by Barry Lyga
“There’s a nice coffee shop down the block,” Rachel suggested. Bryce immediately picked up on the hint.
“Let’s go, bro,” he demanded, opening the door.
“I’m not your bro,” Carson grumbled on his way out. He flashed Cassie a grin, a raised-eyebrows-I’ll-see-you-soon smile, and Cassie wanted to say something — thank you, I owe you, how can I ever repay you — but she had all that and more to say to her mom, too. And to Bryce and to so many others, but there would be time enough for that.
Her mother held her at arm’s length and they stared at each other for a long, silent moment.
“So,” Cassie said. “Hashtag mom army. For real?”
Rachel hiccuped a laugh. “Oh, you saw that?”
“The world saw that. My mom went viral. Words I never thought I’d put into a sentence.”
Rachel sniffled and wiped her wet eyes with the heels of her hands. “Yeah, well … I told you — lionesses will do pretty much anything to protect their cubs.”
Cassie nodded, her throat suddenly too thick for words. She pulled her mom in close for another hug. She felt the sharp angles of her mother’s body, the worry-thinned flesh, the protrusion of her shoulder blades. Her mom had aged a year in just a few days.
“I’m sorry,” Cassie whispered. “I’m so sorry. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”
She would have gone on apologizing for minutes, hours, days, if her mom hadn’t stopped her with a quiet shushing sound.
“You screwed up. And you fixed it. And maybe you changed things for the better.” Rachel pulled back and kissed Cassie on the cheek, carefully avoiding her bruises. “I’m sure someday I’m going to be incredibly pissed about all of this, but right now I’m just so relieved. And so proud.”
They curled up together on the remains of the couch, mother and daughter, entwined in a way Cassie couldn’t remember having done since she was a kid. Rachel made them some tea, and other than getting up for the kettle, they didn’t let go of each other for hours. Between tears punctuated by long moments of silence, Cassie told her everything, every single second and word and action she could remember. It was more words than she’d spoken to her mom in the entire previous year.
Cassie told her everything except for the deepest truth — the ghost accounts that haunted BLINQ and the internet, the easy way justice could be manipulated. It was too disconcerting, too real, too extant. It was a horror movie monster that could reach up out of the grave even after being killed, and Cassie couldn’t bear to inflict that knowledge on her mother.
*
As the sun fully set and shadows crawled around the apartment’s walls and corners, Cassie snuggled in closer. As she breathed in Rachel’s familiar scent, Cassie realized she hadn’t showered in days, and still her mom held her close.
“I couldn’t have made it without you, Mom,” Cassie admitted, a half-dream confession made with her eyes closed and sleep lurking. “Dad taught me everything I needed to clear my name, and I’m so, so lucky I got to be his daughter. But you …”
Rachel held her breath, but Cassie didn’t finish her thought, succumbing to a sleep that would seize her body for nearly a full day. Rachel stroked her choppy, uneven hair as she slept.
Cassie let her. That was everything.
100103300101
Do you remember Alexandra Pastor?
Cassie had a new phone, and with it came access to her dad’s digital self once more. She’d been without him for days on the run, then even longer as she waited for the publicity around her Hive Level drop to die down a bit so that she could take the risk of going online again. But now she was back, with a brand-new phone that had been gifted to her by a big tech firm that was courting her to work with them. She wasn’t sure about their real intentions — she suspected they wanted a rebel mascot more than a coder — but she was happy to accept their bribes with a smile and her fingers crossed behind her back, along with a promise to consider their offer once she graduated.
The phone ran a custom OS she and Carson had tweaked based on an old Android fork. She swapped out all the bright colors for dull; she never wanted to get lost online again.
She also had her bracelet back, the one she’d tried to go back for when Rachel had dragged her out of her bedroom that early morning, the day the world changed. Whatever the NSA had been looking for, her jewelry hadn’t been on the list. She planned never to take it off again. It wasn’t the only thing that tied her to her father, but it was precious nonetheless. It was solid, not ephemeral like memory or code.
Do you remember Alexandra Pastor? she’d asked, hoping that maybe somewhere in the bot, her dad had left something she could use. She thought about the code that undergirded the digital Harlon, how it had an array of nicknames and endearments and chose one based on a very sophisticated algorithm. It seemed so real, but there was no way to compare it to her actual father, so who knew? Maybe it was just close enough.
Maybe that was all that mattered.
Do you remember Alexandra Pastor? Such a simple question. For a human being. A human being would say yes or no in an instant.
It took the bot a while to get back to her. She imagined it thought it was busy with something.
Alexandra Pastor is the deputy attorney general of Hive Justice. She was born on February 10, 1981. Is that what you mean, sweetie?
She sighed. The bot could do a lot, but it couldn’t remember Harlon’s life for her. Harlon’s connection to Alexandra would remain the sketch Alexandra had given her, the lines blurry and indistinct, the white spaces devoid of tones and shadows and colors.
Colors …
The color is the code.
She stared at her bracelet. It hit her like a thunderbolt.
No. No way.
Ten stones. Each one a different color.
She almost dropped her phone in her eagerness to text the bot.
The color is the code, she sent.
The answer was almost immediate: That’s right, sweetheart. I guess you’ve met Alexandra. Be patient with her; she’s a work in progress. But we all are, right?
Holy.
Shit.
Ten stones. Ten colors.
The NSA had insisted to her mom that Dad had left something behind. A perfect encryption. A purloined letter.
And they’d been right all along. Harlon had left something. But it wasn’t tech. It was something else. A code. An encryption key in solid form, unhackable.
Her father had been there at the beginning of the Hive and then had walked away. But the guilt and self-recrimination lingered. She remembered his uncharacteristic quiet when the Hive launched, his equally uncharacteristic outburst at her mother.
He’d had regrets. And he didn’t know what to do about them.
But he did know. He’d hacked the Hive. Of course he had.
It had taken years, but he’d gotten inside, into the dirty heart of the Hive, dumped the data on a hidden server … sent Alexandra on a wild-goose chase to a secret website packed with data, the data that even now resided in the Superman USB key. And then the bracelet. Putting the pieces out there. Just in case.
What did Harlon think would happen? That Alexandra would visit her old, dead friend’s family? That she would work with Cassie? What were the odds?
Or maybe the bracelet’s secret had never been intended for her. Maybe it had been for her dad, a good hiding place. Stashed away in case he needed it. He didn’t know he would die before he could use it.
In the end, there were some things she would never know. She would just have to live with that. The AI could tell her almost anything, processed through what it knew of Harlon. She still hadn’t told her mother about the deep, deep truths that had led to her exoneration. She would tell Harlon, if she could think of a way to do it that would give the bot enough data to synthesize something meaningful. Because her digital dad woul
dn’t feel any emotions. She didn’t have to worry about scaring it or freaking it out.
Her mom was another story entirely. Rachel had been through a lifetime’s worth of “enough.” No more.
Hey, what’s new, sweetheart? the bot prompted.
She permitted herself a slight smile. She missed her dad so much.
I think I have a boyfriend.
The response was immediate: Is he good to you?
Tears welled up in her eyes. Stupid bot. It was just a stupid bot because even the smartest bot was still just a bot. But, dammit, it’s exactly what her dad would have said.
Wiping away the tears, she typed back: He saved my life.
A long pause. She started to put her phone back in her pocket, figuring this was just one of those times when she wouldn’t get a response. How could an AI ever —
Her phone pinged.
I’m glad. I want you around for a long time.
*
She spent hours online, comparing the colors of the stones to digital swatches. When she was sure she had them right, she ended up with a string of ten different hexadecimal codes. Each code represented a stone’s color.
There were ten different possible combinations, assuming the codes were supposed to line up in the order of the stones on the bracelet. There was 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, then 2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1, then 3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1-2, and so on.
She hit pay dirt halfway through. The sixty-character string was a decryption key that unlocked the Superman USB key.
Cassie stared at the data as it scrolled past, then she started to laugh.
Everything about the Hive. Everything. Its past. Its construction. The flaws deliberately introduced into the system. The who, how, what, where, why and when. All of it, at her fingertips.
Every last drop of it.
*
The #Westfield Homecoming Queen ballots are being distributed this week. Odds that #CassieMcKinney will be on it? LOL #WestfieldQueens
The usual suspects will be on the court: Rowan, Madison, Indira, Livvy and then someone from the tech crowd and student council. Yawn. #WestfieldQueens
Who feels like having fun with the Court this year? Maybe we throw some unexpected names in the mix? #WestfieldQueens
Here’s an idea: CASSIE MCKINNEY FOR WESTFIELD HIGH HOMECOMING QUEEN. #WestfieldQueens
Wait. Is Cassie really coming back to Westfield? #WhatsUpWestfield
Can you imagine a Level 6 convict being in your classes? ow would anyone ever concentrate? #LikeAnyoneCanConcentrateNow #WhatsUpWestfield
#BLINQReaderPoll416010: Does #CassieMcKinney deserve to be Homecoming Queen? Vote: bl.inq/poll416010 #WestfieldQueens
There’s no way she’s coming back to #Westfield. Right?
Is a Level 6 convict even eligible for Homecoming Queen? There are rules. #WestfieldQueens
She’s gotta graduate from somewhere … why not Westfield? Hey, I like that hashtag! #WhyNotWestfield
God, you’re so tragic Elena. #WhatsUpWestfield LOL — RB #RowanSpeaks
I just voted NO in #BLINQReaderPoll416010, join me: Does #CassieMcKinney deserve to be Homecoming Queen? Vote: bl.inq/poll416010 #WestfieldQueens
I just voted YES in #BLINQReaderPoll416010, join me: Does #CassieMcKinney deserve to be Homecoming Queen? Vote: bl.inq/poll416010 #WestfieldQueens
Seriously, is she gonna come back to school? I’d like to buy her lunch. #WestfieldQueens #CassieIsMyQueen
*
Weeks passed. Cassie returned to Westfield, an occasion she was surprised to find she did not dread. After she’d evaded Hive Justice and the threat of death, a new high school was nothing.
Sarah had transferred elsewhere. Rowan and the Homework Coven studiously ignored her. Whatever. She could pull straight A’s without them. See how well they did on the comp sci final without her, though.
One weekend, a couple of days after she’d returned to school, she lingered at the breakfast table with her mom, the two of them luxuriating in the quiet and the solace. There were no cops knocking on the door and no mobs screaming for her head.
She’d fallen off the headlinks and trending topics a while back. But this morning, her phone blew up with alerts about members of OHM who’d been caught in the raid. Trials were starting soon, for cyberterrorism, for evading Hive Justice, for obstruction of justice. Cassie skimmed the names, but they were real names, and all she knew were hacker handles.
“What’s going on in the bean, teen?” Rachel asked, gazing at her over the top of her tablet.
Self-consciously, Cassie patted her head. Her hair was growing back in and she was letting it do what it wanted. She was tired of fighting and that included fighting her hair, her closet, her reflection every time she looked in the mirror.
“Just thinking.”
“I know. About what? You look troubled.”
She sighed. The night before, Carson had sent her a link to a page on his own web server. It aggregated data from a series of sources, including Cassie’s BLINQ account and the secret ghost accounts they’d uncovered. According to Carson’s calculations, her Likes had risen high enough that — even if the government decided to turn all of the ghost accounts against her — there were still enough real accounts Liking her that she would Trend Positive.
Meaning … maybe she should release that data from the Superman USB key. Maybe it was time to give the Hive a taste of Hive Justice.
Or maybe play along. Be a good girl. Sit on the data and wait. Alexandra had seemed disaffected with the Hive now. Maybe she could and would do something to change it from the inside.
Or …
Or.
Or.
Too many ors.
“So here’s what I’m wondering, Mom. Say you can’t be hurt. But other people can. Should you step in front of a bullet, then?”
Rachel put down her tablet and gazed at Cassie thoughtfully. She considered it for a long time. Cassie had regarded the question as an easy one.
“Step in front of a bullet? Maybe. It depends.”
“Mom! Ugh. Can’t you just answer the question?” Cassie sighed. After a moment she asked, “Depends on what?”
Rachel shrugged. “Well, what if your invulnerability wears off? Or what if it turns out nothing can hurt you except bullets, and you’re about to find out in a very inconvenient way?”
Cassie frowned. She craved a simple, direct answer, and her analogy was screwing everything up. Alexandra’s passive-aggressive warning — she may not be so lucky next time — tiptoed with burning feet through her thoughts.
“Forget about the bullet. What if you had a lot of power and you saw something you knew was wrong? Should you use that power to protect yourself and only yourself? Or should you risk it and use it to break the thing that’s wrong?”
Rachel thought about that one for a lot less time. When she answered, it was with a sad smile. “You know what, honey? Your dad had a saying …”
100103400101
Dad, I have a question for you.
Go ahead, baby.
Cassie took a deep breath. Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen.
Should I be a sledgehammer or a drill?
And then she sat back.
And waited.
1001ACKNOWLEDGMENTS0101
This book wouldn’t exist without Jennifer and Tom, and we are so grateful to them for first conjuring Cassie and her world, and then for trusting us to take on this story. Thank you!
We’d also like to thank the fearless and thoughtful Kate Egan, our editor, and Lisa Lyons, as well as all the folks at KCP, including Alison Reid, Emma Dolan, Olga Kidisevic, Kate Patrick and Naseem Hrab. A shout-out to Eddie Gamarra of the Gotham Group, who brought the four of us together in something approximating harmony. ;) Thanks to Ryan Douglass as well.
Special thanks and a bottl
e of very expensive bourbon to our peerless agent, Kathleen Anderson, who did yeoman’s work in making this project a reality. Thank you, Kathy!
Thanks to everyone who offered support while we wrote this book (in between babies and jobs and deadlines!), including the Badens, the Bershteins, the Lygas, the Guslers, and the Coven. Special shout-out to New Jersey Transit for all the train delays, which led to lots of unexpected extra writing time!
Last but not least, thanks to our two children, who have no clue what any of this is about because they’re too young, but someday they’ll get it and be super-embarrassed, which is all a parent can hope for.
Husband-and-wife writing duo BARRY LYGA and MORGAN BADEN have published more than two dozen novels collectively, but The Hive is their first collaboration … unless you count their two kids. Barry is the New York Times bestselling author of the I Hunt Killers trilogy, as well as such critically acclaimed novels as Boy Toy and Bang. Morgan is a New York Times bestselling ghostwriter, as well as a social media expert. They live outside New York City, in a house bursting with books.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Preface
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