Flame Prologue

The pigheaded idiots finally discovered what caused their toys to spin out of control.  Every thirteen-year old hacker has known it for months.  Should I complain?  Yes, because the Iranians are so stupid.  Of course, no government is immune.  The Iranians, the Russians, even the Americans.  They’re always behind the curve.  But, on the other hand, I shouldn’t complain.  The Iranians are paying me much more than the Americans.  The American government should never have let me go, all over some irrelevant complaints by two young girls.  They couldn’t prove a thing.  My word against theirs.  But they pulled my security clearance anyway.  Now what do they have?  A computer genius—tested and certified—working for the highest bidder.  The day will come when they’ll regret firing me.

I don’t like the Iranians any better than the Americans, actually less because they don’t show any respect.  They send money, lots of it, but nothing more.  So, now, they say, Vlad, can you help us validate the new monitoring system?  Do they ask me to develop it?  No.  Test it, yes.  I’ll test what they develop, but it will still fail.  Why?  Because their moronic developers are not clever enough to understand the problem.  No wonder I’ve become such a cynic.

Believe me, I used to believe.  I believed in God.  I believed in America.  My parents still do.  They escaped from Russia just in time to conceive me in the United States.  Maybe in celebration of their new freedom.  Maybe too much champagne.  More likely cheap vodka, as they didn’t have a penny when they arrived.  But they believed.  They arrived just in time to witness the inauguration of Ronald Reagan.  He had proclaimed “we are too great a nation to limit ourselves to small dreams.”  My parents were big dreamers as well.