Peering through the windshield, Lenny admired the metallic sheen of the high-performance private sportster. Must be rich. He couldn’t hear the guy in the other car, but he could see him. The fellow turned red-faced as he screamed and jabbed his finger at his fancy nav. It was clear to Lenny that driving into the alley hadn’t been this guy’s idea. Glancing at the front console in his own rental, he sympathized with the fellow’s frustration.
He threw his arm up on the seat and looked behind to see if they might back their way out of the alley. Another car had been following them, this one a yellow public cab. It nosed up close behind his car and stopped. His car tooted again, but neither car moved. I’m trapped.
Sitting back in his seat, Lenny sifted through possibilities in his mind. And then he smiled. From his perspective, this was solid evidence he was being manipulated, and that meant the game had been elevated to the next level. Clapping his hands in excitement, he thought, But who am I playing against? And how many levels are there?
He opened the door and stepped out, grabbed his backpack off the seat, and slung it over his shoulder. Leaning inside, he said, “Car, you are now available for hire. If you don’t get another fare, return to your nearest partner garage and close out my account.”
He shut the door and continued down the alley on foot, edging past the sports car carrying the red-faced man. “Nice ride,” he called. The man didn’t respond.
When he reached the intersection where the alley joined the street, Lenny spied a pedestrian seat nestled on the walkway between two trees. Sitting in the shade with his pack at his feet, he watched the traffic flow smoothly in front of him as he considered his next steps.
If the game was unfolding as he imagined—if he was being challenged by the super crystal—that meant his com was now his enemy. As long as I’m linked to the web, it’ll know what I’m doing and stay ahead of me. He pondered this for a bit. Without his com, he wouldn’t have the communication and information services he relied on all day, every day, for almost everything he did.
Scanning the area, he acknowledged that his com wasn’t his only weak spot. Public-space monitors, invisible but ubiquitous, were certainly watching and recording him. In the same way his com was vulnerable to snooping by the super crystal, so would the record from these devices.
Shifting his attention across the street, he surveyed the storefronts he could see from his vantage point. He turned his head in a steady motion, scanning down the row of shops. While he kept his head moving, he let his eyes linger on Sal’s Hobby Emporium.
He hadn’t bought anything in a physical store in forever and, up until this moment, considered them to be quaint anachronisms. Now he found himself glad there were people who preferred the tactile experience of browsing. It let merchants of this sort stay in business, and it gave him options.
Certain he was being challenged by an unseen opponent, Lenny sought to confirm it with a simple experiment. Cars were parked in neat rows in front of him along both sides of the street. A brown family van sat in the space two cars down to his left.
Strolling over to the van, he walked in a slow circle around it, observing that it was clean and reasonably new—perhaps two years old. He peered through several of the windows during his circuit, leaning close and lingering as he looked.
Returning to the pedestrian seat, he used his com to view the schematics for the van’s nav system. Within moments, the van activated and trundled off down the street, empty of passengers. Scowling for show, he did a happy dance in his head. Even crabby old Professor Huffington would accept this as proof I’m being manipulated.
Though the van was gone, he returned to studying the schematics, working through the details of how the nav communicated with the web and how it actuated the steering, throttle, and brakes.
He learned that the nav communicated with the web through a link nestled front and center inside the roof of the car, a hand-width back from where the roofline met the windshield. Flipping to a different feed, he learned how to gain access to the nav. For the family van, it was through an access panel located inside the passenger cabin, underneath the front console.
Lenny looked up, and his gaze fell on a blue sedan parked across the street and down about ten spaces. Calling up the schematics for that car, he reviewed the material, noting that access to the nav and the location of the nav web link were the same for the car as they were for the van. He didn’t look up when the sedan activated and drove away, though he followed it using his peripheral vision.
True to the curiosity of his genius, he became fascinated with the inner workings of navs and links, and spent twenty minutes zipping through two tutorials on the subject. The most useful tidbit he learned was that the vehicle industry had converged on a set of standards, and anything built in the last five years followed the same general nav and web link design.
His preparation complete, Lenny sat back and watched the ebb and flow of people and traffic, soaking in the rhythm of the neighborhood while his idea germinated. He worked under the assumption that his unseen opponent could foil any scheme, no matter how clever.
Given this, there was no point in refining anything past a rough outline filled with broad brushstrokes. The one firm bullet point in his plan was to remain nimble and react quickly when hurdles were thrown in his path.
He decided to add a second bullet. Don’t die playing a stupid game.
Chapter 11
Lenny stood up, did a lame job of pretending to stretch, ambled across the street, and entered Sal’s Hobby Emporium. Though he didn’t notice it on a conscious level, as the door shut behind him, the smell of the place triggered a long-ago memory of his grandma’s home.
It was a modest-sized store, with selected items in the front window to attract shoppers and a dozen rows of display shelves inside that extended back into the depths of the shop. He wandered up and down the first aisles to get a sense of the place, marveling that enough people embraced such an archaic mode of shopping to make it profitable for the proprietor.
“There’re shopping baskets here in the front.”
Lenny turned with a start and saw an elderly white-haired man with a kind face standing behind a counter in the front corner. A sign of his age, the fellow’s hand shook ever so slightly as he pointed to a neat stack of red handbaskets.
“If you’re buying several items, you can collect them in one of these. It makes it easier to carry everything while you browse.” The man smiled and nodded as he spoke.
His guard up, Lenny weighed the likelihood that this was some sort of move by his opponent. He concluded that the man was being helpful and using a basket simply added to the convenience of shopping. He picked one up.
“Let me know if I can help you find anything,” called the man as Lenny disappeared down the first aisle.
He didn’t answer, concentrating on his next moves in the larger drama. He worked his way up one aisle and down the next, systematically scanning the displays. His strategy was that if something could be construed as insidious or lead his challenger to believe it offered clues to his plan, he’d put one in his basket. Traveling in an efficient circuit, he picked up an assortment of electronics, including slip connectors, power dots, wire bridges, a universal interface, and a rather pricey smartlink.
The next aisles held tools and gadgets. He grabbed a multiknife, which, in spite of the name, held just two blades; the rest were an assortment of foldout mini-tools. In that section, he also snagged a geologist’s hammer with its square face that tapered to a chisel, a pointed spike awl for piercing thick material, a clear case that held a selection of tiny jeweler’s tools, a light-weight pry bar, and two kinds of tape. Finishing out his tour of the store in the crafts section, he bought a glue stick, grit paper, a bag of reflective glitter, a roll of clear sheet material, and a packet of cinch straps. On his way to the front, he snagged a carryall to hold his bounty.
“Sure is a nice day,” he said to the shopkeeper as he approached the counter. That
simple statement started the proprietor on a blue streak of pleasantries as he packed Lenny’s purchases in the carryall. He told Lenny about his upcoming vacation to see his great-grandkids, the crowds in town for the annual apple festival, and the sophistication of Lenny’s new smartlink.
Lenny responded in order with “nice,” “gosh,” and “really.”
Then Lenny understood. The old man isn’t in this business for money. This is his way of remaining socially involved in his twilight years. Chastened by the realization, Lenny spent a few moments engaging the proprietor in chitchat, mostly letting him talk, and looking the fellow in the eye so he’d receive emotional benefit from the attention.
During the one-sided conversation, Lenny fished into his pocket, poked his finger into his pouch, and probed until he identified his prank nib. He pulled it out and palmed the bit of crystal. Then he did some more bad acting.
He unshouldered his backpack and, as he placed it at his feet, said, “I wonder if I can distribute stuff to make all this easier to carry.” He lifted the carryall down next to his pack, stood up, scratched his head to show he was considering different options, bent down, grabbed his backpack, and placed it up on the counter. All of this movement was misdirection. His goal was to slip the prank nib into his com.
As soon as the nib was in place, he stopped his performance. “You know, I think this is fine the way it is.”
Unable to conceal the next step, he brought up his com, made some rapid adjustments while the man watched, and announced “false alarm,” as if that were an explanation. He hefted his pack over his shoulder and picked up the carryall, hugging it in the crook of his arm like a mom carrying her infant child.
“Have a great day,” he said to the proprietor as he made for the door. The fellow smiled, and Lenny hoped his good deed of offering a few minutes of companionship would balance out the bad karma he was about to unleash.
Back on the walkway, he looked straight ahead and set a brisk pace, taking purposeful strides he hoped suggested he would be walking for an extended period. His attention, however, focused on the cars parked end to end a half block up the street. He scanned the cars as he approached and, not seeing anything he thought would work, shifted his focus to the next row of cars farther along.
And there he saw his mark—a sturdy utility vehicle parked parallel to the curb between two small coupes. It had a midnight-blue finish accented with a thin yellow pinstripe that started at the front, traveled down the center of the roof, and broadened into a burst of colorful flames at the rear. It was easily twice the size of the two cars boxing it in.
When he was three cars back from the utility vehicle, he slowed his pace and began fishing in the carryall with his free hand, trying to appear as if he was rifling around for something he couldn’t find. He let his pack slide to his feet, frowning and mumbling as he continued to dig. He put the carryall on the ground next to the pack, put both hands inside it, and continued his search.
Launching the first step of his plan, he stood upright and used his com to pulse the prank nib. He looked up and down the block. Nothing. The prank nib should have caused every door of every car on the block to open. He was half expecting the doors on the shops to open as well. Wow. His respect for his adversary grew. I thought that was a sure thing.
Realizing he’d underestimated his opposition, Lenny ratcheted up his vision of this game to a higher level of sophistication. Sifting through possibilities, he chose what he hoped would be unexpected. He’d go low-tech and brute force.
He bent over, stuck both hands in the carryall, and rummaged through his booty. With his hands hidden, he tore open the top of the bag of sparkly glitter. When he stood, he had the bag of glitter in his right hand, and the hammer and awl grasped in his left.
He scanned the building adjacent to the utility vehicle and picked out a broad flat area above the second-floor windows. He wound up and pitched the bag as hard as he could at this expanse of brick. His aim was horrid but the outcome wasn’t.
The bag hit the corner of a window ledge, causing the contents to spurt out. The result was a slowly descending cloud of sparkles he hoped would provide a smokescreen of sorts for his next actions.
In the midst of the glitter shower, Lenny stepped up to the utility vehicle and braced his knees on the side of the car near the front wheel. He took the geologist hammer in his right hand, spun it so the chisel faced forward, and leaned over as he swung it hard at the center of the windshield.
The hammer glanced off the clear material without leaving a mark. He expected that. Vehicle windows were designed to maintain integrity in high-speed crashes, and his skinny arm couldn’t come close to generating the force needed to cause damage. It didn’t matter, though. The hammer swing was more misdirection.
He presumed his unseen opponent would take some sort of defensive action—perhaps pop up the hood or swing open the side door—in an attempt to fend him off. He’d use that moment for his final play. But he was again surprised. Damn.
He didn’t dwell on the lack of response and focused on moving his plan forward. He swapped tools and gripped the ball-shaped handle of the awl in his right hand. As he cocked his arm back, the thin needle-sharp length of the piercing tool sparkled like more glitter fluttering around him. He swung the tool forward, point first, accelerating it in a tight arc.
He didn’t aim for the windshield. Instead, he zeroed in on the thin yellow pinstripe running down the midline of the roof. His bull’s-eye was the center of the line, exactly one hand-width back from where the roofline met the windshield.
The awl hit the roof close to target and pierced just enough for the tip to stick. But it didn’t penetrate. He held the awl in place with his left hand, grabbed the hammer with his right, and smacked the top of the awl. The point moved deeper, but it still didn’t penetrate. His nerves as tight as a bowstring, he smacked it again and exhaled in relief as the point pierced through the roof, a portion of the shaft sinking beneath the surface.
Dropping the hammer and using both hands, he frantically wiggled the handle of the awl, jerking it back and forth, side to side, and in circles. He envisioned that beneath the roof, the sharp point was slashing its way through the delicate workings of the vehicle’s web link. He felt resistance as he moved the handle but had no idea if he was crushing the device or making mush out of insulation, support foam, or some other material sandwiched inside.
Anxious to measure his success, he let go of the awl and used his com to pulse the prank nib. The doors to the utility vehicle popped open. “Take that,” Lenny called out, mocking his opponent. His awl attack had succeeded in severing the ability of his adversary to communicate with and control the vehicle.
He ran back, grabbed his gear, tossed the pack on the passenger seat, and held the carryall as he scrambled onto the floor of the utility vehicle beneath the front console. Opening the access panel to the nav was easy. Lying on his back and looking up inside, his momentum slowed.
He saw an array of small rectangles, cylinders, and boxes fit snuggly together inside the compartment. But there was no obvious way to achieve his next step, and that was to connect his com to the nav system. With the vehicle’s web link destroyed, he hoped he could manually drive the car using his personal com.
He had intended to connect his com using the newly purchased universal interface, but he now saw it would take time to figure out exactly how to do that—time he didn’t have. Several people had already gathered outside the vehicle and were talking among themselves as they watched him. He heard one proclaim he was calling law enforcement.
Acting on impulse, he dug through the carryall and located the smartlink the proprietor had spoken of so enthusiastically. He held it near the nav compartment and paused to flip it around, trying to determine if there was a back or front and top or bottom. Hoping it was built the way he would have designed it, he oriented the device, moved it inside the compartment, and sought to match its shape to one of the nav components.
As he moved it about, a small red light came on. He stopped and advanced it slowly upward. The smartlink almost pulled from his hand as it grasped and attached to one of the larger elements, much like two magnets clenching each other. The red light turned green. Yes!
Excited, he climbed up onto the seat and accessed his com. The smartlink and his com had already found each other and were communicating. He looked out at the gathering crowd and tried to sound like the stereotypical law officer he’d seen on so many vids.
“Nothing to see here folks. Move along.”
An overweight man in a sweater-vest pointed at him. “You’re in a lot of trouble, pal.” Lenny recognized the voice as the same one who claimed to be calling the authorities.
He detected motion in the vehicle, and a thump jolted him back into the seat. He didn’t have time to digest what had happened when a second thump threw him forward. He lifted up his hand to stop from bumping his head into the console. As he watched, his utility vehicle backed away from the coupe in front. He braced himself. Thump.
Lurching forward and back, the utility vehicle bumped him repeatedly into the two coupes parked in the row. He shook his head in admiration. You sneaky bastard. The vehicle lurched forward, and the chatter from the small crowd intensified.
As quickly as he could, Lenny opened a tiny port in the side of his com and pulled out the web connect. The utility vehicle stopped moving, confirming his suspicion that his opponent had reconnected to the vehicle through his own com.
But a com without a web connect was fairly useless. He sat up and looked out the window and, eyes widening, braced himself again. The coupe in front now backed toward him. Thump. Then the coupe behind pulled forward. Thump. Neither car had occupants, and neither hit him hard enough to trigger the passenger safety restraints in his vehicle, yet they succeeded in distracting him from parsing through the next steps in his evolving plan.
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