Tom Clancy's Net Force 6-10 (183 page)
“Four, I’ve been going over my security logs cross-checking traffic—and I noticed some extra packet requests from one of our nodes. It’s a zero-sum dead end, a shuck. So we have a leak. I don’t know how or who, but it’s there.”
“You already found it?” Well, well. Point for Lewis. Might be a little late, but at least she knew it before he told her. Competence had always been more attractive to him than just hot looks. Though those didn’t hurt.
Yeah? You’re married now, so it doesn’t matter how much more attractive this makes her, now does it? Back away, goat-boy.
There was nothing wrong with
looking,
was there? Plus it was part of his job—he hadn’t sought her out.
looking,
was there? Plus it was part of his job—he hadn’t sought her out.
So why did he feel this little stab of guilt?
She reached down and pulled a second pair of Raptor goggles out of a drawer.
“I wanted to investigate it more fully myself before calling it in, but since you’re here—feel up to a stroll?”
Jay didn’t hesitate.
“Sure, let’s go.”
Who did she think she was talking to here? Did
he
feel up to it? He definitely felt up to it. Be good to get into VR anyway. No question who the better detective was here, after all, was there? As she’d soon find out.
he
feel up to it? He definitely felt up to it. Be good to get into VR anyway. No question who the better detective was here, after all, was there? As she’d soon find out.
Jay took the goggles.
It would be fun, showing her just how good he was.
Jay slipped the VR shades on his head, adjusting them so that the extra weight of the other gear—olfactory unit and tiny Harmon Kardon sound inserts—were balanced. Then Lewis handed him a small silver box with a strap attached.
“One of my new toys,” she said, “Tactile Feedback Unit. Uses an inducer to stimulate basic skin sensation. They’re not too good yet, but it adds.”
Jay had heard about the units, but hadn’t seen one yet. The basic principle was electric induction via magnetic fields. Unlike a full feelie suit, which used electrodes and localized temperature control to give sensation in VR and covered the entire body, TFUs were designed to do the same thing—without the suit. Nerve pathways were stimulated with magnetic fields and induced to create sensation. He’d heard they were being developed at the MIT media lab—apparently she’d kept close ties with the old school.
“It pays to support your alma mater,” she said, grinning.
Despite the fact that he didn’t want to be, he was impressed that she had the unit—units, plural.
She handed him a set of VR gloves and he finished suiting up.
He started to say something about his VR analogue, but decided to see what she’d come up with. Entering the Pentagon to see a computer specialist meant surrendering all data containers, and a close search of anything going out, so he’d had to leave his virgil and his data watch at the front desk. He carried copies of his usual VR avatars in them, along with his VR settings. Going into her scenario without them put him at a slight disadvantage, but it also meant she had to come up with something for him to wear in VR.
It would be interesting to see what she did.
“Ready?”
He gave her a thumbs-up, and activated his gear.
He was on a beach. The sun was nearly straight overhead, which put him closer to the equator, and it was hot. Apparently, the little TFUs worked fairly well. He could feel the sun’s rays warming him, and it felt
right
. Impressive. A slight onshore breeze tickled his skin, cooling him—everywhere.
right
. Impressive. A slight onshore breeze tickled his skin, cooling him—everywhere.
Every
where? He looked down.
where? He looked down.
Naked as the proverbial, well, bad pun, jaybird.
He looked back up and to his right, and there was Rachel Lewis, also naked, walking in front of him. Her skin was slightly more tanned than she’d been in RW, but other than that, she looked exactly the same. Her figure, as seen from behind, more than delivered what her clothes had promised.
Whoa!
Most VR programmers tended to incorporate some aspect of fantasy in their avatars, particularly for a given scenario. When he played big-game hunter or 1930s pulp hero, Jay would amalgamate his own body’s features onto other bodies, becoming someone else, rather than just himself.
The fact that she apparently didn’t meant something. What, he didn’t know, but it was interesting.
Very
interesting.
Very
interesting.
She turned and laughed.
“Oh, sorry, Jay,” she said. “I’d forgotten the naked part—I usually run this one by myself.”
Her front was just as spectacular as her back. Tanned skin, kissed lightly by the sun, had resulted in a beautiful spatter of freckles that topped, um, a bunch of other, um, most attractive attributes he probably ought not to be thinking about.
Jay was struck yet again by how much she looked like her RW counterpart. No enhancements that he could see. As far as he could tell, this was her for real.
He swallowed, feeling even warmer. Cool off, Jay.
“No problem,” he said. “My wife Saji and I spent some time in Europe on a couple of clothing-optional beaches.”
Managed to work Saji’s name in there pretty good.
Still, he could feel himself starting to, ah,
react
to the sight of her, the surprise of it. Any second his avatar might begin registering his interest in a visible way.
react
to the sight of her, the surprise of it. Any second his avatar might begin registering his interest in a visible way.
Shit. Got to stop that.
She motioned for him to follow her, and turned, showing him her backside again as she started to walk.
Yes, that’s it. Keep looking the other way.
“I’ve found that this works pretty good for tracking data packets.”
He listened with half an ear as he reached up and tapped the side of his head. It felt slightly
wrong,
since he was not wearing VR goggles in the scenario, and he slid his hand along the earpiece to what he knew was the box under it. He felt the catch open and felt for the tiny dip switches inside. Back in college he’d played VR chicken with other students. It was a game of sensory overloads—who could last the longest listening to things like fingernails on blackboards, swimming in containers of beetles, or the like. Whoever showed the most reaction in the scenario would lose. He’d sometimes beat the system by learning how to disable the RW sensory interface while in VR.
wrong,
since he was not wearing VR goggles in the scenario, and he slid his hand along the earpiece to what he knew was the box under it. He felt the catch open and felt for the tiny dip switches inside. Back in college he’d played VR chicken with other students. It was a game of sensory overloads—who could last the longest listening to things like fingernails on blackboards, swimming in containers of beetles, or the like. Whoever showed the most reaction in the scenario would lose. He’d sometimes beat the system by learning how to disable the RW sensory interface while in VR.
Like now.
He counted over three switches and turned the next two off. Now he could see and feel everything in VR, but the system couldn’t read his nerve impulses.
Any excitement his body registered in RW wouldn’t show in VR.
He looked down, just to be sure.
There was that little brown mole, right there on his—Jesus! He was wearing
his
real body. How had she done
that
?
his
real body. How had she done
that
?
Lewis was still talking.
“The carrier waves are the people on the beach. My scenario shows them naked, so that I can see if they’re hiding anything.”
She must have used an old copy from the MIT lab, used an aging algorithm to extrapolate the rest. Pretty sharp, Lewis.
They reached a set of sunbathers on green reclining chairs. Lewis sat down on a chair nearby, motioning to Jay to do the same. She straddled the chair as she sat down, giving him something more to see.
“Take a look,” she said.
He realized she meant the couple next to them, and saw that there was a slight discoloration on the man’s body. And a bulge wiggling under the skin of his belly, like some implanted alien monster about to erupt.
The man stood up and walked away. Jay looked around.
If the scenario had him as a metaphor to a data pipe, anything he was carrying was data. Hidden data, in this case.
Nice.
“Clever,” he said to Lewis.
Jay and Rachel followed. Strains of brassy music with bass and guitar drifted across the beach. The music added to the scene, but there was no immediate explanation for it.
Jay looked at Lewis and raised his eyebrow. “That a five-five-five, Lewis?”
She grinned. “Nope—ahead on the right. Hell, I haven’t heard that term in years. Professor Barnhardt would be proud.”
Jay looked ahead. There it was—a radio on a piece of driftwood next to the beach bar.
Barnhardt had been a drama instructor who’d transferred to the VR department. There had been some controversy about that, since the old man had hardly had any programming experience. But he’d been
smart
.
smart
.
His specialty was teaching the programmers how to be more real. He’d termed anything that threw you out of the VR illusion a “five-five-five”—taking the name from the fake phone number prefix used in movies and TV. Every time you see that, he’d say, you remember you’re looking through the third wall.
Her code was sharp, she’d figured out she had a leak on her own, and she created VR as good as—well,
almost
as good as—his own. He was impressed.
almost
as good as—his own. He was impressed.
The man stopped at the beach bar. He looked behind him, saw them, and then jumped over a large piece of driftwood and ran.
Jay and Rachel hurried to catch up. Jay marveled at how well the TFU worked—he’d swear wind was rushing over his naked body, and he could feel parts of his body swinging.
When they reached the driftwood and looked on the other side, the man was gone.
Well.
It looked like this might take more trips to the beach. Jay looked over at Lewis and saw her looking at him.
He wondered if that was a good idea or not.
6
Alice’s Restaurant
University Park, Virginia
University Park, Virginia
“You jivin’ me,” Jamal said.
Thorn smiled. “Nope. You get on the American team, I’ll cover your expenses to the World Games. Airfare, hotels, food, walking-around money.”
Jamal shook his head. “I appreciate it, but—why?”
“Two reasons, Jamal. One, I can afford it. Two, it’s not every day I get to sponsor a world-champion fencer.”
“I ain’t even got on the national team yet, Mr. Thorn, and you got me winnin’ the worlds?”
“Aim high, hit high,” Thorn said.
Jamal shook his head in wonder.
Thorn’s smile slipped into something more serious. “Look, Jamal,” he said. “Up until now, if you lost a big bout, you could just shrug and say, ‘Well, so what, I couldn’t have afforded to go anyhow.’ Now, you have to come up with another reason.”
Jamal looked at him for maybe five seconds without saying anything. “You a mind reader, too?”
“I grew up on a rez in Washington State, and we didn’t have any spare change lying around. ‘No money’ was my favorite excuse—until my grandfather went out and hustled enough from the tribe my senior year of high school to pay my way to the nationals.”
“You win?”
“Nope. Came in third in épée, fifth in foil, didn’t place in saber. Bronze wasn’t gold, but it might as well have been when I brought it home. No kid from our rez had ever won squat against a room full of white guys. That medal is still hanging in the trophy case outside the principal’s office.”
Jamal laughed. “They put a trophy case in my school, the whole thing would be gone the next morning, right down to the bolts holding it to the floor.”
“Yeah, yeah, your school is bad. You ever scalp a white man?”
Thorn kept his face deadpan, and for just a second, Jamal looked at him as if he was serious.
“Get out my face with that,” the young man said.
Thorn laughed. “Had you for just a second there, didn’t I?”
“No way.” But he grinned, too. “So, Mr. Thorn, what’s the deal with you and the fine sistah? You serious about getting married?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Salt and pepper. You gonna catch grief on both sides of the table.”
“It’s the twenty-first century, Jamal. Fifty, a hundred years from now, it is gonna be like Julian Huxley said, we’ll all be tea-colored, and the world will be better off for it.”
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I don’t think the world is as far down that road as you do.”
Thorn shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Marissa is worth any amount of grief anybody else has got to offer. Screw ’em if they don’t like it.”
Now Jamal’s grin got real big. “That’s what a man says about his woman. You all right, Mr. T.”
Thorn grinned back. He hoped so.
U.S. Army Recon School
Fort Palaka, Hana, Maui, Hawaii
Fort Palaka, Hana, Maui, Hawaii
The Army base at Hana was brand-new, small, specialized, and nobody local much liked it being there. Some kind of land swap with the government was the only reason it was. It wasn’t enough that the tourists filled the narrow road leading to Hana so you never could get anywhere. Now there were soldiers clogging things up—that’s what a man paying attention at a local cafe would hear, and certainly Carruth was a man who paid attention. . . .
As he lay in the lush growth ten meters away from the still-shiny chain-link fence surrounding the base, Carruth wasn’t so sure this mission was worth the trip. Still, it was what Lewis wanted, and it was her command. On the one hand, she was a fine-looking woman and he’d love to get to know her better; on the other hand, she was a cold bitch and he didn’t doubt she would shoot a man just to watch him bleed. But for the moment, he was willing to go along with her, because if things went the way she planned, he was going to walk away with enough money to buy his own tropical island and stock it with as many good-looking women as he wanted. He could put up with a little ball-busting for that.
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