Backstab (Worlds of Deception Book 1)

by Everet Martins

  I feel off. Wrong. Maybe she’s doing some Psionic shit to my brain.

  I raise my finger. “I… I’m going to go and check in with Nightshade.”

  10

  Hacking and Chopping

  I find my way to Nightshade in the hangar. She’s sitting behind a chrome desk whose legs telescope to a desired height with an AR command. It’s set low so she can sit.

  She’s staring at an array of six monitors in a stack of 3x3 with hardwires connecting them to a fist-sized hub. Some Net hackers prefer this method, claiming it’s easier on the mind than always working in the virtual. Her monitors are banged up. Some of the protective edges are cracked, and the screens scratched. It’s a testament to the life of a Merc, always on the move. Protein bar wrappers, empty coffee cups, and the remains of spent chems needles litter the surface. Among them are two loaded magazines beside a Scorpion EVO 9, snub-nosed SMG. I don’t know how she works with that so close by.

  There are a few chairs like the one she is sitting in adjacent to her desk. Without asking if I can join her, I drag one over, the chrome cold against my palm. I brush off a dusting of crumbs from the chair’s surface before slumping into it. I need another nap.

  “String,” Nightshade says, deadpan. At least she’s acknowledging my presence.

  I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. I hope attacking Erinas’ server is the right course of action. Net attacks almost surpass a gunfight in the magnitude of danger. If a virus gets through your AR defense programs, it can cause very real physical damage. That is both the weakness and strength of its physical location. Given AR implants are mounted in the brain stem, it doesn’t take much more than an overloaded electric surge to cause permanent neuronal damage.

  “So…” I open my eyes to find hers darting to mine, then back at her screens. Her fingers softly tap at the desk’s surface, her strokes recorded by a laser projected keyboard that shimmers on an ivory matte surface. “Have any new and interesting programs?” I try to use a friendly tone, but it just sounds tired.

  She gives me a sideways smile. “I’ve got a few. Have a bit of a learning curve to them. Recently upgraded my Net protocols, which was a bit scary at first.” She pauses, eying me as if seeing for the first time the person she is speaking with.

  I give her a nod of agreement. “I know how it is. When I first upgraded to 10.2, there was a strange moment of panic. For an hour or so it seemed like nothing could be hacked.”

  I’ve been out of the Net hacking world for over ten years. I tinkered with it when I was a kid, but I’m not a professional like Nightshade. I still read the latest hacker news, though, and can toss in the right words for moments like this. My ability to make it as a String is dependent on my ability to socially adapt. I’m a chameleon.

  Nightshade nods at me in recognition, her eyes blazing with interest. “Crazy shit! Wasn’t it?”

  “Brutal. I’m a novice, a dabbler at best, but even basic systems like vending machines were tough to crack for a time. One of my friends had to give me a new program arsenal to bypass its security.”

  She grins. “Hm. That must have been before we figured out that we had to change the parameters for our ARs to rework them to the new protocols.”

  “It was.” I steeple my fingers. “Hotel room booze isn’t cheap. Erinas only let me expense three drinks a day.”

  “Life can be hard.” Nightshade slides her eyes to her screens, lips pressing into a line.

  I can see I’m losing her. Rapport is my currency.

  “At Erinas, everyone was freaking out when the Net Collective updated the connection protocols without any shred of warning. I personally didn’t notice it at first, not in my line of work.”

  Nightshade utters a groan, but I plow onward. “Our resident hackers said it was a dramatic change. I didn’t believe them at first because they always say that. They couldn’t shut up about it, filling everyone’s AR with messages about how they’re going to need a raise with how difficult their work has just become. It’s interesting to hear your side, though, Nightshade. I don’t often get to see how it impacts the best hackers.”

  She regards me with a level stare. “Flattery will get you nothing, String.”

  “Sorry. I appreciate you helping me. I want you to know that.”

  She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Now that you’re more comfortable with the protocol changes, how are things?”

  She perks up, straightening her posture. “They’re different in new ways. It used to be hard to get through firewalls, now they’re easier to bypass. It’s the deep programs you have to worry about now. Like an inverted castle or something, where the hardened walls are on the inside. Know what I mean?”

  “Not really, but I’ll nod and pretend I do,” I say while nodding.

  She snickers at me. She’s cute. I notice the lushness of her mouth. Her teeth are bright, and there are smile lines around her eyes. I wonder if she can stretch her legs behind her head.

  If I tried to fuck her, would this be like sleeping with co-workers or employees? I suppose employees, which made for a nice power dynamic. She meets my eyes for a little longer than necessary then quickly averts them, as if doing so was a mistake. Her features harden, attention back to her monitors.

  Maybe sex is out, but I do need her. I hate carrying conversations. It’s a small price to pay for the help I hope she’ll provide. “Paragon tells me you all speak a language called Acan.”

  “Yeah,” she says distantly. Luminescent colors and shapes born of her screens dance over her face. Indigos, scarlets, vermilions blend in her eyes like swirling oils.

  “Where did you all learn it?”

  She licks her lips, sparing me a look. “BJJ. We all did it together, it’s how we met. Our instructor refused to speak any other language, so you either had to learn Acan or get the fuck out.”

  “BJJ? Is that a new sex thing? And they have instructors?”

  She throws her head back in a full laugh. “No, Desmond. It’s a martial art. Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Its primary focus is on chokes and joint locks, joint breaks. They call it the gentle art.”

  “Sounds anything but gentle.” I scoff, placing my arms behind my head. Everything in my body feels like a drawn bowstring, overtaxed and overstretched.

  She breaks into a wistful smile and speaks to her screens. “The idea comes from submission. When you have your opponent in a compromised position, say an armbar where your opponent’s elbow is locked out. Just by extending your hips, you have the capacity to break the joint. However, you give just a little thrust and offer them a chance to tap or admit defeat.”

  “Naturally. I take it you all still practice? I can see that forging the bonds of the team.”

  “Mhm. That it does.” She nods, a small smile playing on her mouth. “Nothing builds trust better than giving a friend the power to annihilate you or let you walk away unscathed on a daily basis. You should try it.”

  I bite my lips to scratch them. “Fighting isn’t my style.”

  Nightshade’s fingernails clatter on the table as she types. “It is, though. You just don’t realize it. You fight in other ways.”

  “Sure,” I concede. The hardened street Merc exterior belies her intellect. I guess she had to grow up young, maybe an orphan. She seems to possess more wisdom than her twenty or so years should allow.

  She stops typing for a moment to give me her full attention. She hesitates, her eyes scanning my face. “You’re really going to try to get back to the company that fucked you?”

  I shrug. “What else am I going to do?”

  “I’ve had boyfriends like you. It’s not a pretty sight. That desperation… it can get ugly.”

  I frown. Her insight blazes in my gut. My behavior is pathetic, but I survive by employing my unique skills. A wave of defeat crashes over my back. I’m aware of my sagging shoulders, but don’t care about good impressions now. She might be right. Maybe I won’t get back in with Erinas. Maybe I should move
on.

  I don’t know anything else. Working as a String is what I do. She’s right that things will never be the same between Erinas and I. I’ll have to find a new employer eventually, but not until after I’ve exacted revenge upon my enemy.

  Fortunately, there are many companies who will pay me a lot of Spectrals for my talents. I try to imagine myself working for someone else, reporting to a new manager. The thought terrifies me. I’ve been loyal to Erinas for over fifteen years, and this is how they reward my loyalty. Assholes.

  My fingernails are rimmed in black grit. I raise my eyes from my hands set in my lap, unaware of how long I’d been staring at them. Nightshade is regarding me with concern. “You alright? You look pale.”

  “Yeah. Long day.” I blow out a long sigh. “Almost ready?”

  “Almost.” There’s a brightness to her eyes. Traversing the Net excites her. It bolsters my confidence in her, and thus my hope that I can finally turn this shit storm around. She places two thick rings on the table, their surfaces glossy black. She glances from her screens and back at the rings as a small white LED pulses like a heartbeat on the flat part of the ring.

  “What are those? And why are there two?” Realization clenches in my chest. “Remember when I said I’m a liability in a gunfight? Well, I’m a far bigger liability against secure systems and even more so when pitted against corporate Net security.”

  “Net Rings. You’ll be fine,” Nightshade says, her voice tinged with annoyance. “She’ll pull us out of the Net if something goes down in the Real. Paragon will manage the alert. Don’t worry, she’s not trigger happy. She knows the risks of pulling us out unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  I slowly reach for a ring, giving Nightshade adequate time to stop me. She doesn’t. It’s cool to the touch. “How does it work?”

  “You put it on.” She grunts and shakes her head.

  “You first.” I gesture with the ring clutched between my fingers.

  She groans and slams hers down her index finger. “God, you’re fucking paranoid.”

  “Yeah.” Sleeping beside my employees is a good reason to be, I want to say. I slide my ring on. “You going to tell me how it works?”

  She presses her lips together. “Just a mild electric shock, enough to bring you back here.”

  “Hm. That’s great, but you don’t really expect me to join you, do you?”

  She narrows her eyes at her screens, fingers whirring over the desk. “Yup. Yes, you are. With you, this should be easy. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t own dozens of Erinas’ passwords. With your intel, we can easily bypass most of the corp’s security undetected. No brute forcing, no injection attacks required.”

  “Fuck,” I breathe.

  She continues over me. “And why go through the effort of penetrating the firewalls when we can ride on your AR’s credentials? It will be good for you to sharpen your skills. Think of it as a learning experience.”

  I nod and purse my lips. She’s cornered me with solid arguments. “Fine, let’s go.” I recline in my chair beside her desk, and she does the same, wriggling to get herself comfortable as if preparing for a nap.

  Paragon strides into the room and takes Nightshade’s seat. She reaches out to adjust a monitor, then her fingers flicker over the laser keyboard. “Ready when you are,” Paragon says, meeting Nightshade’s eyes.

  Nightshade nods over at me. “See you inside.”

  We log into the Chicago public Net. The cityscape looks much the same in its overarching structure, but much is different. The streets are free of tumbling debris and piles of refuse. The sky is clear and bright. Wispy white clouds stretch across a cerulean horizon. Edifices have been cleansed in the Net’s scourging flames.

  There is no graffiti, shattered windows, or crumbling plaster. Everything is perfect here. Every structure is comprised of unbroken lines. Best of all, the means of accessing it restricts the poor. No homeless and few gang members spend any measurable time here. It’s a space carved out for the upper-middle and upper classes.

  The air tastes countryside fresh. There are no explosions or gun shots reverberating in the distance. It’s hard to remember that it’s all an illusion. It’s easy to get lost in here, to forget that it isn’t true.

  Thousands of people have opted to permanently live in the Net, their brains held in nutrient-rich baths and hardwired in until the end of days, or until their Spectrals run out. There are corporations who specialize in this business model. Since most people can’t afford more than a few months, they opt to have their bodies harvested for organs to supply them with the Spectrals to stay in for additional years. It’s a strange world.

  A thrill runs through me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this world until now. My mind turns with the optimism of new possibilities, usually reserved for couples in the throes of nascent love. A broad smile pulls at my cheeks. I spin around and take it all in, breathing deep of the clean air. For a moment, I’m disconnected from my meat reclining on the chair.

  Something touches my hand and pushes a gasp from my throat. I snap my eyes open to see Nightshade regarding me with narrowed eyes. I look down to see she is holding my hand, skin soft and warm. “Focus, Desmond.” Nightshade’s voice possesses an ethereal warbling quality.

  I blink, and we’re someplace else. We’re soaring over the Erinas’ networks like fucking superheroes. Nightshade is looking for an entry. The network interface is represented by a series of translucent rectangular structures interconnected by pillars of light. The pillars turn in hard right angles, everything clean and orderly. They glow in neon pinks and hints of greens. The world around the neons is a dark abyss, a place where only Net death lives. If you die in the Net, you die in the Real. This is serious shit.

  Sparks of light start flashing in rapid succession. Nightshade is running a sniffing program, allowing us a high-level view of the incalculable amount of data being transmitted to and from the corporation. The light becomes more intense, each transmission a burning nebula among the electric starscape. I’m not used to seeing it like this. Everything is moving too fast. Once again I’ve found myself in a situation in which I do not belong.

  I am guided by Nightshade, who is dragging me by the hand like a child. My heart crashes in my ears. Blood beats like hammers against my temples. We dart through the air. Hot wind streaks across my cheeks and draws tears from my eyes. I’ve seen it all before, but not like this. Not with her visual overlay. I could watch this for hours. I’m suddenly assaulted by a wave of vertigo. I close my eyes to stuff down the urge to puke.

  Nightshade turns her head to shout over her shoulder. “Relax, Desmond. I can see your heart rate is spiked. Remember to breathe.”

  “Right.” I give a furious nod and start with meditative breathing. Everything turns down a notch ten breaths later. The lights of the Erinas’ network have dimmed. I can see it all with detached eyes, no longer letting myself get wrapped up in it.

  “That’s better.” Nightshade looks over at me with a sympathetic look and squeezes my hand. I think I like her. We’re floating side by side over the garish landscape. “C’mon.” Nightshade’s expression hardens, and I’m reminded that this is her world.

  The landscape shimmers and congeals like hundreds of melting candles, swirling together into a mass of twisting colors. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong when the scene snaps into focus. We’ve traveled again. Beyond us is a similar landscape, except rather than the structures dominated by pinks, they’re mostly green. It’s the Midwest office’s network. “What happened? How did you do that?” I ask, shaking my head.

  Nightshade’s eyes jet along the rectangular data structures as if searching. “Just a cloaking program, hides our signatures in case anyone tried to backtrack our source.”

  “Hm. Never seen the Net move like that.”

  “It’s new shit, expensive, bought with your upfront Spectrals, I might add.” She turns to face me, levitating on the abyss, half of her body cast in the ha
zy light. “There better be a good bonus in store for all the shit we’ve done for you.”

  I meet her hard stare. “There will be.”

  Her eyes linger on me and finally slide away. She scratches her head and lets out a long breath. “I think we’ll need your intel now. I don’t see an easy way in without running penetration programs. I’d imagine Erinas has heavy security… prudent not to alert it.”

  “Yeah.” I raise my hand, and my passwords are represented as a huge skeleton key one might use to open the doors of a haunted mansion.

  “How original,” Nightshade quips.

  “I’m not very creative.” I shrug, hefting the key. Its metal is heavy and cold in my palm.

  “Over here.” Nightshade grips my hand, and I let her take me. We glide over to one of the rectangular structures, its face sheer and skyscraper tall. It looks like it’s constructed of murky glass. Its walls show the glimmer of endless transmissions represented by stars within the tower’s face and beyond it.

  “Shall I?” I start to drive the key into the wall.

  “No. Give it to me. I need to cover our entry. It’s crucial we don’t trigger any logging programs.”

  “Right.” I nod like I know what she’s talking about, but think I have the gist of it. I hand her the key. As she directs it toward the glass, it vaporizes around the metal, almost like the key is a torch. She draws the key in a circle, cutting away a section of glass wide enough for us to slip through. She pauses for a moment, and her eyes flash with a bluish glow.

  “We’re good, lead on.” Nightshade blows out her cheeks.

  I know where Erinas keeps secret files. It’s my turn to take her hand. She wraps burned fingers over my knuckles, and I wonder how she got the scars, but now is not the time. I hope it’s not from the rings we’re wearing.

  I imagine the construct, and we’re there. Traversing the Net is like accessing a particular memory. You think of it, and you’re transported over the network into a new visual overlay.