Good Luck, And Godspeed
Carlos was cleaning out the garage when he found them: A shoebox full of floppy disks.
None of them were labeled, but he recognized them right away. In that box was all that remained of just about every paper he had written in college–on his word processor, no less.
His first instinct was to pitch them (he was cleaning out the garage, after all). But then, he had a better idea.
He took the box inside, sat down at his computer, and drafted a note, which read:
TO THE PERSON WHO FINDS THIS DISK–
Congratulations, and I’m sorry.
Congratulations, because on this disk is the information needed to save the planet. If you successfully deliver it to the right people, you’ll be a hero.
GET THIS DISK TO THE FBI, ASAP. When you get there, tell them you have a large pepperoni pizza for Jenkins. They’ll know what you’re talking about. YOU MUST HAND-DELIVER THIS DISK. They’re monitoring the mail, and if they intercept it they’ll destroy it.
And I’m sorry, because chances are, if you’re reading this, they’re already watching you.
BE VIGILANT. TRUST NO ONE.
Good luck to you, and Godspeed.
Carlos printed out enough copies for all the disks, then carefully folded up and taped a letter to each one.
As he got in the car, shoebox in hand, on his way to hide the disks in random nooks around the city, he hit the button on the remote to close the garage door. The cleaning could wait. This was a matter of national–nay, PLANETARY–security.