Maya found an opening on one side of the bag. When she slipped her right hand inside, she felt the shotgun’s trigger guard. “The safety is on. Do you feel it?” She clicked the safety button on and off. “Got it.”
“C’est bon
. I will leave tonight for Paris and will be back on Tuesday. If there is a problem, you know how to contact me.” For the first time in their long relationship, Linden made a point of shaking her hand. “Welcome back, Maya. It is good to know that you are healthy again.”
—
After Linden left the shop, Maya stood guard for ten minutes or so. When she was sure the Frenchman was gone, she picked up the concealed shotgun and went upstairs. There was no immediate threat in the area, but she felt tense and sensitive to any sound.
The meeting was just ending in the little room and the Free Runners were on their feet, lining up to say goodbye to the Traveler. Gabriel touched each person’s shoulder or shook their hand while looking directly into their eyes. Maya saw that the young men and women were pleased by the Traveler’s attention. Gabriel smiled when he saw Maya in the doorway, but he didn’t say anything until Jugger and his friends had left the room.
“Where’s Linden?”
“I’m in charge. He’s going to Paris for a few days.”
“Good. He once told me that he misses hearing French in the streets.”
Gabriel took a disposable mobile phone out of his pocket and called Winston Abosa. While he talked, Maya tried to dissect her emotions. She still loved him. That would never change. But if she wanted to protect him, she could never show her feelings. She focused on her wound, putting all her weight on the bad leg to increase
the pain. When the burning sensation returned, she raised her eyes and stared at the Traveler with a coldness that was close to hostility.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m getting better.”
“Good. We need to sit down and talk about what happened in the First Realm.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“The experience was difficult for both of us.”
“Sometimes we have bad dreams, but we shouldn’t waste the day thinking about them.”
“What happened wasn’t a dream, Maya. The realms are a powerful experience because they’re real.”
“It’s time to deal with the problem in front of us. Why did you call Winston?”
“He’s picking us up in the van and driving us over to Bloomsbury. We need a safe way to communicate within our group. Sebastian has been in contact with a computer expert called the Nighthawk.”
“What’s his real name?”
“No one knows. It took several weeks of negotiations before he agreed to meet us. Sebastian thought that the Nighthawk was in Eastern Europe, but it turns out he lives here in London.”
“Has Sebastian ever met him?”
Gabriel shook his head. “All I have is a room number at a graduate student dormitory near Coram’s Fields.”
“Maybe it’s a trap.”
“That’s why you’re coming along.”
—
On the way over to Bloomsbury, Maya learned a few facts about the Nighthawk. He had been active on the Internet for over ten years, and had first become famous for breaking into the White House computer
system. Even Maya knew about the Nighthawk’s most famous exploit. Two years ago, the “Kitty Cat Virus” appeared on April Fools’ Day. For three minutes, the virus took control of millions of computers and forced them to display a music video of dancing kittens.
Winston dropped them off on the south corner of Russell Square near the British Museum. Maya was familiar with the area, and she led Gabriel across the square, passing through the plaza that surrounded a central fountain. The Hotel Russell was directly in front of them, its copper-roof turrets and red brick chimneys rising over the tops of the beech trees. Passing an outdoor café, they reached the north corner of the square and crossed the street. Students with backpacks and book satchels formed chattering groups outside the hotel and the Russell Square tube station. Maya touched the outline of the hidden shotgun as they continued down Bernard Street toward Coram’s Fields.
The fields had once been the site of a foundling hospital where mothers left their babies in a large basket near the front gate. There was always a coin or a locket tied to the children’s wrists or braided into their hair—a final gesture of hope that mother and child would find each other again. The hospital was torn down in the 1920s, and now a massive playground was built on the bones of those children who had died there.
When they reached Brunswick Square, Maya looked down the street and saw the small white buildings used by the petting zoo and the children’s nursery. There was only one entrance to the Fields, and a black spike fence guarded the area like a row of spears. Peering through the gaps in the fence, Maya saw three little girls blowing soap bubbles and then chasing them around a playground.
“This is Coram’s Fields,” she told Gabriel. “My mother used to bring me here.”
“You want to stop for awhile? We have plenty of time.”
“There’s a rule here. Adults are only allowed through the gate if accompanied by a child. If you leave the Fields—and grow up—you can’t get back inside.”
Continuing down Guildford Street, Maya and Gabriel reached Mecklenburgh Square. The Nighthawk supposedly lived in the graduate student dormitory on the north side of the square. They passed through a glass door to a lobby that looked like it hadn‘t changed in fifty years. Foreign students sat around a scratched coffee table covered with newspapers while a clerk sorted through the mail and placed letters into numbered cubbies.
A sign said they were supposed to announce themselves at the desk, but no one stopped them. Gabriel grinned at her and pretended to be a student. “So how did you do on the German Lit. exam?”
“Just keep moving,” she whispered, and they wandered down a hallway past a laundry room and a communal kitchen. Maya smelled popcorn and heard a Beethoven symphony blasting through the walls. Room 108 was at the end of the hallway, and the brass door bracket held a smudged card with the name
Eric Vinsky
.
If this was a trap, then Tabula mercs would be waiting inside. Maya lowered the tennis bag so that the sawed-off shotgun was pointing forward. She motioned for Gabriel to step back and tried the door knob. It was unlocked. She centered herself, preparing for battle, then pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
The ceiling light was switched off and the curtains were taped shut. Light came from the bathroom and from three computer monitors glowing with different images: a conversation in a chat room, luminous lines of programming code, and a silent, dancing ballerina. Instead of someone with a gun, they found a man sitting in an electric-powered wheelchair. His hand left the computer keyboard, touched a control lever in the chair’s arm rest, and it swiveled around toward the open door.
They were looking at a young man with a severe muscular disease. He had a slack face and drooping eyelids, and his long tangled hair touched his shoulders. His entire body was a contorted S-curve—the legs going one way, the stomach and chest going another way, while the head struggled to stay in one position.
“Do I know you?” he asked. Every word was an effort.
Gabriel was right behind her and he closed the door to the hallway. “Are you the Nighthawk?” he asked.
“Nighthawks?” The young man tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. “You mean the birds? They’re members of nightjar family in the subfamily … let me think …
chordeilinae.”
“Our friend Sebastian told us to come here and talk to someone called the Nighthawk.”
“I see. You’re from the so-called ‘Resistance.’ Well, I’m not impressed.”
“We need to set up a safe way to communicate through the Internet. Without that, it’s impossible to create a world-wide movement.”
“Can you help us?” Maya asked.
The young man shifted the chair back and forth as if he was fidgeting. “Sebastian gave you the right information. You have the privilege of meeting the legendary Nighthawk, the Demon of the Internet.”
“Right now, our enemies can read our coded messages,” Gabriel explained. “They’ve got a working version of a quantum computer.”
The Nighthawk lowered his head slightly. He dropped the sarcastic tone and appeared to be considering the information. “A quantum computer? Really? If that’s true, then traditional code is not going to work. Ordinary computers have to test coded messages sequentially in a brute force attack. But a quantum computer can test all alternatives at the same time.”
“In other words, they can break any code we throw at them.” Maya turned to Gabriel. “This trip was a waste of time.”
“It
could
be a waste of time, if you speak rudely to the Nighthawk.” Pushing down on the armrests, Vinsky struggled to sit up straight. “I anticipated this particular development in the Internet war, and I’ve already come up with a solution.”
“You just told us that this new machine can test all answers,” Gabriel said.
“That’s true. A quantum computer can defeat all codes—except for those that use quantum theory. When you look at a quantum particle, it alters its state. My code operates the same way. If anyone tries to read your message, both sender and receiver will know instantly.”
“So will you help us?” Gabriel asked.
“How much will you pay me?”
“Nothing.”
“I see.” The Nighthawk frowned. “Then we have nothing to talk about.”
“Perhaps you want something other than money,” Gabriel said.
“And what could that possibly be?”
“I think you’d like to extend your influence all over the world and annoy those in power.”
“Perhaps. You might be right about that. Annoying other people is the only way I know I’m alive. That’s the troll morality. And I’m the King of the Trolls.”
“So you’ll help us?”
“Would you buy me a new modem?”
“We’ll buy you three bloody modems,” Maya said. “Just deliver what you promise.”
“Oh, I’ll deliver. I can promise you that.”
“There’s another problem you might be able to solve,” Gabriel said. “I want to
communicate with everyone in the world who owns a computer. The message can’t be blocked or filtered. It will simply appear.”
“Understand something. This is an act that is vastly more ambitious than a putting up a video of dancing kittens. The authorities won’t be amused. They’ll be very angry. If the message is traced back to me, I could end up in prison.” The Nighthawk gestured at his room. “My cell would be as small as this hole, but there would be one terrible punishment—they would take away my computer.”
“I need your help, Eric. It’s important.”
“I realize that the Resistance is against surveillance and control, and I agree with that philosophy. But you want me to risk my freedom. So what is the Resistance
for?
What’s your plan?”
“I can only describe the ideal. I realize that it’s hard to achieve ideals, but they do determine the direction of our journey.”
“Go on …”
“This is a mass movement with a simple goal. We want people to acknowledge the fact that each individual life has value and meaning.”
“Even
my
life, trapped in this chair?”
“Of course.”
“And what gives you the right to say that?”
Maya glanced at Gabriel and shook her head slightly as if to say,
don’t tell him anything
. But Gabriel deliberately ignored her.
“I’m a Traveler. Do you know what—”
“Of course I know. But all the Travelers are dead.”
Maya touched the tennis carrier that concealed the shotgun. “This one isn’t dead. And we’re going to keep it that way.”
“Really? So what tricks can you do, Mr. Traveler? Can you glow in the dark? Do you fly?
Can you heal me?”
The Nighthawk’s voice was both sarcastic and plaintive.
“I have DMD—Duchenne muscular dystrophy. Even with the drugs, I’m going to die in five or six years.”
“I can’t heal you, Eric. I don’t have that power.”
“Then you’re completely useless, aren’t you?”
The Nighthawk lowered his head and Maya wondered if he was going to cry. Gabriel’s voice was soft, comforting.
“We wander through our lives and then we die. But for all of us there is one moment, one crucial point, where we have to make a decision between what’s right and what’s wrong, between different visions of who we might be. This might be that moment for you, Eric. I don’t know. It’s your choice.”
The Nighthawk stayed silent for almost a minute and then he turned back to his computer. “It would have to be a worm, not a virus. A virus attaches itself to an existing program. What you want is a self-replicating code that would sit around in a computer—unnoticed—until it was activated.”
“What happens next?” Maya asked.
Pushing his control stick, the Nighthawk spun around in a circle like a madman looking for a vision. Suddenly, he stopped and laughed with pleasure. “It does something quite extraordinary. Something that would be useful to a Traveler …”
—
Twenty minutes later, they left the dormitory and headed back to Russell Square. By now, it was after five in the afternoon, and the streets were filled with people leaving work. There was a crowd outside the Russell Square tube station, and Maya found it difficult to assess the possible threat from each stranger passing them on the sidewalk. She felt as if they had fallen into a river that swept them past a news kiosk to the north side of the Russell Hotel. Looking upward, Maya saw cherubs had been carved into the hotel’s stone façade. Their faces were blackened with soot and pitted with age, and they looked angry as they stared down at the citizens and drones.
Maya pulled out her mobile phone and called Winston. “We’re done with the meeting. Pick us up on the west side of the square.”
The tension she felt when they were pushing through the crowd only seemed to increase when crossed the street to the square. There was a pair of old-fashioned red telephone boxes on the corner. A man wearing a leather jacket stood inside one of the boxes, staring at them through a grid of red lines while he held the phone. Were the Tabula getting ready to attack? Thorn had always taught her that the most vulnerable moment was after an event, when people were relaxed and thinking about the trip home.