Zero History

unfamiliar.
Voytek wore a wool cardigan pieced together from perhaps half a dozen donors, one
sleeve plain camel, the other plaid. Under it a silky ecru T-shirt with too many pearl
buttons. He blinked behind harsh-looking steel-framed glasses.
Milgrim put his bag on the counter. “Will it take long?” he asked.
“Assuming I find nothing, ten minutes. Leave it.”
“I’d rather stay.”
Voytek frowned, then shrugged. “You think I will put something in it.”
“Do you do that?”
“Some people do,” said Voytek. “PC?”
“Mac,” said Milgrim, unzipping his bag and bringing it out.
“Put it on the counter. I lock up.” He came from behind the counter, wearing those gray
felt clogs that reminded Milgrim of the feet of toy animals. He went to the door, slid a bolt
into place, and returned. “I hate these Air,” he said, amiably enough, turning the laptop
over and producing the first of a number of tiny, very expensive-looking screwdrivers.
“They are very bitch, to open.”
“What are all these boxes?” Milgrim asked, indicating the shelves.
“They are computers. Real ones. From the dawn.” He removed the bottom of the Air,
with no evident difficulty at all.
“Are they valuable?”
“Valuable? What is true worth?” He put on an elaborate pair of magnifying glasses,
with clear colorless frames.
“That’s what I asked you.”
“True worth.” LEDs in the clear temples illuminated the elegantly compacted guts of the
Air. “You put a price on romance?”
“Romance?”
“These true computers are the root code. The Eden.”
Milgrim saw that there were still older machines, some actually housed in wood, locked
in a large, really quite seriously expensive-looking glass case, rising a good six feet from
the floor. The wood-cased typewriter-y device nearest him bore an eye-shaped silkscreened
ENIGMA logo. “What are those, then?”
“Before the Eden. Enigma encryption. As called forth by Alan Turing. To birth the
Eden. Also on offer, U.S. Army M-209B cipher machine with original canvas field case,
Soviet M-125-3MN Fialka cipher machine, Soviet clandestine pocket-sized nonelectronic
burst encoder and keyer. You are interested?”
“What’s a burst encoder?”
“Enter message, encrypt, send with inhuman speed as Morse code. Spring-winder.
Twelve hundred pounds. Discount for Blue Ant employee, one thousand.”
Someone rapped on the door. A young man with a massive diagonal forelock, wrapped
in what appeared to be a bathrobe. He was grimacing with impatience. Voytek sighed, put