Programmed for Peril

collaboration with a true computer wizard. Almost without noticing.
    Her commercial boat had grown to a bark now, crewed by a staff of seven. Each month-end, when Lotus 1-2-3 cranked out the financial spread sheets, that vital bottom-line total was larger. Income was up, but so were expenses: PC-Pros had its own attorney, accountant, office cleaners. The idea was to continue to expand the business, going after service contracts with firms that used PCs but weren’t organized to handle the blown drive or memory upgrades. PC-Pros bought dead machines and pirated their parts to create used computers sold at tempting prices. There were some software installations and markups that added to revenues.
    She turned away from the Bunn-O-Matic, steaming coffee cup in hand, and surveyed her modest empire—two formerly street-level business spaces made one when the common walls came down. The landlord had wanted to rent as was, but Trish said no. She had heard he was hard up to fill the space; the neighborhood wasn’t the best. She held her ground. In the end he paid to have the walls removed.
    Inside, all the office equipment and furnishings were leased, as were the two service vans. PC-Pros owned only the analytic devices, tools, parts, and components. She had bought them with the money bequeathed her when her father died shortly after her return from California. How sudden that had been! And ironic as well. After decades of daily aerobic exercises and a recent clean bill of health from Dr. Grandman he had clutched his chest as desperately as any three-pack-a-day boozer and toppled. Wife Marylou had stood terrified witness to the massive coronary.
    Even without that tragedy those had been brutal emotional times for her. Having him go unexpectedly trashed what little remained of her good judgment. In her grief she had tried to persuade her mother to take the entire estate. Marylou had forcefully declined. “You and Melody are going to need every dollar he left you yourselves—in the worst way,” she said. “Your father left me well enough off.” Looking back, Trish counted that refusal as one of her mother’s more perceptive actions. Insight wasn’t normally her strong suit. When dealing with her only child she was usually highly opinionated and officious. Time past, Trish had fled the length of a continent to escape the woman. She had returned at twenty-nine shaken and chagrined, far more willing than previously to listen to Mother. Whether or not that was wise she hadn’t yet determined.
    Beside leasing what she could, Trish had resolved from the start to have as paper-free an office as possible. She bought software packages to handle business record keeping, leased a computer-operated telephone system that allowed message accumulation and access from distant sites. To further cut costs she hired smart, hungry young people who learned quickly. Their inexperience made them relatively inexpensive. She had imagined her little firm would suffer more turnover than had actually occurred. She suspected that was because she proved to be a better manager than her lack of experience suggested. She, too, was a fast learner. But compared to... him, she was a cretin. She kicked her attention free of that snare and went to her own PC. Time to see what she had scheduled on her calendar for this first day of the new month.
    She walked into the cubicle formed with shoulder-high partitions. She had resolved that in her firm there would be no fancy offices. She allocated space solely on the basis of what doing the job required. Flinging herself into her wheeled chair, she slid over to the surge protector lying on the floor. She flipped its switch to on. A few moments of hummings, beeps, and flashes brought her PC system to life.
    Hold on.
    Her monitor wasn’t showing the usual menu. A single line < of yellow letters crossed the screen.
    RECONSIDER BEFORE SEPTEMBER 1ST
    The letters disappeared. Up came the expected menu. Trish grunted. Somebody was fooling around. She studied her menu startup code, looking for renegade lines.
    None.
    Hmmmm... Whichever staff member had been playing games had instructed the machine to erase the code after the s message ran. Well, it was no big deal. She had no idea what Reconsider... meant. So the joke had gone over her head. j
    She leaned back in her chair, stuck out her legs, and stretched. As always she wore a white jumpsuit, six of which I composed her total business wardrobe. She had taken an