Chapter 1: (S)he Blinded Me With Science

A/N: All eight chapters of this story have been revised in the following ways:
1) More character descriptions, mainly physical ones.
2) Filled in some plot holes, especially the FBI agent's story.
3) Fixed a few grammatical errors and made it "sound" better.

--------June 1985--------

In the break room of the Opera Computing office, the company's two youngest employees sat eating peanut M&M's and griping about work.

"Omigod, I hate my job! This is the most boring company ever! Nothing exciting ever happens here!" twenty-year-old Christine, a recently hired programmer, whined.

"Mine is too, tell me about it!" eighteen-year-old Meg, the assistant office manager, reciprocated. "And it's all because of my stupid mom. She practically made me work here so she could keep an eye on me and make me do something useful. Says she doesn't want me running off with my artistic friends, calls them bums." She sighed. "I bet I could really write something meaningful, if I could sit down to it without these mountains of paperwork frying my brain." Meg shoved three M&M's in her mouth in frustration.

"Well, someday you'll get your first book published, and then you'll show her. As soon as you can find a good topic to write about..." An uncomfortable silence followed, so Christine changed the subject: "Well, we both know who we can blame for my computer slavery!" They both rolled their eyes and laughed. Christine was referring to Carlotta Guo, Opera Computing's lead software designer. Imported from the most prestigious mathematics and computer science university in China, Carlotta put herself in charge of every aspect of every project. She had no patience for people who contradicted her ideas with their "inferior" qualifications. The other programmers were reduced to mindlessly coding her designs—especially Christine, the most junior programmer and a college dropout.

Both Christine and Meg could be considered pretty, but in different ways. Meg accented her tall, boyish figure with as many creative touches as her mother would let her wear to her "serious job." Today she had on a pink vest with flower decals she had added herself, balanced with a white blouse and black pleated skirt to appease her mother. Her straight brown hair had two tiny braids in front, decorated with at least five barrettes. She tried to detract from her pale skin and freckles with pink blush and lipstick.

On the other hand, Christine's naturally even skin, wavy light-blonde hair, and classic hourglass figure shone through her almost complete inattention to beauty. She generally wore no makeup and rather boring outfits. Christine was as interested in attracting young men as Meg was, but neither girl saw any possibilities among the geeky programmers they worked with. Meg bothered about her appearance only as an outlet for her self-described "repressed creativity."

Arnav, one of Opera's two presidents, ran into the break room excitedly. "Ladies, ladies, great news!" he panted. "Chavez Conglomerate's selected us as one of only two bidders for their big contract! They've decided to go electronic, and we could be writing their entirefinancial software system—from scratch!" He rubbed his hands together. "Can you imagine the profit, girls? We could double the size of the company--move into a nicer building--maybe even go public someday..." He rambled on about the various benefits that the Chavez money would bring, until Christine interrupted him with the burning question she had formed:

"Do you mean the Chavez Conglomerate, with Esteban Chavez?"

"Why, yes," Arnav replied, surprised that Christine knew about their prospective client and its CEO. "Mr. Chavez isn't coming to the presentation next week, though. He's sending the vice president instead – his brother Raul, I believe."

"Thank you so much!" Christine gushed, as Arnav shrugged and left the room. She turned to her friend. "Oh, Meg, something exciting is finally happening! Raul Chavez—he's my old friend, from when I was a little girl. I haven't seen him since were about fourteen, when he left for some preppy boarding school out East, but from what I remember he was really cute. I can't wait to see him. I hope he's single!"

"Yeah, if they let you go to the presentation," Meg said bitterly. "I bet Queen Carlotta thinks lowly peons like us will mess it up without even talking."

Christine couldn't help feeling nervous about this possibility. Thoughts of Raul churned through her head as she stared at the scrolling monochrome text on her computer terminal, especially during the long days that followed. Besides her coding for the usual ongoing projects, she had to word-process some documentation for the upcoming presentation and deal with Carlotta's irritable bossiness about this task.

It certainly didn't help Carlotta's disposition when her computer crashed the day before the big event, causing her to lose the document she was word-processing. She hit her computer and cursed in Chinese, but upon rebooting the machine, she found a far greater inconvenience than the loss of a single document. Every file associated with the Chavez contracts, from her detailed software layouts to her speaking notes, was gone. They had not been corrupted or made unreadable--they had simply vanished. Furthermore, the floppy disk in the drive, which contained some of the other programmers' contributions, had been erased and formatted. Weirdest of all, not one non-Chavez-related file had been affected.

This seemed impossible to Carlotta. She guarded her computer with hawkish obsession and never allowed anyone else to touch it. She refused to connect it to the phone line; she commandeered someone else's computer when she wanted to use a bulletin board or file server. There was absolutely no way for a virus to infect her precious box. Frustrated and flabbergasted, she screamed out a shrill "Whaaaaat?" For a tiny five-foot woman, her voice could carry.

Opera Computing's co-presidents, Arnav and Frank, frantically ran in to assist their star programmer; Christine listened from the next room, amused at her slave-driver's misfortune. Frank, the more level-headed president, began to explain that computers are not perfect and that "these things do happen," but Arnav butted in with another explanation: "Miss Guo, you must know our situation with this unfortunate building. We had to buy the cheapest we could find, being a poor startup, but this building was cheap for a reason! I believe that a ghost lurks in here, and he interferes with our operations because he delights in causing us misery. But please, please, do not worry! When we are paid from this contract, we will relocate to a beautiful new office and you will never be bothered again!"

"Whatever," Frank said dismissively, "but Carlotta, please redo these documents for us! My shining star...you have done so much for all of us..."

But Carlotta was livid. "No!" she yelled. "Until you do something about problem with ghost, I not help you! I go home now – and you see if I come tomorrow!" She grabbed her designer purse and stormed out, muttering under her breath. They heard her high heels clanking angrily on the floor all the way to the parking lot.

"We must now say goodbye to all our hopes and dreams, and all that money," Arnav sighed dramatically. "What will we tell Mr. Chavez? There's no choice but to cancel!"

The head office manager, Mrs. Adele Grant, who had recently walked into the room, said, "What about Christine? She might be able to handle it."

Frank laughed. "What, a college dropout? All she knows how to do is what Carlotta tells her to. She'll just embarrass us in front of all those bigwigs!"

But Mrs. Grant pressed the point further. "Please sir, just let her prepare some material and show it to you. She's had more training than you think. If you don't like it, I promise, we can cancel the presentation." As Christine had no other tasks that couldn't be postponed for a day, Frank grudgingly agreed. He called Christine in to tell her of the daunting task she would have to carry out.

Opera Computing occupied one building in a clump of offices and labs near the downscale industrial part of the Southern California town. Some of its neighbors were home to other struggling tech startups and had fresh paint and fixtures, but others were abandoned and decaying. Only the faded letters on some of the abandoned buildings, Dulce Hogar Federal Research Facility, indicated what the place had once been.

--------1965---------

Years before tourists and tech companies filled the area to the brim, the Dulce Hogar Federal Research Facility stood alone within miles of unoccupied land. The government took every precaution that their Cold War foes would not find out about the weapons being developed there, from the isolated location to the tight security ensuring every coming and going was documented.

The researchers lived with their wives in modest houses adjoining the research buildings. There were few children—who would want to raise a child so far from society?—but a small school served those who did live there. The smaller children were oblivious to their isolated environment, as long as they had toys and a couple of playmates. The teenagers were much less content, but they did their best to create some semblance of social lives. Instead of the typical going into town, they watched TV and played cards at each other's houses. Friendships, and even some romances, bloomed in the desert.

Yet one young boy participated in none of this. None of the other youngsters knew what the skinny teenager with unruly dark hair was doing on the compound. He did not go to school, but worked at the labs with his peers' parents. When he talked at all, which was seldom, he spoke with a thick Eastern European accent. This raised speculation that his parents might be Russian defectors, although no one actually saw them. The boy was in fact Soviet, but had no parents at all. His mother and father, both Soviet agents, had been captured and executed as spies. The United States government had prepared to deport him back to Russia, but after discovering that he was a mathematical and scientific genius, decided to keep him in America and see if they could put him to use.

After an intense period of indoctrination, the boy agreed to take an American name, adopt American values, and help the Americans with their weapons research. At the age of thirteen, Erik, as he now was called, came to live and work at Dulce Hogar.