Page 102 of Coldwire
“Somehow,” I say, lowering my voice, “I figure they’d look the other way if you learned a trick or two.”
Kieren’s nose wrinkles. “No way.”
“Hailey plays an illegal prank about once a month.”
“Yes”—Kieren adjusts his shoulder, but only to thud into my side with gusto—“and I have a hard enough time making sure Hailey and Weston don’t get me into trouble by association when they’re trawling through the dark web. I don’t need to risk it as well.”
I scoff, firing up a returning shoulder thud. Somehow I find it hard to believe that his siblings can trawl through the dark web so frequently without Kieren picking up a few exploits too.
“You’re trying to tell me that you don’t knowanythingbehind the science of hacking inside the StrangeLoom system?”
Kieren pauses. “I suppose I wouldn’t say that.”
Whack.He casts me a dour look, almost stumbling from the impact. Before any of the paraders can get suspicious about why their crowd control volunteers are acting like roughhousing children, we both snap back into order, spotting our target building at the same time.
The Three Towns National Data Center is six floors instead of the twenty or so in the buildings on either side of it. The scene along the riverfront appears normal. No extra security that indicates a preparedness for intruders. A camera glints at the entrance, moving left and right to motion track each segment of the parade when it passes by. The most pressing disturbance for the data center at present is likely the sheer noise wrapping around its facility, endless excitement wafting from the paraders.
“I think,” I declare, “I have an idea. Follow my lead.”
To Kieren’s credit, he issues no protests. We break from the parade route, murmuring our apologies through the cluster of spectators. They move out of our way, and we hurry up the steps to the data center before stopping outside its glass doors. I tap my knuckles to knock.
The receptionist glances up inside. I wave, and she stands, reluctantly. She’s already spotted our high-visibility vests.
“Can I help you?” she asks when she approaches the glass. She doesn’t move to open the door.
“City council directed us your way,” I say. “Mandatory check of the buildings along the parade route.” I make a quick glance behind me, as though I’m ensuring everything is still in order. “We have possible terrorism reports about a sound blocker targeting the parade.”
The common user upcountry has no grasp on the basics of their world. They don’t know how it operates. They don’t know how processes are triggered in virtual, what chain reaction of inputs makes which output. All we know is that the display is designed and labeled to tell us results:close tab, log out, see map.
The receptionist rears back. “Are we in danger?”
“Not to our understanding,” Kieren answers, picking up my pieces smoothly. “Just some activists trying to cause chaos during the festival. We only need to make sure nothing has been planted in the building.”
Now the receptionist’s worry transforms into a frown. Maybe we look too young to be working for the council—and in Kieren’s case, too Atahuan. Still, his Medan language skills are great. He could be an expat’s kid. It’s more unusual here, but it’s not unbelievable.
“This isn’t a commercial building,” she says. “All visitors require credentials.”
“We understand,” I say. “But we only need your hallways to perform a scan.”
“Otherwise we’ll have to report that the building wasn’t examined,” Kieren adds. “And it’s probably easier to only have us two poke around. If the city council comes with a team, you’ll have to clear a dozen visitor passes. Absolutely not worth it just to check a blocker for a measly five minutes, but that’s bureaucracy for you.”
To be honest,I’mnot sure how sound blockers can be planted. I’ve heard of them used during firework shows on the neighboring blocks. I’ve also heard of them being illegally applied if teenagers are sneaking around—they’re minor features that can be installed or uninstalled because the instruction is so easy to activate over an object.
The receptionist considers us. “Soundterrorism,” she mutters in disbelief. She sighs, then presses a button to the side. “What has this world come to?”
And the doors open.
“Thank you,” Kieren says, stepping in.
“Hallways only, please,” she warns. “Do we know what group may be responsible?”
“Well…” I’m pretending to be very focused on the lobby when I enter, scrambling for some names of Medan groups. There really aren’t many. “We don’t want to make any assumptions before there’s confirmation yet.”
“I bet it’s the Coalition,” the receptionist says. There’s a bite to her voice. I hear it at the academy all the time too, the kids from prestigious families who don’t understand why insurgents protest NileCorp for taking their jobs. Asking why people can’t work hard and earn their keep no matter what unfortunate circumstances befall them. Never acknowledging that the money and privilege their families have has keptthemfrom needing to work hard their whole lives.
“I haven’t heard of the Coalition,” Kieren remarks.
The receptionist waves her hands, her lip curling. “That’s for the better. Their flyers are plastered all over my building in bright Atahuan text. I don’t know how the government hasn’t gotten rid of them yet.”
