It all started this morning, when Archbishop Firges cleared her throat with a tiny cough...
"Cardinal Renus say computers are the future, that we're living under an age of great progress. The right software will allow for efficient communication, even when we're thousand of miles apart. Right?"
A polite smile parted across her thin face — that's how the Archbishop began her little spiel.
"Look how far we've come! In just a couple of decades, how quickly and unexpectedly digital technology has progressed by our hands — and ours alone! Already, each one of our bases is equipped with at least one computer — not to mention the growing number of civilian households using them. It's a thing of pride," the Archbishop nodded, happy with her own reference. "Indeed it is." She breathed in, allowing us (and perhaps even herself) to ruminate on her words. "But that only serves as all the more reason for us to improve upon the spectacular foundation we've built for ourselves," she sighed sweetly, folding her hands together. "We've done a lot as a department, but Cardinal Renus desires more from us yet."
I could hear my colleagues release a collective groan, stifled as it was.
"Our wonderous organization desires more," continued the Archbishop, ignoring them. "By gosh, we deserve more. That's why I'm asking all of you to put your best foot forward this quarter. To identify long-standing issues within our current technology and find a method to rectify all of them..."
It was the same old morning lecture. We're doing great, but...
There's always a but to these kinds of things, no matter the field. Hell, I've been working in the TRD since its inception — and never have I heard a, "Good job! Now let's all let off the gas for a moment and revel in our creation." Hell no. Not so long as the Most Auspicious Fodella Myrallus has any thing to say about it. The Sons have been running at full-speed ever since he took office.
Not to say I don't agree with Fodella, or Cardinal Renus — or even Archbishop Firges — for that matter. Technology in the Beside has progressed by leaps and bounds in just a couple short decades. I wouldn't possibly have been able to wrap my head around the mere concept of a computer as a child. So there's that. But the operating system that we've developed, what we use for all of our organization's communications, needs work. A hell of a lot of work.
Cardinal Renus spearheaded its creation years ago, and our department has been working to refine it ever since. But it's a fickle creature. Working with PRIDE-Σ is manageable, of course, but its current faults are seemingly without end. Files disappear without warning, emails are never sent, crashes occur on a daily basis... And this is during its good moments. When you're working on an important project and your computer screen is suddenly taken over by some unknown, digital force — well, you can only pray for guidance at that point. And recalibration — a hard reset, our only defense against such bugs — only seems to alleviate these problems for so long. It's like placing a bandage over a wound just overflowing with blood. We've never been able to fix PRIDE-Σ completely, but Cardinal Renus wants it fixed — and by extension, so does Archbishop Firges. She even not-so-subtly hinted that whoever comes up with a winning solution to fix PRIDE-SΣwould receive a promotion in rank, followed by a fairly decent raise in pay.
Hell, I could always use the cash! Believe it or not, you really have to pinch pennies as a Son — unless you're one of the big-wigs, of course. But I've always wanted to take Miseri and Alona on vacation somewhere. They deserve as much. I work sixty, seventy hour weeks on average. It's all to support them, of course, But still. I know that can't be easy for them. A family trip would be nice.
If you're looking for a summary of all my jumbled thoughts: I'm setting out to cure PRIDE-Σ of its own little "Affliction" as soon as possible. Money talks, after all.
I'll be keeping this log here as a journal of sorts — something to chronicle my journey.
Wish me luck! Coding is a dangerous occupation, after all.
Bp. Precta Mandalay