Daemon (24 page)

In a moment Sebeck stood alone among the dead. On closer inspection, some were groaning and twitching, obviously injured. This was frighteningly detailed. Sebeck scanned the room, hitting the arrow keys to move about.

He almost jumped out of his digital skin when he turned to see a fearsome-looking hooded assassin appear out of thin air a foot from his face.

Ross’s voice came over the phone. “Boo.”

“Stop screwing around.” Sebeck noticed that this avatar was different from the ones he’d seen so far—a glowing call-out box hovered over its head. The box was labeled “
Entro-P
” and a series of green bars were stacked up to the left of it, like a graph. It was a ninja with a floating name tag. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“You really screwed things up, you know that?”

“I don’t remember you teaching me how to
play
this game.”

“I plead guilty. I just didn’t think your first instinct would be to attack an unarmed old man.”

“He was annoying me.”

“Okay, a little tip: everything has consequences in this world—as in the real one. See the dead merchant on the floor? That’s the patriarch of the House of Peduin and a leading merchant. He had many friends, and he provided the local nobility with much of their liquidity—i.e., cash. This is an agrarian society, so cold hard cash is hard to come by. Even my character has used his services.”

“
You’re
the one who killed him.”

“But I wasn’t
seen
trying to kill him. See how that works? Just like the real world. Once you ordered your men to kill him, it was important to slay all the witnesses. Even then, you might have spies in your household.”

“Enough. So what? Some digital graphics are upset at me. Who gives a shit?”

“I bought your character because he was useful. He had title, lands, and income from his holdings. These things would have come in handy where we’re going—particularly your following of men-at-arms and any alliances you might have had with regional nobility. But now you’ll be branded outlaw and your lands and title will be forfeit.”

“All right. I owe you a character. Should we buy another one?”

Ross chuckled. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.” He sighed. “No, let’s see if we can get out of town alive.”

“Town? We’re in a town?”

“Yes. This is your autumn villa. The one used during market season. It’s in downtown Gedan.”

“As in the taverns of Gedan?”

“That’s right. Although, thanks to you, we won’t be visiting any taverns. C’mon.”

Ross’s assassin led the way, waiting impatiently as Sebeck tried in vain to navigate his character through the doorway and out to the road.

“You’re like a retarded Sir Lancelot.”

“Look, unlike you, I have a life, and I don’t have hundreds of extra hours to spend learning to play this game.”

They made it out to the road, and Sebeck finally got a good look around. This was a surprisingly complex-looking world. They stood on a narrow cobblestone street in a picturesque medieval town. A bell tower stood above what looked to be a square, and the bell was ringing. Birds even flew past in the morning sky. “Holy Moses. This is really something.”

“Incoming…”

A mob of armed men headed down the otherwise deserted street in their direction. They didn’t look friendly.

“Goddamnit, I didn’t want to use this, but we’ve got places to go.” Ross’s character made some animated, generic hand gestures.

“What are you up to? You casting a spell or something?”

“No, I’m using a magical device.”

Suddenly a shimmering portal opened in midair in the middle of the street. It revealed a tunnel that appeared to enter some extra-dimensional space.

“Why don’t you just sprinkle them with pixie dust?”

“I’m going to sprinkle you with pixie dust in a second. This is a fantasy world. Whether you think it’s cool is irrelevant. Several million people do think it’s cool, and the Daemon is using this to propagate in reality—so stop poking fun and get your psycho ass through the portal.”

“Okay, okay.” Sebeck ran his character through the portal. He immediately came out on a windswept hillside in knee-high grass. The hillside overlooked a rocky coastline. The sea shimmered in the algorithmic sunshine. It was beautiful. He turned to see Ross’s assassin run through the portal, a shouting mob close on his heels. Ross snapped the gate shut just as the crowd reached it. They were now alone on the hillside. The sound of the wind sweeping across the grass was their only companion.

“Where are we now?”

“About two hundred miles north.”

“Well, that is handy. So what’s up here?”

Ross’s ninja avatar pointed. “Turn around and take a look off the coast.”

Sebeck’s character started backing up.

Ross barked, “Left arrow key.”

“Oh.” Sebeck searched for the left arrow key on his keyboard. His view swiveled until he was looking off the coast again. There, in the distance, he could make out a jagged islet—perhaps a mile offshore and partially obscured by mist. Sitting atop the islet was a towering castle in jet-black stone.

“Hello. Dr. Evil’s beach house.”

“Chat rooms say it appeared the day Sobol died. No one has even gotten close to it and lived.”

“We’ll need to tell the NSA. They need to impound these servers.”

“These servers are in China. Or maybe South Korea. The companies that own them are politically connected there.”

“Well, the Feds can exert a lot of political pressure.”

“So can corporate executives.”

They stood staring at the castle. It was Sebeck who broke the silence.

“Why didn’t you transport us inside the castle?”

“I tried. This is as close as we can get. I can’t use scrying devices to see inside either.”

“Sobol’s locked it up tight.”

“Basically.”

They stood there for several more moments.

“So, how do we get in?”

“Is it me, or did I just say that no one has approached the place and lived?”

“We’ve got to find out what Sobol’s up to. Better our cartoon skins than our real ones.”

“Who says we need to get inside to find out what it’s for? What if we put the place under surveillance? Watch comings and goings?”

“Great. So if a dragon and a fairy show up at the castle, what the hell am I supposed to do with that information? Put out a warrant for their arrest?”

“No, but we might get some idea of how to get inside. With a little luck, we won’t be observed from this distance, and—” Ross stopped mid-sentence.

Sebeck saw it, too. A huge shadow had cast over them from behind. It had a vaguely humanoid outline.

“Control-Down-Arrow turns you around, Pete. Do it now.”

“Control-who-what?”

“Control-Down-Arrow.”

“Hold it. Control…where’s the Down key?”

“Pete! For the love of Christ, the Down arrow is a single key. Hold it down and simultaneously hold down the C-T-R-L key.”

Sebeck did. His character pirouetted.

A jet-black figure, about twelve feet tall, towered over them. The figure held an obsidian rod and wore a black crown. Piercing, demonic red eyes glowed from deep sockets. No mouth was visible as it raised its arm, pointing at Sebeck. A deep, gravelly wav file played, “Detective Sebeck. You don’t belong here!”

Before Sebeck could do anything, a lightning bolt arced hotly from the rod, blasting his avatar to dust. His screen went black, and his entire machine crashed—never to reboot.

Sebeck grabbed the headset mouthpiece. “Jesus! It said my name, Jon. And it just fried my computer. What’s it doing now?”

Only Ross’s cursing came over the phone line.

After the demon wasted Sebeck’s knight, Ross went into defensive mode, ducking and retreating. There wasn’t time to invoke another portal; the demon turned upon him. It raised its rod and spoke again. “You guided him here. Are you NSA or a Fed?” A pause. “Or neither? We shall see….”

The hard drive on Ross’s laptop started clattering.

“Shit!” He ripped the network cable from the socket. The game was still running, so he pulled the AC power cord and the battery, too. His laptop was now inert, the screen black.

He slumped back into his hotel desk chair and took a deep breath.

Sebeck’s voice barked over the phone. “Jon! What the hell is going on?”

“I just disconnected, Pete. It was trying to find out who I was. I only had the game and a video capture program on this laptop, but I didn’t want to lose the video images.” He frowned to himself as he reinserted the laptop battery and placed the computer on the desk. His mind was turning over the possibilities. Ross stopped short. “Pete. I need you to come and get me out of jail.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just come to Woodland Hills and get me out of jail, please.” He ignored Sebeck’s questions and pulled off the phone headset, bolting through his hotel room door.

Ross sprinted down the exterior walkway toward the lobby. He brushed past two regional sales reps unloading luggage from a rental car and hauled ass on the final straightaway, banging through the lobby push doors.

The desk clerk was a fresh-faced, conspicuously Caucasian kid. He shot a stern glance up at Ross. “Watch the doors, please, sir.”

Ross slammed into the counter, breathing hard. “I need access to your billing system. It’s an emergency.”

“Perhaps I can assist you, sir.” He manned a keyboard, prairie-dog-like with his paws poised.

“Do you track Internet use on guest accounts?”

“Your Internet viewing habits won’t appear on your bill.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you connect guest billing information to an internal IP address?”

“Sir, we are required by law to maintain—”

“Goddamnit.” Ross swung his leg up and started clawing his way over the counter, sending brochures and phones flying. “This isn’t about pornography.”

“You can’t—“

Ross slipped on a PBX phone and tumbled to the floor behind the front desk.

The night clerk locked his workstation, then pressed a button under the counter. “The police are on their way!” He raced for the back office just as Ross got to his feet.

“Wait!” Ross lunged for the office door, but the kid slammed it in his face, ramming a heavy bolt home. Ross pounded on it with his open hand. It was a security door.

The kid’s voice came through muffled. “You’re not the first idiot to look at porn on a hotel account, sir. But you just made it a whole lot worse.”

“This is a
police
emergency.”

“I didn’t see a badge.”

“Look, I’m working with the Feds on the Daemon case. Sobol’s house is five miles down the road. It’s not improbable that I would stay here.”

“You checked in weeks ago—before Sobol died. Just wait for the police.”

“By the time they get here, it’ll be too late. The Daemon is going to attack your servers to find out who I am.”

“I’m not listening, sir!”

“If the Web server is in there with you, just pull the cables out of the back. That’s all I’m asking.”

There was no response.

“Kid! This isn’t a joke. The Daemon has already killed more than a dozen people. If it finds out who I am—“

“Sir, I suggest you talk to the police about it.”

Shit.
Ross stalked around the front desk. He manned the computer on the counter. It displayed a browser-based hotel management program. A logon screen stared him in the face. Ross flipped over the mouse pad and found a tiny Post-it note scrawled with logons and passwords. He used one to log on. “Well, that’s one advantage I have over the Daemon….”

Like most point-of-sale systems, this one was designed to minimize training requirements. Ross was presented with a standard switchboard form for the billing system. He chose Customer Accounts and searched for his name. He quickly found his billing record, but he couldn’t edit anything. The night clerk’s logon didn’t have sufficient privileges to change existing information—only to add new charges. Ross’s name and credit card number were clearly displayed. There was also a link for his Internet and phone charges.
Damnit.

The server for
The Gate
would already have the hotel’s main IP address—so the Daemon would know precisely where to launch its attack. If the hotel ran a common hotel management system—as was likely—then the database layout would be public knowledge. “Son of a bitch.”

In the back office, the kid was on the phone with a 911 operator. Behind him stood a couple of rack-mounted servers, a router, and a network switch, their green LED lights lazily blinking. The whole rack was locked off to him, but a flat-panel monitor displayed the logon dialog for the server, bouncing around the black screen.

Then, like a floodgate opening, the entire bank of LEDs started fluttering like crazy. The network was slammed with IP traffic. Even the kid noticed it. He heard the hard drive straining.

“Hey! Whatever you’re doing out there, stop it.”

Ross cocked an ear toward the office but did not take his eyes off the computer screen. “Kid, I’m not doing anything. That’s the Daemon trying to bash its way in. It’ll try to get at the Web access logs to find my connection to its Web site. Then it’ll try to link my billing record with that IP address. I’m begging you: please open the door.”

Ross minimized the hotel billing app and interrogated the DNS server from a console window. Thankfully the server was not properly configured and permitted a zone transfer. This let him view the internal IP map of the network from his machine—complete with machine names and operating systems.

The clerk watched the LED lights flickering like a Vegas marquee. Suddenly the server monitor screen came to life. The logon dialog went away and the desktop appeared. The kid spoke to the 911 operator. “He’s doing something to our computers.”

Back at the front desk Ross typed like a maniac. Now he knew the OS of the Web server. He thought about the odds of cracking into the server in time to clear the Web logs. Not likely, and it was the first thing the Daemon would try for.

“Listen, open the door.”