The tapping stops.
She launches her internet browser, typing in the address of the Forum’s back door entrance, and enters the first password. It still feels a little strange, logging in this way. Most members have to hack their way in every time. The Forum is always moving, slipping like a computer virus between poorly protected cloud-based hosts to avoid detection, but there’s always a trail set up for members to follow to find the current IP address. It’s pretty much impossible to locate if you don’t already know what you’re looking for, and it’s invite-only the first time – invite-only from The Asker himself. Mallory had had to follow that trail like everyone else for the first two years after she joined, but she’s a moderator now, someone The Asker has truly decided to trust. He gave her the address to the back door entrance five months ago, right after he upgraded her account.
She types her personal authentication code and answers the subsequent encrypted question that only moderators have the response key for. The screen goes blank, then the familiar message flashes up;
Greetings, Echo Six. Welcome to the Forum.
There is truth to be shared.
Let us begin.
She’s read the words a thousand times, but they still fill her with the same mix of relief and anticipation she’d felt the first time. They had been a lifeline back then. She’d been fourteen and Jeanie had been gone almost two years. Roger was at his lowest, shutting himself away and hardly speaking, and they’d almost lost the house because he kept missing work. Mallory had tried everything she could to help him, looked up everything she could find out about what you were supposed to do, but nothing made any difference. It was like he didn’t see her. She’d never felt so alone, or so powerless. Then The Asker had sent her the invite. He’d noticed some of her hacks – random ones she used to do, just because coding was something controllable and defined, every cause and effect predictable – and he had left her the trail, offering her a place where the things she could do could have direction. She remembers clear as glass the first time she spoke with him after following it, the first time she saw the boards and started to understand what the Forum could really mean… It was like part of her had clicked back together again. She’d finally found somewhere she could exist without limits or strains or the fears that could cripple her in real life, where she would never be helpless and where it didn’t matter if she struggled to fit in because what she could do did matter, and wasn’t considered strange there.
And all of it was behind the safety of a screen.
She closes the pop-up, revealing the Forum itself; a simple black background, the message board threads outlined in blue and titled in white text. Down the right-hand side are listed the names of all twenty-two current members, divided into two boxes depending on whether they are on or offline. Hacker names only. The Forum survives on anonymity and anyone caught trying to hack another member gets a lifetime ban. No one can know who anyone else really is. It’s not safe to and it’s one of The Asker’s most important rules, there to protect them in case the group is ever compromised or infiltrated. Not everyone would agree with what they’re doing and it’s not exactly legal.
She scans the current online list; Case_X, FreeLoader, Jericho, a few others… Queen Scarlet’s there too, the so-called reigning bitch herself and the Forum’s other moderator – one of its few downsides. Talking to her usually gives Mallory the urge to punch her laptop, but The Asker values her. She was one of the first to join him when he created the Forum four years ago. His own name is marked in yellow on the list, second from the bottom. The Asker is always online, almost like real life somehow doesn’t exist for him.
You’re late. The words appear in a new chat box. It’s from Warden, the final name on the list. Mallory finds herself smiling. Gotta admit, he continues, I was getting worried. Had a search party ready and everything.
She’s usually online way before him. From what she can figure out, he lives somewhere on the West Coast; three hours behind her.
Lucky me, she types. Warden is one of the few people she’ll reply to in chat. When she’d first introduced herself on the message boards, Scarlet had promptly replied with, Oh great, another newb. Try not to shit on everything. Warden had then opened up a chat box to Mallory and said, Hi, I’m Warden. Don’t worry, Scarlet’s a bitch. Something about that had sort of begrudgingly endeared him to her. He’d also turned out to be one of the smartest people on there – she never has to dumb down or wait for him. His one problem, though, is his almost complete inability to filter what he says; the guy talks a lot, seemingly spouting just whatever comes into his head. It’s not a safe trait for a hacker. As well as the time difference, things he’s given away to Mallory over the past two and a half years include that he must be a senior in high school, that he lives with his parents and at least one older brother, and that in his spare time he enjoys – as in, really enjoys – taking apart safes that he buys off eBay to see how they work. He’s thankfully more restrained on the public message boards with regards to his real life, but he’s still managed to irritate pretty much every other member at some point with his particular brand of unabridged honesty. Mallory tells him to shut up almost daily – but then, somehow, still ends up reading every single word he writes to her.
I was busy, she tells him now.
Ah, busy, he responds, I hate it when that happens. There’s a pause. So, you did it then. It’s not a question. Her smile grows. I knew it, he continues, apparently taking her silence as a confirmation. I knew you bloody could. Warden says bloody a lot. Sometimes his phrasing makes her wonder if he’s spent time abroad – but it’s another of the things she shouldn’t know about him, so she hasn’t ever asked.
You told me not to try, she replies.
I said it was dangerous. Which it was, he adds. Doesn’t mean I didn’t think you could do it. You’re like a freaking ninja.
I have to go post it, Mallory types.
Harrison Copeland… he replies. I know you’re used to it, but get ready for some serious hero worship. Jericho’s probably going to crap himself. She goes to close the chat box. Oh, adds Warden, and when you’re done being famous, I’ve got a good guess for you today. He’s been trying to work out the meaning of her hacker name since they met. She’s had to limit him to one guess a day, but after nine hundred and sixteen days he’s now tried everything from theories about sound waves to six being her golf handicap.
Lucky me, she says again.
She heads into the message boards, clicking on the ACTIVITIES section where The Asker leaves his information requests and the members post their hacks in response. The latest in the COMPLETED area is one of Scarlet’s, posted yesterday; documents from a private security firm that implicate them in the extortion of clients. Scarlet had laid claim to that request last Tuesday, while Mallory was at school. The Harrison Copeland one, though, that The Asker hadn’t posted on the boards at all – he’d just given it to Echo Six. A buzz trickles down Mallory’s spine. He’d chosen her.
She sets the HC files transferring into his account, then she begins typing up the hack in a new thread. She doesn’t give all the details of how she did it, those she reserves for The Asker only – and possibly Warden, if he doesn’t piss her off too much later. She does warn about a new tripwire she encountered on the company’s system, though. It was hidden in a second layer of security, right after the password, and designed to do an instant trace. If she’d missed it… things could have got messy. The design will likely spread over the next few months and the other members should know, should watch out for it. That’s why they share their hacks.
Jericho is the first to respond to her post – with a whole load of swear words, followed by numerous comments about her hacking technique. Mallory thinks of what Warden said and resists a sudden urge to laugh. She doesn’t reply to Jericho, though. She doesn’t post much on the message boards, apart from her own hacks or to yell at people when they’re being dicks or posting up something about their real l
ife that they shouldn’t – part of her job as a moderator. She reads a lot more than she writes. She looks at every other hack the members have done, assessing the pros and cons, always looking for ideas, or mistakes to avoid.
Especially mistakes; they can cost everything.
Hello, Echo. The words pop up in a new chat box. It’s from The Asker. Mallory feels the buzz again, stronger this time. You’ve been busy, I see, he continues. That was faster than I expected – for a system everyone seemed to claim was unbreakable.
Mallory flexes her fingers against each other, feeling the pressure on the tips, and takes a slow breath.
I try my best, she says.
Yes, you do, he replies. I’d like to hear about it, if you don’t mind.
She starts writing, taking him through each level of the security design in detail, especially the tripwire. She answers his questions – questions that show that he understands, that he gets it like she does – and, as she talks to him, everything about the day that wound her up, that tied her up in knots inside, seems to fade away.
And no lingering problems? The Asker says, when she’s finished.
Clean in, clean out.
He doesn’t respond for a long moment, then, Alarmingly good, he writes. I shouldn’t really be surprised any more, but let’s just say, I’m glad you’re on our side. The buzz, again. It will take a while to sort what you sent, but what you’ve discovered is important. It really matters, Echo. I hope you know that. Mallory bites her lip.
Yes, Asker, she answers, because that’s what she responds when he says things like that.
It’s sort of true… but she doesn’t always like to think about the specifics of what she retrieves for him. She prefers to just do it – and she doesn’t want to stop doing it. Of course she can see the good in it, but when her mind does wander into all the rights and wrongs, well, they feel too complicated to her, too shifting and changeable depending on who you ask or even when you ask them. The Asker, though, The Asker really believes in what they do, in exposing the hidden truth, in holding corrupt people to account. He sees what he believes to be good and right, and he acts upon it – and that is more than you can say for a lot of people. And so Mallory trusts his judgement on the big picture instead. He’ll never request anything he doesn’t think is important, for some greater good, and that part of him – that conviction that has never waned in all the time she’s known him – something about that latches onto her. He has a clarity about those things that she struggles to find. He gives her purpose.
The Asker’s name switches to grey in the chat box, showing that he’s left the conversation. When he’s done sorting what she sent, he’ll siphon off the documents anonymously, through multiple different sources, and, in a few days’ time, Harrison Copeland’s hidden test results will turn up on anything from conspiracy theory websites to mainstream news outlets. None of the Forum’s members ever take credit for their work outside of the message boards and the hacks they undertake are so disparate and diverse that they have never been linked together as the work of a single group. Corporate corruption, worker exploitation, falsified drugs tests – they go after anything The Asker hears rumor of and thinks people have a right to know about. They go after it, and no one but them knows they exist. Mallory likes that about the Forum; potent, but secret. The truth about Harrison Copeland will seep, not blast, its way onto cyber space and, once there, will spread like a virus, even in the face of the obligatory denials that will come from the company. What people then do with that truth is up to them.
She closes the empty chat box and reopens her conversation with Warden.
What did I miss? she asks.
Well, your prestige score’s going through the roof, he replies. You’ve been given over thirty-eight… wait, thirty-nine extra points already – probably about half of those from Jericho. He’s definitely fangirling. Four replies and counting. Oh, and Scarlet’s already posted her standard snarky comment. This time she went with her classic ‘you got lucky’ theme song. I think you’re getting too close to her prestige score. Jealousy is a dark, dark thing. She needs help.
She needed help before I ever got here, writes Mallory.
Having endured six months of her before then, I can attest to that, Warden agrees. On to more important things then; did The Asker give you a badge this time? You know, like a merit or something… a certificate? He really should have. Maybe you should ask him? Or I could ask him for you, if you want?
Oh really? Mallory types, the edges of her mouth pulling upwards again. You’re a dick.
People keep telling me that. There’s a pause. So, are you going to tell me how you actually did the bloody thing, or do I have to beg…
Life Outside
Mallory pulls into the school parking lot, Roger’s navy blue Nova rattling to a halt. The exhaust is getting loose again. It regularly costs them more than it’s worth to fix, but it was his first car and keeping it going is one of the few things that focuses him, so she never mentions it. He’s working a night shift later, meaning it’s hers for the day. Despite its faults, she’s been taking it to school whenever she can since term started. At only sixteen and five months, technically she shouldn’t be driving with Jed in the car yet, but none of the teachers have questioned it because she’s a senior now. She hates the bus; sticky and crowded, with screechy brakes that make you want to claw out your own eyeballs, and that loudmouth jackass Bobby Dahn boasting daily to his friends about a whole load of exploits she does not want to hear about. Exploits she does not want her brother to hear about. She glances across at him, wrapped up in his coat, since the Chevy’s blowers are busted again. It’s only September, still comfortable outside, but the kid can turn blue in summer. He’s made no move to get out the car, looking down and picking at the seam of his backpack.
‘Stop it,’ she tells him. ‘You’ll make it tear.’ She bought it new for him at the start of term. He’s just moved up to the middle school next to her high, and you have to be careful how you start out at a new place. Kids make fun of kids with old stuff. He stops the picking, but the seam is already fraying. She gets out the car, scuffed black boots firm against the pockmarked tarmac. The lot’s already beginning to fill. Her nerves flutter. She clenches and unclenches her hands, clamping down on the feeling, the soft fabric of the gloves sliding against her skin.
Jed’s still dawdling.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘You are not getting a tardy in your second week.’
He finally starts walking and Mallory leaves him with a warning that she’s got a shift at the store later and isn’t going to wait around if he’s not in the parking lot on time after school – which, of course, is a lie, but he hasn’t tested it yet. She wouldn’t leave him just because of lateness. That’s something Jeanie would have done.
She crosses the lot and walks up the high school’s front steps, trying to ignore the growing tension in her stomach as other students pile in around her, laughing and talking and shouting. She hates crowds, hates their unpredictability and the way they can assault all your senses at once, too much to keep track of. There’s a ninth grader to her right, swinging a yoyo… A group of girls from tenth on the left, snatches of conversation about a movie they saw last night… A blonde boy yells up ahead, making her jump… A baseball whistles above, though you’re not allowed throw them out front…
You’re okay, Mallory tells herself firmly, as if by thinking it she can make it true, can flat out overrule the alarm her body is feeling. She repeats it over and over in her head, forcing her legs to keep moving as the noise grows – chatter, chatter, chatter on all sides. Someone knocks into her. It sparks up her arm like an electric shock. She locks her jaw and pushes forward, left hand drumming against her leg.
You’re okay, you’re okay, you are fricking well okay.
She makes it through the entrance hall, then hurries away down the nearest emptier corridor. She takes a harsh, shaky breath, and the panic slowly lessens. Not so bad today.
<
br /> You’re okay.
She heads to biology, sitting down in the seat she’d claimed last week, middle right of the classroom. People trying to go unbothered often think the back is best. It’s stupid; teachers watch the kids who choose the back. Middle right is not in anyone’s direct sightline, but close to the door if you need to leave.
Mrs Trioli tells them they’re doing lab work this morning – dissecting sheep eyeballs – before echoing her spiel from last lesson about the importance of their grades senior year and the impact it will have on them getting into college. Mallory shifts uncomfortably, eyes tracing the desk’s wood grains until the teacher stops and instructs them to move into partnerships she’s pre-assigned them to. Eddie Prang is visibly disgruntled at having been paired with Mallory. She ignores him and starts setting up. It’s not like she’s happy with it either. Meat-stacked football player or not, he’s a definite possible fainter, turning a special shade of pale as she retrieves their eyeball. With Eddie clinging to the accompanying worksheet like a security blanket, she carefully exchanges her gloves for latex ones and starts working purposefully with the scalpel. He audibly shudders. Mallory watches him warily, sure he throws up a little in his mouth – but, to his credit, he swallows it down instead of barfing on the table. She moves her chair as far away from his as possible and works fast after that, finishing the dissection quickly to spend most of the lesson filling in the worksheet, interspersing some of Eddie’s depressingly inept answers with her own correct ones. They’ll pass with Bs.
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