I nod. Kristen already owns every bit of bio-data I can possibly give her. A few more tests won’t make a difference. For now, I’d rather get my hands and brain busy on tricking the device they’re talking about. If I don’t get my thoughts away from Xave, Luke, embryo spawns and the such, I’m going to lose it.
James turns to Aydan. “Give Marci a crash course, so she can get started.”
“Yes, sir.” Aydan heads for the door, looking as if he’d rather jump off the Space Needle.
“Why does he have to be such an ass?” I throw the question out there, expecting no particular answer.
Rheema laughs and exits the room, shaking her head. Kristen follows suit but stops at the door, a curious expression on her face. “You really don’t know, do you?”
I shake my head and shrug once. Maybe Aydan is a lunatic. Maybe his agent makes him grumpy. Perhaps there’s medication for his problem. I don’t know and I don’t care. I’ve got enough problems of my own to worry about his.
“Youth is wasted on the young.” Kristen sighs and leaves the room.
What is that supposed to mean? I looked at James for understanding.
He puts his hands up in a don’t-ask-me gesture. “C’mon, we have work to do.”
When we get to the computer pod, Aydan’s busy clearing a workspace in one corner.
“She can use this area. I’ll set up another workstation here,” Aydan says without looking back at us.
“Just tell me where the stuff is, I can do it,” I say.
Aydan heaves an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You can scavenge any monitors and cables you can find around here. The CPU is over there.” He points at a large, dusty box in one corner, plops his behind on his ergonomic chair and starts typing furiously on the keyboard.
I feel like I’m back in elementary school. Next Aydan will stick his tongue out at me, right after calling me ugly names. I shouldn’t, but I give James a rescue me look. He stares at the ceiling and grabs his chin in annoyance.
Yep, I’m back in first grade. Mrs. Kline always conjured that same expression when she didn’t want to intervene in one of our kiddie brawls. James goes over and murmurs to Aydan as I make a huge racket moving and setting up equipment. When I’m done, Aydan looks mollified. Somewhat.
“You kids will do okay?” James asks. “I have a few things of my own to prepare. I’ll come back in an hour or so.”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Aydan says, sounding as if we’ll be anything but.
“No problem,” I tell James, giving him a confident smile. After my hissy fit followed by a nervous meltdown, I want to show him I’m not a kid. Haven’t been one for a long while. I can take care of myself and can definitely be trusted to carry my own weight around here.
As I squat to plug in the monitor in the back of the CPU, James leans in. “If there’s time, I’d like to do a training session. Okay?”
I nod. When he leaves, I’m left there, wondering what is in store for me next. I run my hand over the dusty CPU and wipe it on the side of my pants, lost in thought. Aydan startles me by jumping into a quick explanation of the device I’m supposed to hack. A replica sits on the desk. It is a fancy piece of equipment that includes a thumb scanner and a keypad.
Aydan explains that Rheema will take care of the bio-data and all I have to worry about is finding the six-digit keypad combination, which happens to be encrypted and stored in one of AR-Tech’s databases.
He points me to the encryption algorithm—developed by Zero Breach—and to a way to hack into AR-Tech’s database. Then he explains that to cover our tracks we need to make the whole thing look like a hack, that there should be no trace left behind to indicate that insider information was used.
After Aydan’s snappy explanation, he sets me loose to see what kind of damage I can do. I’m itching to show him he’s not the only one with some IQ around here.
I spend thirty minutes just getting my bearings, making sure to leave no trace of my perusing in AR-Tech’s servers. Once I feel comfortable with their system, I take a look at the algorithm and try to think of a way to backward engineer the encrypted password using the code. After another half hour, I have a massive headache. Trying to figure out someone else’s code is a nightmare.
A brilliant idea hits me. Of course, it involves ignoring Aydan’s advice, but what the heck. I have to do this my way. It’ll never work if I don’t.
After a while James returns. “How’s it going?” he asks. “Any luck yet?”
“Some,” Aydan says.
“Almost there,” I say, as I type furiously.
I sense Aydan swiveling his chair my way, probably to give me the evil eye. As I tweak the last line of code, I rub my hands together.
“All right, I’m ready to try this,” I say.
“There’s no way you backward engineered that password in just a matter of hours,” Aydan says. He couldn’t have sounded more skeptical if I’d told him I was birthed by a motherboard.
“That’s right. I didn’t.” I don’t even try to keep the smugness out of my voice.
James and Aydan exchange glances, looking puzzled and incredulous, which I find a bit insulting. But no matter, I’ll make believers out of them.
“You said it should look like a hack. Well, instead of faking a hack, I hacked it for real.”
“You what?!” Aydan and James exclaim at the same time.
“That should have taken even longer,” Aydan argues.
“Um, not really. I don’t know who wrote that code, but it was easier for me to write my own than try to weed through that mess.”
They don’t buy it. I can tell.
Talk is cheap, so I run my program instead. Soon it flashes a six-digit code on the screen, which I enter on the keypad. When the LED light on top signals the device is unlocked, they can’t argue. The expressions on their faces make me feel good. Everything is topsy-turvy at home with Mom, and at school with both Xave and Luke giving me black looks. The realization that somebody is pleased with me is a good one, a feeling that I’ve experienced very rarely since Dad died.
James grasps my shoulder. “That is outstanding, Marci!” A huge, satisfied smile shines on his face. “She’s something else, isn’t she?” he asks, looking at Aydan and nodding repeatedly.
“Yeah, quite a gem.” Aydan’s tone is derisive, but his deep dark eyes can’t hide the admiration and surprise he feels. He turns back to his work. “I’ll be done with my part on time. Sooner, if I can have my sanctum back to myself.”
Sanctum? I guess Aydan and I have more than a few things in common. Clearly we could both worship at the altar of Holy Microchip.
“No problem, Aydan. Get back to work.” James says. “Marci and I will use this time to … have a little talk.”
Suddenly, I don’t feel so smug anymore. I wish I’d kept my big mouth and my temper under control.
Chapter 35
I head toward the gym pod but James points in a different direction. “Let’s try one of the conference rooms instead.”
I match his firm stride, but it’s all for show. I feel anything but firm. I doubt my hacking feat will be enough to trump both my outburst and meltdown. James leads us to conference room C and closes the door behind us. There’s nothing but a table, a dry erase board and an oil painting occupying the area. Bright white lights hum overhead.
James stops in front of the painting and stares at it, hands clasped behind his back. The image is abstract, resembling a thick forest set ablaze. The tree trunks are twisted slashes of black and blue; the flames angry strokes of yellow, orange and red. Heaving a sigh, he moves away from the painting. Full of curiosity, I peer at the signature in the corner of the canvas. It reads “J. McCray.” I blink.
“You painted that?” I ask, incredulously.
He ignores my question, lays his hands flat on the table and leans his weight forward. “That was some impressive computer work,” he says.
“Thank you.” I sense a but and I brace myself for it.
He’s quiet for a long moment, assessing, probably trying to decide how to best handle me.
“I thought we had agreed to trust each other.” James walks to the dry erase board, takes a red marker from the tray and twirls it between thumb and forefinger.
I don’t want to justify myself, but I can’t help it. “Yeah, well, it’s not easy when you aren’t the one holding the aces under your sleeve. You don’t give me enough to go by.”
With measured steps, James walks back to the table and stands the marker on the wooden surface, its red tip pointing toward the ceiling.
James rests his right elbow on his cupped left hand and taps an index finger on his temple. “True. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’d agreed to trust me.”
I’ve nothing to say to that.
James nods and says, “I hope it won’t happen again. I hope you have no more doubts.”
“Um, I guess not, but it would’ve been nice to know all about Zero Breach and AR-Tech, who Elliot is, who you are, the attacks on the clinics and all that.”
“I won’t always be able to tell you everything, Marci. I wish we’d had more time to prepare you and tell you more, but these past few days have been very demanding on everyone. I’m sure you realize that.”
“I know. I just saw you with Elliot and lost it. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
James put his hands out and says, “Just what I wanted to hear.”
“I do have a question about something Elliot said to me.”
James frowns. “Something he said to you? When?”
“Just now, outside by the coffee shop.”
“He saw you?”
I nod. “I waited inside the coffee shop until I thought he’d left. When I got on my bike, though, he was waiting for me. It was like he’d sensed me from far away.” I scratch my head. “Maybe it’s just me. He did go in to get some coffee. I think I’m just paranoid.”
James appears very confused for a moment. He blinks his puzzlement away before asking, “What did he tell you?”
“Well, he wanted details on what we did to Xave. He must be some kind of sadist or something. Anyway, I told him I had better things to do than sit there talking about trivial stuff. He didn’t like the fact that I didn’t humor him. He said when his faction rises to the top, he’ll remember I chose to not be nice to him.”
With a deep breath, James changes his stance, placing both hands on his hips. “Two stupid things you did, Marci. Going into that coffee shop and falling into Elliot’s bad graces.”
What?! He can’t be serious. I was just getting coffee and telling some creepy stalker guy to buzz off. How is that my fault?
Before I can defend myself, James adds, “But I guess that’s my fault. I should have warned you against both. At any rate, I suppose you want to know what he meant with that comment.”
I nod.
“Elliot is the leader of the biggest Eklyptor faction in the world. There are others, of course, and as soon as they are in a position to do so, I’m sure the different factions will fight in a quest for power. Elliot plans to be victorious. As you can imagine, he doesn’t take anything he finds suspicious lightly. He’s very paranoid and has spies everywhere. He has infiltrated corporations, the police, Congress. He already distrusts me, so you have to be careful. Besides, other factions have their own moles everywhere, too.”
Holy crap! If I had any doubts this wasn’t a game, now they’re gone.
“I’ll be careful,” I promise.
“Good.”
“James,” I say, unable to look him in the eye. “What did he mean by saying I already chose a faction?” I think I know the answer, but I’d rather ask than jump to any more conclusions.
“He thinks I’m the leader of one such faction. He has no clue there are those who can resist infection. He’s asked me repeatedly to join him. I have refused enough times for him to be resentful and suspicious. That’s why I feel it’s time to make ourselves known.”
Oh crap, this is worse, way worse than I’ve anticipated. What have I gotten myself into? This hole keeps getting deeper and deeper.
We stay quiet for a minute, then James says, “With that out of the way …” He lets the words linger, giving the red marker on the table a suggestive look. I follow his gaze and wonder if he expects me to write something on the board.
“Move it,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Move the marker.”
“Uh, o-kay.” I take a step forward.
“No. Without touching it.”
I laugh, a quick burst of air through my lips. “You’re kidding, right?”
James’s face is impassive. “No.”
“I—I can’t.”
“You did it to the glass by Aydan’s desk,” James says.
“I didn’t … do that,” I protest without conviction.
James smiles. “Has this happened before?”
I blink repeatedly, unsettled by what he’s suggesting. There’s no way we’re having this conversation.
“Look …” I want to say I hallucinated the whole thing, because there’s no way I made that glass move. But if James saw it move too, that shoots that theory down. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but what you’re suggesting is impossible.”
“Is it?” James smiles with calm satisfaction. “How about this? Is this impossible?”
I stare at him as if he’s gone crazy, wondering what he means. He goes on staring at me for five long seconds … then he disappears! I yelp, my heart losing its rhythm, eyes widening in alarm. As I start to turn to look around, I hear the light switch behind me flip. Utter darkness fills the room.
My breathing kicks into high gear. I try to control it.
The Invisible Man.
H.G. Wells.
Impossible!
I inhale and count to five with each deep breath. I walk tentatively toward the door, arms outstretched in front of me.
“A little bit to the right,” James says. I whirl, startled, desperately trying to control the irrational panic that pounds in my chest. He’s to my right, but I can’t see a thing.
“Relax, Marci.” His voice is soothing. The same voice he used in our meditation session. “There’s no reason to freak out. It’s just me.”
“I’m going to turn on the light,” I snap.
“Not yet,” he says, still in that calm voice.
He didn’t just disappear. He didn’t. I repeat it over and over. But if that is true then how did he get to the light switch without me seeing him? I struggle to keep the irrational fear from driving me to tears. This can’t be happening. People can’t just dematerialize and put themselves back together in a different spot.
“Can you see your hands?” James asks.
“No. It’s pitch-black in here. Of course I can’t see.”
“Ask me how many fingers you’re holding up,” he says.
I flip him the bird.
“Oh, very classy, Marci. No need to be rude.”
“You saw that?” I ask with a slow, incredulous blink.
“Yes, and I can also see this red marker.”
I hear steps and then a snap. The sharp smell of dry erase marker hits my nose. The squeak and tap-tap of the felt-tip against the laminate surface are unmistakable. James must be writing on the board, except it sounds as if a hundred different people are doing it at the same time. A second later, the lights burst on, stinging my eyes. I blink, willing my sight to adjust. When it does, I gasp. The board is completely covered in red blocky letters.
The phrase “IgNiTe The ShAdOwS” repeats over and over and over, probably a hundred times, from the top left corner to the bottom right. I stare at James’s handiwork in disbelief, my heart no longer racing, panic no longer pounding in my breastbone. I am numb with awe.
I turn on my heels. James reclines against the wall by the light switch, arms crossed over his chest.
“Move the marker.” His eyes shift back to the table where
the marker lays on its side. “It’s not impossible.”
After what I just saw—or didn’t see—James do, it’s easier to buy into the whole idea that I can actually move it. With tentative steps, I approach the table and place the tips of my fingers on its wooden surface, eyes glued on the marker. I concentrate on moving it, imagine my forefinger pushing it slightly. Nothing happens. Just like that, I lose what little confidence I had, regaining the sense that this is ridiculous. No one can move things with only their minds.
“Focus,” James whispers in a quiet, deep voice that soothes away my doubts.
I concentrate on nudging the marker with an imaginary finger. I try again and again, but nothing happens. Frustration builds up and I’m at the verge of slapping the marker off the table. I try a few more times until my head feels like it will implode from the wasted effort.
A sudden growl escapes from my lips, as in a desperate attempt I imagine my hand sweeping across the table, sending the marker crashing against the wall.
In the next second, time freezes. The marker doesn’t fly across the room. It’s still there on the table, except … it’s rocking back and forth. My gaze snaps to James’s for confirmation.
He nods and smiles crookedly.
“I didn’t just … ?” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Yes, you did.”
“Holy crap! How? I—I’ve never done anything like that. That’s just insane.” I press my hands against my temples. I bite my tongue to stop the big expletive burning on my tongue.
James pick up the marker. “One meditation session was all it took to unlock that talent. Think what you could do if you stopped being so … hard-headed.”
“But … but …” I sputter, “how does it work?”
“The exact details are anyone’s guess. All we know is that punishing the agent through meditation causes benefits for the host. The more you meditate, the more you’ll understand how to use the agent to your advantage. You will even be able to develop the skills that you’d like to acquire. Telekinesis has come naturally to you, which is amazing. I had to work very hard to gain the skills I have.”
Ignite the Shadows Page 20