Got your back, honey, wrote Sahara, the message bobbing lightly in Marisa’s peripheral vision. She was listening to everything they said, through the audio link in Marisa’s djinni, but couldn’t respond with voice while she was sitting in class. Marisa sent back a quick thanks.
Finally Marisa found the mystery file, buried in the system folder of Anja’s djinni, and pointed eagerly at the screen. “There it is, but I don’t see it doing anything weird . . . wait. Your version is bigger than mine, almost double the size.” She peered closer, tapping out a few commands to ask the file manager for more information. “It’s connected to two peripheral programs that I didn’t have in my system: one in your sensor files, and one in . . . nowhere. A new folder it created. Obviously the first program is interfacing with your vision and hearing and whatever, but I have no idea what that second one is interfacing with.”
“Let me see,” said Anja, and Marisa handed her the screen. “This is . . .” Her fingers tapped out a few commands, opening the file to study it in detail. “This almost looks like Overworld code.”
“Why would you have Overworld code in your djinni?”
“It’s not actually Overworld,” said Anja. “It’s just similar. Something to do with the sensory feeds?”
“What exactly are the differences?” asked Omar.
“Why are you so interested in code all of a sudden?” asked Marisa, though she felt bad for saying it almost immediately.
“Because this thing tried to kill her last night,” said Omar. “I want to know exactly why, and then I want to know how to stop it.”
“Well,” said Marisa, taking back the screen, “welcome to the club.”
“It’s not that my version of the file is bigger,” said Anja, “I’ll bet you anything that this is its normal size—what’s really happening is that Marisa’s version of the file was smaller than normal, because the hotbox lacked the target applications. When this thing gets into a djinni, though, it finds a system folder to start unpacking itself in and sets up shop. Typical virus behavior. But it’s designed for djinnis, so the one in the laptop couldn’t finish unpacking.”
Omar nodded. “Like a plant in bad soil.”
“I’m glad you found a metaphor you can understand,” said Marisa, and instantly closed her eyes, sucking in a slow, guilty breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be treating you like this. I’m just . . . it’s been a rough couple of days.”
“Just get rid of that virus,” said Omar, “and all is forgotten.”
“I can try to delete this root file,” said Marisa, “but what are the odds that’ll actually work?”
“Almost zero,” said Anja. “Most of these things are designed to rebuild themselves when you attack them. But let’s try it anyway—maybe we get lucky.”
“Bombs away,” said Marisa, and deleted all three files. Tap, tap, tap, gone.
They waited, watching the file manager.
What happened? asked Sahara.
Marisa stared at the screen. “Nothing yet.”
And then the first file popped up again.
“Scheiss,” said Anja.
“Your antivirals should be catching this,” said Marisa, watching in confusion as all three files reappeared in the system. “Why isn’t it working? Have you run a scan?”
“As soon as you pointed out the files this morning,” said Anja, and tapped her forehead. “This frigging thing doesn’t even recognize them as malware.”
“Then let’s teach it,” said Marisa. “You use Yosae Cybersecurity, right?”
“All intelligent people do.”
“What’s Yosae?” asked Omar.
Anja gave him a patronizing pat on the head. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m only interested in your body anyway.”
“Yosae is a third-party antivirus system,” said Marisa, her fingers flying across the screen of the tablet. “Just like McCarthy or Putin or whatever you use.”
“Pushkin,” said Omar. “It’s the best you can buy.” He frowned. “Isn’t it?”
Omar uses Pushkin? wrote Sahara. Trying so hard not to laugh in class.
“Pushkin is okay for most things,” said Marisa, nodding kindly. “The average user is going to be fine with it, if you keep it updated and . . . pay through the nose for upgrades. Yosae’s just a little more high-level.”
“A ton more high-level,” said Anja. “You get better virus definitions, faster response time, a wider sweep, better control over your databases, full cortex customization—”
“It’s all awesome stuff that you’re probably not going to need,” said Marisa. She shrugged, feeling guilty for saying the next part out loud. “Or know how to use. It’s expert stuff; you have to be a coder to even understand most of it, let alone need it.”
“So you’re going to send Yosae a virus report?” asked Anja. “I know one of the guys in R&D, if you need an ID to send it to.”
“Better than that,” said Marisa with a grin, “I’m just going to update their definitions myself.”
What? wrote Sahara.
“There’s no way you hacked into Yosae,” said Anja, smacking Marisa lightly in the shoulder. She bent forward, twisting around to get a better look at the tablet screen, stepping on Omar’s toe in the process.