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Authors: Jordan Castillo Price
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avoiding looking at Nelson, and attempting to look like he hadn’t just been stripping out of his shirt, it seemed like there was nowhere he could actually look or stand or act without coming off like a freak. Javier dropped his voice low, and said, “You won’t let a little delay change your mind about posting the exposé, will you?”
“No,” Tim stuttered, “I mean, yeah…I mean…I didn’t really get anything very newsworthy back there. A few photos. And they’re nothing special. They just look like a clump of people. Nobody I talked to actually knew what was going on.”
Javier looked Tim in the face for a long moment with his single eye, and then he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled something out: a USB flash drive.
“What’s that?”
“You said with the right cookies, you could get into a company’s mainframe. Right?”
“Y-yeah.” Tim’s heart began to pound, really pound, harder than it had when he’d nearly been caught shirtless.
“Well, here it is. All the temporary Internet folders—and the whole document folder, too. Right from the laptop of an HR rep.” Javier held up the tiny drive and allowed Tim to take it from him. It was small enough to conceal in the palm of his hand, and still warm from Javier’s pocket. Only its implications were so profound, it seemed as if it should have been able to burn right through Tim’s flesh and bone, and leave a smoking hole behind.
“This is serious stuff,” Tim said. His voice shook. “You could get into real trouble for this.”
“What good does it do to blog that a riot took place if we can’t prove what it’s about or why it happened?”
Tim turned the flash drive around in his hand. “Even if I can hack in…I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”
“In the warehouse.”
Tim narrowed his eyes. “Why there?”
“The Leftists showed up at the job fair just like we expected, didn’t they? Let’s figure out what they were protesting. I was told Canaan corporate was covering up something in the warehouse. I’m sure you can find out what it is.”
Despite the insanity of the day, and despite Nelson Oliver tangled in his clean sheets, Tim was seized by the urge to plug in that drive and dig through those cookies. He’d never perused the database of a company where he wasn’t on the payroll, and the thought of it was actually rather…thrilling. “I can’t believe you actually did it. What would happen if they’d caught you?”
“It was no problem. The lights went off and no one was paying attention to the laptops.”
“My God.” Tim squeezed the memory stick—not too hard—and wondered if Javier would consider sending Randy and Marianne off to find a dentist so he could start sifting through its data. The ability to make a remote computer accept an old session ID was all he needed to get his foot in the door…and he had a script for that.
Chapter 8
Tim squeezed out of the bedroom. There was nowhere to walk, nowhere to even stand comfortably. Randy had the recliner open so far it was practically horizontal. He lay still beneath the plastic bag of veg-o-mix, which sagged, mostly thawed, to cover the top half of his face. Javier followed and planted himself by the window with no view. Marianne was engrossed in the Internet. Tim hoped she didn’t notice how fast the connection was, or if she did, that she’d chalk it up to a quirk of the telecom system.
“Voice of Reason still hasn’t updated,” she said. She sounded genuinely concerned.
Javier went to her side and placed a hand on the back of her chair. “I’m sure it’s nothing. They…probably can’t get online. That’s all.”
Marianne pressed her head against his arm. “I wish I was home.” She gave a sheepish look over her shoulder. “No offense, Tim. I totally owe you one for getting me away from the crazies. But right now I want to crawl into bed, pull my covers up over my head, and pretend today was just a really messed-up
“No,” Tim stuttered, “I mean, yeah…I mean…I didn’t really get anything very newsworthy back there. A few photos. And they’re nothing special. They just look like a clump of people. Nobody I talked to actually knew what was going on.”
Javier looked Tim in the face for a long moment with his single eye, and then he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled something out: a USB flash drive.
“What’s that?”
“You said with the right cookies, you could get into a company’s mainframe. Right?”
“Y-yeah.” Tim’s heart began to pound, really pound, harder than it had when he’d nearly been caught shirtless.
“Well, here it is. All the temporary Internet folders—and the whole document folder, too. Right from the laptop of an HR rep.” Javier held up the tiny drive and allowed Tim to take it from him. It was small enough to conceal in the palm of his hand, and still warm from Javier’s pocket. Only its implications were so profound, it seemed as if it should have been able to burn right through Tim’s flesh and bone, and leave a smoking hole behind.
“This is serious stuff,” Tim said. His voice shook. “You could get into real trouble for this.”
“What good does it do to blog that a riot took place if we can’t prove what it’s about or why it happened?”
Tim turned the flash drive around in his hand. “Even if I can hack in…I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”
“In the warehouse.”
Tim narrowed his eyes. “Why there?”
“The Leftists showed up at the job fair just like we expected, didn’t they? Let’s figure out what they were protesting. I was told Canaan corporate was covering up something in the warehouse. I’m sure you can find out what it is.”
Despite the insanity of the day, and despite Nelson Oliver tangled in his clean sheets, Tim was seized by the urge to plug in that drive and dig through those cookies. He’d never perused the database of a company where he wasn’t on the payroll, and the thought of it was actually rather…thrilling. “I can’t believe you actually did it. What would happen if they’d caught you?”
“It was no problem. The lights went off and no one was paying attention to the laptops.”
“My God.” Tim squeezed the memory stick—not too hard—and wondered if Javier would consider sending Randy and Marianne off to find a dentist so he could start sifting through its data. The ability to make a remote computer accept an old session ID was all he needed to get his foot in the door…and he had a script for that.
Chapter 8
Tim squeezed out of the bedroom. There was nowhere to walk, nowhere to even stand comfortably. Randy had the recliner open so far it was practically horizontal. He lay still beneath the plastic bag of veg-o-mix, which sagged, mostly thawed, to cover the top half of his face. Javier followed and planted himself by the window with no view. Marianne was engrossed in the Internet. Tim hoped she didn’t notice how fast the connection was, or if she did, that she’d chalk it up to a quirk of the telecom system.
“Voice of Reason still hasn’t updated,” she said. She sounded genuinely concerned.
Javier went to her side and placed a hand on the back of her chair. “I’m sure it’s nothing. They…probably can’t get online. That’s all.”
Marianne pressed her head against his arm. “I wish I was home.” She gave a sheepish look over her shoulder. “No offense, Tim. I totally owe you one for getting me away from the crazies. But right now I want to crawl into bed, pull my covers up over my head, and pretend today was just a really messed-up
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