Don't know how I missed that I hadn't posted this. Sorry it makes things out of order.
Chapter One
Monday, April 19, 2021
Saturday, October 10, 2020
Thursday, June 25, 2020
Friday, May 29, 2020
Voidhome Project: Introduction
So I've decided to start using my Blogger page again in order to post new chapters of my new novel. I figure this way I can point people to this page for new chapters, and they'll still have easier access to previous chapters, which will also be available here. So I'm going to go ahead and create a new post for each chapter. Hope this helps.
Here's the Introduction/Prologue:
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Messages from the Future
“Have you ever hear of the Delayed Choice Quantum Eraser experiment?” asked Doctor Franklin Lum, sitting down at the coffee shop table across from me.
That was it. No preamble, no “Hi, hello, how’s it going Wendi?” Just a question about physics.
Not that I was surprised mind you, Frank was a brilliant scientist and quantum mechanics savant, but his people skills were a little… lacking.
“Hi Frank,” I said pointedly. “Oh, I’m fine, how are you?”
My sarcasm wasn’t lost on him, and he blinked and looked a little sheepish.
“I did it again didn’t I?” he said. “I’m sorry Wendi, I just get so excited, and this one is… “
I rolled my eyes and he stumbled to a halt.
“Er - How is, um… everything?”
I sighed. It wasn’t worth making the poor guy uncomfortable, so I relented. “Nevermind Frank, go ahead tell me about this Quantum Choosey… thing. Do you want a coffee?”
He relaxed visibly. “No. Delayed Choice Quantum Eraser… Um… have you heard about the Two Slit experiment?”
I nodded. That was basic oddball quantum weirdness at it’s core. “Yeah,” I said. “You fire a photon at a pair of slits. When you don’t know which slit it goes through it acts like a wave, but when you do it acts like a particle.”
He nodded. “Most physicists chalk the whole thing up to some kind of oddity with how you measure the photon and which slit it goes through.”
I nodded.
“So with the DCQE they use Entangled Particle Pairs. They disentangle after going through the slit and one of the particles goes left, and the other goes right. But the result is the same. If you measure, both pairs show up as particles, if not - waves. With me so far?”
I nodded again.
“Okay, so some bright people figured out a way to tell which slit the particle comes through by measuring the delay from when the one on the left is measured versus the one on the right. They don’t detect anything until AFTER it’s already gone through the slit.”
I blinked. “So they don’t look at the slit to see if a particle went through?”
He shook his head, grinning. “Nope. They look at the delay. Slightly longer equals left slit. Slightly shorter, right slit.”
I nodded. I could see where he was going with this. “But… okay so you know which slit it goes through. That means it always acts like a particle, right?”
His grin widened. “Yeah. So what they did was set up a random chance - 50/50 - that the data would kinda… self destruct on the right side. Guess what they found?”
I grinned. “When the data self destructed on the right-hand particle…” I said slowly.
He nodded eagerly.
“The left-hand particle acted like a wave?”
“YES!” He practically shouted. “It was so accurate that they could determine the results of the right-hand particles by looking at the left-hand results! They knew if they saw a wave pattern the results on the right were lost!”
“The effect came BEFORE the cause?”
“Exactly!” he said. “The wave pattern showed up before the data was lost. The only element that was different?”
“That we knew the results of the other tests. We knew which slit the particles went through.”
“Right!”
I nodded. It was pretty cool, but not very practical. “Okay, so why are you so excited?” I asked him.
He was bouncing in his seat now like a kid who needed to pee, he was so excited.
“Okay. So, we know how to see effect preceding cause right? What if we tweaked the circumstances?”
I shrugged. “How?”
“Okay so if someone sees the result it makes a particle, if the result is never known it shows a wave. What if we make a machine that does the test multiple times and the result is… Oh let’s say marked on a piece of paper or something. Just an L for left slit, or R for right slit, right?”
I nodded.
“Okay so you have the papers all arrayed in a line, but you only look at say 3 out of 10. The rest are burned. What happens?”
I thought I could see what he was getting at. “If the papers are burned and no one ever sees them the results are lost. They should be wave patterns.”
“And the ones you looked at?” he prompted.
“They should be particles.”
“And what if you wait five minutes… a week… a YEAR… to look at the results?”
I started to get excited too, because I could see what he was driving at. “You would have the results… the wave vs particle pattern, but you would have it RIGHT NOW.”
He grinned again and asked, “Meaning…”
I looked at him my eyes wide, and I said in a quiet voice, “Meaning you could get messages from the future.”
***
“Okay, I have some concerns,” I said.
It was two weeks later, and we were in his lab at MIT, putting the finishing touches on the machine. The design was a little more elegant than he had originally proposed. Basically it would automatically run the Delayed Choice experiment, but keep all the results on a hard drive. In order to create the message we would type the message into the computer, which would be converted into binary. Then the computer would bring up a grid of results, which would display L for left slit, or R for right slit, but only for those we needed in order to create the message we wanted to send. The rest of the results would be obliterated from the hard drive by overwriting them 64 times to ensure that nobody would ever know those results, so that the message could not be corrupted. For simplicity we decided that we would limit the first set of messages to 50 characters so that we wouldn’t have to run the Delayed Choice Double Slit experiment too many times.
But I was starting to wonder if any of this was a good idea.
Frank looked up from where he was coding the program to run the experiment.
“Suppose we get a message but we go back and look anyway? At the results?”
He looked puzzled for a moment, thinking about it, then just shrugged and said, “Then we won’t get a message. If we don’t do this right, it simply won’t work.”
I sighed and tried again. “Okay, then what if we get a message, but then refuse to ever go back and type the message in?”
He stared at me nonplussed. “Uh… then someone else will type the message in. Otherwise we wouldn’t get a message at all.”
“Well then what if we get a message, but then we try to type in something else completely? I mean, what about freaking FREE WILL Frank!?”
He frowned at me like I was crazy.
“Look, you have free will. Everyone does. But time is linear. Whatever happens happens. It has nothing to do with free will or anything else. Time moves the way time moves, and that’s that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then stood up and walked over to me. “Look I get what you’re saying. Suppose you get a message that you don’t like, and you don’t want to have to go back and send that message later. But then why would you even bother sending that message in the first place? If you get a message from your future self it will be something that you think you need to know now. You WILL want to send that message, because you WILL have sent it. You wouldn’t send it if you didn’t want to, so don’t worry.”
“Okay… I guess that makes sense…”
He smiled.
“But what about paradox,” I said suddenly.
He frowned and his head dropped.
“What if I get a message that says ‘Don’t Drink the Water, it’s poison’ and I don’t drink the water? I wouldn’t have known it was poisoned if I hadn’t told myself, so how did I know?”
He sighed. “There’s no such thing as paradox, it can’t happen.”
“How do you know? What if we rip a hole in the space-time continuum?”
He rolled his eyes. “You watch too many movies.”
I shrugged. “Still it could happen.”
“No, it can’t. This isn’t time travel Wendi, you can’t go back and kill your own grandfather.”
“But what if the message comes back and says, ‘Quick, kill yourself or the world will end,” and you do? Then who sent the message.”
He looked at me. “Obviously someone else. Someone with a sick, twisted sense of humor.”
“But wh-”
“No, no, no,” he said gently. “Just stop. Everything will be fine. If anything were to go wrong, we simply wouldn’t get a message at all. Nothing would come through, and we’d have to scrap the experiment and start over. In fact the fact that we scrapped it would probably be why nothing came through.” He giggled at that. “Temporal mechanics is weird.”
He looked at me again. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.
I looked at him again. He seemed so confident, and it was very reassuring. I nodded.
He smiled. “Good. Because I ran the experiment about two minutes before you started panicking. It should be just about done now, and we’ll be able to see the message any minute. Of course we have no idea who it’s from, so why don’t we just say that you get to be the first one to send a message. In that case, it should be from you. Sound good?”
My heart started beating fast in my chest, as he went over to the computer and brought up the message and looked at it. He frowned.
My heart started beating fast in my chest, as he went over to the computer and brought up the message and looked at it. He frowned.
“We got something, but I don’t get it. It’s dated a week from now, and it’s just a string of random numbers. Then at the end it says, ‘Call Mom.’”
I frowned. “What if I don’t?” I asked. “Will that screw everything up?”
He shrugged. “My guess is that you either sent this message because you missed an opportunity and you want to try to change it - a futile gesture of course - or because you already did, and you knew that you would want to. If it were me, I would call, but either way, whatever happens now has already happened from the point of view of the person who sent the message.”
I made up my mind in an instant. Of course I would call my Mom. My mind ran through all the scenarios that might prompt me to send such a message. Would she die in the next week? Would I find out she has cancer and this would be my last chance to say goodbye? Was she about to be in a car accident?
I pulled out my cell phone and tapped her name in my call list.
By the third ring I was practically pulling my hair out, when I heard her voice.
“I’ll be right back, do you want me to get you anything?” Her voice was distant as if she were holding the phone away from her face, speaking to someone else. “Okay, one minute. Hello?” she said into the phone.
“Hi, mom. How’s it going? Is everything okay?”
“Fine sweety, why? What’s going on? Are YOU okay? It’s not really like you to call in the middle of the day like this, is something wrong?”
I was starting to feel relieved, but remembered a lot could happen in the space of a week.
“Uh, no mom, I’m fine,” I said. “Look, what are you doing right now, are you busy?”
“Well, no, not really. Your dad and me just stopped at a gas station on the way home from the grocery store. I was going in to pick up some drinks and maybe some lottery tickets for the drawing next week. Is everything okay sweety?”
I closed my eyes and laughed. Frank looked at me with one eyebrow raised.
“Everything is just great Mom. Hey, if you’re going to get a lottery ticket, pick one up for me too would you? I’ve got some numbers to try, and I’ll split with you if we win.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. Sure I can do that sweety. Can you actually imagine if we won? What are the odds?”
Messages from the Future by R M Swanson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at http://billyuno.blogspot.com/2015/09/have-you-ever-hear-of-delayed-choice.html
Friday, October 17, 2014
Newton's Battery FIRST DRAFT by Bob Swanson
ATTENTION: READ THIS FIRST!
Due to the vast number of Bot linkers out there I am asking that anyone who visits this page and downloads a copy of the book PLEASE sign your name in the comments section. I believe you can do so even if you don't have a Google account. This will allow me to sift the real people from the blog scammers out there. Thanks!
So, with that said, here is the first draft of the book, Newton's Battery. It only took me a year to finish it. Now, you can see it for yourself, all at once, top to bottom. Please remember this is unpolished and raw, and still needs to be proofread. That said, the characters and plot are pretty much good, but there will be some details that will need to be fixed, re-written, etc. Feedback is not manditory, but is appreciated. You can send it to billy.uno01@gmail.com and please include the word "Feedback" in the subject.
I only have e-versions which will work with phones, tablets, PCs and e-readers, and I'm including a brief guide to which versions work with which e-readers.
This work is copyrighted with a Creative Commons 4.0 license, and is free to distribute as long as you don't make any changes, don't take out my name, and don't try to charge anything for it.
I'm hosting these on Dropbox, so here are the links:
PDF : This is the most universal, but also the biggest file size. It should be readable on most devices, but doesn't often customize well; What you see is what you get.
The rest of these should allow you to read on most devices with the ability to skip to different chapters, set bookmarks, customize the font, font size, etc etc, and are much smaller file size than the PDF. If you're using an Android device I might suggest Moon Reader, or simply search "ebook reader" on the Play Store. For iPhones, iPads, and other Apple devices you can try Ebook Reader, Bluefire, Kindle, or search "ebook reader" on the App Store. Otherwise, if you're using another ebook reader, such as Kindle, download the appropriate version below.
Epub : This is the second most universal, and you should be able to find a reader that will let you read it with a few exceptions.
LIT : This is the standard for Sony's e-readers, but should also work on several others.
Mobi : This should work on all but a few versions of Kindle.
AZW3 : This is Kindle's primary format.
Once again, thank you for taking the time to read my work, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did when I was writing it.
Due to the vast number of Bot linkers out there I am asking that anyone who visits this page and downloads a copy of the book PLEASE sign your name in the comments section. I believe you can do so even if you don't have a Google account. This will allow me to sift the real people from the blog scammers out there. Thanks!
So, with that said, here is the first draft of the book, Newton's Battery. It only took me a year to finish it. Now, you can see it for yourself, all at once, top to bottom. Please remember this is unpolished and raw, and still needs to be proofread. That said, the characters and plot are pretty much good, but there will be some details that will need to be fixed, re-written, etc. Feedback is not manditory, but is appreciated. You can send it to billy.uno01@gmail.com and please include the word "Feedback" in the subject.
I only have e-versions which will work with phones, tablets, PCs and e-readers, and I'm including a brief guide to which versions work with which e-readers.
This work is copyrighted with a Creative Commons 4.0 license, and is free to distribute as long as you don't make any changes, don't take out my name, and don't try to charge anything for it.
I'm hosting these on Dropbox, so here are the links:
PDF : This is the most universal, but also the biggest file size. It should be readable on most devices, but doesn't often customize well; What you see is what you get.
The rest of these should allow you to read on most devices with the ability to skip to different chapters, set bookmarks, customize the font, font size, etc etc, and are much smaller file size than the PDF. If you're using an Android device I might suggest Moon Reader, or simply search "ebook reader" on the Play Store. For iPhones, iPads, and other Apple devices you can try Ebook Reader, Bluefire, Kindle, or search "ebook reader" on the App Store. Otherwise, if you're using another ebook reader, such as Kindle, download the appropriate version below.
Epub : This is the second most universal, and you should be able to find a reader that will let you read it with a few exceptions.
LIT : This is the standard for Sony's e-readers, but should also work on several others.
Mobi : This should work on all but a few versions of Kindle.
AZW3 : This is Kindle's primary format.
Once again, thank you for taking the time to read my work, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did when I was writing it.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 7
While the Special Agent went off to advise his underlings about her involvement in the investigation, as well as their own personal involvement, Rachele went over to a table where evidence was being collected in little evidence bags. Most of the debris was charred and blackened, and ranged from the little notebooks he used to carry, which mostly just contained little notes about the day, reminders and observations, normally nothing of consequence. He had a proper journal, which she had seen several times in his hands, but it wasn't here on the table.
However she did see something that made her catch her breath. His cell phone.
He always chose to get a white smartphone, whenever the time came to get a replacement. But what she saw was a twisted, melted, black and grey mess. The bottom half had curled around itself. Oddly though the top half was burned on the front, but the back seemed perfectly fine, practically untouched. She took out her pen and lifted it to be sure.
There it was. The back cover, the camera lens, the flash LED, all perfectly preserved.
She waved to one of the lab techs to come over.
"Hey, the back of this doesn't look too bad," she said to the young man. "Can you get the SIM card out? Maybe we could get the call history."
Excited at the idea the young man pulled out a pocket knife and started to pry the back off the little phone. There were parts stuck together and melted together, but he continued to work at it till the back cover broke.
He carefully slid the little card out, then set the phone behind to stick the SIM, which looked like it was in great shape, all things considered.
Rachele watched as the young lab geek slid the SIM into his tablet, and started pulling up data, but what she was actually seeking out was.
She had other plans though. While the attention was on the tech, she surreptitiously took the damaged phone and slid out the micro SD card, where things like photos and video would be saved. She'd hoped there would be some kind of clue as to what happened.
"Huh," said the tech. "How did you know?"
Rachele looked at him distractedly. "Hm? Know what?" she asked, sliding the SD card into her jacket pocket.
"About the Goatshead Motorcycle club?" he said. "I cross referenced the call history with a list of known Goatsheads, and found he called someone called Eugene David Theodore, known to his friends as Big Dave, and member of the Goatsheads."
It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in. "You're kidding."
However she did see something that made her catch her breath. His cell phone.
He always chose to get a white smartphone, whenever the time came to get a replacement. But what she saw was a twisted, melted, black and grey mess. The bottom half had curled around itself. Oddly though the top half was burned on the front, but the back seemed perfectly fine, practically untouched. She took out her pen and lifted it to be sure.
There it was. The back cover, the camera lens, the flash LED, all perfectly preserved.
She waved to one of the lab techs to come over.
"Hey, the back of this doesn't look too bad," she said to the young man. "Can you get the SIM card out? Maybe we could get the call history."
Excited at the idea the young man pulled out a pocket knife and started to pry the back off the little phone. There were parts stuck together and melted together, but he continued to work at it till the back cover broke.
He carefully slid the little card out, then set the phone behind to stick the SIM, which looked like it was in great shape, all things considered.
Rachele watched as the young lab geek slid the SIM into his tablet, and started pulling up data, but what she was actually seeking out was.
She had other plans though. While the attention was on the tech, she surreptitiously took the damaged phone and slid out the micro SD card, where things like photos and video would be saved. She'd hoped there would be some kind of clue as to what happened.
"Huh," said the tech. "How did you know?"
Rachele looked at him distractedly. "Hm? Know what?" she asked, sliding the SD card into her jacket pocket.
"About the Goatshead Motorcycle club?" he said. "I cross referenced the call history with a list of known Goatsheads, and found he called someone called Eugene David Theodore, known to his friends as Big Dave, and member of the Goatsheads."
It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in. "You're kidding."
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 6
As she walked along the row of storage units she decided, based on the reaction from the Boy in Blue at the gate, to go ahead and undo one more button on her shirt, and to pull out the mirrored "cop" sunglasses. 'Might as well do the thing right,' she figured. She rounded the corner, and started heading toward the small knot of agents, who were looking around, taking notes and pictures. Special Agent Albertson stood with his arms crossed, collectively looking over everyone's shoulders. He seemed to register her approach, but didn't look in her direction until she was already standing a few feet away, her badge already out and open.
"Senior Agent Olivia Burnham, Anti-Terrorism Unit. Are you Special Agent Albertson?" her badge was visible for the appropriate length of time, before she closed it and put it back into her pocket.
The Very Special Agent looked at her without recognition at first, then in mounting confusion.
"Wait a second," he said. "Aren't you th-"
"No," she said flatly. "And I'm certainly not here to interfere with your investigation either." She pulled off her sunglasses, and gave him a little smirk. "I'm just here to confirm my assertion that this explosion has nothing to do with the Goatshead Motorcycle club." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "They've been running guns and munitions through this area for some time, and something like this?" She shook her head. "Not their style. But you try telling the talking heads in DC that. It's like they think they know your job better than you do, am I right?"
Albertson was starting to recover now. His face was turning red, and he said, "What do you think you're doing? This isn't some game, you can't just march in here and st-"
"Let me just stop you right there Albertson. This doesn't have to turn into a Jurisdictional issue. The Goatsheads are only terrorists in a technical sense, and they're my primary focus. How about we just agree, I won't step on your dick, you don't step on mine. Mmkay?"
Some of the younger agents smirked and chuckled at that, but Albertson was working his way toward Magenta with a slow inevitable pressure. He stepped closer and poked a finger into her chest, saying in a low menacing voice. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, but this is an FBI investigation, now you might think you're hot shit just because you're in the C-"
Rachele's hand shot out and grabbed his outstretched hand, and exerted a fair to moderate amount of pressure on folding down his thumb, mid-knuckle. She put her other hand on is shoulder and smile amicably.
"I think I mentioned waterboarding and treason charges, if you ever brought that up again," she said very quietly. "Don't have any illusions about this. I will dislocate your thumb in about three different places, and it will hurt far worse than anything except a kick in the nuts, but not by much." She squeezed slightly and pain flooded his face. "Now, I suggest you tell them that we have a history or something, so that you don't look like a total douche. Mkay sweety?"
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 2
The drive gave her an opportunity to make a quick phone call, so she deftly slung a bluetooth headset over her left ear, and hit the call button on her phone. It rang four times before it was picked up on the other end.
"Sign?" The voice was cold and harsh, and Rachele pitched her voice to match.
"Camelot Alpha six."
"Whiskey Merlin tre."
"Panacea. Extension 8117 please."
The voice suddenly became warmer. "Sure thing sweety. Ringing his line now. How's Africa?"
Rachele gave a sardonic half-smile. "Hot. How's Virginia?"
"Sultry," said the voice, languidly. "Okay, calls going through. Kisses."
Rachel smirking shook her head, as the line clicked over, and the voice of her supervisor said, "It's 3 in the morning, you better have located Nkosana or I swear you will find yourself in the deepest darkest part of Siberia before the end the day."
"Eh, that would be a no, Leonard," she told him, steeling herself for the conflict. "I do have his location narrowed down to a couple of city blocks however. So, a couple of days of observation should be able to locate him without too much trouble."
He grunted. "Why do I sense a gigantic BUT coming on?"
She paused and took a deep breath. "Do you remember that old guy, magical engineer, that you assigned me work with a few times? Raul Muyres?"
Leonard grunted in acknowledgment.
"He got blown up, a little less than an hour ago, in Indiana."
He was silent for a moment, then she hear the sound of him moving around, then sitting down at his computer and checking his email. After a few moments he sighed heavily and said simply, "Fuck."
"Way to use your words, Larry." Sarcasm really helped her cope in situations like this.
"You know I can't sanction this," he told her flatly.
"I wouldn't ask you to," she countered quickly.
He grunted again. "What do you need?" he asked resignedly.
She managed not to sigh in relief. "Well a teleporter and psychic powers would be best, but I'll settle for a step over local law enforcement's head. I was thinking FBI, or even US Marshal maybe-"
"FBI, yeah I got a guy. He owes me a favor. Not a big one, but enough to get you in the door. The rest is in your capable hands. As usual."
She nodded, and said a little huskily. "Thanks Larry."
"Shit, don't say that, or I might start to think something's REALLY wrong with you. Anyway, you shouldn't thank me just yet, I can't do much else for you. You're not technically allowed any jurisdiction in the US, you're just a plain civilian inside US borders. Want my advice? Suck up to the guys in the FBI's Domestic Terrorism Division. I'm sure they'll have their noses so far up this thing's ass they'll know what they had for breakfast. Three weeks ago."
"Oh, great," she said sounding annoyed. "So now you think I should hang out with the most anal retentive group of stuck-up primadonas in the whole world. You're just a fucking peach today Lennie," using the too familiar version of this name, and making him growl.
Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 5
The lab techs were all busily swabbing, and sampling, and going over everything with a fine tooth comb, so they shouldn't notice her. You could usually count on techies of all variety to become totally absorbed in their work, which she very much appreciated. It meant she would be unobserved for a little bit.
So she got on the computer, and went to the little dropbox site where she kept templates for every different kind of ID she had ever used, opened the one for an FBI agent, made a few tweaks, and printed it out, then slipped it into the plastic holder that currently held Special Agent Anderson's FBI ID. So long as nobody looked too close, it should work for now, till she could... aheh... "procure" another one.
She pulled off all the protective clothes, and pulled back her hair, letting her elven ears stick out slightly, always something that led to an air of mystery, or seductiveness for some. Speaking in a slightly husky quiet voice also helped, though she thought it was a little ridiculous.
She couldn't really do anything about the skirt for now though. Her bag was there in the back of the van, but she didn't really have time to do anything except unroll the skirt till it was at a length down past her knees, allowing her to look a little more respectable, but she did undo just the top button her shirt, and removed the tie completely, shoving it into her pocket.
Then she did something to complete the disguise completely, at least in most people's minds. She put on full makeup. It was mostly around the eyes, and since those were nearly black to begin with the eye makeup tended to make her eyes look much larger and more vibrant. Her lips tended to blend into the color of the rest of her face normally, but when she put lipstick on they tended to look much fuller, and made her smile seem much more alluring. A basic concealer, some powder, and blush completed the look, giving her skin an airbrushed look that covered up any imperfections of color on her skin.
She had learned to be very fast at this process through decades of practice, through many different styles. The big hair scene in the 80s for example had be particularly memorable.
When she looked at herself in the screen of her phone, via the front facing camera, she looked like a completely different person, at least in the details. She hopped out of the van, then walked stealthily over to one of the official black vehicles. There was a local uniform at the entrance to the storage park. She had walked past him a couple of times already in the lab tech disguise, and he was pretty sure he hadn't noticed her at the time. Somehow she didn't think he would fail to notice her this time.
She pulled her cell phone out, and held it up to her ear, then opened the door as if she'd been in the SUV the whole time, and said in an argumentative voice, "No, I said Terre Haute.... Indiana. No not INDIA you half-wit! Just GOOGLE it for God's sake!" she kept up the mock arguement as she walked around the SUV, and slowly, deliberately made her way toward the gate, as if trying to get out of the phone conversation. "No, they said it WASN'T radioactive. Look, just get me the files on that biker gang, the Goat's Heads," (she'd had time on the flight to do some extensive research on the place) "or something like that.... Yes!" she said as if relieved that "he" got it this time, and rolling her eyes toward the officer, as if inviting him to share in the irony.
For his part he gave a little smirk, and rolled his eyes back, shaking his head.
She had him hooked. "Okay, then, just make sure you get that to me ASAP."
So quietly that only she could hear it her phone said to her, "at the sound of the tone, the time wi-" before she hung up the phone and started tucking it into her inside jacket pocket.
"They're officially called the Goatshead Motorcycle club, if that helps," said the officer.
"She looked back up at him, then smiled gratefully. "Oh... so close. Anyway, I think I'll let him sweat a little trying to find something that's just a tiny bit wrong." They laughed together as she reached into the opposite jacket pocket, slowly and deliberatly pulled out the folio with "her" badge, and she flashed it to him briefly. "Senior Agent Olivia Burnham, Anti-Terrorism Unit. Listen... " she tried to think of something to say to get into his good graces. "... it's very important that the only people to get in through this gate are those who have a badge. Clear? If this was a terrorist act there could be more bombs ready to go off."
His face went very still for a moment. "Do you really think there are more bombs?"
She took pity on him. "No," she said. "Not really. But it's safer not to take the risk. Even if there's not a bomb here, if you let a terrorist in by accident, they could take out a whole lot of very valuable law enforcement agents before anyone could do anything." she patted him on the arm. "I for one am glad you're here looking out for us Officer Wilendorn." She'd notice his badge on a previous pass as the lab tech.
His eyes opened wide, and she said, "Yeah, we've been watching. Your application is currently being reviewed by the top recruiters."
It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit the mark because his chest swelled up, and he said, slightly hoarsely now, "Yes ma'am. You can count on me."
She nodded at him and walked past him into the park.
So she got on the computer, and went to the little dropbox site where she kept templates for every different kind of ID she had ever used, opened the one for an FBI agent, made a few tweaks, and printed it out, then slipped it into the plastic holder that currently held Special Agent Anderson's FBI ID. So long as nobody looked too close, it should work for now, till she could... aheh... "procure" another one.
She pulled off all the protective clothes, and pulled back her hair, letting her elven ears stick out slightly, always something that led to an air of mystery, or seductiveness for some. Speaking in a slightly husky quiet voice also helped, though she thought it was a little ridiculous.
She couldn't really do anything about the skirt for now though. Her bag was there in the back of the van, but she didn't really have time to do anything except unroll the skirt till it was at a length down past her knees, allowing her to look a little more respectable, but she did undo just the top button her shirt, and removed the tie completely, shoving it into her pocket.
Then she did something to complete the disguise completely, at least in most people's minds. She put on full makeup. It was mostly around the eyes, and since those were nearly black to begin with the eye makeup tended to make her eyes look much larger and more vibrant. Her lips tended to blend into the color of the rest of her face normally, but when she put lipstick on they tended to look much fuller, and made her smile seem much more alluring. A basic concealer, some powder, and blush completed the look, giving her skin an airbrushed look that covered up any imperfections of color on her skin.
She had learned to be very fast at this process through decades of practice, through many different styles. The big hair scene in the 80s for example had be particularly memorable.
When she looked at herself in the screen of her phone, via the front facing camera, she looked like a completely different person, at least in the details. She hopped out of the van, then walked stealthily over to one of the official black vehicles. There was a local uniform at the entrance to the storage park. She had walked past him a couple of times already in the lab tech disguise, and he was pretty sure he hadn't noticed her at the time. Somehow she didn't think he would fail to notice her this time.
She pulled her cell phone out, and held it up to her ear, then opened the door as if she'd been in the SUV the whole time, and said in an argumentative voice, "No, I said Terre Haute.... Indiana. No not INDIA you half-wit! Just GOOGLE it for God's sake!" she kept up the mock arguement as she walked around the SUV, and slowly, deliberately made her way toward the gate, as if trying to get out of the phone conversation. "No, they said it WASN'T radioactive. Look, just get me the files on that biker gang, the Goat's Heads," (she'd had time on the flight to do some extensive research on the place) "or something like that.... Yes!" she said as if relieved that "he" got it this time, and rolling her eyes toward the officer, as if inviting him to share in the irony.
For his part he gave a little smirk, and rolled his eyes back, shaking his head.
She had him hooked. "Okay, then, just make sure you get that to me ASAP."
So quietly that only she could hear it her phone said to her, "at the sound of the tone, the time wi-" before she hung up the phone and started tucking it into her inside jacket pocket.
"They're officially called the Goatshead Motorcycle club, if that helps," said the officer.
"She looked back up at him, then smiled gratefully. "Oh... so close. Anyway, I think I'll let him sweat a little trying to find something that's just a tiny bit wrong." They laughed together as she reached into the opposite jacket pocket, slowly and deliberatly pulled out the folio with "her" badge, and she flashed it to him briefly. "Senior Agent Olivia Burnham, Anti-Terrorism Unit. Listen... " she tried to think of something to say to get into his good graces. "... it's very important that the only people to get in through this gate are those who have a badge. Clear? If this was a terrorist act there could be more bombs ready to go off."
His face went very still for a moment. "Do you really think there are more bombs?"
She took pity on him. "No," she said. "Not really. But it's safer not to take the risk. Even if there's not a bomb here, if you let a terrorist in by accident, they could take out a whole lot of very valuable law enforcement agents before anyone could do anything." she patted him on the arm. "I for one am glad you're here looking out for us Officer Wilendorn." She'd notice his badge on a previous pass as the lab tech.
His eyes opened wide, and she said, "Yeah, we've been watching. Your application is currently being reviewed by the top recruiters."
It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit the mark because his chest swelled up, and he said, slightly hoarsely now, "Yes ma'am. You can count on me."
She nodded at him and walked past him into the park.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 4
She wanted to smack the smug smile of the little prick's face, but she was a little afraid he might see that as a come-on. Besides, she had been doing this kind of thing, intelligence gathering, investigation, and above all psychological warfare. You had to make your opponent underestimate you, misunderstand you, even forget you.
So if she thought she was meant to just be a tag-a-long, then that was fine. By the time they got to Terre Haute he wouldn't even remember that she had been there.
She climbed into the back of the lab tech truck, with the rest of the lab geeks. With their help she familiarized herself with the contents of the truck, telling them meanwhile that the nature of the explosion hadn't been known, but it was suspected to be chemical in nature. A cute, but nervous looking little redhead with freckles, who looked just old enough to have graduated freshman high school put her fist to her mouth.
"Then in addition to the normal protocols, and non-contamination gear, we're supposed to wear masks and eye protection," she quavered. Rachele thought she could see the hint of a retainer as she spoke.
'Oh really? Gee, I hadn't realized that,' snarked her inner sarcasm machine. But outwardly she looked concerned. "Is it really that bad?"
One of the other techs, a balding middle aged man, who was far more calm about this news, said, "I would even go further till we've ruled out things like Serin gas. That stuff will kill you slow and painful. I'm thinking full charcoal filter masks, with a secondary air source. No reason to take unnecessary risks"
Inside her soul, Rachele beamed. Sometimes people were so easy to lead.
The full non-con outfit consisted of a yellow jumpsuit made of some kind of disposable material that was designed not to leave behind any fibers, white booties to prevent their shoes from leaving behind any kind of traces, and a cap, almost like a hairnet, except made to prevent the investigator's hair from getting into the crime scene. To this they added a baby-blue and black mouthpiece with a rubber seal around the mouth and nose, on which one side connected to a small tank carried at the hip, and the other was open, but with a charcoal air filter twisted into it, to draw out any toxins in the air.
When they finally got to the crime scene, the techs started unloading equipment. One of them, while awkwardly carrying three metal cases slammed almost straight into "Special" Agent Albertson. The impact sent her sprawling on the ground. He, on the other hand, looked unruffled, just annoyed.
"Are you okay?" she asked earnestly, though muffled through the mask. "Omigosh, are you okay? I didn't get any on you did I?" she started looking him over to make sure he was okay.
"What? No, get off me! Didn't get WHAT on me? Why are you dressed like that?"
She seemed taken aback, and raised a fist to put to her mouth, but realized the gas mask was in the way. "You didn't hear?" she said, taking his arm. "We heard that the site might be either radioactive, or might have noxious chemicals. Y-y-you should really be wearing masks." Her eyes were on him, earnest, but obscured by the safety glasses.
He pulled his arm free. "What? No, no, local law enforcement has been here for ages now and nothing's haened to them at all."
She looked alarmed and gasped at this and said, in a hushed conspiritorial tones. "Better keep an eye on them sir, in case they start to exibit symptoms." He rolled his eyes, but then started looking around the scene at the local cops with a suspicious air.
She picked up the cases again, carried them to the storage unit, then went back to the truck and pulled the headgear off, revealing her dirty blonde hair, and enigmatic black eyes, and looked down to where she had palmed his folded black leather badge holder, and smiled mischievously.
So if she thought she was meant to just be a tag-a-long, then that was fine. By the time they got to Terre Haute he wouldn't even remember that she had been there.
She climbed into the back of the lab tech truck, with the rest of the lab geeks. With their help she familiarized herself with the contents of the truck, telling them meanwhile that the nature of the explosion hadn't been known, but it was suspected to be chemical in nature. A cute, but nervous looking little redhead with freckles, who looked just old enough to have graduated freshman high school put her fist to her mouth.
"Then in addition to the normal protocols, and non-contamination gear, we're supposed to wear masks and eye protection," she quavered. Rachele thought she could see the hint of a retainer as she spoke.
'Oh really? Gee, I hadn't realized that,' snarked her inner sarcasm machine. But outwardly she looked concerned. "Is it really that bad?"
One of the other techs, a balding middle aged man, who was far more calm about this news, said, "I would even go further till we've ruled out things like Serin gas. That stuff will kill you slow and painful. I'm thinking full charcoal filter masks, with a secondary air source. No reason to take unnecessary risks"
Inside her soul, Rachele beamed. Sometimes people were so easy to lead.
The full non-con outfit consisted of a yellow jumpsuit made of some kind of disposable material that was designed not to leave behind any fibers, white booties to prevent their shoes from leaving behind any kind of traces, and a cap, almost like a hairnet, except made to prevent the investigator's hair from getting into the crime scene. To this they added a baby-blue and black mouthpiece with a rubber seal around the mouth and nose, on which one side connected to a small tank carried at the hip, and the other was open, but with a charcoal air filter twisted into it, to draw out any toxins in the air.
When they finally got to the crime scene, the techs started unloading equipment. One of them, while awkwardly carrying three metal cases slammed almost straight into "Special" Agent Albertson. The impact sent her sprawling on the ground. He, on the other hand, looked unruffled, just annoyed.
"Are you okay?" she asked earnestly, though muffled through the mask. "Omigosh, are you okay? I didn't get any on you did I?" she started looking him over to make sure he was okay.
"What? No, get off me! Didn't get WHAT on me? Why are you dressed like that?"
She seemed taken aback, and raised a fist to put to her mouth, but realized the gas mask was in the way. "You didn't hear?" she said, taking his arm. "We heard that the site might be either radioactive, or might have noxious chemicals. Y-y-you should really be wearing masks." Her eyes were on him, earnest, but obscured by the safety glasses.
He pulled his arm free. "What? No, no, local law enforcement has been here for ages now and nothing's haened to them at all."
She looked alarmed and gasped at this and said, in a hushed conspiritorial tones. "Better keep an eye on them sir, in case they start to exibit symptoms." He rolled his eyes, but then started looking around the scene at the local cops with a suspicious air.
She picked up the cases again, carried them to the storage unit, then went back to the truck and pulled the headgear off, revealing her dirty blonde hair, and enigmatic black eyes, and looked down to where she had palmed his folded black leather badge holder, and smiled mischievously.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 3
The plane trip went much quicker than she had any
right to expect. Getting on the plane was smooth, her credentials were
accepted without question, the flight took off 10 minutes earlier than
scheduled. Then because it was a private jet
the flight to DC, which would have normally taken eight to nine hours,
only took six and a half.
Actually, to someone who didn't know any better all that might have seemed like luck, but after several decades in the business, it was more true to say that she simply knew where to look, and often knew about options that most people wouldn't realize. This combined with a sense of when and how to break the rules allowed her to pretty much get away with anything.
She asked for Special Agent Dylan Albertson, and was directed to 20 something ruggedly handsome bodybuilder, who had apparently solved his authority issues by becoming an authority figure himself. That, she admitted to herself, was a tactic she hadn't thought of. Even so as he stood there in his silk shirt, navy jacket, and grey striped tie, she felt and immediate dislike toward him. He had all the posture and body language of an overconfident micromanaging prick.
It was like when people say that a woman can tell whether she would sleep with a man withing 10 seconds of meeting him. She knew she would totally sleep with him, sure. But she still hated him.
"Agent Albertson," she greeted him with a polite smile, holding out her hand. "I'm Agent Albini. Leonard s-"
"It's 'Special Agent' actually," he said, not smiling, and not holding out his own hand. Instead he continued to walk past her. "And yes, I know who you are. What I don't understand is why a CIA agent is feeling the need to stick her nose in a Federal Investigation on US soil. Aren't you a few thousand miles out of your jurisdiction Agent Albini?"
"First off, 'Special Agent' that information is classified. Second if you - EV-ER - shout about what agency I'm with again, I will have you arrested for treason, and waterboarded to within an inch of your life. For STAR-TERS," she said quietly so that only he could hear. "Thirdly, Leonard said you could help. And..." she dreaded having to say this next part. "... I'll... I'll owe you a favor." He started to smirk a little, so she corrected herself. "A PROFESSIONAL favor, dipshit. So come on, Leonard said you could pull this off, like you were a big shot. Are you really going to try to prove him wrong?"
Albertson's face had started turning more and more read as she spoke, then when she mentioned Leonard, he calmed visibly. She filed this information for later.
Then he smiled a little ruefully, and pointed to the van that was just pulling up.
The Mobile Lab van.... She had to play a lab geek.
"What?" she whined. "Are you serious?"
He smirked back at her, an evil little glint in his eye. "Didn't he tell you? It wasn't a very big favor."
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 1
Sierra Leone, Africa
Rachele was working the phones in Sierra Leone, trying to track down the location of an African Warlord who had been receiving weapon shipments from God-only-knew-where, while OFFICIALLY trying to find space for about 2500 Syrian refugees, when she got the email on her laptop. It was already 9:20 am, GMT.
She looked at the clock then at the thermometer on the wall, thinking, "Great, it's only 88 degrees outside. At this rate we'll only hit 120 by noon. At least it's a DRY heat."
Her sweaty dirty blonde head was resting on her open hand, propped up on the desk, while she sat listening to hold music that was almost, but not entirely, unlike The Girl from Ippanima. Finally her counterpart came back on the line.
"The answer is yes," said the heavily accented voice. "That village will take that number of refugees."
"Excellent, that's 3 families and placement groups, only 740 more to go," she said in a falsely positive South African accent. "Look," she said starting to rub her forehead in frustration. "Y'know, this whole thing would go much more smoothly if you would just tell me which areas I should be AVOIDING, rather than - y'know - checking each individual location one at a time." she listened to the person on the other end for a moment. "I'm sorry, I don't really understand..." She listened again. "No, no," she said sarcastically "Your just... Doing Your Job, same as anyone." She rolled her eyes while the other side responded again. "Well, in that case..."
That's when the email arrived in her inbox.
She glanced at the little pop-up bubble, not taking much notice, then did a double take.
"Uh. Hey- h- .... LISTEN," she practically shouted. "Sorry, but listen. We appreciate your help, and we'll gladly accept what space you can provide. Thanks for your assistance, and I'll make sure you get the names of the families, but I'm afraid I have to get going.Yep. Okay, bye for now."
She hung up the phone and read the email. Years of training in emotional control hadn't helped her temper or her sarcastic side, but it helped her to prevent tears of anger, sadness, and loss, as she read the content of the email.
It was a fairly dry report about an explosion in a small sleepy college town in Indiana. The thing that caused it to get forwarded into her inbox was the name of the owner of the storage unit where the explosion happened.
Raul Muyres.
Her mind went back to all the times they had worked together, as part of a team, to gain intellegence, or to neutralize potential threats to international security. Raul was a dual citizen of both the US and Spain, and worked with the UN for the purposes of protecting the world at large from threats of a magical nature. He was ardently against the use of magic for destructive means.
"Magic is a creative force," he said. "Anyone who would use it to deconstruct, or to destroy... Well, that person is a monster, and better that they should die than bring that destruction to the wider world."
He didn't want that, he regretted the need, but people didn't often change, he'd said.
She shook herself and made an effort to bring herself back to the present. The explosion had happened a little less than half an hour ago. She needed to get there and somehow find out what happened. She owed him that, and... he would have done the same for her.
But first things first: There was a diplomatic flight leaving in about ten minutes from an airport about five miles away. She wouldn't be able to bring a gun, but that shouldn't be hard to fix, once she got there.
She showered in a minute flat, then dressed in a business suit with tasteful, yet slightly too short skirt, just in case she needed to play the seductress card. She also made sure that her bra would show just enough cleavage, if she undid enough buttons.
All the while she kept up a constant stream of phone calls to different contacts, burning several favors and promising several more in exchange. Finally she was able to get a seat on the plane. Once she was on the plane she could work out what to do when she got there.
She gathered as much as she could into a briefcase, from different photo IDs from different countries, to passports, and even one very old US Marshal's badge, which she hoped would still work. She ran to her diplmatic vehicle, and raced off at high speed to the airfield.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Magic World (working title): Chapter 10 part 13
Whoever it was that grabbed him, they roughly pulled his arms behind his back, and he felt something loop around his wrists... not cold and rigid like metal, but warmer, more pliant. Plastic zip ties. He heard the zip, and felt the sharp plastic bite into his wrists. His captor spun him roughly , and he felt himself being hauled over one shoulder like a potato sack. Then what must have been a second pair of hands quickly zip-tied his feet.
"You were right Mikey, I don't think this one is a Red Devil," said one of the voices which was high and reedy.
A deeper, more mellow voice answered, "Lucky thing for him. We'll talk to the boss, probably ransom him off before we decorate the walls with his brains." The comment was made directly too him, probably meant to scare him. He figured he ought to play along, otherwise they might just kill him now.
He whimpered a little bit and try to squeeze out a few drops of pee, but he haven't had enough of the latte yet , so he settled instead for tensing up his entire body until it shook. The two thugs chuckled sadistically.
But for some reason Gary couldn't bring himself to feel scared. He actually felt more annoyed that he wasn't able to finish what he was doing. It also didn't hurt that he was an enormous tech-geek. He already had a plan.
They walked him not too far away, and dump him unceremoniously what he realized was the bed of a cargo van, its ribbed floor poking painfully into his back. He had to pull the his feet back quickly in order to avoid having them crushed when the door got slammed shut.
He could still hear their muffled voices though.
"Okay, now let's go pick up that arsenal in the cage. Did you bring that bolt cutters with you... "
"What? Of course I did... " The voices drifted away.
Gary waited a few more seconds just in case one of them decide to come back. Then, in as quiet a voice is he could possibly manage, he said into the air, "Hey Esmerelda,"
A small computerized female voice came from his pocket.
"How can I help you?"
He breathed a small sigh of relief. It was still working. He had called the "digital assistant" on his phone Esmerelda , primarily so that it was far less likely to be said in casual conversation, meaning he could leave feature on all the time.
"Enable the GPS," he told it.
"Task completed."
"Send text to Jackie."
"More than one match found. Would you like to text Jackie the douchebag motorcycle dude?"
Gary briefly chuckled, but quickly became serious again. "Yes," he confirmed.
"What is the message?"
"It looks like some douchebag bikers came and kidnapped me, and are going to ransom me and probably sell your weapons. I've got my GPS on, the codes for it are in my van. Please come get me, if you don't mind. Esmerelda send the message."
"Message sent."
"Activate stealth mode."
"Understood. Silent running, motion activated camera, sound activated audio recorder standing by. This will be the final message before deactivating stealth mode. Going dark in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."
The phone went silent.
After that, all he had to do was lay there in wait to be rescued, so he put his mind back to the problem at hand. Somehow those oddball pictures had something to do with the program, he just couldn't figure out what that something was.
Then as they were bouncing along down a particularly bumpy road, which he suspected was not by accident, it suddenly came to him: Negative Space. All the pictures used the obvious picture to shape the space where there was no picture.
Applying this to the program he realized it wasn't the text in the code that made the program, it was the spaces, the tabs, and the other in between parts that created the code.
And now that he had the goddam answer, he couldn't apply it to the goddam code. He tried in vain to remember what he had seen in the code , but he hadn't been paying attention to the spaces!
He lay there in agonizing mental frustration, waiting for rescue. He heard a commotion outside, a little while after the van stopped, then the two douchebags got out of the van, and it was more noise outside.
Gary just lay there listening to the sound of his own breath, his brain a lightning storm anticipation. The back door of the van opened, and he was hauled into a sitting position, the black bag yanked off his head, revealing the haggard square-jawed biker.
"Jackie?" He said, squinting as the light made his head pound. "About time... I wasn't sure I would was going to make it much longer."
As soon as Jackie got his hands free, he reached into his pocket for his smartphone.
"I've had the answer to the code for what seems like hours now. Do you know how frustrating it is to have a key that you been hunting for forever, then as soon as you find it you can't get back to the door it opens? I thought I was about to go insane. How long has it been anyway?"
Jackie shrugged and said, "A little over an hour."
Gary shivered. "That long? I'm surprised I'm not a vegetable by now."
He looked up past Jackie, and saw an orc, a skinny dude, a hot chick with her shirt hanging half open, another biker who looked like Jackie, only older, longer hair, and a beard.
"Uh... did I miss anything?"
****************************************
Rachele looked at the gnome with laser focus, looking to Davin like she was having a difficult time maintaining her composure.
"You had your phone recording everything while you were in that van? And you never mentioned it to me?"
Gary looked a little taken aback. His eyes lost focus for a moment while he thought about what she said. "Huh. Yeah, I forgot that stealth mode has automatic recording features. Is it important?"
"My cover for being here is to investigate the Goats Head Motorcycle Club for extortion, racketeering, and possibly arms dealing. Yes. It. Is. Important." The last part was said through clenched teeth.
Gary gulped.
"I'll uh... just email you with everything I've got, how's that sound?"
Rachele calmed a little, the vein in her forehead no longer throbbing.
"Yes, thank you."
Robert inclined his head toward her.
"What?" she demanded.
"It's your turn," he reminded her.
They all looked at her. Her eyes swept around the room, but she realized that everyone else had indeed explained themselves.
Her jaw muscles tightened. "Fine," she spat.
"You were right Mikey, I don't think this one is a Red Devil," said one of the voices which was high and reedy.
A deeper, more mellow voice answered, "Lucky thing for him. We'll talk to the boss, probably ransom him off before we decorate the walls with his brains." The comment was made directly too him, probably meant to scare him. He figured he ought to play along, otherwise they might just kill him now.
He whimpered a little bit and try to squeeze out a few drops of pee, but he haven't had enough of the latte yet , so he settled instead for tensing up his entire body until it shook. The two thugs chuckled sadistically.
But for some reason Gary couldn't bring himself to feel scared. He actually felt more annoyed that he wasn't able to finish what he was doing. It also didn't hurt that he was an enormous tech-geek. He already had a plan.
They walked him not too far away, and dump him unceremoniously what he realized was the bed of a cargo van, its ribbed floor poking painfully into his back. He had to pull the his feet back quickly in order to avoid having them crushed when the door got slammed shut.
He could still hear their muffled voices though.
"Okay, now let's go pick up that arsenal in the cage. Did you bring that bolt cutters with you... "
"What? Of course I did... " The voices drifted away.
Gary waited a few more seconds just in case one of them decide to come back. Then, in as quiet a voice is he could possibly manage, he said into the air, "Hey Esmerelda,"
A small computerized female voice came from his pocket.
"How can I help you?"
He breathed a small sigh of relief. It was still working. He had called the "digital assistant" on his phone Esmerelda , primarily so that it was far less likely to be said in casual conversation, meaning he could leave feature on all the time.
"Enable the GPS," he told it.
"Task completed."
"Send text to Jackie."
"More than one match found. Would you like to text Jackie the douchebag motorcycle dude?"
Gary briefly chuckled, but quickly became serious again. "Yes," he confirmed.
"What is the message?"
"It looks like some douchebag bikers came and kidnapped me, and are going to ransom me and probably sell your weapons. I've got my GPS on, the codes for it are in my van. Please come get me, if you don't mind. Esmerelda send the message."
"Message sent."
"Activate stealth mode."
"Understood. Silent running, motion activated camera, sound activated audio recorder standing by. This will be the final message before deactivating stealth mode. Going dark in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."
The phone went silent.
After that, all he had to do was lay there in wait to be rescued, so he put his mind back to the problem at hand. Somehow those oddball pictures had something to do with the program, he just couldn't figure out what that something was.
Then as they were bouncing along down a particularly bumpy road, which he suspected was not by accident, it suddenly came to him: Negative Space. All the pictures used the obvious picture to shape the space where there was no picture.
Applying this to the program he realized it wasn't the text in the code that made the program, it was the spaces, the tabs, and the other in between parts that created the code.
And now that he had the goddam answer, he couldn't apply it to the goddam code. He tried in vain to remember what he had seen in the code , but he hadn't been paying attention to the spaces!
He lay there in agonizing mental frustration, waiting for rescue. He heard a commotion outside, a little while after the van stopped, then the two douchebags got out of the van, and it was more noise outside.
Gary just lay there listening to the sound of his own breath, his brain a lightning storm anticipation. The back door of the van opened, and he was hauled into a sitting position, the black bag yanked off his head, revealing the haggard square-jawed biker.
"Jackie?" He said, squinting as the light made his head pound. "About time... I wasn't sure I would was going to make it much longer."
As soon as Jackie got his hands free, he reached into his pocket for his smartphone.
"I've had the answer to the code for what seems like hours now. Do you know how frustrating it is to have a key that you been hunting for forever, then as soon as you find it you can't get back to the door it opens? I thought I was about to go insane. How long has it been anyway?"
Jackie shrugged and said, "A little over an hour."
Gary shivered. "That long? I'm surprised I'm not a vegetable by now."
He looked up past Jackie, and saw an orc, a skinny dude, a hot chick with her shirt hanging half open, another biker who looked like Jackie, only older, longer hair, and a beard.
"Uh... did I miss anything?"
****************************************
Rachele looked at the gnome with laser focus, looking to Davin like she was having a difficult time maintaining her composure.
"You had your phone recording everything while you were in that van? And you never mentioned it to me?"
Gary looked a little taken aback. His eyes lost focus for a moment while he thought about what she said. "Huh. Yeah, I forgot that stealth mode has automatic recording features. Is it important?"
"My cover for being here is to investigate the Goats Head Motorcycle Club for extortion, racketeering, and possibly arms dealing. Yes. It. Is. Important." The last part was said through clenched teeth.
Gary gulped.
"I'll uh... just email you with everything I've got, how's that sound?"
Rachele calmed a little, the vein in her forehead no longer throbbing.
"Yes, thank you."
Robert inclined his head toward her.
"What?" she demanded.
"It's your turn," he reminded her.
They all looked at her. Her eyes swept around the room, but she realized that everyone else had indeed explained themselves.
Her jaw muscles tightened. "Fine," she spat.
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