Part Fourteen: In a world full of people only some want to fly.
Dikas was standing over her, the cold compress in his hand.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," said Sara, trying to take in her surroundings. "Something happened?"
"It did," he nodded. "You passed out. You've actually been out for a while."
She leant up, instantly regretting the movement.
"Ow. What did I miss?"
Dikas glanced up at the ceiling.
"Some interesting corporate takeovers, and the United States of America has a new Madame President elect. Probably best to get used to that, as I think it will be significant."
Sara Ryland shifted on the sofa.
"We're still in Yorkshire, right?"
"We are."
"Then you need to tell me why." She fixed him with her best determined stare. "Seriously, you've been playing me since I first met you, and I've spent more than a little time wondering if you're real."
Dikas frowned, the hurt showing in his eyes.
"That's a little insulting, but I forgive you. Time hasn't been kind."
Sara raised her eyebrows.
"Temporal victimhood? No, I don't buy that. My ex-boyfriend was...is a master of misdirection, but I can't credit him with all this. I've been riding this insane thunderbolt for months, and the points of contact with reality are looking more and more like something constructed by a...a vengeful God at the point of divine insanity."
Dikas reached forward to mop her brow, but her fingers shot up to stop his hand.
"Enough, Dikas. Time to come clean. What's your deal? Is he playing you, too, or are you something greater? Why are you so dedicated to this...cause?"
He looked at her fingers grasping his wrist, strong and decisive, and found himself weeping.
"I promised to protect you," he said, "To ensure your safety at all costs, no matter what demons were sent to try you, or how circumstance might attempt to throw you from the path."
She nodded and released his hand.
"Job done, then. Consider your obligations fulfilled. From here on in, I'm taking charge. If I'm right, he's heading here by whatever methods he has available, and for once I'll be prepared. I can't say anything for the opposition, but at least we'll have the advantage of...defined presence. And whatever tricks and traps he's built into the security set-up here."
Dikas held his right hand to his heart and splayed his fingers out in a gesture of affirmative fealty.
"Forever by your side, Miss Ryland."
She smiled at him, and got up from the sofa.
"I wouldn't have expected any less, Dikas."
To be continued...
Thursday, 27 October 2016
Tuesday, 27 September 2016
Tempus Clausuris (13)
Part Thirteen: Sit and listen, sit and listen.
She poured herself another glass of Yalumba Viognier as he explained why the HDMI port was inevitably going to change in both design and function.
"Let me stop you there," she said, "Because, if I don't, this is going to turn really nasty very quickly."
He glanced at what was now a bottle three quarters empty.
"Okay. Sure. What's up?"
"Two things. And I'm being kind by ignoring most of what you've said in the last ten minutes. Firstly, I genuinely believe that you're onto something, vis-a-vis the corporate machinations of players in the field of artificial intelligence, and where all that might be leading in the next three decades."
"Wow. You were listening."
"I was. You should never have doubted that. Secondly, I think you need an audience more than you need a doomed date sanctioned by flawed algorithms."
He blushed, caught out and involuntarily captioned.
"Y'know, I was going to start a blog, but I've been down that road before and it all just...turned to shit. Twitter was worse. Much worse. You have no idea..."
She held up a hand.
"I have every idea. That's kind of my thing. And I read your blog, all seventy five entries. Your Twitter posts seemed to be cries for help that got covered in crap, so I gave up on them."
"Very wise," he said, topping up his own glass. "I think I lost that one as soon as my workmates found it. But listen, I'm really flattered that..."
"Shut up," she said, "And listen. To me. There's a hole in the fabric of conspiratorial theoretical subjugation. It's massive, and no geek worth his salt has been able to fill it. Until now."
She leaned in, her auburn tresses splaying as she did so.
"I need you to believe in yourself. Right here, right now. There's a message that you need to get out, and it's one that you can definitely deliver because, ultimately, it's true."
He stared at her, entranced but confused.
"You're on," he said, "But I feel it's only fair to warn you that no one seems to be listening these days."
She smiled at him, amused by his apparent naivete.
"The underestimation of man is a cause to believe in."
"Voltaire?"
She laughed, slapping the table between them.
"And this is why I could love you, if circumstance weren't so arbitrary. No, not Voltaire, although you should read his treatise on dogs if you ever get the chance. He deigns to consider them an unnecessary evil, but we should remember that he lost a close friend to rabies."
"Is that true?"
"Truth is a flexible perception based upon need, so yes, it's as true as you need it to be."
He stared at her, astonished.
"You don't care, do you? History is just a mix and match philosophy for you."
She shrugged.
"Something along those lines, yes. But the broken reality is all we've got sometimes, so I need you to remember this, and to post about it tomorrow. Phylos Cade is dead. Peregrine Conway is alive. Ownership never represents control, and darkness subsumes the lawmakers. Think you can remember all that?"
He retrieved his Moleskine notebook from his pocket and rescued a pen from his courier bag.
"Forgive me if I'm a bit oldschool on this," he said, writing everything she'd said down. "Help me out with the spelling?"
Omni grinned.
"Whatever it takes is fine with me,"
To be continued...
She poured herself another glass of Yalumba Viognier as he explained why the HDMI port was inevitably going to change in both design and function.
"Let me stop you there," she said, "Because, if I don't, this is going to turn really nasty very quickly."
He glanced at what was now a bottle three quarters empty.
"Okay. Sure. What's up?"
"Two things. And I'm being kind by ignoring most of what you've said in the last ten minutes. Firstly, I genuinely believe that you're onto something, vis-a-vis the corporate machinations of players in the field of artificial intelligence, and where all that might be leading in the next three decades."
"Wow. You were listening."
"I was. You should never have doubted that. Secondly, I think you need an audience more than you need a doomed date sanctioned by flawed algorithms."
He blushed, caught out and involuntarily captioned.
"Y'know, I was going to start a blog, but I've been down that road before and it all just...turned to shit. Twitter was worse. Much worse. You have no idea..."
She held up a hand.
"I have every idea. That's kind of my thing. And I read your blog, all seventy five entries. Your Twitter posts seemed to be cries for help that got covered in crap, so I gave up on them."
"Very wise," he said, topping up his own glass. "I think I lost that one as soon as my workmates found it. But listen, I'm really flattered that..."
"Shut up," she said, "And listen. To me. There's a hole in the fabric of conspiratorial theoretical subjugation. It's massive, and no geek worth his salt has been able to fill it. Until now."
She leaned in, her auburn tresses splaying as she did so.
"I need you to believe in yourself. Right here, right now. There's a message that you need to get out, and it's one that you can definitely deliver because, ultimately, it's true."
He stared at her, entranced but confused.
"You're on," he said, "But I feel it's only fair to warn you that no one seems to be listening these days."
She smiled at him, amused by his apparent naivete.
"The underestimation of man is a cause to believe in."
"Voltaire?"
She laughed, slapping the table between them.
"And this is why I could love you, if circumstance weren't so arbitrary. No, not Voltaire, although you should read his treatise on dogs if you ever get the chance. He deigns to consider them an unnecessary evil, but we should remember that he lost a close friend to rabies."
"Is that true?"
"Truth is a flexible perception based upon need, so yes, it's as true as you need it to be."
He stared at her, astonished.
"You don't care, do you? History is just a mix and match philosophy for you."
She shrugged.
"Something along those lines, yes. But the broken reality is all we've got sometimes, so I need you to remember this, and to post about it tomorrow. Phylos Cade is dead. Peregrine Conway is alive. Ownership never represents control, and darkness subsumes the lawmakers. Think you can remember all that?"
He retrieved his Moleskine notebook from his pocket and rescued a pen from his courier bag.
"Forgive me if I'm a bit oldschool on this," he said, writing everything she'd said down. "Help me out with the spelling?"
Omni grinned.
"Whatever it takes is fine with me,"
To be continued...
Monday, 12 September 2016
Tempus Clausuris (12)
Part Twelve: Love don't pay no bills.
"Gary's bike's gone," said Hans, getting into the back of the Citroen with Bernie. "So we can add theft to Omni's personal list of misdemeanours." Sasha checked his pissed-off expression in the rear-view mirror and started the car.
"Noted," she said. "Now give Gary's laptop to Mister Taylor, and let's hope that the trail hasn't gone cold."
"Which trail?" asked David Cutter, studying the C1's dashboard instrumentation. In truth, he'd been considering getting the same Citroen himself to replace his Ford Focus.
"Actually, that's a good question," said Bernie, watching the laptop boot up. "Password?" he asked Hans, who gritted his teeth and typed it in for him. "Thanks. What I mean is, we know which train Sara Ryland was on, and I uploaded the Wi-Fi access data to the servers."
"Which may be compromised, if Gary was right about the Zero Day exploit, and if it's been triggered," added Hans.
Sasha Marx reached a decision.
"Too many ifs. Boys?" she said, "Swap laptops. Now. Hans, see how far Gary got with the exposure of AktionHive's AV project. Bernie? I need you to determine, if you can, what Sara's stepping-off point might be. Cade is central to all this, we just haven't found the connection yet, so factor that in."
"Got it," said Bernie, handing Gary's laptop to Hans.
"Don't mess with my files," warned Hans, handing his own laptop to Bernie.
Cutter turned to Sasha, looking amused.
"Kids, eh?"
Sasha kept her eyes on the road, heading for the A1 exit.
"You're not off the hook, Mister Cutter. I had to call a doctor to help my friend. Not your fault, I know, but Gary's last words to Hans were about your company and the AV, and that's got me really puzzled."
David Cutter sighed.
"Well, a lot of it's above my pay grade, and taking on two paid interns was never my idea, but Conway sees the Advanced Virtualisation deal as crucial to how AktionHive functions in the next decade."
"Conway? Peregrine Conway?" asked Sasha.
"Yeah," said Cutter, "He took over as CEO a couple of months ago. We're not listed, so it was no big deal. No shareholders to mollify, and the board couldn't believe their luck. Er, am I missing something here?"
Three brains in the car were working overtime, but it was Bernie Taylor who spoke up first.
"I never want the fact that I knew about this, and never bothered to do anything with the information to be held against me. If it's above David's pay grade, you can safely bet it's above mine."
"Nice cop out," said Hans.
"Thanks," said Bernie, "But I've got data, and we should all be grateful that Sara Ryland uses a Mac. Also, my subscription to Shodan finally paid off." He turned the laptop to show Hans.
"Impressive," said Hans.
"Explain," said Sasha.
"It's a search engine," said Hans, "But so much more. The internet of things? This is where it is. And that's a very big red dot." Bernie inclined his head, accepting the sideways compliment.
Sasha pulled her E-Cig out of her pocket and hit the button, inhaling deeply.
"Do we have a precise destination?" she asked.
Bernie was checking the property ownership register, and cross-checking with Hans' own findings.
"We do," said Bernie, scribbling down the address and handing it to Sasha.
"Confirmed," said Hans, "And the remote access codes are encrypted, but not for long."
He and Bernie allowed themselves a high five. David Cutter looked more than lost.
"I don't even know how you guys are getting Wi-Fi in here." Sasha came to his rescue - sort of.
"I take it that you've never met Perry Conway?"
"No," said Cutter, "He was in the building once, but I was porting the kids to their new school. Emily was having a bad day."
"Well," said Sasha, "Here's the thing. I have. And suddenly, everything makes sense. You should gen up on Cicero, David. The traitor within. Whatever you think you've gained with Peregrine Conway as CEO, you've lost with Phylos Cade as the supreme infiltrator."
Hans nodded.
"A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. A nod to you, Mister Cutter. But it cannot survive treason from within. Sly whispers rustling through all the alleys. My God, it's beyond the text of the book!"
"Textbook," offered Bernie. Hans inclined his head, mimicking Bernie's previous gesture. They were really getting along now. Sasha, however, looked worried.
"We're still missing a link. I'm probably being generous - several links. Can you connect Sara Ryland and Phylos Cade?"
"Not yet," sighed Bernie Taylor. "But it's just a matter of time."
"Well," said Sasha, changing gears and heading down the A1, "Let's hope that's not against us."
To be continued...
"Gary's bike's gone," said Hans, getting into the back of the Citroen with Bernie. "So we can add theft to Omni's personal list of misdemeanours." Sasha checked his pissed-off expression in the rear-view mirror and started the car.
"Noted," she said. "Now give Gary's laptop to Mister Taylor, and let's hope that the trail hasn't gone cold."
"Which trail?" asked David Cutter, studying the C1's dashboard instrumentation. In truth, he'd been considering getting the same Citroen himself to replace his Ford Focus.
"Actually, that's a good question," said Bernie, watching the laptop boot up. "Password?" he asked Hans, who gritted his teeth and typed it in for him. "Thanks. What I mean is, we know which train Sara Ryland was on, and I uploaded the Wi-Fi access data to the servers."
"Which may be compromised, if Gary was right about the Zero Day exploit, and if it's been triggered," added Hans.
Sasha Marx reached a decision.
"Too many ifs. Boys?" she said, "Swap laptops. Now. Hans, see how far Gary got with the exposure of AktionHive's AV project. Bernie? I need you to determine, if you can, what Sara's stepping-off point might be. Cade is central to all this, we just haven't found the connection yet, so factor that in."
"Got it," said Bernie, handing Gary's laptop to Hans.
"Don't mess with my files," warned Hans, handing his own laptop to Bernie.
Cutter turned to Sasha, looking amused.
"Kids, eh?"
Sasha kept her eyes on the road, heading for the A1 exit.
"You're not off the hook, Mister Cutter. I had to call a doctor to help my friend. Not your fault, I know, but Gary's last words to Hans were about your company and the AV, and that's got me really puzzled."
David Cutter sighed.
"Well, a lot of it's above my pay grade, and taking on two paid interns was never my idea, but Conway sees the Advanced Virtualisation deal as crucial to how AktionHive functions in the next decade."
"Conway? Peregrine Conway?" asked Sasha.
"Yeah," said Cutter, "He took over as CEO a couple of months ago. We're not listed, so it was no big deal. No shareholders to mollify, and the board couldn't believe their luck. Er, am I missing something here?"
Three brains in the car were working overtime, but it was Bernie Taylor who spoke up first.
"I never want the fact that I knew about this, and never bothered to do anything with the information to be held against me. If it's above David's pay grade, you can safely bet it's above mine."
"Nice cop out," said Hans.
"Thanks," said Bernie, "But I've got data, and we should all be grateful that Sara Ryland uses a Mac. Also, my subscription to Shodan finally paid off." He turned the laptop to show Hans.
"Impressive," said Hans.
"Explain," said Sasha.
"It's a search engine," said Hans, "But so much more. The internet of things? This is where it is. And that's a very big red dot." Bernie inclined his head, accepting the sideways compliment.
Sasha pulled her E-Cig out of her pocket and hit the button, inhaling deeply.
"Do we have a precise destination?" she asked.
Bernie was checking the property ownership register, and cross-checking with Hans' own findings.
"We do," said Bernie, scribbling down the address and handing it to Sasha.
"Confirmed," said Hans, "And the remote access codes are encrypted, but not for long."
He and Bernie allowed themselves a high five. David Cutter looked more than lost.
"I don't even know how you guys are getting Wi-Fi in here." Sasha came to his rescue - sort of.
"I take it that you've never met Perry Conway?"
"No," said Cutter, "He was in the building once, but I was porting the kids to their new school. Emily was having a bad day."
"Well," said Sasha, "Here's the thing. I have. And suddenly, everything makes sense. You should gen up on Cicero, David. The traitor within. Whatever you think you've gained with Peregrine Conway as CEO, you've lost with Phylos Cade as the supreme infiltrator."
Hans nodded.
"A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. A nod to you, Mister Cutter. But it cannot survive treason from within. Sly whispers rustling through all the alleys. My God, it's beyond the text of the book!"
"Textbook," offered Bernie. Hans inclined his head, mimicking Bernie's previous gesture. They were really getting along now. Sasha, however, looked worried.
"We're still missing a link. I'm probably being generous - several links. Can you connect Sara Ryland and Phylos Cade?"
"Not yet," sighed Bernie Taylor. "But it's just a matter of time."
"Well," said Sasha, changing gears and heading down the A1, "Let's hope that's not against us."
To be continued...
Saturday, 3 September 2016
Tempus Clausuris (11)
Part Eleven: I'm under your curse now, but I call it compromise.
Sasha Marx got off the 'phone to her tame doctor, and helped Hans move Gary onto the sofa.
"Jarrett's on his way. Whatever she plugged him with, he should be able to fix it."
Hans nodded, patting his babbling friend on the shoulder.
"I'll unplug the laptops. We'll probably need them."
"Zero Day..." said Gary, staring up at him.
"What?"
"Cade's...into the servers. Check the logs. Massive exploit. AktionHive...it's all about...the AV."
Sasha and Hans exchanged a look as Gary passed out again.
"Handy that we've still got their CTO with us, then." She went into her bedroom and came back with a set of car keys. Hans raised an eyebrow.
"The Citroen?"
"Comfort over situational austerity. Besides," she smiled at him, "Technically, I've still got it on trial. You and Bernie go in the back, try to figure out what the Hell Gary's uncovered." Hans nodded again, but looked uncomfortable. "He'll be okay, you know? Jarrett's had plenty of experience with this sort of thing."
"I know," said Hans, "But I'm having trouble believing that Omni could've done this."
Sasha helped him unplug the laptops and bag them up.
"Funny story," she said, poking the last of the leads into the bag, "About six months ago I had a meeting with a Mister Fisher from the Home Office. I say a meeting, but it was a lot less formal than that. More like..." she paused to consider her words carefully. "An encounter. Accidental, coincidental, highly convenient. No one likes to feel played, Hans, least of all me, but when the game's got more than two sides you have to question the nature of loyalty. In every possible context."
Hans stared at her.
"You've got immunity?"
"Not from the everyday flotsam and jetsam of random happenstance, no, but our little North Korean former friend is part of something much bigger which, thanks to thirty meaningful seconds spent with her smartphone, I can now call upon in a time of need. I'd call this a time of need, wouldn't you?"
Hans zipped-up the bags and threw them over his shoulder.
"Words often fail me, Miss Marx, particularly in your company but, whatever your standing as a...funky asset of the SIS, I'm relieved that we are on the same side."
Sasha laughed.
"Everything brings me back to Tacitus, Hans. It's an optimisation of futility, and my feminist soul rails against it, given Omni's betrayal, but I can't help feeling we're headed for something ultimately fulfilling. Just remember, a bad peace is even worse than war."
David Cutter finished his text, hit 'send' and switched off his mobile. Bernie Taylor, sitting opposite him in the back of the van, raised an eyebrow.
"Explaining myself to my wife," said Cutter, "Has become one of those...acquired arts. What about you? Haven't you got someone who should know where you are?"
"I could write a list, but it'd be very short," replied Bernie. "Frankly, Mister Cutter,"
"David. For Christ's sake, don't fall into that formality bullshit when it's just us."
Bernie shrugged.
"Frankly, David, I'd be a lot happier if the people I know never find out about this crazy shit. Ever. I'm having the weirdest forty eight hours I've ever known, and the comfort of strangers is definitely a complete myth."
Cutter nodded. Then re-considered.
"It's kind of exciting though, isn't it?"
"Totally."
They shared a laugh before the van doors were unlocked and opened. Sasha Marx beamed at them.
"Okay, guys. Consider this an upgrade - we're changing vehicles."
"About time, too," said Cutter, climbing out and blinking in the sunshine. Then he saw Hans holding two laptop bags. "Oh, great. The gang's all here."
"Relax," smiled Sasha, "You're riding shotgun with me," She pointed at the metallic grey Citroen C1 further up the street. "We can have a lovely chat about what AV means to AktionHive, and why Phylos Cade might want to have a backdoor into it."
To be continued...
Sasha Marx got off the 'phone to her tame doctor, and helped Hans move Gary onto the sofa.
"Jarrett's on his way. Whatever she plugged him with, he should be able to fix it."
Hans nodded, patting his babbling friend on the shoulder.
"I'll unplug the laptops. We'll probably need them."
"Zero Day..." said Gary, staring up at him.
"What?"
"Cade's...into the servers. Check the logs. Massive exploit. AktionHive...it's all about...the AV."
Sasha and Hans exchanged a look as Gary passed out again.
"Handy that we've still got their CTO with us, then." She went into her bedroom and came back with a set of car keys. Hans raised an eyebrow.
"The Citroen?"
"Comfort over situational austerity. Besides," she smiled at him, "Technically, I've still got it on trial. You and Bernie go in the back, try to figure out what the Hell Gary's uncovered." Hans nodded again, but looked uncomfortable. "He'll be okay, you know? Jarrett's had plenty of experience with this sort of thing."
"I know," said Hans, "But I'm having trouble believing that Omni could've done this."
Sasha helped him unplug the laptops and bag them up.
"Funny story," she said, poking the last of the leads into the bag, "About six months ago I had a meeting with a Mister Fisher from the Home Office. I say a meeting, but it was a lot less formal than that. More like..." she paused to consider her words carefully. "An encounter. Accidental, coincidental, highly convenient. No one likes to feel played, Hans, least of all me, but when the game's got more than two sides you have to question the nature of loyalty. In every possible context."
Hans stared at her.
"You've got immunity?"
"Not from the everyday flotsam and jetsam of random happenstance, no, but our little North Korean former friend is part of something much bigger which, thanks to thirty meaningful seconds spent with her smartphone, I can now call upon in a time of need. I'd call this a time of need, wouldn't you?"
Hans zipped-up the bags and threw them over his shoulder.
"Words often fail me, Miss Marx, particularly in your company but, whatever your standing as a...funky asset of the SIS, I'm relieved that we are on the same side."
Sasha laughed.
"Everything brings me back to Tacitus, Hans. It's an optimisation of futility, and my feminist soul rails against it, given Omni's betrayal, but I can't help feeling we're headed for something ultimately fulfilling. Just remember, a bad peace is even worse than war."
David Cutter finished his text, hit 'send' and switched off his mobile. Bernie Taylor, sitting opposite him in the back of the van, raised an eyebrow.
"Explaining myself to my wife," said Cutter, "Has become one of those...acquired arts. What about you? Haven't you got someone who should know where you are?"
"I could write a list, but it'd be very short," replied Bernie. "Frankly, Mister Cutter,"
"David. For Christ's sake, don't fall into that formality bullshit when it's just us."
Bernie shrugged.
"Frankly, David, I'd be a lot happier if the people I know never find out about this crazy shit. Ever. I'm having the weirdest forty eight hours I've ever known, and the comfort of strangers is definitely a complete myth."
Cutter nodded. Then re-considered.
"It's kind of exciting though, isn't it?"
"Totally."
They shared a laugh before the van doors were unlocked and opened. Sasha Marx beamed at them.
"Okay, guys. Consider this an upgrade - we're changing vehicles."
"About time, too," said Cutter, climbing out and blinking in the sunshine. Then he saw Hans holding two laptop bags. "Oh, great. The gang's all here."
"Relax," smiled Sasha, "You're riding shotgun with me," She pointed at the metallic grey Citroen C1 further up the street. "We can have a lovely chat about what AV means to AktionHive, and why Phylos Cade might want to have a backdoor into it."
To be continued...
Tuesday, 23 August 2016
Tempus Clausuris (10)
Part Ten: I'll whisk them up in no moonlight.
In the blue room at 27A, Omni was watching Gary type. It was the first time in weeks that they'd been alone together in the flat.
"What are you doing?" she asked. He glanced up at her.
"Chasing a ghost, I think. Oh, and setting myself a thesis topic for when...if...any of this ever gets normal again. I'm sorry, I'd forgotten you were still here. Do you need to get home? I've got the Suzuki parked round the back and a spare crash helmet..."
"It's fine," said Omni, "I was going to tidy up a bit before Sasha gets back."
"That may be quite a while," sighed Gary, leaning back from the laptop. "Hans seems to think they're all going on a destiny special today, which is why I'm stuck with the Cade intrusion brief." He laughed. "A ghost chasing a more experienced ghost in and out of a defective haunted house. That's not a thesis topic, it's a fucking Hollywood 'B' movie."
Omni pulled up Hans' chair and joined him at the makeshift desk.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand what's going on right now, Gary, but consider this me taking an interest. I know you and Hans have made Sasha a fuckload of money lately."
Gary nodded.
"Just shy of a quarter of a million, give or take, in nine days. But this is different. You saw the video. This is something else. It's a challenge, and I'm not sure anyone really gets it, y'know?"
Omni reached out, almost making contact with Gary's thigh, but then held back.
"I get it, Gary. To an extent you would hardly believe. Do you know how many North Koreans there are in London right now? Fewer than fifty. Sasha took me in, like she takes in anyone who intrigues or surprises her, but in the months I've known her I've never seen her this...distracted. Mick's really put a cat in her pigeon coop."
"Well," said Gary, "She has a bit of history with Mick Routledge, that's for sure. You remember Gomez from that trade fair we crashed in April? He put me straight on a few details about them, and yeah, they had a pretty serious relationship going for a while there. It kinda makes sense he'd bring her this, especially given her connections, but...you were right last night. It's the levels beyond the subtext. And that's all encoded in the data, which is pretty damned awesome."
Omni broke the final barrier, and gripped Gary's thigh.
"Tell me about the ghost," she said, leaning towards him conspiratorially.
Gary stared at her, both flattered and astonished.
"Phylos Cade. Kind of a legend. Seems he followed-up Hans' intrusion at AktionHive with his own, but masked his entry point as something internal. But then he blew it by adding his initials to the IP code. I've tracerouted it, and it's total bullshit, so bonus points to him for sheer...chutzpah, I guess. But there's something else."
Omni was fishing in her pocket for something.
"Go on,"
"Well, I can't confirm it yet, but I think Cade's hit AktionHive's servers with a Zero Day exploit. I mean, a really clever one. Just not sure what it's supposed to do. The code's..."
Omni shoved the hypodermic into his leg and pushed home the plunger.
"What the fuck?"
"Sleep well," she said, "I think you've earned it." She pulled the keys out of his pocket and left him spinning in his chair. Four and a half minutes later, she was donning a crash helmet and composing a text message as she started Gary's Suzuki.
To be continued...
In the blue room at 27A, Omni was watching Gary type. It was the first time in weeks that they'd been alone together in the flat.
"What are you doing?" she asked. He glanced up at her.
"Chasing a ghost, I think. Oh, and setting myself a thesis topic for when...if...any of this ever gets normal again. I'm sorry, I'd forgotten you were still here. Do you need to get home? I've got the Suzuki parked round the back and a spare crash helmet..."
"It's fine," said Omni, "I was going to tidy up a bit before Sasha gets back."
"That may be quite a while," sighed Gary, leaning back from the laptop. "Hans seems to think they're all going on a destiny special today, which is why I'm stuck with the Cade intrusion brief." He laughed. "A ghost chasing a more experienced ghost in and out of a defective haunted house. That's not a thesis topic, it's a fucking Hollywood 'B' movie."
Omni pulled up Hans' chair and joined him at the makeshift desk.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand what's going on right now, Gary, but consider this me taking an interest. I know you and Hans have made Sasha a fuckload of money lately."
Gary nodded.
"Just shy of a quarter of a million, give or take, in nine days. But this is different. You saw the video. This is something else. It's a challenge, and I'm not sure anyone really gets it, y'know?"
Omni reached out, almost making contact with Gary's thigh, but then held back.
"I get it, Gary. To an extent you would hardly believe. Do you know how many North Koreans there are in London right now? Fewer than fifty. Sasha took me in, like she takes in anyone who intrigues or surprises her, but in the months I've known her I've never seen her this...distracted. Mick's really put a cat in her pigeon coop."
"Well," said Gary, "She has a bit of history with Mick Routledge, that's for sure. You remember Gomez from that trade fair we crashed in April? He put me straight on a few details about them, and yeah, they had a pretty serious relationship going for a while there. It kinda makes sense he'd bring her this, especially given her connections, but...you were right last night. It's the levels beyond the subtext. And that's all encoded in the data, which is pretty damned awesome."
Omni broke the final barrier, and gripped Gary's thigh.
"Tell me about the ghost," she said, leaning towards him conspiratorially.
Gary stared at her, both flattered and astonished.
"Phylos Cade. Kind of a legend. Seems he followed-up Hans' intrusion at AktionHive with his own, but masked his entry point as something internal. But then he blew it by adding his initials to the IP code. I've tracerouted it, and it's total bullshit, so bonus points to him for sheer...chutzpah, I guess. But there's something else."
Omni was fishing in her pocket for something.
"Go on,"
"Well, I can't confirm it yet, but I think Cade's hit AktionHive's servers with a Zero Day exploit. I mean, a really clever one. Just not sure what it's supposed to do. The code's..."
Omni shoved the hypodermic into his leg and pushed home the plunger.
"What the fuck?"
"Sleep well," she said, "I think you've earned it." She pulled the keys out of his pocket and left him spinning in his chair. Four and a half minutes later, she was donning a crash helmet and composing a text message as she started Gary's Suzuki.
To be continued...
Thursday, 11 August 2016
Tempus Clausuris (9)
Part Nine: Running before time took our dreams away.
Sasha Marx was behind the desk, conducting a cursory websearch focused on the man who was now effectively her prisoner.
"Your tweets are quite political, David," she observed. Her tone was neutral, so initially Cutter wasn't sure how good or bad that was. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
"Yeah, well, it's been a bit of a year, hasn't it?"
She shook her head.
"Everything is politics. Thomas Mann. But your own leanings seem curiously...ambivalent. Tell me, were you one of those very public remainers who secretly voted for Brexit anyway?"
He stared at her.
"Why the Hell should you care how I voted?"
"I don't." She shrugged. "But that's an interesting answer. Something else is puzzling me, though."
"If it's the stuff about theme parks, blame my wife and daughter."
"No," she said. "What I don't understand is how a man who doesn't seem to care less about technology becomes the CTO of AktionHive."
David Cutter laughed.
"Oh, great. I suppose you're going to hit me with a ton of glass ceiling bullshit. Fair enough, then. You're right. I shouldn't be here. My job should've gone to...I dunno...Celia Fuckpants. Truth is, I've been here just over a year, barely have a clue what I'm doing most days, and would jump at the chance to hightail it out of here. Especially today."
Sasha raised an eyebrow at him.
"That's fascinating. You're possibly the second most ineffectually tortured man I've ever met. In different circumstances, I'd probably headhunt you myself, and keep you as a pet."
Hans came back into the office, making Cutter twitch.
"We've got a lead," he said.
"Ryland or Cade?" asked Sasha.
"We think Ryland, but she's mobile. And Cade followed our intrusion here with one of his own. I've called Gary, he's on it now."
"What?" asked Cutter. "What's going on?"
"Time for some choices," said Sasha, shutting down Cutter's PC. "Was Taylor useful?"
"Very," nodded Hans, "But Mister Routledge is something of a spare wheel, I think."
"Agreed," said Sasha, smiling. "Something he'd be the first to admit." She turned to Cutter. "For reasons you won't immediately appreciate, we're going to move your first meeting with your new intern up the schedule. For a carrot, we can promise you some answers, and a field trip."
David Cutter had already decided that he didn't want to know the nature of the stick.
Sara Ryland paid the taxi driver and joined Dikas at the front door.
"You said a cottage,"
Dikas put the bags down, and fished in his pocket for the keys.
"Did I exaggerate? It's a conversion. The owner warned me he'd had some work done."
Sara turned slowly, taking in the full extent of the landscape.
"My God, you can even see the white horse from here!"
"Indeed. The view has not changed. I believe we have close on a thousand acres, if exploration's on your mind."
She tapped him on the shoulder, making him turn.
"There's a keypad," she said.
"Yes. Don't worry, I have the code." He found the right key and turned it twice in the lock, making the keypad light up. "Here goes." He punched in a six digit sequence then pressed the enter key twice. "We have thirty seconds," he explained, pushing the door open.
"To do what?" asked Sara, following him in.
"To enter the next code." He pointed at the panel on the inside wall.
"What happens if you don't?"
"Three very negative things," he said, entering the new digits. "Including..." He paused as the lights came up and various doors automatically unlocked. "Well, never mind."
Sara shut the front door and stared at the building's interior.
"You know I'm going to ask, right?"
Dikas hefted the bags.
"He's not here, Miss Ryland."
"Is he en route?"
Dikas led the way through to the next level of the property.
"In a way, Miss Ryland, we all are, don't you think?"
To be continued...
Sasha Marx was behind the desk, conducting a cursory websearch focused on the man who was now effectively her prisoner.
"Your tweets are quite political, David," she observed. Her tone was neutral, so initially Cutter wasn't sure how good or bad that was. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
"Yeah, well, it's been a bit of a year, hasn't it?"
She shook her head.
"Everything is politics. Thomas Mann. But your own leanings seem curiously...ambivalent. Tell me, were you one of those very public remainers who secretly voted for Brexit anyway?"
He stared at her.
"Why the Hell should you care how I voted?"
"I don't." She shrugged. "But that's an interesting answer. Something else is puzzling me, though."
"If it's the stuff about theme parks, blame my wife and daughter."
"No," she said. "What I don't understand is how a man who doesn't seem to care less about technology becomes the CTO of AktionHive."
David Cutter laughed.
"Oh, great. I suppose you're going to hit me with a ton of glass ceiling bullshit. Fair enough, then. You're right. I shouldn't be here. My job should've gone to...I dunno...Celia Fuckpants. Truth is, I've been here just over a year, barely have a clue what I'm doing most days, and would jump at the chance to hightail it out of here. Especially today."
Sasha raised an eyebrow at him.
"That's fascinating. You're possibly the second most ineffectually tortured man I've ever met. In different circumstances, I'd probably headhunt you myself, and keep you as a pet."
Hans came back into the office, making Cutter twitch.
"We've got a lead," he said.
"Ryland or Cade?" asked Sasha.
"We think Ryland, but she's mobile. And Cade followed our intrusion here with one of his own. I've called Gary, he's on it now."
"What?" asked Cutter. "What's going on?"
"Time for some choices," said Sasha, shutting down Cutter's PC. "Was Taylor useful?"
"Very," nodded Hans, "But Mister Routledge is something of a spare wheel, I think."
"Agreed," said Sasha, smiling. "Something he'd be the first to admit." She turned to Cutter. "For reasons you won't immediately appreciate, we're going to move your first meeting with your new intern up the schedule. For a carrot, we can promise you some answers, and a field trip."
David Cutter had already decided that he didn't want to know the nature of the stick.
Sara Ryland paid the taxi driver and joined Dikas at the front door.
"You said a cottage,"
Dikas put the bags down, and fished in his pocket for the keys.
"Did I exaggerate? It's a conversion. The owner warned me he'd had some work done."
Sara turned slowly, taking in the full extent of the landscape.
"My God, you can even see the white horse from here!"
"Indeed. The view has not changed. I believe we have close on a thousand acres, if exploration's on your mind."
She tapped him on the shoulder, making him turn.
"There's a keypad," she said.
"Yes. Don't worry, I have the code." He found the right key and turned it twice in the lock, making the keypad light up. "Here goes." He punched in a six digit sequence then pressed the enter key twice. "We have thirty seconds," he explained, pushing the door open.
"To do what?" asked Sara, following him in.
"To enter the next code." He pointed at the panel on the inside wall.
"What happens if you don't?"
"Three very negative things," he said, entering the new digits. "Including..." He paused as the lights came up and various doors automatically unlocked. "Well, never mind."
Sara shut the front door and stared at the building's interior.
"You know I'm going to ask, right?"
Dikas hefted the bags.
"He's not here, Miss Ryland."
"Is he en route?"
Dikas led the way through to the next level of the property.
"In a way, Miss Ryland, we all are, don't you think?"
To be continued...
Tuesday, 2 August 2016
Tempus Clausuris (8)
Part Eight: Tonight they hunt for you.
"Well," said Mick Routledge, joining Bernie at his desk, "This is all a bit fucked up, isn't it?"
Bernie Taylor nodded, and swept aside a pile of magazines.
"You should've been here an hour ago. There were guns and everything. Actually, I think Cutter might've shat his pants."
"Yeah," said Mick, perching on the cleared desk space, "Sasha can have that effect on people. Look, mate, I'm sorry this has gone nuclear but, in my defence, I really thought she might provide a shortcut."
Bernie stared at him, incredulous.
"Your ex-girlfriend...a shortcut? To what, oblivion? Armageddon? Think you might be right, there. What the Hell possessed you, man? I mean, she was always...I'm trying to think of a nice word."
"Toxic?"
"Sure, that'll do. And God knows she definitely kept freaky company, but your new pal Hans is really something else. I don't mean to judge, but I'm guessing he might be a friend of my would-be girlfriend's ex."
Mick frowned.
"Remind me. Is that the date your sister set up? That whole Victims-R-Us number?"
"Deralyn, yeah. I was going to call her when all this kicked off." He paused, remembering the text he'd received, allegedly from Cutter. "Hang on, if Hans and Sasha are right, how did he know so much?" He fired-up another tab on his desktop browser and launched the Intrusion Detection System Test. "More worrying, I suppose, is that he knew you were out for the count."
Mick grabbed a chair and joined Bernie at the computer.
"I thought you were supposed to be researching Sara Ryland."
"Been there, done that. No Facebook, no Twitter, not even Google bloody Plus. Let's just say she's not keen on exposure." He sighed, waiting for the IDST to finish scanning. "Only a slightly different scenario with the guy who might be behind her bloody video."
"Phylos Cade?"
"Yeah, and quite how that name has become common currency all of a sudden is an effing mystery to me."
"You're right," said Mick, "There's nothing but a few random blog posts, but I don't think that's it. Something in that video works like a...a referential trigger. It's subtle, but precise. Hell, it sent me on a Google search that basically led nowhere, too."
Bernie checked the countdown timer on the IDST. Forty eight seconds to go.
"Look, I get it, okay? Psytrophic animensis. It's the 21st century's version of those damned Magic Eye pictures of the '90s. Growing up, my sister had those posters on her walls. All I saw were jazzy messes. I tried 'em with glasses, and without. Nothing. She laughed at me, Mick. Welcome to my fucking childhood."
Mick Routledge tried not to laugh, but failed.
"Sorry, man, but I'm kind of picturing it. Explains a lot, it really does."
Bernie shrugged. Eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one.
"Oh, shit," he said. "Not just one hack, but three. Our system's compromised."
Hans Ollen came forward from the doorway, where he'd been stood for the past two minutes.
"That is unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected news, Mister Taylor. You can blame us for last night's intrusion, but I'm curious to know the details of the other two."
Mick involuntarily gulped and swivelled round in his chair.
"Been there long?" he asked. Hans patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
"Never long enough, I suspect."
"Okay," said Bernie, checking the intrusion reports. "First hack triggered at 18:36 yesterday, source re-codified from a baseline algorithm via multiple hosts...from Bolivia?"
"That's us," laughed Hans, "I've got a cousin there. Total arsehole. I'm always trying to set him up."
"Second intrusion at 20:12 yesterday, source...unknown?"
"What?" asked Mick. "Surely there's an IP trace, even if it's bullshit?"
"Nope," said Bernie. "It's showing a standardized entry point at 21.04.007.212.PC, but that's been re-flagged as internal, which is...nuts."
"No," said Hans, leaning in towards the monitor, "No it isn't. It's demonstrating his craft. He even signed it. That's...talent." His apparent admiration was undeniable.
"What about the third hack?" asked Mick.
Bernie Taylor clicked on the link.
"That can't be right."
"Why? What's the source?"
"It's a dynamic unshielded IP. I know this, it's Virgin bloody Trains, this morning!" They both stared at him. "Long story," he said, "But I can definitely trace this."
Hans leaned back, and took his mobile 'phone from his pocket.
"Gentlemen, I believe some sort of road trip may be in order."
To be continued...
"Well," said Mick Routledge, joining Bernie at his desk, "This is all a bit fucked up, isn't it?"
Bernie Taylor nodded, and swept aside a pile of magazines.
"You should've been here an hour ago. There were guns and everything. Actually, I think Cutter might've shat his pants."
"Yeah," said Mick, perching on the cleared desk space, "Sasha can have that effect on people. Look, mate, I'm sorry this has gone nuclear but, in my defence, I really thought she might provide a shortcut."
Bernie stared at him, incredulous.
"Your ex-girlfriend...a shortcut? To what, oblivion? Armageddon? Think you might be right, there. What the Hell possessed you, man? I mean, she was always...I'm trying to think of a nice word."
"Toxic?"
"Sure, that'll do. And God knows she definitely kept freaky company, but your new pal Hans is really something else. I don't mean to judge, but I'm guessing he might be a friend of my would-be girlfriend's ex."
Mick frowned.
"Remind me. Is that the date your sister set up? That whole Victims-R-Us number?"
"Deralyn, yeah. I was going to call her when all this kicked off." He paused, remembering the text he'd received, allegedly from Cutter. "Hang on, if Hans and Sasha are right, how did he know so much?" He fired-up another tab on his desktop browser and launched the Intrusion Detection System Test. "More worrying, I suppose, is that he knew you were out for the count."
Mick grabbed a chair and joined Bernie at the computer.
"I thought you were supposed to be researching Sara Ryland."
"Been there, done that. No Facebook, no Twitter, not even Google bloody Plus. Let's just say she's not keen on exposure." He sighed, waiting for the IDST to finish scanning. "Only a slightly different scenario with the guy who might be behind her bloody video."
"Phylos Cade?"
"Yeah, and quite how that name has become common currency all of a sudden is an effing mystery to me."
"You're right," said Mick, "There's nothing but a few random blog posts, but I don't think that's it. Something in that video works like a...a referential trigger. It's subtle, but precise. Hell, it sent me on a Google search that basically led nowhere, too."
Bernie checked the countdown timer on the IDST. Forty eight seconds to go.
"Look, I get it, okay? Psytrophic animensis. It's the 21st century's version of those damned Magic Eye pictures of the '90s. Growing up, my sister had those posters on her walls. All I saw were jazzy messes. I tried 'em with glasses, and without. Nothing. She laughed at me, Mick. Welcome to my fucking childhood."
Mick Routledge tried not to laugh, but failed.
"Sorry, man, but I'm kind of picturing it. Explains a lot, it really does."
Bernie shrugged. Eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one.
"Oh, shit," he said. "Not just one hack, but three. Our system's compromised."
Hans Ollen came forward from the doorway, where he'd been stood for the past two minutes.
"That is unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected news, Mister Taylor. You can blame us for last night's intrusion, but I'm curious to know the details of the other two."
Mick involuntarily gulped and swivelled round in his chair.
"Been there long?" he asked. Hans patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
"Never long enough, I suspect."
"Okay," said Bernie, checking the intrusion reports. "First hack triggered at 18:36 yesterday, source re-codified from a baseline algorithm via multiple hosts...from Bolivia?"
"That's us," laughed Hans, "I've got a cousin there. Total arsehole. I'm always trying to set him up."
"Second intrusion at 20:12 yesterday, source...unknown?"
"What?" asked Mick. "Surely there's an IP trace, even if it's bullshit?"
"Nope," said Bernie. "It's showing a standardized entry point at 21.04.007.212.PC, but that's been re-flagged as internal, which is...nuts."
"No," said Hans, leaning in towards the monitor, "No it isn't. It's demonstrating his craft. He even signed it. That's...talent." His apparent admiration was undeniable.
"What about the third hack?" asked Mick.
Bernie Taylor clicked on the link.
"That can't be right."
"Why? What's the source?"
"It's a dynamic unshielded IP. I know this, it's Virgin bloody Trains, this morning!" They both stared at him. "Long story," he said, "But I can definitely trace this."
Hans leaned back, and took his mobile 'phone from his pocket.
"Gentlemen, I believe some sort of road trip may be in order."
To be continued...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)