There was a mechanical whir as the system fired up.

Blue lights blinked on in a stuttering display and then sank into a deep purple glow from deep within the casing of the machine. The trappings of a sleek, black metal covered the case and protected the innards as they dutifully crunched and slammed and spun in their progress. Then slowly, a screen twinkled into view. A prompt appeared, demanding attention.

В в е д и т е п а р о л ь :

The slim-fingered man in front of the machine waited for the light keys to form on the desktop in front of him and shakily plunked at the letters and numbers that appeared. He was dressed in several layers of cooling mesh to keep his body heat low and each quivering digit was numb as he went to his task. His face was obscured by the same material, pulled over his face like a haunting mask, though he was allowed his eyewear. His teeth chattered together and he panted, hoping this would not take long. Luckily the mask kept his hot breath from escaping.

Д о б р о п о ж а л о в а т ь , R a n !

Ran gently swiped away the greeting, the light of the screen dimly reflecting off of the tinted coating of his glasses as he scowled in the dark. It made him wince as it was the only source of light in the room, but the machine could not have any form of heat sent back to it and that included light. It was too dangerous for the sensitive device. That was why the room temperature was kept as low as could be considered bearable and why he had to wear such a silly and restrictive outfit.

But it was a necessary evil.

Ran slowly moved his hand through the menus that awoke and closed them all. The desktop display—if you could call it that, was much simpler than even older models of this machine. There were only two programs set on a black background, both were small black nodes with thin white outlines and just a single indicating letter to tell them apart.

He selected “р” and the system log sprang to life.

Several detailed graphs filled the screen, all in thin, white lettering and lines against a stark black background.

Ran examined the log with an experienced eye. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew he’d know it when he saw it. Calmly, he selected the different screens to peruse the contents, careful not to move too quickly lest he generate too much heat that way.

He spent twenty minutes in this fashion, flicking slowly between the graphs, the numbers, and lines climbing in real-time with the activity within. He pulled them all up at once, in an attempt to see a layered comparison and draw a conclusion that way, but he still didn’t see anything that seemed out of the norm. There had to be something, he knew, so he kept at it, all the while his limbs growing colder and his stress rising.

Another thirty minutes and he was chilled to the bone and no closer to a resolution than he had been at the beginning.

He sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes through the mesh and thought very seriously about stepping out of the room and risking a cigarette. But it wouldn’t be worth it. The odor would irritate the sensors and he didn’t have the time to go through the sanitization process again. He replaced his glasses and silently willed the issue to show itself.

Then he saw something.

A small blip in the log numbers, in a typically unbroken sequence.

The manifold code.

It was interesting if that’s where the flaw was.

Interesting and very bad.

He highlighted the section he thought the numbers had bounced and switched to the desktop again, selecting the other icon on the screen.

The tool kit sprang open and he stretched the copy of the coded sequence into the small black box that appeared. He activated the seemingly random combination of letters and numbers and another box sprang up. This one showed the actual expanded code of the segment in action, running through its processes. He patiently slid the unending algorithm up, carefully looking over every single variable before moving on. Time seemed to slow down and the cold kept creeping in as he crawled along through the code, knowing that the answer would only bring more frustration.

Ran waited.

After several more frozen minutes, he found it. A single corrupted integer in a sea of flawless script.

clearShell()

gs.compileMainMenuElements()

menuElements = gs.getMainM九nuElements()

screenout = ''

screenout += '  || || || || // \\

'

screenout += '  || || ||\|| (( ))

'

screenout += '  \ // || ||  \ //

'

Is that Japanese? He thought to himself, trying desperately to figure out how a completely different language ended up in the code in an isolated computer unconnected to the outside world. He stared at the character thoughtfully. It was definitely Japanese. Specifically the number nine.

九

It seemed to almost be taunting him in its perplexity. It didn’t belong there, yet there it was. But then, it was gone.

“Что за хрень?” Ran said aloud on accident. He typically tried not to curse, but he was so surprised it just tumbled out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure if spoken words posed a danger to the system, but he decided not to make any more risky maneuvers while this mystery still plagued him.

He blinked at the line of code, now fixed.

Cautiously, he began scrolling through the code again to see if there were more anomalies, then it happened. One of the lines of code changed, right in front of him.

elif selection == '4':

gs.zeroChange = not gs.zeroChange

elif selection == '5':

gs.Mim = not gs.Mim

Suddenly became different, another character morphing to corrupt the data.

elif selection == '4':

gs.zeroC三ange = not gs.zeroChange

elif selection == '5':

gs.Mim = not gs.Mim

三

These were Japanese numerals, and they were appearing at random. This was the number three. After a moment it too disappeared like the other, the script returning to normal.

Nine and then three.

Did those numbers have a specific meaning? Was there some sort of system malfunction, perhaps some errant bit of code that was never deleted from the original make? The computer itself had been assembled right there in Verkhoyansk so it was unlikely that a hold-over that dangerous had been stupidly overlooked.

He waited a bit longer, scrolling slowly through the manifold script, taking note of each change that he found. Once again, Japanese characters replaced the usual ones, seemingly at random and each time they were of numbers.

One, eighteen, seven, one again, twenty

It didn’t seem to repeat and it didn’t seem to follow a specific criteria or pattern that Ran recognized. He got an idea, and he scrolled back up through the log history in the open toolkit and waited. His life always seemed to be about waiting.

It happened.

One of the errant numerals cropped up in a code he had already examined.

It was jumping around. With that being the case, he knew that this wasn’t something he’d be able to fix with some tweaking. It was more serious than that. This would require attention from a specialist.

Ran quickly shut down the system, making sure the lights on the case faded into darkness, and exited the room. He lowered the isolation door and stepped into the darkness of the new room and waited for the automatic dimmers to ignite. The extremely mild light was still agony against his vision, and he blinked them closed and waited for them to adjust. Afterward, he removed his cooling mesh and moved to the tight plastic bundle containing his daily clothes.

He slipped a faded grey shirt over his shoulders and stepped into the soft cotton of his baggy black sweatpants. Sock were donned, and then slippers. Then eyeglasses returned to his face. The temperature in this room was only slightly warmer than the machine’s operating room, but it was enough to feel a rush of warmth return to his limbs. Lastly, he tapped a panel on the wall and a small safe opened, his possessions inside. They took the security and safety of the computer very seriously here and only a fool would contradict the protocol.

Ran climbed out of the isolation door on the other side of this room as well and into the lowered lights of the hallway beyond. He’d be able to make a call from out here.

He lifted the clear glass of his communication device and hit the proper contact information and waited for the tone. After a moment, a man’s gravelly voice answered. Ran realized it must have been either very early or very late there.

“モシモシ?” the voice asked, sounding very displeased.

はい,” Ran said, his accent butchering his pronunciation, but he didn’t have time to apologize, “これはコントローラーですか？”

The voice on the other end of the phone was quiet and then confirmed.

Ran explained the situation with the code and after just a few more hurried responses, they disconnected. Then he picked up the phone a second time and dialed a different contact.

This voice was much more perky, the woman who answered seeming to be fresh and ready for conversation.

“Hello?” She asked.

“Is this the controller?” Ran’s accent was better in English, but not by much.

“Yes, it is,” the voice said.

Ran paused, trying to find the right word. He would need to make just one more call after this, to his superior. But that could wait. It was late and the man would likely throw him out in the cold just for disturbing him—regardless of his reasons.

Finally, Ran spoke, though it was a slow, measured tone. He didn’t want to cause immediate alarm.

“There is an issue,” Ran said.