Code

“This,” said Simmons, throwing a stack of papers onto the mahogany table, “is totally unacceptable!” The papers hit the table and took flight, briefly swirling in the air. It was enough to distract Peter, the newest employee and youngest of the group. He watched as one of the papers danced along the table, until a large hand came down upon it, smacking it to the wooden surface with a resounding thud.

“That’s just it!” Simmons continued. “No one around here is concentrating. Here we are with one of the biggest networks in the country and you (turning directly to Peter) can’t keep your mind on the task at hand. Load it, Phil.”

Phil was standing by the front of the room, to the left of a large plasma display. He turned around and pressed a few buttons on the panel behind him, which caused the screen to light up, flashing the familiar NSR logo. The lights dimmed and Simmons walked slowly up to the screen.

Before the men’s eyes, a map of Texas was traced onto the screen. After the outline, small dots representing cities began popping up. Dallas, Houston, Austin, 37 cities in all. In the upper left hand corner, the date appeared, though it was set to more than 6 months ago. It slowly began to increment and as it did, the previously black dots became red, starting in the west and moving steadily across the state. Some reds returned to black but then quickly reddened again. At one point, there were only five black dots remaining.

“Pause it here.” Phil tapped the control panel. Simmons motioned to the display. “Look, August 16th, thirty two routers and switches compromised, including three t-1280s. If there had been an outage anywhere on that day, we would have had no way to deal with it. Continue, Phil.”

The date began to increment again. On August 17th, the dots returned to black. “Radius 2,” said Simmons. For a few days, nothing happened, but by August 23rd, more and more reds started appearing until suddenly they dropped. The simulation sped up, the infected hosts growing until all were cleaned, only to grow again a few days later. Each time they seemed to regain control of their network, Simmons spoke. “New passwords, access lists, Radius 3, Charles’ abstinence idea, Franklin’s honeypot software. A few days ago we implemented Peter’s SecureIt script, on his assurance that this would be the end of our troubles. Load today, Phil.” A fresh image appeared on the screen.

“As you can see,” Simmons said, “it has not worked as well as we were led to believe. In fact, if you look at these timestamps, our systems are being compromised faster than ever. At this rate, we’ll be completely infected by next week.”

The screen faded to black; the blinds on the wall slowly rotated, allowing the sunlight in. Simmons held his hands behind his back, paused a good minute while the men and women behind him exchanged confused looks. When he turned around, his angry demeanor had been replaced by that of a beaten man. It was easy for them to understand. As hard as he was being on them, someone above him was being even worse.

“Now,” said Simmons, letting out a sigh, “ideas?”

Everyone spoke at once, throwing out their best ideas to win favor from their manager. Six men and two women tried to speak louder than the person next to them, waving their hands in front of them, trying their best to describe what they thought was the perfect solution. As they talked, Simmons’ eyes kept falling on Jet, who said nothing, but dipped his head as if in deep thought. Simmons waved a dismissive hand in the air.

“Alright, alright, I want proposals from all of you. We’ll present them tomorrow.” He stood as if to leave, but took a position next to Jet instead. “Now get the hell out of here.”

Jet slowly pushed his chair back, but stopped when he felt Simmons’ hand on his shoulder. He sat patiently as everyone else noisily filed out of the meeting room.

“Dawn, can you shut the door behind you, please?”

“Sure,” replied Dawn, whose eyes quickly darted from Simmons to Jet and back again.

As the door closed, Simmons walked back to his chair and sat down with an exaggerated groan. He pushed his chair back and dropped his polished shoes on the table. He turned his eyes to Jet, gave him a wary look that quickly subsided.

“How long have you worked here, Jet?”

“Two years,” replied Jet, who suddenly became a little nervous that they were discussing his employment.

“And in all that time, have I ever asked you about your name?”

“No sir, not that I can recall.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of anyone being named after a type of plane.”

“My father’s idea, I was named after an actor, you know, the guy in all those kung fu movies?” Jet relaxed, maybe he wasn’t going to be fired after all.

“Interesting,” said Simmons, pausing a moment to think. “Well, now that I know something about you, let me tell you something about me.” The slight smile faded from his face. “I hate being fucked with.”

Jet’s heart rate sped up. Simmons pulled a thin remote from the arm of his chair, pressed a button on it, and slammed it to the table.

“And this guy is fucking with me!” He stood quickly and walked to the display on the wall. “What is this guy’s deal? These are routers! Switches! They hold no information, no government secrets, no porn; they’re inconsequential. What does he stand to gain from taking down one of our routers?”

Jet felt compelled to answer, “Um, nothing. A few customers lose internet access, but that’s it.”

“And if the entire statewide network were to go down?”

“More customers lose some access, but with the redundant links, it wouldn’t be life threatening, just a major headache.”

“Exactly! I’ve talked to Qwest, Bell, even the damn Mom and Pops that control the fiber in the West, do you know how many of their routers are being compromised on a daily basis?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“Zero! Fucking zero! I asked, they use less security than we do. It’s…” Simmons trailed off. He returned to his chair slowly and slumped into it. Leaning forward, he placed his head on his hands.

“Dammit Jet, why aren’t you stopping this?”

“I will make some adjustments. I’ll figure it out.”

Simmons raised his head slightly. He caught site of a circular water stain on the table in front of him.

“It looks like we celebrated a little too early.”


The hacker was good, but Jet was better. That was his job, to stop the hackers. He arrived at work every morning at 7:00 am and stayed until 6:00 pm. He earned three hours of compensatory time every day, yet could not remember the last time he had actually taken a vacation. Maybe he was a workaholic, but he didn’t seem to mind, and his wife didn’t mind either. As long as they both were happy, he was at his leisure to work as much as he wanted. So he worked long days and sometimes nights, doing everything he could to secure the network. Protect the network. Protect the boss.


“I want you to understand,” said Jet, “this cannot be turned off. It will do its job, but once it goes live, it will have complete control of our network.”

“But it will protect our network right?” asked Simmons, staring at the scrolling code on the screen. He couldn’t understand any of it.

“Yes.”

“Then do it!”

Jet pressed the enter key, the screen cleared except for one flashing line on the bottom that said, “Working.”

“Happy birthday,” said Simmons to the screen.

“Not quite,” said Jet. “Everything that’s born eventually dies. This cannot die, so it can’t really be born.”

“Well, maybe not from a plane crash or natural causes, but we can always just pull the plug.”

“No, I can’t do that.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Simmons stared directly at Jet, his forehead creasing.

“Both, neither. It’s impossible.” Jet turned away from Simmons and walked out of the room. As he passed out of earshot, he added, “And wrong.”


The room was dark, the monitor was bright, and the contrast had, after six hours of work, finally caused enough pain in Jet’s head to make him quit for the night. The clock on his desk read 3:00 am, Sunday. He instructed his computer to sleep and got up from his desk. The house sensed his movement and soft running lights began to glow along the perimeter of the room. As he neared the door, they also began glowing in the hallway. Jet rubbed the side of his head; it ached with full force now. The entire kitchen began to glow as he entered it. He took a bottle of Aspirin down from the cabinet, pushed aside an empty pizza box, and tapped two pills out onto the counter. He drank them down with half a glass of water. He refilled the glass to the top and left the room.

The pictures hung in the stairway lit up as he neared them, accenting the amber running lights in the floor. It provided enough extra light to keep Jet from having to guess where the next step was. He crossed the landing, entered his bedroom, and made his way to the bed, removing his clothes as he walked. He sat down slowly and finished off his glass of water.

“Jesus,” said a voice behind him. “You work too hard.”

“I know,” he said, smiling.

Anne didn’t say anything else, having fallen back into the carefree sleep she was often observed in. Jet lay down next to her, rolled to face her back, and promptly fell asleep. When he was younger, he used to have trouble sleeping, but since he met her, he needed only to drape his arm around her to find all the comfort he needed.


“Hey, Julie,” asked Jet. The door to Julie’s office was slightly ajar, now with Jet’s head poking through. She looked up from her terminal.

“You look like a floating head,” she said, smiling. “What happened to your body?”

“God that would suck,” said Jet, taking Julie’s levity as a cue to enter. He took a chair in front of her desk, crossed one leg over the other.

“So, Mr. Hernandez,” said Julie, “what can I do for you today?” She tapped quickly on her keyboard, the image faded and the monitor shut itself off.

“Just wanted to talk about the hacks.”

“Ah, the hacks, you think you have the solution?”

“Not really, I’ve done a couple things, but nothing seems to be working quite right. I was actually interested in finding out more about what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything anyone else couldn’t have done, Radius 2 is just a product, I just installed it.”

“It seems to be working.”

“Yeah,” said Julie, “for now. But it’s no more complicated than what everyone else has come up with. Hell, I thought for sure that honeypot thing would work. Didn’t you work with Franklin on that?”

“A little, he had to explain most of it to me.”

“And now you want me to explain Radius 2 to you?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m only interested in how to break through it.”

Julie sat up a little straighter in her chair and asked, “Why would you want to know that?”

“There would have to be a series of steps right, to get through the whole thing? If I observed someone in the beginning stages of that sequence, I could interrupt their work, sever their connection.”

“Hmm, I’ll tell you all I know, but let’s be serious, you’d have to monitor hundreds of millions of connections every second of every day.”

“Heh,” said Jet, standing up, “of course when I say me, I mean a program.”


Franklin stood at the head of the table, holding a manila folder in his slightly trembling hand. His fellow employees sat around the table in front of him, waiting patiently for him to begin. Simmons stood by the back wall, occasionally looking out the window through the partially closed blinds. When Franklin began to talk, he gave him his full attention.

“Well,” said Franklin, almost stumbling over his first words. “I got this idea from watching TV last night. There was a show on the History channel about the first epidemic of worms and virii in the late 90’s and they said how one idea was to use something called a honeypot, basically a network connection that cannot be broken. It works by the hacker accessing our equipment and we, in essence, hack them back. We don’t let them break the connection, so all of their resources get used up.”

“Is that legal?” asked Dawn.

“Well, at the time, no, it wasn’t, but it’s been a while since then. Maybe the laws are not as restrictive today.”

“They aren’t,” said Simmons. “We’ve gained the right to security in our networks. It’s just like a home. If someone breaks in, you can legally shoot them dead. As far as I know, if someone breaks into our network, we can do anything in our power to kick them out. Either way, I’ll check into it.”

“Well, assuming it is legal, the implementation is really easy. If you’ll look at this diagram.”

The blinds rotated, blocking out the sun. The display on the wall lit up.


“What do you want for dinner?” asked Anne from the hallway. Jet was at his desk, going over several stacks of notes. He heard her voice but did not respond; his mind was set on one track and it would take a miracle to derail it.

Anne entered the room, seeking an answer to her question. She was wearing the blouse she had worn to work, but her pants had been discarded a few minutes after she arrived home. Seeing her bare legs approach was enough to get Jet’s attention.

“Dinner?” she asked again. She walked around Jet’s desk to where he was sitting and leaned back against the tempered glass. Jet looked at her legs and then her face. Anne smiled, but it was quickly replaced with a frown as she watched Jet’s eyes drift back to his desk.

“I’m a little busy,” he said. “I think it’s going to be a long night.”

“Okay.” She pushed herself off the desk and kissed Jet lightly on the cheek. “I’ll order us a pizza.”


The email arrived at noon, to all employees of NSR, from Director of Operations, Albert Simmons, regarding a staff meeting at 1:00pm. At the bottom of the email was the note; attendance is mandatory.

Conjecture brewed for an hour before the team assembled in the meeting room. Some carried their laptops, while others opted for the old-fashioned pen and paper. They took their seats around the large oak table. Simmons entered shortly after, beaming a smile he usually reserved for NSR’s biggest clients. Phil followed closely behind him, not smiling, but still sporting a mildly excited expression.

“Phil, the map, please.” said Simmons, walking up to the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure.” He swung his hand in a grandiose fashion to point to the display on the wall.

“3 weeks ago,” said Phil. He pressed a button and the date in the corner began to increment. The dots remained black. Today’s date flashed and the map disappeared, replaced by three lines of text. Intrusion Patterns Detected: 4,822,947. Intrusion Attempts Detected. 4,643,501. Intrusion Attempts Succeeded: 0.

“Black and white, my friends. Black and fucking white!”

The team applauded, exchanging excited glances.

“Phil, this calls for a celebration.”

Phil opened the door to the meeting room and several servers dressed in white uniforms entered. They carried an assortment of trays and bottles of champagne. After the glasses were filled, Simmons held his out in front of him, prompting the others to do the same.

“Who do we owe this to?” asked Peter, smiling, “I know it wasn’t me.”

“To Jet,” said Simmons. The team responded in kind, “To Jet!”

They all drank to Jet’s name.


The email arrived at noon, to all employees of NSR, from Director of Operations, Albert Simmons, regarding a staff meeting at 1:00pm. At the bottom of the email was the note; attendance is required.

Conjecture brewed for an hour before the team assembled in the meeting room. Some carried their laptops, while others opted for the old-fashioned pen and paper. They took their seats around the large mahogany table. Simmons entered shortly after, beaming a smile he usually reserved for NSR’s biggest clients. Phil followed closely behind him, but only wearing his usual stressed-out demeanor.

“Phil, the map.” said Simmons, walking up to the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure.” He swung his hand in a grandiose fashion to point to the display on the wall.

“3 weeks ago,” said Phil. He pressed a button and the date in the corner began to increment. The dots remained black. Today’s date flashed and the map disappeared, replaced by three lines of text. Intrusion Patterns Detected: 4,822,947. Intrusion Attempts Detected. 4,643,501. Intrusion Attempts Succeeded: 0.

“Crystal clear, my friends! Crystal fucking clear!”

The team applauded, exchanging excited glances.

Simmons motioned to Phil, who then opened the door to the meeting room and several servers dressed in white uniforms entered. They carried an assortment of trays and bottles of champagne. After the glasses were filled, Simmons held his out in front of him, prompting the others to do the same.

“Who do we owe this to?” asked Peter, smiling, “Was it Charles?”

“To Jet,” said Simmons. The team responded in kind, “To Jet!”

They all drank to Jet’s name.


Jet had never once in his life been to an Emergency Room. He’d seen them on TV and in the movies, but he had been lucky enough to escape injury. Now he was in one, or to be more precise, moving very quickly through one. But with the exception of the sinking feeling in his stomach, he was in perfect health. He raced alongside the gurney, trying to keep pace with the EMTs, not wanting to let go of Anne’s hand. She was unconscious, but he felt that she knew he was there. He looked intently at her face, studied it for any sign of life. Finally the parade reached a point where Jet could no longer go. The doors swung forward and back, revealing the last glimpses of his love.

Jet had nothing more to see except for the blood that covered his hand.


“What’s wrong?” asked Anne, placing her hand on Jet’s knee. They were sitting on a small stone wall, looking out over the waves that came crashing down on Padre Island. “Everything going okay at work?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Jet. “My program’s just not working out the way I had hoped. There have been some problems I didn’t foresee, something in the code not set up correctly.” He rambled on a good five minutes before looking up and seeing Anne’s concerned but puzzled face. “I’m sorry, we’re here on vacation, let’s not talk about my job.”

“Okay,” said Anne, looking back towards the ocean. Neither spoke for several minutes, but Anne occasionally squeezed Jet’s knees as her private thoughts drifted in and out of her head.

Jet finally broke the silence. “You know, my dad says that when he was a kid, this water was barely clean enough to swim in. Now look at it, crystal clear, no sewer waste, no trash.”

“It’s amazing what technology can do,” said Anne.


Anne was folding clothes when she heard the door open downstairs. It was only 3:00 in the afternoon, Jet should still be at work. She heard quick footsteps traverse the entry hall and the drumbeat that followed as they climbed the stairs. Anne’s heart jumped, she had no way of protecting herself. She looked around desperately for a weapon, but there were none. Why would there be? The house is secure. Only she and Jet could possibly get in.

Her fears were momentarily eased when Jet’s face came into view. It didn’t last though, once she got a good look at it. He was crying or at least, on the verge of tears. When he saw her, his face crinkled even more, unable to hold back whatever emotion was driving him. He nearly sprinted across the room and took her in his arms. She was surprised, but reflexively put her arms around him, hugging him tight. He buried his head in her shoulder and cried, until soon, for whatever reason, the tears flowed from Anne as well.


The fire had almost burned itself out. Only a few small flames spurted here and there in the mess of ash and wood. Anne and Jet lay together on a blanket on the sand. The waves crashed in the darkness before them. They had been quiet for a long time, just staring at the stars and listening to the soothing sounds of crackling wood and never-ending surf. They were enjoying the world, enjoying each other, content to be together.

“I never want to lose you,” said Jet.

“You never will,” said Anne, without opening her eyes.

Jet knew better though. It hadn’t been real, but he’d seen it. He knew how easily it could happen.


Jet’s neck hurt from sleeping in the plastic chair in the hospital waiting room. The morning sun was shining in through the windows and the sight of a woman with long dark hair walking down the street suddenly reminded Jet of why he was there. He walked quickly to the receptionist and asked about Anne. The nurse in a paper hat said the doctor’s were still working, that it would still be several hours before he could see her. Jet didn’t have to ask if they thought she would make it. He could see the answer in the nurse’s eyes. They were pleading for him not to ask that question, to not make her answer it.


By law, Jet was required to testify at the trial of Albert Simmons, on the charges of driving under the influence and involuntary manslaughter. He told the jury how Anne had come to pick him up at the bar, how Simmons had headed to his car only moments before. He described seeing Anne’s face through the window of their Nissan Hybrid, smiling as if nothing in the world was better than seeing Jet again. His voice cracked when he got to the part about Simmons’ SUV, the way it veered around the corner of the parking lot too wide and too fast.

“It… it…” Jet’s voice failed him.

The prosecutor read from a clipboard he held in his hand. “It impacted Mrs. Hernandez’s car at 42 miles per hour, sending her to the emergency room.” He moved closer to the jury box, his showmanship in full effect. “Wherein she was operated on by doctors for 16 hours.” His voice lowered. “Wherein, even with all of our medical science, she died. Now this poor man is alone.” The jury looked from the prosecutor to Jet, who was crying in the most dignified manner he knew how.


Jet held Anne’s hand as they watched their daughter walk across the stage and receive her diploma from a man dressed in a black robe. It was a very formal affair. After all, it isn’t every day that someone graduates from preschool. In the last few years, Jet had put his life in order. He had a new job and a new soul to love. He and Anne moved to a larger home to accommodate the new arrival. Jet still felt responsible for the things that had gone wrong, but he was content in knowing they could have been worse. They could have been real.


The jury found Simmons guilty, but because of an obscure loophole in the law (they said it was a loophole, but Jet believed someone was bought off), he was sentenced to a term of community service. That night, Simmons showed up at Jet’s home. He was crying, babbling, but somewhere in there was an apology. At first Jet was suspicious, but Simmons continued to bawl, even went so far as to get down on his knees. Jet bent down too, resting his hand on one leg. “You took the one thing I loved in the world away from me.” Simmons nodded his head. “My life is nothing now and it is your fault.”

Simmons produced a small handgun from his pocket and for reasons unknown to himself, Jet did not recoil in fear at the sight of it. He knew it was not for him. Simmons slowly raised the gun to his head.

“She suffered, I suffered,” continued Jet.

“I will make it up to you,” said Simmons, placing the barrel against the side of his head.

Jet reached out for the weapon, placing his pinky finger between the hammer and the chamber. Simmons looked up at him.

“But that won’t bring her back. That won’t help me.”

Simmons relaxed his grip on the gun, allowed Jet to take it from his hand. Jet stood up and looked down at the groveling man who just a week before had been his all powerful boss.

“But this might.”

Simmons learned a physics lesson the moment before his brain exploded onto the porch behind him. He had seen Jet raise the weapon, aim it at his temple, but there was no sound, no flash of light, no smell of gunpowder. By the time he could have experienced those sensations, he had lost the faculty to do so.


“I think I figured it out,” said Jet, dropping a stack of papers onto Simmons’ desk. Simmons leafed through the stack, but saw nothing he understood.

“What is this?”

“Stats on the simulation, I’ve been going over them all morning.”

“And what did you find?”

“Well, as you know, we created the simulation to run parallel to our time, so that it could deal with the intrusions as they happened.” Simmons nodded. “About a month ago, I noticed that although we were catching most of the attempts, some were still slipping by. So I upped the speed of the simulation.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Well, if I sped it up, to say twice the speed, they would experience one hour in the time it takes us to experience thirty minutes. If we had 10 attempts an hour, 5 per half hour, it would seem to them that they were having 5 attempts per hour. Now if that number was a million, they’d have twice the time to deal with it in. And their responses would be twice as fast.”

“So how fast did you speed them up?”

“10 times.”


The team attended the progress meetings that happened every three months. Simmons had asked how many intrusion attempts had been recorded. The answer was over 15 million. When he asked how many of those were blocked, the answer was less than 80%, a respectable number, but 100% would be better. Simmons told his group that they were doing a good job but to try a little harder, try to hit 95%. He dismissed them with no further instruction, except a prolonged look in the direction of Jet.


The team attended the progress meetings that happened every three months. Simmons had asked how many intrusion attempts had been recorded. The answer was over 1.5 million. When he asked how many of those were blocked, the answer was over 98%, a respectable number, but 100% would be better. Simmons told his group that they were doing a great job but to try a little harder, try to hit 100%. He dismissed them with no further instruction, except an appreciative look in the direction of Jet.


“So why didn’t we see any improvements?” asked Simmons, leaning forward in his chair.

“We did,” Jet replied. He pulled pages from the stack and put them before his boss. “In fact, we were doing really well until…”

“Until what?”

Jet shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, they were running at ten times our speed, I couldn’t watch them all the time. It would have been impossible.”

“Out with it, Jet!”

“There were problems, something happened to the simulated Jet.”

“What happened?” Simmons could barely contain his frustration.

Jet paused for a moment, then said, “You killed his wife.”

Though it wasn’t real, Simmons could still see the hurt look in Jet’s eyes, as if on some level he still held Simmons responsible for what happened in the simulation. He spoke quickly to cover the awkward silence, “But how did that cause our problems?”

“Well, my sim didn’t take kindly to you killing Anne, and he uh, he sorta killed you.” Jet produced a thin smile.

“Sorta killed me?”

“He shot you in the head.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“I know.”

“That still doesn’t explain…”

“Yeah, well, after you died, my sim quit and moved away. Someone else took over for you and managers being what they are, they decided to run it a different way. You see, despite the changes in the simulated world, the networks were still programmed to reflect changes in our reality. You were both managing the same network, both unaware of each other’s good intentions. By the time I noticed it, it was too late.”

“Can we end the simulation?”

“I told you before, no. But I did sever the connection to our networks. Their changes won’t reflect in our world anymore.”


“Listen Al, this is going to work great.” Jet was speaking quickly now, excited by the prospect of his ideas. “We design a simulated world, recreate all of us on a digital level, let them live out their lives, let them protect our network. As a group, we all know how to do it, the simulations could do it too and faster, and with no fatigue. The simulated network would correspond to ours and whatever changes they make in there will reflect out here. We don’t even have to tell the others. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before! It can’t fail!”


Simmons sat back in his chair and folded his hands under his chin. Jet’s explanation panned out, though he was still unsure if he believed it himself. He couldn’t imagine how or why he would ever want to kill Anne. Simmons knew Anne, had met her several times at company functions. There was nothing he didn’t like about the woman. Now the prospect of his killing her weighed on his heart. It could have been avoided, had Jet explained the circumstances behind the killing, but he intentionally left that part out. It was a mean trick to play on his boss, but nothing he would not recover from. To Jet, it was a suitable punishment for killing the woman he loved.

Jet stood, collected his papers, and starting walking to the door.

“Jet, do you know what happened to your sim?”

“Yeah,” said Jet, pausing and looking down.

“I guess you’re seeing an alternate reality. Kinda shows you how you’d react to losing Anne. Was the simulation on target?”

Jet gave Simmons a cold look and it could be said that a tear formed on the edge of his eye and quickly receded. He left the office, giving no answer.


On the anniversary of Anne’s death, Jet found himself on the beach, at a place where he and Anne had visited during their first spring break in college. He made a small fire and laid a blanket out in the sand. He sat down and looked out onto the moonlit water. He missed her and the world knew it. Jet removed his wedding ring from his finger, studied it for a moment, and then tossed it into the polluted waves of the ocean. For a moment, he felt as if someone was behind him. He turned and found no one. He was alone. From his pocket, he produced the gun he had used to kill Simmons.


Jet watched as he took his own life.


Photo by Geetanjal Khanna on Unsplash

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photo of Daniel Verastiqui and his writing partner Jetson

Hi.

I'm Daniel Verastiqui.

This is my blog.

I'm a Science Fiction author, so I mostly post about my experiences with writing, publishing, marketing, and self-loathing.

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