DONT BUILD COMPUTERS 
				    kremlin

		   a fictional narrative in the public domain
			a tale of avariceand megalomania


		      CHAPER ONE - THE WEAK AND THE STRONG

“What the hell is Enterprise Dynamic Solutions Limited Corporation GmbH?”

Horace removed the shipping sheet, unfolded it, and read further.

“A subsidiary of the SCSI corporation…?”

Horace’s brow furrowed as the reality dawed on him. This was yet another on of
Florian’s extremely suspicious “home lab experiment” projects. Florian’s
non-response and crackpot smile cemented this notion.

“It’s pronounced scuzzy. It stands for SERIAL CRYPTOGRAPHY SYNDICATE
INTERNATIONAL. These are all C-Corps and LLCs I’ve registered on paper.” said
Florian.

“So I guess that makes you the…” Horace rolled his eyes. “...Director of Client
Success Leveraged Solutions?”

Florian’s smile dropped to a tense expression. “Yes. Along with Chief Executive
Officer, Treasurer, and Janitor.”

“You’d think the state secretary’s office would have banned you from filing
this sort of shit by now”

“I just change my name slightly or use a random name and random social security
number. They don’t care. The only ones that do are the OTC exchanges, but this
is not another securities thing.”

“So why all the, uhh, fake weirdo bullshit”

“They won’t ship this stuff to individuals in this quantity. Filing LLCs is
expensive but filing a bunch of DBAs like EDSLC is cheap and lets me order in
bulk via many small orders to individual DBAs whereas one large order to one
name would invite suspicion from the…” Florian’s gaze narrowed as he took a
breath.

“Fuckface, brickheaded, scumbag fed fucks…”

Horace knew all too well what contraband occupied the many boxes addressed to
all sorts of hilarious names which lay all over Florian’s shithole apartment,
but his weak will and nervous temperment took over as he tried to bargain with
reality.

“Dude. Please tell me this is like drugs or something. Please tell me this is
those banned Four Lokos you like or those shitty clove cigarettes you can’t get
anymore”

“Drugs are for criminals and gluttons” replied Florian, despite the many
prescription pill bottles littered around his desk. “Behold...” Florian drew
one of the many roughly food-can sized boxes and opened it revealing a
over-wrapped small circuit board the size of a thumbnail. A small tube occupied
the top, and three PTH pins jutted out from the sides.

“German. The good shit. Not that Shenzhen dogshit with nearly a 1% failure
rate”.

Horace broke a sweat. “No, dude. No no no no. Unbelievably illegal.”

Florian pulled up a sheet to reveal many more such large shipping boxes. “I
have just north of forty-five hundred of them.”

You could almost hear Horace’s jaw hitting the floor. “Bone chilling shit dude.
I am out. I hope you have your will set up”.

“I don’t have any family members and all my friends like you are too bitchmade
for my treasures. Even it if came to that they would just burn this whole
building down after discovering the first few booby traps and noticing the my
return fire is punching through their vests”.

“Goodbye! Bye-bye. Leaving now” echoed Horace as he scampered down the hall.

“COWARD!”

		       CHAPTER TWO - FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE

Florian sat at the centermost of many workbenches lining the walls of his
apartment, the only furniture. Four separate third-hand tools grasped an
intricate assembly of breadboard electronics, gas hoses, and tiny pressure
vessels. At the center sat a tiny speck of a quartz crystal, the result of
several hundred hours of machining to achieve a suspiciously accurate geometry.

“Let’s see a crab do this” muttered Florian as he attached a lead to his
Tektronix analog oscilloscope. He depressed the power switch as the flyback
transformer audibily hummed on account of the broken case exposing it. Several
scorch marks peppered its surface, the result of Florian dicking around,
blowing screwdrivers across the room for fun. The phosphors on the display
slowly warmed to reveal several sharp square waves. 

Florian gingerly adjusted a tiny screw, narrowing the waveform until it matched
the 1 millisecond vertical scales.

“Misdemeanor. Class A”. Florian’s grin widened.

Twenty-one floating leads attached to seven of the new circuits, unpackaged
hastily. One lead remained, wrapped in a brilliant yellow insulator, of a
suggestively longer length.

“Phas- shit.”. Florian switched off his phone he assumes constantly surveils
him, an unusual gesture considering the many hours spent dictating credible
threats towards politicians into its microphone. 

“Phase look loop”. Florian giggled and attached the yellow lead to the
aforementioned, now completely connected circuit assembly. He moved the probe
to a lead connection on this circuit. The oscilloscope lit up the room with a
lustrous wall of green light.

Florian zoomed in on the time scale to reveal the same square waves whose peaks
and valleys were now a bit sharper.

“Felony. Federal”

Breathless, unthinkably minute adjustments of screws compressing the quartz
crystal pushed the waveform to align with the newely set vertical scales, set
one microsecond apart.