More like a goose
walking over his grave, a tickle of badness.
The East Indian woman passed Kurt a VGA cable that snaked into the
table's guts and down into the riser on the floor. She hit a button on a
remote and an LCD projector mounted in the ceiling began to hum,
projecting a rectangle of white light on one wall. Kurt wiggled it into
the backside of his computer and spun down the thumbscrews, hit a
button, and then his desktop was up on the wall, ten feet high. His
wallpaper was a picture of a group of black-clad, kerchiefed protesters
charging a police line of batons and gas-grenades. A closer look
revealed that the protester running in the lead was probably Kurt.
He tapped at his touchpad and a window came up, showing relative
strength signals for two of the access points. A moment later, the third
came online.
"I've been working with this network visualizer app," Kurt said. "It
tries to draw logical maps of the network topology, with false coloring
denoting packet loss between hops -- that's a pretty good proxy for
distance between two APs."
"More like the fade," the graybeard said.
"Fade is a function of distance," Kurt said. Alan heard the dismissal in
his voice and knew they were getting into a dick-swinging match.
"Fade is a function of geography and topology," the graybeard said
quietly.
Kurt waved his hand.
Pages:
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199