The smooth curved glass of the dashboard flashes. Lines of white text appear on it in a mix of languages: backslash and DNAssembly. Gentech code. I lean forward, running my fingers across the dash to scroll, unfolding the algorithms in my mind.
The code is precise and devoid of comments, military style, but I’d recognize the attack pattern it’s using anywhere. It kicks off a wireless blast to throw itself at the power management system of every panel in a twenty-foot range. It’s exploiting a weakness in gentech batteries that’s almost identical to the code I wrote to break into panels. That’s how I hacked into Cole’s arm – I focused my efforts on that one, microscopic weakness. I’ve never targeted it as precisely as the nightstick does, but the general method is the same: smash the power connection, wedge yourself into the cracks, and hurl commands through.
This code sends just one command. It uses another notation, but it has the same effect as when I knocked Cole out with recumbentibus.
I look up. ‘Are you sure this works on every panel?’
‘Yeah, why?’
My eyes drop back to the code. ‘Because it’s exploiting a weakness in gentech batteries. If Cartaxus wrote this code, that means they know about the weakness. Why wouldn’t they fix it?’
‘Maybe they want it there, like a back door.’
That makes sense – every panel in the world is built on the same basic Cartaxus framework, and I’m sure they’d want a back door to control people’s panels without their permission – but this weakness isn’t big enough. It’s not even a door. It’s a window, a crevice. Hardly enough to send one command through.
But still, it’s so elegant, so simple. It’s hard to believe more people haven’t tried to exploit it.
Or maybe they have.
I turn to Cole. ‘Do you have a copy of Jun Bei’s kick simulation?’
‘I think so, but it’s built for Cartaxus systems. It’s not going to help us get out of a Skies base.’
‘It’s not for getting us out. I just need to see it.’
Cole gives me a dubious look but flicks it to the dash. I strain against my seat belt, rubbing my wounded knee as I read through Jun Bei’s code. It’s beautiful. Full of comments, full of wild variable names and references to her own library of custom apps. It would have taken years to write. My stomach twists with jealousy. She’s smarter than me. She’s ruthless.
She’s completely terrifying.
And just as I suspected, Jun Bei has used the same attack method as the nightstick code. I couldn’t understand how she took over Homestake so quickly when every server was protected, and every system was firewalled. It should have taken hours, but she did it in minutes. But that’s because she wasn’t hacking the systems.
She was hacking the people, instead.
Jun Bei’s kick simulation is boosted wirelessly, just like the nightstick, but it reaches every panel in a mile-wide radius. She’s given the tiny hidden entry point a name: the trapdoor. Just the sight of the word makes me shiver. A tiny, hidden portal that her code, my viruses and the nightstick all exploit. Her simulation slips two lines of code through the trapdoor – two perfect, flawless lines that take root and give her access to the user’s panel.
From there, she has their files, their comm-link, their logins. Why hack through a firewall when you can get the password straight from an engineer’s arm?
‘This is amazing,’ I say. ‘Jun Bei, she … she’s incredible. Most viruses act like grenades. This is a goddamn sniper rifle.’
Cole nods silently. Beneath the jealousy and shock at what I’ve heard about Jun Bei, I’m reluctantly amazed. She’s vicious but brilliant. The girl is a stone-cold genius. She might even be a better coder than my father.
If I wasn’t driving to my death, I think I’d like to meet her.
‘This code,’ I say, ‘it means that everyone in the world is vulnerable. Every panel has this same weakness that can be exploited. It’s incredible. People would freak out if they saw this.’
‘So what are you going to do with it?’
I stare at the screen. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘Well, you don’t have much time to figure it out. We’re almost there.’
We swing off the freeway, taking a leaf-strewn exit ramp. The road dives into a valley, over an old bridge, and into a thick, wild forest. Through the trees I can make out the faintest hint of structures in the distance. The glow of a window. A wisp of smoke.
We’ve reached Sunnyvale.
The outskirts of the town are dark. It looks like an old mining hub, probably abandoned decades ago, judging by the state of most of the houses. As we get closer to the centre, the yards grow cleaner, and the windows shine with airtight epoxy. I’d heard Sunnyvale mentioned on Skies forums, and I assumed it was some kind of shantytown, but it’s nothing like I pictured. This place is clean and pretty. We drive past suburban streets filled with flower beds and vegetable gardens. It’s like we’ve been transported back to a time before the plague. I didn’t even know places like this existed any more.
We roll past the town square and up to a warehouse, where guards in full hazard suits are waiting for us. Cole pulls the jeep inside and kills the engine. The guards wave their arms, ordering us to get out.
Cole reaches for his door handle but pauses, his eyes landing on the black pendant around my neck. ‘The range of that thing is twenty feet. Remember that, Cat.’
I nod. ‘Let’s just stay calm until we know what’s happening.’
We climb out into the warehouse, our hands raised above our heads. The space is empty, except for two massive coils of steel cable suspended from the ceiling at either end of the room.
Leoben’s jeep pulls up alongside us, its windows dark. Dax and Leoben climb out, their clothes still wet, their skin glittering.
‘I’ve gotta say,’ Leoben says, looking around, stretching, ‘I thought you Skies guys were a bunch of idiots. I’m kind of impressed.’
‘We do our best.’ One of the hazard-suited guards steps forward, and the warehouse’s doors roll shut, locking us in.
Cole stiffens. His eyes flash to black.
I grab his arm. ‘Hey, it’s OK. They have to kill the triphase.’
‘How do they do that?’
‘With an electromagnetic –’ My voice cuts out as a humming fills the air. It’s coming from the massive loops of wire hanging from the ceiling, growing deafening, morphing into a towering wash of non-sound. It vibrates in my chest, then cuts out abruptly, leaving me shaking. ‘With … one of those.’
Cole doubles over, coughing. Leoben lets out a hoot. Dax stands with his arms crossed, glowering at the guards.
I swipe my finger across my arm. The dust on my skin is still silver and glittering, but it’s growing slowly clearer as the triphase gathers into harmless clumps.