BROADCAST

BROADCAST

A short, short story

By Phil Smith
Thu, 5 Aug 2004

He started by hacking into the National Weather Service's Emergency Broadcast System, waiting until a severe thunderstorm loomed to insert a single word into the text that was to be spoken by the computer's synthesized voice. Pacing back and forth while the sky darkened and his television blared, his thumb aching to press the 'record' button on the remote in his hand, he mumbled incoherently, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

There it was! Regular programming was interrupted with the storm watch notice, and he almost forgot to begin his recording. He sat down on the edge of a chair and waited for the computer to utter the single, innocuous word that would prove his success. When it was over, he played it back time after time, finally sinking back into his chair as the adrenaline subsided.

He had no one to share his success with. That night, he celebrated alone with a select microbrew and a DVD of The Lone Gunmen, laughing despite himself at the pilot episode, which originally aired in Spring 2001 and featured an airliner being flown into the World Trade Center.

The beer calmed his nerves enough to allow him to fall asleep before dawn.

~o~

X (as his friends called him) awoke in early afternoon to a ringing telephone. He hit the 'talk' button, and hearing only silence after saying "Hello?" twice, knew it must be another recorded sales message, or a telemarketer waiting to key in. He hit the button again, cursing the depths such people had sunk to, before the spiel could begin.

Ruminations and reminders in a hot shower. Coffee brewing as his computer greeted him with a custom WAV file and a black-and-white image of an odd-looking fish by a microphone on the desktop. Steam from the small glass mug briefly fogging up his glasses as he sifted through posts from radical message boards...

He knew what the next step was, and steeled himself for the task. X brought up an mp3 of the Beatles' Why Don't We Do It In the Road? and began to hack into his local network affiliate's system. Luck! There in front of him, telepromptor files for this evening's news program, ready to be altered.
He searched for a single word in which a single letter could be changed, that would change the meaning of the sentence or even the entire paragraph, as he'd seen typos do in the past. It was found. The change was made. He watched the local news, and recorded the strangely attractive anchorwoman cluelessly bending to his will.

This time, he slammed the beers down so fast that he couldn't concentrate on any films or television shows, and drifted off to a Foo Fighters CD.

~o~

Another phone call woke him, but he simply turned off the ringer after checking the caller ID, reminding himself to flip the switch back later. More sleep seemed like a promising option while he swayed to and fro over the porcelain fixture for a length of time that he found dimly amazing, but moments later X found himself sitting in front of his television again with an open, dry, sour mouth, reviewing the tape of his subtle crimes.

What to do now? He knew, but the task was too monumental. There was a message to be relayed, but first he had to find a way to hack major communications satellites, figure out exactly what must be said, and determine the best time, the proper format, etc.

His computer, X left dormant. The endless questions, the enormity of the implications and consequences, swam furiously in his head as he dropped backwards onto his bed, wondering how he was going to face his stupid, pointless job the next day, Monday, the beginning of another useless week of participating in a capitalist society...

~o~

What will happen to X? What is his message? Will he manage to get it to the many millions tuned in to whatever it is they like to watch? Apologies, dear readers, but these are questions you will have to ponder for yourselves. Please do so, and respond with your thoughts...