I walk up my stairs and lock my door behind me, going over to my computer. The processors are still pounding away at Darcy's system, although I think they're developing a crack that I can exploit. I pull my chair over and sit down, looking at the readouts. Okay, so there's a hole. Maybe.
“Yes!” I hiss quietly, seeing the target system open to me. I browse around quickly, knowing it's just a fake mainframe until Darcy gets her reports back, but I still poke around a little, seeing if she left any Easter eggs for me to find. Nothing all that interesting really, so I go into the home directory, create a file folder called CDG and drop in a JPEG of a misericorde dagger. I back out, and shut down both my connection to Darcy's target system and my Internet connection. It's a precaution, but since Andrea already found me, I don't want to make it easier to trace my online footprint.
That done, I type up a quick report for Darcy telling her exactly what hole I found, the crack I used to exploit it, and what recommendations I'd use to shore up the hole. The biggest problem, as Darcy knows, is that no system, no matter how strongly put together, is ever secure forever. Darcy uses a lot of the best tools to reduce the chances of a hacker getting in, but nobody can protect against everything.
Just as I'm finishing my report, my personal phone rings, and I see that it's Darcy. “Hey Darce, guess you found my little present?”
There's disappointment in her voice, but at the same time, pride. She really wanted to stump me, but she's proud that I've actually grown beyond her teaching and become, as she put it, a great hacker. “I did. Where'd you get in?”
“You used some old code, I found a loophole. I might have cracked it a bit faster, but I had a visitor.”
“You? A visitor? You becoming a social butterfly on me?” Darcy asks, laughing. “Next thing you know, you're going to be asking for my earring collection.”
I lean back in my chair, chuckling. “Hey, I'm not the one with seventy-two pairs of earrings I can't wear anymore because my son got too grabby. Besides, you look better without all that junk stretching out those earlobes anyway. And I bet Jeff appreciates being able to nibble on your ears without possibly getting something caught in his teeth.”
Darcy purrs, and I can't help but feel a little jealous. A husband, a child, a dog even... she's got a pretty ideal situation. “He does like doing that, that man and his... well, never mind me. Who was your visitor?”
“Jackson actually,” I say, clicking save on my file and putting it on the same thumb drive she gave me the initial information on. “Seems your prediction was right, Peter sent Nathan Black after me. But Jackson sort of deflected Nathan, somehow.”
“Wanna talk in person about it? I can come by this evening.”
I think about it, then nod. “Yeah. You sure Jeff and Henry won't be upset?”
“Nah girl, tonight's Daddy Night before Jeff goes on night shift for the next month. The two of them are going to stay up and watch the game, so they won't mind, and Jeff and I will have our time after Henry goes down. When you want me to stop by?”
“How about seven? I've got class downstairs from five thirty to six thirty.”
“Cool. So do those parents know just how badass you are?”
I chuckle and think about my class. “They have no clue at all.”
“Front kick series three... ready, go!”
I'm actually wearing a karate gi right now, even though nothing I've ever studied was called karate at the time, but after I kicked the ass of the third person who came in trying to call my teaching skills into question, nobody says a thing.
The fifteen little kids, ranging from ages six to ten in the class, from white belt up to what I'm calling a purple belt, all strike the right pose as they bear down, throwing their rear leg thrusting kicks before following with a straight jab, a strong side elbow smash, and finally pretending to grab their opponent and kneeing their 'head' with a loud shout. One of the boys, a new kid named Dylan who's only been in class a few months, shouts louder than normal, and I notice that he's sporting a black eye. He's a thin kid, the sort that just puts off an effeminate air, mostly because of the fineness of his features. He's a cute kid, and I know that in about seven or eight years he's going to have a look that's going to turn teenage girls weak in the knees, but for now he's probably getting picked on.
“Okay, grab shields, I want you to pair off and practice that sequence and the reverse. Dylan. Up front with me.”
The other fourteen pair off pretty quickly, but Dylan's dragging a bit as he comes up. Still, he assumes the proper posture that I taught the kids for using when speaking to me, and his eyes are clear, even though it's more obvious than ever he's sporting a shiner, and what looks like the remains of a fat lip. “Yes, Teacher?”
I don't use foreign languages in my classes, even though some parents expect it. “You put a little extra into your combination today. Nice. But what's with the eye?”
Dylan shifts side to side, and I kneel, looking the seven-year-old in the eye. “Who did it, Dylan?”