Four hours later, I plug in my laptop and collapse on the lime green beanbag that sits in one corner. I’m miles from home, in a bright internet café. In spite of their fluorescent harshness, I welcome the overhead lights, as well as the cheery, modern decor of greens and yellows.
Eating a croissant turkey sandwich accompanied by a kiwi smoothie, I wait for the battery to charge just enough to power my computer on. I haven’t used it in a while and it’s completely drained. I watch the attendant as he makes an espresso for a college girl. Several tables are occupied by patrons who type away on their ultra-quiet keyboards and wear huge headphones.
My fingertips tingle, eager to get online and set my life on track. I need to find a place to stay. Somewhere I can rent temporarily, nothing fancy, just a place to crash and not freeze at night. For the nth time, I consider telling James what happened, but I don’t want him to take me in as some charity case. If he doesn’t think I can add value to IgNiTe, I will do this on my own, prove him wrong, and make him invite me back.
I finish my food and lick mayo off my fingers. I started eating without appetite, just because I knew I needed it, but I can already feel my energy levels increasing. I fire up the laptop and walk to the counter to order a cup of coffee while it boots to life.
After dumping several packets of sugar and cream into the steaming cup, I sit back on the beanbag and use a padded lap desk to rest the computer on my legs. I’ve never been to this internet café, but I have to admit they have a comfortable setup, good food and reasonable prices. And no Eklyptors, which is the main reason I chose it.
Determined to change my current situation, I crack my fingers and begin typing at the speed of light. First, I perform a few searches until I find a small motel that rents rooms on a weekly basis. It’s in a sketchy part of town, along the northern side of Aurora Avenue where many such motels exist in abundance to support the numerous prostitutes and their trade. But it’s the best I can do, considering my limited cash reserve. Three hundred and twenty dollars looks like a lot less when you find yourself on the street.
Feelings of panic and despair rear their heads every few minutes, but I push them down, shutting myself to all the recent memories that want to keep playing inside my head like cheap horror shows.
Instead, I immerse myself in a world of zeros and ones, the bits that somehow seem to float in front of my eyes every time I sit in front of a computer. The cyberworld presents itself like a series of switches and paths. The decisions are easy: ON or OFF. Everything makes sense. There are no emotions, just cold logic.
I check my protective programs to make sure they’re in place. This laptop is as secure as my mammoth system at home. It may not have the same kind of power, but I have made sure the activities I perform from this device are just as untraceable as from home. To be sure, though, I won’t use this café again, at least not for a long while.
After making sure everything is 100% secure, I log in to the H-loop. I wish I didn’t have to, but I need to do something about my money situation, and I normally find my hacking gigs among some of the most diehard, veteran members of the loop. Whenever they have a gig they can’t take due to time restrictions, they hand it over to others like me, who hack only occasionally, for extra cash, not to actually make a living out of it.
I browse the users who are logged in, looking for Hazard-US or SMASH, but they are not here. I stare at the cursor blinking, blinking next to my user handle.
$Warrior> |
The small flashing stick looks as lonely as I feel, beating away without purpose, without anything useful to do. I squeeze my temples and shut my eyes against the loneliness that seems to be winking at me, even from my computer monitor—from the cyberspace that has always been my haven—the one place where I can hide.
Angered by my self-pitying mood, I begin to type, my fingers deciding what to do way before my mind does. I go in a mad trance, the kind I’ve known only a handful of times since computers and hacking became my thing. I stay on the beanbag, chin pressed to my chest, fingers moving over the small keyboard, mind rolling from one line of code to another, until two hours later, when the large cup of coffee takes effect and I have to rush to the bathroom. It isn’t until I get back and look over the code I’ve written that I fully realize what I’ve done.
I’ve created a hack to allow me to break into IgNiTe’s network.
Doubtful of my motives, I scroll through the code disbelieving my eyes. For the most part, I know Aydan keeps IgNiTe’s vital systems off-grid, completely inaccessible to anyone outside of The Tank. However, he can’t keep the network as an island—not if he plans to be aware of what is going on in the world. For that reason, he maintains one outside connection, a way out to the Internet, behind a firewall plus an amazing custom-made security system, one that I know well enough to find its weaknesses.
I frown, wondering why I’ve done this and what I can gain from it. If James finds out, he will probably kill me and then throw my remains into a pit full of hungry Eklyptors.
As I scroll through the program, absentmindedly chewing on my bottom lip, I spot a few problems and fix them. I think of Aydan, his arrogant ass and how he would react if he caught someone perusing around his sacred domain. Would he suspect me?
My own arrogance makes me think I’d be the first one he would suspect. I chuckle sadly, realizing that we have more in common than I’d like to admit. No wonder we rub each other the wrong way.
My index finger twitches over the enter key. I tap it just enough to make a hollow sound, but don’t press it all the way down. I go back and forth between caring and not caring about what James will say or do.
I have the DNA samples. There should be saliva in the can and hairs on the jacket. Mom had a comb in her purse. I could call and say I’m coming over to personally hand him what he asked for, but something tells me he would take what he needs and then send me on my way to “rest”. He has no time to deal with a messed-up, out-of-her-mind teenager who doesn’t know the meaning of discretion and has nervous breakdowns when she should be grieving quietly and with dignity.
The hell with that.
I have waited long enough for him to change his mind. I can’t wait anymore.
With a strong surge of resentment toward James and his decision to keep me away, my finger bears down on the enter key and unleashes my hack against IgNiTe’s closed doors.
Ha. And they thought they could keep me out forever.