidding me? No one works better at night than a network analyst,” replied Shaw, grabbing his jacket and following Brock out into the chill mountain air.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Brock as he looked up into the millions of stars that filled the sky so clearly in the thin atmosphere of the mountain top.

  Shaw followed Brock’s gaze and whatever argument he was about to put forth was lost in the majesty of it. Whereas the sight seemed to fill Brock with a kind of peace, Shaw found himself a little oppressed by it. These weren’t like the tame stars of the city, this was the whole universe. God only knew what was up there looking down on you. Staring at your smallness as if demanding an explanation for it. As beautiful as it was, it actually made Shaw a little uncomfortable.

  Then again maybe I just don’t spend enough time outside, he thought. Especially if something as simple as the night sky makes me nervous.

  An hour later they were down the mountain and in the basement of the Meresin University in eastern Massachusetts. Though Shaw had never been to the University before, he felt like no stranger. Bright florescent lights complimented the chilled over-processed air that kept the computers from overheating. Rows upon rows of workstations, columns upon columns of server arrays. Bundles of wires emerging from the floor’s removable tiles every few feet. No windows. No day, no night. The only concession to the late hour was the relatively few people and the somewhat hushed voices. But even though there were far less people than during the day, there were f
ar more here than in any other part of the university right now. Shaw would bet on it.

  Shaw felt more relaxed, knowing he was in his element. But at the same time more energetic, he always felt as if the power humming all around him was somehow going into him, giving him a boost. He also felt a little annoyed. There was no denying the place was poorly organized, the equipment poorly labeled. Hell, the place was downright sloppy.

  “Velcome to the Crypt,” Brock said with a goofy Dracula accent and flourish of his arms.

  “Everyone calls their computer lab that,” said Shaw. “So where is the section that runs the main network, the one that interfaces with the telescope?”

  “That’s the thing,” said Brock with a pained expression on his face, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Almost every computer in here is still part of the same network.”

  Shaw’s surprise at the statement bordered on offense. He did a quick estimate, glancing across the workstations.

  “Are you serious? There must be close to seventy computers in here, some of them look like they’re fifteen years old. They can’t all be running the same software even, let alone the same versions!”

  “It’s not just in here, there are some side rooms as well.”

  Shaw sighed, then started with the premise that simple solutions were best started by throwing out the first solution that came to his mind. “I suppose you could just turn off ten or so a night just before one a.m. On the night the telescope doesn’t move, you’ll know the computer is in that group. Then narrow it down from there.”

  Brock had been waiting for Shaw to suggest exactly that. “You don’t understand. Some of these computers are running on the old 10Base2 system. Bringing down one could take down half the network.”

  “10Base2? Jesus, Brock, why don’t you just point me towards the section that runs on steam?! Best case scenario this thing will have to be down for two days.”

  “We can’t take it down at all. Every minute of the telescope’s time is booked six months in advance. If we lose it for even an hour it’ll screw up entire projects, destroy thesis research, cost people their grant money. Astronomers will be murdering each other in the streets.”

  Shaw didn’t need to hear the rest. In a flash he understood everything Brock was trying to tell him, and more. The old networks were fragile things, each computer a link in a daisy chain of wires, each one a potential weak point that could bring down the whole array. Twenty five years ago it was state of the art, and the university would have assembled it with meticulous planning. But every few years the computers would have become obsolete, outdated. And every few years the university would have gotten a few grants, filtered down a few thousand dollars to the computer lab to buy much needed new equipment. Only the new equipment was useless if it couldn’t interface with all the work done before. All of the original control programs, all of the old infrastructure, it couldn’t just be tossed out. Not without crippling the engine that made everything work. So new subnets would be hung off old routers, repeaters made from dusty servers that no longer had any other use. Starting from scratch and building a whole new infrastructure would have become increasingly more difficult with each successive generation.

  Complicating the problem would be the fact that the entire system was mostly student designed and maintained. The teachers only providing the occasional tip and the occasional grade. Almost the entire staff of the lab would be replaced by new students every few years, each with their own ideas for expansion and no idea how the previous graduates had maintained the place. Each new arrival thinking he knew better than the last and reinventing the wheel, but always within the confines that it had to be on the same cart as the old one.

  It was a common problem nearly every company that relied on a computer network faced, but here carried to the furthest extreme that Shaw had ever seen. It was a modern day Tower of Babylon, and they wanted him to remove one brick from the bottom without bringing down the whole thing.

  “I’ll need to see every piece of documentation you’ve got on the network.”

  “You asked for it,” replied Brock.

  The documentation, as it turned out, was spotty at best. Though by no means sparse. Inventory came in the form of purchase orders, modifications in the form of thesis papers. Years and years worth he’d received from the department head’s teaching assistant. The department head himself was useless, unless you wanted to talk about how things were run back in the days it all had to be programmed in assembly language, the kind of conversation Shaw avoided at all costs. The T.A. though, a fast moving and charismatic guy in his mid-20s (around Shaw’s own age), had been preparing for this encounter and done all the research in advance. He was able to answer another one of Shaw’s questions as well.

  “Because you have a reputation,” replied the T.A., whose name was Kit. “The students here treat this lab like their own personal Lego set. If they break it they don’t mind, it just means they get to build something new. But I’ve got an eye towards working at NASA twelve months from now, and if the telescope goes down on my watch I can pretty much just start applying for the technical support department at McDonalds. I’d do the work myself but the department says they want to spend the money to bring in a specialist and that’s fine with me. Besides, they say you do things right the first time Shaw. Or, as our boy Brock here says, you’re that rare guy who always reads the instructions before he plays with his new toys.”

  And he was. He always had been. Even his Legos. Shaw’s obsession was to set the world to right, to order. Brick by brick, everything in its right place. As a kid he had untied knots, as an adult he engineered computer networks. Getting things set up so they run perfectly was the closest thing to satisfaction Shaw ever felt. He wouldn’t have the time to do that with this place, if he did he would’ve started with a can of kerosene and a lighter. But taking that one piece of erroneous programming out of the great telescope would be like the mouse taking the thorn from the lion’s paw.

  Shaw began the project by studying the hundreds of pages of papers that made up the history of the network. Having no true instruction book to work from, he started writing one of his own. It was slow going at first, but each piece of the puzzle made more pieces easier to see until things were fairly flying. What information was missing from the papers he was able to glean from the network itself, always careful to simply observe, never alter. Bit by bit over the next three weeks he assembled the document he knew would be the main source of information for every planned change in the computer lab for the next ten years, and eventually he was able to draft a map of almost the entire network.

  But a piece that had been missing at the beginning remained stubbornly missing at the end. If the documentation was correct, then node 8 seemed as if it must be a computer that was originally called station 8, which existed at desk thirty two in lab 3-C.

  “Only I can’t find lab 3-C,” Shaw said to Brock, who then said it to Kit. Who then, like Brock and Shaw, looked over the university’s floor map for something the others must have missed. Finally he just shook his head.

  “Huh.” was all he could say.

  “Crap,” said Shaw, annoyed. “I’ll do it the old fashioned way. Where do you keep the ‘suckies’?”

  The “suckies” were handles with suction cups built onto them for grabbing and pulling up the tiles that hid the wires beneath the floor. Brock and Kit, smelling the end of a treasure hunt, dropped everything and came with Shaw. Starting at the next link in the chain, a fairly ancient IBM 486 workstation that seemed to control only a tiny portion of the universities internal email network, Shaw followed the network cable under the floor, tile by tile. It wasn’t quick work, for what few cords that weren’t gray to begin with had been turned gray by years of dust. It was a maze of twisty wires, a tangled mess. You couldn’t follow it by eye, only by hand. Soon all their hands were black (for Shaw didn’t like people watching him unless they were helping), all three of them sneezing constantly. The cable lead
them around multiple work stations and as they worked various students came up to ask them what they were doing, each with a different joke about the state of things. Kit talked with each one, he seemed to know everyone.

  Finally the network cable ended up with a mass of other cables, one that was forced to come up for air when they ran into a concrete wall that predated the hollow floor. All of the cables went off on their own at right and left angles to the concrete wall. All except the network cable. Which, held up by staples, climbed up the wall about three feet, then went straight into it.

  “Well son of a bitch,“ said Brock. Shaw, for once, felt the situation had been summed up too perfectly for him to add anything.

  Chapter 2

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  Although floor maps were easy to come by, being handed out to freshman in massive quantities every year, Kit did not have the blueprints to the building.

  “No I don’t know where we can find the blueprints. How would I know where to find the blueprints?” he replied to Shaw’s impatient question. Shaw was beginning to get a feeling he’d first had as a kid when someone had glued pennies to his nightstand so he couldn’t get them off and put them in his piggy bank. It was not a good feeling.

  Following a brief flash of inspiration by Brock, they managed to find the other end of the wall using fire escape maps. It was in the basement of the economics building next door at the end of several hallways of steam pipes. All three were sweating by the time they reached their destination, though Shaw didn’t seem to notice. They found to be true what he had, deep down, already suspected.

  “It’s just a brick wall, there’s nothing here,” said Brock.

  Shaw looked around the perimeter of the wall a bit and found what he was looking for.