[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

threw the standard battery of words in the direction of the keyhole. It would
be very Mouse to protect the most precious
hub in the world with something so simple as the phrase, "God," but, after
trying all the typical passwords
I knew, I came to the sad realization perhaps Mouse preferred safety to irony.
This is crazy.
White words appeared against the blackness surrounding me. A whisper, like
wind through trees, hissed in my ear.
Cracking Mouse's house is the quickest way to a blank slate.
I wasn't sure if the words came from Kantowicz or were a part of a security
program Mouse installed;
either way, I ignored them. Even though I doubted they would do any good, I
tried a few more words and phrases associated with Mouse: Koran, alms, Cairo.
The door stayed closed.
We should give ourselves up. God only knows what's happening up there, the
haunting, electronic whisper tickled my senses again.
I stared angrily at the glowing words and entered a command to check on the
status of my connection to
Kantowicz. I still held him firmly. My action jogged an idea loose in my mind.
As I grimaced at the glowing text warning that hung in front of my face, I
suddenly knew why this place felt familiar. It was like my computer screen.
Thanks to the excommunication, I'd been using the same kind of computer
terminal that, according to
Mouse's page, made up the ground floor of mouse.net.
My stubborn refusal to be completely isolated from the LINK had led me to
ferret out and use an antiquated read-only process called "ftp." I'd only used
ftp to connect to the main LINK nodes before, but, if memory served, the
process was supposed to open directories of any sort to one another. If this
didn't work, I'd have to surrender myself to the police or fry my brain with a
violent off-line. Neither option was very pleasant. I steeled myself for
failure, and entered the anonymous user password.
The blackness remained unchanged.
Damn it all to hell.
I sighed. Just as I was about to send the release command to Kantowicz, a gray
light appeared on the horizon. Like a sunrise, it seeped slowly over the
darkness, until it warmed the entire space. Above, pinpricks of light widened
until I could, once again, see the LINK. Next to me, Kantowicz's avatar
shimmered like a ghost, then, solidified. The image of thin features and
round, vanity glasses was a welcome sight. I'd done it. I could've hugged him,
Page 106
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
but we still had work to do.
Okay, we're in. Here's the ground rules, I said.
It's bad enough that I've exposed my friend's hub to an outsider, so we're
only staying here long enough to slide out from this address, got it?
Kantowicz frowned, obviously curious about the hub, but he didn't protest. I
continued to hold his hand as we stepped through to the next directory. The
cobwebs brushed my face as we moved easily over the boundary. I saw
Kantowicz's eyes widen, as mouse.net's true nature dawned on him.
This is like the old web, he said, the glee of a brilliant hack illuminating
his face.
I smiled in acknowledgment and wondered if all LINK-cops had such an
appreciation of the criminal mind.
Our avatars reached a spot clear of directory threads. Though a roiling mist
hung iir the gray space, I
could see the LINK without obstruction. We would have a safe reentry from
here. Schooling my avatar's expression, I warned, Just remember I saved you
from arrest. If you use this against my friend, I'll find a way to tell your
captain that you're associated with the Malachim.
Disappointment showed on his face, but he nodded gravely. It was the first
real indication that I'd nabbed the right guy.
I pointed to the twinkling river above.
Once we get back there, tell Danny to meet me at Yankee
Stadium.
It'll take us some time. We're still in Manhattan, and moving slowly.
I can wait.
I wasn't sure why, but I felt the need to remain a bit cagey. I didn't want to
tell Kantowicz that the Malachim's firepower was backing me up.
Just be safe.
Danny gave me a message for you.
Kantowicz grimaced and coughed, as though he found the role of errand boy
distasteful.
He said: "Sancte Michael Archdngele, defende nos in prcelio."
My heart skipped a beat at the familiar, yet alien name: Michael Archangele.
Unbidden, the memory of
Michael's naked body flashed before my eyes.
Are you all right?
Kantowicz peered at me over the rim of his glasses.
The image of your avatar
shimmered. I thought for a second you were going to yank me out with you.
Oh.
I looked down at our hands, still joined together, symbolic of our systems'
connection. I released him.
You should probably go.
I'm sorry. I didn't know it would bother you so much. What's it mean?
I shook my head.
I'm not sure exactly. Don't worry about me. I don't know why I reacted that
way, I lied.
It was thoughtful of Danny to pray for me, really. I didn't know he knew
Latin. Tell him thanks.
Sure.
Kantowicz looked doubtful.
Daniel wants to meet at Yankee Stadium.
I smiled at that. How like Daniel.
Kantowicz gave me the time and other particulars. Then, with a nod good-bye,
he jumped back toward the information stream. I watched until his avatar
melted into the entertainment traffic of the LINK. Part of me knew I should be
heading back, but I stood there thinking about Michael. Of course Daniel had
given me a prayer about the Archangel Michael after all, he was the patron
Page 107
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
saint of cops. But the mention of his name made me wonder where he was and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]