Insignia

Tom laughed out loud. “Wonder what Dr. Gonzalez makes of that?”

“What are you two even talking about?” Vik crowed from several rows in front of them, where he was hanging over the back of his bench.

I hate Vik, Wyatt messaged him.

“Wyatt hates you,” Tom called to Vik.

Vik bellowed a laugh. “There’s a thin line between love and hate, Enslow.” He held up his fingers and pinched them close together to make his point. “Thin, thin, thin.”

She bristled at Vik’s laughter when he turned back to the stage. Then she turned her glare on Tom. “I told you that privately.”

“But everyone knows you hate Vik.”

“That’s not the point.”

“So Beamer,” Tom pressed. “Can he use the IP to net-send a message to her computer?”

“It depends. There are probably thousands of computers out there with the same IP address. You’d need more than that. You need the network address. And once you get that, it really depends on how strong the firewall is on her server, unless she knew beforehand he was going to try contacting her.”

“Beamer would have to hack through her firewall, then.”

“Basically.”

“Great.” Tom slumped back in his seat, deflated. The Spire may have logged Medusa’s IP, but that IP would be on the server in the Sun Tzu Citadel in the Forbidden City, China, a place with one of the most secure firewalls in the solar system. No way was Tom going to be able to hack into that.

At the front of the Lafayette Room, Marsh mounted the stage. Silence descended over them. The general stood there and surveyed them solemnly. “As you might have heard, there was a very serious security breach today. Some Russo-Chinese Combatants managed to break through our firewall and enter a simulation. They were only here to wreak some havoc with a group of plebes, but this represents a severe internal security breach. Not merely because they penetrated our firewall and not merely because one of our plebes did not respond according to regulations by disengaging …”

Tom slouched down in his seat when eyes moved his way. Come on. He’d held his ground. That’s what people were supposed to do if they weren’t total wimps.

“… But also because the lot of you did not possess the offensive and defensive programming skills to counter this cyberattack. I see now that we’ll have to urge you to make more progress with your programming, and step it up a notch. I am including a second information pack regarding the rules of engagement in tomorrow’s download stream; a new list of penalties for noncompliance; and, of course, I am agreeing to one of Lieutenant Blackburn’s requests for further training measures.”

Tom caught sight of a gleeful look on Blackburn’s face, which immediately set him on edge.

Marsh leaned over the podium. “Trainees, Combatants, it’s time for some war games.”

BLACKBURN OUTLINED THE rules in class the next morning. “For the next five days, we’ll wage this Spirewide brawl fought purely on a programming level, which means the vast majority of you are out of luck unless you get your acts together. You can use Zorten II, or even Klondike if you can manage it. Write a virus and inflict it on anyone you’d like, and then enjoy the carnage. I know I will.”

Bodies stirred throughout the room. Tom could barely stay in his seat. He hated Programming, but the idea of an all-out war sent thrills of anticipation bolting through him. Maybe he could really work hard and learn a couple of lethal programs just for this.

“General Marsh, of course, wants you to enjoy this, so we’ll make this a competition between the five divisions. The division that pulls off the greatest number of successful attacks will be the official winner. Let me note here that no one in the same division can use the same virus twice. If you’re thinking about just passing around one set of codes and racking up points that way? Forget it. If, however, someone from another division uses a virus on you? Feel free to steal shamelessly and deploy it on somebody else. That’s fair.”

Heather raised her hand. “What do we get if we win, sir?”

“Nothing,” Blackburn answered.

There was a moment of silence, then Heather raised her hand again. “So why would we go to war with each other if we don’t get anything for winning? What’s in it for us, sir?”

Blackburn chuckled. “A born mercenary, aren’t you, Ms. Akron? And here I was, thinking there are hundreds of teenagers living in close quarters. What, do you all get along so very well you can’t imagine doing this?” He looked around at them. “Aren’t there any grudges, rivalries, vendettas, or simply a good old-fashioned need for one-upmanship? Well, here it is, right here—the one opportunity you have to act on them. And yes, I know what some of you are thinking. You’re thinking, ‘I’ll just sit this out and no one will attack me.’ Guess what?” He cupped a hand to his mouth and stage-whispered to the microphone, “The world doesn’t work that way, and neither does the Spire. You try and sit this out, and I can guarantee you that someone from another division will find you easy pickings.”

Tom found himself meeting Karl’s gaze all of a sudden. Karl drew a finger across his throat. Tom made a shooting gesture with his thumb and forefinger.

Game on, Tom thought gleefully.

“So here are some rules. Whenever you launch a program at someone, you’d better send me the code immediately afterward. If it’s a pathetic program that does something like display ‘Hello, world’ in their vision center? No points. In fact, negative points for wasting my time. It has to be a good program to score. I’m thinking Genghis chicken caliber.”

Tom heard sniggering throughout the room from everyone but Karl and his friends. He used net-send and asked Wyatt, How’s it feel being the gold standard?

She glanced back at him briefly and messaged back, What difference does it make? It’s not like I can claim credit.

At the front, Alec Tarsus raised his hand. “It sounds kind of arbitrary, sir. You just get to decide if we score points?”

“Thatta boy, Mr. Tarsus. You see how it works. This is all me, and I am the god of this conflict. When I choose, I giveth or taketh away as I please. Here are some more rules: anything you program has to self-terminate within an hour. It can’t leave permanent changes to your victim’s neural processor. No lasting injuries to the physical body or the software. No attacks involving biological functions that might get you—and us—sued for inflicting psychological trauma. Use your common sense. I hope I’m not making a leap here assuming you have some. And I want to emphasize this: I don’t want to see a single virus that will physically damage a neural processor. One of those is worth more than the lot of you put together.”

Karl’s shoulders slouched. He looked frighteningly sorry to hear he couldn’t permanently damage people. Tom supposed that should worry him, but it just made him feel even more eager to get started.

Vik elbowed him. “You and me, Tom.”

“You and me,” Tom agreed.

“The Duo of Death.”

Tom clenched his fist before him. “The Dealers of Destruction.”

“The Doctors of Doom.”

Tom thought about that one. “Isn’t there already a Doctor of Doom?”