Psion Delta (36 page)

Sammy
nodded.

“Doctor
Rosmir called me and said you needed to talk. Unfortunately, he’s too busy to
come down and see you, but he really wanted to. He asked me if I would sit with
you. So here I am.” She gave Sammy’s hand one more squeeze.

“When
I was in Wichita with the resistance,” Sammy began, “a doctor there taught me
that the best way to move past stuff is to talk about it. So . . . you know, I
just—I wanted to talk to someone because I can’t get that little girl out of my
head.”

“Please,
Sammy, go ahead. I’m listening.”

It
was almost three hours before Sammy finished his conversation with Commander
Havelbert. She gave him good advice and seemed to genuinely care about him. The
only other commander to give him that impression was Byron. After driving him
to the landing strip, she handed him a box containing his Medal of Courage and
a framed certificate signed by the President of the New World Government. Then
she told him that since he’d passed his Panel, he should expect confirmation of
his graduation date in the near future. She waved him goodbye as an Elite
officer flew him back to Beta headquarters.

* * *
* *

Commander
Byron was in his apartment washing dishes when his com beeped. “This is
Commander Byron.”

“Hello,
Commander Byron,” an unfamiliar voice said. “My name is Doctor Khani Nguyen. I
work at the Tensai Research Center. I apologize for calling you so late, but I
have some interesting information to share with you about the hardware recovery
you made at Commander Wrobel’s home. Can you please come to my office tonight?”

“I
can be right down
. Give me ten minutes.”

“Call
me when you arrive so I can grant you access.”

Byron
hurried to change into his Alpha uniform and took a car over to the TRC, or as
he had affectionately dubbed it long ago, “The Nerdery.” The joke had always
made Emily laugh. Tensais, as smart as they were, often had quirks that made
them socially awkward. Recently renovated, the TRC was a technological
masterpiece in design—at least, that’s what Byron was told. All he really knew
was that the building was the largest on the Alpha campus. Someone had once
tried to explain to him what was so great about it, but Byron hadn’t paid
attention. He parked his car outside and sent a message to Nguyen, who in
return sent a map of her location to his com screen. He followed it until he
reached her office.

“Good
night, Commander,” she said when he knocked. “Please come in.”

“Er—thanks.
Good night to you, too, Doctor Nguyen.”

“You
said ten minutes, but it’s been twelve.”

Byron
glanced at the time. “My apologies.”

She
smiled at him sympathetically. She had a lovely face. In fact, Byron thought
she could have been some kind of model if not for her strange hairstyle, badly
applied makeup, and drab clothes. “People often say good evening even though it
is a fallacy. Evening is technically over at sundown, so I prefer to say ‘good
night.’ And call me Khani. The title of Doctor carries too many negative
connotations.”

“Certainly.
Wonderful.” Byron kept smiling because he could think of no other appropriate
way to react. “What did you want to show me?”

She
led the commander to her workstation where a massive computer stood. Her desk
had four monitors on it: two regular holo screens, and two that seemed to have
no projection capability at all.

“I
have only seen computers like yours in museums. Why do you have it?”

Khani
petted it affectionately. “Yes, the fronting is my design. But don’t be fooled.
Behind it is one of the most powerful machines in the world. I styled it that
way to remind me how far we’ve come.” She paused to look at it once more. “I am
the Chief Computer Security Analyst for the NWG. It’s my job to coordinate the
efforts of my staff as we try to detect and exploit the weaknesses in our own
networks and data systems.”

“Oh,
you are a hacker?”

Khani
glanced it him with a touch of annoyance. “A
hacker
isn’t a term I’m
comfortable with being called. As someone whose profession involves delving
deeply into computer systems’ securities, I think
cracker
conveys a more
appropriate connotation within my community.”

“That
also used to be a racist—”

“If
cracker
makes you uncomfortable, then I can also be called a
white
hat
.”

Byron
nodded. “How about if I just call you Khani, as you suggested? I am interested
in seeing the data you collected on Wrobel’s hardware and software. Can you
show me that?”

Khani
took the seat at her desk and cracked all the knuckles in her fingers, one at a
time. “My team discovered that Wrobel inserted a benign code into our systems.
The code does nothing except wait for a corresponding piece of hardware to be
connected to any computer on the network. Once that happens, it allows a very
elaborate rootkit to be deployed.”

“What
is a rootkit, if I may ask?”

“A
disguise for a compromise in our system. In this case, the compromise appears
to be a tunnel. And before you ask me, I’ll go ahead and explain that, too. A
tunnel is a system built within a system that acts like an underground
passageway, and with a rootkit, the tunnel is almost completely undetectable and
able to go as far as the cracker is willing to go. Obviously there are certain
places that are more difficult and dangerous to poke your nose into.”

“Like
the recent security breach into the NWG Medical Center?” Byron asked.

“They
are very likely connected, yes. The problematic side of a tunnel is that it
leaves a big mess behind, so the discoverer of the tunnel can usually find out
exactly where you’ve been digging. But with the presence of this—quite
frankly—brilliant rootkit and the tunnel, we have our hands full trying to
figure out what your old boss was doing in our system.”

“He
was not my boss.”

Khani
shrugged as though that piece of information was irrelevant.

“So
what now?”

“We
have designed a program that will act as a tunnel flood. Now that we’ve
recognized certain points of access, the program will slowly root out all the
branches and report back to us what it finds.”

“And
how long will that take?”

Khani
bobbed her head side to side, thinking. To Byron it looked like she was doing a
dance. “Days to weeks. It all depends on the level of sophistication of that
rootkit.”

“I
hope you have your best minds on this. The importance of the information you
gather cannot be overstressed. Particularly when it comes to the safety of our
people, including you.”

“Well,
even though the CAG put their best minds to the task of creating this problem,
I’m sure my team and I can outwit them. We’re only talking about Americans, you
know.”

“Yes,
I know. I am American.”

Khani
diverted her eyes. “Hmmm. That is awkward, isn’t it? I’ll let you know about
any updates that concern you.”

“Thank
you. Allow me to show myself out.”

* * *
* *

Brickert
woke up Sammy the next morning with a yell. “Hey! When did you get back?”

Between
his nightmares and recent memories, it scared Sammy enough that if he’d had a
gun, he might have killed Brickert. He grumbled about getting back late and not
sleeping well, but Brickert was persistent in waking him.

“What’s
in this box?”

Sammy
sat up. “Nothing!” He tried to snatch it from his friend, but Brickert was too
fast.

“Is
this something for Jeffie? If it is, she’s going to be thrilled. Maybe you
already heard, but she’s single again.”

Now
Sammy was awake. “Are you joking? How would I have heard? When did this
happen?”

“While
you were gone. Apparently it wasn’t a good break up because I haven’t seen them
speak since.”

“Not
speaking to people is typical of Jeffie. So what happened?”

Brickert
shrugged. “Is this real?” He picked up the framed award and read it. “It is
real! You earned a Medal of Courage on your Beta mission?”

“Brick,
relax. It’s not Congressional. Look at it again.
Psion
Medal of Courage.
They give these things out like celery at a camp for fat kids.”

“It’s
signed by the President!”

“He
pre-signed it. It’s not like he was there when they gave it to me.”

Brickert
put the award back on the table as if it was a priceless vase. Sammy rolled his
eyes. “Whatever. Get up. Everyone will want to see you.”

Sammy
grumbled a little more. “Fine, but don’t tell anyone about the award. I don’t want
to talk about the mission.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
I don’t.” The tone in Sammy’s voice made it clear that he wasn’t joking.

Brickert
nodded. “Got it. Sorry. Have they said when you graduate?”

“Soonish.
Like a month or less.”

A
cloud of disappointment passed over Brickert’s face. “Are you cool with that?
Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Yes
and no. Let’s just forget about it for now. But I am going to miss you.”

In
an exaggerated, high-pitched voice, Brickert cried, “I’m going to miss you,
too!”

Sammy
pushed his friend back and they both laughed. After taking showers and getting
dressed, they headed upstairs for breakfast.

“Today
is Sunday, right?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah.
And to catch you up on things, I’m still with Natalia—”

“How’s
that going?”

“Good.
Jeffie and Strawberry don’t talk anymore because Jeffie called her a very rude
name. Then they nearly killed each other.”

“Why?
What name?”

“Best
you don’t know. But, like I said, Jeffie and Kobe aren’t really talking,
either. And since they aren’t talking, Kaden has sort of shunned Jeffie, too.”

“Why?”

“Bros
before . . . never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. You should also know that
Kawai and Jeffie aren’t on good terms.”

Sammy
didn’t need to ask why. “Maybe you should tell me who Jeffie actually is getting
along with.”

Everyone
in the cafeteria stopped speaking when Sammy entered. Brickert whispered, “Oh,
and I’ve become very, very popular lately.”

Sammy
suppressed another laugh. He and Brickert sat at a table by themselves. In
under a minute, the table filled up with Betas, all of whom had questions about
the mission. Sammy tried to answer them to the best of his ability, but much of
what they wanted to hear fell under the jurisdiction of classified information.
As he spoke, he dug into a bowl of oatmeal, his favorite breakfast. By the time
his first bowl was empty, every person in Beta had gathered around to hear him
tell about his eight days as an Alpha.

When
he saw Jeffie’s face in the group, he stuttered and lost his train of thought.
She smiled at him as someone pushed a second bowl of oatmeal in the place of
the first. As he went to take a bite, one of the new Betas, a chubby kid whose
name Sammy didn’t know, asked, “Did you kill any bad guys?”

The
spoon fell from Sammy’s hand and clanked onto the table. Everyone stared at the
boy, who immediately realized he had said something terribly foolish.

“Are
you kidding me, Gabriel?” Kobe asked. “What the heck goes on in your brain?
Does anything work properly in there?”

Sammy
got up and walked out, mumbling an excuse as he left. He went to the stairs,
not really sure where he was going. All he saw was Havanna Jónsson. When he
came to the fifth floor, he chose a sim room and shut the door behind him.
After staring at the panel for several seconds, his mind drifting in lost
thoughts, he chose a weapons sim to see if that would calm him down. The panel
asked him which weapon he wanted to use. Usually, he picked the syshée. The
computer knew this and put the choice at the top. Instead Sammy chose something
bigger to start with: an RCP-90.

Blowing
dozens of targets to millions of pieces felt good. The continuous noise of the
gun’s eruption, the vibration of the metal in his hands, and the sheer
destruction took the edge off his mind and away from the incident. Next he
decided to go with something smaller and work on precision when he heard a
knock on the door.

“Sammy?”
a muffled voice asked. The door’s thickness made it impossible to know who was
there. “Sammy?”

“Go
away, please,” he called out.

The
next knock sounded more like a dull pounding. “I don’t want to go away.”

It’s
Jeffie. Great. She’s not going to give up without a fight.

He
let her into the room.

“Hiya,”
she said.

“Hiya
back.” His response made her smile.