mesbooks Chapter 140 The Thief of Time
Chapter 140 The Thief of Time
November 20, 1988, 10:00 AM.
Minato Ward, Shinbashi. Headquarters building of Saionji Information System (SIS).
The underground vault, originally belonging to the Apes Group, has been completely transformed. Behind the heavy blast doors lies a pristine space with a constant temperature and humidity.
There are no windows here, and you can't even hear the slightest noise from the street outside. The only sound is the low-frequency hum of hundreds of server fans, like the breathing of a giant beast sleeping in the deep sea.
The floor is made of anti-static white raised flooring, and under the soft, diffused light from overhead, the whole scene looks like something out of a science fiction movie.
Tsutomu Shimomura was nestled in a black, genuine leather ergonomic chair. This chair had just been flown in from the United States and was said to provide perfect spinal support, preventing back pain even after sitting for a whole day.
His fingers danced rapidly across the keyboard, producing crisp, melodious taps.
On the screen, green code flowed like a waterfall.
"Mr. Shimomura, open your mouth."
A soft, sweet voice reached my ears.
Shimomura Tsutomu's fingers didn't stop, and he unconsciously opened his mouth.
A Kyoho grape, peeled, seeded, and even with the thin layer of pulp fibers cleaned off, was gently placed into his mouth by two slender fingers.
Her fingertips brushed against his lips unintentionally, leaving a slightly cool and moist feeling.
Shimomura took a couple of chews. The grapes were sweet and juicy.
He turned his head and glanced at the maid, Sayuri, beside him.
She was wearing a well-tailored dark uniform and was kneeling on a small round stool beside her, holding a silver tray in her hands. When she saw Shimomura Tsutomu looking over, she turned her head slightly, revealing a bright and unguarded smile, her eyes curving into two crescent moons.
"Is it good? This was just brought in from Nagano. The kitchen specially picked out the ripest one."
Sayuri's voice was filled with genuine concern, as if she were taking care of a hardworking family member. She reached out and naturally straightened the slightly messy drawstring of Shimomura Tsutomu's hoodie.
"Want more?"
"...This kind of life is so decadent."
Shimomura Tsutomu mumbled something indistinctly before turning his attention back to the screen.
"One more, please."
"OK."
Little Lily happily responded and lowered her head to continue peeling the grape. Her movements were slow and meticulous, as if this grape was the most precious thing in her world.
Shimomura Tsutomu sighed and pressed the Enter key.
He is writing a low-level protocol called "High-Frequency Routing Priority".
This code is not particularly offensive; it simply exploits a logical vulnerability in NTT switches: when a data packet is tagged with a specific "urgent" label, the switch will prioritize processing it, thereby squeezing out other ordinary users' queued requests.
The only cost is that ordinary users' requests will be routed through a long, intrusive line, artificially creating a delay of about 500 milliseconds.
The freed-up bandwidth will be forcibly allocated to a dedicated encrypted channel.
It's like putting an ambulance sticker on yourself while stuck in a traffic jam on a highway.
"Done."
Shimomura Tsutomu looked at the "Success" notification that popped up on the screen, grabbed the Coke on the table, and took a swig.
"The VIP access is set up. As long as the money is there, I can make even God have to queue up at the door."
Little Lily didn't seem to understand what he was saying, but she immediately handed him a warm, damp towel.
"You've worked hard. Would you like to take a break? I've learned a new massage technique that's great for the cervical spine."
Looking into her expectant eyes, Shimomura Tsutomu's words of refusal stuck in his throat, and he finally nodded helplessly.
"Alright... ten minutes it is."
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and felt the pressure of those hands on his shoulders.
So comfortable. So comfortable.
The life of being waited on hand and foot, with people admiringly watching you write code, is practically the ultimate dream for a hacker.
As for the outside world? Who cares?
Outside the glass wall, two security guards stood with their hands behind their backs, their eyes fixed straight ahead.
……
Top floor, CEO's office.
The huge floor-to-ceiling windows offer panoramic views of Shinbashi and even half of Ginza. Sunlight pierces through the clouds, casting a cool glow on the gleaming marble floor.
Saionji Masato sat behind a large mahogany desk. Today he was wearing a charcoal gray three-piece suit, his tie was impeccably tied, and the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses were polished to a shine.
Opposite him sat two white men with high noses and deep-set eyes.
Those were Davis, the head of Goldman Sachs' Tokyo office, and his chief technology advisor, Smith.
Two terminals were placed side by side on the table. On the left was a standard QUICK market data terminal (then a common financial information terminal in Japan), connected to NTT's public data network (DDX-P). On the right was a modified Sun workstation, connected to SIS's dedicated fiber optic network.
"Gentlemen, please take a look."
Zhengren raised his wrist, glanced at his watch, and then pressed the remote control, simultaneously activating real-time refresh on both screens.
The clock on the wall struck 10:30. It was peak trading time at the Tokyo Stock Exchange.
Both screens displayed real-time charts of the Nikkei 225 index.
On the SIS terminal on the right, the index suddenly jumped: from 29,448.00 to 29,450.15.
Davis stared at the screen on the right, then quickly turned to look at the QUICK terminal on the left.
It still shows 29,448.00.
one second.
One point five seconds.
It wasn't until 29 seconds later that the numbers on the left screen lazily started to change, updating to 450.15.
A brief silence fell over the conference room, broken only by the unconscious tapping of Davis's fingers on the table.
Smith abruptly removed his glasses, leaned forward, and stared intently at the interface on the back of the SIS terminal.
"This doesn't make sense."
Smith's voice carried a hint of skepticism.
"NTT's DDX-P network is currently the fastest packet-switched network, with a theoretical latency of less than 500 milliseconds. How could you possibly be a full 1.5 seconds faster? Unless you installed a direct connection in the Tokyo Stock Exchange's server room."
"We don't have a direct connection, that's not compliant."
Zhengren picked up his coffee cup, his tone calm.
"NTT's network architecture suffers from severe routing redundancy. A data packet coming out of Kabutocho has to go through at least three central office switches, undergoing three protocol handshakes and error correction checks, before it can reach your terminal."
He put down his cup and drew a straight line on the table with his finger.
"SIS's network strips away all unnecessary application layer protocols. We rewrote the router's underlying forwarding logic, allowing data packets to be passed through only at the physical layer without logical verification. Simply put, we gave up 'error correction' in exchange for 'speed'."
"Give up error correction?" Smith frowned. "Then how do we control the packet loss rate?"
"Financial data is high-frequency streaming data," Masato calmly replied. "As long as the latest quote arrives in the next second, the data packets lost in the previous second are meaningless. We don't need completeness; we need real-time performance."
Smith paused for a moment, then quickly worked out the logic in his mind.
A few seconds later, he looked up, and his eyes changed.
"A genius madman..." he muttered to himself, "Abandoning TCP handshake confirmation and directly using UDP broadcast mode to push financial data... You're using the network like a telegraph."
Davis, who had remained silent, ignored the technical details. As a greedy banker, all he saw in that 1.5-second time difference was mountains of dollars.
"A 1.5-second window of information asymmetry."
Davis stared at Zheng Ren, his blue eyes gleaming.
"Mr. Saionji, you should know what this means."
"Of course." Masato adjusted his glasses. "This means there is a huge, risk-free arbitrage opportunity between the futures market in Osaka and the spot market in Tokyo."
"When the spot price in Tokyo changes, I have 1.5 seconds to place an order before the futures market in Osaka reacts," Davis quickly calculated. "If it's algorithmic trading, that 1.5 seconds is enough for us to complete three rounds of high-frequency arbitrage."
It's not just about speed.
This is God's-eye view. This is betting after seeing through the cards.
"Give me a quote."
Davis took a deep breath, no longer hiding his desire.
"Monthly rent is 100 million yen."
The upright man raised a finger, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"In addition, we will charge a technical service fee of 0.05% for each transaction completed through this channel."
"0.05%? That's higher than the exchange's commission!" Davis frowned. "This will severely compress our arbitrage opportunities."
You can refuse.
Masato picked up the remote control on the table and directly cut off the power to the right screen.
The number representing the "future" vanished instantly, and the screen went completely black.
"The head of Salomon Brothers' arbitrage department will be here at 2 p.m. I think they will be very interested in the proposal to 'monopolize the price difference between Osaka and Tokyo.'"
Davis stared at the blacked-out screen.
He knew very well that if the Salomon Brothers got the system, and Goldman Sachs didn't, then every trading day that followed, Goldman Sachs' traders would be blind, forced to follow the Salomon Brothers around, picking up leftover orders that had already been thoroughly digested.
In this zero-sum game market, technological gap is a form of dimensional reduction attack.
"There's no need to look for Solomon."
Davis took a pen from his inside suit pocket and quickly signed his name on the contract.
"An exclusivity agreement. I need you to guarantee that the highest priority for this route will only be available to Goldman Sachs."
The gentleman smiled slightly and took out a seal from the drawer.
"SIS only cares about money, not people. As long as you can afford the so-called 'VIP priority fee,' your data package will always be at the front of the queue."
Davis gritted his teeth: "Deal."
……
After the Goldman Sachs people left.
The side door of the office slid open silently.
Saionji Satsuki came out. She was holding a steaming cup of black tea, and her footsteps were so light that they made no sound on the thick wool carpet.
Zhengren quickly stood up, straightened his clothes, and handed over the newly signed, still-wet ink contract on the table.
"Miss, Goldman Sachs has signed. The first advance payment will be deposited into your account at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
Satsuki took the contract, but didn't read the terms carefully. Her gaze swept over the messy English signature on the last page and the specific amount.
"Um."
She closed the folder and tossed it back onto the table with a soft thud.
"Ten minutes faster than expected."
Satsuki walked to the French windows.
Outside the window, the afternoon sun was a bit too bright. The streets of New Bridge were bustling with traffic, and the dome of the National Assembly Building in the distance was faintly visible through the smog.
"Uncle Masato."
Satsuki took a sip of black tea, her gaze not lingering on the pedestrians downstairs, but instead turning towards the direction of Kasumigaseki.
"Is it noisy in Nagata-cho lately?"
Masato was a little puzzled as to why the young lady would ask him these questions, but he still answered quickly.
"Yes." Masato stood half a step behind her. "The deliberation of the consumption tax bill has entered a critical stage, and the opposition is very vocal."
Let them argue.
Satsuki turned around, her back against the cold glass.
"As long as this line is still running, as long as data is still flowing, no matter how fiercely they argue, they will eventually have to use our network to send faxes."
She stopped talking about those boring political topics and changed the subject.
"How's the one in the basement?"
"It's very quiet."
Masato adjusted his glasses, his tone calm.
"Miss Lily just brought him lunch. He ate and then fell asleep. He didn't make a fuss about going out, nor did he make any requests about the outside world."
"That's good."
Satsuki lowered her eyes, watching the tea stems bobbing in her cup.
"Keep an eye on the door. Don't let any other 'stray cats' sneak in, and don't let him escape either."
"Yes."
Satsuki put down her teacup.
"Then I'm going back to school. I have a home economics class this afternoon."
She picked up her schoolbag and, like an ordinary high school girl who was just delivering documents to her father's company, pushed open the door and left.
The office returned to silence.
Zhengren glanced at the priceless contract on the table and locked it in the safe.
And dozens of meters below us.
Inside the constant temperature computer room.
The beige Cisco router was running tirelessly in the darkness.
A row of green indicator lights on the panel flashed rapidly. Each flash meant that a huge data stream was flowing along the pipelines laid by the Saionji family, heading towards an unknown distance.
"Drip, drip, drip."
The money is beating.