vehicles. Sooner or later, another car wouldâ
Headlights pierced the darkness, grayish beams of light washing out the asphalt and surrounding trees as the road turned.
Jack remained in the shadows, waiting. The vehicle finally appeared around the bend, a large truck ⦠no, a motor home, a very large one with a diesel engine in back towing a small vehicle.
A diesel pusher, he thought, having seen lots of them in Florida from all over the northern states, especially in the winter months, when the âsnow birdsâ migrated south to get away from the cold.
He watched as it drove down the road, engine rumbling.
Slowly, in a deep crouch, Jack stepped onto the gravel just as the gray and black motor home sped by, his eyes focusing on the license plate on the back of the rig and also on the towed compact sedan.
And right there, as clear as day, he read the bottom of both plates.
NEW HAMPSHIRE.
And above the license numbers, LIVE FREE OR DIE.
He retreated to the cluster of pines.
New Hampshire?
So he wasnât in Cuba but still in Florida, and south enough to be away from Claudette? But then why wasnât anyone here? Cuba, as complicated and unpleasant as the place would be for him, at least offered some semblance of an explanation for the absence of a welcoming committee.
Jack took several deep breaths, settling his system, regaining his focus. There had to be a logical explanation. There always was.
Just as the motor home vanished around the curve, another vehicle approached in the opposite direction. Jack dropped to a crouch, his eyes narrowed, his mind racing.
The car, which Jack recognized as a Toyota sedan, had Florida tags.
Over the course of the next five minutes, he spotted three more Florida tags, two from Georgia, one from Alabama, and three more from northern states.
He finally sat at the edge of the gravel, his back against the rough bark of a pine tree, the reality of his situation taxing his trained, logical mind.
How could he be in Florida when there was no one here to greet him? The whole world was tracking his jump.
Go home, Jack. Go home to Angie.
The words flashed in his mind, washing down his anxiety. He needed to retreat, to reexamine, to think this through, and he needed Angie to help him process this.
Jack decided to just start walking. He was obviously in Florida. He had landed where he was supposed to, but the same world that was tracking his epic jump with overwhelming interest as he had leaped off that pod had somehow vanished.
The stars told him this road ran east-west, so he turned east, toward the ocean, walking on the gravel, left hand up in the air and thumb out every time a vehicle went by.
Sooner or later, he would reach an intersection, a crossroads, a roadway signâsomething that would show him the way home.
Or maybe, just maybe, someone would be crazy enough to pick up a lone hitchhiker walking in the middle of the night wearing a camouflaged skin-tight battle dress and hauling a silvery backpack in the shape of the head of an alien.
Â
3
PROBLEM-SOLVING 101
When a truth is necessary, the reason for it can be found by analysis, that is, by resolving it into simpler ideas and truths until the primary ones are reached.
âGottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz
The old hacker sat back in his weathered reclining chair and pet the black cat sleeping on his lap. He smiled and took a sip of coffee, listening to his feline companion purr while letting his scripts perform the heavy lifting.
They were works of art, really, designed to penetrate, carefully but firmlyâand most important, systematicallyâthe traditional firewalls of cookie-cutter IT security systems such as the one protecting the online dating service that had just rejected his application.
âWho do they think they are, Bonnie?â he asked the cat who had wandered onto his front porch as a kitten some years back in search for food.
The feline looked up, shook its head, and
Headlights pierced the darkness, grayish beams of light washing out the asphalt and surrounding trees as the road turned.
Jack remained in the shadows, waiting. The vehicle finally appeared around the bend, a large truck ⦠no, a motor home, a very large one with a diesel engine in back towing a small vehicle.
A diesel pusher, he thought, having seen lots of them in Florida from all over the northern states, especially in the winter months, when the âsnow birdsâ migrated south to get away from the cold.
He watched as it drove down the road, engine rumbling.
Slowly, in a deep crouch, Jack stepped onto the gravel just as the gray and black motor home sped by, his eyes focusing on the license plate on the back of the rig and also on the towed compact sedan.
And right there, as clear as day, he read the bottom of both plates.
NEW HAMPSHIRE.
And above the license numbers, LIVE FREE OR DIE.
He retreated to the cluster of pines.
New Hampshire?
So he wasnât in Cuba but still in Florida, and south enough to be away from Claudette? But then why wasnât anyone here? Cuba, as complicated and unpleasant as the place would be for him, at least offered some semblance of an explanation for the absence of a welcoming committee.
Jack took several deep breaths, settling his system, regaining his focus. There had to be a logical explanation. There always was.
Just as the motor home vanished around the curve, another vehicle approached in the opposite direction. Jack dropped to a crouch, his eyes narrowed, his mind racing.
The car, which Jack recognized as a Toyota sedan, had Florida tags.
Over the course of the next five minutes, he spotted three more Florida tags, two from Georgia, one from Alabama, and three more from northern states.
He finally sat at the edge of the gravel, his back against the rough bark of a pine tree, the reality of his situation taxing his trained, logical mind.
How could he be in Florida when there was no one here to greet him? The whole world was tracking his jump.
Go home, Jack. Go home to Angie.
The words flashed in his mind, washing down his anxiety. He needed to retreat, to reexamine, to think this through, and he needed Angie to help him process this.
Jack decided to just start walking. He was obviously in Florida. He had landed where he was supposed to, but the same world that was tracking his epic jump with overwhelming interest as he had leaped off that pod had somehow vanished.
The stars told him this road ran east-west, so he turned east, toward the ocean, walking on the gravel, left hand up in the air and thumb out every time a vehicle went by.
Sooner or later, he would reach an intersection, a crossroads, a roadway signâsomething that would show him the way home.
Or maybe, just maybe, someone would be crazy enough to pick up a lone hitchhiker walking in the middle of the night wearing a camouflaged skin-tight battle dress and hauling a silvery backpack in the shape of the head of an alien.
Â
3
PROBLEM-SOLVING 101
When a truth is necessary, the reason for it can be found by analysis, that is, by resolving it into simpler ideas and truths until the primary ones are reached.
âGottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz
The old hacker sat back in his weathered reclining chair and pet the black cat sleeping on his lap. He smiled and took a sip of coffee, listening to his feline companion purr while letting his scripts perform the heavy lifting.
They were works of art, really, designed to penetrate, carefully but firmlyâand most important, systematicallyâthe traditional firewalls of cookie-cutter IT security systems such as the one protecting the online dating service that had just rejected his application.
âWho do they think they are, Bonnie?â he asked the cat who had wandered onto his front porch as a kitten some years back in search for food.
The feline looked up, shook its head, and
Similar Books
