System Seven (8 page)

“Wait. Dad,” Austin
slowed as well. “How does he know I’m your son? Do you–”

A brilliant flash lit
the night. A bone-jarring concussion knocked them off their feet. The lurch of
free fall preceded a sudden darkness.

Time slowed, bogged by
silence. His head throbbed and body ached. Swimming dots framed his vision.
Black smoke billowed from flames consuming his house. His dad lay motionless
nearby. He tried to rise but cried out from pain in his shoulder. He shuffled up
onto his knees and hobbled to his dad’s side, frantic to check his pulse. After
two unnerving tries, he found one.

A body on the lawn lay
unmoving – a deputy. Another officer was also down but pointing and talking to
Agent Morris. Two agents covered him and his dad with guns drawn. Burning
debris littered the yard.

In the silence,
accompanied by the pain and the warm night air, it seemed like a dream. Soon
more police appeared, followed by fire trucks and then ambulance after
ambulance. The helicopter kept the neighborhood lit and created a surreal stage
where the nightmare played out.
Was this
all about the file?
The answer seemed to rise from the flames licking the
night sky. They’d destroyed his shop, his computers, and presumably any copies
of the hacker’s files.

The laptop. He
suppressed the thought, fearful of the agents nearby. They had arranged for all
of this in less than a day.

What I have sent you could threaten your life.
For that I am sorry.

Sudden nausea set the
world spinning. If he’d just done his job and secured the network he wouldn’t
have drawn the hacker’s attention.

Instead, there was
this.

He nearly threw up at
the thought.

• • •

The sleepy village of
Oostendorp was a welcome sight in the early morning hours. The dark house
yawned light from its garage as it opened. He pulled inside the space, just
behind a ‘72 Triumph Spitfire. The garage door lowered and isolation bloomed in
the silence. Eyes closed, he breathed deep, thankful for the safe journey.

The house was typical
of the block. Narrow and tall with three stories. First floor garage, entry,
half bath, and storage. Second floor living area, kitchen, and bath. Master and
guest room on the third floor. He walked around the kitchen and plugged things
in before storing the food he’d bought. With a bottle of warm ale in hand, he
tuned the television to a news channel and collapsed on the couch. It didn’t take long to see his face and his
aliases.

“
Shit!
” A photo of Mrs. Shulz surrounded by her grandkids filled the
screen. “You murdering
bastards.
” He
launched from the couch to pace the room. To see it confirmed on the news, to
see the familiar light in her eyes–

What
had
Mrs. Shulz died for? The laptop
rested on the kitchen counter. Fifteen pieces of Crosstalk’s file waited, parts
of the answer. He took a deep draught of ale and stabbed the remote, killing
the images. Thunder cracked and rolled in the distance as if to echo and extend
his guilt miles into the night.

Karma
. Great forces were at work. Mind readers. If...
if
real, then it was bigger than him, bigger than Crosstalk or the
UG. It was larger than the life he knew or could imagine: the control they
would have, by all rights, would be complete. The implications left him feeling
small and vulnerable, easily trapped.

Checking himself hard,
he drained the bottle and went for another.

“No. Until there is
proof – no fear. No fear.”

Crosstalk could have
overreacted or been under the influence of a drug or just mentally unstable
when he sent the email. The file might only be conventional data, though worthy
of the murder and frame job. Governments had such secrets. There was only one
way to find out.

Getting to the file
fast was key. They had detected his first grab which meant Alcazar was in their
sights. The next grab had to be from a roundabout way, fast and furiously. A
perfect job for the Asshole Array, his most populated and diverse botnet.

He grabbed the laptop
and went to work.

The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at
ease. The happy man inevitably confines
himself within ancient limits.

- Nathaniel Hawthorne

Austin woke with a
bone dry mouth and crusty eyes. Sunlight reflected from the white floor and
walls. A nurse set breakfast on a tray table. Confusion lingered until he saw
beyond her to the uniformed officer holding the door open. The prior night’s
madness fell into place.

“My dad. Where’s my
dad?”

“That’s a question for
the police, I imagine,” the nurse replied. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

He asked the officer
about his dad. He shook his head. “No idea.”

“The pain meds will
wear off so let us know if you get too uncomfortable.” She wheeled the food
tray into place and worked the bed controls to bring him up. His shoulder
protested in a distant way. “Have some breakfast. Your body’s been shocked and
needs nourishment.”

“Thank you.” He
watched her leave.

The officer closed the
door and sat. He glanced at Austin then pulled out his phone to surf.

Staring at the food on
his tray then around the room, he felt a razor thin line form between
realities. Either it was happening as he thought it was, or it wasn’t. Reactive
stress could fragment reality. The hack, the lucid dream, the tiger, and then
the police and his house…

He stared out the
window and tried grounding himself. A tree’s limbs stretched towards the sky.
Curled leaves hung unmoving. The brief cool of morning would give way to
another oppressive, hot day. Nature adapted to extremes...
and so
can I. I’m part of nature
. Whenever things spiraled out of control, a
prolonged meditation served him well. Damn good time to give it a go. Anything
to calm down and repair perspective, but first things first. He started in on
the pancakes and eggs slowly, then scarfed down, hungry as hell.

By the time he cleared
his plate things improved somewhat. Clarity was key. Perspective really was
everything and the situation now was proof. He had not been careful with it.

The officer continued
surfing and avoided eye contact though Austin felt his peripheral watch. It
took slow, focused breathing to get into a meditative state. One by one he set
aside the troubling thoughts and feelings. Guilt. Panic. Anger. If they
returned he set them aside again. A long time passed before they subsided and
stress eased. There was only the now and the now finally belonged to him. Like
a cloak, he wrapped calm around himself and languished in the isolation it
offered.

For a time it seemed
sleep might return. Instead, a familiar feeling formed, one from years ago.
Small and hesitant at first, it grew. He allowed it, followed it, until a
vision began to form. It seemed unlikely it could be forming on its own, but...

He saw the room from a
high corner overlooking the bed, a black and white vision running of its own
accord. Like a fly on the wall, he saw his body on the bed and the officer in
the chair. In the next moment he stood
next
to the bed, seeing in vivid color.

Not
a lucid dream.
Not
a dream at
all. His body lay on the bed but his face was obscured by a familiar white
blur: confirmation of an out of body experience.

Unsolicited, fully
formed and sustained, the third one of his life.

Fear and elation mixed
– this was the other space, the rare and exquisite domain he’d found but lost
long ago. Unsure of how or why it had spawned, he immediately thought to look
for his dad and passed through the wall into the hallway. People walked by and
through him without sensation, just as the floor offered no feeling to his feet
nor the walls to his body.

His dad wasn’t in any
of the rooms nearby so he found the ICU and wandered from room to room. In one,
a pale-skinned senior lay hooked up to monitors. The man’s face was blurred
white like his own.

“I won’t be going
back.”

Austin spun to see an
elderly man standing behind him.

“The old ticker just
can’t handle it anymore. Just plain worn out. Funny, I sort of felt it coming,
the last week or so. I didn’t want to worry Phyllis but now I regret not
mentioning it.” He shook his head. “So which one are you? Banged up? What
brings you here? Strange to walk through everything, isn’t it?”

He stared into kind
eyes framed with a lifetime of smiles. “Um, I’m just visiting. I’m looking for
my dad.”

“You’re from up there?
Well, what the heck I’m supposed to do next? I expected a tunnel and a light
and all that. Maybe my pops or ol’ Saint Pete himself, ya know? Nothing
personal but this is a little disappointing.”

Fear edged in on
wonder. “Yeah, uh, I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure someone will help you soon.”

He turned at a beeping
sound. Nurses rushed into the room where the old man’s face was now visible,
slack and lifeless. Turning back, he was alone. Like a dream but not quite. He
left to find his dad.

Near a turn in a
hallway a strong feeling of unease set in. He sank way back, shrinking to the
point it felt he might disappear, and nearly jumped when two men rounded the
corner. One was Agent Morris from the previous night, the other a doctor.

The doctor was clearly
uncomfortable.

“...won’t pretend to
understand but it’s not my business to. Now, his son. A shrapnel wound. Nicked
two ribs and barely missed the top of a lung...”

He followed them at a
distance, still uneasy and staying with the small feeling. It felt safer, like
he didn’t exist. After a few strides, he froze: Morris’ head was blurred,
pulsing, like blobs of energy pushing to escape his skull. The men rounded another
corner and realization struck – they were heading back to his room.

His eyes snapped open.
Moments later a knock sounded on the door. The doctor entered followed by
Morris.

“Hello Austin, I’m
Doctor Goltz. This is Special Agent Dan Morris with the FBI. If you are feeling
up to it, he has a few questions for you.”

The previous moments
were so surreal he could barely think straight. He answered on instinct.

“Not without an
attorney.”

Morris replied,
“You’re not under arrest, Austin.”

“No?” He nodded towards
the officer. “Perk of being a suspect?”

“At this point you are
a person of interest.” Morris shrugged. “I can leave, but I thought you’d want
to know more of what’s going on.”

In the silence
following, Dr. Goltz raised his brows, asking for Austin’s preference.

When Austin nodded,
Goltz said, “I’ll be on the floor if either of you need me.”

The doctor left and
Morris instructed the officer to leave as well. The door to the room closed.
The agent approached the bed with a dissatisfied look.

“Crazy move you pulled
last night.”

Austin checked the
man’s face, half-expecting to see it blur.

“I know what this is
about. You–”

“Of course you know.”
Morris nodded, his demeanor turning cold. “It’s about hacking government
computers and destroying evidence when caught. What if our men had still been
upstairs? You’d be facing murder charges now. Of course, attempted murder is
bad enough.”

The words swam in a
fog, freezing coherent thought.
Something
so important...

“No,” he managed. “I
didn’t blow up anything and you know it. I’m not a hacker, either.”

“The handoff of the
file was attempted at Café Exotico on an IBM ThinkPad belonging to either you
or one Ms. Kaiya Wilson. I understand she came to visit last night. Your
girlfriend, right?”

The words chilled his
core. Involving Kaiya was not okay.

“It’s my laptop. Kaiya
had nothing to do with it. She told me to delete the downloader.”

“Do you often ignore
good advice?”

He could only stare
back, wishing he hadn’t. “I used it to try and download whatever the hacker
left for me. I was curious, okay? Nothing illegal about it. Just curious. I
downloaded two chunks of forty, all encrypted and without a key. That means I
got nothing. Do you understand? Nothing.”

Morris continued as if
he hadn’t heard. “With all the evidence we’ve accumulated, it’s looking like
you were the ring leader. I’ve never seen a house so secure. All the cameras,
sensors, and computers. And ringed with explosives? I think we found our man.”

The words were
paralyzing. “Why… why do this? I don’t know who sent it or what it was. I
didn’t even finish the download.”

The agent studied him.
“Something tells me you still can.”

“C’mon,” he said too
quickly, “you blew up my house and every computer I own.”

“No Austin, you blew
up your house. And it appears you’re willing to blow up your future, too.” He
turned for the door.

“Wait.”

The agent stopped.

“It’s in the bushes. I
threw it in the bushes. A laptop.”

Morris turned back,
his gaze an x-ray. “Where?”

Even the hint of
untruth might stand out. Still, he had to try.

“Highway 80 east of
Greenback.”

The agent’s eyes
seemed to ignite with tiny flecks of energy.

Morris stepped closer.
“Where exactly?”

“Just past the onramp.
A couple hundred feet maybe.”

Morris nodded. “I see.
And no other copies of the files?”

He hesitated, wishing
there were, but in doing so gave away the truth. He shook his head. “No. No
copies.”

“Uh huh.”

With that, Morris
turned and left the room.

He let out a long
breath, hoping a deal had been made but completely unsure of it. “God damn.”

The door opened and
the officer returned.

A feeling came then, a
pendulum of inevitability.

“Austin Bakken, you
have the right to remain silent...”

Again he stared out
the window. An hour’s reflection after his arrest left him feeling helpless,
pissed, and still stupidly curious. Control was gone now, his choices expired.
Rage smoldered at the hacker for throwing government secrets around like
Molotov cocktails. And curiosity still burned at what the file contained. There
were other feelings. Fear. Guilt. Regret. Embarrassment. He’d fucked up...
everything. All without knowing what for.

A knock sounded at the
door. It opened and a man in jeans with a baseball cap and gray sideburns
stepped in. He showed the officer a badge.

“Mac Payant, federal
agent. I need a few minutes alone with Mr. Bakken.”

The officer stood and
examined the badge before nodding and heading out.

The agent stopped at
the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling, Austin?”

“Like shit. Who are
you?”

“Friend of your dad’s.”

“Yeah? Here to play
the good cop?”

“You’ve met a bad
cop?”

The guy seemed
sincere. “Where is he?”

“In custody. He called
and said you were in trouble. He wants you to tell me what happened. What
really happened.”

“When did he call?”

“Couple of hours ago.”

“Where was he?”

“He didn’t say.” At Austin’s
look, he stepped forward to the edge of the bed and said in a low voice, “Look,
shit’s going down. I need as much from you as quick as I can if I’m going to
help either of you. What I can’t give you on a plate is a reason to trust me.
Brent and I go way back. Before your mom died. You gotta give me what you can
before things switch up.”

“You think they will?”

“I’d say they could.”

Mac was younger than
his dad but not by much. He spoke and acted with an air of protective
authority. Austin wanted to trust the guy but something told him he shouldn’t,
so he lied when he got to the part about ditching the laptop, just as he had to
Agent Morris. It was off highway 50, not highway 80.

“So you tried to
download the file and next thing you know people are breaking into your house?”

“Yes. And planting
explosives, apparently.”

Gray-blue eyes pinned Austin.
“The truth, now. Were you hacking? To any extent?”

“Absolutely not. This
is all about the hacker and his file.”

Mac weighed him in a
way that reminded him of Morris. The agent asked, “Do you still believe in
aliens and telepathy and all that?”

Austin shrugged,
wondering how he knew to ask. “Anything’s possible. What do we really know?”

“Okay. Keep cool while
I look into things. And no more talking. I’ll arrange for an attorney as soon
as I’ve found your dad. We’ll get you out on bail if possible. I’ll keep you
posted.” He turned to go.

“Do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Call my girlfriend
and tell her they arrested me. Ask her to talk to her mom.”