Scott briefly mentioned the matter to his editor, Doug, who in turn gave him a very hard time about it. "I thought you said virus hacker connection was a big ho-hum. As I recall, you said they weren't sexy enough? What happened?" "Eating crow can be considered a delicacy if the main course is phenomonal." "I see," laughed Doug. Creative way out, he thought. "He said he'd been plowing around NASA computers," Scott argued. "Listen, ask your buddy Ben how many crackpots admit to crimes just for the attention. It's crap." Doug was too jaded, thought Scott. "No, no, it's legit," Scott said defensively. "Sounds like a hacker conspiracy to me." "Legit? Legit?" Doug laughed out loud. "Your last column just about called for all computer junkies to be castrated and drawn and quartered before they are hung at the stake. And now you think an anonymous caller who claims to be a hacker, is for real? C'mon, Scott. You can't have it both ways. Sometimes your conspiracies are bit far fetched . . ." "And when we hit, it sells papers." Scott reminded his boss that it was still a business. Nonetheless, Doug made a point that hit home with Scott. Could he both malign computer nerds as sub-human and then expect to derive a decent story from one of them? There was an inconsist- ency there. Even so, some pretty despicable characters have turned state's evidence and made decent witnesses against their former cohorts. Had Captain Kirk really been where no man had been before? "You don't care if I dig a little?" Scott backed off and played the humble reporter. "It's your life." That was Doug's way of saying, "I told you there was a story here. Run!" "No problem, chief." Scott snapped to mock attention and left his editor's desk before Doug changed his mind. * * * * * Midnight Scarsdale, New York Scott went into his study to watch Nightline after grabbing a cold beer and turned on the light over his computer. His study could by all standards be declared a disaster area, which his ex- wife Maggie often did. In addition to the formal desk, 3 folding tables were piled high with newspapers, loose clippings, books, scattered notes, folders, magazines, and crumpled up paper balls on the floor. The maid had refused to clean the room for 6 months since he blamed her for disposing of important notes that he had filed on the floor. They were back on good terms, he had apologized, but his study was a no-man's, or no maid's land.