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Simon studied the puzzle for several seconds, noting in that time that there were 1450 numbers in the body of the puzzle, and a mix of 50 numbers/letters at the beginning and 50 letters at the end. These were not part of the numbers, he saw. They told what to do with the numbers, how to split them, where to visualize breaks, the order in which they should be processed, and — he blinked quickly three times as the solution came to him — that there were three numbers of equal length — keys — that he needed to know to process the parts into a final product.
Simon had those keys, a total of 4350 digits, in four blinks.
He used the first key to process the parts of the original number. This yielded 700,833 groups of three digit numbers, with one nonsense digit after the 302,412th group. His brain discarded this digit.
The second key he used to extract a three digit number from the third— 103 —and processed the second key again with the 50 letter group at the end of the puzzle. This yielded yet another number, which told him how to determine which of the three-number groups to discard.
700,730 of them were gone six blinks later.
Simon was left with 103 three-number groups. He went back to the third key and processed it with the 50 letter group. This told him how to order the 103 number groups.
He saw them in order after four blinks.
There were 103 groups of three numbers left. Simon twisted his wrist and looked briefly at his watch. The time did not concern him.
Simon knew what to do next. He looked back to the 50 number/letter mix at the beginning of the puzzle. There was a shift key in this.
He saw the 103 groups in order, processed them, 087 first, shifted, and on.
The 103 groups yielded letters and numbers in a logical order.
Simon looked at the puzzle’s body again. He saw a string of 103 letters and numbers.
IFYOUSOLVETHISPUZZLECALL18005551398ANDTELLTHE
OPERATORTHATYOUHAVESOLVEDPUZZLE99
YOUWILLTHENBEISSUEDAPRIZE.
The string needed spaces. He saw them, and read ‘IF YOU SOLVE THIS PUZZLE CALL 18005551398 AND TELL THE OPERATOR THAT YOU HAVE SOLVED PUZZLE 99 YOU WILL THEN BE ISSUED A PRIZE’.
It had taken Simon twenty seconds to yield what he saw as an instruction not unlike those written on his cards. He stood and walked in short steps to the telephone in the far corner of the living room. His mommy had shown him how to dial 911 if something very wrong happened. (Simon understood wrong; he did not understand bad) He knew how to dial his daddy’s work if something was wrong. He was supposed to push the buttons.
That was calling someone.
He was supposed to call someone. He lifted the phone and held it next to his face like his mommy had shown him. It was cold plastic and it hummed in his ear. It was supposed to do that.
Simon knew what to do next. He used a very straight finger and pressed the numbers the puzzle told him to press.
He was calling someone.
Leo Pedanski was mid bite into the warm bearclaw when the buzzing of the phone brought his eyes up from his linguistics text in a start. Through his thick glasses he looked at the phone. The light above line 2 was flashing. Recording machines to his right began to hum.
The thirty year old let the sugary pastry hang in his mouth as he slid his activity log close. It was where he was to record any happenings during his thrice-weekly shift at the ‘Puzzle Center’. He looked briefly down at the near blank form. He’d written nothing there in six months.
“Shee-it,” he said past the bearclaw, then set the tasty morsel aside as line 2 buzzed a second time. Line 2 was the outside line. He could recall distinctly the last time it had showed signs of life. The previous year, just before Halloween, when some Jethro from COMSEC-T had had his wimpy subroutine busted clean. Pedanski had joyously passed the news on to the wannabe that he was no Z-man, and Pedanski should know; he was a Z-man.
He grabbed a pencil and noted the time quickly on his log, picked up the receiver, and, certain that all the gear was up and running, pressed the button next to line 2 in expectation that he was going to be able to ruin another T-boy’s day. “Hi!” he said excitedly, just as he and his fellow Z-men had practiced. “You’ve reached the Puzzle Center.” At this point Pedanski wanted to laugh. If only they knew how close that was to the truth… “You have solved one of our hardest puzzles, and having done so you will be awarded a two-year! subscription to the magazine of your choice. I’ll need your name and address, phone number, and the number of the puzzle you’ve solved.” Pedanski stared at the trace gear to his front in silence. The silence persisted. “Hello?”
Stiff paper rustling, then, “I can’t tell strangers my name.”
What the hell… “Uhhh.”
“You’re a stranger.”
Was this a kid? Pedanski wondered. It spoke like one, but in an older voice. “Uh, this is the Puzzle Center. Where did you get this number?”
“I solved puzzle ninety-nine.”
Pedanski snatched the glasses from his face, his gray eyes bugging. WHAT!? He steadied himself as best he could and swallowed before speaking. “Again, what puzzle?”
“Puzzle ninety-nine.”
No. It could not be. This had to be a razz. It had to…
But it couldn’t be. It was line 2, and if anyone in Z was pulling this as a stunt, the boss would have their ass in a federal pen before they could spit.
It had to be a joke, and it could not be at the same time.
“Who is this?” Pedanski asked seriously.
“You’re a stranger.”
“Listen, I need—” Click. Dial tone. “Hello…dammit!” he swore as he slammed the phone into its cradle. With the hand that held it he covered his mouth. It, like the one holding the pencil, was trembling. Oh, man, this can not be happening. It is im-possible.
But something had definitely happened. Something terrible. He did not know exactly what, yet, but one thing was quite clear: a single phone call had just cost him and his comrades five years of work and Uncle Sam ten billion dollars.
Chicken Little would have been proud.
Chapter Two
Big Dogs
G. Nicholas Kudrow paced slowly along the bookcase wall of his office, a few sheets of paper held high in one hand, the other rubbing slow circles on his prominent chin as he considered what he read. At the end of the bookcase the forty-eight year old civil servant turned and retraced his steps toward his mahogany desk, still reading, his tinted glasses angled down at the object of his interest. Almost to the next turn-around he paused, square face rising a bit in contemplation, then lowering as the thought-walk continued.