My laptop is far too old to be of value in any tech trade, re-sell, or for a parts-only kind of deal. It's old, low-tech, and completely useless to those who don't know what they're looking at. Of course, most people don't recognize genius at first glance. What looks like an old, useless computer to most looks like a living to me. Within the hard drive of this sad-looking device is the information that keeps me alive. More than alive- actually living.
You couldn't tell it by looking at the tattered plastic casing, the scratches on the screen, or the worn-off lettering, but on the black market, the first drive alone is valued at ten million. Thirty, if I can finish my next project without being caught, robbed, or killed. Apparently, that last one's actually an option, but I've elected to ignore it until the last moment possible.
While I've got my library card in hand, I like to think anything is possible. Okay, correction- it's not exactly mine. It's more of a copy- of a copy- of a copy of a fake-ish card. But, to be fair, I did reprogram five systems for it to say 'Rebel' on the front, and I changed three more systems so it listed the number as 17953794 on the back. It's a good number.
The library is just being unlocked as I reach the entrance. A lady with a large binder, and also, I note, a ring of keys, is quietly opening up the library, one window at a time. She'd be at least twice as fast if she'd stop answering text messages after every window she opened.
I watch her for a second, examining the tight jeans, slim figure, dyed hair, and obviously fake glasses. She's dressed in top-quality clothes, at least from the look of her boots, and yet, she's working a low-pay job full-time.
"Miss," I ask, with my most timid, most gentle library voice possible, "may I use the conference room?" I pull my coat tighter around me, so she doesn't see the half-price tee I grabbed from a half-price, half-quality online shop.
"Do you have a reservation?" She asks, looking me up and down. Her voice is suddenly demeaning, as though my age shows in my face. It's a voice I'm used to, and a voice I shouldn't find as annoying as I do. I retain my comebacks as a trickle of individuals walk through the sliding doors, then slip around us.
"No," I say, then slip my hand into my pocket, "but I can pay." Her eyes widen for a minute, then return to their original size. Calculating. I glance at her boots. Expensive. Not even scuffed.
"No Ma'am," she smiles, although she looks somewhat regretful, "I'll unlock the doors. Just be out by twelve; I think we have an organization coming in at one."
"Fifty if you don't note my reservation." I pull the cash out of my cargo pants pocket, and she shakes her head.
"I don't accept money." For a minute, I'm afraid I've misjudged her character and she'll note my presence in dangerous detail, but then her eyes flicker from my face down at the money. Even though she walks away, I have a feeling the deal won't be forgotten. I follow her until she disappears behind the counter, and wait next to the front desk way longer than is actually necessary. I can almost guess how many texts she's sent by the time she gets back to me with the key to the conference room. As she walks past me, her eyes are on the pocket I retrieved the money from earlier.
She slips the golden key into the slot and turns it with a sharp click. As I walk through, she whispers,
"How much did you say, again?" Smart, but not discreet. We're in the eastern quarters, distant from the entrance, but not where we can't be seen. I turn my back on her, and look around. Cameras. If I'm correct, I can turn at a specific angle so it won't record the transfer. I shift the angle of my shoulders, and slip the money out of my pocket.
"One hundred, and you don't mention me to anyone." Her eyes widen, and she looks as though she's won the lottery. "Anyone," I repeat, "no coworkers, supervisors, customers, anyone at all."
"Done." She says, and stuffs the wad of cash into her pocket. Hopefully, she can keep that idea in that mind of hers for the rest of the week. Who knows if she'll remember me past the next pair of skinny jeans she buys with my money. I'm not sure which costs more- the rhinestones on her phone case, or the ones on the back pocket of her jeans.
As soon as I'm sure she's gone, I look around. I've been left in a small, nearly empty room. There are two outlets in the corner, and large table, with ten chairs. I move to the end of the room, and unload my small bag. Computer, charger, battery, notebook, hard-drive, cell phone.
I set up my workspace, my little mobile office, in seconds. My phone, I slip back in my pocket. I haven't used it in months. I don't plan on alerting the government to my position any time soon.
In my notebook, I scribble the time and date. I have the oddest feeling I should save the date. Either way, it might just end up becoming history. All I need to do is to unlock the vaults. Or, rather, a virtual vault. But a vault, nonetheless.
My chest swells gently, and I raise my chin. Very quietly, in a world all my own, I settle to my work. The work many will never complete, or even attempt, for that matter. Without further ado, I continue. Nonchalantly, I begin the never-attempted, stupidly-brash unauthorized retrieval of information from the Central Technology/Sciences Agency of the Northern Republic.
In short, I'm hacking the government.
YOU ARE READING
//press enter to begin
AçãoThis is the uncut edition of //press start to begin, my first sci-fi/fantasy/robot thriller. I'm writing it as you're reading it, meaning that it isn't finished yet, but I thought I would share it nonetheless. Hope you enjoy!!
