a couple inches shy of five and a half feet. His already sallow complexion had turned waxy over the last few months. He normally kept his dark hair razored short, but he hadn’t taken care of it in weeks. Wispy beard stubble tracked his cheeks, only shadowing the acne pits.
He triggered the chair’s implants. Then the programming seized his senses and pulled him into veeyar again.
He opened his eyes inside his personal veeyar. He’d modeled it on Ray Bradbury’s office, borrowing several props the science fiction writer had kept around him for inspiration. He’d found the clutter relaxing, making him feel as if he was always in the middle of something rather than off by himself.
Gaspar sat at the antique desk and studied the Underwood typewriter before him. Instead of the alphabet, though, the typewriter keys had icons for the various software programs he had loaded.
He touched the triangular blue icon, and another gust of cold wind filled him, tightening his skin and prickling his scalp. He blinked and was on the Net proper.
Multicolored datastreams passed below him, flashing lights that carried information and encrypted data all over the world. Various symbols and shapes represented the online businesses, each linked to the other by the datastreams that flowed in both directions constantly.
Floating above the Netscape, Gaspar triggered the trace-back utility he’d built for Peter’s Griffen’s veeyar. Since it operated outside the veeyar and merely ferreted out connections, Griffen had never realized someone was spying on him. It helped that Gaspar had also been able to program blind spots into Peter’s operating system when he’d had access to it.
Gaspar targeted the hotel where Peter was staying. On the Net the hotel looked very much like it did in real life.
The Bessel Mid-Town stood thirty stories tall, topped by a helipad for corporate executives on the go. The fourteenth floor was open on three sides, providing a pavilion that included an Olympic-sized pool, a banquet area, and an open stage carefully sectioned off from each other by a plethora of plants and exhibit cases.
Gaspar dropped through the Net and automatically chose a nondescript proxy. By the time he landed on the carpet and stepped onto the canopy-covered area, he looked like a businessman.
A uniformed concierge braced him at the broad double doors. The proxy looked young, polite, and earnest. “May I help you, sir?”
“Just going up to my room,” Gaspar replied. He flashed the faked hotel PIN card he’d mocked up.
The concierge glanced at the card, electronic pulses flashing in his eyes, then back up at Gaspar. “Of course. Thank you, sir.” He reached back and opened the door, disarming some of the security measures that prevented uninvited visitors from gaining entrance to the hotel’s online facilities.
Not all of the security measures were dismissed, Gaspar knew. The rooms each maintained unique safeguards. Getting the master override programming right had taken him some time because the Bessel Mid-Town had beefed up security for the software convention.
He accessed a pull-down menu in the hotel’s veeyar with the master override. A window opened beside him, staying within sight as he crossed to the main desk. He touched the icon that brought up the list of employees currently working.
Ted Sheppard was the manager currently on duty.
Closing the window, Gaspar accessed the security programming protecting the building, got through with the crack he’d developed, and accessed employee files. When that menu appeared, he selected SHEPPARD, TED, then downloaded the information. The file included a picture and Sheppard’s passcodes.
Not even breaking stride, Gaspar grafted the information into his proxy. The proxy shimmered, and he knew in the next second that the hotel computer’s security systems wouldn’t be able to tell him from SHEPPARD, TED. He continued toward the main desk.
An atrium filled the center of the huge, cavernous lobby, stretching all the way up to the fifteenth floor. The elevator drew the eye to the parade of plants and birds inside the atrium. Statues of ten-foot-tall Chinese dogs flanked either side of the main entrance.
Gaspar stood behind the desk, feeling better than he had in hours. Stealing into places where he didn’t belong, that was what he did best, what he lived for.
He logged into the internal security systems through the icon-laden touchscreen built right into the hotel desk behind the countertop.
The icons cleared and the prompt printed, ID, PLEASE.
Gaspar laid his palm on the touchscreen, feeling a little giddy with excitement. He trusted the proxy and the programs he was using, but the uncertainty was always a thrill.
The touchscreen pulsed violet light in a bar that ran from top to bottom. WELCOME, SHEPPARD, TED. HOW MAY I HELP YOU? A new list of icons formed on the touchscreen.
Gaspar tapped the yellow telecommunications icon, bringing up another menu. He passed over the HoloNet and vidphone connections, choosing the icon representing Net access feeds. He entered Peter Griffen’s room number.
GRIFFEN, PETER. STATUS: CURRENTLY LOGGED ON. COMMUNICATE?
Gaspar entered NO.
LEAVE MESSAGE?
NO.
TRACE OUTBOUND?
NO.
TRACE INBOUND?
YES.
The touchscreen blinked, then a name and computer access number floated to the top. HUNTER, MARISSA & GORDON.
Gaspar downloaded the information and closed out the security access on the touchscreen. Then he logged off.
“I’ve got a name.” He gave it to her when he forced himself up from the implant chair.
“Get back into Griffen’s veeyar,” Heavener ordered, taking a foilpack from her hip pocket. She opened the ultra-thin silver-metal device and punched the power button and the vidphone configuration. The foilpack instantly reconfigured itself into a cell phone. “Find out if Griffen has communicated with those people. If he hasn’t, prevent it.”
2
The guy on the dragon’s back wore silvery-gray ring mail armor that covered his torso as well as his arms and legs. The armored helm masked half his face but left his strong jawline visible. Long black hair trailed from the back of the helm. Gems studding the helmet and armor gleamed in the sun’s light. A bright blue tabard covered the dragonrider’s chest and bore the symbol of a red dragon in flight.
The dragon gaped its jaws, and Maj could see the roiling flames twisting up from inside the long throat. But the rider lifted a gloved hand and stilled the beast. In the next instant the dragon heeled over one hundred and eighty degrees.
“Did you see that?” Matt asked excitedly. “That was an aerial U-turn. Don’t lose it.”
“That’s the general idea.” Maj brought the Striper around in a tight turn.
The dragonrider hunched lower over his saddle and glanced back over his shoulder. With the magnification of the forward-looking vid cam, Maj could clearly see the confusion and irritation on the guy’s face. His mouth was locked in a small smile, and behind the steel bandit’s mask of the helm his eyes flashed.
Maj brought up the PA system and placed an outside hail. She spoke clearly into her voice mike. “Who are you?”
Reaching up, the dragonrider took off his helm. His black hair whipped back in the wind. He tried a smile.
“He can hear you,” Matt said. “He just doesn’t seem to understand you.”
