92
Power! The sensation storm in Raul’s brain crawled through his body like an overdose of crystal meth.
If he had thought himself connected to the Rho Ship’s neural network before, what was he now? Yesterday he had felt like the massive alien neural network was a part of him. Now it felt like the brain and body of Raul Rodriguez were only tiny pieces of what he had now become.
As he scanned the data storage, fragments of memories floated before him…the Rho Ship hurtling through the wormhole that had brought it to this solar system…the attack by the Enemy…the direct hit of his gravitational vortex weapon on the Enemy vessel…the shock of impact from the Enemy’s subspace distortion beam.
Raul tried recalling more of the confusing imagery, but the damage to the data storage elements was too great, yielding only unintelligible fragments for his examination. Without much more significant repair, the rest of the historical data would remain inaccessible.
A detailed systems check revealed the true extent of damage from the Enemy subspace weaponry: power production at 0.000352 percent capacity, the neural network operating at 9.317 percent of normal, 0.1231 percent of data access capability online, weapons systems inoperable, navigation systems inoperable, propulsion systems inoperable, communications systems barely functional.
One piece of the data excited him. A subsection of the communications apparatus appeared to have survived with only minimal damage, a testament to the extreme gravitational shielding that had protected it. Housed within the most heavily protected area, the Rho Ship’s intelligence-gathering capabilities pulsed with a healthy heartbeat, only awaiting sufficient power to perform the information gathering and scanning capabilities for which the system had been created.
One other interesting piece of information introduced itself to Raul. The Rho Ship hadn’t had a crew for its last mission, its operation controlled by the onboard artificial intelligence. Unfortunately, the purpose of that mission was lost in the damaged databanks, hidden away as effectively as a single grain of sand at White Sands National Monument. But it was still there, and Raul knew that, given time, he would uncover it.
With a slight shift of his thoughts, Raul brought up a three-dimensional diagram of the ship’s systems, coloring the various pieces with a color scheme displaying relative status. Spinning in his mind, it looked like a bloody mess, the display showing only occasional specks of healthier yellow and green colors. Although the overall status was disheartening, he now knew where to focus his efforts for the fastest payback.
Raul glanced up at one of the cameras Dr. Stephenson had installed to monitor his progress, a slow grin spreading across his face. It wouldn’t be long now until he showed the deputy director who was going to be using who.
93
The lights of Las Vegas lit the low clouds in a neon color storm that was like nothing Jennifer had ever seen. Across the street, Celine Dion’s wonderful voice activated the fountains of the Bellagio, pulling Jennifer toward it, along with a horde of tourists. As she listened, she found herself unable to suppress a smile. “A New Day.” How appropriate.
Strolling past the mass of spectators crowding forward to get a better view of the dancing fountains, Jennifer made her way into the luxurious lobby. Ignoring the long line at check in, she made her way directly to one of the young women currently assisting another customer.
Spotting Jennifer standing behind the couple and their two small children, the woman glanced up.
“I’m sorry, but if you’re not with Mr. and Mrs. Alfonse, you’ll have to wait in line like everyone else.”
Jennifer ignored her.
“Excuse me, but my mom and dad are in the casino somewhere and I left my key in our room. You’ll find the reservation under Wilkinson. Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Wilkinson. I’m their daughter Gale.”
As the woman’s eyes locked with Jennifer’s, they softened, a sympathetic look spreading across her face.
Turning back to the couple in front of her, the hotel clerk held up one finger. “I’m sorry. Give me just a second to help this young lady get back into her room.”
In less than a minute Jennifer found herself in the elevator, key in hand, making her way up to her twenty-ninth floor, then to her mythical parents’ room, one of the penthouse suites occupying the top seven floors. As she opened the door, Jennifer paused, gasping in delight. A powder room was located just off the marble entry. Overlooking the living area, the wet bar fronted the credenza on the back wall.
Throwing her arms wide, Jennifer turned into the bedroom, then stopped to gaze at the spectacular view offered by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Continuing her tour, she moved to the “Her” bathroom, her eyes taking in the large whirlpool tub, vanity, illuminated makeup mirror, separate water closet with toilet and bidet. After that, the “His” bathroom, with shower, bench, and steam jets was a bit of a letdown.
Jennifer giggled to herself. “He” would just have to suck it down while she enjoyed all the luxury the suite had to offer.
The fake identities and reservations for her make-believe family had been trivial, even the credit cards, social security numbers, and Cayman Island bank accounts. It was truly amazing what someone who knew how to manipulate the world’s computing systems could do, when she put her mind to it.
Laying her backpack on the desk, she pulled out the laptop, the power cord dragging the two alien headsets out with it. For some reason the sight of the translucent headbands sent a chill flowing up her spine, accompanied by a momentary pang of guilt. Perhaps she had been hasty to take them both; surely, hers would have been enough.
As she fingered them, Jennifer noticed something. Although they appeared identical in every respect, she somehow knew which one was hers, almost as if it recognized her in a way the other one did not. As she thought back upon each time she, Heather, and Mark had gone out to the Second Ship, each of them had always picked up the headset they had initially tried on. It was odd that she hadn’t noticed it before.
Jennifer considered putting on her headset but discarded the temptation. Although she knew somehow that the ship would activate if she tried on the headset and commanded the computer link to activate, the thought of attracting Dr. Stephenson’s focus stopped her. Besides, she had more pressing business to attend to.
She pushed the two headsets back into her pack and slid into the chair, leaning forward as she logged in. Having been seriously disappointed in the Windows hard drive encryption software, she had written her own, and it was this algorithm that made it impossible that anyone else could log in and access the system. Even if the hard drive were stolen, there was only one other person on the planet who could decrypt it: Heather.
Jennifer pushed the thought of her friend from her mind. That was a weakness she could not afford to succumb to, at least not right now. She glanced up at the mirror, the sight of her new self startling her momentarily. Her long brown hair was gone, cut boyishly short, dyed black, and spiked up in a mildly Goth look. A lacy black dress, lace-up, knee-high, black boots. Even without any piercings, something she had no intention of inflicting on her body, she couldn’t recognize herself.
Still, it wouldn’t fool the dedicated professionals who might be looking for her, especially if they were studying video. Since her parents had no doubt now made her a milk carton girl, that was a concern. And although Las Vegas, with its millions of visitors, was a great place to lose yourself, closed circuit video was everywhere.
A high-speed wireless Internet connection was available from the hotel, but Jennifer didn’t connect to it, at least not directly. Instead, she brought the subspace transmitter chip online, scanning for computer networks close to her location. It took her three hops to find what she was looking for: a network with links to the hotel security system.
Security system network administrators were notoriously paranoid, and from what Jennifer observed as she hacked her way through the layers, the Bellagio staff took that paranoia to a new level. Every time she thought she had cracked the final level of security, she found another router, firewall, subnet mask, or encryption scheme.
When she finally managed to gain access to the cameras and video playback systems, she pumped her fist in the air. “Gotcha!”
Filling her screen with small windows for video display, Jennifer located the sequence of monitors that covered her path through the hotel, from entrance to lobby desk, all the way up to her room. Scanning back in time until she found her own image, she set to work editing the saved video data, carefully replacing all Jennifer pixels with background data from other frames.
As fast as she was, the task took almost an hour. Not good. She was going to have to write some custom video editing routines if she didn’t want to spend a quarter of every day doing this sort of thing.
Jennifer pressed the combination of keys that locked out her computer screen and stood up, stretching her arms and rolling her neck until she felt a series of small pops. Then, making her way across to the king-sized bed, she plopped down in the middle of it to take in the full reality of the room.
Jennifer let her eyes roam freely. The place practically dripped elegance, from the bathroom tile to the plush carpeting in the bedroom. A penthouse suite all to herself. If only Heather and Mark could see her now.
As she sat upright in the exact center of the bed, Jennifer felt a small drop of water splash on her arm. Glancing down she saw it repeated, then yet again. Realizing that tears had begun rolling down her cheeks, Jennifer wiped her face with the back of each hand.
This was stupid. She wasn’t Tom Hanks, curled up on a flophouse cot in the movie Big. Nobody was yelling and shooting in the next room. This was a friggin’ penthouse in the Bellagio for Christ’s sake. And she was damn sure the one in charge of what was happening.
Feeling a tremor work its way into her breathing, Jennifer grabbed one of the soft pillows and hugged it to her chest. The first sob killed what remained of her resistance, leaving her curled into a fetal ball, her face buried in the dampness of the pillowcase. As wave after wave of weakness shook her, Jennifer surrendered to it, and as she did, the darkness in her soul grew until it matched the gothic facade with which she had cloaked herself.