Carl Turing was a bright young man who worked as a computer technician at Grantchester University, Planet Cambridge. A graduate from said university with a degree in computer science, Carl liked the school, so upon graduation, he asked for, and was given, a job there. He was proficient in both hardware and software, and did his job well, being promoted to senior tech in under two years. At age twenty, Carl seemed, as Dr Manson, head of IT at the school, put it, "as if he'd been working on these systems for the past fifty years!" Besides excelling at his job, Carl also went around the school, offering his aid to any staff for student who needed assistance. In his free time, Carl reads the news on the neural nets, and does the daily crossword. All in all, Carl leads a rather normal life.
One morning, on one of his off days, as Carl was having his breakfast, his mother walked into the kitchen of the apartment which the family lived in, holding a letter.
"Letter for you, Carl," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. It was unusual for letters to be sent on hardcopy these days, and it was usually bad news.
"Who's it from, ma?" asked Carl, looking surprised.
"No idea," replied his mother, who was flipping the envelope around.
"Doesn't have any markings on it, only your name and our address."
Carl reached out a hand and took the letter from his mother. He finished his drink with his other hand, then stared at the envelope for a few seconds before opening it.
A folded piece of paper was inside the envelope. He unfolded the letter and saw, on the top, a very familiar logo.
"Bowex?" said his mother, who was looking over his shoulder, slightly amused.
Carl scanned the letter quickly.
"It says there's a package for me, and they want me to confirm the address by going to their neural net site and keying in some code..." Carl's voice drifted off slightly. He hadn't made any purchases recently. This must mean someone had sent him something, then. His brain worked hard to think who it could be, and then, what could it be? Both questions went unanswered.
"Could be some kind of scam. I think I'll head over to the local deliveries office and sort this out. It's my day off and I need something to do anyway." Carl cleared his dishes then took the letter up to his room, re-reading it once more. The instructions were simple enough. Go to a neural net site, key in a code, and that was it. However, something didn't seem right, and a trip to the Bowex deliveries office seemed like the best thing to do. It was only 3 minutes away by foot, anyway.
It was a cloudy day, with no breeze. Warm, but not uncomfortably so. Carl reached the Bowex office without much difficulty. He showed the letter to the receptionist, who in turn called over the manager. The nice gentleman explained to Carl that yes, this was indeed a Bowex letter, and that if he wanted to, he could use a terminal here at Bowex to log on to the net and do it. Carl agreed, and was led to an area with four self-service terminals, of which one was currently being used by a tall person in a hat and a trench coat.
"Odd attire for a day like this," thought Carl to himself as he walked past the person to a free terminal. The manager typed something into the terminal, then turned to face Carl.
"Usually, you can only access the stamp and address printing services here, but I've unlocked it so you can access the neural net. Do let me know when you're done so I can come and set it back to the usual setting."
With a curt nod, the manager set off back to the front desk before Carl could reply. Shrugging it off, Carl turned to face the terminal, which was waiting for him to log on with his neural net credentials.
As he logged on and accessed the site stated on the letter, Carl felt a little silly. He had come down here to bother the nice Bowex people for no good reason. He keyed in the code quickly, and to this surprise, instead of a confirmation, he was faced with more instructions.
' Step one complete. Proceeding to step two. Loading, Please wait. '
Carl looked at the letter again. There was no mention of any step two in the letter. Carl looked around for the manager but he had disappeared. The only person in sight was the stranger in the trench coat, and Carl didn't feel like approaching him.
"If that's a guy under all that," thought Carl. "Could be a woman with a short haircut. Ah, the site's loaded."
Turning back to the terminal, it now displayed step two.
' Your package is from Mr Robin Churchill.
Enter the code into the box below.
Hint:
TWO + THREE + SEVEN = TWELVE '
Carl stared at it for a while, before entering ' TWELVE ' into the box. No, that wasn't it. ' 12 '. Still not it.
"How odd," thought Carl. "Better get the manager."
As he got up form his seat and turned around, he saw the manager walking past and waved him over.
"What's this, then?" asked Carl. The manager replied that the second code would be set by the sender, and that it is usually something the recipient would know by looking at the hint provided.
"But I don't know a Robin Churchill!" protested Carl.
"You must, sir, for he has sent you something." replied the manager, smiling gently. "Take your time, then. I'm sure you'll remember him eventually, though I'd appreciate it if you kept the volume down a little." said the manager, glancing at the other person in the area.
Carl stared blankly at the manager for a while, then shrugged. The manager went on his way, and Carl sat back down and stared at the terminal.
TWO + THREE + SEVEN = TWELVE
It took Carl a few minutes to realise that this was some sort of code. Once he settled on that that train of thought, the rest came rather easily.
"Letters and numbers," he thought, "someone's set me a puzzle to solve. This'll be a change from the crossword."
It took him 17 minutes to find a combination which worked. He keyed the numbers into the box at the bottom of the screen, and a green tick appeared, followed by another loading screen.
As the next site was loading, the manager returned to the area, spoke with the stranger, and then they both headed over to Carl, who was still staring at the terminal, waiting.
"Carl Turing," said a gruff voice, and as Carl turned around, the stranger removed his hat, and extended his hand towards Carl.
Carl shook it automatically, a confused expression on his face. He looked at the stranger, then the manager, then back at the stranger. He was an old-looking fellow, fifties, probably. Carl wondered what was going on.
"I spoke with Dr Manson about you." Carl's eyes widened.
"We both think that your talents could be put to better use elsewhere. Your cracking of the code today means you've passed the entry test. If you're interested in joining the war effort, the BIS will be glad to have you."
"But...but...Bowex...the letter..." Carl stammered weakly.
"I know, son, I know. Take your time to process all this new information." The BIS man reached into his coat and took out another envelope, this time with the royal seal on it.
"Your official invitation," said the man, "to join us at BIS. Instructions on how to accept the offer are inside." he said with a wink.
Pushing the envelope into Carl's hand, the BIS man turned and strode away, leaving the manager to help Carl out of the Bowex office.
"Are...are you one of them too?" asked Carl, as they reached the door.
"Me? No, I just work here." replied the manager with a nervous smile. "When BIS asks you to do something for them, you just do it. Good luck, Mr Turing."
Carl stood on the street for a minute, still in shock, then slowly made his way home. Life was about to get a lot more interesting.
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