The Rebel Code

Chapter Two - Part One

Mrs. Martin struts confidently into the classroom, her pencil skirt swishing with every step, and dumps a stack of new school protocol onto her desk. Our old science sheets, biology and physics, are brushed aside. In one swift motion, she uncaps a felt-tip marker and turns to write on the whiteboard in big, swoopy letters:

What is a freeboot?

"Good morning, everyone," she says with a smile that's more than a little tired. "I'm just going to get right to it. I trust we've all been watching the news this morning, or at least catching the ProtoBand updates. No, it is not a hoax. Yes, they caught a freeboot in Port Carina. He worked right here in our academy as a Mr. Michael Bosman, whom you may know as our former physical therapist."

There are a few soft gasps in the classroom. No doubt some people are finding out for the first time. I guess not everyone was lucky enough to be neighbors with the criminal.

"This is all very sudden, I know," says Mrs. Martin, snapping the cap back onto the marker and giving it an extra whack for good measure. "But since we've had the luck of finding a freeboot in Port Carina, our upcoming section on fish life cycles has been postponed. We are not the first town to experience this turn of events, and fortunately, the powers that be have systems in place that are going to help us understand what is going to be happening for the next few weeks. This," she slaps the stack of papers, "is a freeboot discovery protocol packet for grades nine through twelve."

I hadn't been particularly looking forward to fish life cycles, but suddenly I find myself feeling very warmly towards fish and their babies. Anything but this.

Mrs. Martin opens up the top packet and reads the first page. "First, we're going to see how much you guys know already. Let's get someone to grab the dictionary, okay? Malina?"

Malina Anderson is Coach Mitch's daughter and my best friend, since we've been neighbors for as long as I can remember. She was there last night. She gets up, crossing the room to get the fat, blue book off the shelf. Mrs. Martin nods, smiling.

"Malina, could you please look up the dictionary definition of the word 'freeboot'?"

As Malina thumbs through the pages, I focus on the word on the board in Mrs. Martin's fancy handwriting. It looks wrong to me, but I don't know why. Too many double vowels, maybe. When I stare at them for too long, they seem to stretch out for eternity. Freeeeeeboooot.

"Freeboot," recites Malina. "Noun. Shortened form of freebooter. A person who practices illegal skills against the orders of Criterion, usually for their own self-interest. See also: hacker, cyberterrorist, pirate."

Mrs. Martin clasps her hands together. "Exactly. Can anyone give me an example of some illegal skills a freeboot might exploit."

I feel a hand go up behind me, and a nasal-voiced boy who I've only talked to once says, "They have computers for brains. They can solve puzzles and stuff."

Mrs. Martin frowns. "Anyone else like to try without using the word stuff? How about you, Jennifer?"

I clench my hands in my lap. "Um... Strategizing?"

She nods, and spins on her heel to write on the board. "Excellent. Freeboots can make use of advanced strategy. Anyone else?"

Slowly, the board fills with more words. Problem solving. Logic. Creativity. Things computers are made to do. Things computers are supposed to do for us.

When the board is good and full, she turns and slides a disc out of a sleeve in the protocol packet. Then, wheeling the TV over, she turns it on and puts the disc in. The lights dim, and a little animated police officer jumps onto the screen. I hear groans from the class as our eyes are assaulted with something that definitely isn't designed for grades nine through twelve. The police officer does a dance and words appear on the screen, flashing with bright colors.
Should we be scared of freeboots?