Enemy Invasion

by A. G. Taylor

“That’s not all,” Jonesey continued, talking a mile a minute, just like he always did when nervous. “The ceiling has halon/CO2 gas canisters fitted in the air vents. Halon is used to put out electrical fires because it doesn’t damage computer equipment, but it’s toxic to humans if inhaled. In the event of any alarm, the level floods with halon – whether there’s a fire detected or not.”

  Hui grinned. “So, their fire system is also an effective way of disabling any intruders.”

  “Nice people, huh?” Jonesey said. “I can’t believe I was ever stupid enough to trust them with Ridge Run Rabbit.”

  “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll get your little game back,” Hui replied, with little sincerity.

  Hack met his friend’s eye and gave the slightest shake of his head. His heart had been racing since they first entered the lift and he could see sweat beads standing out on Jonesey’s forehead. Hui, in contrast, was as cool as a cucumber – as if breaking into a high security building was all in a night’s work. Which it probably was.

  The lift reached its destination and the doors slid open onto a bland-looking reception area.

  “Okay,” Hack said, eyeing the sliding glass doors that marked the entrance to the office area. “I’m only going to shut down the security systems that I absolutely have to. That way, there’s less chance of triggering any of the anti-tamper devices built into the network. Walk exactly where I walk and do what I do. We’re spending no more than five minutes in here. Any longer and there’s a serious risk of something going wrong.”

  Hui nodded approvingly. “Very good. You know, when Jonesey told me about you, I was sceptical. But from your attitude and performance so far I can see you have a very bright future ahead of you.”

  Hack wiped his palms, which were damp with perspiration, against his jeans. “There’s no future for me in doing things like this,” he said. “I’m here for Jonesey and that’s all. After we get what we want, you can forget you ever met me.”

  Hui smiled. “Sure.”

  “It’s okay, Hack,” Jonesey reassured. “Let’s just get this over with as fast as possible.”

  Hack went to the glass doors and placed his hand against the card reader on the wall. Seconds later, the reader beeped and the doors opened. Hack looked back at his companions and placed a finger against his lips. The main floor had sound as well as motion sensors. They both nodded to show their comprehension and followed Hack into the open-plan office area.

  Over fifty employees worked on this level – a mixture of the company’s best programmers, designers and testers, all of them dedicated to refining the current build of Goodware’s cash cow, Portal War, and working on the follow-up. Each employee had a desk and terminal, but to cut down on privacy there were no cubicle walls or any piece of furniture above waist height. From his study of Goodware’s working methods, Hack knew that each of the terminals was a slave device linked to a central server under the control of the head administrator. Email and internet access outside the local area network was strictly controlled. Random spot searches of employees were conducted daily to make sure flash drives or other storage devices weren’t being smuggled into the office. The administrator could tap into any of the terminals at any time to spy on what employees were doing.

  Goodware Inc. was a paranoid business – with good reason.

  The Portal War online community numbered over twenty million worldwide and through subscriptions and product placement (advertising posters and objects within the gaming environment which Marlon Good said “added realism”) had generated close to a billion dollars’ revenue. The sequel was expected to earn double that during its lifetime. This made the pre-release game a very precious commodity. It would be only too tempting for an employee to steal part of the code, new character designs or level maps and sell them on for a fast profit. Goodware spent millions of dollars every year planning so that didn’t happen.

  But they weren’t planning on me, Hack thought as he swiped his hand over a laser grid protecting the route through the centre of the office. He sensed the beams fail and moved forward, keeping as low as possible. Directly behind him, Jonesey and Hui did the same.

  They progressed across the office towards a room in the very centre: a cube of black glass with no visible entry point. This was the main testing room and the office of the system administrator. It also contained the control server for all the work terminals and it was here that they would find evidence of Jonesey’s original game designs – if indeed it still existed.

  Disabling more lasers, cameras, a directional mic designed to pick up the sound of breathing, and a pressure sensitive pad under the carpet, Hack reached the edge of the cube. The glass room exuded brilliant blue light, stretching out in ever-changing spikes and arcs. This electronic aura was only visible to Hack, however – an indication of the ultra-powerful technology housed within. He placed his hand on the glass, creating swirling patterns of energy across the dark surface. The rectangular outline of a door appeared a metre to his right and swung outwards, allowing access.

  Hack smiled at Jonesey, despite the seriousness of their position. The goal they’d been talking about ever since Goodware’s theft of Ridge Run Rabbit was within their reach.

  “We’re almost there,” Hack said. He led the way into the cube.

  The interior of the room was exactly six by six by six metres. Although the glass on the outside was opaque, inside it appeared clear – allowing 360 degree views of the office. Against one wall stood the server tower – a black monolith with green lights flashing rhythmically along one side. An LCD screen took up most of the opposite wall. Directly before this was a work desk with a terminal linked to the server, an unfamiliar games console and two swivel chairs. This was the administrator’s work area and the place where the overall build of the game was tested. Many programmers worked on different components of the game, but only a few were ever allowed to run the full draft version, and then only under the watchful eyes of the administrator.

  Jonesey and Hui entered the cube. The door closed behind them with a faint click.

  “This is amazing,” Jonesey said breathlessly.

  Hack didn’t intend to waste time. He estimated they’d already spent three minutes inside the office, which meant they had another two to find what they wanted and get out. He sat and placed his hand on the terminal keyboard. Rather than pressing the power button on the monitor (which would set off an alarm) he instead accessed the server through touch alone – stretching out with his mind via the keyboard’s wireless connection to the machine. In seconds, he had pushed through layers of encryption and protection that would take an experienced computer criminal months to crack (if ever) and gained access to the hard drive.

  For a moment his thoughts tumbled, trying to sort the confusing depths of code, images and information stored on the server. Employee data was here, as were entire obsolete versions of the game and swathes of security reports. He had never accessed a computer with a tenth of the capacity and speed of this machine – it was remarkable. Hack tried to focus. He had to find Jonesey’s original designs. Searching the information was like swimming through murky water – so much irrelevant information that it was hard to find what he was looking for.

  “Is it there?” Jonesey asked at his shoulder. “The original concept maps? Code fragments? My submission email? Anything!”

  “I can’t find it,” Hack replied, shaking his head. “There’s just too much junk.”

  Jonesey groaned in frustration and paced behind him. Hack decided to try a different approach – accessing the vast abyss of trash files collected in the depths of the server’s memory. Here was material that had been long since deleted, but still existed in fragments waiting to be reassembled – like photographs torn into a million pieces and thrown into the wind – a practically impossible task for all but the most sophisticated software. Putting them together again was no problem for Hack, however. He cast his mind across the ocean floor of corrupted data and it sprang back into lif
e before him.

  Then he saw it – a file named Ridge_run_jones shining like the light of a candle amidst the flow. Reaching out, he grabbed it and held it tight, along with a whole load of tagged files relating to it. The file properties indicated that the last user to access the files was none other than Marlon Good himself. Gotcha! Hack thought triumphantly. This was the evidence they needed to prove the company’s theft of the original idea. Good had tried to destroy it, but he hadn’t done a thorough enough job – no doubt assuming that no one would ever get their hands on the server.

  Hack said, “Give me the USB.”

  With shaking fingers, Jonesey removed a 128-gig flash drive from his pocket and placed the metal contact in Hack’s free hand. In an instant, Hack transferred the files from the server, through his body and into the drive. Then, remembering Hui’s interests, he snatched up a large folder marked Portal War 2 and put that on the portable drive as well.

  “Done,” he said, opening his eyes and tossing the USB drive to Jonesey. He rose from the swivel chair. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

  “Not so fast.”

  Hui had spoken. He stood at the far end of the desk, looking down at the games console. “Is that thing alarmed?” he asked.

  Hack turned his attention to the console for the first time. It was surprisingly thin, had a silver and black casing and no apparent place to insert a games disc. The blue lettering on the top read PlayStation5.

  “I don’t believe it,” Jonesey said quietly.

  “It must be a prototype used for game development,” Hack replied. He’d read online that the console wasn’t scheduled for release for another year at least. The artists’ drawings he’d seen looked completely different to the machine sitting before them, however. Goodware had obviously been allowed access to an early version in order to facilitate their programming development.

  “I said,” Hui repeated, his voice taking on a harder edge, “is it alarmed?”

  Hack scanned it quickly and detected no attached security devices. He shook his head.

  Hui picked up the console, ripped the HDMI cable from the back and tucked it under his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Hack and Jonesey exchanged glances. Suddenly everything was becoming clear: Hui and his employers weren’t interested in Portal War 2 – that was small fry compared to what he now had in his hand. A prototype of a next generation console would be worth billions. The technology could be reverse-engineered, cloned and put on the market. Within weeks, cheap copies would be available in every city around the world and they all knew it. The Triad would make a fortune and all of it would go back into their criminal activities.

  “I’m not going to let you take that,” Hack said, trying to keep the fear from his voice. “It’s stealing.”

  Hui laughed. “That’s very noble, coming from someone who just ripped off Goodware’s central server.”

  “That’s different. We’re just taking what belongs to us! We’re not criminals.”

  Hui patted the PS5. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, as the Americans say.”

  He turned and pushed the section of wall where the door had been. The glass didn’t budge. Hui looked back at Hack.

  “Do that thing you did before. Open the door.”

  “No.”

  Jonesey took a step closer to his friend and whispered, “Just let him take it! Remember the gun?”

  “Listen to your friend,” Hui said. “You’ll live longer.”

  Hack shook his head. “If you want to get out of this room, you’ll put the console down. Try anything funny and I’ll trigger every alarm in this building. Like I said, we’re not thieves.”

  “Really? Well, I think you’ll have a hard job convincing the cops of that.” With a lightning-fast motion, Hui raised his left hand towards Hack’s throat. “When you wake up.”

  Cold metal fangs pressed against the exposed skin of Hack’s neck and a burst of electricity jolted his entire body. For a moment he remained standing, every muscle dancing as the current ran through him. Then Hui released the button on the taser concealed in his sleeve and Hack fell against the server.

  “Hack!” Jonesey cried, but Hui rounded on him with the weapon.

  “Keep your voice down or you’re next.”

  Jonesey looked on helplessly as Hui placed the taser in his pocket and removed his automatic. He pointed the weapon at the area through which they’d entered and pulled the trigger. With a deafening blast, the entire wall shattered. Ceiling lights flicked on blindingly full and an alarm began to screech. Hui thrust the PS5 into Jonesey’s arms, grabbed him by the shoulder and manhandled him through the shattered wall of the cube.

  “What about Hack?” he protested weakly.

  “Let him work it out,” Hui snapped. “He’s the one with superpowers…”

  On the floor by the server, Hack lay helpless, his body continuing to jolt in the aftermath of the electric shock. Above the sound of the alarm, he heard a hissing sound and remembered Jonesey’s story about the halon gas.

  The canisters were releasing their poison.

  Summoning all of his strength, and fighting against the muscular spasms running through his arms and legs, Hack rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl for his life.

  5

  The hovercopter was almost fifty kilometres from the outskirts of Hong Kong when Sarah Williams’s voice sounded in her brother’s head.

  Are you almost there? she asked. The target is in danger.

  Robert looked at the pilot sitting beside him in the cockpit. “How much longer?”

  “Ten minutes,” the pilot said.

  Robert relayed this information to his sister.

  He doesn’t have ten minutes! Sarah replied. She was back in the cargo bay of the Ulysses, keeping track of the boy as best she could.

  Robert looked through the curved windscreen of the hovercopter. On the ocean’s horizon, the lights of the city glittered in the darkness. It was still quite a distance away – further than he’d ever teleported before. But he heard the desperation in his sister’s thoughts.

  Can you get a definite lock on the kid? Robert asked. I’ll try a teleport.

  Okay, Sarah replied. I’ll guide you.

  Robert unclipped his seat belt and spoke to the pilot again. “I’m teleporting out. I’ll call in our location as soon as I make contact.”

  The pilot nodded. “Just remember the prearranged extraction point—”

  But Robert Williams had already disappeared.

  Less than a minute after the alarms triggered, the doors of the express elevator opened. Five security guards emerged, fanning out across the reception area, machine guns in their hands. Dressed in lightweight Kevlar body armour, they also sported full-face breathing masks to protect themselves against the halon gas already pouring out of open doors to the office area. The leader of the security detail gave a hand signal to the two men on his right, indicating they should stay at the lift in case any of the intruders attempted to slip past. He then waved for the other two to follow him into the office.

  He advanced into the thick, white cloud of halon gas, which had cut visibility down to a metre. The other two guards took positions to his left and right and they went forward in a line.

  “Stay close,” the leader whispered into his comm. “Keep to your firing vectors.” He wasn’t so much worried about the intruders – the halon would have knocked any fight out of them by now – as getting shot in the smog by one of his own men.

  His earpiece crackled and his second-in-command, who was leading a second team up the emergency stairwell (the only other way off the level), barked an urgent message. The leader shook his head and spoke to his men. “Beta team has been fired upon in the stairwell. One man down.” Then he added, “Shoot anything that moves in here.”

  His men nodded and they carried on, reaching the centre of the floor where the glass cube stood, only half intact. Halon hung densely here, but the leader spied something at the far end of the o
ffice space – a shadow moving through the mist.

  “Target, two o’clock!” he barked, firing at the shape. His men spotted it and also went “weapons free”. Computer terminals and office chairs exploded as their bullets cut a swathe through everything in their path. Ten seconds later, the leader held up his fist for them to cease firing.

  Inside the halon cloud, nothing moved.

  The leader gave the forward signal and they continued their advance.

  Hack removed his T-shirt and held it over his mouth and nose as he staggered towards the far end of the office, where the halon was less thick. Seconds before, he’d considered approaching the guards as his only way out of the gas – then they’d opened fire indiscriminately. Now, heart racing, Hack staggered in the other direction, still trying to process what was happening: between the poisonous gas and the trigger-happy idiots on the other side of the room, his chances for survival were looking pretty slim.

  He reached the back wall of the office and followed it towards a door, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t. He collapsed into the adjoining room on his hands and knees and kicked the door shut. His lungs were on fire from the gas he’d inhaled, but Hack fought the urge to crawl into a ball and lie there on the floor. He was in a conference room with a long table and floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. The halon was pouring under the door and through several holes in the wall made by stray bullets, so he moved to the other side of the table and leaned against the window.

  Outside, the skyline of Hong Kong Island glittered, its shimmering skyscrapers distant and unreachable. One IFC was lit up directly ahead and Hack thought of Batman again – not much chance of making it off the building without a glider or parachute, and even then it would probably be suicide. There was, however, a thin ledge that ran around the edge of the level. It was less than a metre across, but Hack guessed it would be possible to walk round the ledge to the other side of the building and maybe even climb down to one of the lower levels. He touched the window – thickened safety glass that would take a sledgehammer to break.