Virtual Vandals Part 6

Getting paranoid, aren't we? a little voice asked in the back of his mind. a little voice asked in the back of his mind.

Maybe he was. But keeping himself anonymous was one of the few advantages he had against these rich kids. He figured keeping that advantage was worth a little work.

Matt flew through the glowing world of the Net until he came to another heavily trafficked data node. Then he transformed himself into Mr. Sticks and activated Cat's communications protocol. Again he flew through the walls of the Corrigans' virtual mansion and into the endless surreal landscape of Caitlin's personal veeyar.

Cat appeared a moment later, wearing jeans and a sweater. Her feet were bare, and Matt noticed that her eyes seemed puffy.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just great," she retorted. "My whole life is in the hands of a guy who dresses like a squiggle, so I have to jump like a trained seal whenever he shows up."

She rubbed her hands over her face, sighing. "I'm sorry. I was out last night-late. It felt as if I'd just closed my eyes for a nap when my beeper announced that you were in here."

Matt actually found himself feeling sorry for Caitlin. Wait a minute Wait a minute, he told himself. She wasn't forced to get into this. Remember Leif-and the other people who got hurt because she felt she needed a little excitement in her life.

He pushed his sympathy away. "I think I've got a way to get at Sean McArdle, just as your friends wanted. It will be tomorrow, if you need to get anything ready. And you'll need this."

Matt tossed Caitlin a small program icon.

When she caught it, her virtual image began to transform. Cat's s.h.i.+ning blond hair turned mousy brown, shrinking back into a severe haircut that, even though it was short, made her hair look stringy. Her heart-shaped face lengthened, the cheeks sinking in, her jaw growing long. Her lips flattened out into a tight line, and her eyes went from blue to a washed-out hazel.

The sweater and jeans morphed into a baggy, unflattering jumper dress covering a cheap, plain white blouse. Bony wrists and nail-bitten hands stuck out from the too-short cuffs. Matchstick legs and ugly brown shoes emerged from the too-long skirt.

Caitlin looked down at her altered self and let out a horrified scream.

"My hair! My clothes...the rest of me! What did you do?" she demanded.

"Don't burst a valve," Matt told her. "It's just a proxy. You'll need it to get in-just as I'll need this."

He activated his proxy program, turning into a gangly redheaded boy with a freckled baby-face, wearing a not-quite-clean white s.h.i.+rt, a too-short tie, and dress pants that were a good inch and a half too short, showing off white gym socks.

Caitlin looked at him and shuddered. "Tell me that's not the way you actually look," she begged. "You'd make a perfect Dexter."

She called up a virtual mirror and stood beside him, examining their reflections. "And you turned me into a real Nerdetta."

"So n.o.body would expect that's you under there-or me." Matt tapped the rumpled tie on his proxy self's chest. "But they'd think we look exactly like a pair of serious junior reporters from our school newspaper."

Cat's altered face turned to him, her eyes sharp. "Newspaper?"

"I bet you and your friends tried the usual social angles that work with diplomatic brats," Matt said. "But Sean McArdle doesn't go out to play-or bring people in for virtual bashes like Lara Fortune's. No, he's kind of serious, a real-what did you call it?-a Dexter. He uses the Net for research, not to play around. But he does open up his system for one thing that I bet your pals never thought about. Once a month, he hosts a virtual youth press conference. That's what's happening tomorrow. It took a little foozling on the school computers, but I got us clearance to attend as reporters for the Bradford Bulletin Bradford Bulletin."

"I usually erase that thing right after it's downloaded to our computers," Caitlin admitted.

Unless it's got an article about a big dance, or some nonsense about one of your Leet friends, Matt thought.

Out loud, he just cleared his throat. "I'll be Ed Noonan, and you'll be Cathy Carty. Here's some ID and your clearance." He handed over a couple of other icons.

"Cathy-sounds like Cat. Good thinking," Caitlin said. "Is the name you've chosen close to your real one?"

Matt just gave her a sour smile. "These people don't exist, so there'll be nothing to connect us to them-or to the real newspaper. I've chosen Irish names, because I figured that's the kind of journalist who'd want to go to an Irish kid's press conference."

"What's he going to talk about?" Cat wondered.

"I have no idea," Matt admitted. "We'll just have to go, wave a pair of recorders around, and try to keep a straight face, no matter what."

"It will will be different," Caitlin admitted. be different," Caitlin admitted.

"The conference will be held tomorrow afternoon after school," Matt said. "What do you want to do, meet here?"

Caitlin deactivated the proxy program, transforming back to her natural self. "Might as well," she said, coiling her long blond hair around one finger. "But we won't go directly to the veeyar from here."

She gave Matt another one of her bitter smiles. "I've got a list of good cutout locations. Tonight, I'll choose one and set it up. It should cover us in case someone takes it into his or her head to backtrace people coming in."

"Good thinking," Matt said, his voice flat. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

When he arrived at Cat's veeyar the next day, she was already wearing the Plain-Jane virtual form Matt had engineered for her.

"Oh, it's me, all right," she a.s.sured Matt, her bony face squinching up in disgust as she looked down at herself. "Trust me. None of the guys would want to wear this."

Caitlin picked up a virtual tote bag-an awful-looking thing that fit right in with her unfas.h.i.+onable appearance. "Ready to go?"

Matt had already adopted the Ed Noonan proxy before arriving. "Why not?" he said.

Caitlin held out her hand, and Matt took it. They flashed across the Net, coming to rest in a large, very realistic simulated room with a series of stone-topped tables facing a raised platform with a lecture desk, also stone-topped.

Matt released the girl's hand. "Wait a minute!" he said. "This is the virtual chemistry lab at Bradford!"

Caitlin chuckled. "You aren't the only one who can foozle the school's computers."

Matt gave a wordless grunt. The guy had managed to route a request through the school's system. Whoever was behind the virtual vandals had completely invaded the computers in Bradford Academy!

"Come on!" Cat checked the dowdy old-fas.h.i.+oned watch her proxy was wearing. "We're going to be late if you keep fooling around."

Sighing, Matt took Caitlin's hand again as she routed them to the press conference using the clearance protocols he had obtained.

Matt had wondered if the Irish emba.s.sy's Net node would turn out to have shamrocks, or be designed in the shape of a quaint cottage. It was almost a disappointment to find that the official site was a typical ultramodern virtual office setup.

They were quickly routed to Sean McArdle's veeyar, which was configured as a large lecture hall. Matt was impressed at the number of young journalists who had gathered. "We're going to wind up at the back," he whispered to Caitlin.

"All the better," she muttered.

Matt blinked. Then again, Cat was probably right. They could just hang out and listen, away from all the action.

Even so, he was surprised that Cat didn't take a seat, just standing in the rear.

Exactly on the dot of the hour, Sean McArdle appeared at the podium. He was a tall, intense, shy young man who was obviously terrified at the idea of getting up to speak in front of a crowd. But for some reason-maybe to get over that terror-here he was, conducting a general interview.

McArdle's voice cracked as he introduced himself, and he gave a sudden, disarming grin. "Don't think I'll ever get this speech-making thing right," he said. "A terrible failing if I ever hope to become a politician."

But as he went on to talk about Ireland and its economic achievements, Matt had to admit that if McArdle wasn't a politician, he made a great cheerleader. The young man was definitely proud of his country and where it had gone. "When my father was growing up, we were still accepting handouts from the members of the European Economic Community," he said. "The joke in those days was, 'Thank heavens for the German taxpayers,' because they were paying for the roads and infrastructure to bring us up to speed. I know quite a few of you are descended from Irish immigrants. So I think you'll know what I mean when I say that certain people-certain countries countries-always pushed the idea that our people were s.h.i.+ftless, lazy. But thirty years ago, we 'lazy Irish' had some of the best-educated young people in Europe. We were getting some of the plum jobs in that country which will remain nameless, becoming involved in computer design, even working on parts of the American s.p.a.ce program."

McArdle gestured around the virtual meeting hall they now occupied. "We've been very involved in the Net. All the constructs at this node-including this veeyar-were programmed by Irish engineers. If you like this meeting setup, I'm allowed to give you a copy."

Now that he was up and talking, a flush of color appeared on his high, prominent cheekbones.

"An affluent economy led to some problems we'd never have antic.i.p.ated-like a flood of illegal immigrants. We aren't a large country, and for centuries we've been a single people. That's made it difficult for would-be refugees to fit in-and everyone hasn't had the training to share in our prosperity. I know that's led to some bitterness from people fleeing the strife in the Balkans. But especially in recent years, Ireland has taken the lead in bringing development money to that region, helping to build up the business climate as our economic partners did for us."

As he began to bring on the holo clips, images, charts, and graphs, young Sean McArdle now seemed completely comfortable with his speech-making.

Maybe he will make it as a politician back home, Matt thought. But now But now I'm I'm getting bored getting bored.

He glanced round at Caitlin to see how she was taking the presentation. With her political family, she probably heard stuff like this all the time.

She stood with her back to the rear wall, half hidden in the shadows, not even bothering to listen.

In fact, she seemed to be fiddling with something in her hands. Matt looked a little closer. What was that? A sticky label?

That seemed to be exactly what she was fooling with. Even as he took a step toward her, she peeled the backing from the label and slapped it onto the wall behind her.

Matt strained his eyes, trying to read whatever it was she'd stuck up.

It seemed pretty silly to him, pus.h.i.+ng so hard to get in somewhere if all she wanted to do was a bit of petty vandalism. It would probably turn out to be some nasty anti-Irish slogan spouted by Gerald Savage. What would it do? Glare out in intolerable brightness? Or maybe give off smoke?

Instead, the slapped-on label did something even weirder. Its color s.h.i.+fted, chameleon-like, until it matched the dark green of the wall itself. Rather than standing out, the sticker seemed to be hiding itself.

Matt came closer, trying to find the blasted thing.

But the label was vanis.h.i.+ng...not blending in against the virtual paint job, but melting in to become part of the wall itself but melting in to become part of the wall itself!

8.

"What is is it?" Caitlin hissed as Matt dashed up-and roughly pushed her aside. "What are you doing?" she demanded, sounding more scared than angry. it?" Caitlin hissed as Matt dashed up-and roughly pushed her aside. "What are you doing?" she demanded, sounding more scared than angry.

He paid no attention, scratching simulated nail-bitten fingers along the wall. Nothing! The sticky label he had seen Cat slap onto the green paint had left no trace.

Correction, Matt thought. It left no visible visible trace. The blasted thing had somehow become one with this simulated room. Oh, it was possible that the Irish designers' programming had simply erased an element that didn't belong. trace. The blasted thing had somehow become one with this simulated room. Oh, it was possible that the Irish designers' programming had simply erased an element that didn't belong. But these are the virtual vandals we're dealing with But these are the virtual vandals we're dealing with, Matt thought. Whoever they've got behind them, I can't believe the genius's handiwork could disappear so easily Whoever they've got behind them, I can't believe the genius's handiwork could disappear so easily. Unless it was built built to do that. to do that.

He turned cold eyes on Caitlin Corrigan. "That label you were fiddling with-that's a program icon, isn't it? Removing the backing-that started the program. Now it's eased its way into the coding for this simulation-probably for the whole veeyar."

He caught the flash of terror in her eyes. Even as he wondered why why she was getting so upset over what he'd realized, his hand darted out to grab her by the arm. she was getting so upset over what he'd realized, his hand darted out to grab her by the arm.

That was a lucky move. Just as he established contact with her, Cat bailed out of the press conference.

Because he was holding on, Matt followed along as they rocketed wildly through the Net.

Caitlin tried to peel him off, dragging him through roaring rivers of daytime data exchange. Even with flex-time, the hours from nine to five were still the heaviest times for information pa.s.sage.

Matt hung on for dear life as they bounced around like a pinball moving at light speed. Now he had two questions he really wanted an answer for. What was in that weird label-program she'd left in Sean McArdle's veeyar? And why would simply asking about it result in this frenzied attempt to run away?

Cat was gulping in air as if she'd been running for miles-or was she simply sobbing? Finally, they pin-wheeled into a familiar setting.

They were back in the virtual chem lab at Bradford Academy.

"You know," Matt said, "my lab partner managed to make a mistake in here that would have blown us up out in reality. Instead, we got caught in a system freeze and had all our chemicals deleted from the simulation." He paused. "And, of course, everybody in the cla.s.s laughed at us because of the big red warning label that appeared-'UNSTABLE REACTION INITIATED.' They called us the Unstable Boys for weeks, until somebody else got shut down for spilling hydrochloric acid down the front of his s.h.i.+rt. I guess we were lucky. People still call that guy by the nickname 'Bernie'-for acid burns."

You're babbling, he told himself sternly. Pull the plug on it before you say too much! Pull the plug on it before you say too much!

Caitlin crouched against one of the stone-topped laboratory tables, her eyes closed. "Just get your hands off. Let me go, will you?" she begged.

"I told you those stories to show that anybody can make a mistake," Matt said gently. "Didn't you think I'd ask about that stick-on program if I saw you use it? It's pretty ingenious, after all. Subtle. Not exactly the style of your jeweled-up pal or that cartoon cowboy, I'd think. Was it whipped up by that guy who morphed from a giant frog into a fancy swordsman?"

Still resting her cheek against the cool stone tabletop, Caitlin stared at him wide-eyed. "I can't tell you! I can't can't!"

"You mean you have to talk it out with your friends first?" Matt said. "I can live with that."

"Just let me be!" Tears sparkled in Caitlin's eyes and began streaking across her cheek.

Matt couldn't stand watching the girl cry. He relaxed his grip on her arm.

Instantly, she disappeared.

Nice going, he told himself sourly. That's two experiments you've blown in here. It's lucky the monitoring program isn't on, or there'd be big red letters glaring around me now That's two experiments you've blown in here. It's lucky the monitoring program isn't on, or there'd be big red letters glaring around me now. He could just imagine the error message: "SOFTHEARTED JERK."

Matt quickly bailed out of the virtual chemistry lab-it was forbidden territory except for working cla.s.ses. He'd have been in a lot of trouble if he'd gotten caught in there. Still playing it safe, he visited another busy Net node before returning to his home veeyar.

The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that there was someone behind the virtual vandals he'd seen. Whoever it might be, this genius just about scared the fertilizer out of Caitlin Corrigan. In comparison, she'd been downright calm when her friends had threatened to silence Matt permanently. She'd even been cool when Mr. Jewels-Gerry the Savage-had loomed over her, threatening Cat with a pounding.

What was it about whoever created their programs? Why did that person fill Caitlin with such terror that she just wanted to run away?

Matt couldn't be absolutely sure about his suspicions. He'd have to dig deeper into Gerald Savage's background, find out how much programming the English kid knew. Somehow, he'd also have to unmask the other characters and do the same with them. It had been a gut feeling, saying that the stick-label program seemed too subtle compared to the proxies the three boys were using.

But then, maybe somebody really subtle would be able to hide behind an obvious mask....

Matt reached his home veeyar, broke the connection, and sat slumped in his computer-link chair. He could play what-if and maybe until he grew a long gray beard. What Net Force needed was to get a little hands-on with some of the other side's programming.