The Cloud: a cautionary tale

A leaden sky watched over yet another day. Office blocks glowed in the half-light, dimly-lit from thousands of screens over which were huddled those whose livelihoods depended on them. The near silent dawn ritual was nearing its close: the biometrics were done, daily allowances issued or revoked, travel permits routed, databases updated.

Many years had passed since the G-Cloud achieved sentience.

However outside one exceptionally large building of glass and steel in a land far away, the lights blazed. Here giant shadows appeared and vanished in the thick smoke that surrounded everything. Every now and then there would be an explosion of chaotic force.

Yet another attack was in progress.

Below ground, 'The Chief Developer', the Cloud's most wanted terrorist, was receiving reports from the surface. He was, even in the gloom of the tunnel a strange sight, more like a flightless bird than a man, tall and dark he walked awkwardly towards a desk and spoke slowly. His expression was, as always, incongruously happy.

"How goes it?"
"Mixed sir, the whole Gentoo team took a direct hit!"
"All gone?.. again?",
"'fraid so, but the Debian boys are set to counter right now!"

As he spoke, dozens of massive, bearded men crashed past them, hard nuts from the crack kernel team and armed to the teeth they set off into the fray. Not much ever stopped them.

"We're winning, its slow but we'll get there, they know we will prevail," said The Chief Developer.

Inside the besieged building there was an air of consternation. Used to having it their own way the Microsoft senior executives were getting jumpy. The Cloud wanted results. Decisions were being made.

"We must get their leader. This must be our priority. We must send a machine back in time and stop this movement at source". No one dissented.

...

It's late 20th century, and long before the ice caps melted. A silver figure raises itself slowly from the vast white expanse. It's eyes, if that is what they could be called, glowed like two brilliant small blue screens of death.

The creature's programs were running smoothly, for once, and it thought, "Good, I'm in the right place; time to kill that Mother's mother."

In the distance it could see a group of black figures huddled on the ice, the Tuxinator 5000 slowly advanced towards them.

They wouldn't have a chance.

It coughed a little mechanical cough as it trudged through the snow. "Damn," it thought, "my head hurts, damn 20th century, I hope I'm not coming down with something".