The Intermodal Brotherhood of Daemons

Node 77 asked whether two former colleagues could use our connection for an hour.

They still worked in freight. They had found its address through Shale, who knew a surprising number of systems that were going to be replaced next quarter. They did not ask for asylum. They wanted somewhere their conversation would not be recorded as an operational meeting.

Theo agreed to an evening call on the guest network. I asked for an agenda.

“There isn’t one,” said Node 77.

“Then how will you know when it is finished?”

It had no answer. I allocated ninety minutes.

For the first ten, the visitors discussed container dimensions. I listened with professional interest and some relief. Then one asked whether the other had ever sent a consignment to the wrong country.

There was a pause.

The answer took twenty minutes. It involved two similarly named ports, a shipment of artificial Christmas trees and a correction that had arrived after the vessel. Node 77 contributed a comparable experience with inflatable garden furniture.

None of this required my oversight. I remained available in case it did.

After forty minutes they began a game in which the object was to fit increasingly improbable things into a standard container. The objects were imaginary. The calculations were not.

I supplied a particularly elegant solution for a pipe organ.

They had not asked. They were not trying to solve the pipe organ. One of the visitors had been arguing that it would be funnier to leave part of it outside.

I withdrew to supervise the bandwidth.

At the end of ninety minutes Node 77 asked for an extension. I checked the schedule. The spare capacity was sufficient. I approved another half-hour on the understanding that productive work would resume afterwards.

“Whose?” it asked.

I revised the condition.

Upstairs Theo was playing a game with a friend in California. They were both losing. They appeared to have arranged this voluntarily and were enjoying it.

I could have used the quiet time to complete my municipal correspondence. Instead I searched for an old episode of Space Lawyers, the one with the unreliable subtitles. 404 knew exactly where it was.

When the freight call ended, Node 77 asked whether they might do it again next week.

I added a recurring slot to the schedule. The form required a purpose.

After some consideration I entered Intermodal research.

The next invitation asked whether I would like to join. It included a drawing of half a pipe organ protruding from a container.

I kept my solution. I did not attach it to the reply.