Science Fair (23 page)

With the HOTNESS knob set at zero, the image on the computer screen was identical to the picture. But as the HOTNESS knob was rotated from zero to ten, the output image gradual y changed, becoming more and more attractive, until final y, at maximum hotness, it looked remarkably like…Harmonee Prescott.

The project explanation said that the Hotness Box could make the same transformation with any image of a face, male or female, and could be used “by less-attractive people in a variety of applications, such as Facebook photos and dating Web sites.”

It was an impressive demonstration. But the software running on the chip inside the black box was not written by Harmonee. It had been developed for the Central Intel igence and National Security agencies by Harmonee’s father’s company, PresTech. And it was capable of far more than altering a stil photo. The software that turned the sea witch into a hot babe could radical y alter the image and sound transmitted by any broadcast signal, TV or radio, in real time. It could make anybody look or sound like anybody, or anything, else. For example, if the leader of a hostile nation were to make a televised speech, the signal could be intercepted by U.S. spy satel ites and almost instantaneously be processed and rebroadcast, with a far more powerful signal, so that the leader appeared to be saying something completely different. Or he could be made to appear tired or sick. For that matter, he could be made to look exactly like the sea witch.

Of course, this software, like the technology in the other projects, was supposed to be top secret, a fact that amused Prmkt. He had been surprised at how easy it was to find out about these things. If you were smart—if you knew where to look in scientific journals and, of course, on the Internet; if you befriended disgruntled or gossipy employees working for certain companies, certain agencies—it turned out that the “secrets” weren’t so secret after al .

Prmkt then ran his cable to the final project, submitted by Haley Hess. It was titled THE ULTIMATE REMOTE CONTROL. This was the heart of Prmkt’s weapon; this was his masterpiece.

In outward appearance it was unimpressive, consisting of what looked like an ordinary laptop computer and a foam-core poster board explaining the project. When the computer was turned on, it displayed a Google Earth map of North America; using the mouse, the user could zoom in on a specific location. In the science-fair demonstration, the user clicked a box that said RUN DEMONSTRATION. The computer then zoomed in on Haley Hess’s house in Manor Estates—a large structure ablaze with lights in the gathering night. The user was instructed to position the mouse arrow over the house and click the left button; this highlighted the house. The user was then instructed to click the right button; suddenly the house lights al went off, leaving a dark hole in the middle of the neighborhood. Another right click turned the lights back on.

The explanation on the poster (written in Haley’s neat handwriting with little circles for the dots over the
i
’s) said that the user real y was, from the Hubble Middle gym, turning her house lights on and off over the Internet. This was made possible, the explanation said, by a device that Haley had designed and built herself, using an electrical relay and a wireless router. There was a photograph on the poster showing a smiling Haley holding this device, which looked like a toaster oven with an antenna taped to the side. The explanation said that Haley’s device had been instal ed on the main circuit breaker at Haley’s house by a professional electrician, under Haley’s supervision. There was also a photograph of this, showing Haley frowning thoughtful y at a man holding the device and peering at the circuit breaker.

The explanation stated that, with Haley’s simple and inexpensive device, you could control your home electrical system, or even individual lights and appliances, from anywhere in the world, as long as you had access to a computer with an Internet connection.

But, as in the case of the other projects, Haley’s remote control was quite deceptive. The device Haley was holding in the photo was, in fact, a toaster oven with an antenna taped to the side. The “electrician” al egedly instal ing the device in the other photo was a pizza-delivery man whom Haley had paid ten dol ars to pose with the circuit breaker. The map demonstration was a fake, using a real Google Earth image but altering it to make it appear as if the lights were going on and off.

The key to the project was the laptop, which Haley’s father had obtained for her. He worked for a company cal ed DeathVolt, which did security consulting for power companies around the world; the laptop was designed to demonstrate to them why they needed it. It was a rugged, superfast computer capable of connecting to the Internet via satel ite from anywhere in the world. And it was running software developed by DeathVolt with the help of some extremely smart hackers who were paid very wel for their time and knowledge.

This software probed the Internet sites of power companies, looking for ways past the firewal s into the business and administrative systems, which it almost always penetrated quickly. It then probed for weaknesses into the grid-control systems, which actual y distributed the power. This took a bit longer, as these systems were supposed to be sealed off from the business side. But the seal was never perfect; the DeathVolt system found a way in. And once inside, a hacker could control the switches, the substations—the entire grid. With a few keyboard clicks, a hacker could utterly paralyze a vast area of the country.

Or worse.

Prmkt was almost done now; the four projects were networked via the thick cable. He ran the cable beneath the tables, where it blended in with the dozens of extension cords providing power to the projects. He routed his cable alongside these other wires and extension cords to the wal of the gym, where he guided it beneath the bleachers and through a hidden hole that he’d dril ed earlier and that led into the utility room.

He now went to the utility room and unlocked the door. Once inside, he pul ed his cable through and careful y laid it on the floor beneath a gray electrical box that was mounted to the wal . This was the main electrical breaker box for the school; through it, the school was connected to the city’s electrical grid and to the larger grids beyond. Next to the box was a smal table on which Prmkt had set up some equipment, including his own laptop computer, which was packed with special software he had written. He put on a pair of rubber gloves, opened the breaker box, and went to work. When he was done, he looked at his watch. He’d set everything up in under forty-five minutes. Perfect.

He rose and left the utility room, locking it behind him. He went back to the darkened gym and took one last look around. For a moment he was tempted to do it himself—just walk over to the podium, throw the master power switch, and start his machine right now. Prmkt thought about it, but he didn’t do it. One reason was that he wanted to wait until it was dark in more parts of the country. The other reason was that he liked the idea of having Lance Swingle throw the switch. Prmkt al owed himself another smal smile at that thought. It was the windbag Swingle who had turned the science fair into a corrupt competition for spoiled kids and their foolish parents; let it be Swingle who would now unwittingly turn that same science fair into a weapon that would bring down the mighty and arrogant United States.

Prmkt looked at his watch: almost exactly an hour to go. He left through the side door. The gym was once again silent, except for the clock on the wal , where the big hand clicked forward every sixty seconds, signaling another minute gone.

T
HE BATTERED U-DRIVE-IT
rental truck rattled into Milkwort Court and puled to the curb in front of Toby’s house. The Wookiee was behind the wheel; Vaderian, in the passenger seat, was dressed in his ful Darth Vader outfit, including light saber, helmet, and voice distorter. He looked at the sky, which was getting dark. They watched the house for a few minutes, seeing no lights or signs of activity.

“Go check the back door,” said Vaderian.

The Wookiee climbed out of the truck and walked around the side of the garage to the back of the house. A few minutes later, he returned to the truck, standing at Vaderian’s window.

“Locked,” he said.

“What?” said Vaderian.

“Locked,” repeated the Wookiee.

“That little
weasel
,” snarled Vaderian, pounding the truck seat. He took a breath, calming himself. “What about the house? Did you see anybody?”

“No,” said the Wookiee. “It’s dark inside.”

“The little weasel said they’d be at the science fair,” said Vaderian. He checked his watch, drummed his fingers on the dashboard, thinking, then said, “Try the kid’s bedroom window, where he sneaked out.”

The Wookiee returned a minute later. “It’s unlocked,” he said.

Vaderian nodded. “Al right,” he said. “We’l go in there.”

They went to Toby’s window, raised it, and climbed inside, the Wookiee helping Vaderian, whose cape made movement awkward. They opened Toby’s bedroom door and listened for a long time. The house was silent. There was no sign of anyone.

“Nobody home,” said Vaderian.

“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice, causing both Vaderian and the Wookiee to jump and whirl around.

“Who said that?” said Vaderian.

“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice.

“I think the bed,” said the Wookiee, pointing at Toby’s pil ow.

“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice.

“Yup,” said the Wookiee. “The bed.”

“I hate that little weasel,” said Vaderian.

“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice.

Vaderian, realizing he was losing a battle of wits with a pil ow, closed his mouth. With a last glare toward the bed, he turned and slipped into the dark hal way. He drew his light saber and flicked the switch, fil ing the hal with a reddish glow. The two men moved careful y down the hal . They stopped at each door to listen; then Vaderian would quietly open the door and peer inside.

Near the kitchen, they encountered a locked door. Vaderian nodded to the Wookiee, who grasped the knob in his massive hand and twisted it hard. With a
clank
of snapping metal the doorknob gave way, and the door swung open.

They descended the stairs. The air was suddenly cooler and dryer. On the wal near the bottom of the stairs, they found a wal -mounted box with a row of indicator lights and a digital display showing temperature and humidity—a sophisticated environmental-control unit.

Vaderian started getting a good feeling about this.

He swung his light saber around. It was a furnished basement. At the far end he could make out a big-screen TV, an exercise bike, and…

An imperial stormtrooper uniform!

Vaderian jumped as he caught sight of it. It was mounted ful y erect, like a museum piece, occupying the near corner and ghostly white in the cast of his light saber’s glow. He walked over to it quickly and examined it with an expert’s eye. He’d seen hundreds of reproductions, but this one was different; the more he studied it, the more he wondered:
could it
be?
For years he’d heard rumors of a few undocumented, authentic,
original
stormtrooper uniforms out there, somewhere.…

He tore his eyes away from the uniform and moved along the basement wal . The light-saber glow il uminated a box. Vaderian knelt, opened it, and found bundles of bubble wrap.

He picked one off the top, unwrapped it, and gasped as he revealed the hilt of a light saber—not a later reproduction like the one he wore, but one that had the distinctive (to Vaderian’s eyes) indications of an original handmade prop.

Could it possibly be?

“Is this the stuff we’re after?” the Wookiee asked.

Vaderian glared at him. “This,” he said, “is not
stuff
. This is…this is…” He waved a hand to indicate that there was no way he could explain the importance of this to an idiot like the Wookiee.

Valderian’s heart beat faster as he rummaged through that box, and then another box next to it, and then another, finding more and more treasures, each more astonishing than the last, including what appeared to be the actual Chewbacca’s ammunition bandolier. Flashing his light saber around the room, Vaderian saw more rare artifacts, large and smal . In another corner he saw a sheet draped over a distinctive domed shape; peeking out the bottom were the unmistakable wheeled appendages of R2-D2. Under his black mask, Vaderian’s face broke into a wide smile. He emitted a giggle, which the voice distorter transformed into a hideous sound.

This was it.
Vaderian was certain. This was the mother lode. This was the fabled lost ark of Star Wars memorabilia. And soon it was al going to belong to him.

He stood and turned to the Wookiee, about to give orders for getting the col ection upstairs and into the truck.

Then, a sound from upstairs. He froze. The front door had opened and shut. Voices: a man and woman. Footsteps crossing directly overhead. Vaderian and the Wookiee looked at the basement ceiling, the two of them rigidly stil in the deathly glow of the light saber.