Shards [Book Three]

by Peter W Prellwitz

  It looked up at me, it's massive smooth face looking vaguely human. Worms were extremely powerful programmed creatures. This one was easily ten meters long and three meters thick. In fact, it looked more like a grub than a worm. Since this was its domain, it could draw power straight from the ground, and use that power for both shielding and weapons.

  None of that mattered. It fired three shots at me. The first two hit my wings and were absorbed. The third bolt I caught with my hands. I quickly analyzed the power modulation and adjusted my signature to nearly match. I then used the energy to form a two-dimensional plane which I projected out about one meter in front of me.

  I hit the worm at full speed. Since my energy signature was almost, but not quite, matching, I didn't pass through. I sliced through. My plane destroyed the worm's shielding, then penetrated its tough hide. Flying straight into it, I felt a tugging on my wings as they split the thing wide open. Such was my speed that I continued into the ground several meters before I could stop, making a nice sized crater. I scrambled to my feet and hurriedly went aloft. Not out of fear of counterattack but out of fear I was going to get its guts all over me. The sense of smell was greatly enhanced in the puterverse, and at times like these, that was a curse. I climbed quickly and did manage to avoid most of it. It lay in two pieces, its insides dribbling over my crater's edge and filling it with goo. Disgusting.

  I went to help Mike and Alan, but was disappointed to see they didn't need any help. Mike was casually frying his with a blazing green plasma jet, and Alan was tidying up after setting off several implosion bombs inside the worm. Alan really had a knack in the puterverse, and Mike genuinely liked him. I'd been worried when I first introduced them; Mike was not fond of flesh other than me. But I needn't have worried. They had met earlier, and Alan had impressed Mike no end. And Alan's easy way in our world only increased that impression.

  The battle was completely over by the time I'd landed again and cleaned off my wings. Mike walked over to the crater to admire my work. He leaned over and took a big sniff.

  “Mmmmm, what's for dinner, honey?” He kicked a piece of still quivering worm into the hole and walked back to us. Alan was next to me, stooping ever so slightly. I'd brought him up pretty quick through the levels, and the shields helped. But nobody could be expected to perform like this without adverse effects. I squeezed his hand and slipped him a shot of UTC. His form, a kind of orangish brown, intensified.

  “Hey! None of that stuff!” Mike protested. “I don't need to see you two doing kissy face. Geez! Next thing you know, you'll be—"

  “Cork it, Rickles. It's just a little go-go juice. We've got a long way to go, and without Alan here, you'd be forever making messes I'd have to clean up."

  Alan took a deep breath. “Thanks, Abby. I sometimes get carried away. Always a fun time with you and Mike, but always a little draining.” He stretched and yawned. “Where to now, Mike?"

  “Well, let's see.” Mike looked off into the distance briefly. “Abby's got these conduit mines running smooth. Less than one chance in 400,000 any of them will be discovered. We've already finished the hyperidor trajectory core system. And we have to wait until tomorrow to get at the NATech ground supply mainframe. That makes the Toronto tertiary power grid unit next, with the central European weather nets after that."

  “No."

  Mike and Alan looked at me expectantly.

  “How about I show you our entry point?” I'd been wanting to share my final plans with them, and now seemed as good a time as any.

  “What about our schedule?” Alan protested, but mildly. I'd clearly piqued his interest in seeing how we were going to cross.

  “That's one of the best things about being a woman.” I said. “Women..."

  “...can always change their minds.” Mike finished. “Alan, don't even try to change her mind. I've never been able to. If she says we're going to see the entry point, then that's where we're going. Unless she changes her mind again."

  “Who am I to argue?” conceded Alan, winking at Mike. “I've tried several times to change a woman's mind, and I've ever accomplished was to get her mad at me. I'm with you, Mike. Better the safe route and just give in."

  “Men!” I stamped a foot. “I can't believe you two, sometimes! It's not that different a change. Besides, you both want to see it, don't you?"

  “Sorry, ma'am.” Alan said contritely, sneaking a poorly concealed grin at Mike. “See? Nothing but trouble."

  Mike shook his head sadly. “You really should know better, Alan."

  Arrggh! It was just one change! What was the big ... Oooh! I popped out my feathered wings and took off quickly, leaving them to catch up. To think I used to be a man. I would have never been that rude!

  I heard Mike's jets catching up to me. I sped up and smiled to myself as I arced across the pitch-black puterverse sky. There were, I admitted, far worse companions. And few better friends.

  * * * *

  “There it is.” I announced proudly.

  “This is it?” Mike didn't even try to hide his disappointment. “This” was sludge-covered pile of garbage that stood at least four meters high. It showed no glow whatsoever, meaning the data was long, long dead. Of course, the stench would have told anyone that from half a kilometer.

  “Are you sure, Abby?” Alan asked. He was struggling to keep his enthusiasm, but it wasn't coming off too well. “I admit that its repugnance alone would drive away the curious. But how could it be an access point to the far side of the Quantum?"

  “Here, let me show you.” I raised my voice. “Kiki!"

  Kiki showed up in her flower, as she always did. This time however, it was a pretty sickly looking blossom, and her attitude was less than bubbly.

  “Eeeeewww! What's that smell?” She looked around and quickly located the source of stench. “Oh. The Quantum headwaters.” She looked at me accusingly. “This is not a place to bring a lady, Abby!"

  “Uh-huh. So what does that make me, Kiki?” I said with a laugh. “Com'n. I want you to show the boys what we've found."

  “Okay. I'll need a sec to build the slider, though. All this gunk is going to make it tougher.” She raised her arms, and a small piece of ground rose up through the sludge beneath her, glowing a dim white. While Kiki was busy, I turned to Mike and Alan.

  “About four months ago, while I was still at the 179th, I gave Kiki a few things to do. One of them was to refine and embellish the unilateral accessing code I'd written for you, Mike. Another was to build the routines for your shields, Alan, although I didn't have anyone precise in mind to use them at the time. But I'd seen how high level access affected Ressler and Jody with my shields, and I needed improved models.

  “And the third thing was to find this.” I waved a hand at the pile of yuck. “Are you ready, Kiki?"

  “Yep! Ready when you are, boss!” Programming always brought out the best in Kiki.

  “Great. Go ahead, girl.” She clapped her hands once and raised them above her head, like a conductor about to lead the orchestra. The analogy was apt: Her UTC coding was a work of art. I motioned Mike and Alan close.

  “Hang on, gentlemen. It's going to get cozy for a minute or so. Kiki's going to take us down to level one.” I shot Mike a look. “And you keep your hands to yourself, pervert.” He grinned and took my hand, Alan taking the other.

  We had huddled together for only a moment when huge black walls appeared at about one hundred meters and began racing toward us. As they approached, we could hear a rumbling. Some sophisticated security walls also used sound to keep people away. It was even possible to disrupt a low-level access with sound.

  Our level access was far from that though, so it was only annoying. We reached level one, and the walls were now touching, encasing us. It was still very bright, though; Mike and I gave out more than enough light. I felt the hard vibrations of the wall as it pressed at my back and snuggled closer to Mike, who shifted his position to better hold me. Despite my occasional warnings and threats about
keeping his hands to himself, Mike always seemed to know when to mess around and when not to. And he definitely knew how far he could go without making me uncomfortable. An odd mix of playful rogue and thoughtful gentleman. Or was it playful gentleman and thoughtful rogue?

  “Right now,” I had to yell to be heard above the teeth-rattling hum, “this looks like a single wall. Since no one can enter the river, and it's impossible to gain a height higher than the wall, there's no way to tell how thick it is. Or that it's hollow.” I pointed toward the heap. “See? It's buried by wall. But watch this! Kiki, start working us up. You know where to stop."

  Kiki began moving us up through the levels, announcing each one as we entered it. By level three, there was enough room to move around, although the pile of muck was still entombed in one of the walls.

  It started appearing by level seven, but the walls did not actually begin separating until level twelve, which I pointed out.

  “We're at level twelve. Less than one percent of the population is able to reach this high. But it isn't until now that you can squeeze between the walls."

  Nothing much more happened for a while. The walls had disappeared by level eighteen, and everything was back to normal two levels later. Kiki kept taking us up, but the landscape remained static. Finally, Kiki lowered her hands and turned to us.

  “This is it. We're at level thirty-one."

  “I'm afraid I missed something, Abby.” Alan offered.

  “Not yet you haven't, Alan. Until now, this place has been pretty normal, except for the stench. Now let's go to level thirty-two. Kiki?” She raised her hands once more.

  The pile of muck came to life. Mike jumped back, and his hands began to shimmer with plasma. I motioned him to watch. The mound continued to twist and grow. Soon, it stood nearly three meters high and had taken on a cubish form. It stopped groaning and stood there, a massive pile of filth that was obviously covering a small structure.

  “There it is,” I said triumphantly.

  “Wow, that's incredible, Abby!” Mike said with excitement. “You've got your own pile of self-growing slime. How proud you must be."

  “Get with it, Mike.” Kiki actually spoke sharply to him, a first. “Can't you see it's a back door?"

  “A what?” Mike and Alan said in unison.

  “A back door.” Kiki explained patiently. “In the early centuries of computers and cybernetics, many programmers would build an unauthorized access port, then bury it somewhere in the system. That meant that the programmer could gain access to her work anytime she wanted to. And no security system could spot it."

  “Why isn't that done today?"

  “Because the security systems of today can root out any non-unbound trinary code procedure.” Kiki smiled sweetly. “They're called worms, Mike."

  He shot her a dirty look. “Well, duh. What I meant was, ‘Why haven't the worms snooped out this spot?’”

  “Two possible reasons, Mike,” I answered. “First, we don't know that the worms aren't locating and reporting this. Maybe it's just being ignored by the people it's being reported to."

  “That would mean that this is a NATech port, right, Abigail?” Alan asked, not quite believing it himself.

  “I think you already know the answer, Alan, and you're right; it's not a NATech port. Not a known one, at least. That would mean the first reason is wrong. That's what I think. The second reason the worms can't find it is that this structure predates all the worms. Here, look at this. You, too, Kiki. I haven't shown you this yet."

  I stepped forward and burned off the muck from two of the walls and the door. Holding a fireball in my hand to provide light, I pointed to the detailed work.

  “Look. Here, here and here. See the wall bindings? Look at the code riveting and the cross-stressed subroutines. And see the entrance portal? There's a five-step entry program that's kept separate from the system initiation sequence, to prevent corruption and back-surge forced entry."

  Alan chuckled. “I'm sure you three find that very interesting, Abby, but I haven't a clue about what you're talking about. Remember? I'm just the hired muscle here."

  “Don't feel bad, Alan.” Mike piped in. “I'm missing it, too. I have access to every single piece of information available to the puterverse, but I'm feeling like a kid's tabinal.” He looked at me. “What are you yakking about?"

  “Hacker.” I sneered with mock derision. “You should treat programming like an art. Know the masters before you, Mike, and you'll learn where you're going. I'll bet Kiki knows, don't you, Kiki?"

  Kiki had walked up to the structure and projected a flower up about halfway. She was running a hand over the design, as though it were a sacred thing.

  “Young.” She whispered, caressing it a little longer, allowing the codes to flow over and under her fingers. “This is Chris Young's work,” she repeated firmly.

  “WHAT!” Alan exclaimed. “You mean the puterverse creator? Can something that old still be useful?"

  “Hey, I'm standing here, Alan.” I said dryly.

  “I'm sorry, Abby. I didn't mean it that way. Besides, you and this port are two different things.” He stepped up and inspected the door. “Where does it go?"

  “Under the river."

  All three turned to stare at me and I smiled.

  “This portal is the only way in the entire puterverse to cross the Quantum. I'm positive. That's the only thing it can do, really. Why else would it be here? And you know what that means, right?"

  By their expressions, they didn't know what it meant. I pointed over the Quantum at the dim light on the distant bank. “That means that the far bank has been inaccessible and under very specific and very restrictive control for over six hundred years. Long enough that it proves it was Chris Young who designed it that way."

  “I don't understand, Abby.” Kiki said. “Why would Chris Young build anything in the puterverse for such an evil purpose?"

  “It probably wasn't evil at the time, Kiki,” Alan answered for me. “And while moral evil is absolute—or should be—many other actions are seen as evil only because of current political climates. What we see as dictating our lives and society may not have started as such. Like NATech, who may still be behind this."

  “It may be NATech.” I agreed, “In fact, I believe it is NATech. So far as I know, Chris worked only for NATech. It wasn't the kind of organization you ever left. But it's going to be a splinter of the overall organization, working completely independently of the NATech we know, and almost certainly without NATech's knowledge."

  “In essence, a shard of NATech. How ironic.” Alan said with a slow smile.

  “That's not irony.” I said. “That's justice."

  * * * *

  Four hours later, I was pawing my way through the pulled-apart packing that the variable mass simulator had been shipped in. You'd think they'd pack carbonized titanium bolts in their own package, and not just slide them into their uncharged holes. Just because a crate isn't supposed to be turned over during shipping doesn't mean it won't be turned over. I had jumped into the thick air packing and was swimming my way through it, trying to find the missing bolt, when Alan came in carrying a tray. He set it down and walked over, peering over the chest-high crate. Chest-high to him. Head-high to me.

  “You really shouldn't be pawing around in that muck, Abby. They say that heavy air packing can cause serious rashes on some people. It isn't safe."

  “For your information Alan, science long ago determined there was so much stuff in the world that was harmful to you, they figured the best thing for you to do was to starve to death.” I felt the heavy, two-kilo bolt brush against my leg and fished it out. “Besides, it wouldn't be too healthy to turn on a mass simulator with one of these missing. Here, help me out of this, would you?"

  He took my extended arm and boosted me out of the crate. Outside the containment field, the heavy air quickly broke down to a normal nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere and dissipated, the extra electrons sending sparks out from my legs
and torso. My figure shifted from a cloudy blob back to its normal curvy, bumpy self. Alan nodded approval.

  “As Mike would say, ‘hubba, hubba!’ or some such crude remark."

  “Now don't you start, too.” I complained, reaching for my shirt. I still had my wrap on around my chest. I pulled it on and left it loose to help keep me cooler. “I've got nothing extra that you haven't already seen before. Why must men always give everything a sexual overtone?"

  “A gross and unfair exaggeration, young lady. If I told you once, I've told you a million times: don't exaggerate.” He smiled. “And don't tell me you were immune to a beautiful young woman's charms when you were a man?"

  “I don't recall and it's none of your business, Lieutenant Lockwood.” I smiled. “Anyway, I have to admit that experience on both sides of the gender gap have shown me that we ladies aren't as prim and proper as many of us may lead you to believe."

  “Ahh! I suspected as much!” He didn't sound too surprised.

  “Now I've let out the secret. Try not to share it with too many men. We women have our mystique to maintain, you know. By the way,” I added, sizing him up head to toe. “You're not too bad looking yourself. Especially with that roguish beard of yours."

  He laughed and slid the bolt into its powered hole. There was a low hum as the bolt magnetically soldered itself in place, followed by the unit's self-activation once the cyclical self-diagnostics determined it was within safe operating parameters. The display kicked on and a holo panel appeared. Alan took a quick glance at the readouts.

  “So, how long to calibrate?"

  I picked up the anti-ionic rag and began wiping off the remnant heavy-air molecules that were attracted to the simulator's charged surface. I shrugged my shoulders. “Dunno. We need the highest possible tolerances, so I'll want to calibrate to within at least a ten-nanosecond phase shift. I'd prefer a three-nanosecond. Maybe six hours. Maybe twenty. Depends on how much vibration it was submitted to during manufacture and shipping, and how close to the ion engines it was stored. I won't really know until I open it up. In the meantime, I'll probably just spend another hour or two wiping off the heavy air. That stuff is worse than silly putty in your pajamas."