Piece by piece, he reassembled his father’s features in his mind’s eye. Clear gray eyes. A craggy face, crinkled by smile lines. Dark blond hair swept back from his forehead. Squeezing his eyes tighter, John focused on bringing all the elements together.
There he is.
John found himself smiling. His father had always had a stubborn look, despite his laughing eyes—there was a light of determination in their depths. That was how Mikael had dealt with problems like John’s: by doggedly returning to them, over and over again, even when it seemed hopeless. Sometimes you’ve already hit on the answer. John could hear his father’s voice quite clearly. You’ve just missed the one small thing that will make the difference.
A single line of code. A single letter, even. Look long enough and there’s nothing that can hide from you. Just look. Mikael had been endlessly patient and tenacious.
Opening his eyes, John blinked at the laptop screen and took a deep breath. His fingers drifted back to the keys, and he began to type. The pathway was one he’d tried before, but he felt a tingle of renewed curiosity. It was as if he’d gone back to it by some underlying instinct.
The bug had a pattern of behavior. They all did. Swim with it, John.
He dived into cyberspace, his fingers flying across the keyboard. The bug had been redirected multiple times, bouncing wildly around the world like a crazy, blind bluebottle fly. But that didn’t mean the original IP address didn’t have significance. John looked again.
It seemed to buzz ahead of him like a will-o’-the-wisp, constantly out of reach—but for the first time he could see it. Only its afterburner, maybe, an imprint of light on the back of his eye, but he knew it was there. Fixing all his attention on that trail, John followed it. I know you! I see you!
His fingertips were working by themselves now. Information flew at him from all directions, but that didn’t bother him. It was as if there was another John standing alongside him, batting the irrelevant data away, catching hold of the true stuff. Parallel John swept a hand across a screenful of data, shattering it into nothing; then he snatched a fistful of code and reshaped it, filtering it into Real John’s brain. Real John typed like a madman.
Certainty seeped into his brain: This is where I belong. Cyberspace. This is my home. His father had guided him here. That made sense—of course it did. He could see his dad’s face clearly once again.
Ironically, it was his mom’s face that wouldn’t form now. Because this was his mother: this world, this time and space. His home was everywhere.
So many Johns seemed to be in control of him: John who selected the data, John who struck the keyboard with the precision and speed of a concert pianist, and Real John who fused it all together. And it was working. He was nearly there, nearly there, and the zipping comet tail of the malware was almost within his grasp—
“John! John!”
The urgent voice shattered the illusion, and a violent physical jolt almost sent him flying. Lines of code shattered like glass in his head, and he jerked back from the laptop and gasped.
Salome had kicked his chair hard away from the desk. John panted, gripping the edge of the desk and trying to reorient himself.
“What’s going on?” demanded Slack.
“He looked like he was possessed.” Salome’s face appeared close to his, peering into his eyes. “Were you possessed, John?”
John blinked hard, about to shake his head. Instead he found himself giving a single, sharp nod.
“Well, that would explain a lot.” Slack, now propped against the desk, rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. You were totally on another planet.”
John, finally getting his breath and his balance back, gave a strangled laugh. “You’re not kidding. That was weird.”
Salome frowned and folded her arms. “I’ve heard of getting caught up in your work, but that was ridiculous. Your fingers were going so fast they were blurred.
“We must have said your name six or seven times. Didn’t you hear?”
John shook his head.
“You need more sleep,” she told him sternly.
“That is probably true.” He sighed. “I just felt like I was getting close, and I didn’t want to stop.” It was the only explanation he could think of for the odd fugue state—and certainly the only way to describe it to Salome and Slack without sounding like a lunatic. He felt a tug of regret about being yanked away from what Slack called another planet, but not as much as he’d have expected. I can find that bug again now. I’m sure of it.
At least all those multiple Johns were now safely back in his own head and under control. He shivered slightly. “Anyone for pizza?”
“No more junk food, Laine,” scolded Salome. “It’s a kale smoothie for you. You’re going to start looking after yourself better.”
John rolled his eyes, but he grinned. “It’s like I have three mothers.”
“Three?” She gave him a quizzical look.
“Two. I mean, two.” John felt a flush cover his cheekbones. What was he talking about?
One thing was reassuring: he could bring his mom’s face to mind again just perfectly. That odd moment of sensing another ghost-mother seemed to have passed.
“A smoothie for John, a pizza for me, and then the gym,” suggested Slack. “I’m not drinking mushed kale for anybody, not even—” he started. “Eva?”
John swiveled his chair around to face her. The girl had appeared at the door of their room, her black-rimmed eyes wide and alarmed.
“John. Jake. Salome.” She gave each of them a sharp nod. “The Shark Twins are coming.”
“The Shark Twins?” asked Slack. “And I wish you’d call me Slack.”
“Very well, Jake.”
“She means Adam and Leo,” explained Salome, sounding nervous. “Let’s go.”
“And the Tiger-Father. He is coming too.”
“She means Roy,” explained John to the others.
“Because he’s like one of those Tiger Moms.”
“No,” Eva contradicted him with a sharp look.
“Because of tiger sharks.” As John blinked in surprise, she turned from one to the other, her face expectant. “I think we do not want him to know what you’re doing.”
“No, we don’t,” agreed John with feeling. “I’m with you there. I trust Roy, but Adam and Leo have made it clear they’ll wipe your files if we tell him anything.”
“Never mind the Shark Twins,” she said. “I would not tell Lykos anyway.”
John was about to argue, but Eva’s unsettling stare had grown even more intense. Shrugging, he quickly closed his laptop and packed it away.
“Those boys are always around when you least want them,” complained Slack as they left the little room and closed the door. “It’s like they have a sixth sense.”
“Why are they coming here?” asked John irritably. As they turned the corner toward the atrium, he saw Eva’s warning had been exactly right: Adam and Leo were there in front of them. The two boys stopped short, glowering, as John and his friends pushed past.
“Troublemakers,” hissed Adam.
“Troubleshooters,” Slack corrected him, with a cold and cocky smile.
With an impatient snap of her fingers, Salome hurried them along, until they were out of sight of the Shark Twins. “Don’t antagonize them,” she told Slack. “I bet we haven’t seen their worst yet.”
“We have not,” said Eva. “I’m sure of this.”
“Never mind that just now.” John reached for Eva’s hand and squeezed it as they entered the atrium, earning a surprised look from Salome.
“What’s going on?”
It was always a calm, light-filled space, but right now there was a buzz of energy and activity. Nobody was playing with holograms or concentrating on three-dimensional chess pieces projected onto the tables. The atrium was full of
students who hurried in the same direction, clutching bags and laptops, their expressions urgent and nervous. John realized almost immediately what else had changed: the sliding ceiling had been closed. No Arctic sunshine spilled down from above; the only light came from brilliant circular LEDs on the walls.
One person was not among the moving mass. Roy Lykos sat at one of the abandoned tables, a laptop open in front of him. His light blue eyes rose to meet John’s, but his expression didn’t change; it was one of calm but intense concern. He didn’t even blink.
“I sense a disturbance in the Force,” drawled Slack.
For once John didn’t laugh. “What’s gotten into everybody?”
Across the broad floor marched Irma Reiffelt, her steely eyes riveted on Salome, Eva, John, and Slack. Without breaking stride, she clapped her hands briskly.
“Where have you four been? Whole-school meeting in the basketball court. Immediately.”
Every single student was here, John was sure of it. There was still an impatient crowd in the atrium, but there was a logjam where the corridor narrowed past the room that held the weights, the treadmills, and the cross-trainers. The murmurs of unease had swelled to a loud muttering and were turning into loud, mutinous chatter as the crowd was forced to wait. Above it all, the teachers shouted instructions and reassurance.
“This won’t take long.”
“Please proceed to the basketball court. No shoving, please.”
“Keep calm but go as quickly as you can. No, Chima, you may not return for your laptop. No, nothing is that important. Deal with it later.”
Close to the corridor entrance, laptop bags and cases were stacking up. John saw two girls at the head of the line pause, then hand over their laptop cases to Imogen Black, who added them to the pile.
“Where’s Eva gone?” Slack turned, frowning; the girl had slipped away. But as John glanced around too, Slack edged closer to him. “Wait, what? They’re taking everyone’s computers.”
“Why?” Disbelieving, John eyed Imogen as she put up a stern hand to stop two boys in their tracks. Both shrugged and handed over their laptops. “Why would they do that?”
“John. John.” Salome’s urgent whisper reached his ears at last, and she tugged on his T-shirt sleeve. “John. Look!”
She was pointing through the plate glass window of the weight room as they shuffled slowly past it. John’s eyes widened.
He could see only two of the cross-trainers’ display screens. Ordinarily, he’d have had to squint hard from here to make out the detail. But the image on them now was instantly recognizable, even at a much lower resolution.
It was a grinning velociraptor.
“No!” he said. “That’s the ransomware—”
Salome jerked a thumb at the neatly stacked laptops. “It’s spread,” she said grimly. “It must have infected the whole school. That would explain why they’re confiscating laptops.”
“And phones,” muttered Slack, nodding toward the basketball court doorway. Now that they were closer, John could see it was true: the Malware Defense teacher, Howard McAuliffe, was opposite Imogen and holding a plastic crate in his arms. Students paused, reluctantly dropping in their smartphones.
“But we only use them for games anyway!” came Lee Minseo’s mournful cry. “They’re not connected to the internet. You checked mine yourself!”
“Doesn’t matter,” said McAuliffe sternly. “Any device has potential to be hijacked to access the mainframe. Turn them over. Next!”
Ms. Reiffelt was pacing up and down the line ahead, her hands behind her back. “Until the malware problem is resolved,” John heard her say, “there will be no digital activity from anyone. It’s important to quarantine all infected devices. The staff will work as fast as possible to clear this bug, but in the meantime all students are confined to the court. Your devices will be returned to you as soon as possible.”
“I don’t believe this,” groaned Slack. “It’s a school for geeks! They can’t take our phones away!”
“It won’t be for long,” Salome told him uncertainly. She clenched and unclenched her fists as if she was already itching for her keyboard. “I’m sure Ms. Reiffelt and the others will sort this out soon.”
“Why are they putting us in basketball jail, though?” Slack demanded. “Why not just send us to our rooms?”
“Because we could access the school’s mainframe through the gaming consoles,” John pointed out miserably. “Through anything with a screen and an input, basically. I guess they want to stop any more computers getting infected.”
Slack pointed back at the cross-trainers. “It looks to me like there aren’t any unaffected computers.”
“What a mess,” groaned Salome.
John clenched his jaw. “We don’t know how long this is going to take. That bug is a beast. I’ve got to get a message to Akane.”
“You can’t do that!” Salome looked horrified.
“I can try. My phone was fine twenty minutes ago, and Akane showed me a communication channel.”
“Give her my love,” grinned Slack, with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Salome’s shoulders sagged. “Well, be quick. And don’t let any teachers see you!” She glanced anxiously around. “Give me your laptop bag. There’s no way you should be opening that.”
“Fine.” With a resigned sigh, John handed it to her.
“And I’m not kidding.” Salome peered ahead at Ms. Reiffelt, who was launching once more into her monotone speech for a new batch of students lining up. “Hurry.”
Ducking his head, John wriggled through the sea of bodies. There was an alcove not far back, an L-shaped recess that held an emergency landline. Checking for any teachers who might be watching, he took a breath and dodged into the small space, then scuttled into the corner between the wall and the clunky phone.
He pulled his smartphone from his pocket, and the screen lit up. Hurriedly, he shielded it with his hand.
He’d already poised a finger to unlock it when he realized that wouldn’t be necessary. The lock screen wasn’t there. He gasped, his heart frozen. Instead of his screensaver, instead of the keypad for his PIN, there were two shimmering, flashing green words.
GET OUT.
In his disbelief, John couldn’t move. He could only watch the words pulse and gleam, burning themselves onto his eyeballs. GET OUT.
John tried to swallow. They’d hacked him already. Those two vicious creeps had targeted his phone. His phone. Because as realization horribly crept into his brain, he knew what was missing from this particular bug: the velociraptor.
It was a different hack, one made especially for him. GET OUT.
Adam and Leo detested him just for being here. They hated that he’d made it to Roy’s class on day one and even more that Salome had invited him to their precious Hack Club. Those rich little spoiled brats—
John slumped back in despair. The palm of his hand glowed green where the words flashed against it. Angrily, he clicked the off button to send the screen to sleep.
It didn’t work. The words still pulsed at him, urgent and intense. GET OUT.
John stabbed at the off button over and over again, but nothing would shift that display. He glared at it, his head buzzing with the words. He could feel them, deep inside his brain: their aggressive syllables, the hard edges of the letters. They bounced and rebounded, multiplying till the inside of his skull felt like a screenful of code. And the oddest thing of all was that they felt like they belonged.
This software is compatible.
And just like that, the words on his phone altered—dissolved, shattered, reformed. This time they were red.
GET OUT. NOW.
John leapt to his feet. He barged out into the corridor and fought his way through the crowd of students, ignoring their angry protests. He stumbled on some
one’s shoe, caught himself in time, and shoved onward, pushing people aside.
Where are they? I’m going to kill them—
He glanced toward the basketball court. Adam and Leo weren’t there. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he could sense Parallel John again, dismissing the crowded court with a sweep of his hand. Real John turned and began to run back along the line of students as he headed for the atrium.
He slowed as he approached the end of the corridor, his heart beating hard with fury. He couldn’t be seen by a teacher; he’d be sent back to the line, and he’d miss his chance to delete the two human bugs.
This time, John ignored his own savage feelings; instead of wincing, he simply brushed the thought aside—for now. Edging against the wall, he peered cautiously around the corner.
There they were. And why weren’t Adam and Leo in line for digital quarantine like the rest of the school? The two boys stood at the end of a passageway at the north side of the atrium, their heads inclined slightly. Leo nodded once. They were listening to someone inside the passageway, someone John couldn’t see.
As quietly as possible, John stepped out into the atrium and up onto one of the glowing walkways that circled it. Adam half glanced over his shoulder, as if he’d heard something, and John went still. Then the boy returned to his conversation.
John sidled up the western walkway around the atrium, keeping close to the polished sandstone wall. The light from the LED fittings was not nearly as revealing as the usual pale sunshine; it cast odd but useful shadows. He couldn’t risk running, but he crept as fast as he could around the vast space, keeping one eye on the two figures below, dodging into doorways whenever they seemed about to turn. Only when he’d reached a point directly opposite them did he stop and back into a shallow recess. Now he could see the little group clearly.
He could see who the two boys were talking to. His heart rattled with shock.
It was Roy Lykos.
The distant hubbub in the gym corridor had faded to almost nothing; most of the students were by now in the basketball court. John knew he was running out of time. Soon the doors would close and the teachers would begin to count off names, and they’d know he was missing.
The Ghost Network (book 1) Page 10
