firewall.
Nothing happened. The defenders fell upon Clyde's attack code, scanning and blasting. Soon, nothing was left but a dent in the firewall that was already repairing itself.
Clyde grinned. An innocuous snippet of code wormed through the firewall itself and emerged inside. It had read the firewall's composition and recoded itself upon impact. These elaborate security systems would never be able to keep up with his biomorphic infiltrator—a spy guided by the most skilled hacker ever to challenge VERA's domain.
A small number of transmission bots had been loaded within the worm. One by one Clyde deposited them at strategic surveillance hubs. He had set monitors along one wall of his apartment. Each time a t-bot activated, another screen lit up. V-Cops monitored users, while Clyde now monitored the V-Cops.
With all of the bots planted, Clyde steered his creation toward the mainframe. He had to be more careful here. Faster, smarter guard programs patrolled the area, and any stray piece of code would be deemed hostile if it was detected. He would have to weave and slip around their notice to get to his destination.
Clyde's infiltrator darted between data streams and storage structures, sneaking ever closer to his target. The entrance to the secure mainframe loomed before him like a fortress, surrounded by sensors and code-killers. He prepared his secret weapon, readying the spy to assimilate one of the mainframe defenders and take its place. Soon the V-Cops would have no secrets from him. VERA's realm would be defenseless, leaving him free to hunt her down.
A sound, abrupt and unfamiliar, buzzed at the edge of his senses. Clyde jerked in his chair, nearly ripping his headphones off. Gazing around his dingy apartment he realized the noise was an incoming call. He still got those?
Clyde's computer suddenly sparked. Half a dozen mainframe guardians located his infiltrator and sent a seek trace to get a fix on his position. He yanked the cords from his primitive machine and kicked the case over, aborting the program lock. The monitors on the wall went dark.
" Damn it !" Clyde slammed the desk with his fist and shot a glare at the ringing earpiece. He snatched it up. "Whoever you are, you better have one hell of a good reason for—"
"Hello to you too, Clyde." The answering voice sounded surprised. "It's David."
"David?" Confusion overrode Clyde's ire. He sank into a well-beaten armchair. "Wait. David Harris ?"
"Yeah. It's been awhile."
Awhile? Seven years, to be exact. Not since high school. He remembered David well. Talented programmer, if lacking in passion. They had made a good team until the administrators caught them hacking into school records. David had broken ties with him after his stepfather got on his case.
David's stepfather. Roger Smith… Captain Roger Smith, head of the 9th V-Squad. Oh shit.
"What do you want?" Clyde didn't try to mask his suspicion.
"Access to something I can't get to by myself," David said. "I need a way into V-Net's command level."
Clyde snorted. "Now I know this is a sting. You're a class 5 hacker. Got some decent X-games to your name, but there's nothing you need command access for."
"You've seen my stuff?" David sounded almost flattered.
"I keep tabs on all my former associates. It's not bad work."
"Why Clyde, I didn't know you cared."
"Don't get cute, Harris." Clyde's tone sharpened. He leaned forward in his chair like a spring wound too tight and glared at the empty monitors. "This isn't one of your game modules. This is a full Nexa level security detail. This is neural tracing and assault-bot response teams. So you'd better tell me exactly what you want in the command level, because it had better be good if I'm gonna risk staring VERA down."
The pause lasted several seconds, and then David's tone was all business. "How much do you know about Crash Storms?"
***
Clyde's stealth shell module was a fascinating piece of engineering to David. It was undetectable and
Nothing happened. The defenders fell upon Clyde's attack code, scanning and blasting. Soon, nothing was left but a dent in the firewall that was already repairing itself.
Clyde grinned. An innocuous snippet of code wormed through the firewall itself and emerged inside. It had read the firewall's composition and recoded itself upon impact. These elaborate security systems would never be able to keep up with his biomorphic infiltrator—a spy guided by the most skilled hacker ever to challenge VERA's domain.
A small number of transmission bots had been loaded within the worm. One by one Clyde deposited them at strategic surveillance hubs. He had set monitors along one wall of his apartment. Each time a t-bot activated, another screen lit up. V-Cops monitored users, while Clyde now monitored the V-Cops.
With all of the bots planted, Clyde steered his creation toward the mainframe. He had to be more careful here. Faster, smarter guard programs patrolled the area, and any stray piece of code would be deemed hostile if it was detected. He would have to weave and slip around their notice to get to his destination.
Clyde's infiltrator darted between data streams and storage structures, sneaking ever closer to his target. The entrance to the secure mainframe loomed before him like a fortress, surrounded by sensors and code-killers. He prepared his secret weapon, readying the spy to assimilate one of the mainframe defenders and take its place. Soon the V-Cops would have no secrets from him. VERA's realm would be defenseless, leaving him free to hunt her down.
A sound, abrupt and unfamiliar, buzzed at the edge of his senses. Clyde jerked in his chair, nearly ripping his headphones off. Gazing around his dingy apartment he realized the noise was an incoming call. He still got those?
Clyde's computer suddenly sparked. Half a dozen mainframe guardians located his infiltrator and sent a seek trace to get a fix on his position. He yanked the cords from his primitive machine and kicked the case over, aborting the program lock. The monitors on the wall went dark.
" Damn it !" Clyde slammed the desk with his fist and shot a glare at the ringing earpiece. He snatched it up. "Whoever you are, you better have one hell of a good reason for—"
"Hello to you too, Clyde." The answering voice sounded surprised. "It's David."
"David?" Confusion overrode Clyde's ire. He sank into a well-beaten armchair. "Wait. David Harris ?"
"Yeah. It's been awhile."
Awhile? Seven years, to be exact. Not since high school. He remembered David well. Talented programmer, if lacking in passion. They had made a good team until the administrators caught them hacking into school records. David had broken ties with him after his stepfather got on his case.
David's stepfather. Roger Smith… Captain Roger Smith, head of the 9th V-Squad. Oh shit.
"What do you want?" Clyde didn't try to mask his suspicion.
"Access to something I can't get to by myself," David said. "I need a way into V-Net's command level."
Clyde snorted. "Now I know this is a sting. You're a class 5 hacker. Got some decent X-games to your name, but there's nothing you need command access for."
"You've seen my stuff?" David sounded almost flattered.
"I keep tabs on all my former associates. It's not bad work."
"Why Clyde, I didn't know you cared."
"Don't get cute, Harris." Clyde's tone sharpened. He leaned forward in his chair like a spring wound too tight and glared at the empty monitors. "This isn't one of your game modules. This is a full Nexa level security detail. This is neural tracing and assault-bot response teams. So you'd better tell me exactly what you want in the command level, because it had better be good if I'm gonna risk staring VERA down."
The pause lasted several seconds, and then David's tone was all business. "How much do you know about Crash Storms?"
***
Clyde's stealth shell module was a fascinating piece of engineering to David. It was undetectable and
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