<b>Roo'd</b>

# Roo'd

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# Chapter #16

Cass had arrived twenty minutes later, five minutes after Cessus had strolled downstairs in black slacks and neat black suit shirt. He had a silver tie neatly knotted around his neck, thin black lines patterned after silicon circuit boards. He disregarded their invitation to tea in favor of fetching a metal briefcase and disappearing to fill it. Cass stormed in eyes blazing, and went straight towards Fede.

“You blued my fucking pipes, asshole. Had to ride it hot, didn’t you?”

“It ran hot naturally” he said.

“No shit it runs hot naturally. The things fucking well air-cooled, isn’t it? What’d you do, stop-n-go through traffic the whole way here?”

“Perhaps we can deal with the matter at hand?” asked Marcus. He was drinking a protein shake from a BiggestGulp mug, 48 ounces of chocolate sludge that he had promised Fede did not taste like it looked.

“Fede tells us your man has been captured by Boers and is being held in a small cabin in rural Florida. We downloaded some satellite prints and it is, indeed, the middle of nowhere.”

“Where’s Tonx?” asked Cass.

“We’re waiting to hear from him” said Marcus.

“He’s in Chicago” interrupted Cessus from the doorway. “I got him a secure line through a kids terminal. He doesn’t like competing with the children, but it’s more secure than your hack.” He smiled at Fede. Some of his dreads had been replaced with tapered vinyl tubes. “You left your end of the connection open; not likely they would’ve found you backwards from the proxy, but not safe either.”

“How’d you know?” demanded Fede.

“Traced your hack from Tonx’s end. Got to do your homework, my boy.” He strolled into the kitchen and winked at Cass. “Care to go for a ride? I’d love to do some more reconnaissance, but don’t see any reason to advertise our work from here.”

Five minutes later they were all piled into Marcus’s Pinto, Fede tucked into the center of the back seat. The driver’s seat was remounted almost into the trunk to fit Marcus.

“Where’d you find this car?” asked Fede. “You must have had to shop around.”

“Cass made a few changes for me” said Marcus. “At my size it’s hard to find a car that really fits.”

“Do you mod everything?” Fede asked Cass.

“Everything I can get my hands on” said Cass. She gave him that same sweet dangerous smile, “But don’t worry. I’m strictly into mechanics.”

As they swung onto the road Cessus pulled an ancient grey laptop out of his briefcase and seated it on his lap.

“A laptop?” asked Fede in disbelief.

“Marcus said you might want to learn something. To that end I’ve brought this screen; as an illustrative aid. Why don’t you watch and tell me what I’m doing?”

“Okay” said Fede, shuffling forward to peer over Cessus’s shoulder as the system booted up. Cessus put a little grey plug into its USB port, thumbed a switch on it. A yellow led on the plug began to glow. There was a transparent plastic shield fitted over the keys. He gently rubbed each of his fingernails. They were black, thick plastic press-ons glued in place.

“Those shells?” Fede asked, excited.

“Oh yeah” smiled Cessus. “They got them as implants now, you know that? This shit is the only way to work, and the implants are supposed to be way more sensitive. Got to get me some of that, we make any money off this run.”

He ran a config program, quickly pressed each of his fingers forward, back, side to side, the shells calibrating against the movement of the blood under his fingernails as he pressed his fingers down. The led on the plug flashed, his fingernails synching up. Then he started setting up daemons.

“Okay, you’re splitting all our comm channels to reassign themselves through a proxy list. Am I right?”

Cessus smiled again. “Go on.”

“That’s... that’s an encryption module? You’re swapping channels for the remodulated packets. For the proxy list, yeah? You’re making voice packets look like text packets, basic stenography... okay, what’s that?”

The conversation continued while Marcus drove aimlessly around town. Cass was clearly bored out of her mind and tried to make some calls until Cessus told her she was violating the ether.

“You’re making too much noise for us to monitor the cell traffic” Fede explained. He was impressed. The security protocols Cessus was using were extremely complex, but elegantly arranged. He wove their data streams according to some logic Fede couldn’t understand until they were stacked next to each other. Once they sat together it made perfect sense. It was wonderful to watch, like beautiful code but real-time, reactive. Cessus was dancing with the data, arranging a set where they were invisible, the data turning inside itself.

Suddenly he was done, shuttled his work to a half-screen graph view, nine columns of traffic gently streaming up the screen, each representing a different data type or path. It didn’t look like anything, anymore, or rather it looked just like the data streams had before he started. It would look like that whatever they did. They were hidden.

“Fuck” said Fede. He was grinning like an idiot.

“You got your gogs on?” asked Cessus.

“Yeah” said Fede.

“Okay, look for a music device in your Pan.”

“Pan?” asked Cass.

“Personal Area Network. Old-school term for short-range devices; for a while they wanted to market everything by range. You know, WAN for stuff like cell networks, LAN for wired networks or WiFi networks in your house, Pan for your MP3 or OGG player and your watch and gogs and stuff. But once the wireless technologies started getting cross-compatible nobody thought of it like that anymore.”

“Fucking marketese bullshit” said Cass. “Why can’t they just let people call it what it is?”

Marcus grunted, bored. “How about some music?” he asked. He had an old-fashioned single-purpose music player mounted in the dash, text display only.

“Please” said Cass.

Marcus spun through a long list of artists, his huge fingers moving deftly until he settled on something called Astrid Gilberto. The faint strains of cocktail lounge settled through the car, a woman’s soft voice da-da-dading along with it. Marcus hummed quietly along, turning down streets at random.

“You find the music device?” asked Cessus.

“Yeah” said Fede. “But why?”

“Sync it” said Cessus. “And run the visualization option.”

Fede did as he was told. All music devices came with little apps to make random shape and color shows, but Fede wasn’t sure Marcus’s would provide anything useful.

Instead the nine columns he had seen on Cessus’s screen appeared in rippling rainbow colors, rendered in swirling hypnogogic pixels. Fede snorted. “Clever” he said.

“Thank you, kind sir” said Cessus. “Marcus’s stereo is disconnected from the networks for security reasons, but anybody watching could only reasonably expect that his car would have one and that it would be broadcasting. I’ve only synced the text patterns — the colors are modulating as expected. The difference between what you’re seeing and what anyone else would see is attributable to lag on your comp’s end and the packet loss inherent in syncing on such a weak connection over any further distance. So. I think you can watch those packets for any sign of trouble, if you please.”

“Excellent” said Fede. “What now?”

“Now we find out what to listen to” said Cessus. “They’re in a little house in the middle of nowhere. We have an address and GPS coordinates. Nothing else. How do we figure out their comms?”

“Uh, can we trace the address to an owner, figure out the data line that way?”

“Good thinking, but I would expect the owner’s name is faked, or at least nonassociated. But that far out there I’ll bet they’re running wires only. Probably copper, probably owned by an ex-Baby Bell. All those wirelines are leased, and the Bells had them divided and subgrouped geographically.”

“So we just need to find...” Fede’s voice faded as Cessus began tabbing through maps, geometric shapes etched on them in brilliant red. “Where did you get those?” he asked.

“Bells were busted long time ago. Tracing their maps against ISPs and traffic owners is a good basic practice for seeing the patterns. Got to understand the beast’s bones before you eat the meat. Now, here. There’s only this one main trunk near their location. It’s leased out to Gaterville Countryside ISP, LLC. Let’s see what their security looks like, shall we?”

Fede watched as Cessus dissected the ISP’s firewall, set agents to gather traffic in and out of their open ports, diagnosed their operating system, detection countermeasures, their security’s weaknesses and flaws. Cessus eventually found a mail session started through an unencrypted link to a public server from an account at the ISP and sucked out the password and login. Then he set up some filters to watch for the same login being used elsewhere. Sure enough, not ten minutes later the login was used with any encrypted handshake to run a shell to the same server the mail session had connected to. Thirty seconds and Cessus had logged in and discovered root access.

“Okay” said Cessus. “Now that we’ve got full admin privileges over here, how to we get back to the ISP?”

“Log files” said Fede. Check for when this guy went the other direction and connect in some believable way.”

“Good idea. How about we assure that we can get back here again some other time, first?”

Cessus installed three separate root kits, backdoors hidden in four different places in case any one of them was found and deactivated. Then he scanned the log files for a secure shell connection to the ISP’s primary servers, found one and discovered it provided a root connection straight to the ISP.

He logged out and erased the connection from the log, backed out from the mail server entirely.

“What are you doing?” asked Fede. “We had access!”

“You know what it is if it smells like shit?” asked Cessus. “It probably is shit. That was easy, too easy. I didn’t like how it smelled.”

“I don’t like how this car smells” said Cass. “You want to drop me off downtown so I can do some biz? My boyfriend’s gone missing and sitting here listening you two hackers babble on is making me nuts.”

“I agree” added Marcus. “Is there a safe connection I can leave you guys at for a little while? I would also like to do some business.”

Cessus sighed. “It’s not as safe if we don’t keep moving, but we could do an hour on the tower. Is that cool?”

“Sure” said Marcus. “Let me drop Cass off first.”

He headed downtown towards the banking district, down to where a long strip of restaurants and tourist joints jostled for space. They said goodbye to Cass, who promptly turned and disappeared into the crowd, and then headed north towards Cartoff Tower. Cessus pulled a discreet corporate-cut dread bag, matt black, over his dreads.

“Are your dreads wired into your brain?” asked Fede. Cessus smiled, a glint of gold in his teeth.

“No. They monitor temperature, electrical activity and such — for meditational purposes. But they don’t jolt my brain. I don’t need that kind of feedback fucking up my senses.”

Marcus dropped them off in front of the tower, waved goodbye.

“They are spiked with memory metal, though” Cessus said. “For heat diffusion.”

Fede grunted as they turned towards the tower entrance, huge glass doors spanned by bronze touchpads, fountains flanking each entrance in gaudy laser-lit gushes.

“Memory metal?” asked Fede, more for conversation than any real curiosity. The hotel made him nervous — too many suits, too many people looking down their noses at him, wondering about why this kid was here with this dreadlocked weirdo.

“Nitinol. Flexible wire, returns to its original form when my head gets above resting temperature. It’s pretty weak, but it can lift some hair. I came up with the idea and Cass wired everything in. Thought the patent would do me some good, but it looks like folks haven’t caught on to the trend yet.”

Cessus nodded at the doorman, his briefcase held casually at his side. Fede felt suddenly out of place, the sound of the street cut off abruptly as the doors sealed shut behind them. They approached a bank of elevators, got inside.

“The Nitinol wires I use were formed straight, bonded to rubberized inserts implanted in my skull. Osseointegration, bonding gold/titanium amalgam plugs with bone. Your brother’s a wizard at it — he’s reinforced almost half of Marcus’s skeleton that way.”

He glanced at Fede, and added, “It takes a lot of skill, otherwise you get Heterotopic Ossification.”

“Hetero what?” asked Fede, his eyebrows meeting as he tried to decide if Cessus was making stuff up.

“Heterotopic Ossification. It’s a condition that sometimes happens with major implants. Used to be hip replacements were most vulnerable — basically the body starts trying to re-form the replaced skeletal tissue. You get pieces of bone forming inside the muscles around what you replaced. It hurts.”

“Are you joking?” asked Fede. “Has it happened to Marcus?”

“Nope. Like I said, your brother’s good. One of the best.”

Cessus punched the top floor and stood back, hands folded over the handle of the briefcase.

“Anyway, the end result of my dreadlock design is that the hotter my head gets, the straighter the Nitinol gets. The straighter the wires get, the less my dreads cover my head and the more heat escapes.” He smiled widely, “It lets me overclock my brain.”

Fede stared at the line of illuminated elevator buttons and tried hard to pretend he wasn’t listening. He knew Cessus was good at security — he’d seen that much already. But he didn’t want to hear about how he thought he was overclocking his brain. Tonx had been right when he’d said Cessus was crazy.

They exited the elevator, turned sharply and came to a tall wooden stand behind which a maitre d’ stood at attention. He and Cessus stared at each other for a moment, evaluating. The man opened his mouth to speak, was cut off by Cessus.

“A window seat will do nicely. My nephew has yet to truly see the city” he said, gesturing at Fede without looking.

The maitre d’ nodded, mumbled something unintelligible and led them into the restaurant. It was shaped like a disc, the bar and kitchen in the center. They descended some steps to a booth by the edge. From their seat Fede could see tourists on a walkway just below, children’s pink fingers wrapped around rubber-coated chicken wire. Cessus put his briefcase on the windowsill, blocking his own view of the scenery below, and plugged a small black wire into its base. He draped his napkin discreetly over the wire. Then he pulled a splitter from his pocket and put his hands under the table, leaned forward towards Fede.

“Connect this to your comp and act like a disaffected youth, would you?” Fede felt Cessus hand him the wire under the table, the thick black nails scraping gently against his fingers as he took it. A waiter appeared.

“And I’m sure your mother’s lawyer will agree” Cessus added, looking slightly flustered as he turned towards the man. “Ah, yes, ah... coffee, please, with cream. And the boy will have, ah...” Cessus looked at Fede, who looked cieling-wards and flipped his goggles down over his eyes.

“Ah, ice cream will do, I believe. And a coke” Cessus signed, handed the waiter the unopened menus. He pursed his lips slightly and took a newspaper from the briefcase, his glasses sliding out from both sides of his head and flicking into place. Tiny rainbows began too flash over his corneas and Fede saw a prompt flicker across his gogs.

<C>Very nice, Feed. You could almost hear the adolescent condescension.

<F>I try.

<C>Good. Now, you may be wondering what the hell we’re doing up in a giant rotating tower when what we really need is a net connection. Yes?

<F>Yes, actually.

<C>Please draw your attention (without looking) to the briefcase next to me.

<F>??

<C>Are you familiar with the principle of how antennas work?

<F>I thin kso.

<C>Please type like an adult, Feed. My briefcase contains one slightly curved metal mesh antenna, attached to three actuators. See the bolts on the side of the case?

Fede looked, saw that there were indeed three polished knobs arranged in a triangle around the center of the briefcase. He’d assumed they were decorative.

<C>The actuators move the antenna slightly, homing in on a signal. The opposite side of the case is not metal - it’s polished plastic. The newspaper in front of me has a sheet of metal mesh in it to hide the contents from scans. That’s probably why the waiter gave me such a look on the way in here — I was either a terrorist or a businessman who thought himself important enough to buy a scan-proof case.

<F>So the case has an antenna that’ll track signals?

<C>Yes. From here we can see all over the city; there are sure to be unencrypted networks out there.

The waiter returned and Cessus ignored him, pouring milk into his coffee and dropping in two sugar cubes with casual precision. He stirred the result with a tiny spoon, his little finger raised as he did so. Fede’s comp buzzed, an icon in his gogs showed a message from Tonx. He gripped his chord under the table, sat back in forced calm and popped open the message.

A moment later Fede flipped up one goggle and leaned towards Cessus.

“My brother’s sitting tight but complains the kids are driving him crazy. He wants an ETA.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“How long, Cessus?”

“Soon. I’ll be done soon.”

Fede passed the message on to Tonx and switched back to the connection he shared with Cessus. The screen was reformatted to show a similar setup to what they’d had in the car. The briefcase had found a live connection, apparently, and had them plugged into the network through a wireless setup somewhere in the city below. Cessus was busily resuming his scans of the Gaterville Countryside ISP in the foreground. A web browser window expanded, the company homepage appearing. Ghostly cursor followed links to their user login page, strings of gibberish-code pasted into the URL.

“SQL injection” murmured Fede, his lips moving slightly. SQL injection was an old method of dropping database commands into a browser such that the code controlling the page passed it on to the database. It was an ancient attack, although Fede knew a lot of companies still used the database systems that were vulnerable to it. Fede flipped back to the chat window.

<F>How’d you know they used SQL?

A response came quickly:

<C>Fits the profile. Feel the space, the little hole this ISP occupies. What shape your heel, Achilles?

Fede flipped back to the browser. It was spitting out page after page of text, database records piling on top of each other. Cessus piped the browser’s output to a window, scanned it and piped the output to yet another window, name and password combinations and a column called “priority” streaming up the screen. Cessus reformatted the display, the priority column suddenly on the left. It started showing numbers, twos and then threes and then fives suddenly bobbing to the top, their name/password matches seated next to them. The stream slowed, stopped. Five priority one accounts rested at the top of the page, each name a mix of a first letter an a last name, each password a ten-character long mix of letters and numbers only a computer would generate. Typical old-school corporate methodology. Administrator accounts. Fede switched back to the chat window.

<F>That smell right?

<C>Good as gold, my friend.

An invisible cursor copied the five admin accounts and dropped them into a scratchpad window on the top left of Fede’s visual space, the web browser disappearing along with the used scan pages. A new window opened and a secure session started up with the ISP’s main server. Cessus logged in as tspranger, password 99f3xl!j06. A welcome script scrolled by. They were in.

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