Cassie had a new phone, and with it came access to her dad’s digital self once more. She’d been without him for days on the run, then even longer as she waited for the publicity around her Hive Level drop to die down a bit so that she could take the risk of going online again. But now she was back, with a brand-new phone that had been gifted to her by a big tech firm that was courting her to work with them. She wasn’t sure about their real intentions — she suspected they wanted a rebel mascot more than a coder — but she was happy to accept their bribes with a smile and her fingers crossed behind her back, along with a promise to consider their offer once she graduated.
The phone ran a custom OS she and Carson had tweaked based on an old Android fork. She swapped out all the bright colors for dull; she never wanted to get lost online again.
She also had her bracelet back, the one she’d tried to go back for when Rachel had dragged her out of her bedroom that early morning, the day the world changed. Whatever the NSA had been looking for, her jewelry hadn’t been on the list. She planned never to take it off again. It wasn’t the only thing that tied her to her father, but it was precious nonetheless. It was solid, not ephemeral like memory or code.
she’d asked, hoping that maybe somewhere in the bot, her dad had left something she could use. She thought about the code that undergirded the digital Harlon, how it had an array of nicknames and endearments and chose one based on a very sophisticated algorithm. It seemed so real, but there was no way to compare it to her actual father, so who knew? Maybe it was just close enough.
Maybe that was all that mattered.
Do you remember Alexandra Pastor? Such a simple question. For a human being. A human being would say yes or no in an instant.
It took the bot a while to get back to her. She imagined it thought it was busy with something.
She sighed. The bot could do a lot, but it couldn’t remember Harlon’s life for her. Harlon’s connection to Alexandra would remain the sketch Alexandra had given her, the lines blurry and indistinct, the white spaces devoid of tones and shadows and colors.
Colors …
The color is the code.
She stared at her bracelet. It hit her like a thunderbolt.
No. No way.
Ten stones. Each one a different color.
She almost dropped her phone in her eagerness to text the bot.
, she sent.
The answer was almost immediate:
Holy.
Shit.
Ten stones. Ten colors.
The NSA had insisted to her mom that Dad had left something behind. A perfect encryption. A purloined letter.
And they’d been right all along. Harlon had left something. But it wasn’t tech. It was something else. A code. An encryption key in solid form, unhackable.
Her father had been there at the beginning of the Hive and then had walked away. But the guilt and self-recrimination lingered. She remembered his uncharacteristic quiet when the Hive launched, his equally uncharacteristic outburst at her mother.
He’d had regrets. And he didn’t know what to do about them.
But he did know. He’d hacked the Hive. Of course he had.
It had taken years, but he’d gotten inside, into the dirty heart of the Hive, dumped the data on a hidden server … sent Alexandra on a wild-goose chase to a secret website packed with data, the data that even now resided in the Superman USB key. And then the bracelet. Putting the pieces out there. Just in case.
What did Harlon think would happen? That Alexandra would visit her old, dead friend’s family? That she would work with Cassie? What were the odds?
Or maybe the bracelet’s secret had never been intended for her. Maybe it had been for her dad, a good hiding place. Stashed away in case he needed it. He didn’t know he would die before he could use it.
In the end, there were some things she would never know. She would just have to live with that. The AI could tell her almost anything, processed through what it knew of Harlon. She still hadn’t told her mother about the deep, deep truths that had led to her exoneration. She would tell Harlon, if she could think of a way to do it that would give the bot enough data to synthesize something meaningful. Because her digital dad wouldn’t feel any emotions. She didn’t have to worry about scaring it or freaking it out.
Her mom was another story entirely. Rachel had been through a lifetime’s worth of “enough.” No more.
the bot prompted.
She permitted herself a slight smile. She missed her dad so much.
The response was immediate:
Tears welled up in her eyes. Stupid bot. It was just a stupid bot because even the smartest bot was still just a bot. But, dammit, it’s exactly what her dad would have said.
Wiping away the tears, she typed back:
A long pause. She started to put her phone back in her pocket, figuring this was just one of those times when she wouldn’t get a response. How could an AI ever —
Her phone pinged.
*
She spent hours online, comparing the colors of the stones to digital swatches. When she was sure she had them right, she ended up with a string of ten different hexadecimal codes. Each code represented a stone’s color.
There were ten different possible combinations, assuming the codes were supposed to line up in the order of the stones on the bracelet. There was 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, then 2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1, then 3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1-2, and so on.
She hit pay dirt halfway through. The sixty-character string was a decryption key that unlocked the Superman USB key.
Cassie stared at the data as it scrolled past, then she started to laugh.
Everything about the Hive. Everything. Its past. Its construction. The flaws deliberately introduced into the system. The who, how, what, where, why and when. All of it, at her fingertips.
Every last drop of it.
*
The #Westfield Homecoming Queen ballots are being distributed this week. Odds that #CassieMcKinney will be on it? LOL #WestfieldQueens
The usual suspects will be on the court: Rowan, Madison, Indira, Livvy and then someone from the tech crowd and student council. Yawn. #WestfieldQueens
Who feels like having fun with the Court this year? Maybe we throw some unexpected names in the mix? #WestfieldQueens
Here’s an idea: CASSIE MCKINNEY FOR WESTFIELD HIGH HOMECOMING QUEEN. #WestfieldQueens
Wait. Is Cassie really coming back to Westfield? #WhatsUpWestfield
Can you imagine a Level 6 convict being in your classes? ow would anyone ever concentrate? #LikeAnyoneCanConcentrateNow #WhatsUpWestfield
#BLINQReaderPoll416010: Does #CassieMcKinney deserve to be Homecoming Queen? Vote: bl.inq/poll416010 #WestfieldQueens
There’s no way she’s coming back to #Westfield. Right?
Is a Level 6 convict even eligible for Homecoming Queen? There are rules. #WestfieldQueens
She’s gotta graduate from somewhere … why not Westfield? Hey, I like that hashtag! #WhyNotWestfield
God, you’re so tragic Elena. #WhatsUpWestfield LOL — RB #RowanSpeaks
I just voted NO in #BLINQReaderPoll416010, join me: Does #CassieMcKinney deserve to be Homecoming Queen? Vote: bl.inq/poll416010 #WestfieldQueens
I just voted YES in #BLINQReaderPoll416010, join me: Does #CassieMcKinney deserve to be Homecoming Queen? Vote: bl.inq/poll416010 #WestfieldQueens
Seriously, is she gonna come back to school? I’d like to buy her lunch. #WestfieldQueens #CassieIsMyQueen
*
Weeks passed. Cassie returned to Westfield, an occasion she was surprised to find she did not dread. After she’d evaded Hive Justice and the threat of death, a new high school was nothing.
Sarah had transferred elsewhere. Rowan and the Homework Coven studiously ignored her. Whatever. She could pull straight A’s without them. See how well they did on the comp sci final without her, though.
One weekend, a couple of days after she’d returned to school, she lingered at the breakfast table with her mom, the two of them luxuriating in the quiet and the solace. There were no cops knocking on the door and no mobs screaming for her head.
She’d fallen off the headlinks and trending topics a while back. But this morning, her phone blew up with alerts about members of OHM who’d been caught in the raid. Trials were starting soon, for cyberterrorism, for evading Hive Justice, for obstruction of justice. Cassie skimmed the names, but they were real names, and all she knew were hacker handles.
“What’s going on in the bean, teen?” Rachel asked, gazing at her over the top of her tablet.
Self-consciously, Cassie patted her head. Her hair was growing back in and she was letting it do what it wanted. She was tired of fighting and that included fighting her hair, her closet, her reflection every time she looked in the mirror.
“Just thinking.”
“I know. About what? You look troubled.”
She sighed. The night before, Carson had sent her a link to a page on his own web server. It aggregated data from a series of sources, including Cassie’s BLINQ account and the secret ghost accounts they’d uncovered. According to Carson’s calculations, her Likes had risen high enough that — even if the government decided to turn all of the ghost accounts against her — there were still enough real accounts Liking her that she would Trend Positive.
Meaning … maybe she should release that data from the Superman USB key. Maybe it was time to give the Hive a taste of Hive Justice.
Or maybe play along. Be a good girl. Sit on the data and wait. Alexandra had seemed disaffected with the Hive now. Maybe she could and would do something to change it from the inside.
Or …
Or.
Or.
Too many ors.
“So here’s what I’m wondering, Mom. Say you can’t be hurt. But other people can. Should you step in front of a bullet, then?”
Rachel put down her tablet and gazed at Cassie thoughtfully. She considered it for a long time. Cassie had regarded the question as an easy one.
“Step in front of a bullet? Maybe. It depends.”
“Mom! Ugh. Can’t you just answer the question?” Cassie sighed. After a moment she asked, “Depends on what?”
Rachel shrugged. “Well, what if your invulnerability wears off? Or what if it turns out nothing can hurt you except bullets, and you’re about to find out in a very inconvenient way?”
Cassie frowned. She craved a simple, direct answer, and her analogy was screwing everything up. Alexandra’s passive-aggressive warning — she may not be so lucky next time — tiptoed with burning feet through her thoughts.
“Forget about the bullet. What if you had a lot of power and you saw something you knew was wrong? Should you use that power to protect yourself and only yourself? Or should you risk it and use it to break the thing that’s wrong?”
Rachel thought about that one for a lot less time. When she answered, it was with a sad smile. “You know what, honey? Your dad had a saying …”