Super Shared

Resetter Canon MP198 – It’s Fake or Not

Go to link Download

Ri Everest v1 1 2 – Multipurpose Woocomerce Theme

Ri Everest is a fully Responsive Wordpress Woocommerce Theme that is extremely customizable, easy to use and suitable for every type of business, portfolio, blog and ecommerce sites.

• Unlimited page combination
• WordPress LIVE Theme Customizer (Updates In Realtime)
• Visual Composer Page Builder included
• Slider Revolution included
• Sticky header
• Mega Menus & Off-Canvas Menus ready
• WooCommerce Ready
• Language Translation
• Unlimited Sidebars + Sticky Sidebars
• Multiple layouts for single post
• Responsive & Retina Ready
• SEO Friendly for hight speed

   

Go to link Download

Reindeer VPN – Climb the GFW 1 301

Go to link Download

Rhythm – Colors in Motion 1 0

Go to link Download

Retro Runners – Endless Run 1 2 68

Go to link Download

Remix v2 1 2 – Music Band Club Party Event WordPress Theme

Remix is modern glass version wordpress theme for music sharing, Multipage + One page theme with 100% responsive layout built using 12 column grid system, Supports unlimited colours and sidebars, Suitable for music, band, club, party, event, magazine, classic, artist, jazz master, punk rocker, soprano singer, piano player, band manager or even a webmaster, etc websites. Integrated with Visual composer Drag n Drop Page Builder, Revolution slider and master slider premium wordpress plugins (all worth $70+) saves you handsome money and embed MP3, Soundcloud, Shoutcast and radionomy audio. Masonry and listing blocks for all post types. Finally remix is best wordpress music theme 2014 – 2015 for music lovers.

Remix theme supports Woocommerce and bbpress plugins and available with fullwidth or boxed layout. Remix available with many useful features such as 17 Custom T20 Widgets, jQuery Nicescroll, touch slideshow, Smooth Scroll, Ajax login form, popup box, video lightbox, modern photo gallery and compatible with famous contact form 7 plugin. Light and dark version. 100% Translatable. RTL support.

   

Go to link Download

Schiller – Personal Blog Theme Blog Magazine download

About schiller WordPress Theme

Schiller is a clean and elegant blogging WordPress theme, which is ready to meet the needs of bloggers, designers, photographers and other who needs a customizable, responsive and modern product. It will help to showcase the content and set the website apart with its professional functionality and fast operating speed. It is compatible with number of widgets for perfect functioning and features endless customization options to make your website truly yours.

Key Features

Features

• 
  Elegant and modern design
  


• 
  Responsive, adaptive
  


• 
  User friendly
  


• 
  Simple customization
  


• 
  Perfectly optimized
  


• 
  High operating speed
  


• 
  5 Header variants
  


• 
  4 Footer variants
  


• 
  Boxed layout
  


• 
  Hide most elements
  


• 
  Top & Bottom sliders
  


• 
  Browsers compatible
  


• 
  Touch and Swipe Support
  


• 
  CSS3 animations
  


• 
  Unlimited colors
  


• 
  Typography options
  


• 
  Custom About Me Widget
  


• 
  Custom Social Widget
  


• 
  Custom Instagram Widget
  


• 
  Support for Contact Form 7
  


• 
  Social Icons in Header and Footer
  


• 
  Font Awesome Icons
  


• 
  Google Fonts Support
  


• 
  Mailchimp Integrated
  


• 
  Translation Ready
  


• 
  Outstanding Support Service
  


• 
  Extensive Documentation
  

Credits

• 
  jQuery
  
  – core Javascript library.
  


• 
  Bootstrap
  
  – sleek, intuitive, and powerful front-end framework for faster and easier web development.
  


• 
  Bootstrap-select
  
  – a custom select for @twitter Bootstrap using button dropdown.
  


• 
  Font Awesome
  
  – gives you scalable vector icons that can instantly be customized – size, color, drop shadow, and anything that can be done with the power of CSS.
  


• 
  CarouFredSel
  
  – is a plugin that turns any kind of HTML element into a carousel.


• 
  jQuery Touchwipe Plugin
  
  – a jquery plugin to be used on touch devices such as iPad, iPhone, android etc..


• 
  jQuery Appear
  
  
  – jQuery plugin to call a function when an element appears.


• 
  Fancybox
  
  – fancyBox is a tool for displaying images, html content and multi-media in a Mac-style “lightbox” that floats overtop of web page.
  


• 
  SyntaxHighlighter
  
  – syntaxHighlighter is a fully functional self-contained code syntax highlighter developed in JavaScript.
  


• 
  CSS loader
  
  – this webpack config can load css files, embed small png images as Data Urls and jpg images as files.
  


• 
  jQuery custom content scroller
  
  – Highly customizable custom scrollbar jQuery plugin.
  


• 
  Countdown
  
  – a circular, responsive carousel plugin built using the jQuery.
  


• 
  Animate.css
  
  – just-add-water CSS animations.
  


• 
  Masonry
  
  – cascading grid layout library.
  

Support

For a quick solution of your problem we recommend to contact the customer support at our

support site.

We appreciate your time, so we worked hard to make an appeal to the support convenient and comfortable. You must understand that we also appreciate our time, that is why we strongly recommend not to seek
other ways

to appeal to the support, and immediately create the ticket at the

support site.

The customer support runs on weekdays from Monday to Friday from
9:00

am to
6:00

pm GMT +2. Some days of the year turn to be holidays, respectively, we can not give you support then. However, we will inform about those days in advance.

Best Price| | Preview

Go to link Download

Scroogled – Google Tracks Spies You Amazing Story by Cory Doctorow

Scroogled - by Cory Doctorow

"Give me six lines written by the most honorable of men, and I will find an excuse in them to hang him."

— Cardinal Richelieu

 

"We dont know enough about you."

— Former Google CEO Eric Schmidt

Greg landed at San Francisco International Airport at 8 p.m., but by the time hed made it to the front of the customs line, it was after midnight. Hed emerged from first class, brown as a nut, unshaven, and loose-limbed after a month on the beach in Cabo (scuba diving three days a week, seducing French college girls the rest of the time). When hed left the city a month before, hed been a stoop-shouldered, potbellied wreck. Now he was a bronze god, drawing admiring glances from the stews at the front of the cabin.

Four hours later in the customs line, hed slid from god back to man. His slight buzz had worn off, sweat ran down the crack of his ass, and his shoulders and neck were so tense his upper back felt like a tennis racket. The batteries on his iPod had long since died, leaving him with nothing to do except eavesdrop on the middle-age couple ahead of him.

"The marvels of modern technology,"

said the woman, shrugging at a nearby sign: Immigration — Powered by Google.

"I thought that didnt start until next month?"

The man was alternately wearing and holding a large sombrero.

Googling at the border. Christ. Greg had vested out of Google six months before, cashing in his options and "taking some me time" — which turned out to be less rewarding than hed expected. What he mostly did over the five months that followed was fix his friends PCs, watch daytime TV, and gain 10 pounds, which he blamed on being at home instead of in the Googleplex, with its well-appointed 24-hour gym.

He should have seen it coming, of course. The U.S. government had lavished $15 billion on a program to fingerprint and photograph visitors at the border, and hadnt caught a single terrorist. Clearly, the public sector was not equipped to Do Search Right.

The DHS officer had bags under his eyes and squinted at his screen, prodding at his keyboard with sausage fingers. No wonder it was taking four hours to get out of the god damned airport.

"Evening," Greg said, handing the man his sweaty passport. The officer grunted and swiped it, then stared at his screen, tapping. A lot. He had a little bit of dried food at the corner of his mouth and his tongue crept out and licked at it.

"Want to tell me about June 1998?"

Greg looked up from his Departures. "Im sorry?"

"You posted a message to alt.burningman on June 17, 1998, about your plan to attend a festival. You asked, Are shrooms really such a bad idea?"

The interrogator in the secondary screening room was an older man, so skinny he looked like hed been carved out of wood. His questions went a lot deeper than shrooms.

"Tell me about your hobbies. Are you into model rocketry?"

"What?"

"Model rocketry."

"No," Greg said, "No, Im not." He sensed where this was going.

The man made a note, did some clicking. "You see, I ask because I see a heavy spike in ads for rocketry supplies showing up alongside your search results and Google mail."

Greg felt a spasm in his guts. "Youre looking at my searches and e-mail?" He hadnt touched a keyboard in a month, but he knew what he put into that search bar was likely more revealing than what he told his shrink.

"Sir, calm down, please. No, Im not looking at your searches," the man said in a mocking whine. "That would be unconstitutional. We see only the ads that show up when you read your mail and do your searching. I have a brochure explaining it. Ill give it to you when were through here."

"But the ads dont mean anything," Greg sputtered. "I get ads for Ann Coulter ring tones whenever I get e-mail from my friend in Coulter, Iowa!"

The man nodded. "I understand, sir. And thats just why Im here talking to you. Why do you suppose model rocket ads show up so frequently?"

Greg racked his brain. "Okay, just do this. Search for coffee fanatics." Hed been very active in the group, helping them build out the site for their coffee-of-the-month subscription service. The blend they were going to launch with was called Jet Fuel. "Jet Fuel" and "Launch" — that would probably make Google barf up some model rocket ads.

They were in the home stretch when the carved man found the Halloween photos. They were buried three screens deep in the search results for "Greg Lupinski."

"It was a Gulf War-themed party," he said. "In the Castro."

"And youre dressed as...?"

"A suicide bomber," he replied sheepishly. Just saying the words made him wince.

"Come with me, Mr. Lupinski," the man said.

By the time he was released, it was past 3 a.m. His suitcases stood forlornly by the baggage carousel. He picked them up and saw they had been opened and carelessly closed. Clothes stuck out from around the edges.

When he returned home, he discovered that all of his fake pre-Columbian statues had been broken, and his brand-new white cotton Mexican shirt had an ominous boot print in the middle of it. His clothes no longer smelled of Mexico. They smelled like airport.

He wasnt going to sleep. No way. He needed to talk about this. There was only one person who would get it. Luckily, she was usually awake around this hour.

Maya had started working at Google two years after Greg had. It was she whod convinced him to go to Mexico after he cashed out: Anywhere, shed said, that he could reboot his existence.

Maya had two giant chocolate labs and a very, very patient girlfriend named Laurie whod put up with anything except being dragged around Dolores Park at 6 a.m. by 350 pounds of drooling canine.

Maya reached for her Mace as Greg jogged toward her, then did a double take and threw her arms open, dropping the leashes and trapping them under her sneaker. "Wheres the rest of you? Dude, you look hot!"

He hugged her back, suddenly conscious of the way he smelled after a night of invasive Googling. "Maya," he said, "what do you know about Google and the DHS?"

She stiffened as soon as he asked the question. One of the dogs began to whine. She looked around, then nodded up at the tennis courts. "Top of the light pole there; dont look," she said. "Thats one of our muni WiFi access points. Wide-angle webcam. Face away from it when you talk."

In the grand scheme of things, it hadnt cost Google much to wire the city with webcams. Especially when measured against the ability to serve ads to people based on where they were sitting. Greg hadnt paid much attention when the cameras on all those access points went public — thered been a days worth of blogstorm while people played with the new all-seeing toy, zooming in on various prostitute cruising areas, but after a while the excitement blew over.

Feeling silly, Greg mumbled, "Youre joking."

"Come with me," she said, turning away from the pole.

The dogs werent happy about cutting their walk short, and expressed their displeasure in the kitchen as Maya made coffee.

"We brokered a compromise with the DHS," she said, reaching for the milk. "They agreed to stop fishing through our search records, and we agreed to let them see what ads got displayed for users."

Greg felt sick. "Why? Dont tell me Yahoo was doing it already..."

"No, no. Well, yes. Sure. Yahoo was doing it. But that wasnt the reason Google went along. You know, Republicans hate Google. Were overwhelmingly registered Democratic, so were doing what we can to make peace with them before they clobber us. This isnt P.I.I." — Personally Identifying Information, the toxic smog of the information age — "Its just metadata. So its only slightly evil."

"Why all the intrigue, then? "

Maya sighed and hugged the lab that was butting her knee with its huge head. "The spooks are like lice. They get everywhere. They show up at our meetings. Its like being in some Soviet ministry. And the security clearance — were divided into these two camps: the cleared and the suspect. We all know who isnt cleared, but no one knows why. Im cleared. Lucky for me, being a dyke no longer disqualifies you. No cleared person would deign to eat lunch with an unclearable."

Greg felt very tired. "So I guess Im lucky I got out of the airport alive. I might have ended up disappeared if it had gone badly, huh?"

Maya stared at him intently. He waited for an answer.

"What?"

"Im about to tell you something, but you cant ever repeat it, okay?"

"Um...youre not in a terrorist cell, are you?

"Nothing so simple. Heres the deal: Airport DHS scrutiny is a gating function. It lets the spooks narrow down their search criteria. Once you get pulled aside for secondary at the border, you become a person of interest — and they never, ever let up. Theyll scan webcams for your face and gait. Read your mail. Monitor your searches."

"I thought you said the courts wouldnt let them..."

"The courts wont let them indiscriminately Google you. But after youre in the system, it becomes a selective search. All legal. And once they start Googling you, they always find something. All your data is fed into a big hopper that checks for suspicious patterns, using deviation from statistical norms to nail you."

Greg felt like he was going to throw up. "How the hell did this happen? Google was a good place. Dont be evil, right?" That was the corporate motto, and for Greg, it had been a huge part of why hed taken his computer science Ph.D. from Stanford directly to Mountain View.

Maya replied with a hard-edged laugh. "Dont be evil? Come on, Greg. Our lobbying group is that same bunch of crypto-fascists that tried to Swift-Boat Kerry. We popped our evil cherry a long time ago."

They were quiet for a minute.

"It started in China," she went on, finally. "Once we moved our servers onto the mainland, they went under Chinese jurisdiction."

Greg sighed. He knew Googles reach all too well: Every time you visited a page with Google ads on it, or used Google maps or Google mail — even if you sent mail to a Gmail account — the company diligently collected your info. Recently, the sites search-optimization software had begun using the data to tailor Web searches to individual users. It proved to be a revolutionary tool for advertisers. An authoritarian government would have other purposes in mind.

"They were using us to build profiles of people," she went on. "When they had someone they wanted to arrest, theyd come to us and find a reason to bust them. Theres hardly anything you can do on the Net that isnt illegal in China."

Greg shook his head. "Why did they have to put the servers in China?"

"The government said theyd block us otherwise. And Yahoo was there." They both made faces. Somewhere along the way, employees at Google had become obsessed with Yahoo, more concerned with what the competition was doing than how their own company was performing. "So we did it. But a lot of us didnt like the idea."

Maya sipped her coffee and lowered her voice. One of her dogs sniffed insistently under Gregs chair.

"Almost immediately, the Chinese asked us to start censoring search results," Maya said. "Google agreed. The company line was hilarious: Were not doing evil — were giving consumers access to a better search tool! If we showed them search results they couldnt get to, that would just frustrate them. It would be a bad user experience."

"Now what?" Greg pushed a dog away from him. Maya looked hurt.

"Now youre a person of interest, Greg.

Youre Googlestalked. Now you live your life with someone constantly looking over your shoulder. You know the mission statement, right? Organize the Worlds Information. Everything. Give it five years, well know how many turds were in the bowl before you flushed. Combine that with automated suspicion of anyone who matches a statistical picture of a bad guy and youre — "

"Scroogled."

"Totally." She nodded.

Maya took both labs down the hall to the bedroom. He heard a muffled argument with her girlfriend, and she came back alone.

"I can fix this," she said in an urgent whisper. "After the Chinese started rounding up people, my podmates and I made it our 20 percent project to fuck with them." (Among Googles business innovations was a rule that required every employee to devote 20 percent of his or her time to high-minded pet projects.) "We call it the Googlecleaner. It goes deep into the database and statistically normalizes you. Your searches, your Gmail histograms, your browsing patterns. All of it. Greg, I can Googleclean you. Its the only way."

"I dont want you to get into trouble."

She shook her head. "Im already doomed. Every day since I built the damn thing has been borrowed time — now its just a matter of waiting for someone to point out my expertise and history to the DHS and, oh, I dont know. Whatever it is they do to people like me in the war on abstract nouns."

Greg remembered the airport. The search. His shirt, the boot print in the middle of it.

"Do it," he said.

The Googlecleaner worked wonders. Greg could tell by the ads that popped up alongside his searches, ads clearly meant for someone else: Intelligent Design Facts, Online Seminary Degree, Terror Free Tomorrow, Porn Blocker Software, the Homosexual Agenda, Cheap Toby Keith Tickets. This was Mayas program at work. Clearly Googles new personalized search had him pegged as someone else entirely, a God-fearing right winger with a thing for hat acts.

Which was fine by him.

Then he clicked on his address book, and found that half of his contacts were missing. His Gmail in-box was hollowed out like a termite-ridden stump. His Orkut profile, normalized. His calendar, family photos, bookmarks: all empty. He hadnt quite realized before how much of him had migrated onto the Web and worked its way into Googles server farms — his entire online identity. Maya had scrubbed him to a high gloss; hed become the invisible man.

Greg sleepily mashed the keys on the laptop next to his bed, bringing the screen to life. He squinted at the flashing toolbar clock: 4:13 a.m.! Christ, who was pounding on his door at this hour?

He shouted, "Coming!" in a muzzy voice and pulled on a robe and slippers. He shuffled down the hallway, turning on lights as he went. At the door, he squinted through the peephole to find Maya staring glumly back at him.

He undid the chains and dead bolt and yanked the door open. Maya rushed in past him, followed by the dogs and her girlfriend.

She was sheened in sweat, her usually combed hair clinging in clumps to her forehead. She rubbed at her eyes, which were red and lined.

"Pack a bag," she croaked hoarsely.

"What?"

She took him by the shoulders. "Do it," she said.

"Where do you want to...?"

"Mexico, probably. Dont know yet. Pack, dammit." She pushed past him into his bedroom and started yanking open drawers.

"Maya," he said sharply, "Im not going anywhere until you tell me whats going on."

She glared at him and pushed her hair away from her face. "The Googlecleaner lives. After I cleaned you, I shut it down and walked away. It was too dangerous to use anymore. But its still set to send me e-mail confirmations whenever it runs. Someones used it six times to scrub three very specific accounts — all of which happen to belong to members of the Senate Commerce Committee up for reelection."

"Googlers are blackwashing senators?"

"Not Googlers. This is coming from off-site. The IP block is registered in D.C. And the IPs are all used by Gmail users. Guess who the accounts belong to?"

"You spied on Gmail accounts?"

"Okay. Yes. I did look through their e-mail. Everyone does it, now and again, and for a lot worse reasons than I did. But check it out — turns out all this activity is being directed by our lobbying firm. Just doing their job, defending the companys interests."

Greg felt his pulse beating in his temples. "We should tell someone."

"It wont do any good. They know everything about us. They can see every search. Every e-mail. Every time weve been caught on the webcams. Who is in our social network...did you know if you have 15 Orkut buddies, its statistically certain that youre no more than three steps to someone whos contributed money to a terrorist cause? Remember the airport? Youll be in for a lot more of that."

"Maya," Greg said, getting his bearings. "Isnt heading to Mexico overreacting? Just quit. We can do a start-up or something. This is crazy."

"They came to see me today," she said. "Two of the political officers from DHS. They didnt leave for hours. And they asked me a lot of very heavy questions."

"About the Googlecleaner?"

"About my friends and family. My search history. My personal history."

"Jesus."

"They were sending a message to me. Theyre watching every click and every search. Its time to go. Time to get out of range."

"Theres a Google office in Mexico, you know."

"Weve got to go," she said, firmly.

"Laurie, what do you think of this?" Greg asked.

Laurie thumped the dogs between the shoulders. "My parents left East Germany in 65. They used to tell me about the Stasi. The secret police would put everything about you in your file, if you told an unpatriotic joke, whatever. Whether they meant it or not, what Google has created is no different."

"Greg, are you coming?"

He looked at the dogs and shook his head. "Ive got some pesos left over," he said. "You take them. Be careful, okay?"

Maya looked like she was going to slug him. Softening, she gave him a ferocious hug.

"Be careful, yourself," she whispered in his ear.

They came for him a week later. At home, in the middle of the night, just as hed imagined they would.

Two men arrived on his doorstep shortly after 2 a.m. One stood silently by the door. The other was a smiler, short and rumpled, in a sport coat with a stain on one lapel and a American flag on the other. "Greg Lupinski, we have reason to believe youre in violation of the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act," he said, by way of introduction. "Specifically, exceeding authorized access, and by means of such conduct having obtained information. Ten years for a first offense. Turns out that what you and your friend did to your Google records qualifies as a felony. And oh, what will come out in the trial...all the stuff you whitewashed out of your profile, for starters."

Greg had played this scene in his head for a week. Hed planned all kinds of brave things to say. It had given him something to do while he waited to hear from Maya. She never called.

"Id like to get in touch with a lawyer," is all he mustered.

"You can do that," the small man said. "But maybe we can come to a better arrangement."

Greg found his voice. "Id like to see your badge," he stammered.

The mans basset-hound face lit up as he let out a bemused chuckle. "Buddy, Im not a cop," he replied. "Im a consultant. Google hired me — my firm represents their interests in Washington — to build relationships. Of course, we wouldnt get the police involved without talking to you first. Youre part of the family. Actually, theres an offer Id like to make."

Greg turned to the coffeemaker, dumped the old filter.

"Ill go to the press," he said.

The man nodded as if thinking it over. "Well, sure. You could walk into the Chronicles office in the morning and spill everything. Theyd look for a confirming source. They wont find one. And when they try searching for it, well find them. So, buddy, why dont you hear me out, okay? Im in the win-win business. Im very good at it." He paused. "By the way, those are excellent beans, but you want to give them a little rinse first? Takes some of the bitterness out and brings up the oils. Here, pass me a colander?"

Greg watched as the man silently took off his jacket and hung it over a kitchen chair, then undid his cuffs and carefully rolled them up, slipping a cheap digital watch into his pocket. He poured the beans out of the grinder and into Gregs colander, and rinsed them in the sink.

He was a little pudgy and very pale, with the social grace of an electrical engineer. He seemed like a real Googler, actually, obsessed with the minutiae. He knew his way around a coffee grinder, too.

"Were drafting a team for Building 49..."

"There is no Building 49," Greg said automatically.

"Of course," the guy said, flashing a tight smile. "Theres no Building 49. But were putting together a team to revamp the Googlecleaner. Mayas code wasnt very efficient, you know. Its full of bugs. We need an upgrade. Youd be the right guy, and it wouldnt matter what you knew if you were back inside."

"Unbelievable," Greg said, laughing. "If you think Im going to help you smear political candidates in exchange for favors, youre crazier than I thought."

"Greg," the man said, "were not smearing anyone. Were just going to clean things up a bit. For some select people. You know what I mean? Everyones Google profile is a little scary under close inspection. Close inspection is the order of the day in politics. Standing for office is like a public colonoscopy." He loaded the cafetière and depressed the plunger, his face screwed up in solemn concentration. Greg retrieved two coffee cups — Google mugs, of course — and passed them over.

"Were going to do for our friends what Maya did for you. Just a little cleanup. All we want to do is preserve their privacy. Thats all."

Greg sipped his coffee. "What happens to the candidates you dont clean?"

"Yeah," the guy said, flashing Greg a weak grin. "Yeah, youre right. Itll be kind of tough for them." He searched the inside pocket of his jacket and produced several folded sheets of paper.

He smoothed out the pages and put them on the table. "Heres one of the good guys who needs our help." It was a printout of a search history belonging to a candidate whose campaign Greg had contributed to in the past three elections.

"Fella gets back to his hotel room after a brutal day of campaigning door to door, fires up his laptop, and types hot asses into his search bar. Big deal, right? The way we see it, for that to disqualify a good man from continuing to serve his country is just un-American."

Greg nodded slowly.

"So youll help the guy out?" the man asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Theres one more thing. We need you to help us find Maya. She didnt understand our goals at all, and now she seems to have flown the coop. Once she hears us out, I have no doubt shell come around."

He glanced at the candidates search history.

"I guess she might," Greg replied.

The new Congress took 11 working days to pass the Securing and Enumerating Americas Communications and Hypertext Act, which authorized the DHS and NSA to outsource up to 80 percent of intelligence and analysis work to private contractors. Theoretically, the contracts were open to competitive bidding, but within the secure confines of Googles Building 49, there was no question of who would win. If Google had spent $15 billion on a program to catch bad guys at the border, you can bet they would have caught them — governments just arent equipped to Do Search Right.

The next morning Greg scrutinized himself carefully as he shaved (the security minders didnt like hacker stubble and werent shy about telling him so), realizing that today was his first day as a de facto intelligence agent for the U.S. government. How bad would it be? Wasnt it better to have Google doing this stuff than some ham-fisted DHS desk jockey?

By the time he parked at the Googleplex, among the hybrid cars and bulging bike racks, he had convinced himself. He was mulling over which organic smoothie to order at the canteen when his key card failed to open the door to Building 49. The red LED flashed dumbly every time he swiped his card. Any other building, and thered be someone to tailgate on, people trickling in and out all day. But the Googlers in 49 only emerged for meals, and sometimes not even that.

Swipe, swipe, swipe. Suddenly he heard a voice at his side.

"Greg, can I see you, please?"

The rumpled man put an arm around his shoulders, and Greg smelled his citrusy aftershave. It smelled like what his divemaster in Baja had worn when they went out to the bars in the evening. Greg couldnt remember his name. Juan Carlos? Juan Luis?

The mans arm around his shoulders was firm, steering him away from the door, out onto the immaculate lawn, past the herb garden outside the kitchen. "Were giving you a couple of days off," he said.

Greg felt a sudden stab of anxiety. "Why?" Had he done something wrong? Was he going to jail?

"Its Maya." The man turned him around, met his eyes with his bottomless gaze. "She killed herself. In Guatemala. Im sorry, Greg."

Greg seemed to hurtle away, to a place miles above, a Google Earth view of the Googleplex, where he looked down on himself and the rumpled man as a pair of dots, two pixels, tiny and insignificant. He willed himself to tear at his hair, to drop to his knees and weep.

From a long way away, he heard himself say, "I dont need any time off. Im okay."

From a long way away, he heard the rumpled man insist.

The argument persisted for a long time, and then the two pixels moved into Building 49, and the door swung shut behind them.

./EOF

Scroogled – Google Tracks Spies your Privacy | Amazing Story by Cory Doctorow | Google Big Brother

copyright 2007 Cory Doctorow, Radar Magazine

Go to link Download