Read Online Kill Process by William Hertling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Hertling
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near Timberline, I’m utterly exhausted and try not to think about the work ahead of me. I refill the gas in Government Camp, then drive up the long, winding road. At the trailhead, I swap out the license plates and reattach the speedometer cable, then drive the last mile to the parking lot.
The spot where the Jeep was parked when I borrowed it last night is taken. Vision blurred from exhaustion, at first I’m confused. I check my notebook, and I’m right about the spot. I briefly consider moving the other car, but there’s no time now. The sun is coming up, and I’ve got to exit the Jeep before someone spots me. I hope the owner assumes he’s the one who is confused. I park about five spots down, and pray the engine cools down before the owner comes out.
* * *
When I wake around noon, I immediately wonder if I succeeded. Of course, there’s no way there could be news available this quickly. So I force myself to pretend everything is normal, and take an actual vacation day. I hike to Mirror Lake, where I gaze at the upside-down reflection of Mount Hood in the water, eat a granola bar, and wish Thomas was with me to share the experience.
That night, back at my hotel room, I decide to chance a quick check to see if there’s any news. Timberline is remote enough they’ve got only the one Internet connection to the rest of the world, and even the most sophisticated onion routing tricks won’t hide suspicious traffic originating from the mountain.
I’ve got channels I can use for this, piggybacking a few low-bandwidth bytes here and there on other communications to legitimate websites. It’s enough for me to find and read a short article in the Bend Bulletin , allowing me to determine that Sam Bekins definitely died.
With that out of the way, a weight lifts off my shoulders. Now I can relax for real.
CHAPTER 8
----
I ARRIVE AT the office at 8 A.M. on Monday, rested and out of touch. I intentionally avoided my work email for three days, to make sure the evidence shows I really was on vacation.
I scan screenfuls of email subject lines. Maybe ten percent are about PrivacyGuard, and my coffee sours my stomach. Skimming a few only reinforces the increased momentum of the project. With disgust, I delete everything in my inbox and empty the deleted items folder.
For a few seconds, I’m shocked at what I’ve done. There were almost certainly important messages in there, stuff I needed to reply to. It was . . . irresponsible.
I stare at my completely empty inbox, a blank white screen, and relief floods in. I let out a little nervous giggle.
It’s clear Tomo is going to hell. The PrivacyGuard stuff is one sign of many. It’s more important than ever to figure out an alternative, a way out of this heinous one-sided power dynamic. With an empty inbox, I’ve got an hour free before the morning planning meeting. Screw work, I’ve got to figure out an alternative to Tomo.
The empty network problem weighs heavily on my mind. For a new network to blossom, it must somehow overcome this barrier, a rare occurrence. When it does happen, as it did with Picaloo, Snapchat, and WhatsApp, it’s usually because of a compelling benefit not offered by Tomo.
Take Picaloo. Why were they successful? They did photos, Tomo did photos. But Picaloo did photos better. Filters made them look cool. Focusing on only photos reduced the noise and eliminated annoying Candy Crush invites.
I also can’t overstate the power of children. When a kid is thirteen and their parents are on Tomo, it is not a cool place to hang out with their friends. They’ve got to go somewhere else, and they do, rushing out to new networks where they’re safe from the spying eyes of parents, at least for a little while.
What happens if a new social network overcomes the empty network problem and thrives? If they grow large enough to matter, Tomo buys them. Or Tomo integrates those features into itself: adding filters, for example.
In the
The spot where the Jeep was parked when I borrowed it last night is taken. Vision blurred from exhaustion, at first I’m confused. I check my notebook, and I’m right about the spot. I briefly consider moving the other car, but there’s no time now. The sun is coming up, and I’ve got to exit the Jeep before someone spots me. I hope the owner assumes he’s the one who is confused. I park about five spots down, and pray the engine cools down before the owner comes out.
* * *
When I wake around noon, I immediately wonder if I succeeded. Of course, there’s no way there could be news available this quickly. So I force myself to pretend everything is normal, and take an actual vacation day. I hike to Mirror Lake, where I gaze at the upside-down reflection of Mount Hood in the water, eat a granola bar, and wish Thomas was with me to share the experience.
That night, back at my hotel room, I decide to chance a quick check to see if there’s any news. Timberline is remote enough they’ve got only the one Internet connection to the rest of the world, and even the most sophisticated onion routing tricks won’t hide suspicious traffic originating from the mountain.
I’ve got channels I can use for this, piggybacking a few low-bandwidth bytes here and there on other communications to legitimate websites. It’s enough for me to find and read a short article in the Bend Bulletin , allowing me to determine that Sam Bekins definitely died.
With that out of the way, a weight lifts off my shoulders. Now I can relax for real.
CHAPTER 8
----
I ARRIVE AT the office at 8 A.M. on Monday, rested and out of touch. I intentionally avoided my work email for three days, to make sure the evidence shows I really was on vacation.
I scan screenfuls of email subject lines. Maybe ten percent are about PrivacyGuard, and my coffee sours my stomach. Skimming a few only reinforces the increased momentum of the project. With disgust, I delete everything in my inbox and empty the deleted items folder.
For a few seconds, I’m shocked at what I’ve done. There were almost certainly important messages in there, stuff I needed to reply to. It was . . . irresponsible.
I stare at my completely empty inbox, a blank white screen, and relief floods in. I let out a little nervous giggle.
It’s clear Tomo is going to hell. The PrivacyGuard stuff is one sign of many. It’s more important than ever to figure out an alternative, a way out of this heinous one-sided power dynamic. With an empty inbox, I’ve got an hour free before the morning planning meeting. Screw work, I’ve got to figure out an alternative to Tomo.
The empty network problem weighs heavily on my mind. For a new network to blossom, it must somehow overcome this barrier, a rare occurrence. When it does happen, as it did with Picaloo, Snapchat, and WhatsApp, it’s usually because of a compelling benefit not offered by Tomo.
Take Picaloo. Why were they successful? They did photos, Tomo did photos. But Picaloo did photos better. Filters made them look cool. Focusing on only photos reduced the noise and eliminated annoying Candy Crush invites.
I also can’t overstate the power of children. When a kid is thirteen and their parents are on Tomo, it is not a cool place to hang out with their friends. They’ve got to go somewhere else, and they do, rushing out to new networks where they’re safe from the spying eyes of parents, at least for a little while.
What happens if a new social network overcomes the empty network problem and thrives? If they grow large enough to matter, Tomo buys them. Or Tomo integrates those features into itself: adding filters, for example.
In the
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