Memories End (11 page)

“The
Mystery Notes?” Isis whispered.

“Harwood Strange,” Tech said proudly before puzzlement erased his grin. “You've heard of him?”

“Well, of course, I've heard of him. I grew up hearing his name mentioned almost every day.”

Tech and Marz swapped confused looks. “But I thought—”

“What, that I was just some geekgirl who likes to roam the alleys wearing a sonic vest?” Isis interrupted.

“Not exactly,” Tech said. “But I didn't figure you for history-mad, either.”

Harwood must have overheard some of the exchange, because he excused himself from the group of swarthy men and ambled over.

“Boys, surely you recognize the name Whitehawk,” Harwood said.

“We do?” Tech said.

“The Whitehawk Processor. The Whitehawk Shunt. The Whitehawk Microdriver.” Harwood glanced at Isis. “Am I leaving anything out, Isis?”

“The Whitehawk Gravitan motion-capture vest.”

Tech and Marz were speechless for a moment.

“Your father is
that
Whitehawk?” Marz said at last.

“My uncle, actually,” Isis said. “But my dad's no slouch at the console, either.”

“He certainly isn't,” Harwood agreed. “Merlin Whitehawk is responsible for some of the finest cybersystems ever designed.”

“Jeez, no wonder you've flown from a VES 2800,” Marz said. “That was probably your starter system, right?”

Tech shook his head, as if to clear it. “I don't get it. What are you doing running with the Deceps when…?”

Isis’ blue eyes narrowed. “When I should be uptown hanging with private-school friends? I could ask you the same, Tech. I mean, today's not some school holiday, and here you are at the Hackers’ Outlet with Harwood Strange, of all people.”

Tech glared.

Isis blinked her baby blues. “The fact is, I live down here. My dad's something of a privacy nut, and he loves that the Deceps keep disabling the surveillance cams.”

Before Tech or Marz could reply, Harwood intervened.

“Marz, why don't you hunt around in the discount bins for the hardware we're going to need to repair Felix's cybersystem. In the meantime, Tech and I will see about procuring the soft.”

“I'm on it,” Marz said.

Harwood smiled and led Tech and Isis back to Menem.

“Tech, here,” Harwood said to the Boruan, “is my protégé.”

Tech's mouth fell open. Isis’ finger closed it for him.

“He and I are going to be doing some flying, and we were wondering if you might have anything special to suit our needs?”

Isis elbowed Tech in the ribs and smiled approvingly when he glanced at her, his eyes blinking rapidly at Harwood's declaration.

“Good timing as always. A lot of interesting stuff has just come in,” Menem said in a conspiratorial voice. “I'm sure I can you hook you up.”

Harwood grinned. “Splendid. Do you have any copies of a certain ghost program Tech obtained from you a couple of days ago?”

“Subterfuge, wasn't it?” Menem said looking at Tech.

Tech nodded.

“All gone,” Menem apologized. “Very, very popular.”

Harwood stroked his beard. “Do you happen to know where that particular program originated?”

Menem glanced around, then lowered his voice to say, “It was a Mach Two release, Myst'ry. But word has it PE has been test marketing a lot of programs on the sly using Mach Two as a front.”

“Peerless Engineering,” Harwood said with great interest and a meaningful glance at Tech. “Do you have anything else from Mach Two?”

Menem disappeared from the counter. Isis looked from Harwood to Tech and back again, but kept to herself whatever questions she wanted to ask. A moment later, Menem returned with two minidisks nested in plain, hemp-paper envelopes.

“Blueprint and Skeleton Key,” he said, setting the respective disks on the countertop.

Tech repeated the titles, frowning in disdain. “Those sound like gamer soft.”

“Blueprint is a detailed map of the southern Ribbon,” Menem said quietly. “Skeleton Key will open many a locked door.”

Harwood studied the disks for a moment, then said, “We'll take both.”

Menem smiled, then prized a third disk from the breast pocket of his tropical shirt and slid it forward. “This one's on the house, Myst'ry.” He winked.

Harwood regarded it and grinned. “You dog! Turbo 7.5. Last version I had was, what, 3.1?”

“Untested. But if you're used to 3.1, fasten your seat belt.”

“Thank you, Menem.” Harwood shook the man's hand with affection, then gave him a Global One debit card.

Menem accepted the card and ran it through the swiper.

“Aren't you worried about being traced?” Tech asked in concern.

Harwood shook his head. “It's a blind account.”

“I'm sorry, Myst'ry,” Menem interrupted, “but the scanner rejected it. Says you've overdrawn your account.”

Strange frowned in puzzlement. “There must be some mistake.”

Menem's enormous shoulders heaved. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“Well, no matter,” Harwood said. He fished another debit card from his wallet and handed it to Menem, then he looked at Tech. “Perhaps I should hire Felix to find out what became of my credit, huh?”

Tech was all for the idea. “He could sure use the work.”

Tech and Marz spent the evening repairing and defragging Felix's cybersystem and installing several of Harwood's artillery programs, including one called Armor, which was capable of firing bursts of disabling code at hostile programs. Marz also installed the Mach Two software packages Harwood had purchased from the Boruans, along with the Turbo program Menem had given Harwood. He hated not having the time to run diagnostics on the soft. But Harwood had said that they should trust Menem.

Of course, Menem—Tsunami—was the person who had sold Tech and Marz Subterfuge, but no one was mentioning that.

If the office was a mess before they had entered, it qualified as a certifiable disaster now with pizza boxes, soda cans, bags of chips, containers of salsa, and candy bars strewn over nearly every horizontal surface.

Tech hadn't been surprised to find Data Discoveries vacant, for unlike most data dicks, Felix was, generally speaking, a day person. What was surprising was that the access lock on the cybersystem had been lifted, which meant that Felix had some how found the money to pay his fines.

Tech hoped he hadn't turned to outright crime.

Two hours earlier, the building's security guards had paid the office a visit when they realized that Tech and Marz had yet to sign out. But Tech had explained that they were doing necessary repairs, which would probably be completed by midnight.

They had considered swinging by Safehaven before they went to Data Discoveries, but had ultimately decided to give the group home a miss. By then Fidelia Temper would have learned that they had cut school—again—and that they had also failed to turn up for 6:00
P.M.
room check. Chances are that they would have ended up with detention, or worse, confined to their rooms.

While he worked, Tech's eye fell on the cell phone number written on the hemp-paper envelope in which Skeleton Key had been packaged. It was Isis’ number, penned in bright colors in her bold hand. She had made Tech promise to call and had threatened that she would come looking for him if he didn't—which to Tech seemed like a nolose situation.

But the fact that Isis had been on his mind all evening—to the point of distraction—was not necessarily a good thing because that had happened before with other girls and nothing had come of all the thinking and daydreaming. Whether upstate or
in the city, the girls he had met just hadn't been interested in the Virtual Network, or classic horror movies, or snowboarding stats.

He had been to one or two parties over the years, but they had turned out to be catastrophes. Minutes into each, everyone had fallen in with their separate crews, and since most of the geek-clique Tech hung with hadn't even been invited, he had been left pretty much on his own. Once he had ended up watching SuperDVDs with the partygiver's younger brothers, and another time he had passed the entire party trying to impress the DJ with his taste in tunes.

He wanted to believe that with Isis it could be different—at least they had the Network in common—but he didn't want to pin his hopes on that only to be disappointed once again.

At nine o'clock, someone rapped lightly on the office-door's glass panel.

Marz answered the knock and Harwood Strange edged inside carrying two shopping bags bulging with yet more junk food and additional software he had picked up after he and the kids had parted ways at the Hackers’ Outlet.

While Tech and Marz chowed down on tacos, Harwood inspected the console and monitors and made a few minor adjustments to Marz's installations. That much done, he began to circle the refurbished dentist's chair, frowning the whole while.

“It's not a Mustang Bucket, but you can fly from it,” Tech said between mouthfuls of taco. “I'll take the couch rig.”

“I'm not sure I do want to fly from it,” Harwood
said. “Brings back too many uncomfortable associations. Twice yearly cleanings, Novocaine injections…” He closed his eyes and shuddered.

“Check it out,” Tech encouraged. Then, just as Harwood was lowering himself tentatively into the chair, he added, “You know the drill.”

Harwood stiffened and Tech and Marz laughed in delight. Marz handed him an NPS-equipped motion-capture vest.

“Forget the vest,” Harwood said while he adjusted the foot pedals to suit his long legs and swung the joystick's batwing-control panel into position. “This isn't going to be a thrill ride.” He looked at Tech. “We're going to do everything with as little flair as possible. Are we in agreement?”

“No hotshot maneuvers,” Tech said.

“Remember that.”

Marz was gaping at Strange. “But, but, you still have to wear a vest. It's the best way for me to keep track of you.”

“You and every other hacker with a Network Positioning program.” Strange shook his head firmly. “We're going in under the radar, and I mean to keep us there.”

“But suppose you have to perform a graceless exit?” Marz pressed. “Without the vest, how are you going to know when your blood pressure and heart rate are back to normal? Flying without a vest is like… like walking a tightrope without a net.”

“You'll just have to trust me, Marshall.”

It was the first time Tech had heard Harwood sound so serious. He shrugged out of his vest and set it down on the couch.

“You, too?” Marz said in dismay. “I don't like it, Tech.”

Tech nodded his chin toward the dentist's chair. “We'll do it his way.” When Harwood swung to him, he added, “Exactly where are we going, anyway?”

Harwood looked him in the eye. “To get answers—Peerless Engineering.”

In search of somewhere to hide from victims of the Global One crash, Felix decided to visit the boys at Safehaven. On his way to their room, he stopped to say hello to some of the group home's younger residents who were gathered in the common room watching TV or logged on to the Network.

Aqua Brockton, the Romano twins, and the tow-headed boy nearly everyone referred to as Go-Bop greeted Felix as if he were Santa Claus making a surprise midsummer appearance. Never one to disappoint—at least not when he could help it—Felix handed out gummy toads and game disks that would run on the communal room's outmoded multiplayer deck.

Felix hadn't been raised as a ward of the state or in a group home but he hadn't had much of a home life, and he could empathize with the kids’ yearnings for family and security. Still, the way Felix figured it, he hadn't turned out all that bad, and he trusted that the kids would eventually be able to overcome the challenges of their uncommon upbringing and lead fulfilled lives. Despite the occasional arguments and fights, Safehaven had a
sound atmosphere of community, and none of the kids wanted for friends.

They tried to entice Felix into playing one computer game or another, but he told them he had important business to discuss with Tech and Marz and had to be on his way.

Farther down the hall, he poked his head into Fidelia Temper's office.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in cheerless surprise.

“I, uh, just figured I'd see how the boys were doing.” He hoped he didn't sound as anxious and furtive as he felt. But apparently he did because Fidelia's well-worn scowl transformed into a look of suspicion.

“You mean they're not with you?”

Felix's brow creased in bafflement. “I haven't seen them since yesterday.”

Fidelia stood up and stepped out from behind her desk interlocking her bony hands in worry. “I was certain they were at your office. I tried phoning, but I kept getting a busy signal.” She sneered at Felix. “Business must have picked up.”

Felix nodded and swallowed. “Booming.”

Fidelia paced to the center of the room. “You know they cut school again today.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Felix said.

“This can't go on,” Fidelia added. “In a couple of years, they'll be on their own. But until then they are required to attend school if they want to continue living here.”

“Maybe I should just adopt them and home-school them,” Felix mumbled.

Fidelia stopped pacing to regard him. “Why not save everyone the trouble and get them into juvenile detention.”

Felix snorted. “Gee, and I was hoping I could count on you for a reference.”

Fidelia glowered at him. “In the event they contact you, Mr. McTurk, remind them that final room check is at eleven-thirty. If they're not here by then, the consequences will be swift and harsh.”

At Data Discoveries, Tech and Harwood had their headsets in place, their hands on the joysticks, and their feet clipped into the control pedals. Propped on the office's vinyl couch, Tech had his feet wedged into a pair of ski boots specifically adapted to snug into Network-interface plates installed on the wooden floor. The royal-blue boots were nowhere near as responsive as the chair's pedals but they did the job, and the resilient couch made for a decent copilot's seat. Marz sat at the console surrounded by keyboards and display monitors, different programs running on each.