No subject

device intercepted a message with the hot terms "Newspoetry" Conspiracy" and 
"Theory."  The sender was fingered as William Gillespie, although the text 
of the msg seems to try to deny this identity while affirming it.   I 
entered this contradiction into my postmodern content editor and it remained 
unresolved.

As I read through the communication I began to get nervous, place names were 
not codified, even physical descriptions remained unchanged.  The onlu 
standard precaution was changing agent Markewich's nasal infucktion to a 
nasal infection.  This "william" at "wordwork" was exposing the whole 
machine: but why?  With my unscrammbler reading the message to me in french 
(so the neighbors can't listen in) I got on the broadcast machine and 
atarted locking down.  I scanned for illegal users and this "william" must 
have logged on quite sometime ago, stolen what he needed and hidden himself 
behind a bunch of aliases.   I noticed lots of newspoetry downloads to a 
user named "werd" to an Ip that appears to be in India?  This was getting 
too strange.

The computer froze and I panicked.  The twisted pair slide out of the 
Motorola Web Surfer like a fishing hook.  The lights on the router turned 
red.  I hit the big red switch and it all got quiet.

The switch has a several functions: 1. the power to all computers is turned 
off. 2.  All file drawers are locked and 3. the automated clean up begins.

With the power off I pulled off the side of the PC, cut the hard drive 
cables, and dropped the drives in my padded "just in case" case.  The mother 
board/ monitor/ and peripherals would be easy to replces but this was data.  
Throwing open the closet door I grabbed the furniture dolly and slide the 
lip under the file cabinet marked "newspoetry."  Pulling the file cabinet 
along behind me I went out to the 67 Volkswagen bug and loaded the  file 
cabinet onto what appeared to be an old roof-mount ski rack.

Returning to the office I saw that the "automated clean-up" process had 
begun, so my time was limited.  All of the books from the newspoetry books 
shelf fit snugly into one over-sized duffle, with just enough room at the 
top for my palm-top.  The clean-up fires could be seen at the hot-spots in 
the wall now.  I had maybe two minutes before the office is completely 
involved in flame.  Over the growing sound of the flames I hear a constant 
pleading meow. . . Vlad!  At my feet staring at his empty food dish, Vlad 
continues to meow.  Strapping the book-duffle to my back I scoop Vlad up and 
run from the office.

All of the Newspoetry Echelon project was rumbling east, towards the desert. 
  This close to the boarder you don't watch for cops you listen for 
helicopters.  Why had he done it?  even exposed the take-over!  Everything 
timed just before the news industry announced it's lawsuit against 
newspoetry for making news available to users outside of the News Industries 
copyright control.
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