A couple of words scrolled onto the bottom of the console. 'RECORDING ON-LINE DATA BUS LINK - HIT
His eyes darted back across the dark street. No soul within sight. He turned back to the cash machine his laptop was wired to. His blue eyes scanned the electronic access.
His tiny computer buzzed at him.
He pulled the plug instantaneously from the link. His heart raced intently as his mind began to pump adrenaline. His dangerous feat had been discovered. The sirens began to wail from somewhere in the middle of the town. Still no car. Slowly, he began to pace back and forth, scanning the area. The tightly squeezed buildings lining the west side of the small town street were all dark. A few trees popped up from the cement sidewalk. All wore their fall coat of golden yellow leaves, a light blanket of leaves scattered over the sidewalk. His eyes moved past the street. The other side. A small library and the city hall stood in the silent black shadows.
His eyes moved absent mindedly to his digital watch hands. Fifteen minutes to midnight. Where were those accomplices?
Suddenly, the street was bathed in light. He instinctively fell back into the shadows of a door to a shop. A moment later, the headlights moved speedily down the pavement. The vehicle pulled to a stop, and a door slid open.
"Tchaikovsky!" A man leapt quickly from the mini van. A black ski mask secured his identity, and he held a 1921 Thompson model. The tommy gun, round cartridge magazine and all, glinted lustfully in the dim light of the street lamp. "Tchaikovsky! Come! Your link has been discovered!"
The thief crammed his laptop into the black leather briefcase amid his other devices. Pushing with all of his might, he leapt quickly from the dark security of the door directly into the chrome mini van. The dark guard stepped in behind him, closing the door. The van's motor roared to life as the pedal careened into the floor. Red and blue lights screeched around a corner, spinning dizzily. The masked man slid into the seat beside the driver, the glass window disappearing into the door. The passing air whistled quietly, nearly drowned out by the thumping of Tchaikovsky's pounding heart.
"Mozart! What are you doing?!" Tchaikovsky screamed at the masked guard.
"Delivering a little fire insurance, Tchikes baby," He calmly spoke. The tommy gun began to spray fire, dumping 100 rounds of lead toward the oncoming squad. Suddenly, the lead car erupted into a ball of rolling flame rising from the ground from the pressure of the explosion. Two cars came cleanly through the flying debris. No others pursued. A steady screech of tires resounded from the outside of the steel cased mini van as the weight began to alter direction. The darkness inside the vehicle clad the electronic surveillance equipment in a blanket of perfect equilibrium. Tchikes moved toward the machinery. He flipped a switch, and the computer buzzed on. His fingers gliding across the keyboard, the fifteen inch speaker crackled, then focused onto the police channel.
"...the world was that?" a voice cracked over the police channel.
"Some sort of explosive if you ask me, Saxon."
"I KNOW it was explosive! But that was my best friend, Ralph!"
Saxon listened to himself screaming at Ralph. He dropped the pedal down toward the floor a little bit further.
"I know Torence was a good friend. But don't get riled." Ralph said, keeping his calm face forward and deep into concentration. "We can't lose it Sax. We have to close in this time." He eased the pedal to the floor. The speedometer needle began to climb. The van ahead whipped around a corner. Saxon's corner. "Sax! Cut it! I can't!" Ralph's automobile shot past the turn, brakes on full.
Saxon felt small drops of perspiration dribble down his cheeks. His prescription sunglasses slid closer to the end of his nose. The tail lights of the mini van ahead loomed farther and farther forward. Immediately, he dropped the pedal fully onto the floor, and he felt gravity. The needle began to climb with unstable demands. Saxon glanced to his hands. White knuckles.
"O.K. Sax, boy. Relax a tad." He said to himself. The radio crackled on.
"Sax! Immediate request on premises locality!" Ralph's voice hung with a fringe of fear.
"Complete radio silence, Ralph. I'm gonna cut this one by my lonesome." He switched the radio off.
"The gun... " He muttered to himself as his hand glanced the bulk at his side. He wound the glass down and jerked the .357 magnum from his holster with his left. A rush of wind struck him full in the face. The pistol leveled. A loud explosion shattered the air, and the gun kicked heavily. A spark dashed from the chrome van. He glanced to his speedometer.
"50 mph. In a 25 mph zone." He tapped the trigger again, and another bright flame roared from the barrel. Another spark. "Lower Saxy Boy! Lower! The tires!" He muttered to himself. Suddenly, something began to flash. "Lead! They're pumping lead into my car!" The hail paused momentarily. "A gun! A machine gun and the Chiefs death!" Fear crept across his mind. "I'm next!" He slammed the gun beneath his shirt and opened the door. "Asphalt!" Praying, he pushed from the auto, preparing for the initial impact. He felt his weapon slide from his shirt, and heard it thud into soft sand. Then he hit. Black...
"Tchikes! We be free!" Mozart chuckled coercively. "Maybe next time you'll be more ready for the fire!"
The thief sat silently down, upset by the second explosion. "Doc! See if there are any survivors!"
"Measured, I believe he jumped from..."
"No! He could not have known! So shut up, Tchikes!" The van pulled around, and moved quietly toward the still sliding rubble of flaming steel.
"No machine gun could do that! What the ..." Tchaikovsky didn't finish.
"Napthalenic Acids. Explosion on impact. Bullet heads filled the stuff is very, very deadly," the silent form of Doc finally challenged. Tchaikovsky and Mozart waited. Silence ensued. Pulling beside the mass of mangled steel, they stepped from the van and toward the burning car. "Nothing... NOBODY could survive that," the Doc continued. "Very fatal. But it is indeed probable on surviving persons. Spread out. Don't let anything pass by." He pulled three Berretta automatics from his shirt, and passed two on. On orders they spread, glancing for any movement. An explosion ripped through the air.
"Doc?" Tchaikovsky and Mozart asked in horror. "Didja see the guy?"
"No. Just a fool hardy jack rabbit. It activated my subconscious to dump adrenaline, and boy did I pump it!" The sound of silence began to drift again, continuing on for minutes as the illegal trio absent mindedly moseyed on when a vehicle passed by. A glint caught Tchaikovsky's eye. He moved toward it. Then he recognized it.
"Doc! A police .357!"
"Could have been thrown from the explosion, you know."
"But no scorch marks!"
"Bring it here, Tchikes..." Tchikes picked up the gun. Then something hard hit him. All went black...
"Tchikes! Bring it here!" Doc screamed. Mozart stepped toward the area of Tchikes last statement. Suddenly, a bright flash, followed quickly by the gunshot. Measured toppled over backwards clutching his throat. Another gunshot. This one placing rigor mortis on the move to the body of Tchikes, barely moving from his position of the clubbing. Another one. A few sparks danced from the road. Doc spun on his heels, dashing for the van. The darting black figure of Doc barely played his mind as Saxon tapped the trigger of the magnum. A roar erupted. Saxon dug his heals into the ground, sprinting toward the vehicle. The van roared to life. Saxon leaped, pushing with all his might for the last five feet. Nothing but air met his fingers. Then they caught. Something cold and hard. Steel.
"Alright, Sax!" He pulled himself up, placing his stable feet onto the running board. He looked up. His hands had barely caught the handle. "The Magnum!" He grimaced as he dropped the chrome pistol. He spun the handle. A small click, barely heard above the engine from the outside of the vehicle, dispersed. He pushed the door open. The pitch black interior was perfect. He slid the door closed, clicking it locked. Feeling with his hands, he found a seat, and settled back for a discomforting ride.
"... those two to Hell!" The driver was absent mindedly muttering under his breath. "Destroying everything! Those stupid turkeys manured the greatest computer heist of history! The High Lord would kill me! May my intelligence see me through..."
The rumble of the mini van dulled the senses, bringing back memories of Saxons visits to Grandma. Then it slowed. Instantly, his blood began to rush. The street lights floated by slower and slower. Finally, the vehicle rolled around a corner. Saxon kept his eyes pealed through the only window. The dim tinting of the glass still made it hard to perceive the location. The Doc was still mumbling to himself. Then something caught his eye. A sign read something. He couldn't read it. Closer. Still no perception. Then it hit him. He was in another state! They had crossed borders! He glanced at the clock beside the unaware driver. Three hours!
"This must have been some heist!" He muttered under his breath. Suddenly, the van screeched to a halt. The Doc spun in his seat, eyes scanning the darkness. Saxon froze, huddled on the only available seat besides the drivers and the neighboring front seat. His heart continued to pound. His hand instinctively groped for the magnum. Nothing. The dark figure of the Doc barely moved, creating an aura of fear. Then the arm went into action. Saxon dropped immediately toward the floor as lead began pattering around him yet once more. He rolled to the side as the pistol again barked, catching his sport jacket. The gun clicked.
"I seem to remain without the cartridges necessary for assailing my current opponent. But never fear, the blade is here!" He whisked a twelve inch dirk from his sleeve and began to drift toward the back. Saxon began to hear his heart more than feel it. Five feet. One single man. Easy. One lengthy unit of high carbon steel. Nervous. Saxon gaged the distance once more. Two feet. The man still seemed to be searching. "The Doctor is in, dear sir. Get ready for your last check up! My scalpel and I are extremely good friends when it comes to..."
He didn't finish. Saxon dashed toward the front of the mini van after delivering the low blow. His hands moved across the dash board searching for protection against the cringing man. His hands darted underneath the seat. Grasping the weapon, he pulled the cold steel from underneath.
"Six inches! Nothing to be in a fight with, but it'll have to do for now! He dashed back and into the man just barely rising from the floor. Saxon doubled him over, knocking the blade from his hand. Sax grabbed the long blade, pushing the razor edge up to the Doc's throat. Doc froze. Blood began to trickle from beneath the knife. "It may be that you seem to be on the other side of the bargain, fool!"
"But, I seem to with hold some vital information from you. Spare me!"
"For all I care, you killed my best friend! And I swore his enemy would die!"
"So! What are you waiting for?"
"That vital information you're with holding, jack!"
"Then, I say no. Just as they have been telling me since the first grade!"
"No. Again, may I reiterate the following: I have vital information. Spare me, and give me my freedom, and you shall have it!"
"Remember the police car bursting into flames back there? That was Torence! And you killed..."
"No I didn't! That was Mozart!"
"Mozart died ages ago, unsocial jackass!"
"No. His alias. I know not his original nemesis. Although, he did belong to the Shield!"
"The Shield. A highly technologically advanced organization to fight for crime. Using space age information, we, I mean they, can now annihilate the whole world unless the world bows to our, I mean, they're commands."
"Give me their location!"
"I cannot. They move around, and no one knows where they are next, except for the High Lord and his merry band of Brigands. It seems, though, that I was expected to arrive by 0200 hours within ten minutes of here. If you are to destroy this organization, you must do so immediately. Here is my I.D. card. This will Identify you as one of the supreme technicians. Flip on the lights."
Saxon reluctantly removed the blade from the neck, and flipped the light switch. Doc wore a white shirt. He was dressed in slacks, along with a black bow tie. His white shirt was drenched in blood. In his outstretched hand, he held a computer card. He slid it into the slot, and flipped the computer on.
"This computer was given to Tchikes by the High Lord. he is the worlds greatest computer hacker. By some means, he was able to revise the system to change information on these cards. He taught few people how to use it. May you use it to the best of your ability. Saxon glanced at the screen.
"I.D. card for John Seymor. Age : 34. Sex : male. Height : 6' 2". Weight : 200 kilograms. Eyes : blue. Hair : blonde. Extremely volatile under pressure. Record : clear."
"Now. Enter your information it asks for." Saxon quickly typed in the information, including the fact he was formerly a body guard. His name, though, was completely different.
"Alias. I can't have any trouble with the law..."
"Then do so. But make sure the information is different enough to distinguish you from your former self. This card will activate this vehicle. You have complete control. Good Luck. Maybe I can gain a card and join you within the near future. But should I do so, show absolutely no sign of recognition. Good bye, sir."
Opening the door, the Doc disappeared into the night. Saxon looked toward the computer once more. His experienced fingers glided across the keyboard. Suddenly, the message shot onto the screen.
"TIME OF THE ESSENCE. CONSTITUTES EMERGENCY. HIT
"Saxon. Saxon A. Reykov. Known as Doc."
"Welcome back, Mr. Doc. I was supposed to meet you here and take you back to the Shield. Slide over." Saxon slide into the other seat.
"We lost Mozart and Tchikes. Unsuccessful in the heist..."
"I know. I have every single bit of information ending around 0050 hours."
"Sorry. Forgetful in my youth."
"You originally didn't know."
"Oh. I guess I need a rest."
"I need your I.D. card." Saxon pulled the InfoCard from his tightly clutched hands. "The police have been monitoring this vehicle for a while. Officer Crown almost lost a finger in the door when he grabbed on. Right?"
"That's what I mentioned, isn't it?"
"You mentioned absolutely nothing. Please, flip on the computer back there. We're going to run an Identification check."
"Bull..." Saxon stopped short, the glint of the automatic rifle gleaming down his throat.
"The Coordinate location has been entered into the computer previously. My password is required to retrieve them. I believe that you, Officer Crown, have been slightly attempting to gain admittance to the location. Kill me, I dare you. You would not be able to find the files. You're basically a dead man. Because, my password will cause an interrupt in the timing cycle necessary for contact of the trigger pins for the servo electrical system causing a fatal casualty in the middle of downtown New York. Just related to gang violence. You see, Mr. Prisoner, we carry one of the most secure covers in the world. The Federal Reserve owners, those damn Swiss International Bankers, seem to answer to our every command, because, if we issue the command, our programmers go into action, detonating the DES, or to you, the Data Encryption Standard, the NSA, or the National Security Agency, The Chicago Switch, controlling your every monetary transaction, and breaking the swiss data encryption, wreaking havoc into the hearts of fools!"
"Then! What are we waiting for?"
"To find the real Doc. Doctor James Pirati, biomedical and surgical doctor. The Jackass you let loose!"
"Then die, you bastard!" Saxon swung as hard as he could. His hand burst into pain as it slammed into the sentry's shoulder. The sentry just turned.
"I wear, as a code of law, bullet proof material, beneath every piece of clothing. I see you found it the hard way. Let me make life easier for you." The M-16 whirled around to point into Saxon's throat. A dark shadow slipped out past the window. The sentry grinned. "I have just located the Doc, Captain!"
"Very well. Proceed with extreme and full capabilities on code red," the muffled voice issued from somewhere.
"Over, Sir!" The guard grinned again. He turned toward the shadow. "Doc Pirati, your bell tolls its final chime for thee!" The weapon suddenly lit up the interior of the vehicle, blowing the door clean off the hinges. Saxon dashed, clipping the guards calves. The rifle clattered outside and into the gutter.
"Doc! Your life's in danger! Get the hell out of..." Saxon was cut short. An iron hand gripped his face, causing extreme pains to erupt.
"My dear Saxon. I will not flee from your side in the time of need!" The weapon in his hand gave a silent twish of the air. The guards grip immediately fell.
"Silencer?" Saxon asked, questioning the noiseless cause of death.
"No. 200 lb crossbow. I have found it to be rather helpful in defending against armour plated fools. I thank you again for my life."
"And now I have the privilege of thanking you. But, I gotta ask ya. Can you help?"
"Yes. Give me the sentry's InfoCard." Saxon searched the dead carcass. Retrieving the plastic card, he placed it into Doc's hand. Then he stripped the guard of the Intramolecular and Exoskeletal plating, setting it beneath his own garment. "Finished. This card is now my InfoCard. The computer, within a few moments, will commence creating a latex face mask, altering our faces. These will perfect the cover up."
"Any spare crossbows?"
"No. This one seems to be built into my arm. In the Nam war, I lost my arm in a trap. Now, I have reconstructed the biomedical technologies constituting a regulated arm, thereby reinstating the fact that I am no longer crippled, and my arm is completely concealed from view until I press this button." He held up his palm, a small chrome object showing. "If but they attack, my neurological and synapse impulses can also trigger an immediate response. If, by chance, the impulses do not set it off, a cerebral cortex matrix has been set up to reconstruct the appendicular objects and axial system functions. This will result in total regeneration, causing an informal fright inside the attackers subconscious. I know. I did it once, and scared the freak to..."
"I can do pretty much the same to you. I see you have been limping on your left foot. Nothing obvious, but something like this never escapes my sight. Lay back." Saxon lay back, trying his utmost to relax. Then Doc dropped a mask over his face. "The masks are complete. It will become second nature to you. Give me ten minutes, and I will have you as the second Rumat in the world, sort of a mix between human and robot. Genetically, it is illegal. Medically, it is legal. But morally, it's your choice." Saxon again relaxed. The medical mask was placed over his new face. Then everything began to spin. Fading into the blackness of helplessness...
Saxon awoke. Doc was sitting hunched over the computer terminal. His fingers clattered endlessly over the membrane keyboard.
"What did you do?" Saxon pleaded in a nervous voice.
"I installed a minor computer networking system into your inner thigh. This system is hooked to your brain stem, allotting full control to you without a keyboard. It can be hooked into another system, where you can then begin to control it.
"Into your upper arms, I installed an experimental shield device. I doubt you will need your ExoSkeleton. These shields are controlled by your subconscious, allowing total protection and reaction to any event under certain circumstances."
Saxon tried to move. He was tied down, and he felt a cord draping from his right thigh. His shoulder was completely different in feel, along with his wrists.
"But what about my wrists?"
"I constructed a totally new device. I call it the energy synthesizer. According to the block diagrams and the schematics, it should be capable of producing an antigravity wave. Do NOT use it unless necessary!"
"It is untested."
"If I have messed up in construction, it could cause a supplemental bending of the space or time continuum, resulting in death, or subdistance morphological transportation."
"Known to everyday people as teleportation, time travel, I believe you understand."
"Now I do. But, how do we find the location."
"I forgot to read that chapter..."
"Did you hear the sentry speak about the codes within the computer?"
"Now, in just a matter of minutes, I'll have the codes. Do you know anything about computers?"
"I was a hacker in my high school, and I was the code crack expert for the police department."
"Okay. Do any programming?"
"Yeah. I made the CodeKrak program. Developed it in my college computer science class."
"Wonderful. Since this is your work, your subconscious has automatically recorded this into the perimeter of your cortex. If we analyze the brain, we can induce your subconscious to spit it into your internal network. If this occurs, we can develop the program using a program decompiler, and reconstructing it to our needs, thereby creating an immense structure capable of running any coded information down. Ready?"
"Think of the title." Doc booted up the decompiler. Then he booted up the networking codes. "Your mind is your hard drive. It can store over four hundred million data bytes. Quite an immense band of data. And this one CANNOT be erased."
His computer beeped.
"Ah. Here it is." He punched in a few keys. Saxon felt a slight tugging and a playing within his mind.
"Pretty good for an amateur!"
"This program is the original to many variants. Try again!" Saxon struggled to find again his program. Suddenly, Doc's face lit up. "This is it! A higher version of the copy used by the Shield!" His fingers strode quickly across the keyboard, clattering out the commands. "Now, we can feed it into the machine. But, in the mean time, I will be downloading the information into your memory banks. It will become of quite a necessity. Determining the standards, we will be able to alter your identity and mine with a single thought and a command. Using these programs, cards, etc., and a telephone cord, we can access the hardware of the NSA and alter our identities. We could even alter the programming for the FBI, the CIA, and DEFCON and NORAD!"
"Wonderful! I'm suddenly being used!" He sarcastically spat.
"Calm down, Sax man. Relax. I cannot use you unless it is okayed by your mind. And even then, you control the interfacing."
"Very well. Ready to begin the downloading?"
"It's already done. While you and I were talking, it commenced copying, and completed it."
"Okay, Mr. Pirati. Now what?"
"The program is nearly complete." He turned, his fingers shooting across the keypad. "Done. Now we have to find the locality." The computer buzzed momentarily, then stopped.
The screen read "THANK YOU. SEARCHING FOR COORDINATES FOR SHIELD LOCALITY IN SOCIAL ZONE 5."
"What?" The Doc sat staring at his loss of control.
"COORDINATES LOCATED: 456 KOP 67 L 45 51"
"Hell! We're right on top of them! They're one block east!"
He slid into the drivers seat, gunning the vehicle. He slammed it into first, the tires screeching their use. The small van slid around the corner onto the next street. The small industrial block in the middle of New York seemed hazardous enough without the feeling of invasion.
"I've never been to headquarters. The tall building, the one over there," he pointed left, "is the permanent headquarters, I guess. I've never had access to it."
"There's a first for everything," Saxon mumbled under his breath. "I think I can recall some sort of a floor plan if you need it."
"Oh. I almost forgot you have all that information." He pulled up to the sidewalk at the corner. "We'll have to walk, so as not to attract any sort of information. Come." He moved back to the computer console and flipped it back on. Plugging Saxon into the computer, he punched a few keys. "What I did when downloading, was to recall the Shield Access Code. The SAC allowed us in, where, with or without access to the files, I downloaded them by telephone. Hence you have them, and this computer is so small, it cannot." He turned back to the terminal. "Thereby, I need not access these files long range and over an extensive period of time, and you can regulate whether or not someone has access.
"Any bit of information, after remaining inside the neurological impasses for over a cycle of five minutes can be accessed by your memory without hesitation or challenge. Therefore, you have a perfect photographic memory!"
"Danke schon! Bitte, das schlussel sind alles heir! Und das heute den Unter ist weg!"
"Let's move. They are monitoring us this minute, knowing that we are supposed to be the people coming from the heist. Usually, they kill the losers."
"Well, then. Let us go get killed!" Saxon slipped from the van, his leg portraying a strange feeling, new to him.
"The extremely sensitive digital circuitry can be blown with highly powered shocks. In another sense of the word, lightning within a twenty foot radius can annihilate it. Nuclear fall out. And shorting a normal house socket. Beware these charging devices." Doc was a few steps ahead of Saxon, keeping his shoes out of the fresh puddles of rain water. Saxon closely ensued, following Doc's example. A very light sprinkle of water drizzled down, keeping the heat sensitive. "Don't worry. It is water proof," Doc said placidly. "Water shouldn't hurt these things."
"Good," was all Sax replied with. The short walk ended beneath the towering heights of the Shield, Inc. building. Saxon grimaced realizing the extent of his predicament. He had a choice. Avenge Torence's death, or two, run home without pride.
"Second thoughts?" Doc asked sarcastically.
"Will this help? Torence C Kent, police chief of Medeville, died last night by bomb squad, ending in a vicious death. No traces of the body could have been found large enough to perform an autopsy. Information says that an international organization has been hunting him for decades, finally able to find him here in..."
"My mind was made up, I now realize. Let us continue."
"Bingo!" Doc spun and disappeared through the large glass doors. Saxon walked through headstrong.
A computer automated voicing system said, "Saxon Arno Reykov, known as Doc. Welcome, Mr. Doc." The female voice paused. "Would you, Mr. Doc, be willing to enter the presidents offices?"
"Proceed directly down the left hall. In the Chamber, please wait. You will be taken care of as soon as possible. In the mean time, Mr. Pirati, would you proceed to your chambers on level green, complex 1A, room 45?"
"Yes, ma'am," James spat.
"By the way. I am a computer system. Please refer to me as Sim."
"Syntax of Interregulational Matrices."
"Okay," Pirati said, a minor hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Mr. Pirati, call me Doc. When shall I see you again?"
"Once split, always split." The computer system retorted to Saxon's question.
"Saxy, boy, log in," Doc whispered.
"There's an extension socket over there. Hurry!" Saxon darted toward the socket. Plugging a cable from his leg and into the socket, he immediately felt a whirring inside his mind. He searched. Then a question ran through his mind. He spit back a password from his memory. He was in.
"The files. Gotta find the files on Saxon and James. Pirati, Pirati, Pirati, Pirati. Here it is. Correct sequence of locality. Now for me. Reykov, Reykov, Reykov, Reykov, Reykov, Reykov. Bingo. They put me on the other side! Dash it all! Well, I'll just change it back!" He thought for a moment. Then the voice outside of his mind again spoke.
"I'm sorry. Electronic error. You are registered within the same quarters by command of His Lordship. Although highly irregular. And, your quarters are registered in a room with a computer terminal as requested. Saxon, don't keep Mr. President waiting, Sir." Saxon trotted down the hall spoken of by the computer assistant. The hallway was furnished quite heavily with shrubbery and marble columns. The black carpet held a gold stripe two feet wide, trimmed off by a red band on each side, as it continued directly down the hall.
"Yes. Come in, Mr. Reykov. It seems that you were unable to successfully complete your mission. You know what happens to failures, here, don't you?"
"Perhaps, it should be me calling you sir. Anyway, by direct law of the Shield, in which you broke with this attempt, decrees that you should be executed at the first moment possible. That moment has arrived!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but you took an oath of obedience when you joined! Your fatal chime has been rung. Now, let the resonance die along with your..."
"Catch me! I am not dead yet!"
"Oh, Mr. Reykov! Contrare! You have underestimated the abilities of Sim!"
"Cancel and override rights under His Lordships password, and alter it to fit my needs!"
"But computers don't need needs!"
"Dang it! I'm not a computer!"
"Very well, sir. But I siomply cannot override the High Lords command. It appears you are caught for the moment. But I will do what I can. Good Luck!" The computer buzzed off, and Saxon's heart began to beat profusely. The president stood.
"Computer, access the guards chambers. Tell them to hunt for a Mr. Reykov. He thinks he can control the computer system. So we'll let the computer play a game. Hide and go seek. If it is needed, the guard in authority can ask the computer for directions to Mr. Saxon's whereabouts. May I wish the computer good luck?"
"Thank you, sir. But I feel I won't need it! Saxon Arno Reykov, you now have thirty seconds before activation. Enjoy being the fish. The Eagle will be after you momentarily. I do enjoy these kinds of games!"
"Mr. Reykov? I am not a spoiled sport." He then directed his attention to the computer. "Deliver a weapon for our hero, okay?" A guard was instantly inside the office handing Sax a 9 mm Berretta. "This is it?"
"Yes, Mr. Reykov," the President said.
"Computer, what will I be up against?"
"Ten thousand watts of voltage, high current games, only twenty men, each carring a Model sixty, or M-16, and a twelve inch knife blade. They will also be carring a small laser pistol, capable of burning a whole through your left shoulder. They wear an ExoSkeletal structure, and a headset to communicate with the computer operator. No more information will be delved to the wlaking machine. Good bye inferior machine!"
"This Sim has an ego complex, don't it?"
"Yes. Let the games begin!" The door opened behind Saxon. He darted out, then paused.
"Tell Mr. Pirati what is going on, who is where, etc.!"
"Very well, Sir." Saxon again began to run. He didn't know where. Then his memory clicked in. Pausing momentarily he summoned up a floor plan for the building, including the vents.
"Computer, can you detect where I am?"
"Even in the air ventilation units?"
"That one, no. But I canm detect where you last were, and somewhat trace you down."
"Computer, can you control the lighting?"
"I control everything within this building."
"Good. Close lights down. On my command, turn lights on pointing to the guards."
"Very well, sir. But remember, I am tracking you as well helping you."
"And, give me complete access to the computer files."
"That I cannot do. No life form, not even the President, can obtain access to every single file."
"But what about a computer?"
"If the computer has rights, I might."
"Where is the nearest computer socket?"
"On the north wall, five feet from the nearest door."
Saxon trotted over to the wall, and again dropped his cable into a socket. His mind whirled around. He plugged a password into the machine.
"Lord Saxon Arno Reykov, though, has complete access, Mr. Reykov. Yes. I'm sorry to admit yet again that I was wrong."
"Thank you," he said as he unplugged his cable. " give me access to the command file.
"What would you like to know?"
"Who commands my hunters?"
"Alexander Duke. Age..."
"Stop. I just needed a name. Cut his name from the list."
"You have given yourself access to the information, but not to rewriting it!"
"I want access to rewriting information to every single file!"
"No machine could get you that, Mr. Reykov."
"Nothing. Ignore the appropriate statments."