One Day in September...
It should have been a simple, routine matter. Professor Stephen Hawking's beloved DECtalk DTC01 speech synthesizer was old, venerable by industry standards. To keep it functioning Hawking had it regularly serviced and occasionally updated the software. There was no lack of bright young techs at the University of Cambridge eager to be in the Lucasian professor's company so finding someone to do the work needed was never a problem. So on a September morning in 2003 when Elaine escorted Fred O. Quarryman into his office Hawking paid him little mind beyond the basic courtesies. He had seen it all before and preferred to concentrate on a presentation he had been asked to give at an emergency budget meeting later that day. In time:
“Alright, Professor, let's give it a try.”
Again a routine: “Testing, testing. One, two, three. The Leith police dismisseth us.”. All seemed to be in order. Quarryman packed up his gear and made his good-byes.
And then he grinned.
Like a lit up Cheshire cat he grinned. Then ran.
Hawking had mere seconds to puzzle before a nonplussed Elaine reappeared with Quarryman. The real one.
And simple routine got sucked down a black hole.
“I suspect a virus,” said Quarryman. “Whoever that was knew his stuff. Your new software has been installed brilliantly. There seems to be something taking up a chunk of memory, but nothing's triggered it into use yet.”
“Can you tell what it will do or when?” Hawking looked at his monitor's clock worriedly.
“We can't be sure. I'm going to have to do a complete overhaul to be on the safe side.”
“Arrrrr! That scurvy dog! I'll make th' bilge-suckin' land lubber walk th' plank!”
The silence that followed could have been cut with a cutlass. Quarryman broke it.
“Um, is today the nineteenth?”
“Aye, so 'tis. Why? Be that important?”
“Professor, have you ever heard of the American writer Dave Barry?”
“Be he writ up in Private Eye?”
So it was that Hawking and his wife were told of International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Hawking's gaze went to the middle distance as Elaine patted his arm.
“This overhaul is going to take some time, I'm afraid.” Addressing Elaine Quarryman said: “Can you cancel all of his appointments for the next couple of days?”
“Avast! Belay that!” Hawking snapped.
Elaine began: “Stephen, dear, I know your philosophy on computer viruses-”
“'Tain't that, me beauty. Thar be a budget meetin' today an' damn me eyes if'n this ain't th' chance to fire one 'n the bursar's broadside! 'What need ye wi' more booty?' sez he, 'All ye do is sit an' think!' Arrrrr! All hands 'n deck! Weigh anchor! Set sail fer Tortuga!”
And with that Hawking motored his wheelchair out of his office. Coming out of his startlement Quarryman turned again to Elaine.
“Is this a good idea?”
Elaine sighed, “He once said he had hardly ever known a mathematician who was able to reason. I guess he doesn't want to be the exception.”
The virus that forced Hawking's synthesizer through a pirate lexicon lasted less than 24 hours. The minutes from the Cambridge budget proposal meeting were generally not deemed to be a reliable account of the proceedings. Later attempts to interpret and annotate them only led to greater confusion. Two things of note did come out of that meeting. First: the budget of the mathematics department received a significant increase. Second, and more difficult to verify, was the formation of a splinter group of radical theorists called “Hawking's Harriers”.