abba resembled a giant tadpole. Like the cinematic creature forwhom he was nicknamed, the man was a hairless spheroid. As residentguardian angel of all NSA computer systems, Jabba marched fromdepartment to department, tweaking, soldering, and reaffirming hiscredo that prevention was the best medicine. No NSA computer hadever been infected under Jabba's reign; he intended to keep itthat way.

Jabba's home base was a raised workstation overlooking theNSA's underground, ultra-secret databank. It was there that avirus would do the most damage and there that he spent the majorityof his time. At the moment, however, Jabba was taking a break andenjoying pepperoni calzones in the NSA's all-night commissary.He was about to dig into his third when his cellular phonerang.

"Go," he said, coughing as he swallowed amouthful.

"Jabba," a woman's voice cooed. "It'sMidge."

"Data Queen!" the huge man gushed. He'd alwayshad a soft spot for Midge Milken. She was sharp, and she was alsothe only woman Jabba had ever met who flirted with him. "Howthe hell are you?"

"No complaints."

Jabba wiped his mouth. "You on site?"

"Yup."

"Care to join me for a calzone?"

"Love to Jabba, but I'm watching these hips."

"Really?" He snickered. "Mind if I joinyou?"

"You're bad."

"You have no idea…"

"Glad I caught you in," she said. "I need someadvice."

He took a long swallow of Dr Pepper. "Shoot."

"It might be nothing," Midge said, "but my Cryptostats turned up something odd. I was hoping you could shed somelight."

"What ya got?" He took another sip.

"I've got a report saying TRANSLTR's been runningthe same file for eighteen hours and hasn't crackedit."

Jabba sprayed Dr Pepper all over his calzone. "You what?"

"Any ideas?"

He dabbed at his calzone with a napkin. "What report isthis?"

"Production report. Basic cost analysis stuff." Midgequickly explained what she and Brinkerhoff had found.

"Have you called Strathmore?"

"Yes. He said everything's fine in Crypto. SaidTRANSLTR's running full speed ahead. Said our data'swrong."

Jabba furrowed his bulbous forehead. "So what's theproblem? Your report glitched." Midge did not respond. Jabbacaught her drift. He frowned. "You don't think yourreport glitched?"

"Correct."

"So you think Strathmore's lying?"

"It's not that," Midge said diplomatically,knowing she was on fragile ground. "It's just that mystats have never been wrong in the past. I thought I'd get asecond opinion."

"Well," Jabba said, "I hate to be the one tobreak it to you, but your data's fried."

"You think so?"

"I'd bet my job on it." Jabba took a big bite ofsoggy calzone and spoke with his mouth full. "Longest a filehas ever lasted inside TRANSLTR is three hours. That includesdiagnostics, boundary probes, everything. Only thing that couldlock it down for eighteen hours would have to be viral. Nothingelse could do it."

"Viral?"

"Yeah, some kind of redundant cycle. Something that gotinto the processors, created a loop, and basically gummed up theworks."

"Well," she ventured, "Strathmore's been inCrypto for about thirty-six hours straight. Any chance he'sfighting a virus?"

Jabba laughed. "Strathmore's been in there forthirty-six hours? Poor bastard. His wife probably said hecan't come home. I hear she's bagging his ass."

Midge thought a moment. She'd heard that too. She wonderedif maybe she was being paranoid.

"Midge." Jabba wheezed and took another long drink."If Strathmore's toy had a virus, he would have calledme. Strathmore's sharp, but he doesn't know shit aboutviruses. TRANSLTR's all he's got. First sign of trouble,he would have pressed the panic button—and around here, thatmeans me." Jabba sucked in a long strand of mozzarella."Besides, there's no way in hell TRANSLTR has a virus.Gauntlet's the best set of package filters I've everwritten. Nothing gets through."

After a long silence, Midge sighed. "Any otherthoughts?"

"Yup. Your data's fried."

"You already said that."

"Exactly."

She frowned. "You haven't caught wind of anything?Anything at all?"

Jabba laughed harshly. "Midge… listen up. Skipjacksucked. Strathmore blew it. But move on—it's over."There was a long silence on the line, and Jabba realized he'dgone too far. "Sorry, Midge. I know you took heat over thatwhole mess. Strathmore was wrong. I know how you feel abouthim."

"This has nothing to do with Skipjack," she saidfirmly.

Yeah, sure, Jabba thought. "Listen, Midge, Idon't have feelings for Strathmore one way or another. I mean,the guy's a cryptographer. They're basically allself-centered assholes. They need their data yesterday. Every damnfile is the one that could save the world."

"So what are you saying?"

Jabba sighed. "I'm saying Strathmore's a psycholike the rest of them. But I'm also saying he loves TRANSLTRmore than his own goddamn wife. If there were a problem, he wouldhave called me."

Midge was quiet a long time. Finally she let out a reluctantsigh. "So you're saying my data's fried?"

Jabba chuckled. "Is there an echo in here?"

She laughed.

"Look, Midge. Drop me a work order. I'll be up onMonday to double-check your machine. In the meantime, get the hellout of here. It's Saturday night. Go get yourself laid orsomething."

She sighed. "I'm trying, Jabba. Believe me, I'mtrying."